False Fates

By MD1016

Part III: Os Destinados

Chapter 15 – Happy Birthday, Ron

"Yeah, Love's all right. I mean, I lucked out on the girl, I think. She's brilliant. When she's not nagging or crying. She does that a lot these days: nag and cry. It's rather wearisome, really.

"When I first found out? Well, it was a bit of a shock, wasn't it? And to be honest, I don't think I really believed it. Seemed like something Loony Luna would come up with. Don't print that. It's mean.

"That's all I have to say, really."

-Ronald Weasley, interview excerpt from Os Destinados, by Miguel Amoro

The following week or so went by very quickly for Ron. His days were filled with the store, his evenings with lessons, and every night with dreams of Hermione. Not fun, sexy dreams, but strange and often disturbing dreams about her in a hospital bed at St. Mungo's telling him that she didn't want to come back to him. Telling him she was afraid. It was the same dream, really, looping over and over as his brain played it from different angles, at different speeds, with different outcomes.

Ron's mum took to cooking for the four of them (much to Ron's secret delight), and as Hermione hadn't yet been cleared by Moody to leave Headquarters for fear of being rediscovered by the Death Eaters, supper was eaten every night in the basement kitchen at number 12. The lecture Ron and Hermione received from both Lupin and Moody for going to Hogsmeade on their own to buy her new wand resembled in intensity one of Ron's mum's howlers – but lacked the same brevity. It wasn't likely they'd make that mistake again.

It was a Friday night when, after finishing up at the store, Ron walked in on Harry and Hermione in various states of undress: Harry with his shirt off, and Hermione in nothing but her bra and knickers. Ron stopped cold, too stunned to say anything. His heart dropped down to about his belt. His mind rebelled, and for one awful moment he held his breath and almost took his wand out.

Hermione gasped when she saw him, and grabbed for the closest piece of clothing – a t-shirt that obviously belonged to Harry, hanging on the back of the over-stuffed chair. She quickly wriggled into it.

"It's not what it looks like, mate," Harry said quickly, holding out a hand to stop Ron from bolting. "This is all completely on the level."

Ron nodded, but he didn't believe a word of it. Something dark and heavy began to boil within him again. His ears started to buzz.

"Wait," Harry said. "You've got a scar, too!" He grabbed Ron by the wrist and pulled him into the room while Hermione jumped back into her jeans and turned to do up the fly. "Take off your shirt," Harry told him.

Ron glared down at Harry's hand on his arm, and a creepy shiver raised the hairs on the back of his neck. He'd had a dream like this once. Ron thought he might be sick.

Harry seemed to read his expression because he rolled his eyes and let Ron's arm go. "Hermione's been working on some Healing Spells, and hasn't had a lot of luck. Take off your shirt. Let her try your scar."

Ron studied Hermione's flush face, as she turned around to face him again. Her eyes met his without guilt, though still a little embarrassed. Embarrassed that he should see her in her skivvies, but not Harry, it seemed. Ron clenched his jaw at the realization, and whipped his shirt off. Her eyes went wide.

The scar on his chest was from the Cave of Regret, and had turned a light, shiny shade of pink. It had spread a little on the left, and was no longer a perfect circle just below his pecks. It looked a little off as it was the only spot on his chest not covered with short, downy, ginger hair. "Kinda looks like a third nipple, doesn't it?" he quipped, a little uncomfortable with the expression on Hermione's face; something between regret and nausea. Of course, saying the word "nipple" hadn't help him feel any more at ease. He couldn't think what had made him say it.

"I think I know why I haven't had any luck with our scars," she said, not taking her eyes from Ron's chest. "Scar tissue is the result of the skin healing itself. They aren't wounds anymore. So a Healing Spell won't have any effect."

Harry looked from Ron's chest to Hermione's neck. "Then you can't Heal scars?"

"That's my theory." She glared down at the wand in her right fist. "Or this blasted thing is broken!" She threw it at the wall, and it went in like an arrow, the springy end bobbing back and forth. There were several small holes on the wall near it where she must've done the same thing before. Repeatedly.

Ron looked from one friend to another looking for any signs that the moment he'd walked in on was anything more than what it now seemed. Hermione stood their radiating frustration while Harry watched her with a bemused expression. No guilt, or awkwardness in either of them calmed Ron's jealousy a little, and he felt his face cool a little. He didn't like this familiarity between them, but Ron didn't see what he could do about it now. They'd had sex. Harry and Hermione. They'd kissed. They'd been in Love. But that was the past, and this was now. And they didn't feel that way any longer - both of them had said it. Why then, did Ron still feel like the odd man out?

"So, Hermione?" he said, trying to fill the odd silence that fell between the three of them. "You're working on Healing Spells? Didn't the healers at St. Mungo's say your burns couldn't be fixed?"

"I know!" she snapped in a fit of frustration. "I didn't look at the spells for me – at least not initially. The were for you and Harry. For when you battle Voldemort. Look, when the Death Eaters attacked, they knew what they were doing. The front lines hit hard and often, they didn't divide up like they did at the Ministry that time back in fifth year. In Bulgaria there were two Death Eaters who hung back and cast Healing Spells, so that the attackers were in constant top form. And so, I thought, if I knew some Healing Spells, I could be of more use to the two of you while you're fighting, and match them Healing for Healing."

"That's bloody brilliant!" Ron exclaimed. She blushed and tried to hide a smile.

"That's standard Auror figuration." Ron turned to see Tonks standing in the doorway, little Jack bundled up in her arms. "Ron, Harry, put on your shirts."

Ron turned and grabbed his from the foot of the bed, and pulled it over his head. Harry, on the other hand, just stood there looking self-conscious as Hermione already wore his.

"You told Harry you can ID some of the Death Eaters who attacked you," Tonks said to Hermione. "Think you could come down to the Ministry and look through some personnel parchments?"

"You think…you think the Death Eaters who attacked us were Aurors?" Hermione asked, stunned at the idea.

"Maybe one, or maybe none. I'm hoping for none, but you never know these days." Tonks turned to Ron. "Take him. It's a full moon tonight, and I've got to go." She kissed the top of her son's head, and then handed him off. And while she did this she whispered in Ron's ear, "Take good care of him, will you?" Then she eyed Harry and Hermione, and added a quick, "And no funny business."

Ron nodded yes, but she was already out the door. Jack fussed a little and Ron pulled him closer to his chest.

"She just leaves like that?" Hermione asked. "Without telling you where she's going or when she'll be back, or what to feed him or anything?"

"She's not allowed to say when it's Ministry work. Aurors are all very hush-hush," Ron explained, now feeling an expert. "And she probably doesn't know when she'll be back. Sometimes when they're trying to apprehend a wizard it can take all night. Don't worry. I know what to do for him."

"It would be terrible if we had Aurors doubling as Death Eaters," Harry said.

"Bloody terrible," Ron agreed.

"Well, we know there are Order Aurors, so it follows that there might be some doubling for the other side, as well," Hermione reasoned. "I can't imagine that the good guys would have a monopoly on double agents."

"That should be first on our list of things to do – sniff out the Death Eaters in the Ministry. Since you're going to be there tomorrow to get your Apparation license, it should be easy for Tonks or Shacklebolt or someone to get you in to look through some employee parchments."

"I'm going to take my test," she corrected Harry, her tone was sharp. "Not necessarily get my license."

Ron shot her a grin. "Oh, don't worry, Hermione. I plan to snog the sweet from you before you go in to test. You're sure to get that license with my magic lips," Ron teased.

She raised a brow, but refrained from a retort. Harry snorted.

She quickly changed the subject. "What are you going to do with him during the lesson?" she asked, nodding to Jack.

"He'll probably sleep if I feed him something now. He's not a problem. Are you, little Jackie? No, not at all."

