The bedchamber was darkened to allow for sleeping well into daylight. A maid quietly entered the room and placed a tray on the washstand containing an empty bowl and large vessel of water. She walked to the windows and pulled the heavy curtains back exposing the brilliant sunlight. A groggy young woman raised her head from the pillow and out of reflex called out his name.
"Harry?" she called out from the twilight of sleep.
"No, milady it is only I. Sir James has asked to fetch you, as he would like to fulfill his pledge."
She sighed heavily. "Can't we just Apparate there? No, I guess not." She pulled her covers full over her head, as if to hide from the day.
Hermia harrumphed once more to tell Hermione she needed to continue with her life, and reluctantly Hermione pulled the covers off and stood to dress. The bedclothes laid out for her the night before were heavier then her normal daily dress and she simply refused to sleep in them, instead she wore a simple nightshirt that was more to her favor.
Hermione stretched lazily and smiled at Hermia's diligence in her work. Here was a girl, more of a young woman that had the power to live as a queen in this land, but chose to live as a peasant. She could live with her own kind with her brother, but for some unknown reasons this girl wanted to live with normal people, as one of them. Hermione walked to the washbasin and frowned.
"No showers? I could really use one."
"Pardon? The skies are clear with no rain in sight." She replied slightly puzzled.
"Oh, a bath of sorts, you stand under a… oh never mind."
"I could draw you a bath if you desire it."
"No, I'll manage with this," she pointed to the basin. She dropped the nightgown and stood there wearing just a thin smile, causing Hermia to blush deeply.
"Please, you cannot stand there unclothed. It isn't proper." She walked to her, picked up the discarded shirt, and when Hermione turned, she saw the evidence of her battles that now ran from her chest down her side, scars she had become use to and Harry had worked to make her feel they were unimportant. She had accepted them as part of what defined her.
"Oh, Hermione!" she exclaimed and dropped the shirt. "Those wounds, how?" Startled by the scars, Hermia dropped all servant pretenses and called her name as a close friend would.
Hermione, for the first time since she married Harry, for the first time since he had seen her this way felt uncomfortable when Hermia saw the scars. She replaced the nightshirt on her body and pulled Hermia to the bed's edge where they both sat.
"I told you I fought at Harry's side; twice I was wounded, both times protecting him. The last was this," she held a hand to the jagged scar on her chest. "I nearly died from that blow," she lied, "and he took his revenge on the assailant, it was the same 'scum' that betrayed his parents. I didn't see him do it, but Harry crushed the attacker into dust with a thought."
"He did not use a wand?"
"He's grown past the need for a wand, his powers flow through him; I did say he was quite powerful. I'm the only one that isn't afraid of him. I know his gentle nature, and he was forced to fight, he's always unsure of himself still like the little boy I first met." She found herself talking about Harry in a longing state, just now realizing how much she missed him. The loss of the past week seemed to fade when she thought of him, and how much she missed him.
"How is it I have never heard tale of his exploits? It would seem his name should be well known in our world."
"I can't explain that, not now. In our world, he's known as a great champion, but he's also afraid of his power. It's difficult to explain."
Every question Hermione answered seemed to spawn three more in Hermia's mind, and Hermione could see the turmoil in her companion with each answer. Then the solution dawned on her. "Actually, Hermia, I live in a different land with Harry, although we both attended Hogwarts, it was by luck that the schools were we are from were unable to take us. So I can understand why things seem out of place."
"Oh. And where is this land?"
Thinking quickly, knowing the era, she said the first thing that popped in her head. "Florida, the school I should have attended was in a village called Orlando, but we were chosen to attend Hogwarts instead."
Satisfied with her solution, knowing now that any additional references could easily be explained, Hermione felt a wave of relief. No time rules had been violated, since everything she said was still obscured and vague. Hermia nodded her understanding and stood to resume the morning rituals; she walked to the basin and poured some fresh water from the pitcher. A large soft cloth sat to the side of the basin. Hermione followed her kin and quietly washed herself as best she could from a small basin. Hermia then held a similar gown as yesterday, traditional black to indicate Hermione was still in mourning.
Hermia had other, more personal questions she needed to know, "Please, milady, would you tell me how you were to know of me and my brother? As I know, he is unknown to this world."
