J.K. Rowling is a genius. I’m playing with her stuff, but I promise to put it all back when I’m done. No infringement is intended.

Many thanks to Natalie/HestiaJones for her beta work



Scenes From Shell Cottage: Chapter One


They came out about ten yards from the front door of Shell Cottage. His knees hit the ground and he immediately felt her struggling in his arms. “Let me go,” she said frantically. “Don’t touch me!” Her voice was weak, but full of anger and fear.

“Hermione…” he said, trying to settle her. He held her from behind, her back against his chest, and she tried to elbow him in an effort to free herself. But she had so little strength that Ron barely felt her effort. He loosened his arms almost entirely, only spotting her so she wouldn’t fall. “Hermione.” He said her name plain and strong, willing her to come around and know him, to realize he wasn’t Lestrange or that bloody werewolf. Or would she even know what had nearly happened with Greyback? He hoped not.

She stopped moving at the sound of her name and turned her head to the side, looking for him. He came the rest of the way around, shifting to face her. “It’s me.” He tentatively put his hands on her upper arms, and this time she did not resist. She lifted her eyes and met his for the first time since Harry had said the name in the tent. “It’s just me,” he said again, his own eyes burning from what he saw in hers.

She leaned into him and tried to sit up onto her knees, but she was too weak. Her face crumpled and she gave in to the tears. “I can’t walk,” she said in a small voice.

He lifted her easily, threshold-style, and turned toward the house. Everyone was filing out now, having heard the crack that was their arrival. Bill, Fleur, Dean and Luna were there. Ron nearly collided with them in the doorway.

“Ron,” Bill said, sounding scared.

“We’re okay,” Ron told him, hoping it wasn’t a lie. “Where can she�”” he asked, looking at Fleur.

“Ze room you used at Christmas is ze most comfortable,” she said quickly. She touched a hand to Hermione’s face in an effort to help, but this made Hermione cry harder and bury her face in Ron’s sweater.

“Find Harry,” Ron told his brother as he shifted Hermione’s weight up higher, so her head rested on the top of his shoulder. “Hermione, we’re at Bill’s house,” he spoke quietly to her as he took the stairs two at a time. “It’s over.”

Then her arms wound around his neck, clutching him hard as her whole body began to shake with sobs. He reached the room, pushed the door open with his foot, and made his way over to the bed. The area was dimly lit by a small lamp on the bedside table.

“It’s over now,” he said again as he leaned down to place her on the bed. But instead of releasing him to lay down, she only clutched him tighter, giving in to a fresh batch of trembling sobs. He turned around and sat down on the bed instead, the mattress complaining loudly under both their weights. Hermione was in his lap with her head buried in his tear-soaked neck, crying harder than ever.

Something broke inside him. “I’m so sorry, Hermione,” he said. “I couldn’t get to you… we couldn’t…” Tears pressed at the back of his eyes, hard and demanding, but he set his jaw against them. “We were trapped… we tried everything,” he explained desperately, squeezing her tightly around her back and letting his face fall into her hair. She smelled like blood and shampoo. “I’m sorry…”

They remained like that for a long time, until she began to quiet down. He finally felt her release the parts of his sweater she had balled up in her fists.

“It’s over now,” he said one last time, feeling the truth and the lie of it. This most recent horror was over and they were hopefully safe here for as long as they could stay. But what would be next? Some new peril for certain, and they both knew it was a long way from over in the larger context. Still, she seemed to take comfort from the words; her body relaxed even more.

The door creaked and Ron sensed Fleur’s presence in the room, even sensed her magic falling around them. A peace he couldn’t explain covered his senses, replacing the fear and the regret. He rose from his spot and turned to lay her down again, and this time she did not resist. In fact, she didn’t even open her eyes. For one terrible moment, he thought she’d passed out, but then Fleur was explaining. “She will be fine, Ron. I’m making her rest now so she can regain her strength.” She studied Hermione for a long time and then asked quietly, “This is ze result of an Unforgivable Curse, yes?”

He nodded gravely, his eyes never leaving Hermione’s face.

“Why don’t you give me a few minutes with her, so I can get her cleaned up and comfortable?” Fleur suggested.

He nodded but his shoes might have been glued to the spot. He didn’t move. A moment later, his sister-in-law’s hands were on his arm. “Ron,” she said quietly. He looked at her then. “Your face is covered in blood. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.”

“Zen go clean yourself up so you will not frighten zis poor girl when she wakes up,” she said, but with kindness in her voice. “I will care for her until you return.”

He didn’t know if it was her personality or her magic, but her words were so comforting. He couldn’t help but believe her and trust that Hermione would be all right. He gazed at his friend for another long moment, then made his way to the door and slipped out into the hall.

J.K. Rowling is a genius. I am a writer who enjoys playing with the other kids’ toys. No infringement is intended.

The end of this chapter contains 2 lines from the chapter “Malfoy Manor” in Deathly Hallows… pages 463 and 466 in my copy.

Many thanks to Natalie for her beta work.




Scenes From Shell Cottage: Chapter Two


He closed his eyes, leaned back against the door, and breathed deeply. He loved the smell of this cottage. Even indoors, he could smell the ocean. Voices floated up to him from downstairs, probably Dean and Luna, maybe Harry. Ron opened his eyes. He was standing in an open space with a thin spiral staircase threading up through the middle of the floor and into the ceiling. One could walk all around it in a little circle, four doors in the space all together�”two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a tiny nook of a hallway that led to a small library.

Ron walked to the window seat and looked down at the ground below. In the moonlight he saw Harry, and was confused. Why wouldn’t he have come inside? There was a shovel on the ground and something else… Ron had all the pieces for a couple of seconds before it fell together in his mind. Dobby was dead. He could just make out the shape of the elf on the ground next to Harry, and a sparkle of metal in the moonlight that Ron recognized as the knife he had last seen slicing open Hermione’s neck. He cursed under his breath and leaned his forehead against the wall. Dobby had traded his life for theirs. Harry was digging now, and the sight of it made Ron sick with grief. Dobby was dead, and a knot of fear gripped Ron as he considered who on their side might be next.

He didn’t hear the creaking of the stairs or the approaching footsteps.

“Ron.”

He did not turn around to face his brother, but only said, “Dobby’s dead,” in a flat voice.

“The elf? I'm afraid so. Harry is burying him now. He was a friend?” Bill asked.

“Yeah,” Ron said. “He saved our lives tonight. Dobby was as brave as any wizard I’ve ever met.”

“I’m sorry then.”

Ron turned to face him. “What about the others?”

“Mr. Ollivander is sick and very weak. Luna needs a bit of sunshine I think, but will be fine. Dean’s all right. The goblin is not good, but Fleur thinks he will make it.”

Ron nodded blankly.

Bill’s features were full of concern. “Ron, what happened? Who did this to you? Was it You-Know-Who? Death Eaters?”

“Please don’t ask me.”

“Ron, tell me what’s going on,” he said, taking the elder brother tone. “Maybe I can help.”

“I can’t.” Ron sat down heavily in the window seat and hung his head. “You can’t, Bill.”

“How can you say that?” Bill said, frustration and anger coloring his voice. “You show up here with a dead elf and a half-dead goblin. Not to mention Hermione… I don’t know what you’ve stumbled into, but you are obviously in over your heads.”

“We’ve been in over our heads since we were twelve.”

“It’s different now. Dumbledore is gone! It was one thing when you were at Hogwarts and he was there to keep an eye on things, to help you… but now...”

“Now we look out for each other.” But even to Ron’s own ears, his words fell flat.

“Hermione was tortured, Ron! Isn’t that what happened? Because that’s what it looks like. Cruciatus?” he asked. “More than a few times, I guessing,” Bill said loudly, not noticing how Ron flinched at the words. “From the look of her, she couldn’t have taken much more!”

Bill’s words hit him like a curse, and a rage Ron didn’t recognize began to form inside his chest. “I know what happened, Bill,” he growled. “I was there.”

“Then how can you just sit there saying you can’t tell me what’s going on and you don’t need help?”

“Because I can’t!” he exploded, standing up and giving Bill a hard look. “Because Dumbledore told Harry we couldn’t involve anyone else! Are you saying we shouldn’t trust Dumbledore’s judgement? Do you have any idea how much more danger you would be in if you knew?” Tears slammed against the back of his eyes, making threats. “They would come here and grab Fleur and hurt her until you told them what we are up to. And you would tell them because you would do anything�”anything�”to make it stop. They’d kill you both without thinking twice. Do you think that would be helping us? Bill, don’t you see? They would use the family to get to us!” He winced at the thought. “We can’t tell anyone! We have to bear this ourselves. I’m not a kid anymore, Bill. I’m not tagging along; I’m part of this. We have to do it on our own, the three of us.”

“Ron,” Bill started, calmer.

But Ron was just getting started. “And how can you stand there telling me she was tortured? You think I don’t know that? I heard it! I heard every curse, every scream, every terrifying silence! It goes round and round in my head, it never shuts up.” Ron stared at his brother with pleading eyes. “You think this would have happened if there was anything I could have done to stop it? Don’t you think I would have died before letting them touch her? They didn’t care! And we couldn’t get out to help her!”

“Ron,” Bill said, closing the distance between them in two strides. “She’s okay now.”

Ron dropped into the window seat and put his head in his hands. “We couldn’t get out,” he said again, anguished.

“I’m sorry.” Bill sat down next to his brother. “I’m sorry. I was just… I was scared. We’ve been so worried about you. And then to see you like this… see how close you must have come to…” He broke off, unable to finish the thought. He put a hand on Ron’s shoulder and squeezed. “Are you all right?”

Their eyes met, and just for moment, Bill saw his baby brother, twelve-years-old.

Ron’s voice was a whisper. “They were handing her over to Greyback.” Bill flinched at the name and his face contorted in anger. “When they were done with her… they were just going to let that… that monster...” His voice broke and a tear slid down his dirty face. He didn’t bother wiping it away. “One minute later, and we would have been too late,” he said, shuddering.

