Just Shut Up, Harry

Bexis

Rating: PG
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 7
Published: 24/10/2007
Last Updated: 24/10/2007
Status: completed

A ficlet. I really liked everything about Deathly Hallows except the ships. But how to go about making the necessary changes while doing the least amount of damage to the rest? This rewrite of portions of Chapter 19 is my attempt. The basic premise, that for Ron to have come back at all, he had to have decided to accept certain things, has been after me for week. It just would not let me rest until I let it out, so I did. One shot

Chapters

1. Just Shut Up, Harry

1. Just Shut Up, Harry

Just Shut Up, Harry

After the ordeal, Harry had no strength left. He couldn't even lift his head to see who had saved him from ending his life in some unnamed frozen pond. All he knew is that it could not have been Hermione. She was strong, but not that strong.

Gasping for breath and shivering with cold, he touched a quavering hand to his throat, feeling for the locket that had burned and torn his flesh is its attempt to strangle him. He felt - nothing - just a raw and painful wound. The locket was gone, cut away doubtless by whomever had saved him.

From behind and above, a voice declared, panting but not nearly as badly as Harry, “Are you bloody … mental…?”

That voice struck him like an electric shock. Somewhere Harry found the strength, first to roll over and then to sit up. His savior did not try to help him. Harry looked up as Ron Weasley's image swam into view. Ron stood before him, soaked to the skin and shivering. His scraggly red hair dripped cold water. In one hand he held the sword of Gryffindor, and in the other the locket, which still jiggled dangerously at the end of its broken chain.

“Bloody hell…. Bloody effing hell,” Ron gasped as he tried to remain upright. Finally he gave up, tossed the locket aside and stabbed the sword angrily into the mostly frozen ground so he had something to lean on.

“Ron … I.…” That was all Harry was able to choke out before he started to cough. Almost immediately his gorge rose and he vomited. Still too weak to move quickly, Harry soiled himself before collapsing. Ron rushed to him, turned Harry over and thumped him forcefully on the back. Finally Harry stopped retching, coughing, or anything else and just lay calmly in his friend's arms.

“Now, let's clean you up a bit,” Ron said more gently, as he reached towards his back pocket.

“Wand … over there….” Harry said indistinctly, pointing to where he had left his clothes and Hermione's wand.

“Not to worry,” Ron waved him off. “Brought my own, I did.”

First he cleaned Harry up. Then he started drying him off with some sort of Heating Charm. While doing that, he berated Harry, “I can't believe you, mate. Why didn't you take that bloody thing off before going in there? Were you trying to kill yourself?”

Harry was speechless. The silver doe had been a surprise, to be sure, but it paled into insignificance compared to Ron's providential reappearance. He still could not believe it. He reached up and grabbed the redhead's shoulder, hard, and refused to let go. “Ron … you're back.” He said those words as if expecting his rescuer to vanish from sight in a puff of smoke - like the next minute he would wake up again in that miserable tent with little hope and even fewer ideas.

“Yeah, I'm back, and a bloody good thing for you that I am,” Ron replied carefully. He stopped casting any more spells. Instead, he brought his wand hand across his chest and laid it Harry's, which still gripped his shoulder. “C'mon, we need to get you back together.”

Ron aimed his wand towards where Harry had pointed not long before. “Accio Clothes.” Harry's clothes, mercifully still dry, came flying.

Harry was still dumbfounded. Ron - who had abandoned them in a towering rage, had suddenly returned - just in time to dive into a freezing pool to save Harry's life. Not only that, Ron had also retrieved the Sword of Gryffindor. Harry could see it still stuck in the ground just behind Ron.

Gesturing feebly at the sword, Harry said, “Y-you got … that?” when he finally regained enough composure to talk.

“Last time I looked … yeah,” Ron replied carefully, as if unsure whether Harry was all there.

“Cast that doe, too?”

“Oh hell, no,” Ron spluttered. “No way that one was mine. Thought it was you, actually.”

“Mine's a stag, Ron.”

Ron shook his head. “I thought something was off. No antlers and all….”

“Who, then?”

“Haven't a bloody clue. She … Hermione could do it, but it's not her shape either.” As Ron mentioned her name, Harry thought his voice might crack, but it didn't.

Once he finished dressing, Harry couldn't help but get to the point. “Umm … what brings you back here?”

Evidently, that was not a subject that Ron was hoping to address right away - if ever.

“Well … er … I - I've come back, you know. I've done some, well … a lot, of thinking, and I…. If - ” For a moment he stopped completely, as if at a loss over what he should say next. “That is - you know - if you'll have me back. If I'm still wanted….”

