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.