The Late Watch (Parts 32-39)
Title: The Late Watch
Author: writerwannabe
Prompt: Secret
Rating: PG13
Word Count:100
Warnings: DH Spoilers
Notes: I'm going to do something a little different. This is a multi part drabble series that takes place during the horcrux hunt. Each 100 word drabble will be told in a different point of view.
Remember: comments are more than love; they're therapeutic!
(PARTS 32-39)
NOTE: Eight Updates...that's right, EIGHT!!! But don't expect that every time, haha. After much research on how the Fidelius Charm works, I've attempted to stay as accurate to the description as possible. But I do believe that JKR bent the rules quite a bit to tailor it to her needs as they came up. And I've also researched the timeline surrounding the night Lily and James were killed and I'm trying to be as accurate as I can with that too. But some sites online have conflicting timelines, so who knows. So if it's a bit off, I'm not taking responsibility, hehe.
More backstory and a little bit of daydreaming to set me up for later on...
You insist on taking the late watch and Harry gives you a cursory glance before nodding and making his way toward his bunk. Ducking out of the tent, you hear Harry and Hermione’s whispered ‘goodnights’ but know hers was not directed at you. Outside snow is falling and you pull your cloak even tighter around your body to protect against the biting wind. Walking around the perimeter to ensure that the protective charms are still holding, you settle atop a large rock and wait. Since destroying the locket, you can’t allow yourself to fall asleep. Not since the nightmares began.
******************************************************************
You’re worried about Ron. He’s taken the late watch every night for the past two weeks and barely sleeps more than ten minutes at a time before jerking awake, plagued by nightmares. Time after time he shrugs off your concern, insisting that he’s ‘all right’. You know that he’s anything but.
You never knew the depth of Ron’s fears when it came to his self worth. That he thought you and Hermione…
You sigh.
Ron drapes his cloak around his shoulders and shuffles towards the tent opening, nodding before disappearing into the night.
Hermione slips into her bed. “Goodnight Harry.”
******************************************************************
“You awake?”
You lift your head a bit and peer into the darkness in the direction of Harry’s bunk. “Barely.”
“Sorry,” he mumbles apologetically. You take that as a sign that you’ll continue this conversation in the morning. You settle back down and just before your eyes slip shut once more, his low voice fills the tent.
“I think you should talk to him.”
“Harry-“
“It’s been weeks,” he implores you. “We can’t go on like this. He’s not sleeping.”
“It’s not my fault that he has a guilty conscience,” you whisper, drawing on your anger. “I don’t care.”
******************************************************************
“Hermione?”
“I said I don’t care, Harry.”
She means it. And Ron knows that and it only adds to the problem at hand. But you swore to him that you wouldn’t tell her the truth about the locket. It hurts you to see how he takes the brunt of her anger with weary acceptance and a part of you knows that her silence only reinforces his fears. “Hermione, please!”
“He left us!” She practically shouts this and you can’t help but wonder if she’s done it on purpose so that he’ll
hear.
“He’s back,” you reply softly. “Isn’t that enough?”
******************************************************************
“He left us!"
You cringe and hang your head as her biting words are carried by the wind to where you keep vigil. For weeks you’ve kept your distance in hopes that she’d come around and forgive you. Her cold stares and harsh remarks do little to bolster your resolve to keep up an effort to appease her anger. It’s clear that she doesn’t want to forgive you for your transgressions. You swore to yourself that you’d do everything to protect them.
You failed.
And the locket? It still manages to haunt you.
You should have told Hermione the truth.
******************************************************************
“No.”
You hear the rustling of his bed sheets, followed by soft, shuffling footfalls drawing near. The bed dips as Harry perches on the edge and he blindly reaches out and finds your arm in the darkness.
“Hermione?”
You’re angry that Harry is so quick to forgive. Sitting up, you pull your arm out of his grasp. “It isn’t that simple.”
“Why can’t it be?” Harry implores you.
Because, you think, he’s hurt you in ways that you can’t confide to Harry. “It just can’t.”
“He’s made amends.”
You glance over at the tent opening. “Not to me he hasn’t.”
******************************************************************
You’re torn.
Your best mates are hurting and there’s little you can do to rectify the situation, without betraying Ron’s trust. They’ve been dancing around an unspoken attraction since the Yule Ball and the tension has been building steadily ever since. But you wonder now if it’ll ever come to a head. “Will he ever be able to?”
“To what?” Confusion colors her words.
“Make amends to you.”
“I don’t know.”
You sigh. “Then I think it’s time that I told you that Ron and I weren’t completely honest with you after we retrieved the sword and destroyed the locket.”
******************************************************************
You’re beyond livid at both of them. They’ve been keeping this secret from you for weeks now.
Weeks.
Harry hadn’t gone into any details when it came to what transpired after Ron rescued him from the lake. He only mentioned that it had affected Ron deeply. Ginny had once confided in you about all the terrible things Riddle’s diary had done before Harry was able to destroy it with the basilisk fang. What if the locket was no different?
Scrambling out of bed, you quickly slip on your trainers and traveling cloak.
There was only one way to find out.
******************************************************************
The cold air, which helped to keep you awake and alert earlier, is now lulling you into a false sense of comfort. Your eyes drift shut as the exhaustion that’s been plaguing you for weeks finally catches up and sleep claims you.