Bill pulled him into a hard embrace, as Ron muttered something else about Greyback.

A few minutes passed.

Then Bill said, “She’s all right now.”

Ron nodded as he sat up, sniffing loudly.

“What about you? Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” Ron said blankly.

“I don’t know about that.” Bill put a hand up to Ron’s cheekbone. “Do you think you have a broken bone here somewhere?”

“I don’t know. Yeah, maybe.”

“I can fix it,” Bill offered, reaching in his pocket for his wand.

“Later,” Ron said, rising. “I need to clean up and get back to her.”

“Isn’t Fleur looking after her?”

Ron nodded, but still walked off in the direction of the bathroom. He turned back to face Bill before going in. “Sorry I yelled,” he said.

“S’all right,” Bill said as Ron disappeared behind the door.



***********



Fleur shot him a look as he slipped into Hermione’s room. “Nice of you to keep your voices down,” she commented.

“Sorry,” said Bill. “Did we wake her?”

“She stirred a bit. I’m not sure if she heard anything.” Her face softened. “Is it all right now between you and Ron?”

“Yeah. He’s got too much on his shoulders. They all do.” He looked down and shook his head. “And he’s right… I still think he’s fourteen years old, and he isn’t. He’s really quite capable. I’m not sure any of us give him enough credit,” he finished, referring to his family.

“He’s suffering from something else, too,” she said quietly, her eyes on the sleeping girl.

“I agree,” Bill said. “Do you think he knows it?”

“If he didn’t before tonight, he does now,” Fleur commented. “I’m going to see to ze goblin,” she added. “She’ll be fine for a bit.”

“Ron’s coming right back. I’ll stay until he gets here,” he said as Fleur let herself out.

He’d been with her only a few minutes when he heard her stirring.

“Ron?” Hermione croaked.

Bill turned to face her. “He’ll be right back. How are you feeling?”

“Bill..." Her voice was weak but clear, almost determined. He saw that she wanted to tell him something. He sat down in the chair Fleur must have pulled up for Ron, and leaned in close.

“What?”

“He begged them,” she said feebly.

“Who?”

“Ron. He begged them to take him instead of me.”

“I’m so sorry, Hermione.”

“But they wanted the Mudblood.”

He flinched at the word. “Don’t say�”“

“I want you to know. He tried to take my place… he begged them,” she said again.

Bill finally understood. She had heard some, if not all, of their shouting in the hall.

“Hermione. I know how good he is.”

“And strong,” she said, her eyes heavy.

“I know. It’s all fine now.”

“And brave,” she added, fatigue getting the best of her. Her eyes slipped shut again and her breathing became even once more.

Soon after this, Ron returned looking much better, cleaned up and rather normal-looking aside from his mangled face.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to fix that for you?” Bill asked. “Would only take a moment.”

“Not now. How is she?”

“She woke up, but only for a few minutes.”

“Did she say anything?” Ron asked, his eyes on Hermione.

“Not much… she fell right back to sleep,” Bill said. “Call if you need anything.”

Ron sat down in the chair by the bed, relaxing into it and tipping his head back. His muscles hurt. His head hurt. For the first time, he felt how tired he was.

“Except for the Mudblood,” came the voice into his mind like a knife.

He jerked upright and shook his head in an effort to clear it. But the screams were right behind, and he couldn’t stop them by simply changing positions. He turned his eyes to study Hermione. Fleur had cleaned her up, and the familiar smell of Essence of Dittany hung in the air. She was quite pale, but he couldn’t help thinking how pretty she still looked, peaceful, with her hair fanning out around her. His mind slipped into the quiet again.

“Crucio!”

He shut his eyes tight against it, but it was no use. He tried to focus on the here and now… on Harry digging outside and Hermione sleeping in the crisp white sheets in front of him. It worked for moments at a time. When it didn’t, he had no choice but to relive the most terrifying hours of his life.

J.K. Rowling is a genius. I am a writer who enjoys playing with the other kids’ toys. No infringement is intended.

Many thanks to Natalie for beta reading ~ she’s delightful.


Scenes From Shell Cottage: Chapter Three


He sat in a stuffed chair, knees bumping up against the bed where she was sleeping. Half an hour had passed since his row with Bill in the hall, and he’d calmed down considerably. His eyes moved from her pale face back to the view through the second story window. It was still dark, but Ron could make out his friend’s movements by the light of a propped-up wand on the ground below. He watched wearily as Harry shoved his foot down on the wedge of a shovel and lifted up a clump of earth, over and over again, with very slow progress indeed.

Ron’s eyes shifted unconsciously and he caught his own reflection in the window. Fear and worry tunneled lines across his brow such that he hardly recognized his own expression. When had he started looking so old? It might have been Charlie or even Bill staring back from the glass. Had it really only been hours since they’d been talking and making plans together in the tent? Death and violence had come without warning again�”a great wrecking ball through their lives, bringing devastation to bodies and hearts and minds all in a matter of hours. Minutes even. And none of it had made a bit of difference. They’d made no progress with the Horcruxes.

Hermione. He turned his attention back to the bed, and was surprised to find her brown eyes wide, watching him with focused concern.

“You’re hurt,” she said, her voice weak.

“Hermione,” he said, shifting forward so his elbows rested on his knees, leaning in close. “You’re awake.”

Her eyes roamed his face. “You’re hurt, Ron.”

Out of nowhere, a lump formed in the back of his throat and he dropped his eyes. “Bloody hell, Hermione,” he said seriously, his voice low. He looked back at her. “You think I’m hurt?”

“What happened to you?” she asked, brow wrinkled as she tried to remember.

He tried a grin and leaned even closer. “Well. You won’t believe this, but I sometimes say the wrong thing. Seems my mouth got me in a spot of trouble.”

He saw the corners of her lips playing with a smile as she tried to sit up. But the effort brought a fair amount of pain and a heavy fog pushing against her mind. She slunk back down and closed her eyes.

He put his hand on hers. “Don’t. Just rest.”

“What is this strange magic?”

“Weird Veela stuff,” he explained. “Fleur’s been taking care of you. How do you feel?”

“Weak,” she said. “Like… like my bones are ringing.”

There was a soft knock and the door creaked open. Hermione saw that it was Dean and closed her eyes, remembering now that she had seen Dean and Luna for a moment when they were coming inside. She wondered how they had come to be here. Had they been at the Malfoy’s, or here the whole time? Slowly it came to her that Dean had been tied up with them… but what about Luna? Her presence didn’t make sense, but Hermione was more than relieved to know she was all right.

She opened her eyes to see Dean whispering something to Ron. Then came Ron’s soft reply, “I know… just give me a minute?” Dean nodded and gave Hermione an encouraging look before slipping out, closing the door behind him.

“Where’s Harry?” she wanted to know.

“He’s… outside,” Ron replied uncomfortably.

“Isn’t it still night?”

“It’ll be light in a couple of hours.”

She fought the spell-induced clouds in her mind, pushed herself up a little on the pillow and searched her friend’s face. Fear rolled itself into a hard knot and settled in the bottom of her stomach.

“There’s something you’re not telling me. What’s wrong?” He dropped his eyes. “I want to know everything, Ron. Everything that happened at the Malfoy’s, everything from the time they separated us and…” she trailed off, unable to finish. “How did we get out of there?” she asked in a small voice.

He moved his thumb back and forth on the back of her hand and looked at her again. “Listen. I know you want to know everything, and I promise to tell you every detail. But right now I’m going to give you the short version.” He saw on her face that she didn’t care for this response, but she didn’t interrupt. “Dobby saved us, Hermione. I don’t know how he knew to come… I don’t think Harry knows either… but he did, and he saved all of us.” His expression was grave. “No kidding�”Dobby shows up in that living room one minute later, all three of us are dead right now.”

She held his eyes, letting this sink in. Then she said, “Dobby,” with a rush of affection for the little elf.

“Yeah.”

Their eyes were full of each other, and Ron didn’t want to break the spell.

“There’s something else,” he finally managed.

Her small smile faded at his expression, but she did not ask.

“Hermione,” he said softly, leaning in, still holding her hand. “Dobby…” He tried to get some words around the lump in his throat. “Dobby didn’t make it.”

“What?” her voice was a sharp whisper, not understanding. “How?”

“Bellatrix,” he said, unable to keep the hatred from his voice. “She threw a knife as we Disapparated.”

She slid her hand out from under his and put both of hers up to her face. “No,” she cried softly. “Oh, Dobby.” A tear slipped down her cheek. “He only ever wanted to help…”

She squeezed her eyes tight as tears fell one after the other. Ron didn’t know what to do to comfort her, so he just sat there. He felt like bawling himself, hard and unrestrained. It had been too much this time�”everything. Even as he’d been sitting here waiting for her to wake up, there were moments he’d felt like he couldn’t breathe. When it was quiet, he alternately heard the curses and the screaming echoing around inside his head. He wondered if there would ever be a time when he wouldn’t hear it, when it wouldn’t be the soundtrack of his mind, as it was now. But she was here. She was whole, or at least seemed to be. When he and Harry had burst into the drawing room, he’d feared she was dead already… and again when the chandelier fell… and somehow he had managed to act even though his legs had been like lead with the fear of what he would see when he looked at her face. Was she gone? Would her eyes stare without seeing, at something beyond him? And when they’d arrived here at Bill’s, he’d been reluctant to hear her speak. Would she be herself? How long had Neville’s parents endured before their minds came down like great buildings brought to wreckage? But she was here, crying softly for their lost friend. She had made it. Somehow all three of them had cheated death once again.

He felt her hand back on his, and he grabbed hold.

“Poor Harry,” Hermione sniffed. “How is he?”

“He’s taking it hard,” he told her.

She looked at him with a question.

“He’s digging a grave.” Their eyes held and she understood everything.

“Without magic?” she whispered.

