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danielerin

Rating: R
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 25/03/2005
Last Updated: 25/03/2005
Status: completed

Harry copes with yet another loss.

Chapters

1. Labels

1. Labels

A/N: A little flangst for my favorite red-headed slut (although, to be fair, I haven’t tried the drink yet :p). For Apeman32, who never fails to make me smile.

Thank you, once again, to Cheering Charm for the beta. If it weren’t for Mel, there would be kissing with very bad breath. *shudders* Nobody wants that.

Disclaimer (which I always forget to add): I own nothing. And, by the way, I’m relieved that JK Rowling backs up her damn computer every night.

Labels

Waking up on a cold stone floor was never ideal.

And it was worse when you felt as if you had swallowed one of Hagrid’s furry finds. Harry was beginning to regret his decision to break into Hagrid’s secret stash of…whatever that olive green liquid was that they found in the cupboard. He was fairly sure it wasn’t toxic, but one can never be too careful around Hagrid’s possessions, so he considered himself ahead of the game when he realised that he was, in fact, alive after imbibing at least a quart of the stuff.

Impressed that he managed to remember where he was, Harry lifted his head with great care, pushing himself off the floor. He stretched his jaw, rolled his head to pop his neck back into place, and swallowed a few times in an attempt to rid himself of the fuzz on the roof of his mouth. He sat back against Hagrid’s enormous bed, vaguely wondering why he hadn’t chosen to fall asleep on it instead of the hard floor. He groaned as his muscles complained about his choice of sleeping arrangements. Wondering what time it was, he grabbed the arm that was flung over the side of the bed and looked at the wristwatch attached to it. Time for decent folk to be waking, it said. He noticed the purple hues coming through the cracks in the window shades and sighed. It was indeed a new day.

But nothing had changed.

He was a bright boy, Harry Potter. He knew this drinking binge would have no effect on the state of things. He knew it wouldn’t bring Hagrid back to life. And he knew he would probably regret it in the morning. Still, given his propensity for fantastic dreams, a small part of him had held onto the hope that when the new day dawned, he would find that it had all been a vivid nightmare.

No such luck.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were walking to Defense Against the Dark Arts the previous day when Professor McGonagall had redirected them to the headmaster’s office…where Albus Dumbledore proceeded to break their young hearts.

Hagrid was dead. The details didn’t matter. He was dead. He would never return to Hogwarts. He would never take tea with them again. He would never scare the wits out of them again with the honest and pure intentions of a lovable and loving heart. He would never help them sort out the messes they found themselves in again. He would never teach again. He would never see them finish Hogwarts. He would never see them end the war. He’d given his life in the hopes that they would see the end of the war.

But with each passing blow, this one being among the worst, Harry began to doubt that there would ever be an end to the war. He had always doubted his ability to survive it. Now he doubted his desire, as well.

Hagrid was dead. Rubeus Hagrid – keeper of keys and grounds. The person who transported him from hell to home. Hagrid had been Harry’s first friend, in reality. The time he spent with Hagrid when he was eleven years old and preparing for Hogwarts would forever stand out in Harry’s mind as one of the happiest days in his life. It was magical. Losing Hagrid hurt in a whole new way. Like losing a cornerstone of his life. One of the things that he’d come to rely on to define his world.

Not unlike the two people who were currently passed out nearby.

He looked across the room at a fuzzy grayish black figure curled around a ginger haired pile of arms and legs and angles and snores. Ron had landed on Fang some time in the middle of the night and decided that he was the most comfortable piece of furniture in Hagrid’s home. Harry sensed a bonding going on between man and beast some time after Ron had thrown up on the floor and Fang had fetched a bucket of water and cleared up the mess. He licked Ron’s face to move him out of his own sick and they never looked back. Harry chuckled at the thought of a lasting relationship that Ron might actually not bugger up.

The disembodied arm hanging over Hagrid’s bed belonged to Hermione. Last Harry remembered, she was quoting Monty Python and singing, earning glares from both Ron and Fang. Harry rather enjoyed her rendition of "Always Look on the Bright Side of Life," and found it eerily appropriate.