Hermione's eyes narrowed a little, and an idea popped into Ron's head. "Here," he said, holding out the baby for her. "Take him while I scrounge up some vita-milk."

She backed away a couple of steps. "Oh, no, that's all right."

"No, really," Ron said. "He won't bite you. There's nothing to be scared of."

"I'm not scared!" Hermione insisted. "It's just, well, Tonks gave him to you. I'm sure she wouldn't want someone else to hold him…or anything."

Ron smirked at her. "I thought you wanted a dozen."

"It doesn't really matter, as you don't want any, and I'm not likely to go running off to marry any other blokes. I'd just get them all killed, wouldn't I?"

Swaying with Jack, Ron urged: "Take him, Hermione."

She dropped her gaze and made to brush her hair back from her face, and then remembered too late that it was far too short to actually be in her way. "I – I'll drop him."

"You won't. Look, I'll show you," Ron said, encouragingly. He held Jack out to her. "Hold his head like this, and tuck your arm like this. See? He likes you. Look at how he's staring. Isn't he amazing? And look! He's going to be a metamorphmagus!" Ron pointed to Jack's tiny fisted hand, which was now a stunning turquoise. "He does that sometimes. I don't think he knows what he's doing, but it's fun to see what he'll come up with. I was changing his diaper once and he was all green and purple polka dotted down there. Gave me a fright, I can tell you!"

Jack began to fuss a little, and Ron helped Hermione shift him closer to her, so she held him against her chest. "If you pat his bottom, he like that just fine," Ron told her.

She made a face. "Yeah, I've heard that one before," she quipped.

Harry snorted a laugh.

"OK, then," Ron said. "I'll just nip down and get him something to eat." Hermione gave him a please-don't-go look, but didn't say anything when he did.

***

Ron had to stay at the manse that night as Jack wasn't big enough to Apparate with him or use the Floo Network. Tonks and Lupin transported him via broom, but Ron didn't have his with him and he didn't see the point in borrowing Harry's when there was a perfectly good - not to mention large - bed waiting there at number 12 for him.

After the lesson, all three of them were exhausted, and they lounged on the comfortable, over-stuffed couches in the parlor, while Jack slept away in the drawer Ron had pulled out of the empty chest in his room and turned into a bassinet. He really was a sweet baby.

"Another butter beer?" Harry asked, holding up his empty.

Ron shook his head, and Hermione said through a yawn, "I think not." She was wrapped in a thick dressing gown, pajamas, and heavy, wooly socks. It was unreal how she could even look beautiful when she was dressed like his aunt Edna.

"Ron?" she said, startling him from his reverie. He blinked at her. "So? What do you think?"

Ron hadn't the foggiest what the conversation had been about, but odds were she was spouting some plan or other she'd come up with. "I think you're brilliant," he said, and found himself grinning. Lupin would like that one, wouldn't he? A compliment to make Hermione happy. Was that how he adored her?

"And that's enough of that," she said, taking his nearly empty bottle of butterbeer from him. "You have the tolerance of a house elf."

"It really all hinges on Madame Pomphrey, doesn't it?" Harry said, ignoring their exchange. "If she's willing to apprentice you or not."

"Yes, but I'd be living at Hogwarts, at least for the foreseeable future."

This got Ron's attention, and he sat up straighter. "What?"

"Isn't that a good thing?" Harry asked. "I mean, of the three of us you certainly miss Hogwarts the most. And Ginny's there, so you'd have a friend. Actually, several, if you count Neville and Luna and the rest of them. All our old friends are there."

"Wait a minute–" Ron said but was cut off.

"I just feel weird, you know, going back without you two." She gave Ron an odd look then. "But, maybe…" she said, turning to stare down the neck of her own drink.

"Maybe what?" Ron challenged.

"Nothing," she said.

"Hermione," he said sternly, "if you want me to say something, then you best tell me what it is, because I'm not an Occlumens."

"Is that ever true!" she snapped.

"Why are you angry at me?" Ron asked, feeling his own ire grow.

Hermione glared at him. "You probably want me to go, don't you? Get me out of your hair."

"No I wouldn't," he said sheepishly, and then added: "I don't have any hair."

This made Harry guffaw, which upset Hermione even more. "You're a prat, Ron Weasley."

"Oh, come on! I was only teasing," Ron told her. "And no, I don't want you to go. I'd hardly ever see you. It's bad enough living back at the Burrow. I'd much rather be here with the two of you."

"That's a brilliant idea!" Harry said, jumping up. "Move back in! We can get your things in the morning!"

"Like Mum would allow that," Ron said with an amused snort. "She's still all wiggy about you and Ginny. There's no way–"

"Ron," Harry said, and incredulous look on his face. "Don't you know what tomorrow is?"

Ron's brows rose. "Tomorrow?"

"It's your birthday, daftie. Your eighteenth birthday. Your mum might not be thrilled with it, but what can she do? And, anyway, it's not like the two of you would be sharing a room. Would you?" The new thought left an uncertain look on Harry's face. "I mean…has anything happened…between you…that maybe I should know about?"

Both Hermione and Ron just stared at him.

"Huh," Harry said. "Well, anyway, what can she do?"

"Is tomorrow really my birthday?" Ron asked. How had it snuck up on him like that? Years past he'd spent months counting down the days, giddy over the thought of gifts and all his favorite foods served up by the house elves at Hogwarts.

Hermione smiled at him; a disbelieving and amused smile. "You're a funny boy, you know that Ron?"

"Ah," he said. "But tomorrow even in the Muggle world, I'm a man."

***

Jack was up half the night screeching. Ron tried feeding him, changing him, swaddling him, burping him, and even the bottom pat he was so fond of. Nothing worked, and Ron ended up pacing in the dining room with the bundled of baby most of the night. When Jack finally wore himself out, Harry was down making coffee and Hermione was sitting at the table with half of her hair sticking straight up. Moody relaxed at the table as well, with his metal foot off, and a slice of buttered bread in one hand. He already had a pot of tea in front of him, so Ron figured he'd been there for a while.

Ron sat the drawer with Jack finally slumbering away on the table and collapsed down opposite Hermione.

"You look like death," she said.

"Yeah, nice hair," he told her, and her hand shot to her head.

"Lad keep you awake?" Moody asked. He chuckled quietly when Ron nodded. "Ah, fatherhood."

"Haven't seen Tonks, have you?" Ron asked, wishing her there. He wouldn't be able to go with Hermione to the Ministry unless she showed up soon. On second thought, he could sneak in a couple of hours sleep if he stayed behind.

Harry put a big mug of coffee in front of him, and Ron dived in.

"I'd best get dressed," Hermione said, and headed out. Harry took her seat.

"Happy birthday," he said to Ron over the table, and then produced a small box wrapped in green and blue. "We've decided against a party after what happened the last time, but your mum is coming over tonight to make your birthday dinner. And I think Ginny may stop by."

"Another Grief Leave Pass from Hogwarts?" Ron asked with a knowing smile.

"Hey! It's all for you, mate!" Harry insisted, through a smile of his own.

The package was about the size of Ron's hand, and it was pretty obvious that Harry didn't do the wrapping. Ron loved gifts, and he tried to size up how best to open this new little beauty. He untied the ribbon and tore the paper off. Inside was a single seed, about the size of a pumpkin seed, only bright red with yellow, jagged stripes. "Wow," said Ron. "Uh…thanks."

He picked up the seed between his thumb and forefinger and examined it. "What the bloody hell is it?"

"It's a nonesuch seed. They grow on a small bush along the Nonesuch River. They're rare, so I could only find one – but if you use it properly, you'll only need one." Ron eyed his friend with a dubious expression. Harry continued. "You swallow it with a full glass of water about an hour before you want to say no wrong. It only lasts for an hour, so you have to time it out, but for that hour no matter what situation you find yourself in – or who you find yourself with – you will say exactly the right thing."