“Without magic,” he confirmed.

Hermione could so easily imagine Harry doing this, a last gift of love for Dobby.

“He’s been out there for a while now.” Ron released her hand and leaned over to peer out the window again. “I think he’s needed to do some of it himself. You know how he’s got to work stuff out on his own a bit, but now I think…”

“Go,” she said tearfully.

He turned back to her. “Are you sure?” he asked, not wanting to leave her, but knowing what he needed to do. “I mean, I think so too, but--”

“He needs you,” she insisted with more strength in her voice. “Go.”

He stood up to leave, lifting his hand to her face for a moment. He wiped the tears off one cheek with his thumb and left his hand there, looking at her with more tenderness and transparency than he ever had. It was too intimate for the friendship they had shared before now, but he didn’t care anymore. He didn’t care if she saw his whole heart stripped bare right here in this room, and if she knew everything he felt for her. He’d planned to wait until it was all over, until they had some hope of something resembling a normal life ahead of them. When Voldemort was finished for good, and all was well. Then he would tell her, or maybe just kiss her really good, as he had wanted to do for years.

And then today happened; she was screaming, a breath away from the Killing Curse or worse. He had almost lost her, and now everything inside him was rearranged. The plan to wait made no sense at all to him now. She would have died without knowing. And danger awaited them again when they left here, large and deadly and demanding payment. He had known from the beginning that standing with Harry might mean death, and he was willing to pay that price if necessary. He knew she was, too. But he could no longer bear the thought of Hermione or himself going to the grave without the truth being known between them. Her screams had shaken him awake to that much. Soon, he would tell her. For now, he would touch her face and look at her however he bloody-well pleased because something in him really needed it. And if she figured it out on her own, well that would save him the trouble of finding the words.

To his relief, she didn’t seem to mind him crossing this line. Her eyes held his, asking him questions. Then she brushed her hand over his as he lifted it from her face and turned toward the door.

“I’ll be back in a bit,” he promised, then left to find a shovel.

J.K. Rowling is a genius. I am a writer who enjoys playing with the other kids' toys. No infringement is intended.

Thanks so much to Natalie/HestiaJones for beta reading.



Scenes From Shell Cottage ~ Chapter Four


“Fleur says you should all wash up and come to the table,” Bill said, poking his head into the living room to make the announcement. He turned to go back and help his wife, but suddenly spun to face them again. “Oh yeah, and she says not to wake Hermione under any circumstances.”

Dean, Harry and Ron all looked toward the end of the sofa, where Hermione had been sleeping since right after lunch. As if she hadn’t been through enough physically, it had been a long, emotional morning, too. They had buried Dobby, met with Griphook and Mr. Ollivander, and debriefed everything with Harry in the yard. Then she and Ron had gone a few more rounds over the issue of the Elder Wand, now in Voldemort’s possession. She felt strongly that Harry had made the right decision; Ron thought it was crazy to let Voldemort have it when they might have been able to prevent it.

During lunch, she had grown increasingly quiet and, to Ron’s eyes, a bit pale. He’d tried to persuade her to go upstairs to bed for a real nap, as Luna had, but she’d refused, insisting she was fine. She had listened to some conversation about Quidditch, and how much the boys all missed it, for about fifteen minutes before her head drooped into the corner of the sofa and she was down for the count. Harry had tossed Ron a blanket from the back of his chair and Ron had draped it over her. That was hours ago. Chess had been played, and the others had slept a bit as well, trying to make up for being up all night and the general emotional exhaustion they were all experiencing.

As the friends now made their way toward the dining area, Harry looked back at Hermione’s sleeping form. “She’s not going to be happy about being late for dinner.”

“And you know it won’t be Fleur getting the blame for it either,” Ron said.

They sat down around the table, Luna joining them as they settled into chairs. Dean, Harry, and Luna sat on one long side, with Bill and Fleur on either end, and Ron occupying one side by himself. There was an empty chair beside him, presumably for Hermione, if she joined them. Fleur’s seat was vacant at the moment, as she was scurrying around with last minute details. Ron asked if she needed any help, and she called back that she was all right.

“Hermione must be exhausted,” Bill commented.

“I reckon,” said Harry.

“Fleur, you should really let us wake her up,” called Ron. “She’ll kill us for making her late to the table.”

Fleur came in carrying several items. “It’s good to see you are thinking of her well being rather than your own, Ron,” she said good-naturedly.

“You don’t know what she’s like when she’s furious,” Ron added, half-smiling in return, and glancing at Harry for support.

“’Suppose she does have a bit of a temper,” Harry offered.

“Unlike my baby brother here, who never raises his voice or says a cross word to anyone.” Bill was grinning at Ron, who looked sheepish.

Fleur took two trays upstairs while the friends chatted easily around the table. Fleur was coming back into the room when the conversation took an abrupt turn.

“What’s the matter with your face?” a serene voice asked.

Everyone looked Luna’s way to determine whose face was being condemned. She was watching Ron as though she found him quite interesting. The others followed her gaze.

“What?” he wanted to know.

“Your face,” Luna said again, eyes wide.

“Oh, yeah. I think there's something broken in here,” he said, brushing his cheekbone. “It’s all right.”

“I can fix it,” she offered.

“I already offered to fix it,” Bill interjected. “Twice. Ron’s stalling.”

“I offered, too,” said Harry. “I assumed he thought I would have a little too much fun with that project.”

Ron gave him a dour look.

“I fixed my father’s nose once,” said Luna dreamily to general disinterest.

The matter dropped for the time being, as Fleur served everyone bowls of steaming stew and Bill placed the side dishes in the middle of the table. Ron looked as if he’d just been handed the Quidditch Cup. After living on fish and mushrooms for so long, this was a grand feast indeed. Even Harry, who rarely complained about the food they’d had to manage on these past weeks, could not deny his mouth was watering. They began to eat, and the conversation turned to general news. Dean talked a bit about his time in hiding before he hooked up with the others, and then Harry filled Luna in on their visit to her house, leaving out all the pertinent information, of course.

“We saw the mural on your ceiling, Luna�”it’s brilliant,” Harry finished.

“Yeah, it really is,” added Ron sincerely.

By the expression on her face, Luna may or may not have heard them. She was stirring her stew with a look of keen curiosity. Ron and Harry looked at one another, stifling grins.

A moment later, Luna’s eyes were rounder than usual. “Speaking of news, I must be the last to know yours, Ron.”

Ron pulled a face in Harry’s general direction, careful not to be noticed by Luna. Harry shrugged, indicating he had no idea. Ron swallowed another mouthful of bread, hoping the conversation would die a natural death. No such luck.

“What news, Ron?” Bill asked with interest.

Ron had opened his mouth to say he had no news of any kind when it happened.

Luna looked at Bill and said simply, “Ron is in love with Hermione.”

Ron’s spoon stopped in mid-air, hovering halfway between his bowl and his mouth. For a split second, no one moved and Ron wondered if it might not have really happened. But then several things occurred at once, and he knew it was unfortunately quite real. Bill, who was new to Luna, could not keep from laughing in shock despite an admirable attempt to reign it in. Harry choked on his drink and was unable to sort himself out for several minutes. Dean busied himself thumping Harry on the back and asking if he was all right. Fleur excused herself and headed toward the stove, trying unsuccessfully to hide a satisfied grin behind her blonde locks. As for Ron, he nearly broke his neck checking to make sure Hermione had not been walking into the room when this pronouncement had come forth. Once he knew the coast was clear, he turned to Luna with an incredulous look. “Luna!”

“Didn’t everyone else already know?” she asked curiously.

Harry, still recovering, managed to croak, “Um, not exactly, Luna.”

“Harry!” Ron said desperately, knowing his friend had just confirmed the truth to everyone in the room.

“What?”

“It was perfectly obvious at the Malfoy’s, Ron,” Luna said easily. “Doesn’t everyone else agree?”

Ron, whose face increasingly resembled the color of the Gryffindor common room, looked at Dean to see if he agreed with her conclusion. Dean checked on Harry again, and looked disappointed there would be no more choking to require his help.

“At first, I was quite surprised.” Luna, unbelievably, was still talking. “You two always seem to be bickering about something, don’t you?” Then she spread a little butter on a piece of bread and took a bite, chewing slowly. When she finished, she concluded, “But the more I think about it, the nicer it is.”

Ron looked helplessly at Harry, who was torn between sympathy and the need to laugh.

They heard a scuffle toward the living area and all heads turned to see Hermione in the doorway with a sleepy and embarrassed look on her face. If possible, Ron grew even redder.

“Oh, hello, Hermione,” Luna said brightly. “Did you have a nice rest?”

Hermione ignored her and addressed their hostess. “I’m so sorry, Fleur. You must think me terribly rude. I don’t know why no one woke me up,” she said, shooting both Ron and Harry menacing looks.

“Don’t be silly. I insisted everyone let you rest as long as you were able. How are you feeling?”

“Much better actually,” she said, sounding more like herself than she had since they had arrived. “I’ll wash and be right back.”

Fleur nodded and Hermione disappeared briefly. While she was gone, Harry whispered furiously to Luna, telling her that Hermione didn’t know and to please not mention anything more about it. Ron didn’t know the content of what was shared, but he guessed correctly and gave Harry a grateful look.

Everyone was quite busy with their food when Hermione reentered and took the seat next to Ron, who visibly stiffened. The tense atmosphere did not escape Hermione’s notice. She looked across the table at Harry but couldn’t seem to catch his eye. In fact, she had a difficult time catching anyone’s eye at all. To break the silence, she finally asked Fleur how Mr. Ollivander and the goblin were doing, and then the conversation seemed to right itself.

When the meal was over, Harry and Bill cleared the table and Fleur served tea and some delicious tarts. Hermione turned to look at Ron, who had been unnervingly quiet through the entire meal. “Everything all right?” she asked.

“What?” he said, startled. “Oh. Yeah. All right.”