Hermione had taken the news badly. Very badly. Her last words to Hagrid were words of encouragement. She had told him that his decision to return to the giants and try to negotiate their allegiance away from Voldemort was a good one. She encouraged him to make the decision in the first place, thinking that only Hagrid could make any progress with the giants, and at this stage in the war every ally was important. She also told Hagrid that Grawp could accompany him, protect him, and return to his own home where he would surely be happier.

Grawp was killed as well.

She was calm, cool, and collected in Dumbledore’s office. The headmaster had eyed them all with suspicion, but he had his own grief to deal with. When it looked as though Harry, Ron, and Hermione would take the news as well as could be expected, he had released them from classes for the day and sent them back to Gryffindor Tower. They had walked in silence for ten minutes before Hermione dropped her books and ran. The boys had no qualms about following her, right into the girls’ toilet where they held her hair away from her face and rubbed her back as she vomited. Her sobbing had broken what was left of Harry’s reserve. He cried into her hair as he held her from behind. Ron stood with his arms crossed leaning against the stall watching them with a dazed expression and several tears of his own.

That was where this perfect plan was devised – sitting on the floor of the girls’ lavatory. Hermione had said she didn’t want to feel anything. The pain was unbearable. She wanted to know how she could stop it. She had gotten almost hysterical about it. Harry had only agreed with her, saying that no more feeling would work wonders for his attitude. It was Ron. Ron knew what to do.

"Right. A good old-fashioned piss-up. That’s what we need. We’re going to march right into Hogsmeade and take up residence in the Three Broomsticks. And we’re not leaving there until we can’t walk straight. For Hagrid."

Harry thought it was a brilliant idea, but he expected Hermione to let into Ron like a Firebolt at top speed. To his surprise, the only response Hermione had was "I need to get my money first."

"No," Harry said, restraining her from leaving. "This one’s on me. For Hagrid." Looking into her eyes, he saw the tears starting up again, so he grabbed her left hand and looked at Ron, who quickly got the hint and grabbed her right hand. Then the three of them marched out of the castle and to Hogsmeade without care or concern about Filch or professors or classes or rules. For Hagrid.

Madam Rosmerta wept when they gave her the news. She set them up at a corner table where they wouldn’t be bothered and served them more than one bottle of firewhiskey, joining in on occasion in toasting Hagrid.

"To the most ridiculuth…ridiculumb…ridicules…s-silly dragon tamer ever!" Ron pronounced as he raised his glass. And they drank.

"To the absolute worst dressed creature I’ve ever laid eyes on!" Harry happily exclaimed. And they drank.

"To pink umbrellas – completely befitting a man of great sta-tature!" Hermione hiccupped. And they drank.

"To hairy beasties!" And they drank.

"To rock cakes that break your teeth!" And they drank.

"To hairy beasties that love hairy beasties!" And they drank.

"To lessons that scare the buggery out of us!" And they drank.

"To three-headed dogs that fall asleep to lullabies!" And they drank.

"To baby brothers the size of London!" And they drank.

And they laughed. Until Hermione’s final toast.

"To ginormouth, ginorman, ginorm-mous friends who I send to certain death!" She raised her glass and drank, but Harry and Ron put their glasses on the table, their drunken smiles fading.

When Hermione had emptied her glass, she slammed it down on the table. Whimpering a bit, she grabbed the bottle of firewhiskey and knocked it back. Harry and Ron both grabbed for it, sending the bottle to the floor where it shattered. Rosmerta cleaned it up with a flick of her wand but told the three that they had had enough. She sent them on their way.

Staggering back to the grounds in the dark had been an adventure. Harry didn’t remember how they got to Hagrid’s hut, but he did remember searching it up and down for more alcohol. That’s when he found the Hagrid-sized jug of olive green liquid in the cupboard. They all decided it was worth the risk, and in the end they made quite a good dent in it.

And they passed out – Ron tangled up with Fang, Harry face down on the floor, and Hermione draped over the bed.

Harry’s head was tired from piecing together the memories of the previous day. And his heart ached with thoughts of Hagrid. The stillness of the morning made it all the more acute. Studying Hagrid’s hut…looking at Hagrid’s possessions, the things that made up his existence.

His head lolled back against the bed where it met Hermione’s hand once again. But this time her hand moved. She patted the top of his head as if unsure of what she found. Then she started petting him and scratching behind his ears. His lips curled into a weak smile.

"I’m not a dog, Hermione."

"Mrmm…thought you were Fang," she murmured.