Crack
Your eyes snap open at the disturbance.
There’s no time to think.
You tighten your grip on your wand, whipping it around as you dive off the rock and onto the ground.
“PROTEGO!”
The wand, however, isn’t pointed near the perceived threat as the spell shoots from the tip and heads towards the opening of the tent.
******************************************************************
You storm out of the tent and into the icy darkness in search of answers, intent on uncovering whatever secrets Ron might be keeping. You spot his huddled form near the edge of the campsite and carefully pick your way across the snow covered ground.
Crack
You inadvertently step on a fallen branch and Ron jerks to life, swinging his wand into view. You bring your own up to defend yourself from his instinctive attack, but can only watch, frozen, as his spell is aimed at the tent and not yourself.
It takes a moment to realize what he’s done.
******************************************************************
“PROTEGO!”
Your heart jumps into your throat as you scramble out of bed. One hand fumbles with your glasses as the other simultaneously reaches under the pillow for your wand.
You catch sight of the sword on the table. Common sense tells you to hide it, but your heart prevails and you race toward the tent opening--
Only to be repelled by an invisible barrier.
Anxiously you look outside, relieved to see that you aren’t under attack. Hermione, however, looks fit to kill.
“You selfish arse!”
Sighing, you head back to bed, hoping they’ll have worked it out by morning.
******************************************************************
The blood drains from your face when you realize that it’s Hermione standing a few feet from you and not some Deatheater or snatcher intent on earning reward galleons.
Swallowing hard, you struggle to you feet, hands shaking from the initial fear as well as the subsequent shock at the idea that you could've hurt her had you not aimed your wand at the tent.
Hurt her when all you wanted to do was protect her.
Harry’s standing just inside the tent opening, disheveled and confused and you’re about to tell him that everything is fine.
“You selfish arse."
Apparently you’re wrong.
******************************************************************
Images of the past swirl in your mind’s eye as Ron struggles to his feet.
Sitting atop a chess piece waiting to be taken.
Running off to face his greatest fear after you’d been petrified.
Standing on a broken leg boldly protecting Harry from Sirius.
Sulking in a corner as you danced with Viktor Krum.
Hiding the painful scars that crisscross his arms and chest.
Lying still and unresponsive after drinking poisoned mead.
Pushing you out of harm’s way when Dolohov and Rowle attacked in the cafe.
Suddenly you realize that he was ready to sacrifice himself all over again.
******************************************************************
For a moment you’re unsure if Hermione’s talking to you or Harry.
Then she’s stomping across the snow, her posture rigid and hands clenched into fists and it takes every ounce of willpower not to take a step backwards in retreat. Coming to a stop just inches from you she draws one arm back. You flinch, waiting for the slap that is sure to follow.
Only it doesn’t.
Instead she pockets her wand and reaches out, grabbing fistfuls of your cloak as she buries her head against your chest. “How could you?” She murmurs over and over into your jumper.
******************************************************************
“Hermione?” Ron whispers uncertainly. His hands tentatively touch the back of your shoulders, neither pulling you closer nor pushing you away. But it serves to anchor you, as does listening to his furiously beating heart under your ear.
You swallow hard, forcing the panic that you felt to the back of your mind, as you slowly pull your head away to look up to him. The concern on his face nearly does you in again. “Why use a shield charm, Ron?”
He looks away and his touch is gone, as his hands fall to his sides. “You know why, Hermione.”
******************************************************************
“Don’t you dare turn away,” she shouts. “What if it wasn’t me outside the tent? Don’t you know what could have happened to you?”
You sigh. “Yes. I do.” Apparently a succinct answer wasn’t what Hermione was looking for and she clouts you hard on the arm in response. “Ow. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“You were going to blindly sacrifice yourself to some unknown threat,” she replies, quickly. “That’s plenty wrong, Ron.”
“I’d do it again.” And you mean it. And by the look on her face, Hermione knows it too.
“Harry can take care of himself.”
“I know.”
******************************************************************
This whole mess hasn’t been about Harry at all.
“I’m perfectly capable of defending myself,” you cry indignantly. But even as the words come out of your mouth, you can’t help but remember how badly things almost went with the snake at Godric’s Hollow.
“I won’t take that chance.” There’s grim determination in his voice and you’re caught between hitting him again and hugging him.
“If you even so much as think about putting yourself in harm’s way again to protect me, I’ll never forgive you, Ronald Weasley.”
“Yeah, well, we both know what that’s like.”
“Don’t be so presumptuous!”
******************************************************************
It was that word.
It brings forth memories that you’d rather gouge your eyes out than to witness again. Images of Hermione and Harry together. Together. You press your balled fists into your eyes, willing the most horrible night of your life so far to fade.
“Ron?”
Her voice is warm and full of concern, and you want nothing more than for her to leave so you can deal with this alone. “Go back to the tent. It’s getting late.” You brush by her and settle once more on top of the rock. “Next watch isn’t for a few hours.”
******************************************************************
He’s dismissing you.
He’s turning his back, physically and emotional and it grates on your last nerve. This isn’t Ron. This isn’t the same boy who’d argue with you until his face matched the color of his hair.
Something is wrong.