She thought he was acting quite strangely, but let it go when she noticed something else. “You still haven’t let anyone fix your face, have you?” she wanted to know.

“Er, uh…”

“You haven’t. Doesn’t it hurt?”

“Some. Not too bad.”

“Well, you can’t just leave it like that. You look ridiculous.”

Dean stifled a laugh, and Harry was visibly struggling.

“I offered to fix it, too,” said Luna. “And Bill. And Harry.”

Hermione thought this over. “Oh, honestly, Ron, don’t be a baby. It’s only going to hurt for a second,” she said, picking up her wand from the table.

“Whoa,” Ron said, coming alive. “You’ve not had much practice with that.”

“You don’t trust me?” she asked, insulted. “How many times have I stitched you up in the last several months?”

Harry noticed that Bill reacted to this information with a concerned face in Ron’s direction.

“This isn’t the same,” Ron was saying. “It isn’t a flesh wound. This is bone�”my face.”

“Are you quite finished?”

Ron looked first to his brother, then to Harry, for help. Bill shook his head, smiling.

Harry said, “You do look a mess, mate. Better get it over with. It won’t be so bad.”

"Dad screamed when I did his nose,” Luna said helpfully.

Ron winced. “Just do it then.” He shrunk down, closing his eyes in anticipation of the pain.

Hermione needed no further encouragement. With a quick swish of her wand, she said firmly, “Episkey!”

Ron cried out, clutching the side of his face. Unfortunately the pain was neither little nor quick, for he continued to moan and complain loudly for several moments. When Hermione finally pulled his hands down to see the results, there was a collective gasp around the table. She had not righted the break at all, and now his ear on that side hung down awkwardly. Her hand flew to her mouth and she cried, “Oh, no!”

“Oh, no?” Ron repeated, alarmed. “What? What happened? Blimey, it hurts!”

“Try again, Hermione,” coaxed Harry, surprised at this turn of events. Hermione did not often make this kind of mistake. “Concentrate.”

Ron looked positively fearful as she swished and flicked, saying again, “Episkey!” If possible, the problem grew even worse. Now Ron was yelling in pain and clutching both sides of his face. “Hermione!” he growled angrily, overtaken by agony.

“What’s going on?” Harry asked her anxiously.

Tears pooled in her eyes as she turned desperately to the others. “Someone else do it�”hurry! I don’t know what’s wrong.”

Bill quickly performed the same healing charm, and this time, it worked. No one said anything except Hermione, who was sniffing a lot and apologizing. Harry and Dean told her not to worry about it�”that the new wand would take a little getting used to. But her expression remained woeful, and Harry knew she would not feel better until Ron reassured her himself. Which, for some reason, he didn’t. He only rubbed his jaw in silence, recovering for a few minutes before excusing himself and going outside, his expression unreadable.

Knowing Hermione was about to burst into tears, Harry abruptly thanked Fleur for the delicious meal and wondered aloud if anyone felt like playing chess. Bill and Dean decided to play first, and Luna went to help Fleur with the cleanup. Hermione slipped upstairs to the room she shared with Luna, Harry following a few minutes later.

The door was open a couple of inches, so Harry pushed it the rest of the way. She was at the window, looking down toward Dobby’s grave, crying.

“Hermione, it’s really not that bad.”

She turned at his voice. “Not that bad? Harry, what’s going on? What’s wrong with me? I should have been able to do that! Do you think it’s the wand? Or do you think after what happened to me… maybe something’s gone wrong in my head…you know, Neville’s parents…” she trailed off, obviously terrified of this possibility.

He walked over to her and put his hands on her shoulders. “Hermione. Nothing is wrong with you. You heard what Ollivander said. You didn’t take this wand by force; you didn’t win it. You’ll just have to practice a bit and I know you’ll get the hang of it.”

She looked unsure, but he could see she wanted to believe him.

“There’s nothing wrong with your ability. I had a hard time adjusting to your wand at first, too, remember? You’ll be just as good once you teach this wand who its new master is.”

She nodded, hoping he was right. She wiped her eyes and gave him a hug. “Thanks.”

When they embraced, Harry had a view out the window, and realized Hermione had likely not been looking at Dobby’s grave after all. Ron was leaning on the stone wall just beyond the garden, staring out at the sea.

She released him and followed his eyes. The vulnerable look returned to her face. “He’s angry,” she said quietly. “I don’t blame him. I would never have done it if I’d thought for a moment…”

“He knows that. I think he’s just embarrassed. Luna was being kind of… well, Luna, before you came in. There were some awkward moments. You noticed how quiet he was even before you tried the spell.”

“I suppose.”

“He’ll be all right. You know he can never stay mad at you for long,” he grinned.

“You said you didn't think he was mad at me.”

“Right," he covered up quickly. "I just meant… you know, if he was...”

A few minutes later, they descended the stairs together, Harry to join the others, Hermione to slip outside with Fleur’s shawl wrapped around her shoulders.

J.K. Rowling is a genius. I just enjoy playing with the other kids’ toys. No infringement is intended.

Thanks to Natalie for all her helpful beta work on this.


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Scenes From Shell Cottage ~ Chapter Five


He heard the front door closing in the distance behind him, and a few moments later the swish of her footsteps approaching through the grass. He wanted her to come and stand with him, share the view... maybe close enough for her arm to rest against his as they stood together. Instead, she stopped a few steps behind him, hesitating for several moments before speaking.

“Ron, I’m so sorry. Are you all right?”

He turned and saw her face twisted up in nerves and emotion. “Sorry?” he repeated. “What for?”

She wrinkled her nose in confusion and took the remaining steps forward to join him at the sea wall. She stood on his right, turned slightly toward him. “For insisting I set that bone right and then doing a bloody awful job of it, for starters. And for causing you so much pain. I’m really sorry. I never would have pushed if I’d thought for a moment that I wouldn’t be able--”

“I know that,” he said simply, glancing at her.

“You do?”

“Sure.”

“Oh,” she said, watching him. His expression was not what she had been expecting. In spite of the way he’d walked out of the house so abruptly, he didn’t seem angry at all. She studied his profile. He was something, though. She just couldn’t put her finger on it.

“Is it all right now?” she asked him.

“I think. It doesn’t hurt anymore.” He turned his head to her for inspection, giving her a little grin. “You tell me… do I still look ridiculous?”

Her eyes followed the line of his jaw, then across the place that had been broken, and finally, upward to his eyes. She felt the color rising in her cheeks despite the breeze coming off the water. “No,” she stammered. “Back to normal, I think.” Their eyes held, and she wondered for the hundredth time what it would feel like to have his lips on hers. Not just the physical sensation, but what it would feel like to know he had wanted to kiss her enough to actually do it.

She turned and faced the water, breaking eye contact. “It’s truly amazing here, isn’t it?”

He followed her lead and took in the view. “It is. It’s the most amazing place I know.”

“Including your house?” she asked, surprised.

“I think so, yeah.” He glanced at her. “Why?”

“I just love your house. It’s hard to think of anything comparing to it.”

“Really? Why?”

“You don’t think it’s a special place?”

“Well, yeah, but I live there, you know?” he said with a grin.

“I don’t know what it is precisely,” she said, feeling only a little guilty for this small lie. “But I think I’m more content there than anywhere else, even Hogwarts. It’s peaceful.”

“Peaceful?” Ron laughed. “It’s about as quiet as a greenhouse full of second-years repotting Mandrakes.”

She laughed along with him. “Not quiet�”peaceful. I suppose I find your family very comforting.”

They looked at one another for a long moment.

“I’m glad,” Ron said, tearing his eyes away and facing the water again.

Flustered, Hermione looked away too, and several minutes passed without either of them saying anything at all.

Finally she broke the silence. “Why did you leave? Something was bothering you all through dinner.”

He glanced down at his hands, thinking.

“Harry told me about Luna,” she added. “That must have been uncomfortable.”

His head jerked up. “What?” he asked nervously. “What did he say?”

“Just that Luna was being Luna and making the conversation uncomfortable… why, what did she say?”

“Nothing,” he said too quickly, looking away again. “Just… you know how she is.”

“Yes,” Hermione said, though she was extremely curious now. She decided not to press it for the moment, but got back to the point. “Look, I know you left because of what I did, Ron. I could tell. I know you.”

He didn’t deny it. “It’s not what you think.”

“What then?”

“I wasn’t mad�”I just lost it for a second. Sorry about that.”

“It's all right. I deserved it.”

He looked at her. “No, you didn’t. You were only trying to help.” He turned his eyes out in front of him again as a hard line formed along his jaw. “It’s that bloody wand,” he said in a darker tone.

“The wand? That’s what you were upset about?” She turned this over in her mind a couple of times. “Does that mean you don’t think I was the problem?”

Her question pulled him out of his thoughts and drew his eyes back to hers. “What do you mean? You know the spell.”

“Yes, but what if, after what happened to me… you know,” she paused, pulling the shawl tighter around herself and looking down at the pattern of the stones that formed the top of the wall. “What if it affected something in me… in my head, or in my ability to perform magic the way I could before…”

“Stop it,” he said in a strong voice, turning his whole body sideways to face her. “How can you even think that?”

“Because I should have been able to fix that break so easily! And no one really knows what the long term effects are of repeated exposure to--”

“Don’t say it,” he said quietly, closing his eyes.

“Not saying it doesn’t change anything, Ron.”

“I know. I just… I think it’s the wand,” he insisted. “Have you considered what that wand did for its final act before it became yours? Hermione, you were the victim, not the one who cast the bloody curse.” He hadn’t meant to sound angry�”certainly not at her�”but he must have done so. Tears were now glistening in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“No, I’m sorry.” She wiped her wet cheeks with the edges of the shawl. “I’ve been crying on you all day. I’m a bloody mess.”

“Don’t,” he said, putting his hand on her shoulder and squeezing. “Don’t be sorry for that, Hermione.”

