The Order of Nature

In peace, children inter their parents; war violates the order of nature and causes parents to inter their children. Herodotus

Molly's very hair was bristling with determination, a situation Ron was rather too familiar with to expect it to end well for him. Her hat was quivering and slipping off her head, as though even it was afraid of being too close to her. The kitchen felt smaller than ever to Ron, as he hunched closely to Hermione on the bench. His mother may have been trying to keep her voice calm but the undertone of anger was unmistakable. He even noticed the buried fear.

"You really think you're dropping out of school and leaving us. You really think you're going to do this without even telling me why."

"We don't think so, Mum, we know so. We don't have any choice."

"Nonsense! You have plenty of choices. You could go back to Hogwarts like normal children. You could tell the Order what you know and leave it to them to handle. You could trust your father and me."

"Oh, please don't say that, Mrs. Weasley. Of course we trust you," Hermione pleaded, her voice close to breaking. "We trust you more than anyone else. You love Harry as much as we do."

She looked only slightly mollified. "Well, you aren't behaving that way."

Ron moved his hand to the small of Hermione's back and pressed hard before sliding it up to her shoulder. "Don't hurt Hermione's feelings, Mum. It's not her fault. Dumbledore said…"

"Oh, don't give me that again. Dumbledore may have had his reasons but he could have been mistaken, did you ever consider that?"

"No, we 'effing well didn't consider that. And we 'effing well aren't going to!" Ron exploded. He didn't want to think, he wanted to act. Why couldn't his mother leave it alone? Okay, he knew why but it didn't change anything

"Ron, stop cursing," Hermione and Mrs. Weasley said at the same time and in the same aggravated tone of voice. Ron buried his head in hands. "I'm trapped, aren't I? Destined to never get away with anything."

Even Molly laughed weakly at his woebegone attitude. Not that he wasn't putting it on a bit to distract her. After all, she and Hermione were well used to his language by now but that didn't stop either of them from pretending to scold him. Turn about was fair play with both of them, as far as he was concerned.

"Well, I have the chickens to see to, but this isn't over. I won't have any else in my family in danger. It's enough as it is," she said practically, heading for the back door. "I do want grandchildren some day," she added obliquely as though determined not to leave without the upper hand.

Ron's head sank from his hands onto the wooden table. This was it, he was going to die. His face was so hot it was going to set the table on fire and Hermione would be too stunned by his mother to put it out.

He felt her shift beside him but couldn't bring himself to look at her.

"Well," she said in a shaky voice, "I'd say we've almost got her convinced, wouldn't you?"

The bright sun shining through the window lit up a vast amount of dust motes and had the Chudley Cannons on Ron's posters squinting into the glare before flying into each other. Hermione sat on the floor next to the bed, sorting through a seemingly endless pile of their belongings while he lay on his back, making her laugh by reading choice bits of "The Quibbler" and his added commentary to her. The interrogations and attempts at persuasion every time they met up with anyone else were driving Hermione to tears and Ron to rage and they had been making excuses to escape here more and more often.

"You know, she does have a good point though," Ron said tentatively, laying down The Quibbler. After yesterday's go-round with his mother he wasn't in the mood for another one with Hermione. Especially when they'd been sitting together so peacefully today. Especially when it always ended the same way; with him losing and confused and Hermione winning and yet looking a bit lost herself.

"Yes, your bedroom really is a sty. Honestly, Ron, I'm trying to get us organized here."

"Ha, bloody, ha. Don't try and change the subject."

"I'm going, Ron, so don't start that again. I'm tired of trying to convince everyone I know what I'm doing," she huffed out on a frustrated breath.

"It's not that, Hermione, you know better with me. I'm the one who doesn't know what I'm doing half the time."

"You're being generous," Hermione smirked at him.

"Very funny."

"So why aren't you staying home then? No, wait, I know the answer to this one. Because you're a boy and I'm a girl." She crossed her arms against her chest and waited for him to pretend it wasn't true.

"I resent that, you know. I'm a man; a tall and very manly one at that," he joked lamely. She'd gone from sweet, relaxed girl to full blown debater before he'd even had a chance to soften her up a bit. He figured it was too much to hope that terrifying aspect of her would change, no matter how many inroads he was making in other ways.

Unfortunately, he was right. Hermione didn't even pause to consider laughing; her single-mindedness had always overwhelmed him.

"But I'm just a girl who needs to be kept safe," she taunted him sarcastically.

"You're not just a girl, Hermione. You're…you're our…erm, you're a really important girl." Would he ever stop getting it hopelessly mangled when it came to actually telling her what he felt? Fred and George's book only told him about compliments and opened doors and "accidental" ways to touch her. There was no advice about already loving someone and then falling in love with them. He had to figure out the hard part for himself. The problem was figuring things out had never been his strong point.

"Oh. Well, that's very sweet. I guess," Hermione answered quizzically. "But I'm going anyway."

He nodded at her in resignation, because he had known that was would she would say. And he knew it was what she would do.

"Anyway," she continued, "how on earth would you and Harry manage without a 'really important girl' along? You'd probably head off with nothing more than your wands and the clothes on your back."

"So what's wrong with that?" Ron asked. "We're going to be fighting You-Know-Who, not going on a bathing holiday with him. We won't be needing our swim trunks, you know."

"What's wrong with that is that the two of you would be eating leaves, sleeping in tree trunks and stinking to high heaven in less than a week," Hermione laughed. "Wandering around wondering where to go next and how you were going to destroy the Horcruxes, if you could even find them. It's going to take more than a wand to defeat Voldemort."

Ron gave a bark of bitter laughter and stared up at the ceiling. It was true, Harry couldn't do it without her. Where that left him was something he tried never to consider, unsuccessfully most of the time.

"Don't you see that it's not just that I need to go with you and Harry?" Hermione pressed him. "You need me to go, too. You'd be lost without me."

"I guess you're right. I would be lost without you," Ron answered her, flipping onto his side to look at her with a directness he rarely possessed when he alone with her.

He couldn't tell if she caught exactly what he said, although from the faint stain of pink on her cheeks he thought she might have. "Thank you, Ron," she said softly.

"This doesn't mean I'm going to stop trying, you know. Mum's not the only one who can't give it up when she's worried."

Hermione rolled her eyes and went back to packing. "Now, what was that bit about the Wrackspurt Rebellion again?"

Ron sighed and opened the magazine again. He didn't know what to do about her, but then, he never had and they'd made it this far. There were a lot of things he didn't want to give up on anymore and she was at the top of the list.

"Right. The Wrackspurts are rebelling against the doctors at St. Mungo's for refusing to recognize their contribution towards…."