"Unknown, yes, but I am also of the wizarding world. I know he has watched for your safety. I also know he and his family will always watch over you and yours. I can promise you that, but nothing more. He loves you; that much I know. I have a cousin I had never seen or known until a few years ago. She and her family watched for my safety as I grew up. I never understood why until I met Harry."
"Milady, this Harry of yours, when you speak his name, I sense a deep feeling between you and he. You truly must love him."
"Yes. I do. We have shared a lifetime together already, we've been closest friend since we were children; we were only eleven when we first met. It took us almost seven years to admit to each other that we loved one another. And that was five years ago."
"And then you married?" she asked while lacing the ties through the back of Hermione's dress.
"Yes."
"And Harry was your only love, then?
"No. We have a very close friend that at one time I believed myself to be in love with. Ronald also had feelings for me."
"Pray, tell me what happened with this other, Ronald?"
"We came to realize our feelings were more as brother/sister. We were oftentimes called "The Trio" for we were seldom far from each others' sides. Our fear that our feelings for each other would cause our friendship to dissolve were unfounded. We came to know that, powerful as we each are alone, our power tripled as a team. I think at some level deep down I used Ronald and his feelings for me to make Harry notice me. Harry had problems that he felt wouldn't allow for a romantic attachment or for love of any nature. As both Ronald and I came to know our mutual feelings were not 'true love' Harry became the focus of my deepest commitment. It took much work, but he came to know that we were meant to be together."
"They both have been my dearest and closet friends. Ron saved my life more then once, and at risk of his, but Harry and I shared something special that can't be un-done, not that I would ever want to. I know him better then anyone else." She gently rubbed her palm. "And he knows me better then anyone, as if we were destined to be together."
"It sounds so terribly wonderfully romantic. I often wonder if I will find such a life."
"I believe that you too will find someone as perfectly suited to you as my Harry is to me. I can tell you I believe when you find him he will sacrifice more then you can imagine for your happiness. Tell me more about you and your family. I only know little bits."
"There's little to tell, your exploits are so much more interesting. You have shared his battles and have won, while I live this simple life. Haimon is nearly eight years my senior, so I would think you had known him in school, as he too was a Gryffindor. He must have been two years advanced of you and your husband."
"I never met him, since we were in different years and Harry, Ronald, and I stayed mostly to ourselves."
"Well, Haimon is a tall man, strong and very skilled at flying and the dark arts. Not that he practices or is a dark wizard, but he's taken arms as a protector. I hope to see him in a fortnight; I would love for you to meet him."
"So you both like to fly? It terrifies me to this day. Harry has always been a skilled flyer, as was his father. What about your parents?"
"I do not remember much of them; they were both taken when I was a child. Haimon has been my brother and father."
"How were they taken? Are they still alive? Have you tried looking for them?"
"They say the Plague claimed my father, but I never believed it. My mum died in childbirth. We may have special powers, but we are still but human. Your wounds alone are proof. None of us can escape death when our time comes." Her tone dulled, she had lost her family at a young age, just as Harry, she was an orphan too, another shared detail. She did the only thing possible, and reached to this servant girl and embraced her.
"Hermia, I'm sorry. I didn't know; there wasn't anything about that. I know how you feel, but let's not talk about it any more."
"Aye, the master said he would like to leave before mid-morning. Please I'll pack your things, you go to breakfast." And with that, Hermione was quickly ushered out of the chamber.
At the dinning table, a simple plate of fruits and breads waited, her prayer for a decent cup of tea or even coffee would go unanswered. She sat at the heavy oak table, and picked at a defenseless apple.
Her thoughts went back to Harry; she wondered if he missed her or knew where she was. She had convinced herself this wasn't a dream last night, but still didn't know why she was here. Once the apple had succumbed to the repeated blows from her fork, she noticed a figure standing in the door.
Sir James had been standing in the doorway watching her. He requested permission to travel to from the Earl, who quickly inquired why this trip was suddenly necessary. His only reply was to answer a call of chivalry. The Earl had learned this man's dedication to the old ways and his dedication to the King and the King's outdated 'Council of Twelve' had been a barrier and at times a nuisance. This trip was unwarranted and conflicted with his personal plans, but had been approved. The Earl knew how stubbornly Sir James held to his beliefs.