There was a thought. An hour of not messing things up with Hermione. "That's wicked brilliant of you! Thanks, mate!"

Harry seemed delighted at Ron's enthusiasm. "Neville turned me on to it, actually. That bloke really knows his plants."

Ron carefully put the seed back in the box, and then retied the ribbon around it for safe keeping. "Wonder when I'll use it. You reckon I should save it for an emergency? Like when she asks me how she looks in something?"

"Remember the hour lead time. The nonesuch is something you have to plan for."

"Right," said Ron. "Thanks."

Moody, who had quietly observed this exchange, just sipped his tea.

"What?" Ron asked him. It was obvious the wizard had something to say, though if he wasn't saying it Ron thought belatedly that he should probably leave well enough alone.

Moody shook his head. "It'd be a waste of breath," he muttered.

Hermione came in then, in fresh robes and her hair somewhat tamed. "All right, then," she said, and Moody stood. Ron got up, too, and went to her.

"Ready for that kiss?" he asked through a playful leer.

"Oh, Ron," she admonished, and then gasped when he grabbed her around the waist with one arm and pulled her against him. He slowly lowered his lips to hers, and kissed her ever-so gently. And then, with the next kiss he opened his mouth just a little and closed it over her bottom lip. She gave another little gasp, which he took for encouragement, and sucked harder. His tongue ventured into the hot moistness of her mouth, and with a little coaxing, found hers. This time she groaned and when he pulled her in tighter she pushed him away.

Breathless, she asked, "What are you doing?"

"Extra special luck," he said grinning. His whole body tingled, and it felt so bloody good.

"No," she said, and pushed herself out of his arms. "No, I'm not ready for this."

That surprised him. "Uh…OK," he said, stepping back another few paces. "Really?" It had felt so very right to him – how could she not have felt that? And hadn't they already kissed in the cabinet? He'd kissed someone, that was for sure!

"It's only been a week," she said quietly, almost a whisper, and Ron remembered then that they weren't the only people in the room. "I'm still…mourning, I guess. It's wrong to be kissing you like that when he's dead."

And by he, she meant Viktor. The tingles inside turned to ice, and sank down to the base of his stomach. "Oh. Right," he said. And then, "Did you love him?" popped out of his mouth. Her eyes shot up to his, unreadable. Without even thinking about it he added, "As much as you love me?" This earned him another, equally indecipherable expression before she looked away.

"I can't explain this to you now," she said. Then she seemed to reach a decision, stood on her tip-toes, and kissed his cheek. "Ready?" she said to Moody, who nodded. The two of them left leaving Ron staring like an idiot with his hand to his face. Harry sighed deeply behind him.

"Yeah," Harry muttered, "I should've gotten you a lifetime supply of nonesuch seeds."

***

Ron was stuck at the manse that day with Jack as Lupin was surely recovering from his full-moon ordeal of the night before, and Tonks hadn't yet returned from her Ministry excursion. When Hermione didn't make it back by lunch time Ron began to worry that she'd failed the test. He berated himself for pushing too hard with the kiss that morning; if she failed it was surely his fault.

Jack slept most of the day, and so Ron got a five hour nap in (between bouts of guilt), and even had time to do a few practice exercises that Lupin had given him. Ron didn't understand how his feelings for Hermione worked with his magic, but he had definitely improved by leaps and bounds since her return, and for the first time in his life Ron found himself enjoying homework. It was brilliant to be reasonably good at something. He had a sneaking suspicion that this was what it felt like to be Hermione. It was a little scary.

His mum showed up mid-afternoon with pots and casseroles and a box that smelled of sugar cake. "Happy birthday, dear," she said and greeted him with a kiss on the cheek and a pat on the head. "Have a good day?"

"Splendid," he told her. "I slept."

"Ah, that's good." She went to work at once, and Ron decided it was time to wake Jack for his bottle. He settled at the table to feed him, and watched his mother work.

"So, tell me, how are things?" she asked after a while. "Are the lessons going better?"

Were they ever! Ron blushed a bit, but concentrated on Jack. He had a little sleep in his eye, and Ron carefully picked it out. "Yeah, better all around. Harry and I are finally making some headway."

"Good, good," she said lightly, though he could see her knowing smile. "And at the shop? I see you're not working today."

"The shop?" Ron hadn't even thought of it that day. "Yeah, well, I've got Jack, haven't I?"

"You, do," his mother said, though he couldn't tell if she was actually agreeing with him or not. "I got an owl from Ginny," she said by way of changing the subject. "I don't think I've ever heard her so happy. She's thinking of becoming an Auror now, you know. Luckily she had all the required O.W.L.S. already, and only had to shift two classes. McGonagall feels she's a natural." There was pride in his mum's voice – unmistakable pride – and still worry. She was forever fretting about them all.

"How are you, Mum?"

She froze for a moment, and then turned to him. "I don't think you've ever asked me that before." From out of no where her eyes got moist and sad. "You're surely growing up, aren't you? Seeing the world outside yourself now? Taking care of a little baby. It's enough to make a mother weep with pride. You're becoming your father's son, Ron. I hope you know how very wonderful that is."

Ron's face went hot all over again, and he tried to hide his self-conscious smile. "Thanks, Mum. But you've changed the subject, haven't you?"

"I'd hoped you wouldn't notice that. A few months ago you wouldn't have," she said, and then turned back to her stirring.

"A lot has happened in the past few months," he told her.

"That it has," she agreed, and then left the stove to sit by him. She touched Jack's head, and smiled despondently. "I miss your father," she said at last. "Terribly. And it's…very hard to miss him so much. It's harder than I thought it could be."

Ron began to panic a little. He'd no idea what to say to his mother that would help her, reassure her. He didn't even know if that's what she wanted. Why had he asked that stupid question? "I should've gone home last night," he said by way of apology, hoping that might help. "I just…well, with Jack–"

"No, no," she said, and waved a dismissing hand. "You've new responsibilities, and I've got to learn to be by myself. And besides, you're eighteen today. You don't need your ol' mum anymore. I expect you'll be wanting to move back into your flat soon."

"Uh…funny you should mention that," he said, sheepishly.

She gave him a smile. "That's my lad. All right, enough of this. You do what you need to do, and don't worry about me. Wives lose their husbands, and husbands lose their wives. I'm no different, I reckon. I've just got to figure out how they manage."

She went back to her cooking, and Ron continued to watch her for a while.

***

Supper was just about ready when Hermione finally Apparated home with Moody and Harry in tow. She was positively beaming and she waved the red folded card at Ron. "I got it!" she told him, and then she showed his mum. Harry was all smiles, too.

"That's great!" Ron told her, both thrilled for her and relieved for them all. She brought the license over to Ron to see, even though his was identical save for the name.

"Alastor?" Ron's mum said. "You'll be staying for supper, yes? I've cooked up roast beef with all the trimmings."

"Ah," he said. "Music to my gut! Don't mind if I do, at that." He took a seat at the table just as Lupin walked in. Well, shuffled.

"There you are," he said with exhausted relief to Jack, who was kicking his little legs about in his drawer bassinet. "You are a sight for sore eyes, laddie."

His eyes might be sore, but the rest of him looked ravished. He was covered in new bruises and deep cuts that had been hastily taped back together. His clothes may have been changed, but the fresh ones were shabby enough that he looked the part of a vagrant having the worst day of his life.

"Bad time of it, Remus?" Ron's mum asked. The rest of them had been momentarily stunned into silence. She placed a hot cup of tea and a wedge of lemon down in front of him. "Let me tend those wounds for you."

"Don't bother," he told her. "Tonks will give me a once over when we get home."

"It's no bother," she insisted, and pulled out her wand.

