FIC: Finding His Way (R/Hr)

[shiiki]

Title: Finding His Way
Author: shiiki
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Ron Weasley/Hermione Granger, Bill Weasley/Fleur Delacour
Fandom: Harry Potter
Word Count: 8,718

Summary: Ron didn't know how to explain to her that far from driving him crazy, his new obsession could well be the thing that kept him sane.
---
Separated from Harry and Hermione, Ron listens to Potterwatch at Shell Cottage and tries to keep faith.

Notes: For sowritesauds at hallowedmoments. My fantastic betas for this piece were msmoocow and willowwand, two awesome ladies who deserve big cookies and other sweet things.

Link to fic at hallowedmoments | Checkmated


I still got a ways to go
So far away from home
Inside I always knew
I would find my way to you
--P.O.D. 'Find My Way'

Ron gasped as the choking squeeze of Apparition faded and he stumbled into a dim clearing in the forest. Something caught his foot - unbalanced, he tripped and landed sprawled on the damp, leafy ground, swearing vehemently as he did so.

A stinging pain in his fingers made him wince and drop the two wands in his hand. Praying he hadn't Splinched, Ron examined himself gingerly. When he held up his hands, relief washed over him immediately. His pinkie and ring fingers were raw and red and missing their nails, but the rest of him seemed intact.

Thank Merlin. If he'd ended up as badly Splinched as he'd been when they'd Disapparated from the Ministry, he'd have been in serious trouble without Hermione around to fix him up.

Hermione. His heart gave a thump of guilt and fear. She was going to be so mad when he got back, he was almost dreading his return. But there was no question about it; he had to find them. The argument of last night had dimmed in his mind to something forgettable and insignificant. What had he been thinking, just walking out on Harry like that? It probably served him right, running straight into a gang of lunatics who'd wanted to turn him in to the Ministry.

Ron bent to retrieve the two wands. Well, he thought, at least I've got us a spare. That can't hurt. Looking around, he tried to ascertain how far away from the others he'd landed.

He seemed to be in a quiet, glade-like part of the forest. The dawn light was peeping through the canvas of the trees, making the dew on the leaves sparkle. It didn't look like anywhere they'd been, and he wondered for a moment if he'd got his destination horribly wrong.

Then he heard the soft trickle of water and followed it, with relief, to the origins of a flowing stream. They had been by the bank of a river last night, he remembered now. He must have overestimated their camping point by several miles; it should be downstream from here. If he just Apparated the few miles ...

The exposed flesh under his nail-less fingers throbbed, and he reconsidered the decision. Harry and Hermione couldn't be that far off. He'd follow the stream on foot. Tucking the wands safely into the pocket of his jeans, he set off at a jog.

An hour later, he was running along the banks of a much wilder section of river, but he hadn't found Harry and Hermione yet. Apprehension was tugging at his insides. Had he missed them? Was he completely off? But his surroundings looked rather familiar ...

At last, he paused at a point on the bank where he was sure they had been. Glancing up the steep slope from the woods, he felt certain that this was the spot where they - well, Harry and Hermione, at any rate - had spent the night.

And there was no sign of them now.

They've left. He pushed the thought quickly away, unable to believe it. No, they couldn't - they wouldn't have left without me. They had to be here still, somewhere - he must be wrong, he couldn't have got the right spot.

He spent the rest of the morning back-tracking and retracing his steps along the riverbank, even up the slope into the woods. He called for them, his voice growing frantically louder by the hour.

But no reply came, and no familiar tent rose out through the trees to greet him.

It was well into the afternoon when he finally admitted defeat and sank down by the muddy bank, still not quite believing that Harry and Hermione were gone, and he had no idea to which new site they'd chosen to Apparate.

At last, it was the growling of his stomach that reminded him that he needed to do something. Getting up, he realised that he hadn't eaten anything since the meagre helpings of fish Hermione had served up last night. The lack of food had seemed such a pressing issue then; now, however, it paled in comparison with the loss of his friends.

Still, he should find himself something to eat. Fainting from hunger wasn't going to help him find Harry and Hermione. Withdrawing his wand form his pocket, he squinted into the rushing river. He couldn't see any fish about, but a Summoning Charm was worth a try.

'Accio pike!' he cried, as he had heard Harry do previously. Why, he wondered now, hadn't he bothered to help then?

No fish flopped up in answer to his Accio. Gritting his teeth, Ron tried again. It took seven more attempts (and three variations of fish species) before his exasperated, 'Accio fish!' yielded a tiny minnow smaller than his palm. Disgusted, he flung it back into the river.

It was no wonder Harry and Hermione hadn't bothered to wait. He was useless. Useless. Nothing but deadweight and an extra mouth to feed - one who complained and sniped at them all the time, no less.

Well, I'm not hindering them any more. But he couldn't find the vindictive energy that had propelled him yesterday. Then, he had felt so justified in his anger, his concerns, worries, and discomforts seeming the only important thing in the world--fool! He could go home now, eat his fill of food, ease his anxiety about his family, but what would ease his shame and guilt?

And what would his family say when they heard that he'd walked out on Harry and Hermione? He imagined Fred and George's scathing looks and sarcasm, Ginny's rage (he cringed a bit, thinking of her Bat-Bogey Hex), Dad looking at him in disappointment.

Mum would be overjoyed to have him home, but she loved Harry and Hermione too, and he wouldn't blame her if even she gave him a sizzling telling-off for leaving them.