He had watched this young woman he rescued and was about to join her, more for her company when he failed to observe the threat that was a few feet away. Two young assailants had snuck up from behind and viciously attacked him, grabbing both legs in an effort to bring this towering man of war to his knees. He feigned submission at the attack and fell to his knees while screaming his surprise. The attackers sensing victory flanked his sides, and as they approached their prey for the final blow, the tide turned. The war-hardened warrior surrounded the attackers, one to each arm, pulling the two children into a firm fatherly hug.
Hermione watched the play between father and his two youngest children and imagined watching such play between Harry and their children, but also knowing her inability to provide him this one gift. She sat at that massive table in a building most would say resembled a fortress, but this one scene made this a home. Here was a man who fought battles, as did her husband, and here is a man that took just a few moments to be a father.
Sir James stood with both small children in each arm and bid his eldest daughter to fetch her siblings for the day. As she took each from her father, he left a loving kiss on each child's head. He released a sigh, knowing it would be nearly a week before he returned to his family. He continued his journey to join his houseguest to find her at the table, still moist cheeks evident from the puffy eyes. The warm smile he remembered from last night's conversation, gone.
She sat there and realized he knew she was still silently weeping. Hermione turned her head; not wanting him to see this vulnerable and frail state, she tried to maintain her mask, hiding her emotions, but the loss was still lurking in her mind.
He walked to her seat and kneeled at her side. And gently took her hand in his leathered grip. "Milady, may I ask what has you distressed so suddenly?"
"It's nothing. I'm sorry." She turned away as she felt her chest catch from a swallowed cry. She could still see two elderly couples in a park playing happily with two children close to the age of these two. Her parents were gone and her babies were gone. Harry was not with her and she still had no idea where 'here' was, or why she was here.
Being a man of war did not mean he was without sensitive thoughts; he reflected for a moment and realized she must have seen his play with his children and this struck a sensitive memory. "Milady, my deepest apologies, I tend to over indulge my youngest. They have the fullest of spirit and they keep me young."
"No, please, it's fine. I simply pictured my husband playing like that with our two, had they been allowed to grow. But that can never be. They are gone. I put it from my mind since I arrived, more concerned about finding my way home. You have a lovely family and you must be proud of them."
"Aye, they are all strong and upstanding, the eldest are fair in their beliefs and honest. My wife has done a remarkable job in their upbringing."
"I'm certain you must have had a roll to play there."
"Nay, I spent most of their youth away from home at the King's bidding. That is the reason my three eldest and those two have a gap in years. Near ten years since their birth and the next, my daughter. Next oldest is a squire training with a fellow member of the Order; he is but a few years behind his brother, who is an apprentice for a fellow knight I have trusted his life too. He shall earn his spurs within a year's time, should there be no reason to accelerate his training."
She dried her eyes and wiped the streaks form her cheeks; he was proud of his family, and of his personal achievements, but did not boast of either. And yet he held sympathy for her loss and felt a certain amount of shame at the display.
"Sir, tell me of your Order, please something to distract my mind."
"Our Order is quite ancient; we have direct links back to the age of Arthur and his table round. We are an O rder of protectors unified to serve as guardians of peace and justice. At our core is a Council of Twelve with the King as the mediator. We serve him, but should his ruling be unjust, the Council has the power to supersede him. He is our Lord and King, but he too serves a higher purpose and has never unjustly ruled. I am but a knight of that order, only a knight that has achieved the highest levels is allowed to sit on the council, but there can only be twelve, and the King sits to cast his decision should the twelve be deadlocked."
"So it's this Council of Twelve that rules Britain?"
"Nay this is England, and the Council doesn't rule, they merely judge and correct unjust rulings. My duty is to mediate over this parish and report any unjust actions of the Earl. To say he has kept me active in that roll would not do justice to my service here. I fear he seeks power from unholy sources. I believe he has servants of evil attending him."
"It seems life isn't any different here than at home. I understand you requested permission for us to find my relatives in Ottery St Catchpole, and we can leave today. I'm indebted to you for your kindness."
"Aye, I have permission to escort you, but I fear the Earl has curiosity of you and how you came to be here. I took the liberty of selecting an alternate destination, for your safety, I feel something about you compel me to ensure your safety. The Earl believes us to travel to the opposite direction to Bristol. We should be unmolested in our travels."
He stood and lightly bowed to her, "I must take my leave to prepare a carriage for the journey. Even though we may be safe from the Earl's henchmen, there are bandits about, eager to take advantage of travelers. I shall send Hermia to you when all is ready."