"Actually," Hermione said, stopping her. "Would you mind if I give it a go? I've been working on a few Healing Spells, but haven't had much in the way of practice."

"Be my guest," he said, and then sipped his tea.

Hermione's first few attempts with her whippy wand had only minimal results. She glared at the wand, and Ron could see her frustration hadn't diminished in the week she'd had it. But with a little suggestion from Ron's mum, and a smile of encouragement from Ron, she managed several decent Suture Charms, a Pain Charm, and an Antibacterium to prevent infections. Once again, Ron was amazed by what she'd been able to teach herself.

Supper was particularly good that night, and Ron ate three plates full of meat and gravy, potatoes, woray with cheese, and fresh baked bread with butter. Butterbeers and Zombini's were the drink of choice, and Harry laughed as Ron opened his fourth.

They were just about to clear the table when there was a slam of the front door upstairs, and Moody, Lupin and Harry all jumped to their feet, wands drawn. Kingsley Shacklebolt limped in a moment later, bloody and filthy and looking half dead. He surveyed the room slowly, and then went straight to Lupin.

"Oh, dear magic, no," Lupin whispered to himself.

Kingley could barely speak. Even from where Ron stood he could smell the blood and sweat on him, the charred flesh. His face had a deep gash down the center of it that severed his lips, and another on his neck that was still actively bleeding. "We were ambushed. It was a trap," he croaked out. "I did everything I could. She…went down fighting." He extended his hand, and held out Tonks' bloody wand to Lupin.

He just stared at it. "Where…where is she? Did you leave her?"

Shacklebolt swallowed with some difficulty, and then closed his eyes. He reached in his cloak and produced a scarf wrapped around something the size of a shoe. "This was all that was left," he told Lupin. The scarf was bright pink, but now it was dark, almost black in places where the blood soaked through.

"No," said Lupin, though there was no voice behind it. He threw back his head and bellowed a horrible howl. His face twisted in absolute agony. It terrified Ron, and he grabbed a wailing Jack up and held him close.

"Everyone out!" Harry yelled, thought there was little, if any, reason to. It was plain what was going to happen. Lupin's anguished howls became less and less human as his body began to transform. Harry and Hermione helped Shacklebolt up the stairs, and Hermione Locked the door once they were all clear with a swish of her wand.

"Will it hold?" Ron asked.

"The spell will," she confidently told him. "I'm not so sure about the door."

"He's usually in chains," Harry said. "But that's more for his protection, isn't it?"

They gathered at the top of the stairs, all staring wide-eyed and worried.

Ron's mum broke first. "Oh, Tonks," she said and her eyes began to stream.

"We need to get Shacklebolt to St. Mungo's," Harry said. It was at that moment that Shacklebolt's leg gave out, and he toppled to one side. Harry and Hermione managed to catch him. "We've got to get him outside so we can Apparate. Hermione, can you Levitate him?"

She whipped out her wand again, and easily got the injured man out the door. Ron's mum and Harry went with Shacklebolt to hospital, but Hermione insisted on staying with Ron. It was brave of her, Ron thought, with the crashes and roars that were coming from the basement. Lupin was destroying the whole room.

The baby was still screaming in his arms, and he startled at every sound. Ron hurried up the stairs, but Hermione called out to him.

"Ron, we can't stay here!"

"Where, then?"

"Anywhere! If Lupin manages to break down that door–"

"I know," Ron insisted. "But where do we go with Jack? He can't Apparate or go by floo for another couple of months–"

"Broom! Where's Harry's broom?"

"In his room, I think–" Another terrible blast of destruction came from the kitchen, followed by a howl that sent tremors up Ron's spine. He bolted up the stairs, and down the hall to Harry's room, and threw open the door. The broom leaned against the night stand, but Ron's eyes went to the blanket folded neatly at the foot of Harry's bed. He grabbed it and wrapped it around himself and the baby, and turned to Hermione who had just come in behind him. "Tie the ends together," he told her. "Tight." She secured the blanket so that the squirming baby was held firmly in place against Ron's chest, and completely covered against the cold air and weather outside.

"The Burrow," Hermione said. "I'll Apparate there."

"But you'll be alone and in the open," Ron protested.

"Not for long. I'll hurry into the house as soon as I get there."

"Hermione, come with us on the broom."

"I'll be fine. You fly safely." She kissed him on the cheek, which surprised him, and in his moment of hesitation, she kissed his lips. "I'll wait for you."

"Uh…" he grunted, temporarily struck dumb. The sound of a heavy body thrown against the kitchen door startled him out of his reverie, and Ron whirled around to grab the broom. Then, the three of them scrambled down the stairs as fast as they could take them, and then out into the night. Hermione stopped to lock the front door, but Ron doubted it would make much of a difference. He hoped Lupin would be all right, or little Jack would have no one. He looked down at the lump attached to his front.

"Oh," he breathed.

"What?" Hermione demanded, on edge.

"Tonks," Ron said.

"Yes, but not now, Ron. Once we're safe."

She was forever practical. Odd as it was with everything that had happened, this made him smile. "It's good to have you back," he told her.

"See you in a few." With a CRACK that echoed down the street, she vanished.

Ron took a deep breath, swung his leg over the broom handle, wrapped an arm tightly around Jack, and kicked off.

***

He didn't know what to expect of his flight to the Burrow. He'd never flown that far before, and never with a passenger. Jack quieted down almost instantly, and at first this worried Ron. But the baby continued to respond to the tiny pinches Ron gave his legs, so he decided little Jack was just enjoying the ride, and he focused on his flying. He repeatedly glanced around. There didn't appear to be anyone following him, which was a relief, because he honestly didn't know what he would do if there were. As it was night, navigation was quite a problem. He wasn't completely familiar with the landmarks between London and Devon during the day, so the darkness interspersed with dots of yellow and white lights weren't much help. Why hadn't this particular problem occurred to him before he left the manse?

Ron tried to stay low enough to keep from the freezing air, but even at ground level the weather was chilly and damp. Once they were out of London, and there was mostly blackness as far as the eye could see, the air turned decidedly colder. Luckily there were ample stars out, and Ron quickly called on his astronomy classes to find the North Star, and then turn to the west. Below him was a Muggle roadway, lit by both automobiles and a sprinkling of street lamps every so often. The road seemed to vaguely go in the direction of home, so he kept it in his sight.

Broom travel was slow, and there was a lot of time to think while he was aloft. And with the little baby strapped to his front, it was impossible not to think of his mother; how alive and young she'd been, how full of fun and humor. It was difficult to believe he'd never see her again. A familiar sensation opened in his gut: grief and loss. It wasn't the same he'd experienced – well, still experienced from time to time – over his father's death. But it hurt, and he cried, even though he thought that a man shouldn't cry, not when he had someone so tiny and vulnerable counting on him. Ron was eighteen. She'd been murdered on his birthday.

After near on an hour, though, Ron hit another large glob of lights, and then a vast dark nothingness beyond, which couldn't be fields he reckoned, and Ron thought he smelled a hint of salt water in the air. He'd gone too far west, he'd decided. Or, more likely, he was simply too far north. Ottery St. Catchpole was close to the English Channel, but that couldn't be the body of water in front of him. Not unless someone had changed the location of the North Star.

Ron turned left, and headed south. It was another hour before he came up on another vast darkness of water, and this, he decided, was the Channel. So, the choice was: left or right? East or West. He tried to picture a map of England in his head, and all he managed was an image of Hermione rolling her eyes asking if he learned anything at all while at Hogwarts. "Left," he decided. Not twenty minutes later he came upon another mass of lights, and knew it couldn't be Exeter, which was what he was hoping for. Exeter wasn't quite as close to the channel as this city was. The baby began to fuss as Ron turned completely around and headed West once more.