You move to stand in front of him. “Ron?” He ignores you, averting his eyes.
However, you won’t be deterred. “Ron, what happened?”
He let’s out an explosive breath. “I told you, I thought you were a Deatheater and I--”
“No,” you interrupt him. “I want you to tell me what happened when you and Harry destroyed the locket.”
******************************************************************
Startled, you throw an accusatory glance over at the tent. How could Harry tell her after promising not to?
“He wouldn’t tell me anything,” Hermione says as if reading your thoughts. She grasps your chin firmly and tilts your head up until you’re forced to make eye contact. “But you should have.”
There’s an air of disappointment in her voice, wholly unfamiliar to your ears. In the past there’s always been anger, frustration and even exasperation, but never disappointment. And frankly, you're not sure how to respond.
“There’s nothing to tell,” you replied gruffly.
“Then why are you having nightmares?”
******************************************************************
There. You’ve managed to take him by surprise again. “What? Did you honestly think that I slept through all the times you’ve cried out in your sleep?” His eyes drop to the snow at your feet and you know that he’s embarrassed by your revelation.
“Just stupid nightmares,” he mumbles. “Everyone gets them from time to time.”
“Not every night,” you disagree. “And they didn’t start until after you returned.”
He shrugs. “I told you that I had a run in with snatchers. It wasn’t the most pleasant experience.”
“Then why have you woken shouting my name and not theirs?”
******************************************************************
There. She’s caught you now. It was stupid to think that she’d sleep through those most awful of nights. Where the events surrounding the horcrux would haunt you relentlessly in your dreams. When the Riddle Hermione would transform into the real Hermione and order you to leave again so she could be alone with Harry. When Harry would shake you awake and return to his cot without a word and a quick glance across the the tent assured you that Hermione was still asleep.
Only she wasn’t, was she?
“You’re right,” you say at length. “Something did happen that night.”
******************************************************************
You take a seat next to him on the rock because it’s quite clear that he doesn’t want to have this conversation face to face. Waiting has never been your strong suit and it feels like a lifetime passes before he starts to speak.
“I know the locket affected us all,” he begins haltingly. But I think... just maybe, that it affected me more.”
You remember feeling oddly out of touch with your emotions while wearing the horcrux. Irritable, snappish and overly sensitive. But you had blamed it on the stress of having to wear it, not the object itself.
******************************************************************
“How do you know?”
It really was too much to hope that she’d take your word without a proper explanation. “After I left...” You pause, swallowing hard. Even now, thinking of your betrayal causes you to cringe inwardly. “When I finally made it to Bill’s, after dealing with the snatchers, I asked him about magical objects...”
“You told him about the horcrux!” Hermione interrupts.
“No,” you stammer, “I didn’t, I swear.” You can see her staring at you out of the corner of your eye, her expression doubtful. “He’s got experience with that sort of thing. His job, you see?”
******************************************************************
Ron did have a point. As a curse breaker at Gringotts, Bill would be in a position to come across enchanted items. “What did he say?”
“He said that all wizards have the same ability to produce magic, regardless of their blood status.”
“Yes, we know this,” you grind out impatiently. “Lesson one in History of Magic.”
“Then I guess you also know that Purebloods are more sensitive to magic,” he presses, evidently irritated at your rebuke.
You don’t. “How can that be? I’ve never read...”
He shakes his head. “That’s because Purebloods don’t want it to become public knowledge.”
******************************************************************
“That can’t be,” she protests vehemently. “It’s just not possible to keep something like that a secret.”
You shake your head. “I’m not saying that people don’t know... only that you won’t find it published in the Daily Prophet for all to read. Look there’s a reason why certain jobs are only filled by Purebloods. We’re more susceptible to the affects of magic. Bill’s job relies on that. You put a Halfblood or Muggleborn in his position and they might not be able to sense a curse hidden within an object until its too late.”
“But why all the deception?”
******************************************************************
“It’s been used against us in the past.” Ron jumps to his feet, shoving his hands into his pockets as he stares up at the sky. “During the first war against Vol-...You-Know-Who, Deatheaters focused on punishing those who supported Muggle relations. Especially those from Pureblood families.”
A chill runs down your back as you come to a horrifying conclusion. “The Order of the Phoenix.”
Ron nods, finally turning to face you. “I overheard Mum and Dad talking the day I returned from Hogwarts after our third year. Peter Pettigrew knowingly led them all straight into an ambush.”
******************************************************************
Hermione opens her mouth to speak, but you hold up a hand. “Before you accuse me of not telling you sooner, it was all pretty meaningless to me at the time.” She gives you a half nod, an invitation to continue. “I was more upset over the fact that my pet was a Deatheater in disguise than his involvement in Sirius’ arrest.”
“So everything Sirius said about Pettigrew was true?”
You nod. “He insisted on taking Veritaserum in front of the Order to affirm his innocence, something that wasn’t offered to him the first time around.”
“What did he say?”
******************************************************************
Ron retrieves his wand from his pocket as he sits back down at your side. “Pettigrew lured the Order to a village just outside of Kent under the false pretense that Deatheaters were attacking Muggles. The portkey that he acquired brought them to a forest instead. Dumbledore realized immediately that something wasn’t right and ordered them to disapparate to safety. But there was an enchantment of sorts in place and the Purebloods were left incapacitated to the extent where they couldn’t risk apparation. The others escaped, unknowingly stranding the rest.” His grip on the wand tightens. “Then the Deatheaters arrived.”