She hesitated only a moment before walking into him and putting her arms around his middle. He responded immediately, hugging her back and resting his chin on her head. She buried her face in his sweater and breathed him in. The comfort that came from being in his arms grew large inside her until it completely stamped out the brief humiliation she’d felt in initiating the embrace. She hated how needy she was, hated it more than she could have expressed. Everything was different now�”after. She didn’t feel like her old self. She didn’t feel strong anymore. Even here in the safety of this place, with friends she knew would protect her fiercely if necessary, she could not shake a constant feeling of fear and anxiety. She’d slept the afternoon away on the couch because something in her desperately needed to be near everyone else, especially Ron and Harry. And now to discover she couldn’t even trust her own magic? What would be taken away next? Or rather, who? She could not allow her mind to consider it.

Ron loved holding her. He wondered sadly if he would ever get to hold her just for the joy of it, when they were both happy and smiling, or if these opportunities would be limited to moments when it felt the world itself could break apart at any moment.

She pushed back from him and withdrew her arms to wipe away the tears from her face. He lowered his as well, albeit reluctantly.

“I hate being like this,” she said quietly. “I feel so different now.”

“Different?”

“Scared. Emotional.”

“Right,” he said softly. “It’s so unlike you to be emotional.”

She glanced back up at his eyes to see if he was making fun of her. But there was only a gentle, teasing kindness there.

She smiled, acknowledging his point. “You must admit I’m not usually this bad.”

“I know.”

“I’m not much of a Gryffindor today.”

He looked at her hard. “You’ve never been more a Gryffindor than you were today, Hermione. Honestly, I would be much more worried about you if you weren’t crying. It only makes sense for you to feel scared and emotional about it. Besides… bravery happens in spite of fear, not in the absence of it.”

She saw in his eyes how deeply he believed it�”that she was somehow brave in the middle of all these tears. The thought strengthened her; it made her wonder if Ron believing it might just be enough until she could believe it herself. The breeze off the water seemed to pick up a bit and Hermione shivered, once more pulling the shawl tighter around her shoulders.

“So you think it’s the wand then,” she said to move the subject away from her current desperate state. “So does Harry.”

“Does he?” Ron said, interested.

“He says I just need to practice until it knows it has to do my bidding. I don’t know though.”

“No, that makes sense,” he said, mulling it over. “It goes along with what Ollivander told us about how they pass from one wizard to another.”

“What if he’s wrong?”

“Ollivander? Wrong about wands?”

“No�”Harry. Wrong about this specific situation. Because I don’t think this really fits into any known understanding. How often does someone have to take ownership of a wand that was hours-earlier quite busy trying to torture her to death?”

He winced.

“I’m serious, Ron. What if practicing isn’t enough?”

The vulnerability in her expression mirrored the fears he had been chewing on before she’d come outside. He turned away and faced the water.

“What?” She leaned onto the wall, trying to see his face better in order to read it.

“I didn’t leave because I was angry with you, Hermione. I left because I couldn’t handle the possibility that you may not have a proper wand.”

When she didn’t comment, he turned to meet her eyes briefly before returning his own to the waves crashing against the rocks. He shook his head, trying to make sense of it. “I mean, who would have thought this wand stuff would end up being such a big deal? But here we are, and the only wand we have for you seems hell-bent on destruction and is possibly even antagonistic toward you�”at least right now. Not to mention the fact that You-Know-Who now has the one wand that is supposedly unbeatable.”

She swallowed, some of the tension built up by his words slipping away. “Not the Elder Wand again,” she sighed.

“Hermione,” he said, facing her with a harder expression than he intended. “Even if we are successful in getting the rest of the Horcruxes and destroying them… Harry has still got to face him in the end.” His eyes searched hers desperately. “Don’t you see? What do you think is going to happen then? If You-Know-Who has the Deathstick, the wand that beats all others? How can Harry…” Ron broke off, unable to finish the thought.

“But he would have had to break into Professor Dumbledore’s grave, Ron! How could you want that for him when you know how it would damage him to do it?”

“He’s already damaged,” Ron said grimly. “It’s better than dead.”

She had no answer for that.

“I just…” His voice broke, and he turned away again, leaving her with only his profile. She noticed his jaw working to keep his emotions in check. He finally continued. “I couldn’t handle it, Hermione. If after everything, Harry were to… I just don’t think I could come back from it.”

“Ron,” Hermione said gently, placing both of her hands around his arm and leaning into him from the side.

“I’m not naïve,” he told her. “I knew when we agreed to do this that any one of us, or even all of us, might die for it. But now that it’s here… now that I realize I really could lose one of you… I don’t think I can.”

“I know. I feel the same way, absolutely.”

He searched her eyes. She did understand.

She squeezed his arm again. “We’re not going to lose Harry.”

“Do you really believe that? What about the wand?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted, “about the wand. But I have to believe there’s a way, or I wouldn’t be able to take another step. I have to believe we will all make it, or I wouldn’t have the strength to do this.”

The wind caught her hair just right and lifted it away from her neck, exposing the ugly wound left by Bellatrix’s knife. He looked at it and saw again in his mind the moment it had happened. Hermione realized what he was staring at and dropped her chin self-consciously.

“I’m sorry,” he said, cursing himself inwardly.

“It’s all right. I suppose I’ll be wearing my hair down for the rest of my life,” she said darkly. “There’s bound to be an awful scar.”

“Even if there is, no one will notice it.”

She made a sound indicating her profound disagreement with this sentiment.

“People will be looking at your face,” he told her, and his voice held something of a compliment in it, though it technically remained unspoken. She felt warm under the sudden boldness of his gaze as his eyes roamed her face, taking her in. Suddenly, she realized how close they were. She had not removed her hands from his arm, so they were sort of nuzzled side by side, facing the water, touching from shoulders to hips. He’d turned slightly toward her and they held each others eyes, the air around them coming alive.

Ron grew quite nervous very quickly. They had only been talking, and then in a flash they were caught up in that familiar tension they knew so well. It had been happening for years when they made eye contact just so, or when they found themselves too close while going through a doorway. It was this attraction between them that they had always silently agreed to ignore… though Ron found it increasingly difficult, particularly since Hermione’s arrival at The Burrow before the wedding. Not that it had ever mattered�”nothing would have happened in those moments because Harry was usually there, too.

But this was different. They were perfectly alone in the most romantic atmosphere either of them could possibly imagine. The moonlight, the stars, the waves crashing kindly against the rocks... surely it was all a conspiracy to force them to kiss as they stood here at the sea wall looking into each other’s eyes. Ron wanted to do it more than anything, but something held him back. She looked beautiful and vulnerable, and honestly, she looked like she wanted him to do it. But would it be wrong to kiss her now when she’d only just told him how emotional and needy and overwhelmed she was? He didn’t know, and he did not want to make a mistake.

She tried to shove all of her heart into her eyes, so he would know. She saw the wheels of his mind turning and silently willed him to quit thinking so much and just do what they both wanted him to do. As if in response, his eyes dropped to her mouth and she involuntarily took in a shuddery breath. He dipped his head down toward her and she lifted her chin slightly…

There was a sudden bang behind them, the cottage door slamming shut. Both startled, Hermione slipped her hands from his arm, and Ron felt the cold for the first time all night. They turned toward the cottage and saw Harry walking toward them. Ron watched in supreme frustration as his friend ambled across the lawn, oblivious to his crime. What unbelievable timing, the git. Ron could almost imagine his hands around Harry’s scrawny throat�”ironic, considering he had only moments before been choked up at the thought of his friend’s demise.

Hermione gathered the shawl tighter once again and glanced up at Ron. He met her eyes, giving her a small smile as if nothing had happened. As Harry drew nearer to Dobby’s grave, she said, “Hi, Harry,” with her eyes still on Ron.

Harry jerked back and drew his wand in an instant. He had obviously not seen them.

Ron turned to face him, leaning back on the wall. “Jumpy, are we?”

Harry let his breath out in a whoosh. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you were still out here.”

“We were just discussing my wand problem,” Hermione said.

“Right then. What do you think?” Harry asked Ron with interest.

And so they began to talk it over again in earnest, agreeing that until they had reason to think otherwise, it was best to assume practice would yield better results. Starting in the morning, their first priority would be to help Hermione get that wand under control. They had nothing to do until they received an answer from Griphook anyway, and even if the goblin agreed, there would be time for more practice as they made their plans.

As for Ron and Hermione, the moment was gone, and after a while they all went back inside to join the others. Over the next few days, Ron half-expected her to initiate a conversation about what had happened, but she had clearly decided to let it go. In his darker moments, he worried that she now deemed the would-be kiss a mistake and was greatly relieved that Harry had interrupted them. He obviously hoped this was not the case, but had no way of knowing as they had easily slipped back into their normal routine as friends. Even so, Ron had not forgotten how she’d looked when he’d pulled her from the wreckage of the fallen chandelier, nor had his resolve to tell her how he felt weakened in the slightest. He might have missed the opportunity for a romantic kiss in the moonlight, but the more he thought about it, words might be the best way to go. Because if anyone loved words, it was certainly Hermione.



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End Notes: These first five chapters all are set on the day of their arrival at Shell Cottage. My best guess from DH is that the trio remained there recovering and planning the Gringotts break-in for a few weeks. That time passes right here, before chapter six, which occurs on their last night at Bill & Fleur’s. Thanks so much to all of you for reading, and especially reviewing. Chapter six coming soon, followed by a concluding chapter seven, which will rejoin us with JKR’s text as the trio head out for Gringotts.

J.K. Rowling is a genius. Nothing here is mine. I just enjoy playing with the other kids’ toys. No infringement is intended.

Thanks to Natalie for her beta work.

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Scenes From Shell Cottage ~ Chapter Six


Ron sat in the window seat where he and Bill had argued the morning they’d first arrived here. He glanced around the small circular landing. It was dark except for a thin line of light coming from under the bathroom door, and the light of the moon coming in through the window. When he and Harry had parted from Hermione an hour ago, she’d said she was going to finish packing and take a shower before bed. He hoped she was the one in the bathroom now, or he was going to have some explaining to do when someone else found him out here waiting.

