It Could Be Worse

It Could Be Worse/Keeping Warm

Just before you freeze to death, you feel like you're warm, almost hot. You're past the point of being numb, and you're unable to move, but that warmth is welcome, even if it means your death, after such a long time of being cold.

With this fact Hermione reminded Ron, (and herself, though she'd never admit it,) that they were not, in fact, going to freeze to death. Every time she said it, both of the shivering boys on either side of her turned to glare.

The golden trio was shivering, blue-lipped, runny-nosed and somewhere in Russia. Yes, in the winter. In the snow. With the freezing temperatures and the dangerous storms.

Harry had insisted that they continue to search for Ravenclaw's item, and despite the weather Ron and Hermione hadn't hesitated to agree, for two reasons. The first was that every day, more people around the world were dying because of Voldemort. The sooner they could destroy to horcruxes, the more people they could save.

The second was that they knew Harry would go anyway, whether they agreed to follow of not. And there was no way they were letting him go alone.

Still, that didn't mean that they couldn't complain about it.

“It couldn't be in Australia somewhere, or perhaps hidden in some cove near a warm beach.” Ron grumbled under his breath from her left. “No, it had to be hidden somewhere in the bloody cold.” Hermione would have scolded him for her language, but she would have just received a dirty look. Besides, this time, she had to agree with him.

“Where are we anyway?” Ron asked her, his eyes squinted against the glare from the snow that covered the ground miles around them. Hermione stopped trudging through the thick, shin-high blanket of snow and dug through her pack, trying to consult a map. With a few murmured charms showing them where they were, she quickly saw that they had been going much too far West and were now-

“In the middle of absolutely nowhere.” The map showed nothing but miles and miles of empty land.

“You mean…there's no cities nearby?” Harry asked, rubbing his hands together to keep warm. “Not even a small town?”

“None on the map.” Hermione replied, folding the parchment up as quickly as she could with stiff fingers.

“Not surprising.” Ron muttered, taking in their surroundings. “Who would want to live here?” He shivered again and burrowed deeper into his heavy cloak, still shaking. His face was almost as white as the snow around them, with the exception of his chapped lips and bright red cheeks. Harry looked similar, with the main difference being that his lips didn't have strips of skin falling off of them because he kept charming them to prevent such things. Hermione felt a small pang of pity for Ron, who had blood running down his chin from one of the cracks on his lower lip. Ron's lips had dried out before she and Harry had visited the Russian Ministry, and they hadn't known the charm in time to keep it from happening.

“Well, we have to find somewhere to rest.” Hermione declared, coming to a decision when she could swear she saw that thin trail of blood on Ron's face freeze. “We need to warm up. We won't be useful if we're dead.”

“But Hermione, I thought we weren't going to freeze to death, remember?” Ron teased, smiling slightly at the thought of taking a break. The small grin opened another gash in his lip, and made Hermione smile slightly too.

“I said we won't freeze to death, and we won't. But do you really think we'll be able to do any magic like this?” She knew she had made her point when even Harry, the most determined of the three of them, reluctantly agreed with her. They were just to tired, cold, and hurt to keep going without rest.

“All right, we can take a break for the night. I don't see any good shelter nearby, so we'll have to spell some of this snow away and put up that tent. Ron, can you start putting the tent together? Hermione, I need you to start up some sort of fire and food.” Setting up camp had become routine over the course of the last several months, and Ron and Hermione had already started on their jobs while Harry was casting several charms around the area to act as wards.

When the tent had been set up and the blankets brought out, all three were curled up in front of the fire, trying to keep warm. Their tent wasn't the luxury wizarding tent that Mr. Weasley had pitched for them during the World Cup; no, this had three small rooms and strong walls, along with a little furniture. Plumbing and a heating system weren't added features, because they had believed that such a big tent could attract some unwanted attention. It was best to stick to the basics.

“I'm still freezing.” Ron grumbled.