******************************************************************
Hermione reaches over and lays her hand over yours. Sighing, you release your stranglehold on the wand. “The Order members fought hard, but they were outnumbered. Dolohov and four other Deatheaters managed to take down my uncles, Gideon and Fabian. The Lestranges captured and tortured Neville’s parents with the Cruitiatus before disapparating with them. Aurors located and rescued them five days later but they had already been driven to insanity.
“What about Harry’s father?” Hermione asks.
“He wasn’t with them,” you reply. “The Potters had gone into hiding the week before. Only one person managed to escape that night. Sirius.”
******************************************************************
“How?”
“He changed into his animagus form,” Ron explains. “Took them all by surprised, since he was unregistered and all. He ran until he couldn’t feel the pull of the enchantment any longer and Disapparated back to headquarters. But by then it was too late.”
“Too late?”
“The remaining Order members were at the Ministry demanding a trace on the Portkey. They played right into Pettigrew’s hand. The ambush was a ruse. He wanted them to be distracted.”
“But why?”
“So Voldemort could travel to Godric’s Hollow undetected. The ambush took place Halloween, 1981. The night Harry’s parents were murdered.
******************************************************************
Hermione gasps and you turn your hand beneath hers, clumsily entwining your fingers. You wait on baited breath for her to pull away; only she doesn’t and you can only hope that she’ll mistake the blush burning your cheeks for a reaction to the cold night air. “You knew that the Potters were protected by the Fidelius Charm, right?” Hermione nods. “Sirius was the obvious choice for secret-keeper, but at the last moment he convinced them to choose Pettigrew instead.”
“And Pettigrew, in turn, told You-Know-Who and broke the concealment spell,” Hermione adds. “And everyone blamed Sirius.”
******************************************************************
“Right,” he replies. “Members of the Order already knew where the Potters lived. But under the Fidelius Charm, Harry and his family would remain hidden in plain sight to all but Pettigrew and whoever he told. When Sirius escaped, his first thought was to seek out Pettigrew. After all, it was his portkey that send them straight into the ambush. When he wasn’t in his designated hiding place, Sirius grew suspicious and flew his motorbike to Godric’s Hollow. Only it was too late. The house was half blasted apart. Luckily, Hagrid managed to find Harry before the muggle neighbors did.
******************************************************************
“But how did Hagrid know what had happened?” you ask. “Wasn’t he with the Order at the Ministry?”
“Bill told me that Dumbledore placed a charm on the residence before the Fidelius was in place. He was alerted the moment the house was destroyed and sent Hagrid.” He shrugs. “The house became visible at that point.”
“That makes sense,” you reply. “When Harry and I went to Godric’s Hollow while you were ... we were able to see the rubble. It was protected by magic, but only from Muggle view. The Fidelius Charm must also break if the spell-caster dies.”
******************************************************************
“Er... right,” you reply. But the truth of it is, you’re not even aware of what you’re agreeing to. All of your attention is focussed on your left hand and all you can feel is the loss associated with Hermione pulling her hand away after she stumbled over her sentence a moment ago. Her hands are now twisting nervously in her lap and you fear moving yours and drawing her attention to them. “S-So, Sirius wanted to take Harry, but Hagrid told him that he had specific orders to bring Harry back to Dumbledore. That didn’t go over real well.”
******************************************************************
“I can imagine,” you say, staring down at the ground. You’ve made things difficult by pulling away from him. He won’t dare say anything, not that he needs to. You can hear it in the hesitation in his voice, something you’re all too familiar with.
It had been replaced by a new sort of confidence when you arrived at the Burrow last summer. And you had hoped that Ron was finally coming into his own as far as maturity went. But he’s reverted a bit since his return. And most, if not all, of the blame rests on your shoulders.
******************************************************************
“Hermione?” You’ve called her name twice already. It’s so unusual to catch her daydreaming. Well it used to be, when you were forced to spend afternoons in the common room doing coursework. Hermione was always one step ahead as far as assignments went, completing one and jumping to the next. You’ve never seen her just sit still and relax.
That’s not entirely true.
After modifying her parents’ memories and sending them off to Australia, she had arrived at the Burrow a complete wreck. And you hadn’t a clue on how to deal with her. Not until you read that book.
******************************************************************
You’re startled out of you reverie by Ron’s hand on your upper arm. Your head jerks up in surprise and you both stare at the offending appendage for a long, tense moment before he quickly drops it back to his leg.
“Sorry.”
“No, it’s okay,” you say. “I was miles away. Didn’t mean to drift off on you.” He nods his head and you can’t help but glance up at his profile. Sitting here like this reminds you of the nights the two of you spent at the Burrow before going to the Dursleys to collect Harry on his birthday.
******************************************************************
“Remember when we’d go out to the lake and stargaze?” Her voice is soft and tinged with wistful longing, and it makes you inwardly curse horcruxes, Voldemort, and the rotten snow that continues to fall around you.