Ron paused as his face got redder and redder. He seemed, almost bashful.

The pause grew oppressive. Like some great barrier, almost impossible to see over, Ron's angry departure loomed between them. Harry felt the unsettling heat of bile rising within him. That departure had hurt him … hurt the both of them … more than Ron could ever know.

But now he was back - and not just back. The undeniable truth was that Ron had not only returned, but that his first act upon returning had been to save Harry's life.

Ron seemed to find his feet exceedingly interesting as he waited, in effect, for Harry to pass judgment.

Harry tried to avoid that responsibility. “I don't understand, Ron,” he said slowly. “I mean, how were you able to get here? How could you even find us? I thought our spells were better than that….”

“Painfully long story,” Ron sighed. He seemed relieved that Harry hadn't chucked him out straightaway - of course he knew as well as anyone that Harry would be the easy one. He would understand. “I've been stumbling about in these damn woods looking for you for most of the day. It was uncanny. Just when I was ready to look for some place sheltered to turn in for the night, here comes that glowing deer … and then you right behind….”

“You didn't see anyone?”

“Nope, somebody could have hidden over there.” Ron pointed to a pair of oak trees that grew so close together that the tiny gap between them made an ideal hideout for spying. “But they didn't.”

“You checked?”

“I hid there.”

“Why, Ron?”

“Well, it was weird, what I was seeing,” Ron tried to explain. “That Patronus, and then you of all people following it…. You looked rather busy with that - and I wasn't sure if you were - well … er … alone. That was what I was wondering. So I just dipped out of sight behind the trees to see what would happen…. I was going to come out, once it became clear…. Well, actually, I hoped to talk to you first….”

“You really hurt her,” Harry said flatly. “I don't think you have the slightest idea how badly.” He said this while walking towards him.

Ron took a step back, and then another. “I wouldn't go that far. I had plenty of time to think about that, believe me,” he replied. “I was, well - I was … SHITE!”

Still backpedaling, Ron tripped over the Sword of Gryffindor, which was still jutting from the frosty, the leaf-littered ground. He fell on his backside, while the sword remained upright, quivering whilst the ruby encrusted hilt seemed almost to glow from within.

Ron stayed where he fell, looking up at Harry. He didn't think Harry would try to hit him or hex him whilst down. He switched to a more comfortable topic. “How did this bloody sword get into that pool in the first place?”

Harry shrugged. “Can't say. I reckon whoever cast the Patronus put it there, and then led me to it.”

“Why?”

“No bloody idea.”

Ron reached forward and put his hand around the inviting hilt. “So, do you think it's the real thing?”

“I know how we could find out,” Harry replied. He stooped and retrieved the locket. He could feel it vibrating - trembling almost. It was as if that bit of Voldemort's soul inside had heard him and knew exactly what he was thinking. But then, that thing had sensed the sword's presence before, and had tried to kill him before he could get it. That alone gave Harry a pretty good idea that the sword Ron retrieved was exactly what it appeared to be.

So Harry made a decision. “No time like the present, I guess.”

It was time to finish off the locket - if they ever could, it would be using this. He spied part of what looked like a conveniently flat rock poking out of a snowpile. It was just in front of the double oak tree behind which Ron had recently hidden.

“Ron, bring the sword,” Harry told his friend. Turning, Harry took a few steps, bent over, and brushed the snow away. He had just knelt down to place the Horcrux on the stone when he felt something poke him in the ribs.

Ron, holding the sword gingerly by the blade, was offering it to Harry.

“Don't think so,” Harry said as he looked at Ron. “You should do it.”

“M-me?” Ron squeaked, recoiling from the thought.

“Yup. You got it out of that pond when I couldn't. You got the locket away from me when I couldn't. So I reckon that means that you're supposed to do it.”

It was not deference to his newly returned friend. Nor was it kindness. It was instinct, and right now Harry trusted his instinct. Instinct had told him that the doe Patronus was not dangerous. Instinct told him now that the sword was real. And instinct told him that that, because Ron had retrieved the sword, he was the one destined to wield it.

Instinct did not help Ron, though. Nervously, almost painfully, he moved the sword's blade is some sort of vague chopping movement.

“No, Ron, I think you have to stab it,” Harry instructed, trying to remain calm. “Once I open it, I want you to run it through. Got that? I know from the last time I dealt with one of these that it won't go quietly. Do it quickly, otherwise it may try to kill you, just like that bit of Riddle in the diary tried to kill me….”