Serious doubt began to plague Ron, and he considered turning around again when the lights and formations below began to look somewhat familiar. If that was Exeter…then that, he told himself, that is Honiton. And if that was Honiton, then that was the Ottery. And if that was the Ottery, then that was the Burrow. Relief warmed him, and ten minutes later he began his decent.

The landing was rough. In the time he'd been aloft his legs had forgotten how heavy he was. But he didn't fall, just stumbled a couple of steps, and then Ron trotted up the pathway toward the house. The amber stones lining the walk lit warmly as he passed them. The moment he opened the door Hermione threw herself at him. Jack protested, but Ron didn't. She kissed him on the lips, the cheek, the nose – everywhere she could reach.

"Where the bloody hell have you been? I've been here for ages, and I was so very worried!" She smacked his arm quite hard. "Blast it, Ron! I thought something terrible had happened!"

"I got lost," he explained. "The whole bloody world looks the same at night. You should've come with me."

"Yes, well, we know that now, don't we? How's Jack doing?"

At that particular moment Jack was screaming his lungs out. Hermione helped untie them, and Ron cradled the baby in his arms.

"Maybe he needs fresh nappies?" Hermione suggested.

"He's hungry," Ron told her. "That's his give-me-food cry. The thing is, I don't think there's any vita-milk here."

"Can you feed him anything else?"

"Uh…I dunno. Haven't really had to."

"Well…are there any books on babies here?" she asked, glancing around as if Ron's mum kept baby instruction manuals just lying around.

"I doubt my mum needs books on babies. She's a professional by now."

Little Jack was turning purple – literally – in his indignity of being hungry. "OK, OK," Ron told him. "Let's see what mum's got in here." In the cold cupboard there was a pitcher of water, butter, various meats and cheeses, but no vita-milk.

"Can we try water?" Hermione asked. "And do we have a bottle?"

"Uh…" Ron glanced around the kitchen, but he already knew the answer. Then a realization hit him, and he turned to Hermione. "Hey, you're a girl. You can feed him."

"I…what?" she asked, apparently completely baffled by his statement.

"It's all right. Tonks breastfeeds him all the time. She said he took to the nipple like a dog to a bone."

Hermione's expression went funny for a moment, and then she burst out laughing. "You can't be serious."

"Come on," Ron urged. "I won't look if that bothers you, but this little lad needs to eat."

"Ron, I can't–"

"Sure you can," he encouraged. "No one will mind. And we'll get some vita-milk when the others come back."

"No, Ron," she said sternly. "I physically can't. Not that I would, but I can't. Women's breasts don't work like that. There's no on/off switch."

"No what? Look, I know you've got, you know, them. I can see them, for Merlin's sake!"

"But they're not – functional!" She made a frustrated, disgusted sound. "Ron, it's not going to happen, so let's think of something else, shall we?"

"Fine, then," he said peevishly. "What do you suggest?"

"Well…I don't know…" She began to rummage through the cabinets again. "Maybe we could conjure up some vita-milk? In a bottle already?"

Ron snorted. "Great. And you happen to know that spell?"

"Well, I don't know!"

This made Jack scream even louder. "Look, I'm going to change his nappies," Ron told her. "And when I come back, either you've figured something out or you're offering up a boob!" He left her glaring at him.

There were, of course, no nappies upstairs, either. Ron found an old towel in the bathroom - which wasn't difficult as they were almost all very old, and many of them were threadbare. He got some spell-o-tape from his room, and a warm jumper to wrap the baby in.

When he got back downstairs Hermione had concocted a bottle out of a plastic bag and filled it with sugar water. "It's not nutritious, of course," she explained, "but it'll fill his stomach for tonight. And we can get him some real food in the morning." The bag didn't work well, either, and most of the sugar water ended up on Jack's front. But he got enough in, Ron supposed, because he stopped fussing and drifted off to sleep again while Hermione was holding him on her lap.

"I can't believe he'll never know his mother," she whispered to Ron. "He'll never know how wonderful she was. And she'll never hear his first words, or see him catch his first Snitch. His whole life is ahead of him, and hers is over." Her eyes watered. "Tonks, Viktor and his family, your father. It's so horrible, Ron. I must be the most selfish person in the world. Because as much as I miss them, as much as I see your mother grieving, or Lupin, or the few who remained in Viktor's family, I find myself thanking the stars that it wasn't you." She looked up at him, pained and sad.

Ron had to touch her, to reassure them both, and he rested his hand on her arm. But it wasn't enough. They both jumped up together, and fiercely embraced. Jack, stuck between them, let out piercing wail at suddenly being sandwiched between the two of them. When they pulled apart, Hermione's face was red and crumpled, and now the tears fell freely. Seeing her like that made Ron's own eyes stream. He brushed the moisture away with his sleeve.

They went into the den, where Hermione made a bed for the baby on a chair, and swaddled him with a throw. Ron showed her how he liked his little arms tucked in. Standing so close to her, feeling as horrible as he did, knowing that Tonks was gone, it was too much. He pulled her to him, and kissed her slowly, intently. Her hand crept up to cradle his face, and she deepened the kiss. Her tongue found his and a groan escaped both their throats. She tasted salty from her tears, and sweet…just because she was.

Her hands dropped down around his middle, and began to smooth over his ribs and sides. The way she touched him – it took his breath away, and he found himself gasping in between wet kisses. He tried to touch her as well, but he had trouble focusing on the kissing, what she was doing to him, and making his hands work at the same time. Brain function had long-since stopped as all the blood on his body was rushing either to his lips, or his groin. She reached under his shirt, and his whole body lurched. He had to pull back a little, and he watched as a wicked smile spread across her swollen lips. She knew she knew what she was doing to him. That turned him on even more.

Somehow he ended up holding her hips against him, but now he wanted to make her feel a little of what was coursing through his veins. He skimmed his hands up her sides, and was gratified as her eyes grew wider. They weren't kissing now – Ron was too caught up in the way she felt beneath his fingers. The way her body curved under his palms. He cupped her breasts through her shirt and jumper. He squeezed.

She pulled away, and stepped out of his reach, turned her back on him. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest. The heat within him turned to ice as adrenaline shot through him. He began to panic. Had he gone too far? Surely not! Hadn't she gone all the way with two men already? Was it him?

"You…don't like the way I touch you?" he asked, surprised to hear how breathless his voice was. He ran a hand over his head. He could do better. He could…read a book or something.

"Yes, of course I do," she snapped at him. Jack was startled by her reaction and began to cry. With a heavy sigh and a shake of her head she went over and picked the baby up. Ron took that opportunity to adjust himself in his jeans. Instead of comforting Jack, though, she handed him off to Ron.

"What's going on with you? I thought – I thought you wanted to…?"

She just shook her head and dropped heavily into the low chair. "I wonder how Shacklebolt is doing."

Ron had momentarily forgotten about him, and Tonks, and it made him feel terrible all over again. He bounced Jack a little, and then sat on the couch to pat his back. Jack quiet down fairly quickly, and Ron's brain kept replaying the previous five minutes. Five minute of bliss gone in an instant. He ventured a look at her. She had her eyes closed.

"I shouldn't have touched you like that," he said. "It was…ungentlemanly. I'm sorry."

"Oh, Ron." She sighed and dropped her face into her hands. "I don't want to talk about this now."

"Well, I need to," he told her. "I don't understand what just happened between us."

She smirked. "You've never understood much of anything between us."

"I don't want things to be like they were. Do you?"

"Well, no," she said after very little consideration.

"Look, we're Fated, yes, but there's more to it than that. Whatever else is between us we've always been best mates. There shouldn't be anything you can't tell me."

"You said you hated me," she accused, which shocked Ron into silence again. He had said that. And, at the time, he'd thought it true. Now he knew it couldn't have been.