The terrifying thought then struck him: what if they weren't even alive any more to berate him? It was unimaginable. They had to be all right. But ... what if ...

The more he thought about it, the more the idea of home filled him with dread. His earlier compulsion to return battled with his fear of what he'd find when he did. In the end, it was logic that convinced him: he couldn't stay in this forest, a lone fugitive with no food or shelter. He muttered first a quick prayer that he wouldn't Splinch this time, and then focused his mind on Ottery St Catchpole.

Thankfully, he seemed to be whole when he landed on the same distant hill where they'd caught a Portkey to the Quidditch World Cup several years back. It wasn't long before he'd passed through the Muggle village and could see the familiar country lane leading up to The Burrow. He had hardly taken two steps onto the beaten path, however, when a jet of red light flew out of nowhere, aiming straight at his head. He ducked it narrowly, but the second spell sent his wand spinning out of his hand.

Cursing himself for being careless - how many times did he want to walk into a trap? - Ron extracted the stolen wand and returned a hex in the direction of his attacker. Clearly not expecting him to be carrying a second wand, the wizard dived out of a bush to avoid the spell, and Ron nearly collapsed in relief.

'Bill!' Ron lowered his wand, but his eldest brother kept his at the ready. 'Bill, it's m--'

'Expelliarmus!' barked Bill, and the second wand flew neatly into Bill's waiting hand while Ron was gaping at him. 'If you've done anything to Ron ...'

'I am Ron!'

Bill's hard gaze didn't soften. 'When I went to Egypt,' he said, 'what did you give me and why?'

Ron gulped. 'Er ... a - a towel, wasn't it? Because ... Percy said there was a lot of sand there and Ginny said you'd always have to be washing up to get it off.'

He could see Bill falter, hesitating as he considered Ron. Finally, Bill said, 'Just to be safe - give it an hour. We'll wait it out.' His eyes darted around, though his wand never left Ron. 'Not here, though. Come on.' He grabbed hold of Ron's arm and a moment later, they had passed through the disorienting squeeze of Apparition and appeared in a garden that smelt of salt and earth. Bill motioned towards a small shed just off from a little cottage. 'In there.'

This must be where Bill and Fleur lived, Ron realised. He had another glimpse of the cottage, enough to tell that it looked quite cosy, before Bill ushered him into the shed and locked the door behind them.

It was possibly the longest hour Ron had ever experienced. Bill sent off a Patronus, a silver griffin which soared through the walls of the shed. They then sat facing each other, Bill with his wand clenched tightly. Ron's stomach growled softly - it had now been a full day since his last meal. Slowly, agonisingly, the seconds ticked into minutes ... half an hour ... forty-five minutes ...

And at last, Bill lowered his wand, stepped towards Ron, and pulled him into a bone-crushing hug.

'Merlin's pants, Ron, you had me terrified! You disappear for months, and then you turn up without warning - you could have been captured and Polyjuiced by some Death Eater for all we knew!' Bill glared at him, and he stepped back quickly; his older brother's scarred face was a bit scary in anger. 'Where are Harry and Hermione, then?'

'Er ...' Ron's heart sank. He thought he might have shrunk a few inches as well, because suddenly, he felt very small.

Bill's eyes narrowed. 'Yes?'

'I left,' Ron said, very quietly.

'I'm sorry?'

'I left,' he repeated miserably. 'I - I ...' And it all came pouring out: their narrow escape from the Ministry, his Splinching, the seemingly aimless days roaming the countryside, hungry and full of despair. He left out the Horcruxes, of course, though he suspected that Bill knew there was something he wasn't saying, but Bill let him carry on without a single interruption. When he finally finished, his insides felt as raw as his throat, and he was sure that it was a different kind of emptiness from the hunger still gnawing at his stomach.

He expected Bill to have some choice words for what he had done; a lecture, or perhaps even a tongue-lashing from his older brother would be well-deserved indeed. He hung his head, waiting, but Bill's cool, 'What do you plan to do now?' came entirely out of the blue.

'I - well - I've got to find them again,' he said, unable to think further that this, for it was the only concrete plan he'd been able to wrap his mind around since he'd got away from that group of thugs. How and when this would be, he had no idea.

Bill nodded. 'Well, you can't just wander around alone in the meantime. And you can't go near The Burrow; it's being watched - they'd pick you up in a minute, and you're supposed to be bedridden with spattergroit.'

Ron didn't argue with this. He didn't fancy having to face the rest of his family's reactions to the horrible deed he'd done, after all. But why wasn't Bill at least berating him for it?

'Fleur and I aren't really on their radar - you should be safe here; you'll have to keep to the house, mainly, as the fewer people see a third person around, the less questions asked. But I think we'll get by.'

'Bill - wait ... you're not ... mad about what I did?'

Bill sighed. 'I think you already know that you were an arse, Ron. I don't need to tell you off or drive it into your head.'

Well, he was right about that. Ron didn't think anyone could make him feel any worse than he did for leaving Harry and Hermione.

Bill said nothing more on the subject. He clapped Ron on the back. 'Come on,' he said, beckoning for Ron to follow him back to the house. 'Fleur will be keeping dinner warm for us.'

---

Fleur turned out to be a marvellous cook - or perhaps it was simply the fact that he was ravenous. At any rate, Ron couldn't stop himself wolfing down second helpings. And thirds, once he'd done with those.