Now it was Ron who looked like he might just hurl. “You sure, Harry? I mean this … this is sort of what you do best, isn't it?”

“Not this time, I don't think.”

“How - how can you even get it open?”

“Well, with the diary I used Parseltongue,” Harry answered slowly and deliberately, “so that's what I'm going to try.” Again, it was instinct. The diary. The encounter with Nagini. The snake-like “S” engraved on the locket itself. The glint of the green stones that formed the “S”. It all fit, and it would be extremely easy for Harry to see - and address - it as a snake. Much easier than a bathroom fixture, for that matter….

Harry knelt with the locket in front him. He held the pulsating object in both hands whilst looking at it intensely.

“No, Harry, don't,” protested Ron. “Leave it closed. I mean it….”

“Hell no, Ron,” Harry barked at him - trying to stiffen his prodigal friend's spine. “It's time to get this over with. If we don't, it will only drive us - you - crazy again. You know it. We can't allow it to make you run away again.”

“You do it then,” Ron squealed back. “I'll hold. You kill it.”

“Why the hell…?”

“I can't,” Ron protested anew. “It … it … I think it possessed me! I can't handle it. Your mind's just stronger that way than mine. Look what it made me do before. It made me feel … think all kinds of stuff that I shouldn't have. You said it yourself. It made me hurt you - and her - really badly. I don't want to do that again, I'm just not that strong, like you and Hermione. I can't do it! Please, Harry. You're the bloody hero….”

Ron was backing off, dragging the sword through the snow. His face was white as a sheet.

“You can do this, Ron, I know it,” Harry cajoled. “You just got the sword when I couldn't. Hell, you just saved my life. That thing would've killed me. It's fate. It has to be you.” Then Harry's voice hardened. “If you want us - her - to accept you back, you have to do this. Please, Ron. Do the right thing.”

Ron swallowed so hard that Harry heard him. Something he said - whether it was the flattery or the threat, Harry didn't know - had gotten through. Ron steadied himself and grasped the glittering sword with both hands. Still, Ron was breathing almost as hard as the moment that he'd dragged Harry from his would-be watery grave.

Staring at the locket on the stone, Ron muttered, “OK, you win - like always. Just tell me when.”

Harry tried to speak far more calmly than he felt. This thing he was holding could very well blow up in his face. “I'm going to count to three,” he said, looking at Ron. Then he looked down and concentrated fiercely on the “S” in the locket. By now, he had to clutch the thing with both hands simply to keep it still. “Then I'm going to command it to open in Parseltongue. The moment you see it open, stab it.”

“One … two … three….” Then Ron heard the same sort of strangled hiss he remembered from so many years before in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

The locket appeared to glow as it popped apart with a surprisingly innocent click. Then Ron saw it - a lividly red and very much alive eye - a bit of Riddle/Voldemort's soul looking straight at him, and practically through him, with a single reptilian pupil.

“Stab it,” Harry commanded, his voice low and deadly. As steadily as he could, Harry held the locket out in front where Ron could get a good aim at it.

Ron tried. He clutched the sword like a meat cleaver, but his strength failed him. His hands shook and with them the tip of the sword wavered inches in front of the fiercely staring eye. Harry tried to align the locket with the swordpoint to make it easy to Ron, but it was impossible.

Harry growled, “Stab it, dammit.”

The eye morphed into a mouth, from which a forked tongue flicked. The mouth hissed, “I have seen your heart, and it is like mine….”

“Don't listen to it,” Harry ordered. “It lies. Kill it!”

“I see your dreams, Ronald Weasley. I see your hopes … your fears. All is possible. Your greatest desires. Your deepest dreads. All possible….”

Harry was shouting, “Stab! Now!” But Ron seemed transfixed. The point of the sword wobbled and came to rest on the rock only inches away from its target. But those inches might just as well have been miles. Ron could not tear his eyes away from the locket.

“Your mother wanted a daughter, not you…. She couldn't love you like the others…. She named you Bilius. Nor can the girl love you. She prefers the other. You know that. You've always known that. Always the runnerup. The knight, never the king….”

“Ron, you've got to do it - now!” Harry screamed at him. Finally, his shouts seemed to have some effect. The sword lifted from the rock. It seemed like Ron was gathering his strength.

The locket started to burn. Smoke rose from the two windows on either side. The smoke seemed to solidify - to harden. Like two hideous spectres, figures of Harry and Hermione began rising from the locket, grotesquely malformed but distinctly recognizable.

Ron blanched in amazement and fear. He backed off a step, the fatal blade again retreating. The figures kept growing, rising, until almost the complete forms of Harry and Hermione swayed in the gloom, seemingly generating their own unearthly light.