He cleared his throat. "I know I did. I thought I did. But…I was wrong. Apparently I've never hated anyone in my life, or so Harry says. I was just very angry. And hurt. I wish I hadn't said that."

She eyed him suspiciously, not wanting to take his words at face value, and so Ron explained about his Smisurato abilities, and the energy link with Harry and how it sometimes channeled emotions as well. "I'm getting much better at sending through pure energy," he assured her, worried about the look of horror on her face.

"So…the next time you and Harry link up, he's not going to know about…what just happened, is he?"

"Uh…no."

"I mean, it's just, well, I'd rather keep what's between you and me private. Especially since he and me, well, you know. It's no body's business what we do, or how we feel. I just…I don't want to share this with him. Any of it. I don't…want to share you with anyone."

"I completely agree," Ron said. A first for those three particular words, he reckoned. They smiled at each other, and Ron felt like the moment was ripe.

He stood, and gently placed the sleeping Jack on the couch, and then kneeled in front of Hermione in the low chair. She looked a little worried when he reached to her and pulled her by the front of her shirt closer. He kissed her with slow, gentle movements and didn't allow her to deepen the kiss. Instead, starting with his hands on her knees, he smoothed his palms up the length of her thighs. There was a catch in her breath when he reached her hips, but she didn't stop him, and he continued unhurriedly up her belly and ribs. He could feel her rapid breaths, and muscles that jumped as he touched them. Ron stopped when each of her breasts filled the curve between his thumb and forefinger.

"Now tell me," he whispered, intently watching her expression. "What did I do wrong?" He slipped his hands up a little and cupped her fullness. "Was it this?" He squeezed a little. "Or this?"

"No," she whispered back, breathless. Her mouth hung open just the smallest amount, and it was all Ron could do to keep himself from claiming it.

"Then tell me," he asked. His left thumb smoothed over her hard nipple. She closed her eyes.

"I'm scarred. Right there," she said. "All over, I'm scarred."

"I know," he told her. "I've seen. Do they hurt still? Am I hurting you?" This new thought bothered him and he pulled his hands away, only to have her grip his wrists and bring his fingers back to her breasts. She didn't look at him, didn't say a word.

Ron sat back on his heels. "You're worried because of the scars? Hermione, I'm scarred," he told her and lifted his shirt.

She reached out and touched the fist-sized pink patch on his chest.

Her brows rose together and tears flooded her eyes. "How can I feel so much…for you…?" She shook her head, pulled her hand back. "Of course I feel strongly for you, that's not what I…"

"Then what is it?" he prompted. She just shook her head again.

She was upset, and he didn't know how to help. He wanted to touch her, needed to hold her. He pulled her down to him, and she went willingly. She straddled his bent legs and her body came to rest against his. She was taller than him now, sitting in his lap, and she ran her hands over his fuzzy head. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

Her kisses were moody now, and full of pain, though each caress of her lips against his was like a butterfly's touch. When she tried to deepen the kiss now, he welcomed her tongue and teeth, her hands roaming under the back of his shirt, the pressure of her body in his lap. He touched her, as well, and reveled in the warmth of her skin, even the rough bit at the base of her spine. Spurred on by her excitement he worked his fingers down inside the back of her jean, inside her knickers, and cupped the soft roundness there. She gasped, breaking their kisses, and pressed her forehead against his shoulder.

"Do you want me to stop?" he asked.

"Do you?" she countered. There was fire in her gaze, and she rocked her pelvis against him before attacking his mouth with hers once more.

Ron couldn't keep up with the bolts of excitement shooting through him, and he felt a pressure begin to build deep within him. He knew what it was, even though he'd never gotten this far with a girl before. It scared him a little. He didn't want to top-off in his pants.

"Wait," he said, pulling away from her kisses, breathless and sweating. "Too much."

"You're right," she said in between bites on the side of his neck. "We can't tonight. Not when Tonks…when Viktor…"

"Viktor?" Ron jumped up, shocked by that name on her lips. She slipped unceremoniously to the floor.

The name was enough to quell both their passions, and they sat still and panting for a moment to regain their composure. When Hermione made it to her feet, she froze, and Ron turned to see his mum and Ginny storm into the house.

"Oh, thank the stars!" Ron's mum exclaimed. "We didn't know if you two would have the sense to come here or…" She trailed off as she came to realize what she was seeing; their swollen lips, shortness of breath – the front of his jeans. Heat shot up from his chest and engulfed his neck and face, and he hobbled around so his front was hidden from his mother. Hermione righted her top.

"How is Shacklebolt?" Hermione asked right away.

Ginny spoke up, and when she did the smirk from a moment ago faded. "Fell into a coma the minute we got him to hospital. He's in a bad way, they say, and they don't know what to expect. We stayed until they had him stabilized."

"But, where's Harry?" Hermione asked.

"Well, we weren't sure if you'd still be back at Headquarters or not, so he and Moody went to check on you two, and Remus," Ron's mum said. "Poor, dear Remus." She shook her head, and brushed a few tears from her cheek. "I'm happy the both of you thought to come here." She smiled at Hermione when she said this, figuring rightly, Ron realized, that it had been Hermione's impetus that brought them to the Burrow.

"So, Moody went with him, then? Harry's not alone?"

"No, dear, why?"

"Lupin went scary just before we left. That's why we came here," Ron explained.

"We were worried he might hurt himself, but we didn't know what to do," Hermione added. "He was in a terrible state. I'm not sure the house will stand much of a chance against him."

"Poor, dear Remus," Ron's mum said again, and more tears followed. She collapsed on to the bench at the kitchen table, and dropped her head into the cradle of her crossed arms and wept. Ginny exchanged worried looks with Hermione, who said something about making some tea. The two girls hurried to the stove and spoke together in hushed tones. Ron was left feeling useless and out of place. Which wasn't entirely unusual for him – it had just been a while.

He took a seat next to his mother, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. When she snaked a hand up to his, he laid his head on her shoulder. "I know, Mum," he whispered. "I miss him, too."

***

It was near midnight when Harry finally limped into the Burrow cradling his right side. He told them that Lupin was safe now, that he and Moody had managed to trap him in the war room, but not before he'd done some serious damage to himself and the house. And some minor damage to Harry's ribs.

"War room?" Hermione asked, apparently not impressed by a few cracked ribs.

"Uh, yeah. I put it in when we all moved to number 12 last summer and I had the archimagitect come 'round. Thought it might come in handy."

"If there's a war room, then why have we been taking lessons in the dining room?" Ron asked, indignant. "Where the blood hell is it?"

"It's not that kind of room. And it's behind the cupboard on the second landing."

"Harry? What kind of room is it?" Ginny asked.

Harry got a little twitchy. Ron could see him try to come up with an answer that would satisfy their questions without giving too much away. Odd, that he would have that kind of secret. Ron studied him and wondered what else he was keeping from them.

"Come on, Harry. It's us. Tell us what you're up to," Hermione pressed.

He looked from Hermione and Ron to Ginny, and then to Ron's mum. All of them looked expectantly at him. "It's an impenetrable room. It's a room of last resort. No one can get in, and no one can get out."

"Well, that's can't be true if Lupin is in it," Hermione said tartly.

Harry gritted his teeth in irritation. It was clear he didn't want to be talking about this. "It is when the room is in lock down, which it is now. And I'm the only one it will respond to. Not even someone polyjuiced to look like me will fool the room."

"But what's in it?" Ginny asked.

"Nothing," Harry told her. "It's just a safe place to go. No magic can get in or out, no once can see inside it, magically or otherwise. Technically, the room doesn't exist."

"What? But Remus!" Ron's mum cried out.

"No, no, Mrs. Weasley, he's fine. I meant that it doesn't exist to people who aren't in it."

"Harry…why didn't you tell us about the war room?" Ginny asked, quietly.