'Well, eet eez good zat I made a lot today,' said Fleur, looking very much like Mum when they cleaned her plates.

Ron swallowed his last forkful of chicken and gulped, 'Thanks, Fleur.'

'Eet eez nothing,' she said. 'Accio!' The empty dishes flew to her, and she directed them towards the sink with her wand. She set them to washing themselves, asked Bill to keep an eye on them, and departed, saying that she would make a bed for Ron in the spare room upstairs.

'So,' said Bill, leaning back in his chair such that it tilted against the counter on two legs. 'I suppose you want to know what we've all been doing?'

Ron nodded eagerly. 'You're all okay, then? No one injured? I heard Ginny ...' He hesitated, suddenly not certain that he wanted to hear if there was indeed bad news.

'She's fine,' assured Bill. 'And so is everyone else,' he continued, sensing the next pressing question on Ron's lips. 'Mum and Dad are keeping a low profile - I'm keeping my head down at work, too. Charlie's back in Romania. Fred and George are still manning the joke shop - the walk-in business seems to be bad, but they're doing surprisingly well with the mail-order stuff, or so Fred says. Ginny's safe at school - for now, at least, and safer than she'd be out of Hogwarts at any rate. And Percy ... well, he's still with the Ministry.'

It was the first news he'd had of his family in months, and Ron hung on avidly to Bill's words. The iron fist that had been gripping his heart seemed to relax several fingers. His family was all right. Safe.

'You won't - you're not going to tell them I'm here, are you?' He couldn't look Bill in the eye as he said it, but he could feel his older brother's shrewd gaze assessing him.

'I'll leave that up to you, whether you want to inform them of your doings.'

Ron felt a rush of gratitude towards his brother. 'Thanks,' he said.

'Ron.' Fleur had reappeared in the kitchen. They both looked up at her - Bill first throwing a guilty glance at the dishes, which he had ignored while talking to Ron, but were fortunately still intact and being soaped. 'Your room eez ready, if you are tired ...'

He was. He thanked her again, and followed her directions up to the little room just off the second floor landing. It smelt of freshly-laundered sheets, probably because Fleur had just made the little bed in the corner. Ron kicked off his shoes and fell back onto it, closing his eyes.

His thoughts were chasing around in his brain as scenes of the past forty-eight hours replayed themselves: talking to Bill in the shed ... his brother had really treated him like an adult, Ron realised, pride and pleasure mingling at the thought. He mentally went back through his futile search in the forest (could he return the next day to look for any clues he might have missed?), the tussle with that gang of thugs ... vividly, he saw himself and Harry, standing on either side of Hermione's flickering Shield Charm, wands raised ... he lifted the Horcrux over his neck and left it lying on the floor - good riddance! he'd thought then, and it seemed so clear to him that he must have meant the Horcrux and not his friends. Again he wondered why things had seemed so confusing, how he'd managed to get himself so worked up.

But exhaustion was quickly taking over. The pictures in his mind were being nudged out; his thoughts gently drifted into nothingness. And the last image before sleep claimed him was a memory from further back: the three of them laughing over dinner at Grimmauld Place.

---

For the first time in months, Ron could pinpoint the actual day and date. The next morning, a Saturday, Bill paid a visit to The Burrow.

'I told them you were all right, but I didn't say how I knew, or mentioned that you were with me,' he told Ron later. 'I thought I owed at least that to them.'

'Yeah ... thanks, Bill.'

'I think Dad suspects something's up, but he didn't press the matter. He - well, Dad trusts us, Ron, and I hope that means as much to you as it does to me.'

It did. He remembered Dad's words to him during the summer, when he'd confided his plans to join Harry on his quest:

'I understand. And your mother will too, but she worries a great deal about you. You have to know, Ron, that while we're proud that you children care so much for the beliefs we've brought you up to hold, it is a difficult thing for any parent to accept that their children are in danger, whether it's for a greater cause or not.

'But you're a man now, and you can make your own decisions. I trust you, son.'

Would he still say that now if he knew what Ron had done? Would he continue to trust Ron to make the right decisions, and do what he could to help, as he'd done in the summer, transfiguring the ghoul?

Ron continued to muse over this for the rest of the day. At night, he lay in bed, turning things over in his head. If he was going to be worthy of his family's trust - well, he'd just have to make things right, then. Filled with a new confidence, Ron sat up and lit his wand, Summoning ink, parchment and a quill from his rucksack. Arranging himself cross-legged on the bed, he began to think back on all the conversations he - or rather, Harry and Hermione - had had about the whereabouts of the Horcruxes.

Again, the question of why he hadn't participated in these discussions crossed his mind, but he pushed it out, wanting to focus on his list of places where Harry and Hermione might go. Later and later into the night he worked - he must have fallen asleep at some point because the next thing he knew, the sun was blazing through the window and he was lying face-down across his parchment.

'Damn,' he muttered, retrieving the ink bottle from where it had rolled, spilling black ink all over the bedspread. 'Scourgify,' he said, hoping Fleur hadn't by any chance peeked in and noticed the mess.

Fortunately, the stain disappeared easily, and neither Fleur nor Bill seemed to be awake yet. Ron set the kettle on the stove and settled down at the kitchen table, still poring over his list.