Suddenly, the locket glowed white hot. It burnt Harry's fingers, and he reflexively dropped it.

He wanted to shut the locket, but having let go of it, Harry had lost what little control he had over the situation.

The voice of Voldemort was speaking through the misshapen mouth of the spectral Harry. “Go away. Why did you come back, anyway? We were better off without you … very well, indeed. Happy. You were so pathetic it was laughable. A coward…. The one who ran away….”

“Dammit Ron, STAB IT!!” Harry shouted futilely as his mind raced. If he didn't do something…. This - this thing would attempt to possess his friend.

“Pathetic,” the Riddle-Hermione figure was speaking now. “Nobody can see you when you stand next to Harry Potter. What can you do? Belch slugs? He's the Boy Who Lived. You are nothing, except comic relief. He's the Chosen One - and I have chosen….”

Harry screamed, “Kill it. Kill it for what it's doing to you. It lies. It hates you. You're my best friend! You always have been….”

His words seemed to have no effect. Ron was mesmerized - his eyes wide and unblinking. Harry could even see the forms of himself and Hermione, doubly misshapen, reflected in his friend's eyes. They joined in an evil duet.

He had to do something.

“Your own mother told me,” the Harry figure sneered, “that she would have preferred me to be Prefect, not you…. Would have preferred me as a son…. Or Hermione as a daughter…. Anyone but you….”

“Your mother isn't the only one,” the Hermione figure jeered. “I've the same preference. What woman could possibly want you when he's available - certainly not me. And he has been so available….” The two figures started writhing, like snakes. They intertwined and looped together in an evil embrace. Their lips met - then their bodies started to join….

Ron gasped and almost stumbled, but he braced himself before falling. The sword pointed straight out in front of him.

“AAAAAARRRRGGGHH!!” Harry's wild, half-crazed scream tore through the evening as, again, instinct took over. He lunged at the locket. His hands sizzled as the white hot metal burnt them. Using the stone as leverage, he hurled himself forward, straight at the razor sharp tip of the sword.

If Ron couldn't bring himself to stab the locket with the sword, Harry would stab the sword with the locket. There was a clank as metal met metal. Ron staggered but managed to push back, providing the resistance that Harry had to have.

The locket gave an extended, earsplitting shriek as the sword point pierced it. Gouts of black blood spurted onto the ragged patches of snow.

The locket split in half against the sword's cold steel. Harry screamed - this time in pain - as the blade of the sword slashed along his wrists all the way up to his elbows.

A fiery flash erupted, followed by the loud report of an explosion. Harry was hurled backwards. He struck the oak tree, hard, with his right side - hard enough to spin him completely around. Harry landed face down in a nearby snowdrift, spread eagled. His gashed and bleeding arms quickly tinted the snow crimson.

Ron, who was a bit farther away, landed hard on his bum, but the snow broke his fall, as well. He held the sword in a deathgrip, too stunned to do anything more than stagger to his feet.

Above them, flames from the destruction of the Horcrux had set alight the overhanging oak, its branches still choked with long dead leaves. The blaze overhead crackled merrily and bathed everything in macabre firelight.

“Harry!! Harry!! HARRY!!!”

A familiar voice cried in the darkness. Holding a jar of bluebell flame in her hands, Hermione came crashing through the underbrush, heedless of the branches and brambles that tore at her skin and slashed at her clothes. She hurtled into the clearing, and her eyes took in an amazing, terrible sight.

Ron!

But Ron was just standing there, unmoving and unresponsive, with a bloody sword in clutched awkwardly in both hands. Ron looked as if he could not believe what he had just done.

A few metres away lay Harry's prone figure, bleeding profusely from his arms and more slowly from another injury to his side. Something quite small lay smoking on the ground. But that wisp of smoke was insignificant compared to the cloud rising from the burning canopy overhead.

Hermione drew the obvious conclusion - and at the same moment, saw something else lying inconspicuously on the ground.

“RONALD WEASLEY, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO HARRY!?”

She hurled the jar of bluebell flames at him. Ron was too taken aback to duck, and it struck him in the shoulder, knocking him backwards, if not down.

“Owww!”

“JUST BECAUSE I DECIDED TO STAY!!”

The next instant, Hermione flung herself to the ground. Grabbing her wand, which lay there forgotten, she rolled over and came up pointing it squarely at Ron.

“DROP IT, OR I'LL MAKE YOU DROP IT!!” she screamed. “If you've killed him, then you damn well better be ready to kill me too … because if he's dead, I swear I'll kill you!”