"What are you trying to say about my hair? Besides, Fang is currently snuggled up to Ron. I think they’ve crossed a line. I’m really very happy for them."

He heard her muffled laughter and it made his smile grow a bit. He picked himself up off the floor like an old man and unceremoniously plopped himself down on the bed, making Hermione’s body bounce around.

"Harry!" she said, turning her face to be heard. "Are you trying to kill me? This whole room is spinning like a top. And damn. You should lay off the treacle tart."

Harry threw a pillow at her. "Move, Granger. I want to stretch my feet out."

"I can’t."

"Yes, you can, you big lump. Come up here. It’s more comfortable against the pillows anyway."

"Comfortable? Don’t reckon I’ll ever be comfortable again. There’s a forest inhabiting my mouth, and every muscle in my body is aching."

Harry leaned down and starting yanking at her arm. "Come on, lazybones."

"Har-ry," she whined, as he pulled her awkwardly toward him and the head of the bed. "Oh, sweet Merlin…it’s spinning again. I think I’m going to be sick."

Harry dropped her arm in a flash and pointed toward the exit. "Door’s that way."

In a rush to get outside, Hermione entangled her legs and fell on the floor. She groaned, picked herself up, and weaved her way to the door. Finding it very difficult to maneuver the doorknob, she began to kick the door. Harry took pity on her, found a wand on the bedside table and opened the door for her.

"Wow," she breathed, staring at the door with wide-eyed wonder. "Magic." Harry rolled his eyes. She was clearly still a bit befuddled.

"Hermione, get outside and be sick already."

"Right," she said as she stumbled out the door. Harry winced and held his own stomach with care as he listened to her retching in Hagrid’s garden.

"Miles better," she pronounced as she appeared at the door again. "But I don’t hold out much hope for Hagrid’s wizzywig patch this year."

That was it. Mention of the fuzzy brown fruit-type plant that Hagrid fed his collection of flobberworms sent Harry stumbling past Hermione to the garden.

For some reason, this struck Hermione as funny. She started giggling when Harry pushed her arm out of the way. He was soon busy spraying the entire contents of his stomach over Hagrid’s vegetation and this made her bend over in laughter. When he’d finished, he sat back on the ground trying to recover, she broke out into hysterics, falling to the ground and wiping tears of mirth from her face.

Harry looked at her with mild curiosity. "Something funny?"

"The look…on your…on your face…priceless," she managed to squeak out in between short spurts of gasping for breath.

"What about it?" When she was incapable of responding due to hiccupping and breathing difficulties, he said, "You spewed first. Bloody hell, Hermione, you’re starting to turn blue. Breathe, for pity’s sake!"

Rolling over on the ground to face away from Harry, she took another minute or two to calm down. Only to start back up again. He saw her chest hitching and her entire body spasming with what he thought was hysterical laughter.

"Good God, woman, it wasn’t that funny. You’re barking…literally." Harry smirked in response to his own joke. That’s when he noticed the sound was a little different. And Hermione was curling up into a ball. He crawled over to where she lay, peeking over her shoulder to look at her face.

She wasn’t laughing. She was sobbing.

He felt his heart tear some more as he lifted her into his arms. He had no words of comfort to offer, only shared despair. So he rocked gently back and forth, holding her head neatly tucked up against his neck. He leaned his cheek against her forehead and she held onto his shirt for dear life. His tears were wetting her head and hers were dampening his clothes. Neither one cared.

After about ten minutes of this, her sobs had quieted. Harry stood up and pulled her up by the hands, leading her back into the hut and onto the massive bed. He sat her down, pulled off her shoes, and laid her back against the pillows. Then he threw off his own shoes and lay down next to her, pulling a wool blanket over the both of them. He pulled her into his arms and they both closed their eyes.

"All right over there?"

Harry opened his eyes and looked in the direction of the pile of red and black hair. Ron was sitting up, leaning on Fang, and staring at Harry with a dazed expression on his face.

"Yeah. You?"

"Been better. My head is throbbing, nothing’s in focus, and I don’t appear to be wearing any trousers."

Harry raised one eyebrow as he noticed Ron’s bare legs for the first time.

"Can you, er, shed any light on how I came to be wearing Fang’s collar?" Ron asked in all seriousness.

"He’s very possessive?" Harry offered.