“It could be worse.” Hermione pointed out casually, knowing the reaction this would cause. “At least it's not-“ Both boys quickly leaned over and covered her mouth before she could finish the sentence. Regardless, snow began to slowly fall down around them.

“Snowing.” She finished as both boys shook their heads and let her go.

“Nice, Hermione. Way to go. We're cold enough already!” Harry whined, the twinkle in his eyes showing that he was more amused than annoyed.

Hermione smirked back at him, already knowing her comeback. “It could be worse. At least it's not-“ At the panicked look the two boys shot at her, and then at each other, she started laughing too hard to finish the sentence.

When all three had finally calmed down, they were staring at the fire in silence again. “Harry…what exactly are we looking for again?” Ron asked, frowning into the fire. Harry ran a hand through his messy hair making it stand up even more than it had been.

“Regulus must have taken the locket before he died. He's RAB…he has to be. So it stands to reason that since Regulus was working against Voldemort, because he wouldn't have left a note to taunt Voldemort with otherwise. But I'm sure Dumbledore would've told Sirius, or Sirius would've found out if his little brother was really a spy for the Order, so Regulus must've been working for somebody else. The only other person at that time who had followers and power was Seigneur Sombre.” (AN-Stands for `Dark Lord' in Russian) Ron raised one eyebrow, and Harry merely shrugged in reply. “I dunno. Why does Voldemort call himself Voldemort? Dark Lords are weird that way.”

When Ron merely nodded in complete agreement, Hermione smothered her laughter. It was hard to believe that just six months ago Ron had feared that name, and now he was helping Harry make fun of it. He'd really grown up since they'd left school.

Then again, she thought as she sobered, loosing a father and older brother might do that to you.

Pushing away the memories of Mr. Weasley and Charlie's deaths, Hermione focused instead on the conversation. “So now we're looking for RAB?” Ron was asking.

“No.” Hermione sighed, poking at the fire. “RAB was Sirius's little brother, Regulus, and he's been dead for years. We're looking for RAB's master.”

“Why haven't we ever heard of this guy, anyway?” Ron asked.

“We did, in History of Magic. Years ago. If you'd been paying attention…” Both Harry and Ron managed to look guilty for all of three seconds before their faces split into grins, Ron's muted slightly by his torn lips. “And he didn't get nearly as powerful as Voldemort, and he didn't really have very much to do with England, so we just skimmed it. But Seigneur Sombre should be locked up in a prison somewhere near here…It's like our Azkaban.”

“They put a nutter like that in prison?” Ron asked, rolling his eyes.

“I already said, he wasn't as strong or as threatening as Voldemort. Anyways, the ministry gave us permission to question the guy, but…I think we're lost.”

“No shit Sherlock.” Ron muttered sarcastically under his breath. It wasn't quiet enough. “Ouch! Hermione!”

“Language.” She scolded, satisfied with the red mark her slap had left.

They continued to banter like this for a while, occasionally wondering allowed how their families were doing and what was happening at home. They were still cold, and their clothes were still stiff, damp, and gritty. Ron's lips were still cracked, despite all of the chapstick he had applied since they had set up the tent. Hermione was still shivering, and still achy, and still tired, and Harry was still pale, still worried, and still sore.

But they were together. They had food in their stomachs, and cider in the hipflasks Mrs. Weasley had given them, and a fire to warm them up.

Sure, they were still cold. And yes, they still had a long way to go. But when Hermione pulled the blanket around her tighter, and felt both of her best friends right next to her, she reflected.

“Aw, bollocks. I'm still cold!” Hermione's lips curved up into a small smirk.

“It could be worse.” She met grinned at Ron's stricken expression, and then turned to see if Harry's face was just as comical. Instead, she found a slight smile on his face and a soft look in his eyes.

“Yeah, it could be.”

And suddenly, for the first time in what seemed like years, Hermione felt warm.

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