Harry winced, didn't look at her. "I just didn't want to worry you, is all. I didn't want you to think that I thought that a war room might be necessary." Then he met Ginny's determined gaze, and then her mother's. "I'm going to survive this war," he told them. "And I'm going to make bloody well sure that no one else dies because I haven't done what needs to be done."

"Harry? What does that mean?" Hermione asked.

"It means that if I'd ended this months ago Tonks and Mr. Weasley would still be alive. And Viktor," he said to Hermione. "They all died because the Death Eaters are still able to run amuck. Because Voldemort is still alive."

"But," said Hermione, exasperated, "how would you have finished this months ago? Of course if you could have you would have!"

"I was with you months ago," Harry said, not looking at her. "I allowed myself to get distracted. We left Hogwarts to find the Horcruxes this year, and destroy Voldemort. I've only managed one, and that was an accident, more or less. I've not really focused on what needs to be done, and more than half the year is gone–"

"You're being too hard on yourself," Ginny said. "Tonks and my dad, and even Viktor – their deaths aren't your fault, Harry. You must see that, really you must."

"The Fates have given me a destiny," Harry told her. "I've been ignoring it."

"Then what do you want us to do?" Ron asked. "Because we're here to help you. You're not fighting this war alone."

Harry gave him a hard look, and then sighed. "I know you're right. Dumbeldore told me once that I had to confide in my friends. And that's everyone in this room right now."

Ron's mum sucked in a breath, and more tears filled her eyes. "Thank you, Harry," she said through a whimper. They exchanged warm smiles, and Ron rolled his eyes. Witches.

"Eye on the prize, mates. Harry, what's the game plan?"

He looked at all of them, and then sat down at the kitchen table. They all followed his lead. "Well, first thing, Ginny has to finish out the rest of this year at Hogwarts," Harry said. "Now don't argue, Ginny. You're safe there, which means I don't have to worry about the Death Eaters trying to get to you. But what's more, you'll have access to a library and can do some research for us without looking suspicious and letting people know what we're on about. Also, it would be good for you to be there for Hermione. She's going to need someone to watch her back while she's apprenticing with Madame Pomfrey."

Hermione's brows furrowed but she didn't object, at least not out loud. Had she made the decision to go, then? Or had Harry just made it for her?

Harry turned to her and gave her a sheepish sort of grin, and a slight shrug. "McGonagall said she'd be happy to assist the cause in any way possible. And I think teaching you how to keep Ron and I upright will definitely be assisting the cause. That, of course, is up to you," he said to Hermione. "It would mean living there again, and not being…well…here." He gave Ron a guilty glance.

Hermione turned to Ron beside her, and looked into his eyes for the span of a breath. "Harry, we'll always do whatever we can to help you, you know that," she said. "And if I'm at Hogwarts then I can watch out for Ginny, too.

"Right! Thanks," Harry told them both. "And it won't be for long, so learn as much as you can from Madame Pomfrey as fast as you can – though, I don't know why I even bothered telling you that." Everyone around the table tittered a little, and Ron felt the tension lessen a little. Harry continued: "Ron and I, then, need to hone our link. But even more, we need to find the remaining Horcruxes."

"But not tonight," Ron's mum said. "Too much has happened today, and we're all far too emotional to think clearly."

They all agreed that it had been a long day, and soon headed up the stairs to their respective bedroom; Ron taking Jack up with him and Harry, and settling the baby in his drawer on the floor by his bed.

***

It wasn't more than fifteen minutes when there came a loud thump from the stairs, and then a light tap on Ron's door. Hermione poked her head in. "Harry?"

The tattler above the door came to life. "Hermione Granger! Shame on you! You're not to be in this room! Out with you, I say! Out!"

Ron stirred and grunted, and Harry sat up. "What is it?" he asked her.

"Ginny's waiting for you," she told him and came in to sit down on his bed. "You've an hour."

"Hermione Granger is in the boy's room! On the boy's bed! Get out! Out, Hermione Granger!"

"Ron, can't you do something about that?" she asked. "I left my wand upstairs."

"Isn't that it?" Harry asked pointing to the back of Hermione's pajama bottoms. She reached back, and sure enough pulled out her wand.

"Blasted thing!" she grumbled. "So you're why I tripped. Looking to break my ankle now, are you?" Frustrated she threw the wand at the wall, and, like always it struck like a dart. She turned to Harry and snapped, "Are you going to make her wait?"

Harry gave Ron a frustrated glare before he hurried out the door.

"Hermione Granger!" cried the tattler. "You brazen hussy! Out, out this instant!"

"Shove off," she grumbled, grabbed her wand again, and whipped it at the tattler, which instantly went silent.

"How'd you do that?" Ron asked in awe. "And without speaking!"

"I'm getting better at nonverbals," she told him. "And I used Petrificus Totalus. It has different effects with magical objects than people, obviously. But I think I achieved the desired result."

"Have I told you lately that you're brilliant?"

She blushed and looked away. "So…I gave him an hour, didn't I?" She lied down on Harry's vacated bed and pulled the blankets up to her chest. "I don't know why I gave them so long. He certainly doesn't need that much time."

Ron peered over at her. Surely, she wasn't saying what he thought she was saying. "Uh…did you send him down to bag my sister again? With mum sleeping just meters away?"

"I'm sure they can be quiet," Hermione told him.

"I thought…he said that they'd decided they were too young."

She sighed. "Yes, well, Ginny's rethought that, hasn't she? Grief tends to do that, I suppose."

Ron thought back to earlier that evening when he had his hands in her knickers and his tongue down her throat. "Huh," he said. Was that an invitation? Did she want him to do something, or say something? He waited for another sign.

Time slipped away, and Ron drifted back to hospital where he was looking over Hermione, so small and hurt in the narrow, white bed. Her hair was too short, and her face as pained as he'd ever seen. It was a familiar dream now, he'd been having it for a week, and he hated going back to that hospital room every night.

Didn't want to come back, she was saying. I didn't want to come back. Ron knew he was dreaming, knew he'd been there before, but the feelings were just as strong as that moment he saw her there the first time. I didn't want to come back, but I had no way to protect myself. She was crying and hiccoughing, and talking all at once. I didn't want to come back, but I had no way to protect myself, and I was too afraid to jump, and I couldn't protect myself, and I didn't want to come back and I was too afraid to jump too afraid to jump too afraid to jump…

Ron sat straight up in bed. She had said it, hadn't she? It was in his dream, yes, but she'd really said it.

"Uh…Ron?" Hermione was still in the other bed, and her voice was thick and groggy from sleep. She must've dozed, too.

Ron reached for his wand and then cast a small Lumos. "You were too afraid to jump."

She blinked against his wand light. "Eh?" She yawned behind her hand.

"In hospital you said you didn't want to come back here, but that you couldn't protect yourself and you were too afraid to jump."

"Oh," she said. Nothing more.

"No. Hermione you can't not explain that."

"I thought it was fairly self-evident."

"You tried to kill yourself."

She sighed, but didn't look at him. Instead she played with the sheet. "I'm not suicidal, if that's what has you worried."

"You're bloody right that's what has me worried! How could you even think such a thing?"

"Oh, Ron."

For a moment he thought she might refuse to answer him, but then she surprised him by moving over in the narrow bed and patting the mattress beside her. He sat, but she pulled him down next to her, and the only way they both fit was to lie on their sides facing each other. She pulled the blanket up over the both of them. Her breath smelled of toothpaste.

"After Viktor was killed, his aunt Disapparated me away from the grove, but she had to go back for her family and so, I was left alone. Completely alone. The Death Eaters had slaughtered Viktor and his family, and I knew that it would only be a matter of time before they tracked me down, too. I don't know how to express to you how that felt except to say that I only saw three options. One was to be captured. Two was to finish myself before number one could happen. Three was to run back to the Order and beg protection."