"Thank you," she answered.
He turned and left to his task, while Hermione resumed her attack on the helpless apple.
The beginning of the journey was uneventful and downright boring to a woman that experienced first hand the events she shared with Harry. Hermia acted as if she had never been outside the parish, a fact that was wholly untrue. Hermione had asked for a simple rucksack for personal items, it was a request Sir James found mildly unusual. She packed a bottle of ink, several quills, a fair amount of parchment, and a change of clothes. She acquired some of Sir James' elder son's clothes, for the foray she expected should this trip be successful. These medieval dresses were too cumbersome to defend herself, if the final destination she planned came to fruition.
The role of guide and protector suited Sir James, his head held high with the pride of knowing he fought for truth and honest values. That night had been spent in a modest inn nearly halfway to their destination. Hermione now faced certain problems she failed to plan for. First, how could she convince her guide and protector the dwelling they sought was as normal as his own, she hoped that the minor additions to the Burrow occurred in later years, that this version of the house was more normal as was her home at Godric Hollow. Her second hurdle was how to approach the occupants, were they ancestors of the Weasleys? And a third problem was what if the Burrow didn't exist in this time.
She pondered these questions during the slow ride through the countryside. Of course the Burrow existed; she had been in the dusty attic with Molly in her early years, that summer she nearly lost Harry. They wandered in the attic for a new wardrobe for Ron--he had outgrown his clothes yet again--and again only a few years ago when they began to put some of the elder Weasleys' things in storage. One item stood out in her mind, an old trunk, as ancient as the house itself. A long told story said that it was placed there a long time ago, as safekeeping awaiting the return of a lost family member. That trunk had been sealed for centuries and no one could find a way to open it or move it.
Explaining herself wouldn't be a huge issue, if she could spend a few minutes alone with the occupants. Sir James was the biggest problem. He was a Muggle, and quite possibly might not even see the dwelling. Her mind raced along at its usual pace unaware of the surroundings. Her thoughts broke when she realized an arm worked its way around her waist.
"Milady, why the furrowed brow? We will soon be with your kin and they will help."
"Hermia, they are really Ronald's kin, but in a way mine by marriage."
"You confuse me again, how can this be, are you not married to this Harry?"
"Harry was adopted by Ronald's family the Christmas when I first realized I loved him. I told you we were close, we did spend every waking and many private moments together. Ronald's only sister, Ginevra, was the sister I never had. And after my parents were murdered, Ronald's parents and a brother were also killed. The three of us then had one more thing in common, we were all orphans."
"I'm sorry for your losses, I didn't mean to pry."
She smiled, and looked to the younger woman, barely seventeen and as experienced in life as she was at twenty-three. "You, more then anyone else, deserve to know the truth. I care about you because you're…"
"HOLD THERE!" A voice from the tree line shouted. A couple of men sprang from behind to cut off an escape, while several more bordered the carriage on the sides, and two mounted on horseback block the front.
"Good friends we are but poor folk in these woods, and from the looks of your carriage, you have ample to share."
Sir James, in the same dress as Hermione first saw him, slipped to the side of the carriage, "Stay fast, those are bandits seeking a way to lighten our purses," he whispered to the women.
"Brave man ye must be to attack a carriage of two women and but one escort. And with as many as you have to your company. We have nothing of value, as we are but poor pilgrims on a journey to a sacred ground."
"Pilgrims do not carry broadswords on their person. No, rethink your reply, sir."
"As I stated, we have little of value, and this is our only defense and means to catch supper."
"Aye, a broadsword against a rabbit is truly sporting."
"Aye, rabbit, you'd best start to run." A glimmer passed the warrior's eye, as his hand slid to the hilt. In a single, fluid motion he drew his weapon from its scabbard and dispatched the two highwaymen closest to the women. His duty was clear, defend these two helpless women with his life if necessary.
His horse reared to its hind legs, and a single blow from the hooves sent a third to join the first two. Hermione watched in horror as three men fell dead, visions of the battle with Voldemort flooded her memory, blades flashed as the remaining assailants stormed the lone defender. He turned his steed back to the rear, drawing the two mounted men toward him and away from the women. He ran his horse headlong into the two men as the three to the far side rushed the carriage after having watched nearly half their number fall in the first seconds. The two mounted bandits closed the gap to Sir James, but he was ready.