He hadn't got very far - most regrettably, he hadn't even listened very well when Harry and Hermione planned their movements across the country. In fact, Ron found that his memories of the past month seemed quite empty. Looking back, all he seemed to recall were long periods of hunger, boredom, and severe discontentment with his lot.

Was it really that bad, though? Some more light-hearted incidents as they trekked across moors and forests began to surface now - joking with Harry about their vegetarian diet; playing with Hermione's hair as they sat and watched the sunset from the door of their tent.

Ron set his quill down and propped his head on his hands. Why was it that they had only ever seemed to interact in pairs? Well, there had been the locket - they'd cycled it around so no single person would have to be burdened with the depression it brought on. Though to be sure, he'd spent most of the time that he didn't have to wear it dreading the time when it'd come back ...

The locket.

'Leave the Horcrux.'

He'd taken it off the night he'd left. He'd been wearing it when he and Harry had got into their big fight.

It was by no means an excuse, but it was a reason. It explained why he'd felt so justified in leaving - a certainty that had evaporated the moment whatever evil spell the Horcrux had cast over him had been broken.

And it was yet another obstacle he would have to face if he were to return. What was to say that he wouldn't walk out again, under the influence of the Horcrux? Ron felt a twist of shame at his weakness - Harry and Hermione could fight it, couldn't they? - but he had to be honest with himself. And truthfully, he wasn't sure that he could overcome the locket even if he returned. What if this time, he didn't just leave them - what if he betrayed them? A cold horror seemed to settle over him at the thought of himself handing his friends over to Death Eaters.

No, it couldn't happen. He wouldn't let it. Once he got back to them, he'd make damn sure they destroyed the Horcrux first, before it could get to him again.

---

Bill and Fleur stayed home the whole of Sunday, but Bill returned to work the next day. Ron spent the morning helping Fleur with chores - she seemed to think that keeping him busy would prevent him from brooding. Unfortunately, most of the tasks she gave him were pretty mind-numbing, and he continued to think about Harry, Hermione, and Horcruxes. He decided to change tactics and focus on the latter first; hopefully their paths would intersect if they both were searching for Horcruxes and ways to destroy them.

In the afternoon, Fleur ran out of things for him to do, so he settled down in his room, first to compose a letter to Ginny. He'd had the idea that she might be able to give him a clue about the Sword of Gryffindor, which he thought Harry and Hermione might now be trying to find. There didn't seem to be a good way to phrase this such that if the letter was read, Snape or that pair of Death Eaters up at the school wouldn't figure things out. Frustrated, Ron made a note to ask Bill when he came home.

Wandering about the house after giving up on the letter, he discovered a stack of old Prophets and started to pore over them in the slim hope of getting any information that might help. He didn't think week-old news would help him find his friends, but with any luck, there might be something that might serve as a hint.

Thus when Bill got home, it was to find Ron in the middle of the living room, circled by newspapers.

'What are you looking for?'

'Clues,' said Ron, throwing aside yet another useless page with a low growl of exasperation. 'This is full of crap.'

Bill sighed. Ron looked up and saw that he had the day's paper under his arm. 'The Prophet toes the Ministry line closely, Ron.'

'I wish there was a way to get some real information.'

'On finding Harry and Hermione?' Bill looked thoughtful. 'Actually, Ron, now that I think of it ... there might be a way ...'

'What? Why didn't you say so before? How?'

'Well, I don't know for sure, but if there's any information to be had ... anything that might point you in the right direction, at least ...' He rubbed his chin, and to Ron's amazement, Bill moved to the mantelpiece and turned on the wireless.

A loud female voice came out of the radio: '... special guest tonight, the esteemed Headmaster Snape, who will speak to us about the new regime at Hog--'

The announcer was cut off by a blast of static as Bill twiddle the dials and began to tap on them with his wand, muttering, 'Patronus.'

'Bill, what ... Harry and Hermione wouldn't be on the wireless.'

'There's this programme,' Bill said. 'Top secret - password protected and all. But it gives us information on what's really happening in the world. I know you probably won't get anything concrete on Harry and Hermione, but there might be hints that could point you in the right direction.'

'Right.' Ron still felt a bit sceptical. 'So how do we tune in?'

'Luck.' Bill tapped the wireless again. 'Fawkes. It's not a regular programme,' he explained. 'Can't make it too easy for anyone to catch on. They give out the next password each broadcast, but they never say when the next one will be. Last password was 'Patronus', but we could've missed it, or it might not have come on yet.'

'So you just have to keep guessing?'

Bill shrugged. 'The password's always something to do with the Order.' He attempted it ten more times with new words, tried 'Patronus' again, then sighed and concluded that they probably hadn't got the right programme timing.

Ron didn't think much about Bill's programme; he was more concerned about the fact that his list of possible whereabouts for Harry and Hermione hadn't grown past half a page, and every line of enquiry he tried kept meeting dead ends. Bill continued to try his luck with the wireless every night; Fleur often joined in, offering suggestions. Ron watched with only mild interest - he still couldn't fathom exactly how a radio programme would be useful.

At last, a week from Ron's arrival at Shell Cottage, Bill finally managed to crack the code ('Weasley') and instead of static, Ron heard a very familiar voice issuing from the wireless.

'Welcome to Potterwatch! We apologise for the delay between this episode and the last; it's been deemed prudent to lie low for a while as Death Eaters have been active in our area.'

'Lee Jordan?' said Ron.