Dean and Harry were sleeping down in the living room; the house was quiet. Nothing like waiting until the last minute, he congratulated himself. He and Harry were to meet Hermione and Griphook outside in a matter of hours to put the Gringotts plan into action. He’d had a hundred opportunities to talk to her, not to mention the botched kiss attempt on their first night here, but every time they had either been interrupted, or he’d lost his nerve at the crucial moment. Not tonight though�”this was it. In fact, if Luna was the one to walk out of that bathroom, he was going to pluck up his courage and ask her to go wake Hermione because he really needed to talk to her.

Fortunately, this back-up plan proved unnecessary. He heard the click and creak of the bathroom door, saw the white line at the bottom go dark, and then she was walking barefoot the short distance to the bedroom door.

“Hermione,” he whispered, standing.

She jumped, startled. “Ron,” she breathed, meeting him half-way between her room and window. “You scared me to death. Why are you hiding in the shadows?”

“I’m not. I was waiting for you.”

“I thought you’d gone to bed. Is anything wrong?”

“No,” he said nervously, putting his hands in his pockets.

She hesitated, studying his expression. “Did you want to talk about something?”

"Uh, well," he began. He took a deep breath, in and out. “Yeah. I know it’s late.”

“It’s all right. I won't be able to sleep anyway. Suppose I'm a bit wound up about tomorrow,” she confessed. “Are you?”

“Yeah,” he answered. “That too.”

“Too?”

Surely she already knew. She'd been there when they had almost kissed, after all, and truthfully, he hadn’t consciously hidden his feelings in ages. Except maybe at dinner that night when he'd feared she would find out from Luna. Their eyes were locked, Hermione scrutinizing him as if preparing for an exam, and Ron just enjoying the view. He felt suddenly calmer, more capable.

He took her by the arm and guided her to a spot next to the window, a little hallway about the size of a kitchen table at the end of which was the door to a small library. Ron pulled that door closed, and they stood close together in the little hall. It was near enough to the window that light spilled in from the moon, illuminating them so they could see one another.

“I don’t want to wake anyone,” he explained.

“Is there going to be yelling?” she quipped, an eyebrow raised.

He laughed softly. “I hope not.”

The house was utterly peaceful. The only sounds Ron heard were Dean’s snores from down below and the waves outside. He wished for a moment he had the nerve to just kiss her right now, and skip the explanations. That would definitely suit him better. But she deserved to know everything, didn’t she? Besides, considering how Hermione loved words and answers and information and explanations, it would likely go better this way. The question was, where to begin?

“Is it something to do with Harry?” she asked.

He had not expected that. “Harry?” he said crossly, folding his arms in irritation. “Now why would you automatically assume this is something to do with Harry?”

“Because,” she said, surprised by his reaction. “Because nearly every time one of us pulls the other aside in a dark corner like this mere hours before we are about to embark on some elaborate plan such as breaking into Gringotts, it’s because we want to discuss Harry without him knowing about it,” she informed him.

“Oh.” Of course, she was right. “Right, then.” His expression softened and he dropped his arms to his sides. “No, it’s not about Harry.” He gave her a pointed look. “And it’s important you understand that�”it’s not about Harry at all, okay? It’s just about you and me.”

She was taken aback. “Oh.”

Ron thought she looked suddenly worried and wished he had not said that last bit. Brilliant. He was screwing it up already and he hadn’t even started. He raked a hand through his hair, trying to think where to start.

“You’re making me nervous,” she said in a small voice.

“Sorry,” he said awkwardly.

“Just tell me.”

He looked at her. She had on the Muggle pajamas�”purple plaid bottoms and a long-sleeved grey t-shirt�”that she wore most nights in the tent, and no make-up. Her hair was still a bit wet from the shower and fell in ringlets around her shoulders. He remembered how incredible she had looked the night of the wedding, all done up and perfect. He had not been able to take his eyes off of her. But somehow he thought she looked even prettier right now, fresh and uncertain, looking at him with nervous expectation.

“You almost died.” The whispered words flew out of their own accord�”not at all what he had wanted to say. “I mean,” he hastened to add, “at the Malfoy’s.”

She glanced down at her bare feet for a moment before responding. “I thought you said we all almost died.”

“We did, but you…” His voice was pained.

“I know.”

He saw from her expression that she understood. “Hermione, I need to tell you something. Probably I should have told you before, maybe after Dumbledore died… I don’t know. But knowing what we were up against this year, helping Harry… and honestly, knowing what you and I both have known all along… we’ve talked about it before… that there’s a good chance we won’t make it…” He shoved his hands back into his pockets again and looked away for a moment, trying to organize his thoughts. “I wanted to wait until this was all over. Then, if we both survived, I was going to tell you.”

She waited anxiously.

“But after what happened at the Malfoy’s…” His voice trailed off, and his eyes pled with her to understand without him having to say it. “As soon as we arrived here, I realized how stupid it was to wait. I’d almost lost you, and�”“

But she didn’t hear anything after that. Hope came alive inside her like a match. “Wait,” she interrupted him. “Did you just say that you almost lost me? Didn’t you mean to refer to both you and Harry?”

He looked at her for a long time before answering. “No.”

Her heart began to pound so hard in her chest she thought Luna might poke her head out of their room at any second to ask what the matter was. For once she didn’t try to control what might be visible to him in her expression. “What do you mean?” her eyes implored him. “Ron. Please just tell me plainly what you want to say.”

Several moments passed in silence before he responded. “I should have asked you to the Yule Ball.”

She sucked in a breath. “What?”

“I said I should have--”

“I heard you,” she stopped him. She searched his eyes; he was deadly serious. She glanced away. Three years had passed, yet she remembered it with perfect clarity. Strange really, that a single night could hold the best and worst of memories. Looking at him now, it was hard to reconcile his sober, repentant face with the hurtful words that had come out of his mouth back then.

“Well,” she said sadly. “You sort of did, didn’t you?” The memory humiliated her, and she dropped her gaze.

His voice was low and thick with emotion. “Not properly.”

She jerked her head up, studying his face. He meant it, and it felt as if he had poured water over a memory that was dry and cracked.

“I just keep thinking if I had asked you, and you maybe had said yes… I mean, maybe you wouldn’t have, but if you had… then you wouldn’t have gone with Krum, and I wouldn’t have gone mad with jealousy and behaved so horrib--”

“Jealousy?” she breathed, surprised.

“You knew I was jealous.”

“Yes, I knew,” she said. “I just… I didn’t think you did.”

“Well. Of course I didn’t want to admit it, even to myself, really. But then you called me on it, and I could tell Harry agreed with you.”

“He did?”

“He didn’t say it, but I could… it doesn’t really matter now. What matters is how sorry I am for not asking you. Because if we had gone together… I don’t know…” He watched her, deciding whether or not to finish the thought. “Don’t you think we would have had a good time?”

It seemed to Ron like a long time before she answered.

“Yes. Yes I do.”

He smiled, his courage renewed. “And then maybe I would have plucked up the courage to kiss you good night or I don’t know… something. And then maybe we would have decided to go to Hogsmeade… I don’t know if you would have even wanted to… but if you had wanted to, and we had gone…” he trailed off, sounding sad. “Everything would have been different. Everything, Hermione. And last year I would never have… well.” He shifted uncomfortably. “I wouldn’t have been so stupid.”

Her eyes were on the floor now. Even after these many months, she still couldn’t stand to think about him with Lavender. The images it brought into her mind uncovered all her insecurities.

He tipped her chin up with his fingers and found her eyes swimming with tears. She brushed them away as he dropped his hand. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ve played it over in my head a million times, imagining what would have happened if I’d just stopped it, if I had just gone to Slughorn’s party with you as we had planned. And that whole thing never would have happened.”

“Let’s not talk about--” she started.

“No, please�”you have to listen to me,” he insisted. “I’m sorry there was even one kiss, let alone a whole relationship. If you could even call it that.”

He stopped talking for a moment and she looked up at him. Now he was the one who was looking away. His gaze was focused somewhere over her head, a guilty look on his face. “I’m not proud of this, Hermione, but I didn’t care about her at all. I didn’t feel anything other than friendship for her. And though I never told her otherwise, still… I let her think what she wanted to think.” He found her eyes again. “I don’t even know why. I think I just… I just liked the attention.”

Hermione didn’t know how she should feel. On the one hand, she was disappointed in him for using Lavender in this way. She may have gone round the bend a bit, but she seemed to have really cared about him in her way. On the other hand, Hermione couldn’t help but feel profound relief that he had not cared for someone else after all. Did that make her as guilty as he was? She found her voice. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I’m telling you everything now. I liked you. More than liked you, Hermione, but I didn’t think for a minute that you felt the same way. It never occurred to me that you might until I was already with Lavender and you were so upset. I could tell Harry didn’t approve, and I thought maybe it was because of you. Then of course there were the birds,” he emphasized, waiting for her smirk before he laughed softly. “That ought to have clued me in, I reckon.” A moment later, his voice was sober again. “And then you were just never around. I missed you. I suppose that’s when I really started figuring things out for good, getting my head on straight. I mean, I could handle you being mad at me�”we’ve certainly done that bit before. But when you were just never there… it was bloody unbearable.”

Neither of them said anything for what felt like a long time.

“I was almost happy to be poisoned because when I woke up, you were back,” he finally said.

She almost never let herself remember that day: Neville telling her Ron had been poisoned and was still unconscious, her breathless run to the hospital wing, Harry’s white face when she arrived, and Mrs. Pomfrey refusing to let them see him. “Absolutely terrifying, that was,” she said without thinking, her voice full of the memory.

He looked at her hopefully.