Ron gawked at her like she was a madwoman, but even in his nearly paralyzed state he had enough sense to let the sword go clattering to the ground.

Once Ron no longer seemed like a threat, she ignored him.

Almost instantly she was kneeling over Harry. “Harry, you can't….” Gently, she rolled him over. Then she gasped at what she saw. His forearms were both bloody messes, slit almost to his elbows. She realized that Harry must have fought barehanded against a broadsword. His battered side was covered with nasty blue-black bruises - from which bits of what looked like tree bark extruded. “I can't….” His broken glasses had been jammed into his forehead hard enough to make him bleed all across his eyebrows.

For a horrific instant, she feared he actually might be dead.

But he was breathing.

“Thank Merlin!” She allowed herself to breathe as well.

Frantically, Hermione began casting Coagulating Charms that staunched the flow of blood from the long cuts on his arms. As best she could, she applied Analgesic Spells to Harry's other wounds. Expertly, she fixed his glasses.

All the while, Ron Weasley just stood there and watched, too emotionally wrung out to do anything - even to defend himself.

In one furious motion, Hermione stripped off her own outer robes and struggled to wrap Harry in them, to keep him away from losing what body heat he had left to the snow.

Finally, her eyes flashing with indescribable anger, she turned again to Ron. “Why couldn't you just stay away, instead of thinking you had to finish him off? Merlin damn you! What for? We'll probably be dead soon enough anyway, without your having to hurry things along! He was your friend. How could you…!?!”

His mouth hanging open, Ron found himself unable to say anything. His face was the colour of overripe cottage cheese. His hands were outstretched as in supplication, as her harsh words flowed over him.

A gurgling sound came from behind her. Immediately, Hermione whirled around. Once again she banished all thoughts of Ron. Dropping to her knees, she cradled Harry's head in her arms. “Don't worry, Harry, you'll be all right…. You have to be all right….”

She was suddenly aware of how much her overwhelming exhaustion was weighing her down. Hermione was on the verge of bursting into tears.

Harry rasped, in a very low, very halting voice, “No…. Saved m'life…. Ron's good…. Saved. Locket's gone.… Horcrux … dead….”

Hermione eyes went wide as she caught the import of those words.

She did burst into tears.

“Oh … sweet … Merlin,” she started to howl. “Ron…!? I'm so sorry…. I jumped to the wrong conclusion….”

Ron was emotionally wrung out himself. After his experience with the Horcrux, he was too tired even to bicker with her - even though she had falsely accused him of something very heinous. “S'OK, Hermione,” he murmured. “Can't blame you….” He took a step. In the eerie perspective of the flickering fire light, Hermione couldn't tell in what direction.

“No, Ron! Don't go…! Not again!”

His step had been towards her and Harry.

“Don't worry, I'm not,” he said reassuringly, his head clearing. “But we really better get him back to the tent, and I don't know where it is. In case you haven't noticed, it's started to snow.”

A long, miserable night lay ahead. Harry had lost a great deal of blood, and he teetered back and forth along the edge of unconsciousness. Hermione almost depleted her entire supply of Blood Replenishing Potion.

Hermione feared for Harry's life every time he passed out. But when conscious, he was wracked by pain, most acutely from his hands and fingers, where the scorching locket had burnt patches of his skin clean away.

Hermione was no Healer, and burns were the hardest type of wound to restore. The Healing Charms she placed on his hands were agonizingly slow to take effect, and her Analgesic Spells wore off all too quickly, leaving Harry in torment before she could recast them.

And then there was Ron. Obediently and without objection, he did whatever she told him to do, but otherwise he sat in the corner and sulked.

And Hermione was more than happy to let him sulk. Weeks ago, she had begged him to stay, and he had left. Worse than that, he left the impression that it was her fault he had gone.

She would have happily ignored him, but that was impossible.

Tenaciously, Hermione dragged out of Ron - and Harry, when up to it - bits and pieces of information about what had happened. For all her troubles, what she learnt only made her feel conflicted. Ron had saved Harry's life, and then helped destroy the Horcrux.

And here she had gone off accusing him of trying to kill Harry out of sheer bloody-minded jealousy.

Because of that, and only that, she decided not to hex him for leaving. She would try to be civil to him - as long as he behaved himself.

That was all well and good, but it was hardly everything.

Beyond what they were able to tell her, she sensed that there lay something else, something she knew not. It had to be something major - a huge something that neither Ron, nor even Harry, felt comfortable discussing in her presence. She suspected the Horcrux. She knew it had defended itself. That was the source of Harry's injuries. Just what that defense had entailed was something that she had not been able to coax or cajole out of either of the two boys.