Bill nodded. 'Shh.'

'We have an exciting new feature lined up for you this evening: Pals of Potter, brought to you by our correspondent Romulus - evening, Romulus!'

'Hello, River.'

'River?'

'Code names,' explained Bill.

'And we'll also hear from several other correspondents who have agreed to come down to the studio. But first, a look at the news. We regret to inform our listeners that the bodies of Bentley and Marceline Robins have been found. The Order of the Phoenix confirms that their deaths were by the Killing Curse - likely to be Death Eater work.

'It is also our sad duty to report that Grace Maddock has been murdered in an attempt to thwart a round of Muggle-baiting in Aberdeen. Sixteen Muggles have also been killed.

'Please do join us in a moment of silence now, in the memory of Bentley Robins, Marceline Robins, Grace Maddock, and the sixteen Muggles.'

Ron and Bill both bowed their heads for a minute. When Lee resumed speaking, Ron asked, 'Does it always start like that?'

'Mostly,' said Bill grimly. 'People are dying left and right but no other programme or newspaper thinks to report it.'

'... in some more uplifting news, our correspondent Rose from Hogwarts tells us that there has been quite some rebellious activity going on there! She would like to assure us that the underground group known as Dumbledore's Army is still going strong. But fear not, parents, your children are still safe. Rose, who is of course unable to be here with us, reports that while Severus Snape and the Carrows make life pretty tough, students are at least alive and well.'

'I'm certain "Rose" is Ginny,' said Bill, 'but how she's managing to get information to Lee without Snape figuring out, I haven't a clue.'

'We now bring you a new section of Potterwatch: Pals of Potter. Romulus has kindly agreed to appear on air; welcome, Romulus, and thank you very much.'

'Thank you, River.'

Ron's eyes widened. 'Is that ...'

'Now, I'm sure this is a burning question among all our listeners: where is Harry Potter? What can you tell us about this, Romulus?'

'Well, Harry fortunately remains elusive - which is a good thing, I'd like to stress. The last sign of him is still the break-in at the Ministry early last month, where he and two others successfully impersonated Albert Runcorn, Mafalda Hopkirk, and Reg Cattermole to infiltrate the Ministry.'

'It's Lupin, isn't it?' Ron demanded.

'Yes.'

'And what a feat that was! Why do you think Potter went to the Ministry, which is, of course, a highly dangerous place for him to enter?'

'I can only speculate, River. I'd say he was searching for something. What it is and why he needed it, I cannot say. But I think that given his absence since, it's almost certain that he found what he was looking for. If I know Harry, he will not give up until he succeeds.'

'You don't think that this absence is because of a more ... sinister reason, then? You believe he is still alive?'

'I am sure of it.' And Lupin's voice rang with certainty. 'It would firstly make very little sense for a hundred Galleon price to be put on a head that had already been captured. Secondly, if Harry Potter has been caught and killed, the new regime would waste no time in announcing the fact, just to strike a blow to all of us who see him as a symbol of hope. But most importantly, Harry has an incredible knack for survival. I truly believe he is out there, with the ultimate goal of defeating Vol--sorry, You-Know-Who in mind.'

Lee gave an uneasy laugh. 'Careful there,' he said.

'Yes, I'm sorry. It's a bit of a difficult habit to break, at times.'

'Remember folks, it's no longer a myth that calling You-Know-Who by his name will bring him down on your doorstep. Well, probably not the big man himself, as being the puppeteer master of an entire country must be quite time-consuming, but his minions are quite as ruthless, so you want to be cautious. The name is Taboo now - as you'll know if you've been tuning in, our friend Kingsley Shacklebolt certainly discovered!'

There was a pause, during which Ron turned to Bill in alarm. 'What happened to Kingsley?'

'Attacked by Death Eaters; he's -'

'... still on the run, isn't he, Romulus?' Lee continued.

'That's right, River.'

'Well, he's certainly a hell of a wizard,' said Lee with a short laugh. 'So folks, unless you're a fierce ex-Auror with some pretty handy spells to make a quick getaway, try to not refer to the Name of Doom - it's a blinking red light screaming "attack me!"'

'So that's how ...' Ron felt his heart plummet to his feet. Harry and Hermione didn't know about the Taboo. They were liable to speak You-Know-Who's name any moment, which would set the Death Eaters after them the way they had at Tottenham Court Road.

He didn't get very much further on this train of thought, however, because Lee was suddenly interrupted by a loud bang and a muffled shout in the background.

'Get out!' a rough, vaguely familiar voice called. There was a blast of static, punctuated here and there by swearing, some loud crashes, the sound of something exploding, and then the station went dead. Ron saw Bill and Fleur exchange worried looks.

Bill got abruptly to his feet; he shook off the hand Fleur placed on his arm.

'Beel,' she said, her tone slightly pleading.

'If it's Death Eaters ...'

She looked crestfallen, but withdrew and didn't argue. Ron's eyes travelled between the pair of them, not understanding.

'What's going on?'

'Stay here with Fleur,' Bill ordered him, not explaining. He bent to kiss Fleur - Ron quickly averted his gaze - and then strode quickly out of the room. A moment later, they heard the pop of his Disapparition.

'Well?' Ron rounded on Fleur and repeated his question.

''E 'as gone to 'elp if 'e can,' she said quietly, her voice tense and frightened. 'Your bruzzers - Fred and George - zey are with zis Potterwatch.'