"And a bit of a kinky tart to boot," Hermione’s muffled voice replied. She still hadn’t opened her eyes and wouldn’t move her head from its position on Harry’s chest.

Ron just shrugged. Then he looked over at the bed and widened his eyes. "Blimey, Harry. How many of you are up there?"

"Just me and the missus. Your vision is playing tricks on you."

"Yes, well, that or my overactive imagination is taking this opportunity to show me one of my fantasies come to life. Don’t start until I fetch a camera."

"Bugger off, you great knob." Harry tossed a pillow at Ron as hard as he could with the use of only one hand.

"Your mind is a complete wasteland, isn’t it, Ron?" Hermione mumbled. "Perhaps you should donate it to science so they can figure out what’s missing…now." She still hadn’t moved or opened her eyes.

"Fine. Go ahead and ruin the one bright spot in my morning." He stood up on shaky legs. "Whoa. That’s never been so hard before."

"Right," Hermione said. "I am not opening my eyes until he’s gone. He’s got no trousers on and is talking about how hard he is. After sleeping with a dog. I may need to throw up again."

"Hermione!" Ron blustered. "I was referring to standing up."

"I don’t want to know what’s standing up, Ron."

"I meant, it was hard when I stood up!"

"Hard standing up, hard sitting down…doesn’t matter. Don’t want to know about it."

"Difficult! It was difficult to stand up, you daft cow!"

Harry was laughing uncontrollably at this point.

"Stop, Harry. You’re moving too much," Hermione whined.

"Sorry," he choked out while he tried to contain himself.

"Sorry?" Ron blustered. "She’s got you so whipped, mate. It’s hard to believe you’re not her boyfriend." Ron looked around, presumably for his missing clothing. Then he stopped abruptly and looked back at Harry. "You’re not, are you?"

"Not what?" Harry asked.

"Her boyfriend. I mean…."

Hermione groaned, lifted her head from Harry’s chest, and buried it in the pillow next to him.

"What are you on about, Ron?" Harry threw his best glare Ron’s way.

"I was just going to say…er, that I would understand if you’d wanted to keep it a secret and all that. I mean, you have to admit…you act a bit…couple-ish, don’t you? Mr. Head Boy and Mrs. Head Girl. Always touching. Always exchanging looks. Never dating. Everyone’s always going on about it. It’s driving me barmy, actually. If Ginny asks me about it one more time…."

"Ron. Fang looks about ready to burst a blood vessel. Take him for a walk. Now." Harry’s good humour had vanished.

"But I haven’t found my trousers!"

"I don’t give a toss. Get out! Before he pees all over the place and I make you clean it up. He is your owner, after all."

Ron looked sheepish for a moment. He looked at Fang and sighed. "All right. C’mon, Fang. It’s warm enough, anyhow. And who are we likely to run into out here?" He grabbed Fang’s leash, which hung by the door, and headed out with the dog. Harry was eternally grateful that Ron’s school shirt was long on him. The tails covered up any unwanted revelations about Ron’s choice of underwear.

A few moments after the door closed, he said in a quiet voice. "He’s gone now."

Hermione lifted her head and looked at Harry. "Thanks."

"Everyone deals with grief in their own way, you know. Ron will probably be doing his damnedest to stir things up with you and me and anyone else who crosses his path for a few days yet…so he doesn’t have to think about it."

She rolled over and sighed, staring at the ceiling. "Yes, I suppose you’re right."

"How are you feeling?" Harry eyed her with concern.

"Lousy. And I don’t just mean the hangover."

"I know. Me too."

"It’s my fault, Harry." He noticed the tears right away this time. "I told him to go. I sent him to his death."

He turned on his side to face her. "No. You encouraged him to do what he wanted to do. You supported his decision. We all did."

"I brought it up in the first place. It was my…."

Harry placed his hand over her mouth and cut her off. "Stop." She looked at him and he dropped his forehead to hers. "Someone once told me that taking all the blame the world has to offer is just plain selfish." He smiled sadly.

She looked into his eyes, back and forth between the left and right, and whispered, "Please tell me I didn’t kill Hagrid."

His smile faded. "You didn’t kill Hagrid, Hermione. The giants did, under Voldemort’s orders. Let’s give that slimy bastard all the blame, okay?"