“Yeah,” you reply. “Those were some nice nights.” And they were. The two of you sitting not too differently than how you are now, trying to find patterns among the twinkling, night lights. When Hermione finally relaxed enough to just enjoy sitting quietly without having to worry about her parents or Harry or their upcoming plans to leave.
You wanted to kiss her.
******************************************************************
♥
Author: writerwannabe
Prompt: Secret
Rating: PG13
Word Count:100
Warnings: DH Spoilers
Notes: I'm going to do something a little different. This is a multi part drabble series that takes place during the horcrux hunt. Each 100 word drabble will be told in a different point of view.
Remember: comments are more than love; they're therapeutic!
(PARTS 32-39)
NOTE: Eight Updates...that's right, EIGHT!!! But don't expect that every time, haha. After much research on how the Fidelius Charm works, I've attempted to stay as accurate to the description as possible. But I do believe that JKR bent the rules quite a bit to tailor it to her needs as they came up. And I've also researched the timeline surrounding the night Lily and James were killed and I'm trying to be as accurate as I can with that too. But some sites online have conflicting timelines, so who knows. So if it's a bit off, I'm not taking responsibility, hehe.
More backstory and a little bit of daydreaming to set me up for later on...
You insist on taking the late watch and Harry gives you a cursory glance before nodding and making his way toward his bunk. Ducking out of the tent, you hear Harry and Hermione’s whispered ‘goodnights’ but know hers was not directed at you. Outside snow is falling and you pull your cloak even tighter around your body to protect against the biting wind. Walking around the perimeter to ensure that the protective charms are still holding, you settle atop a large rock and wait. Since destroying the locket, you can’t allow yourself to fall asleep. Not since the nightmares began.
******************************************************************
You’re worried about Ron. He’s taken the late watch every night for the past two weeks and barely sleeps more than ten minutes at a time before jerking awake, plagued by nightmares. Time after time he shrugs off your concern, insisting that he’s ‘all right’. You know that he’s anything but.
You never knew the depth of Ron’s fears when it came to his self worth. That he thought you and Hermione…
You sigh.
Ron drapes his cloak around his shoulders and shuffles towards the tent opening, nodding before disappearing into the night.
Hermione slips into her bed. “Goodnight Harry.”
******************************************************************
“You awake?”
You lift your head a bit and peer into the darkness in the direction of Harry’s bunk. “Barely.”
“Sorry,” he mumbles apologetically. You take that as a sign that you’ll continue this conversation in the morning. You settle back down and just before your eyes slip shut once more, his low voice fills the tent.
“I think you should talk to him.”
“Harry-“
“It’s been weeks,” he implores you. “We can’t go on like this. He’s not sleeping.”
“It’s not my fault that he has a guilty conscience,” you whisper, drawing on your anger. “I don’t care.”
******************************************************************
“Hermione?”
“I said I don’t care, Harry.”
She means it. And Ron knows that and it only adds to the problem at hand. But you swore to him that you wouldn’t tell her the truth about the locket. It hurts you to see how he takes the brunt of her anger with weary acceptance and a part of you knows that her silence only reinforces his fears. “Hermione, please!”
“He left us!” She practically shouts this and you can’t help but wonder if she’s done it on purpose so that he’ll
hear.
“He’s back,” you reply softly. “Isn’t that enough?”
******************************************************************
“He left us!"
You cringe and hang your head as her biting words are carried by the wind to where you keep vigil. For weeks you’ve kept your distance in hopes that she’d come around and forgive you. Her cold stares and harsh remarks do little to bolster your resolve to keep up an effort to appease her anger. It’s clear that she doesn’t want to forgive you for your transgressions. You swore to yourself that you’d do everything to protect them.
You failed.
And the locket? It still manages to haunt you.
You should have told Hermione the truth.
******************************************************************
“No.”
You hear the rustling of his bed sheets, followed by soft, shuffling footfalls drawing near. The bed dips as Harry perches on the edge and he blindly reaches out and finds your arm in the darkness.
“Hermione?”
You’re angry that Harry is so quick to forgive. Sitting up, you pull your arm out of his grasp. “It isn’t that simple.”
“Why can’t it be?” Harry implores you.
Because, you think, he’s hurt you in ways that you can’t confide to Harry. “It just can’t.”
“He’s made amends.”
You glance over at the tent opening. “Not to me he hasn’t.”
******************************************************************
You’re torn.
Your best mates are hurting and there’s little you can do to rectify the situation, without betraying Ron’s trust. They’ve been dancing around an unspoken attraction since the Yule Ball and the tension has been building steadily ever since. But you wonder now if it’ll ever come to a head. “Will he ever be able to?”
“To what?” Confusion colors her words.
“Make amends to you.”
“I don’t know.”
You sigh. “Then I think it’s time that I told you that Ron and I weren’t completely honest with you after we retrieved the sword and destroyed the locket.”
******************************************************************
You’re beyond livid at both of them. They’ve been keeping this secret from you for weeks now.
Weeks.
Harry hadn’t gone into any details when it came to what transpired after Ron rescued him from the lake. He only mentioned that it had affected Ron deeply. Ginny had once confided in you about all the terrible things Riddle’s diary had done before Harry was able to destroy it with the basilisk fang. What if the locket was no different?
Scrambling out of bed, you quickly slip on your trainers and traveling cloak.