One man leaped to the carriage, to gain control of the horse. Hermia had expected such an attack and leveled a stout tree-limb she had hidden square into the bandit's mid-section. The other two paused when they saw that the girl wasn't the helpless victim they had expected.
Sir James fought valiantly against the mounted pair, felling one with a well-aimed blow from the face of his sword across the man's back. Not a fatal blow, but enough to force the wind from his lungs and fall from his mount.
Hermione, still stunned at the speed of the assault, watched as the last two on foot and last mounted rider struck in unison. Sir James was struck in the side from a well aimed blow from the mounted bandit, and fell from his horse. As a death blow was aimed at his head, she stood and in reflex raised her arms at the three remaining men, "Stupefy! " she shouted and red bolts of energy shot from her fingers striking the three attackers unconscious. She raised her hands again, pointing at those newly stunned and the others rendered unconscious during the thick of the fight, and uttered the binding spell, causing thick ropes to prevent any of their escape. Another wave and the bound assailants were swept into the tree line.
Hermia stood in the carriage stunned, as Hermione leapt to the ground to Sir James's aid. She never registered her actions, she merely reacted the way she had been trained to do with Harry and Ron. At his side, she removed the broad leather belt and tore his tunic open. The extent of his wound was clear; a clean through and through of a sword just below his ribs into his side.
She closed her eyes and held her hands on either side of the wound as they glowed with the familiar yellow healing glow while she concentrated on the injuries. Equally stunned, Sir James watched as this helpless woman he rescued two days earlier, who wept openly for the loss of her infants as he played with his children, knelt at his side, the familiar sting of a wound vanish at the touch of her hand.
"Dear God in heaven, what are you?" he managed at long last. The pure terror at a vision he heard in tales while away in distant lands, all fanciful tales meant to strike terror in the invading forces. Tales of supernatural beings with powers unimagined; beings that indiscriminately took life as if it were of little value; tales of these beings consuming the living bodies of the fallen. He imagined she stunned him to better peal his flesh from his bones. That was how it was done, according to the stories.
Hermione remained at his side as he looked at her, now differently, his blood still on her hands. He reached for the fresh wound, expecting this blood thirsty thing at his side to begin consuming him as he heard from the tales; he expected this creature would soon finish her evil work.
Instead, all he saw was a woman kneeling at his side, as she began to weep at his pain. He sat up, dazed at the sight of a single woman felling three with a word, and securing the rest with a hand wave. He was dazed still at his wound healed with a touch and even more amazed that her concern was not for escape, but for his life.
"What are you?" he repeated.
"Please, let me try to explain," she began, but how to explain who and what she is. Better to Obliviate his memory of the last part of the fight. But still she couldn't explain how she managed without a wand.
"Why didn't you kill me? Isn't that what your type does?" he spit. Hermia remained in the carriage, her hand seemed permanently fixed to her mouth, she had heard of those that could perform wandless magic, and Hermione even admitted that Harry did not use a wand, but she had never witnessed the feat before.
"Please, let me explain. Yes, I am a witch. But apart from having these powers, I'm just like you."
"I let you into my home, and you supped with my family. How dare you betray me like this? You are the devil's spawn, be gone evil witch."
"Please, Sir James! I'm not evil, I help fight evil. I'm a healer, not a killer. That's how I mended your wound. It's a natural gift."
"You killed those men, with but a word. And you claim you're a healer?"
"They're just stunned. Hopefully they won't remember anything. How's your side, can you stand?"
"Aye, I'll stand and dispatch you back to hell," he said as he picked up his sword. He raised it to strike a blow that would part her from her head, his eyes locked into hers. They stood facing each other, the weapon of death poised to fulfill its designed purpose. He could still see the salty streaks on her face. He held the sword ready to strike, and with his full might, the sword sung through the air, passing inches from her. It stopped past her head, and the sword fell, harmlessly by his side.
"You could have struck me down as you did to them, why didn't you?" he asked.
"Why didn't you kill me?" she asked.
They stood facing each other, the third still watched for the final outcome.
The knight and witch remained stone still; the only movement was when the knight lowered his hand to his side, his clothes still moist in his own blood.
"So you're a witch? And you're not here to kill us all in our sleep?"
"Please don't be ridiculous. I'm just as human as you; I only have certain abilities that you don't possess." She held her hand to him to welcome a handshake; he looked at her hand, still stained crimson from his blood. He reached and grasped her hand, and fell to his knees.