She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him. She squeezed so tight, he choked a bit.

"All right. All right, love. Don’t do this to yourself." He rubbed his hands up and down her back, trying to soothe her.

She released her chokehold on him and pulled back just enough to be inches from his face. She sniffed and stared at his lips.

He took the hint. Grabbing the wand beside the bed, he muttered a breath freshening spell for each of them. He then leaned in and tasted her lips, licking the salt from her tears. Nothing ever felt as good as this. Being with Hermione in this way – and more. He could lose himself, his problems, the whole bloody world in her embrace. It was as if they could will away the war; the pain and the agony of loss and the overwhelming fear would melt away the closer they got. Together they could escape it, even if it was only for a little while. As he deepened the kiss, he wondered how he’d kept his hands off of her for so long since hearing the news of Hagrid’s death.

His hands found their way under her shirt. The feel of the soft warm skin and the curve of her lower back were enough to make him forget his massive hangover. She started to moan into his mouth, which made his arousal impossible to ignore. He ground his hips into hers, aching for the chance to be inside of her once again. To lose himself in the sensation of being one with Hermione. He held her in place with one strong arm while his other moved to the front of her shirt and began working on her buttons.

She whimpered as she pulled back and breathed, "Ron." Harry was breathing fast but had just enough blood left in his brain to realise what she was saying and stop unbuttoning her shirt. "He’ll be back any minute, Harry. We can’t. Much as I want to, we can’t do this here…not right now." She looked sadder than ever and leaned forward to give him a slow chaste kiss. They backed away from each other slowly and fell backwards on the pillows, each of them groaning with regret. Their hands found each other in the space in between and their fingers twined together.

After a few moments, Harry broke the silence. "I need you."

"I know. I need you, too. Later…I promise."

A few more minutes passed and this time Hermione broke the silence.

"Are you certain we shouldn’t tell him?"

"Yes," Harry said without hesitation. "Rumours are annoying, but they’re not as dangerous as facts."

"But Ron…," she started, but Harry cut her off.

"Ron is safer not knowing. And it doesn’t matter anyway. We haven’t…we’re not…."

"We haven’t committed to anything. We’re not boyfriend and girlfriend. That’s what you’re trying so hard to say," she said in a flat, toneless voice. Her grip on his hand loosened, so he tightened his, not letting her pull away.

A few more moments of silence passed before Harry couldn’t stand it anymore.

"People with labels in my life die. They die horrible deaths. Harry Potter’s parents. Harry Potter’s godfather. Harry Potter’s first friend. Harry Potter’s protectorate. You may as well walk around with a bloody target on your head."

"I don’t care about labels, Harry. They’re complete rubbish, if you ask me. You know how I feel about you and I know how you feel about me. I just think…well, I think we may be making matters worse by not coming clean with Ron. You know how he is."

"I’d rather make Ron angry than put him in a spot where he has to lie to everyone. Or worse, putting him in a spot where he feels he has to protect you and me at all costs. I do know how he is. He’ll think he’s the expendable one. Neither one of you is expendable."

"And neither are you. Is it going to be a pissing contest, then? To see who gets to play hero for whom?"

He sighed. "I’m not trying to play hero, Hermione. I’m just telling you that losing either one of you is unacceptable to me. I know you don’t want to lose me either, but my chances are a bit worse, you must admit."

He felt her squeeze his hand at those words, so he squeezed back.

"It’s a war, Harry. Everyone is at risk."

"You know it’s not the same, Hermione. You know that I have to face him, sooner or later. It always comes down to me. And I’m not saying that to be all martyr-like. It’s just the way it is."

More silence.

"I don’t mind." Hermione spoke quietly. "Really, I don’t. But sometimes…I wish…I wish I didn’t have to hide how I feel about you. Not because I want to lay claim to you or anything. But because I want to love you…all the time. I don’t want to have to think about how long I’ve been leaning against you or whether anyone is watching us or what they’re seeing when I give you a stupid peck on the cheek or you grab my hand and pull me out of a room. I want to love you, Harry. I want to give you that. I want to be a source of some strength for you. Because you do have to do this. Because you do have to face him. Because the weight of the world is on your shoulders and I see how it affects you."

He squeezed her hand tighter.

"A source of some strength? You are my strength, Hermione. You always have been. Good lord, everyone knows that. Regardless of…everything else."