'What?'

'Zey are friends with ze 'ost. And ze Order 'elps out with ze show. Beel 'as talked for it before.'

'He didn't - why didn't he tell me that?'

'It was better zat less people know.'

'But ... but I wouldn't ...'

'It eez not a matter of trust.' She glared at him. 'You 'ave a secret too, eez zat not right?'

'Yes, but that's different!' he protested. 'That's ... it's ... Harry said - Dumbledore said - well, it's important!'

'And ze lives of your bruzzers are not?'

'No! I mean, of course they are! I didn't mean to say ...'

He trailed off into silence. Fleur didn't answer him; she had fallen back against the back of the couch and was blinking quite rapidly. Ron scratched his head awkwardly, hoping she wouldn't succumb to tears.

Fortunately, she didn't. She composed herself, but she didn't seem keen to start talking again. They continued to sit in silence, waiting ... waiting ...

At last, the crack of Bill's Apparition into the hallway made them both leap to their feet and dash out to meet him. Fleur tried to fling her arms around his neck, but he caught them and held her off.

'Security,' he reminded her. They exchanged questions in French - Ron didn't understand a word of it - and then Fleur launched herself at Bill again. This time, he held her tightly.

'I'm okay,' he assured her. 'We all are.' He glanced over at Ron. 'Lee and Lupin and the rest are fine; Fred and George managed to convince the Death Eaters that it was just some joke experiment in the back room, but they'll be under surveillance from now on; they're going to have to find a different location.'

'Death Eaters!' Fleur huffed. 'And if zey had caught any of you! Oh, Beel ...'

Sensing a developing undercurrent of something more intimate, Ron left the hallway quickly and made his way upstairs to his bedroom. They were all right, then, Lee and Lupin and the twins and whoever else had been at the 'studio' - which must have been situated at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.

What about Harry and Hermione, though? What if You-Know-Who found them using the Taboo? What if they suffered an attack just as the Potterwatch producers had - except no one would know to go and rescue them?

Again he tried to figure out where they might go. But he simply ended up rehashing all the possibilities he'd discarded over the past week. He thought carefully through everything he'd heard on Potterwatch, but the only thing he could be certain of was that Harry wasn't dead ... yet.

He wasn't sure when he drifted into sleep. His dreams were full of Harry and Hermione - they were hidden from him by a screen, just beyond reach, though he could hear their voices strong and clear. Hermione wept and pleaded - 'Come back, Ron, come back, please!' In his dream he held his hands out towards her voice. For a moment the screen lifted, and he could see her running towards him, her arms outstretched, her expression something like the one on Fleur's face when she welcomed Bill home. He broke into a run towards her, but it felt as though he was moving through water, and Hermione started to fade.

'Noooo ...'

He awoke to the sound of her pleas still ringing in his ears.

Ron spent the next few days huddled about the wireless, tapping away with his wand. He knew it was unlikely that Lee and the others had regrouped so soon - if they even had the means to make it onto the airwaves again - but he could think of nothing else to try, and it gave him something to do. Bill brought home the papers - Ron scoured the Daily Prophet for any mention of Harry, but the only thing he found was a blown up photograph with a hundred-Galleon price above its head. Harry in the picture blinked at him belligerently.

They have to be alive, or Harry wouldn't still be wanted, he told himself, repeating Lupin's words on Potterwatch.

Bill had also, surprisingly, brought home The Quibbler, which Ron soon found was full of proper information as opposed to the Death Eater propaganda the Prophet was spewing. He wondered how the Lovegoods were getting away with it, then figured that the Death Eaters probably overlooked The Quibbler as a rubbish rag.

However, though supportive of Harry, The Quibbler published nothing that might be a hint to his whereabouts. After scouring it thoroughly, Ron threw it aside with a sigh and resumed his vigil by the wireless.

It wasn't until the third week that Potterwatch returned to air. Bill came through again with the password - 'Grimmauld' - and they got in just as Lee was starting up.

'... very long absence, our apologies for the abrupt ending of the last episode! As our listeners have probably gathered, we were paid a little house call by some charming Death Eaters. On the bright side, we're alive, and I think a little status upgrade is in order, as we've now joined the ranks of our hero Potter, being in hiding ourselves.

'It's taken us a while to get our bearings, so we have little news to report today, but rest assured, we shall be working hard to bring our listeners the information they desperately need.

'I'm here with Romulus and a new correspondent - who thoroughly deserves the name of "Royal"--' there was a low 'Thanks, River,' in the background '--and we'll hear from both of them later, after the news update.'

Ron turned up the volume, afraid to miss a word. The news, as before, was grim: Lee reported three more deaths and four missing people. Snatchers - which Ron quickly learnt were gangs like the one that he'd run into - had captured two Muggle-borns on the run and handed them over to the Ministry, who had promptly given them to the Dementors. Ron felt a sickening swoop in his stomach as he heard this; the fear that Hermione too might meet such a fate was almost paralysing.

'... horrible thing, and we should have got rid of those creatures years ago.'

'So you don't belong to the camp that believes we should keep them around and feed Death Eaters to them once we get out of this mess, Royal?'

'Definitely not,' and Ron thought he recognised the voice as Kingsley's now. 'They did that in the last war, I remember, and that excited the Dementors, which was why they became disgruntled later on when they were set to guard Azkaban. We don't want to keep such demons around for whatever purpose.