Her head snapped up and she met his eyes, realizing what she had just admitted. She tried to discern from his expression if he had picked up on the whole truth. She suspected so, because he stepped an inch or two closer to her and took both her hands in his. They hung down on either side of them, fingers brushing against legs. Hermione’s breath caught in her throat at this closeness, and though she grew redder by the second, she could not have pulled her eyes from his face had she been Imperiused.

“Hermione,” he said, smiling. “The point of all this, what I’m really trying to say… is that I’ve cared about you since we were kids. Even in first and second year, there were these moments… but I didn’t understand what it was, and I certainly didn’t consider that it could be anything but a passing fancy. And then… I think it was third year,” he said, trying to remember. “Wasn’t it third year when you punched Malfoy? Because that was the moment my fate was sealed.” He grinned. “You were just brilliant, you know… not just brilliant in school and nice and a good friend, but… but you just hauled off and… you were amazing! I couldn’t figure you out, and strangely, it was cool that I couldn’t figure you out. Even though we knew each other so well, you were still sort of a mysterious girl, really.”

She grinned self-consciously.

He continued. “Well, I knew I was falling for you then. But I’d never felt anything like it before, and to be honest I really didn’t want to, especially with you, because--”

“Excuse me?” she interrupted, put out.

“Because of our friendship,” he explained. “And Harry, of course. I knew you wouldn’t feel the same way… but even if you did, what about Harry? He would feel weird, wouldn’t he? I didn’t see how that could ever work. But it didn’t matter because you didn’t feel the same anyway, I thought. So I just sort of tried to ignore it, but that really didn’t work either. So instead, it just made me, well, rather stupid about it all.”

She said nothing, but pulled a face indicating she did not disagree.

“I know,” he confessed, agreeing with her expression. “I was mean to you, and picked fights with you… I didn’t know how to handle it.” He paused, hoping she might jump in and say he hadn’t really been as bad as all that, but she made no such comment. He smiled tentatively and added, “Feel free to jump in and accept some responsibility any time.”

“Me?” she asked, surprised.

He raised an eyebrow.

She sighed. “Oh, all right then. I was mean, too. I picked fights, too.”

He grinned gloriously at this admission, and she had to laugh.

“Go on then,” she prodded, her hands warm in his.

“And then,” he said quietly, serious again, “I should have asked you to the Yule Ball.”

Her voice was a whisper. “So you said.”

His face changed, and it reminded her of everything they had been through over these past months. There was a maturity there, a sort of weary understanding that they were really too young to possess, any of them. And yet they all three carried it around in droves these days. He was quite serious, quite grown-up. “For months and months now, my mind has been clear. I know how I feel about you, Hermione, how I’ve always felt really. But it’s different now because I’m not afraid of it anymore. I see now that it’s good. It’s pure and it’s good, and it’s nothing to be afraid of or nervous about. I’m quite in love with you, and I want you to know it. I was as terrified as I’ve ever been at the Malfoy’s, and I never would have forgiven myself if I had lost you without ever telling you what you mean to me.”

Her eyes were glistening, glued to his face.

“And you know… I don’t see any dances on my immediate calendar. A day trip to Hogsmeade also seems unlikely; what with breaking into Gringotts, finding and destroying the remaining Horcruxes, and helping Harry finish off You-Know-Who all on the agenda.”

They both laughed quietly, Hermione brushing away another tear.

He continued. “I don’t know what it would even look like now�”maybe not much different than how we already are. But we would know, wouldn’t we?” Then he said so simply, “I want to be with you. I want us to be together.” He hesitated, glancing at his shoes for a moment before finding her eyes again. “But that would sort of depend on how you feel.”

A warm feeling was spreading out in Hermione’s chest, filling up all the empty places. He loved her. No more wondering, no more hoping. He had said the words.

“How can you possibly not know how I feel?” she whispered.

He didn’t answer. He only hoped she would say something to confirm what he felt sure he saw on her face.

“Ron Weasley.” Her voice was thick with emotion. “Since I was thirteen,” she said, “I have only fancied one boy.” In a surge of boldness brought on by everything he’d told her, she raised an unsteady hand to his face and touched her fingers to the line of his jaw. “He just kept breaking my heart,” she finished with a little smile.

“Me?”

She laughed softly. “Of course you. Who else?”

There was a moment when they saw together the possibility of a happy ending, and in the next moment his lips were on hers. Ron released her hands and slid his own up her arms until they found her hair. Her hands met behind his back as they held each other closer. So softly, they kissed again and again. It was everything either of them had hoped or imagined and nothing they might have feared. Not one bit of awkwardness, even after so long as friends. Their kisses felt perfect, and they contained everything… every fight, all the laughter, every moment of jealousy, all the adventure, every honor-defending action, all the love, faith, and loyalty of almost seven years.

Several moments passed before Ron pulled back a couple of inches, thinking. “Wait,” he said quietly.

“What?” she whispered, beaming at him.

“That can’t be true, Hermione.”

“What can’t be true?”

“That you never fancied anyone but me.”

“Of course it’s true,” she said, a little indignant.

“You liked Krum.”

“Only as a friend. I was never interested in Viktor.”

“But I thought…”

“You were wrong. In fact, he knew I was really interested in someone else.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously,” she confirmed, tip-toeing up to kiss him again.

“And all those letters?”

“He’s never been more than a friend, and I’ve never wanted him to be more.”

“But he did.”

“What does that have to do with us?” she asked simply.

“Oh,” he said, quite happy about this new information. “Right, then.” He brushed her lips again and felt her arms tighten around his back, drawing them closer to one another. His hands could not get enough of her hair�”still damp from the shower. She smelled incredible, like soap and toothpaste. Everything was perfect.

But the wheels in his head would not stop turning. “Hold it,” he said, pulling back again between kisses. His face was still close enough to feel her breath.

“Yes?” Hermione asked softly.

He screwed up his courage. “What about Harry?”

The question knocked her out of the romantic haze. “Harry?” she asked incredulously, her voice far too loud in the silent hallway.

“Shhh!”

She lowered her voice. “Harry who?” she demanded in a harsh whisper.

Ron dropped his hands, stepped back slightly, and pulled a face.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Harry Potter? Are you mad?” she asked with an ironic little laugh. “Is this the reason its taken four years for us to have this conversation? You thought I was interested in Harry? For heaven’s sake, Ron, why would you ever think such a thing?”

“Why?” he asked, as if this were the most ridiculous question he had ever heard. “How about because he’s the Chosen One? Or the fact that he’s got to save the entire wizarding world? Or because he’s an amazing athlete?”

“Quidditch?” she interrupted, rolling her eyes. “Do be serious.”

“Because he’s smart and funny, and he’s the most popular bloke in school? Hermione,” he emphasized, trying to make her see. “Every girl at Hogwarts has tried to smuggle him a love potion at some point or other.”

“So?” She looked at him for a long moment, marveling that he still couldn’t see everything in himself that was so plain to her. “I’m not like other girls.”

“That’s right,” he said, as if this proved his point. “You’re his best friend.”

“So are you.”

“I mean that you are closer to him than any of those other girls, and you know for yourself what a great bloke Harry really is. So surely you can see why it’s hard for me to believe you are the only girl in England who hasn’t been interested in him. I’ll understand if you have been… just tell me.”

She reached up and pushed back a bit of hair above his eyes, then put her arms around his neck. “Okay, I’ll tell you: I don’t think I have ever considered Harry in that way for a single second over all these years. And honestly, Ron, I really do not want to talk about Harry Potter at a time like this.” She smiled and pulled his face down to kiss him again, more deeply this time.

His hands found her waist. “But why?” he whispered when she pulled back to look at him. “Why didn’t you?”

“Why didn’t I what?” she asked, her voice so dreamy she might have been impersonating Luna.

“Why didn’t you ever fancy Harry?”

“I don’t know,” she smiled easily, holding his eyes. “Perhaps Harry has never captured my attention that way because he so often finds himself standing next to you.”

He let this sink in, relishing the words, and in spite of all his instincts, believing them. “I love you,” he said quietly.

“I love you, too.”

“No, seriously,” he whispered, his voice earnest.

“Seriously,” she said as he moved to kiss her again. “Me, too.”

J.K. Rowling is a genius. Nothing here is mine. No infringement is intended.

A final thanks to my wonderful beta Natalie for helping me clean this thing up.

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Scenes From Shell Cottage ~ Chapter Seven

It took them nearly thirty minutes to make it back to her bedroom door, where they now stood together alternately kissing and whispering in the dark hallway. They were farther from the window now, and could barely see one another despite the fact that their faces were nearly touching.

“Why is this so difficult?” she whispered, raking her fingers through the hair at the back of his neck. “We’re going to see each other in the morning, after all.”

“Yes, but you’ll be impersonating an evil wench in the morning, won’t you?”

She laughed softly as he kissed her twice along her hairline near her temple. “You don’t think it will be the same?” she asked.

“I do not.”

“Plus,” she added. “Harry.”

“Harry,” he said, kissing her just below the line of her jaw. She made a soft sound that was half-sigh and half-giggle, tilting her head to encourage him.

“And that is my new favorite sound in the world,” he said.

She could feel his smile against her cheek. “I didn’t hear anything.”

“I mean you.”

“You’ve heard me laugh a thousand times.”

He chuckled under his breath. “Not like that, I haven’t.”

She felt herself blushing and was grateful for the cover of darkness.

A few minutes passed.

“Ron?”

“Yeah?” he answered, meeting her eyes.

“I don’t want this to be a secret. Do you?”

“Are you kidding? Let’s wake up the whole house,” he suggested with a grin.

She smiled. “I just mean Harry, really… he’s the only person we’re going to see. I don’t want him to be in the dark or feel awkward about things.”

“I know. Me, too.”

“So you’ll tell him?”

“I’ll tell him.”

“Before I see you both in the morning?”

“Sure,” he said, playing with the curls at her shoulder.

“How do you think he’ll react?”