There was only one way to find out.
******************************************************************
The cold air, which helped to keep you awake and alert earlier, is now lulling you into a false sense of comfort. Your eyes drift shut as the exhaustion that’s been plaguing you for weeks finally catches up and sleep claims you.
Crack
Your eyes snap open at the disturbance.
There’s no time to think.
You tighten your grip on your wand, whipping it around as you dive off the rock and onto the ground.
“PROTEGO!”
The wand, however, isn’t pointed near the perceived threat as the spell shoots from the tip and heads towards the opening of the tent.
******************************************************************
You storm out of the tent and into the icy darkness in search of answers, intent on uncovering whatever secrets Ron might be keeping. You spot his huddled form near the edge of the campsite and carefully pick your way across the snow covered ground.
Crack
You inadvertently step on a fallen branch and Ron jerks to life, swinging his wand into view. You bring your own up to defend yourself from his instinctive attack, but can only watch, frozen, as his spell is aimed at the tent and not yourself.
It takes a moment to realize what he’s done.
******************************************************************
“PROTEGO!”
Your heart jumps into your throat as you scramble out of bed. One hand fumbles with your glasses as the other simultaneously reaches under the pillow for your wand.
You catch sight of the sword on the table. Common sense tells you to hide it, but your heart prevails and you race toward the tent opening--
Only to be repelled by an invisible barrier.
Anxiously you look outside, relieved to see that you aren’t under attack. Hermione, however, looks fit to kill.
“You selfish arse!”
Sighing, you head back to bed, hoping they’ll have worked it out by morning.
******************************************************************
The blood drains from your face when you realize that it’s Hermione standing a few feet from you and not some Deatheater or snatcher intent on earning reward galleons.
Swallowing hard, you struggle to you feet, hands shaking from the initial fear as well as the subsequent shock at the idea that you could've hurt her had you not aimed your wand at the tent.
Hurt her when all you wanted to do was protect her.
Harry’s standing just inside the tent opening, disheveled and confused and you’re about to tell him that everything is fine.
“You selfish arse."
Apparently you’re wrong.
******************************************************************
Images of the past swirl in your mind’s eye as Ron struggles to his feet.
Sitting atop a chess piece waiting to be taken.
Running off to face his greatest fear after you’d been petrified.
Standing on a broken leg boldly protecting Harry from Sirius.
Sulking in a corner as you danced with Viktor Krum.
Hiding the painful scars that crisscross his arms and chest.
Lying still and unresponsive after drinking poisoned mead.
Pushing you out of harm’s way when Dolohov and Rowle attacked in the cafe.
Suddenly you realize that he was ready to sacrifice himself all over again.
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For a moment you’re unsure if Hermione’s talking to you or Harry.
Then she’s stomping across the snow, her posture rigid and hands clenched into fists and it takes every ounce of willpower not to take a step backwards in retreat. Coming to a stop just inches from you she draws one arm back. You flinch, waiting for the slap that is sure to follow.
Only it doesn’t.
Instead she pockets her wand and reaches out, grabbing fistfuls of your cloak as she buries her head against your chest. “How could you?” She murmurs over and over into your jumper.
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“Hermione?” Ron whispers uncertainly. His hands tentatively touch the back of your shoulders, neither pulling you closer nor pushing you away. But it serves to anchor you, as does listening to his furiously beating heart under your ear.
You swallow hard, forcing the panic that you felt to the back of your mind, as you slowly pull your head away to look up to him. The concern on his face nearly does you in again. “Why use a shield charm, Ron?”
He looks away and his touch is gone, as his hands fall to his sides. “You know why, Hermione.”
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“Don’t you dare turn away,” she shouts. “What if it wasn’t me outside the tent? Don’t you know what could have happened to you?”
You sigh. “Yes. I do.” Apparently a succinct answer wasn’t what Hermione was looking for and she clouts you hard on the arm in response. “Ow. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“You were going to blindly sacrifice yourself to some unknown threat,” she replies, quickly. “That’s plenty wrong, Ron.”
“I’d do it again.” And you mean it. And by the look on her face, Hermione knows it too.
“Harry can take care of himself.”
“I know.”
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This whole mess hasn’t been about Harry at all.
“I’m perfectly capable of defending myself,” you cry indignantly. But even as the words come out of your mouth, you can’t help but remember how badly things almost went with the snake at Godric’s Hollow.
“I won’t take that chance.” There’s grim determination in his voice and you’re caught between hitting him again and hugging him.
“If you even so much as think about putting yourself in harm’s way again to protect me, I’ll never forgive you, Ronald Weasley.”
“Yeah, well, we both know what that’s like.”
“Don’t be so presumptuous!”
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It was that word.
It brings forth memories that you’d rather gouge your eyes out than to witness again. Images of Hermione and Harry together. Together. You press your balled fists into your eyes, willing the most horrible night of your life so far to fade.
“Ron?”
Her voice is warm and full of concern, and you want nothing more than for her to leave so you can deal with this alone. “Go back to the tent. It’s getting late.” You brush by her and settle once more on top of the rock. “Next watch isn’t for a few hours.”
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He’s dismissing you.
He’s turning his back, physically and emotional and it grates on your last nerve. This isn’t Ron. This isn’t the same boy who’d argue with you until his face matched the color of his hair.