Finally, Harry was stable and sleeping. It was soon clear that neither she nor Ron would be able to follow his lead without help. Thus, she carefully measured out some Dreamless Sleep Potion for the two of them.

Of course, she gave Ron more than she gave herself. That was her way, even if she was furious at him.

Hermione awoke the next morning before dawn. She needed to brew more Blood Replenishing Potion from the ingredients in her purse. More importantly, she needed to forage. They were running out of food as it was, and with Ron back there was another - notoriously insatiable - mouth to feed.

Most important of all, she wanted to make sure that she did not strangle Ronald Weasley in his sleep - for leaving them in the lurch. With time, she might forgive him. But she would never forget his massive betrayal of her trust.

She also thought that Harry and Ron needed to have a chat without her around.

Fortunately, only a couple of inches of new snow, light and powdery, had fallen overnight. She brushed it away from the front of the tent and set up her collapsible cauldron. After filling it with snow, she lit a low flame to melt some water for the potion.

Creeping back inside, she set an Alarm Charm that would go off whilst she was away foraging. She checked Harry's wounds and satisfied herself that they were healing properly.

Asleep was the only time Harry looked at peace. She sighed and gave him a light kiss on his still injured forehead.

Then she looked at Ron. He had left Harry, and her, to their fates.

She shook her head, but did restrain herself from spitting on him.

Neither of them woke, which to her was just as well.

Minutes later, trudging through the forest, Hermione came upon deer tracks leading over a rise to her left. The new-fallen snow was worth something. It saved animal tracks of all kinds.

Not having a better idea, she followed the tracks. Maybe the deer would lead her to some edible leaves, leftover seeds, or something….

Or something.

Hermione could hardly believe her eyes when the tracks circled around a crabapple tree. Its higher branches were still laden with frozen, but still quite edible, fruit.

She gathered almost two pounds of it.

Making her way back to her original trail, Hermione encountered another set of tracks - made by a large dog, or even a wolf.

More hesitantly, she decided to follow those - at least as long as they passed over relatively open ground.

Once again, she was rewarded. The tracks led to the torn open remains of a Muggle rucksack. Its khaki cloth had been largely ripped loose from the aluminium frame, and it reeked of animal urine and feces. But Hermione could see what appeared to be intact plastic resealable bags inside, as well as what looked like a Muggle entrenching tool.

So she held her breath and emptied the rucksack.

Bits of rancid meat and mouldy bread flopped to the ground - probably what had caused some animal to drag the thing away in the first place. But as she shook it out, objects emerged that Hermione, in her drastically reduced state, thought of as treasures.

A retractable ski pole.

Two intact bags of trail mix - the kind with candied chocolate drops.

Three undamaged granola bars.

A bag filled with little fast-food packets of salt, pepper, sugar, and even tea.

A Muggle first aid kit in a red, hard plastic container

A compass.

Two relatively clean towels.

Lots of empty resealable bags.

Just as she was pocketing her scavenged hoard, the tiny brown streak of a ground squirrel across the snow caught her eye. It was gone, of course, by the time she turned fully around - but its tracks remained.

She followed the tiny beast to its lair. Then another inspiration hit her. Pulling out the entrenching tool, she dug out the nest - and found quite a cache of edible nuts, seeds, and dried berries. She selected the best and placed them carefully in one of the empty plastic bags.

Over the next half an hour, she repeated that process twice more. It was surprisingly easy to locate the nests, since the newly fallen snow faithfully preserved the smallest tracks.

Hermione was ready to go back to the tent when she heard a high-pitched growl to her left, coming from behind a snow choked mound of high grass and brambles. Making her way around the snowy mound, shovel in one hand and ski pole in the other, she saw a badger worrying a rabbit. The badger saw her too. It immediately abandoned its prey and fled.

The rabbit was dying. With the entrenching tool, Hermione put it out of its misery. She telescoped the ski pole and attached the carcass to it with a Fixing Charm.

Hermione was feeling rather pleased with herself as she approached the tent. She would have been happy with anything edible - and she had returned with enough food for several days, and all of the ingredients for rabbit stew. At least she would be able to give Ron a suitable welcoming meal, including real tea - whether he deserved it or not.

From the voices, she could tell Harry and Ron were awake. They seemed to be chatting easily - much more easily than they had with her around the night before.

She decided not to disturb them for the moment, since she needed to gut the rabbit and check on the water for the potion.