"Three should've been your only choice," Ron told her. He wasn't touching her, but he could feel the heat coming off her legs they were so close to his.

"I swore that I wouldn't come back," she told him. "And I didn't think I was wanted. But what's more, I wasn't entirely sure that I could make it back without being followed or detected. At the time it seemed more prudent to simply remove myself from the equation. If I didn't exist I wouldn't be a liability to Harry or the Order, I couldn't be tortured, and I wouldn't get anyone else killed."

The conversation was making Ron feel a little sick. "So, you were going to jump? From what?"

"I was walking all that night, and when the sun started to come out I was on a tall train bridge that spanned a valley. I figured it would be quick. But, Ron, I couldn't do it. Not even for Harry. Not even for the Order. I was a coward! I wanted to live! I told myself I was being selfish, but still I couldn't bring myself to step off." She sniffled a little. "I thought about what Moody said that night, about trusting someone with your death. And I wondered if giving your life to protect others was in the same category. And didn't I want Harry and the Order - and you - to be safe? And I was crying and screaming, 'YES!' and still I couldn't jump. I'm a coward, Ron."

"Never," he said.

"But I am."

"No," he whispered, "You're a Gryffindor." He reached up to her face. He felt her hot tears and ran his thumb through them. Then he kissed them. "You came home because it was your Fate. Amoro said you would be back. He said that you could run to the ends of the world, but that you would always find your way back because the Fates demand it."

"Amoro? Who's-?"

"Later," Ron whispered. "Hermione, I know you didn't want to come back because of me. I know I hurt you – I hurt everyone, I think – but I hurt you the worst. I don't know why I did it, but I did. I'm so very, very sorry. And I swear to you that I will never, never hurt you like that again. Not ever. I'll even make an Unbreakable Vow, here and now." Something covered his eyes, and he heard Hermione giggle.

"I don't think that will be necessary," she said as she brushed his ginger fringe from out of his eyes.

"Wha-?" he said, and reached up. Sure enough his head was full of hair again, and it was long and silky and just as wonderful as he remembered it being. "I have my hair back," he said, stating the obvious.

"So it seems." She was smiling. She ran her hand through his restored locks, and tingles of awareness stole his breath as her nails slipped over his scale. Merlin, he wanted to kiss her.

"What time is it, do you know?"

"Near on three, I reckon," Ron told her. "Are you going to get Harry?"

She snuggled in close to him, and he felt her arm snake around his middle. "I'm not going anywhere," she said pressing her nose to the middle of his chest. But then she went still, and pulled away. She looked up into his eyes, the moonlight glittering there. "You're not going to tell anyone are you?"

"About the train bridge? No."

"Not even Harry?"

"No one."

"Are you sure?" she asked. "It's terribly hard to keep this kind of secret. You tell me something you don't want anyone else to know, and we'll share the burden together."

"I don't think so."

"Yes," she said, and propped herself up on an elbow, her cheek in her palm. "Tell me something about you that I would never in a million years guess. Something you'd simply die over if, say, Fred and George found out."

"You want ammunition," Ron accused, pushing himself up on an elbow. "You want to blackmail me."

"This is about trust, Ron. I wouldn't betray your confidence, just as I know you wouldn't betray mine. I want to know about you, but even more than that, I'd like something private with you, something no one else has. Not even Harry."

He studied her earnest face, her strong, expressive brows, her bright brown eyes now dark and mysterious in the dim night light. She tugged at his heart when she was like this, and while he didn't resent it like he once had he wasn't completely comfortable with this hold she had over him. He knew he couldn't refuse her. It was…unnerving.

"Well," he said, trying to think of something she'd find suitable. "I suppose…well…I suppose…" He couldn't look at her, so he dropped down on to his back, even though he was pressed right up against her. He could feel her breath on his cheek. "I used to wank quite a bit."

He could practically hear her roll her eyes. "Used to? Come now, everyone does that. I mean something I'd never even think of. Tell me a secret."

His mind screamed. "Everyone, Hermione?"

Her voice was low, almost a whispered when she said: "Something I'd never guess."

One would think it was a simple request, but Ron found it exceedingly difficult. "I don't think I have any secrets like that. I mean, I'm really a very simple bloke."

Her finger began drawing a loopy line on his chest, and it ran over one nipple, and it reflexively tightened. Ron had to hold his breath for a moment, and in that moment he knew what he would tell her. He closed his eyes. "You won't tell anyone? It's just between you and me?"

"I swear," she said solemnly.

"I had a sex dream," he told her.

She sighed, exasperated. "Ron, come on."

"About Harry," he added, and felt a little sick. She went statue-still beside him.

"Uh…really?"

"Really."

He heard her swallow, but he couldn't bring himself to look at her. He never should've said anything. It had been a mistake to ever speak those words.

"Are you trying to tell me…you fancy Harry?" Her voice faltered a little.

"What? No!" He shot up in the bed. "It's not like that!"

"OK," she said quietly, meeting his eyes with her own confused gaze. She didn't look as if she believed him.

"It was you and me, in my dream. We were lying in bed, and your back was to me and…I was touching you."

"You had a sex dream about me?" she asked, now more hopeful.

"Yes! Uh…no. I don't know. We were there, and I was kissing you, and then suddenly he was there, too."

Her eyes went wide and she tried to hide a smirk. "Really? All three of us?"

"Fred and George put the thought in my head, those wankers. Oh, and you should know that Fred has a thing for you, so watch him. He's a perv, that one is. And so I went to sleep that night with that horrible idea in my head, and well…" He didn't want to finish the thought. Was it terribly hot in there? Was the room running out of air?

"Let me get this straight," Hermione said in pragmatic tone. "You had a dream, and in this dream you and I were in bed together? And you were touching and kissing me?"

"Yeah, I guess. Yes."

"And," she continued, "then you touched Harry?"

"No! Bloody hell, Hermione!" He grabbed his head to keep it from exploding.

"Did you…kiss him?"

"I never should've told you anything," he muttered under his breath.

"But I don't see how that's a sex dream about Harry."

"Well, see - I don't know why I keep talking about this, I really don't -he took his hand, and he put it over yours – in my dream, see – and then he put your hand on my leg."

Her brows rose. "And?"

"High on my leg."

"And?"

"And then I woke up, didn't I?" he told her. "Nightmare, it was. Blood rutting nightmare!"

She considered him, and then pulled him back down beside her, and pulled the covers up again. "Ron, I don't think it was about sex, or about Harry."

"Well, you weren't there."

"I think," she said in her assertive, authoritative tone, "that it was about you and me, and about no matter how close we get Harry will always be there."

He looked at her for a moment to see if she was teasing him. "I don't know. I don't think I'm that deep."

"I do hope Harry is always there, Ron. Not between us, and certainly not with us physically on nights like this, but he's our best friend, and he holds a very special place in both of our lives."

"But not in our bed. He has no business being there."

She smirked. "Agreed."

"And you shouldn't be parading around in your knickers in front of him, either," Ron added.

"He's seen me in my knickers before, Ron. It was hardly a revelation for him."

"I don't care," Ron told her. "You're my girl, not his."

She pushed away from him, and Ron thought she was going to start yelling, but instead she looked at him with a curious expression. "I'm your girl?" she asked.

"Aren't you?"

"Humph," she said non-committally, and relaxed back down, so that her head was pillowed on his shoulder, her arm draped over his belly.

He wrapped his arm across her waist, too, and let his fingers play over the bumps of her spine. To say anything more risked ruining the moment, and Ron decided to simply take pleasure in the feel of her body embracing his. She would be leaving again soon – this time to Hogwarts, with Ginny. Ron glanced back at Jack in his little bed, suckling in his sleep. Enjoy this moment, he told himself, because the world can change in an instant.

End of chapter 15

End of Part III