"I beg your forgiveness. You saved my wretched life and I treated thee disrespectfully." He had his head bowed to her hands, as he realized after he worked past his shock and misconceptions that this woman was not a threat, but was there to help.
"Please, stand. I'm just a woman; I'm just like you. I breathe, I laugh, I cry, I love, I can bleed, and I can die. I'm just as human as you, except I have a special gift." She dropped to her knees to be again at his level. "All I want is to return to my life and my husband, and I need your help, to return home."
"As you have saved my life, I am honor bound to do thy bidding. My only request is you spare my wife and children from your retribution."
"I haven't and I will never cast a spell on you or your families unless it is for their health or safety, trust that I mean no harm. The truth is I seldom use this ability unless there is a dire need. And as for being the devil's spawn, both my parents were as normal as you and your wife, they had no magical abilities at all." She knew she was finally getting him to understand. "Please Sir James; help me as you are my only hope."
He looked to her once more and nodded. She released a sigh of relief as he stood, assisting her to her feet.
He retrieved his sword and knelt in front of Hermione, holding his weapon at her feet, one hand in the hilt, the other holding the blade.
"Hermione Potter, I, James Tharton Evans of Caerleon swear to you this day to be thy servant in the services of good, to be your champion in your fight with evil and tyranny and to defend and support you in the face of adversity , as this will be my life's quest."
She looked down at him and put a hand to his shoulder, "Please. Sir James, I need an alley, not a servant. Such a vow is unnecessary."
"I do believe you, and I do trust you. Come, we have lost precious time." He said as he stood.
"Harry, please, you must eat something. She's healthy and I'm certain she'll be back."
"Leave us alone." He barked at Luna, forcing her to retreat for the moment, this had been the cautious dance she and Harry engaged in, he was protective of his wife, and she only wanted to care for her friend until a treatment was discovered. He sat on the edge of their bed, where she remained since she collapsed after the funerals.
Ron moved his family into Godric's Hollow a few hours after Hermione's condition began, so he could remain at Harry's side to support them both and Luna was needed because of her skills as a healer in case Hermione's condition worsened. That was more then two weeks ago, Luna's job was to keep the body healthy, and to keep an eye on her other patient, Harry.
Ron had also arranged a leave from the Auror's enforcement ranks for himself and Harry. Even though it was the only job either wanted, helping Hermione recover was more important.
Harry had stopped eating and sleeping regularly, his mood had worsened since she slipped into this coma-like state. Her body was alive, but there wasn't any sign she was there. He constantly held her, brushed her hair every day and began to read to her. He effectively shut out the world and every person in that world, except for Ron. Ron's presence was the only thing that kept Harry from losing his mind. Ron was the only anchor Harry had left.
Ron put his hand on his wife's shoulder, more to let her know he will get something in Harry, she turned away and left. She couldn't watch him self-destruct like this, Hermione wouldn't want it. She would have forced Harry to keep on living, to remember good times. Now that task was left to Ron.
"Harry, I'll sit with her, you need to eat, and at least shower, it's been days since you've slept."
He looked at Ron, his eyes sunken in his face, he had spent days first weeping, then screaming, and then he lost his temper. The gaping hole in the wall and missing door were testimony to Harry's anger. He was still angry, but he was growing weak from not keeping himself.
"Bugger off, Ron, she's my wife. I'm staying here. I won't leave her."
Ron sat on the bed next to Harry, and pulled him into a hug, only two old friends had a right to share. Ron felt Harry soften and his shoulders went limp. Ron knew his friend's grief but he couldn't grieve for Hermione, since she technically wasn't dead. There hasn't been any movement in more then two weeks, not even an eye twitch. The only bodily functions left were the rise of her chest with each breath and the constant beating of her heart.
Ron laid him down next to her, once his felt his breathing slow to a steady pace. He placed a loving kiss on both his longtime friends, relived that Harry was finally getting some rest. Luna watched from the doorway, not wanting to disturb them. When Ron finally left them, Harry shifted to with his head on her chest listening to her heart.
Ron stayed like this with them most days, for hours on end. Some days Harry would be holding her in his arms, rocking her, stroking her hair. 'I need to keep her limbs from locking up' he would rationalize, but no one would argue with him. Today it was his turn to be comforted.