From her beaded bag, she extracted a Swiss Army knife that her father had given her years before. Finally, she could say that the two years she spent in the Girl Guides weren't a total waste.

And she couldn't help but overhear.

Harry and Ron were talking … about her.

It was impossible for her not to listen.

* * * *

Harry knew that annoying sound well - and so did Ron. It was the Alarm Charm that Hermione always set when they had to get up ridiculously early to do something that almost always turned out to be ridiculously frustrating.

“Can't I have half an hour more, Hermione?” Harry moaned. Then he felt his hands. They were heavily plastered, and the plaster was soaked with some ointment that smelled strongly of camphor.

“Hermione?” Harry called out sleepily.

“She's not here … I don't think,” came Ron's equally groggy voice.

That's right, Ron was back.

But where was Hermione?

“Hermione!” Harry yelled more loudly as he tossed the ragged duvet off of him.

There was no answer.

“Oh, Merlin, where did she go?” Harry mumbled as he found his glasses and looked through the tent flaps. There was no sign of her, just a cauldron full of half melted snow with one of her trademark blue flames dancing beneath it.

“Oh, Merlin, where did she go?” Harry asked aloud again, this time more frantically. Even in his badly injured state, it was painfully clear that Ron's sudden reappearance had thoroughly upset Hermione - it was something about how she'd first encountered him. He worried out loud, “What if she's finally had too much and left…?”

All Harry heard was Ron's semi-sarcastic chuckle. “She'd never leave you, mate. That's what all this was about, wasn't it?”

“What do you mean, Ron?” Harry asked suspiciously.

Ron rolled his eyes. “I wanted to leave. She wanted to stay. I couldn't stand it any longer, so I left. Stupidest thing I've ever done in my life….”

Harry wasn't inclined to disagree. “So you went back to the Burrow, then?” he asked, mostly to make conversation - and to change the subject.

“Hell, no,” Ron grunted. “And admit to Mum and Dad that I'd done a runner? They'd just have thought I was too scared to stay.”

“Where'd you go then?” Harry asked.

“I spent some time at Bill and Fleur's place,” Ron revealed. “He was disappointed in me, of course, but he wasn't Mum and Dad. Then I got worried that my being there might put them in danger. So for the last few days of it, I stayed in a cave that I've known about since I was a kid - on the back of Stoatshead Hill. I could even see the Burrow, but I never went there. Instead, I did a lot of thinking. Finally I decided I had to be a man about things…. You know, like that old saving? `Sane enough to accept what can't be changed, brave enough to change what can be, and clever enough to know the difference,' something like that.”

“I always hoped you'd come back,” Harry told him. “I checked the Map every night, afraid that you'd gone back to Hogwarts. I knew if that happened, I'd lost you. So every night I'd watch that dot named “Weasley” until bedtime. Thank Merlin it always went to the girl's dorm. As long as that happened, I still had hope.”

Ron cracked a half smile and sighed. He asked a question to which he already thought he knew the answer. “And did you tell Hermione that was what you were doing?”

“No, not really,” Harry admitted, as Ron rolled his eyes. “She never asked. She was just too upset with your leaving … cried for days, she did. I didn't want to raise any false hopes….” Harry snorted, “I'll bet she thought I was thinking about Ginny, but I wasn't. I was watching after you, mate.”

“You're still a git, but I'm damn glad to be back, mate,” Ron said, holding out his hand.

“You're an even bigger git. But I'm even gladder that you're here,” Harry replied, pulling his friend into a rather stiff hug, since his hands and arms still hurt.

After their emotional reconnection, Harry drew back. He was confused. “How did you even find us?” he asked. “I always thought Hermione's charms were really, really something.”

A very sarcastic retort made its way to the tip of Ron's tongue, but he bit it back. “They are, only Dumbledore's were better.” He pulled a small silver object from his back pocket.

“That's the Deluminator,” Harry stated something obvious.

“Well, it does more than just turn lights on and off,” Ron explained. “It's sort of a homing charm for you. It lets me hear your voices. Not only that, it directs me when I Apparate. I could follow you, even if I couldn't see you or know exactly where you were. For that, I had to wait and hope that you'd somehow find me….”

The next half hour or so was devoted to a detailed discussion about what each of them - but especially Harry and Hermione, since they'd been more active - had done whilst they were apart.

“So, she conjured flowers for you to put on your parents' graves?” Ron asked. It was a question that needed no answer. “Damn, that's so bloody … Hermione….” Other than the faraway look in his eyes, Ron's expression was unreadable.