Ron did not hesitate. “He’ll be really happy for us.”

“I suppose he’ll be shocked.”

“I don’t think so. He sort of knows about me.”

“Oh, of course you told him. I wasn’t thinking.”

“Actually I didn’t,” Ron said uneasily.

She searched his eyes, asking.

“The locket… it didn’t just scream when I tried to destroy it. Harry was trying to spare my, uh, dignity when he told you what happened.”

Her hands were on either side of his neck, her face full of concern.

He sighed. “It had a go at me. It’s funny how it�”he�”knew just how to get to me. It tried to convince me that you, uh, that you and Harry...”

She closed her eyes. “Oh, Ron.”

“Harry was right there. He saw and heard everything.” He looked a little sheepish, even embarrassed. “So… he knows.”

“I’m sorry.” Her expression went from concern to horror in a matter of seconds. She put both of her hands over her face.

“What?” he asked.

“I was so awful to you when you came back, and that was right after… oh, I must have made it a thousand times worse.”

He pulled her hands away from her face and held them against his chest. “You didn't know. And you were in a fairly justified rage at the time.” He grinned at her. “It was a good thing Harry had your wand, though… who knows what you would have done to me.”

“Well,” she said. “I’m still sorry.”

He released her hands and she wrapped them around his middle, hugging him.

“Are you still nervous about tomorrow?” he asked into her hair.

She nodded against his chest.

“I’m not anymore,” he told her, pulling back to see her face. “It feels amazing right now, like nothing else bad could happen.”

Her face clouded over. “But Ron, you know that…”

“I know. It’s just how I feel. Invincible or something.”

She smiled sadly. “And I feel like we have more to lose than ever.”

“We have a good plan. Everything is going to be all right.”

She smiled, trying for optimism.

He sighed. “I hate this, but we really need to get some sleep if we are going to pull this thing off in a few hours.”

“I know,” she said.

He looked at her for a long time. “So, uh… now I’m going to kiss you goodnight.”

She laughed softly. “Haven’t you been doing that for the last forty-five minutes?”

“Well, yeah,” he said, brushing his lips against hers. “But this is the official goodnight kiss.”

She made a face of mock seriousness. “I see. Officially… official.”

“Yeah,” he managed before their lips met again�”this time with the urgency and intensity of an impending separation. Because, even though they would meet in a few hours, they both knew it would likely be a long time before they could talk this way again, or hold one another at all. He finally pulled back and let his forehead rest against hers.

“If all of this turns out to be a dream, please cut me some slack tomorrow because I am going to be in a bloody bad mood.”

She chuckled and tipped her head back to look at him, placing a hand on the side of his face. “It's not a dream,” she whispered soberly.

“You and me, then?” he asked.

“You and me,” she confirmed. Then as an afterthought, she added, “Well, and Harry.”

He laughed. “And Harry,” he agreed. He gave her one last kiss and then started to back away.

“Wait,” she said, holding onto his sweater. When he stopped, she reached her arms up around his neck to hug him fiercely, her face planted into his shoulder. He held her tightly in response.

“Are you okay?”

She pulled back and beamed at him, nodding her answer. “Ron, whatever happens to us tomorrow, I want you to know I’ve never been happier than I am right now. I’ve never even been close.”

“Hermione, everything is going to be fine tomorrow… you’ll see.”

A few minutes later, she lay in bed watching the shadows move across the ceiling as moonlight filtered in through the window. She could not stop smiling. She whispered Luna’s name into the darkness two separate times, hoping in vain that her friend might stir and wake, just long enough to hear a small bit of news Hermione was bursting to share. I’m in love, Luna. I’m in love with my best friend, and believe it or not, he seems to love me back.

____________________________________


Ron tossed and turned in his sleep. Changing scenes wove in and out of his dreams… Hermione whispering to him with her hands in his hair, Griphook in a rage brandishing the Sword of Gryffindor, some vague but serious danger at The Burrow, Hermione screaming as she had at the Malfoy’s, and Harry struggling in a duel with You-Know-Who while he�”Ron�”was bound and could not help. It was not a restful sleep, and he was relieved when Harry nudged his shoulder to say it was time. They got dressed and tidied up their portion of the living area as much as possible without waking Dean. Then together they slipped out the door and made their way to the spot where they had agreed to meet the others.

Ron could not seem to turn his thoughts from Hermione. He felt almost guilty for his good mood, as Harry seemed more pensive than usual. They had barely said two words to each other since they’d got up, but Ron knew he had precious little time if he was going to keep his promise to Hermione and tell Harry what was going on.

“I spoke to Hermione last night,” he said into the stillness as they waited in the garden.

Harry was fingering the small pouch around his neck, the one Hagrid had given him for his birthday. “I know,” he said, distracted. “I was there.”

“No, after that.”

“We went to bed after that.”

“No. You went to bed. I pretended to go to bed so I could sneak back upstairs after you and Dean went to sleep. I wanted to talk to her alone.” Ron emphasized the last word, and it seemed to do the trick. He now had Harry’s full attention.

“Blimey,” Harry said in a low voice. “What did you do?”

Ron laughed at his friend’s nervous expression. “I told her.”

“About what happened with the Horcrux?”

“Well, no. I mean, yeah, sort of… not the details.” Ron shoved his hands into his pockets and looked down at the ground.

“But you told her… how you feel about her?”

Ron grinned, and his expression said yes.

“Wow.”

Hermione had been right. Harry looked rather shocked… perhaps not that his friends had finally sorted themselves out, but that Ron had marched right up the stairs and told her the truth after all this time.

Harry was staring, the impending Gringotts adventure momentarily forgotten in Ron’s unfolding drama. “Well, out with it then. What did she say?”

“You won’t believe it.”

“I will. This part will not surprise me, I assure you.”

A sheepish grin burst out on Ron’s face. “She said she’s fancied me since we were thirteen.”

Harry laughed under his breath, shaking his head. “Not bad, Hermione,” he said, impressed.

“I know. Good line, right? There I was, going on and on, telling her every little thing I’ve ever thought or felt about her. I’ve never talked so much in my life, Harry... honestly. And she really didn’t say that much now that I think about it.”

”Hermione didn’t have much to say?” Harry said. “You’re certain it was our Hermione?”

“Quite. I don’t know that she could have said much if she’d wanted to. I couldn’t seem to shut up long enough for her to try.” A dreamy kind of look came over him. “But when she did say something…”

Harry suddenly looked as if he smelled something unpleasant. “Let me stop you right there.”

Ron’s expression was indignant. “I wasn’t going to tell you,” he snapped.

“Good,” said Harry, relieved.

“Though I will tell you one thing,” Ron said, standing up to his full height and sticking his chest out a bit.

“Do I want to hear this?”

“You were right. Turns out she never fancied you at all, mate.”

“That so?” Harry said, a bit put out. “Well. Brilliant.”

“She’s fancied me all this time, can you believe it?”

“At the moment? Not really.” Ron chuckled and Harry shook his head, giving in to a smile. “I’m glad you didn’t try to keep it from me.”

Ron glanced at him. “We both wanted to tell you. And don’t worry, we won’t let things get weird or anything.”

“Right. It won’t be weird knowing you two are snogging somewhere every time I go to the loo or keep watch outside the tent.”

Ron’s eyes grew wide along with his grin. “Good thinking, mate!” he said, slapping Harry on the back.

Their laughter died out and silence fell again between them as they heard the door to Shell Cottage clicking shut in the distance. They watched as Hermione and Griphook strode across the lawn toward them in the pre-dawn darkness. The sight of Hermione as Bellatrix Lestrange was enough to jerk them both back to the sober reality of what was going to happen next.

Harry’s voice was lower as he spoke to Ron once more. “Seriously, I think it’s brilliant. After everything we’ve been through… well, I reckon you both deserve all the happiness you can find.”

Ron didn’t say anything. The words may have been exactly what he had expected, but they still meant a great deal. They continued to watch as Hermione and Griphook grew closer. “I know it’s her,” Ron said quietly. “But it’s still creepy.”

Harry turned to his friend as if he’d just had an idea. “Ten galleons if you snog her while she looks like that.”

Ron chuckled and pulled a face. “You’re mental, mate. Not for a hundred.”

Then they were all together and Hermione was complaining about Bellatrix tasting worse than Gurdyroots. While they discussed just how to alter his appearance, Ron struggled to find even a trace of Hermione in the features of the Death Eater who stood before him. But then she rolled her eyes at his request for a smaller nose and began to swish her wand in such a proper Hermione fashion that he had to smile. She was definitely in there.

As they walked together to the point where they would be able to Apparate, Ron could not resist a long look back at his brother’s house�”beautifully bathed in moonlight. Shell Cottage had become a safe haven for him. When he had lost himself with the Horcrux and abandoned his friends, he had been desperate and without hope. Yet here he had found refuge. And again, when it seemed the world itself could crack in two… when Hermione might have slipped away completely, here they had found healing. And though his friendship with Hermione had really grown up at Hogwarts and The Burrow and even in the little tent… ultimately, it was here they had found each other.

Yes. This really is the most amazing place I have ever known.

“Ron?” she prodded.

He turned and met the eyes that did not belong to her. Griphook was clinging onto Harry’s shoulders and Hermione’s hand rested on Harry’s arm, waiting. He glanced one more time at the cottage, then covered her hand with his. And with a hard jerk, they were pulled away once more… to Diagon Alley.


END

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Notes: I want to freely acknowledge that there is no room in the text of Deathly Hallows for this conversation between Ron and Harry. In canon, there is silent contemplation for Harry, and then Hermione and Griphook arrive. So I took a bit of liberty there and added about fifteen minutes to their wait so this conversation could happen. Hope it doesn’t offend anyone too much. If so, I’m sorry, but you’ll probably be all right. ;) I just knew I didn’t want to push the relationship at all if there wasn’t a way to keep Harry in the know.

I would love to know what you thought of this, if you have a minute. Thanks for reading!