Chapter 3: Why should the worst day of my life end any differently?

I reappeared in the forest I'd left earlier that evening, took one look at my surroundings, and swore loudly. I'd Apparated to the wrong clearing. I took off at a fast walk into the trees. I searched for hours, periodically calling Harry's and Hermione's names. Finally, I reached an area I recognized. I sped up, feeling excitement and apprehension in equal measure. However, as soon as I burst into the clearing, my stomach plummeted. There in front of me was a large square of flattened grass, but no sign of the tent I'd gotten so used to over the past month. What I had feared had indeed happened: they were gone.

"Shit! Shit, shit, shit, shit, SHIT!" I kicked a tree to emphasize my final expletive and promptly swore again as pain shot through my foot. Hopping up and down on one foot, I considered my options. It was getting colder; I certainly couldn't sleep here tonight. I had no idea how to find where Harry and Hermione had Apparated to—Ironically, I could use Hermione's brains right about now. I thought back to my original plan of returning to the Burrow, and shame and guilt filled me as I pictured my parents' faces when I told them what I'd done. Mum'd probably kill me on the spot, I decided. Unless Ginny somehow got there first. No, going home was not an option. I could go to Fred and George . . . but they'd probably maim me with one of their joke shop products. It seemed that I was most likely to survive with all my body parts intact if I went to Shell Cottage. Bill, as the oldest, had always been the peacekeeper, least likely to take sides or tattle to Mum and Dad. I could only hope his neutral tendencies wouldn't desert him now.

For the third time that day, I fixed my mind on my destination and felt the suffocating pressure engulf me. A salty breeze lifted my hair and the smell of the sea filled my nostrils as I landed in front of Bill and Fleur's cottage. Steeling myself, I walked up to their door and knocked twice.

"Who's there?" Bill called, a touch of fear in his voice.

"It's Ron, your brother," I called back.

There was a pause. Then, "What did Fred turn your teddy bear into when you were three?"

I shuddered at the memory. "A spider," I answered.

A second later the door flung open and Bill pulled me inside. His face white, he immediately began throwing questions at me. "Are you ok? Has someone been killed? Where're Harry and Hermione? Were you guys separated?"

"Um, well, not exactly…"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Bill snapped.

"I . . . er . . . left." I finished lamely.

"Jesus Christ, Ron," Bill breathed.

"I know," I mumbled, staring at my feet.

"Do Mum and Dad know?"

"No, do you think I'm an idiot? Wait, don't answer that," I said quickly as Bill opened his mouth. "No, this is the first place I came." I sighed. "I was thinking you might let me stay here for a bit while I figured out what I'm doing."

Bill frowned. "It's obvious isn't it? You're going back."

"Right, well, that was the first thing I tried, but they'd already moved on."

Bill sighed and shook his head.

"Look, I'm not proud of this, alright?" I said defensively. "Can I please just . . . stay here?"

Bill regarded me silently for a moment. I tried to meet his eyes, but couldn't quite manage it; I stared instead at his left eyebrow. Finally, he spoke. "Up the stairs, first door on your left. Fleur's out doing . . . well, I'll send her a message to let her know you'll be staying with us for a while."

"Thanks," I mumbled. I turned and climbed the stairs to the second floor. I pushed open the door Bill had described and glanced listlessly around the room. A bed was positioned along the left wall under a window that looked out over the sea. Nice view, I noted absently. Opposite the bed was a small dresser with a mirror over the top. A small desk and chair took up the remaining wall, and a plain red woolen rug was centered on the wooden floor. I walked over to the bed and flopped down on it. I lay there for an hour or so, trying not to think, before I finally began to drift off to sleep. As I slipped into unconsciousness, I half hoped I would never wake up.