“Er … Ron? I - I think I know why you left,” Harry began haltingly.

“Then I'm absolutely and positively sure that Hermione knows,” Ron groaned. “It's not like I wasn't pretty damn obvious about it.”

“I - I, want you to know that … while you were gone - nothing happened,” Harry said earnestly. “I wouldn't….”

Ron's sarcasm could no longer be restrained. “Now why am I bloody well not surprised?” Ron cut Harry off. “What with you letting her think that you were pining over my sister every night before bed.”

“I want you to know that what you saw last night was a lie,” Harry told him. “Just another of V….”

Ron slapped a hand across Harry's mouth. “Don't say that name,” he ordered. “You know damn well what happens….”

He looked into Ron's intense gaze and nodded. Harry was in great pain - and it wasn't physical. He knew what had to be done, what had to be said, if he was to make sure that Ron was going to stay. In his struggle to get that over with, he had almost used the Dark Lord's name.

Ron dropped his hand.

“It was a lie,” Harry repeated. Grimly, he kept his mouth moving. “She cried for a week,” he said. “Because of you. We could hardly talk. It was all I could do to get her out of bed some mornings. With you gone….”

Harry had to stop. He'd sacrificed a lot to fight Voldemort, and if necessary he would sacrifice his future. Ron was back, and for the three of them to have any chance of survival, Ron had to stay. Harry fully realized just how much Ron's departure had cost them, and he was not about to give Ron an excuse to leave again. There was no future without Ron, so what he wanted didn't really matter, anyway.

At least that was the logic Harry used to convince himself. If he tried to save his future, Ron would leave again, it would never be able to happen anyway.

“Ron, you need to know,” Harry choked out. “You've nothing to fear from that lie. Umm … Hermione and I, well I….”

To Harry's surprise, Ron purpled. “Just shut up, Harry,” he growled, sounding almost like Mad-Eye at his notorious worst.

“What?”

“Whatever you're planning to say, just … don't,” Ron repeated. “It wouldn't have any more truth to it than You Know Who's rubbish, anyway.”

“Ron?”

Ron signed deeply and went on. “Like I said earlier, Harry, I had so much time to think whilst alone in that cave. I decided to come back, that's it. I've accepted everything. There's no fingers crossed behind my back. I made a mistake; I'm back; and that's my decision - whether or not `something happened' while I was gone … as you so daftly put it.”

Harry was looking back at Ron with exactly the same slackjawed and stupid expression that Ron had worn right after the Horcrux had been destroyed. “You mean, you don't…?”

“No, I don't mean that I don't,” Ron spat. “But I know better than to ruin everything for something that was beyond my reach in the first place. You'll have to give me time…. But no matter what, I'm not leaving again.”

“Ron, I've never allowed myself even to dream of it….”

“Then start. Don't go all bloody noble on me Harry,” Ron said with a clenched jaw. “That only makes this harder. Are you dumb as well as blind? That was what made me leave, and it was on display in all it's bloody glory again last night….”

“What?”

“Dammit, you are everything to her, Harry!” Ron practically shouted.

Harry finally didn't bother to deny it, “And - you're OK with that, then?”

“Not OK,” Ron told him. “I might never be OK, but I accept it, and I accept anywhere that leads. That's the decision I had to make before I could come back.”

“I can't help it, Ron,” Harry said evenly. “Sorry.”

“Neither can I,” Ron replied, shaking his head. “Just - well - if you string my little sister along after this, I'll have to kill you.”

Harry could hardly believe what he was hearing. If he had stood up, he might have floated out of the tent without using magic. “All right, then,” he said, allowing himself the first hint of a smile he had shown during this entire conversation. “But what did you mean by `on display'?”

“Hah!” Ron gave a mirthless laugh. “I don't know if you were even conscious to hear it. But she thought I'd tried to kill you because I was jealous. She told me … well … that if I'd killed you, I'd have to kill her too. She doesn't want to live without you, Harry.”

“I - I don't want….”

“She'd die for you, and she'd kill for you,” Ron went on, “but most of all, I think - I know - she wants to live for you. And leave it to you to be too damn daft to see it. She's yours, Harry, and I was a bloody fool to think that could ever change.”

Harry was almost too choked up for words. “Ron, you are the best mate anybody could ever….”

There was a clatter as outside the tent - the sound of metal striking metal.

“Oh, blast…. Scourgify.”

“Hermione's back,” both of them said simultaneously.

27

C:\Documents and Settings\Owner\My Documents\HP & The Fifth Element.ch51 Padfoot's legacy.doc 9/22/2007

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