"Everything else, as you put it, has been my salvation this year. Everything else has made this blasted war bearable."

"For me as well. And then some." More hand squeezing.

Hermione chuckled a bit. "I wonder what importance Voldemort puts on the label Harry Potter’s shagging buddy or Harry Potter’s best friend with benefits."

He sat up abruptly. "We’re more than that and you know it!"

"I – I’m sorry, Harry, I was only joking."

"It’s bad enough you’re one of the tandem known as Harry Potter’s best friends. I won’t have you walking around with the label Harry Potter’s fucking lifeline! He’ll take you away from me, Hermione, and he’ll have a right fun time doing it! Just like he took Hagrid, Sirius…everyone. Only this time, I won’t survive it…." He choked on his last words.

She held his hand tightly and looked into his eyes. He stared right back at her. He took a deep breath and said in a calmer voice, "Trust me, please. Please understand. You have to remain Harry Potter’s secret."

She sat up and put her hands on his face, her fingers gently exploring his features. Her tenderness calmed him, although he could feel his heart beating rough against his chest. "Harry Potter’s lover," she whispered.

His expression softened. "Harry Potter’s heart," he whispered back. His right hand covered her left as he pulled it away from his face and planted a kiss in her palm.

They heard the telltale signs of a gangly eighteen year-old boy stumbling up the path with an oversized boarhound. Harry quickly leaned forward and kissed Hermione on the lips, whispering, "Button up your shirt," as he rolled off the bed.

Ron came bursting through the door looking for all the world like he’d been rolling around in the mud.

"Bloody hell, Ron. What have you been up to?"

"I’ve been rolling around in the mud," he answered, sounding somewhat exasperated. "What does it look like?"

"Right. Sorry. Should have known. Should I even ask why?"

"No," Ron and Hermione both said at the same time.

"I think we should be heading back to the castle before Dumbledore sends the Order out looking for us," Hermione said, getting off the bed and brushing the wrinkles out of her clothes.

"I’m sure he knows where we are, Hermione. They’re probably watching us as we speak."

"Well, that’s bloody comforting. Here I am in no trousers with mud in places I can’t even reach…."

"Thanks for that mental picture, Ron," Hermione said loudly enough to drown out the rest of his sentence. "Nevertheless, Harry, I think we could all use a pain reliever potion and a long, hot bath."

"Together?" Ron said brightly.

Hermione shot him a look of pure loathing. Harry smiled.

"I think you ought to find your missing trousers, Ronald," Hermione said. "I’ll fill the water and the food bowls for Fang."

As they set about their tasks, Harry looked around at Hagrid’s hut. He wandered over to the desk in the corner of the room and picked up the picture of Hagrid and Grawp that Colin had managed to take at Christmas. Hagrid was hamming it up, so proud of the progress he had made with his brother, the giant.

Harry Potter’s first friend.

Allowing himself to feel the pain once again, he spoke to the spirit that still permeated the home.

"I’m going to miss you, Hagrid. You were one of a kind, and I’ll never forget you. Thank you for all you did. Thank you for being you. Thank you for being part of my family." A tear slid down his cheek.

He felt Hermione put her arms around him and bury her face in the crook of his neck. He rested his arms gently around her and leaned his head on top of hers. He felt Ron’s hand on his shoulder. He looked up and smiled at his best mate.

Somehow they would survive this war. They had to. To make Hagrid’s sacrifice – and everyone else’s – worthwhile. Harry felt a renewed sense of determination as the three of them stood together in Hagrid’s hut. He wanted to get rid of Voldemort more than ever, if only so he could tell the world what these two people really meant to him.

He wanted everyone to know that Ron Weasley was a great man, in and of himself. That he made Harry’s load a little lighter. That he had had the strength, the courage to become a brother to a marked man.

He wanted to tell the world that with Hermione, it all made sense. The craziness that existed in his world evaporated and his life actually made sense. Over the years, their lives had become so intertwined that he no longer knew where he ended and she began. And he no longer cared. He wanted everyone to know that she had become everything to him, and that speaking of love and relationships and labels didn’t matter. Feeling was so much more important. Feeling and being.

But for now, he would just feel and be. He would be her everything; he would be Ron’s brother. And his little family would have a fighting chance of surviving.