'The Dementor's Kiss is like the Killing Curse - irreversible. No one - man, woman, child; Muggle-born or Death Eater - deserves such a fate. And to turn things around in the name of revenge would make us no better than them.'

'Hear, hear! Thanks for that, Royal. And now Romulus is here, so let's get on with our feature programme: Pals of Potter. Romulus, can you tell us anything new about Harry Potter?'

'I'm afraid not, but in this case, no news is good news.'

'You believe, then, that he is still alive?'

'Without a doubt. His elusiveness continues to be a thorn in the side of the new regime, and I think we should all take heart from that.'

'And indeed we do. So, Romulus, what of Harry Potter's supporters? What have they been doing in the past few weeks?'

'I'm afraid no one dares to do much more than believe silently that Harry will find a way to triumph in the end. But several more daring souls have been doing their bit to speak out. If you've seen The Quibbler ...'

'Oh yes, brilliant issue, that! Old Lovegood's certainly got his heart in the right place, even if his head's up in the air most of the time. Listeners, I definitely encourage you to buy a copy if you haven't yet.'

'And I believe things aren't going all too well for the new Headmaster up at Hogwarts.'

Lee laughed. 'Which reminds me, our contact Rose has asked to spread the message to all members of Dumbledore's Army. If you're tuning in, the current leader would like you to hold on to your money - that's right, keep your Galleons safe, because you never know when they might come in handy!

'And speaking of Galleons, that brings us to our final update section on Death Eater activity. We've just received insider information that Gringotts is about to carry out a seizure of all vaults belonging to Muggle-borns. It is believed that this gold will eventually transfer to the vaults of senior Death Eaters. Now, I can't imagine what they'll need the money for - after all, blackmail and threats should be sufficient currency for them to get anything they want.'

'It's a crying shame,' said Kingsley.

'We can only hope,' agreed Lupin, 'that we can overthrow the regime and right these grievous wrongs.'

'Definitely,' said Lee. 'When will Potter's resurrection take place? We don't know, but you can be sure, when it happens, we'll all be ready to rally behind him!

'So that brings us to the end of Potterwatch. We don't know when the next broadcast will be, but the password is 'Hogwarts', so keep tuning your wirelesses! Until then, stay safe and good night.'

As the weeks went by and Ron's stay at Shell Cottage stretched into what seemed like a long, unending day, trying to catch Potterwatch became a daily routine, as regular as cleaning his teeth or having his meals. The show's timings were erratic - understandably, as the producers were now working undercover, switching locations each time. However, Ron checked the radio obsessively on the hour - it even became habit for him to turn it on the moment he woke up in the morning and try his luck. The wireless migrated to his room, and he probably would have carried it around with him, except Fleur put her foot down.

'Zis eez mad!' she told him. 'You need to do something else besides leestening to ze radio all day!' And reminiscent of Mum, she started to set him more chores around the house to occupy him.

Ron didn't know how to explain to her that far from driving him crazy, his new obsession could well be the thing that kept him sane. Cooped up in Shell Cottage, unable to wander outside because of the danger ('It's not just your head on the line if you're caught, or even seen,' Bill warned him.), only Potterwatch truly connected him to the outside world. It was worth hours, even days, of fruitless tapping to be rewarded by one single broadcast that let him know outside his safe haven, people were fighting. Just to hear Lupin stress that Harry - and by default Hermione - must be alive allowed him to relax for the next few days. Potterwatch reminded him of the things he must tell himself: that no news was good news, that the fact that he couldn't find Harry or Hermione was a blessing, because it meant that they were still well-protected by Hermione's indefatigable charms.

Although he had access to clocks and calendars here, they were meaningless to him except as a reminder of how long he'd been away from his friends. Outside the house, the weather took a colder turn, rainstorms turning into sleet, and finally snow. How were they coping with the onset of winter?

Christmas was now approaching, and Ron couldn't help but wonder if Harry and Hermione knew it too. Would they do anything special to celebrate? A sudden vision of Hermione with holly in her hair, charming the insides of their tent to look a little more festive, made his insides ache from missing her.

Fleur began to plan an elaborate Christmas dinner ('in 'onour of our first Noël togezzer'), which she chatted about to Ron as they worked away together at the household chores. She and Bill had announced to the rest of the family that they were planning to spend their first Christmas at home together - Ron felt immensely guilty when he realised that one, it was because of him that they couldn't go to The Burrow, and two, he had probably messed up their private celebrations, but neither seemed to hold this against him. He was, however, relieved that he wouldn't have to face the twins - and worse, Ginny.

On the night of Christmas Eve, he retired earlier to give Bill and Fleur some privacy, and fell asleep after an hour of unsuccessful attempts on tuning in to Potterwatch. He dreamt that he was throwing snowballs in the garden of The Burrow, and Harry was there, laughing until Ron's snowball smacked him in the face.

'Oh, that's it, Weasley!' said Harry, knocking his glasses askew as he wiped off the snow. Ron ducked the return missile, but felt an attack from behind. He whirled round to the sound of a giggle; Hermione had her mittened hands up over her mouth, and she was shaking with mirth. Ron lumbered towards her through the snow. She pretended to run, but he caught her easily and wrapped his arms around her.

'Caught me now, have you?' she told him playfully. 'What are you going to do?'