Something is wrong.
You move to stand in front of him. “Ron?” He ignores you, averting his eyes.
However, you won’t be deterred. “Ron, what happened?”
He let’s out an explosive breath. “I told you, I thought you were a Deatheater and I--”
“No,” you interrupt him. “I want you to tell me what happened when you and Harry destroyed the locket.”
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Startled, you throw an accusatory glance over at the tent. How could Harry tell her after promising not to?
“He wouldn’t tell me anything,” Hermione says as if reading your thoughts. She grasps your chin firmly and tilts your head up until you’re forced to make eye contact. “But you should have.”
There’s an air of disappointment in her voice, wholly unfamiliar to your ears. In the past there’s always been anger, frustration and even exasperation, but never disappointment. And frankly, you're not sure how to respond.
“There’s nothing to tell,” you replied gruffly.
“Then why are you having nightmares?”
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There. You’ve managed to take him by surprise again. “What? Did you honestly think that I slept through all the times you’ve cried out in your sleep?” His eyes drop to the snow at your feet and you know that he’s embarrassed by your revelation.
“Just stupid nightmares,” he mumbles. “Everyone gets them from time to time.”
“Not every night,” you disagree. “And they didn’t start until after you returned.”
He shrugs. “I told you that I had a run in with snatchers. It wasn’t the most pleasant experience.”
“Then why have you woken shouting my name and not theirs?”
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There. She’s caught you now. It was stupid to think that she’d sleep through those most awful of nights. Where the events surrounding the horcrux would haunt you relentlessly in your dreams. When the Riddle Hermione would transform into the real Hermione and order you to leave again so she could be alone with Harry. When Harry would shake you awake and return to his cot without a word and a quick glance across the the tent assured you that Hermione was still asleep.
Only she wasn’t, was she?
“You’re right,” you say at length. “Something did happen that night.”
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You take a seat next to him on the rock because it’s quite clear that he doesn’t want to have this conversation face to face. Waiting has never been your strong suit and it feels like a lifetime passes before he starts to speak.
“I know the locket affected us all,” he begins haltingly. But I think... just maybe, that it affected me more.”
You remember feeling oddly out of touch with your emotions while wearing the horcrux. Irritable, snappish and overly sensitive. But you had blamed it on the stress of having to wear it, not the object itself.
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“How do you know?”
It really was too much to hope that she’d take your word without a proper explanation. “After I left...” You pause, swallowing hard. Even now, thinking of your betrayal causes you to cringe inwardly. “When I finally made it to Bill’s, after dealing with the snatchers, I asked him about magical objects...”
“You told him about the horcrux!” Hermione interrupts.
“No,” you stammer, “I didn’t, I swear.” You can see her staring at you out of the corner of your eye, her expression doubtful. “He’s got experience with that sort of thing. His job, you see?”
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Ron did have a point. As a curse breaker at Gringotts, Bill would be in a position to come across enchanted items. “What did he say?”
“He said that all wizards have the same ability to produce magic, regardless of their blood status.”
“Yes, we know this,” you grind out impatiently. “Lesson one in History of Magic.”
“Then I guess you also know that Purebloods are more sensitive to magic,” he presses, evidently irritated at your rebuke.
You don’t. “How can that be? I’ve never read...”
He shakes his head. “That’s because Purebloods don’t want it to become public knowledge.”
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“That can’t be,” she protests vehemently. “It’s just not possible to keep something like that a secret.”
You shake your head. “I’m not saying that people don’t know... only that you won’t find it published in the Daily Prophet for all to read. Look there’s a reason why certain jobs are only filled by Purebloods. We’re more susceptible to the affects of magic. Bill’s job relies on that. You put a Halfblood or Muggleborn in his position and they might not be able to sense a curse hidden within an object until its too late.”
“But why all the deception?”
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“It’s been used against us in the past.” Ron jumps to his feet, shoving his hands into his pockets as he stares up at the sky. “During the first war against Vol-...You-Know-Who, Deatheaters focused on punishing those who supported Muggle relations. Especially those from Pureblood families.”
A chill runs down your back as you come to a horrifying conclusion. “The Order of the Phoenix.”
Ron nods, finally turning to face you. “I overheard Mum and Dad talking the day I returned from Hogwarts after our third year. Peter Pettigrew knowingly led them all straight into an ambush.”
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Hermione opens her mouth to speak, but you hold up a hand. “Before you accuse me of not telling you sooner, it was all pretty meaningless to me at the time.” She gives you a half nod, an invitation to continue. “I was more upset over the fact that my pet was a Deatheater in disguise than his involvement in Sirius’ arrest.”
“So everything Sirius said about Pettigrew was true?”
You nod. “He insisted on taking Veritaserum in front of the Order to affirm his innocence, something that wasn’t offered to him the first time around.”
“What did he say?”
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Ron retrieves his wand from his pocket as he sits back down at your side. “Pettigrew lured the Order to a village just outside of Kent under the false pretense that Deatheaters were attacking Muggles. The portkey that he acquired brought them to a forest instead. Dumbledore realized immediately that something wasn’t right and ordered them to disapparate to safety. But there was an enchantment of sorts in place and the Purebloods were left incapacitated to the extent where they couldn’t risk apparation. The others escaped, unknowingly stranding the rest.” His grip on the wand tightens. “Then the Deatheaters arrived.”
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Hermione reaches over and lays her hand over yours. Sighing, you release your stranglehold on the wand. “The Order members fought hard, but they were outnumbered. Dolohov and four other Deatheaters managed to take down my uncles, Gideon and Fabian. The Lestranges captured and tortured Neville’s parents with the Cruitiatus before disapparating with them. Aurors located and rescued them five days later but they had already been driven to insanity.
“What about Harry’s father?” Hermione asks.
“He wasn’t with them,” you reply. “The Potters had gone into hiding the week before. Only one person managed to escape that night. Sirius.”
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“How?”
“He changed into his animagus form,” Ron explains. “Took them all by surprised, since he was unregistered and all. He ran until he couldn’t feel the pull of the enchantment any longer and Disapparated back to headquarters. But by then it was too late.”
“Too late?”
“The remaining Order members were at the Ministry demanding a trace on the Portkey. They played right into Pettigrew’s hand. The ambush was a ruse. He wanted them to be distracted.”
“But why?”
“So Voldemort could travel to Godric’s Hollow undetected. The ambush took place Halloween, 1981. The night Harry’s parents were murdered.
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Hermione gasps and you turn your hand beneath hers, clumsily entwining your fingers. You wait on baited breath for her to pull away; only she doesn’t and you can only hope that she’ll mistake the blush burning your cheeks for a reaction to the cold night air. “You knew that the Potters were protected by the Fidelius Charm, right?” Hermione nods. “Sirius was the obvious choice for secret-keeper, but at the last moment he convinced them to choose Pettigrew instead.”
“And Pettigrew, in turn, told You-Know-Who and broke the concealment spell,” Hermione adds. “And everyone blamed Sirius.”
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“Right,” he replies. “Members of the Order already knew where the Potters lived. But under the Fidelius Charm, Harry and his family would remain hidden in plain sight to all but Pettigrew and whoever he told. When Sirius escaped, his first thought was to seek out Pettigrew. After all, it was his portkey that send them straight into the ambush. When he wasn’t in his designated hiding place, Sirius grew suspicious and flew his motorbike to Godric’s Hollow. Only it was too late. The house was half blasted apart. Luckily, Hagrid managed to find Harry before the muggle neighbors did.
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“But how did Hagrid know what had happened?” you ask. “Wasn’t he with the Order at the Ministry?”
“Bill told me that Dumbledore placed a charm on the residence before the Fidelius was in place. He was alerted the moment the house was destroyed and sent Hagrid.” He shrugs. “The house became visible at that point.”
“That makes sense,” you reply. “When Harry and I went to Godric’s Hollow while you were ... we were able to see the rubble. It was protected by magic, but only from Muggle view. The Fidelius Charm must also break if the spell-caster dies.”
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“Er... right,” you reply. But the truth of it is, you’re not even aware of what you’re agreeing to. All of your attention is focussed on your left hand and all you can feel is the loss associated with Hermione pulling her hand away after she stumbled over her sentence a moment ago. Her hands are now twisting nervously in her lap and you fear moving yours and drawing her attention to them. “S-So, Sirius wanted to take Harry, but Hagrid told him that he had specific orders to bring Harry back to Dumbledore. That didn’t go over real well.”
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“I can imagine,” you say, staring down at the ground. You’ve made things difficult by pulling away from him. He won’t dare say anything, not that he needs to. You can hear it in the hesitation in his voice, something you’re all too familiar with.
It had been replaced by a new sort of confidence when you arrived at the Burrow last summer. And you had hoped that Ron was finally coming into his own as far as maturity went. But he’s reverted a bit since his return. And most, if not all, of the blame rests on your shoulders.
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“Hermione?” You’ve called her name twice already. It’s so unusual to catch her daydreaming. Well it used to be, when you were forced to spend afternoons in the common room doing coursework. Hermione was always one step ahead as far as assignments went, completing one and jumping to the next. You’ve never seen her just sit still and relax.
That’s not entirely true.
After modifying her parents’ memories and sending them off to Australia, she had arrived at the Burrow a complete wreck. And you hadn’t a clue on how to deal with her. Not until you read that book.
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You’re startled out of you reverie by Ron’s hand on your upper arm. Your head jerks up in surprise and you both stare at the offending appendage for a long, tense moment before he quickly drops it back to his leg.
“Sorry.”
“No, it’s okay,” you say. “I was miles away. Didn’t mean to drift off on you.” He nods his head and you can’t help but glance up at his profile. Sitting here like this reminds you of the nights the two of you spent at the Burrow before going to the Dursleys to collect Harry on his birthday.
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“Remember when we’d go out to the lake and stargaze?” Her voice is soft and tinged with wistful longing, and it makes you inwardly curse horcruxes, Voldemort, and the rotten snow that continues to fall around you.
“Yeah,” you reply. “Those were some nice nights.” And they were. The two of you sitting not too differently than how you are now, trying to find patterns among the twinkling, night lights. When Hermione finally relaxed enough to just enjoy sitting quietly without having to worry about her parents or Harry or their upcoming plans to leave.
You wanted to kiss her.
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♥