Her cheeks were rosy from being out in the snow, her hair a glorious mess framing her face. He reached up to brush it back, but somehow his fingers couldn't leave her face to tuck the locks of hair behind her ear. She was smiling so prettily at him, her lips looking moist and inviting, slightly parted and moving closer ... closer ...

... and the scene faded. He found himself sitting in an armchair by a fire, inside what looked like a one-room flat with two bunk beds in the corners of the room. On the ground by his legs sat Hermione, slowly turning the pages of a thick book. Harry was opposite them, relaxing in his own chair, idly turning his wand over in his hands.

'Let's try this one,' said Hermione. She pointed her wand at the ceiling, and moments later, red-and-green tinsel had sprouted out to drape around the room.

'Can't we change the green?' Ron complained.

'It's Christmassy,' Hermione argued.

'But green's a Slytherin colour.'

Hermione rolled her eyes, but she pointed her wand at the tinsel, and the green turned to gold.

'Feels just like the common room, now,' said Harry with a laugh. 'All we need now is ...'

But he never found out what Harry needed; the dream faded again, and Ron found himself drifting back into consciousness. He resisted it right away, keeping his eyes shut, willing himself to return to his happy dreams, but his mind stubbornly refused to co-operate. It seemed to want him to leave the land of fantasy.

Finally, he allowed himself to open a bleary eye. It was still dark out; Ron couldn't imagine what had roused him. His whole room seemed to be encased in the gentle silence that follows a night of snow. Was there something important about the day that had triggered his subconscious?

It's Christmas, he thought sadly. I wish I were with them.

He tried not to think about the painful fact that since he'd met Harry, this was probably the first Christmas they had spent apart. Suppressing thoughts of a cramped but decorated tent, which only made him ache inside - somehow even the brightest tinsel he could imagine couldn't shine more than Harry and Hermione's faces in his mind's eye - Ron pulled his wand out from under his pillow and reached out to tap the wireless.

'Phoenix,' he said - the last password. There was a soft buzz, but no programme seemed to be on the airwaves at this time. He tried again, twiddling the knobs a bit, and got a snatch of music this time. It wasn't too bad - no lyrics, just melody - so he left it on, thinking it might help lull him back to sleep. It really was too early to be up.

However, just as he lay back against his pillows, he heard it: his name. And the person who was speaking ...

Ron froze. Could he be dreaming? He hadn't heard her voice in months, but he'd know it anywhere. He was bolt upright in a split second - the sharp pain as his elbow hit the headboard assured him that he was indeed awake - his ear to the radio, straining to hear.

'... broke his wand, crashing ...'

He blinked, nonplussed. Hermione's voice wasn't coming out of the radio; it lacked that crackly quality. She sounded soft, but clear, as though she was speaking to him very quietly in the same room. She could have been sitting on the floor, leaning against his legs ...

His pocket. He was hearing her from his pocket. Ron felt even more confused. He bent over, heard distinctly, '... get a new one,' and then there was silence.

'Hermione!' he whispered frantically. 'Hermione, where are you?'

Was it some kind of spell? He dug into his pocket, but felt only the Deluminator. Ron pulled it out and stared at it; there didn't seem to be any difference, so he clicked it, checking.

The lights went out, sucked into the Deluminator. He was about to put them back when he noticed that there was one light that hadn't gone out; it was bobbing right outside his window, looking for all the world like a little blue flame, except it was round and ball-like.

It glowed in the dimness of the wintry morning, throbbing like a small heart. Ron thought it seemed to be calling to him, Come, follow me.

He clicked the Deluminator again; the light returned to his room, but the little ball outside his window remained, pulsing more intensely now.

'Will you ... take me to them?'

He couldn't be sure how he knew the ball of light was nodding - he didn't even know why he thought it could understand him - but it was, and he knew it was time, at last, for him to return.

Never had he felt such calm certainty, or the sense of determination that overcame him now. Within minutes, he had his rucksack packed and he'd changed into jeans, a jumper, and a coat. He picked up his wand and left his room.

The landing was cool and quiet. Ron hesitated for a while outside Bill and Fleur's room, Waiting until they awoke wasn't an option - what if that light disappeared by then? - but he didn't think it would be a good idea to leave without a word. He wasn't sure, though, that he'd be able to explain exactly how he knew he'd find his friends.

He decided he'd leave a note. Down the stairs he went, into the kitchen, where he carefully scratched out:

Bill, Fleur,

I'm going to find Harry and Hermione. Sorry I couldn't wait until you're awake, but I might only get this one chance to put everything right.

Thank you for putting me up.

Happy Christmas,

Ron

He spelled it stuck to the table. There was now a mounting pressure in his chest, seeming to urge him to hurry, hurry, don't miss your chance! His heart beating fast, Ron left the house, locking the door shut behind him, and came out into the garden.

The light was there, pulsing even more urgently. When Ron went up to it, it floated away a bit; he followed it behind the shed, where it stopped.

'I'm ready,' he told it, as it moved closer.

The sudden warmth that enveloped him was unexpected, but strangely, he felt no surprise. The light dove straight into his chest, seeming to set a fire ablaze within; it was so hot he wondered why he wasn't more alarmed.

But the overwhelming sense of clarity made him calm. It would take him where he was meant to be. Hermione, he thought. Harry.

Ron closed his eyes, raised his wand, and spun on the spot. Let the light take him home, to his friends.

-- Fin --