A/N: I hope all my fellow Americans have had a wonderful Thanksgiving, and everyone else just a wonderful day in general! One thing I'm thankful for are all the people who read my stories, so thank you if you are reading this now.

And so we move on to Deathly Hallows! I had originally planned on having a final chapter for Half-Blood Prince, but when I was writing it it seemed unnecessary, and a bit forced, so I decided to pass on it. But never fear! There are still several chapters left in this story, as there's so much to write about for book 7! This particular chapter takes place within the first few chapters of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, but has no specific time.

Also, I apologize that the first scene isn't completely Ron/Hermione centered, but more of just Ron. It was really just something I wanted to write about, and I hope I haven't deterred anyone from reading because of it.

Enjoy!

DISCLAIMER: I'm not even really sure why I put these at the beginning of each chapter, when I hope by this point it's pretty clear that I am not JK Rowling and I do not own Harry Potter, but it would feel strange to break the streak now. So here it is.

ch. 21: the before

Ron—

Would it be alright with your family if I came to stay sooner than expected? Say, Saturday night? I know it's a lot to ask, but I figured out how to take care of my parents and I really need to just do it as soon as possible before I have a chance to change my mind. Please let me know either way!

—Hermione

Ron smoothed the parchment over his leg, trying to straighten out the crumpled mess it had become in the week since he'd gotten it. He had of course responded immediately that she could come over any time she wanted, but the letter made him feel anxious. Hermione was rarely brief. Usually her letters were at least several paragraphs, so laced with her jumbled thoughts that he could understand how she was feeling while barely even having to read between the lines. But this was vague. He knew she couldn't go into much detail, given the chance that anyone could intercept the post, but something still seemed off. The handwriting looked more frantic than neat. The words seemed clipped, abrupt at best. He had read them through countless times, but he still couldn't quite figure the letter out. "I figured out how to take care of my parents." What did that mean?

He heard his Mum calling for dinner and pushed the letter aside. It was only Thursday, which meant two more days to ponder what he surely wouldn't know until she got there and told him herself. That was the downside to being best friends with Hermione Granger: it took a lot of work to keep up with her plans.

He reached the kitchen just in time to help carry more plates to the table. Bill, Fleur and the twins were all over for supper. After the incident with Greyback at the end of last year, his mum had lightened up on Fleur immensely, but there was a still a bit of tension in the air, especially with all the stress of the wedding. The table was quieter than usual as he took his seat, and it wasn't until he was scooping potatoes onto his plate that conversation finally took off. Bill got his father started on the Ministry, and he tried his best to listen in as the twins went on about WWW business to Fleur on his other side. His dad had been coming home later and later. He knew the Ministry was on the verge of falling apart and that his dad was trying his best to keep tabs on everything for the Order. Ron had been trying to pick up any bits of information that might possibly help Harry for weeks. But his father only talked about a run in with Percy, and he quickly lost interest.

"Ginny got her O.W.L. results this morning," his mum said brightly to the table at large.

"Really?" his father said excitedly, turning away from Bill. "How'd you do?" Ginny shot a glare at her mother before reluctantly muttering out her scores to the table. Ron snickered.

"What's that Gin? Only one "O"?" He said playfully. He knew his sister hadn't done as well as she had hoped, and had a sneaking suspicion her relationship with his best friend might have had something to do with it.

"Still more than you managed," Ginny shot back fiercely. "And I doubt you'll do any better on your NEWTs."

"I guess we'll never know, because I won't be there to take them," He retorted, not realizing what he had said until his father's congratulations to Ginny stopped mid sentence.

He could feel seven pairs of eyes boring into him. Fred let out a low whistle to break the silence. After what seemed like a year of silence, his mother spoke. "…Sorry?"

Well, might as well just get it over with, now that he'd already dug himself down this deep, he thought miserably. He supposed his mum might need some time to accept it, anyway. Better to get through all that before Hermione arrived. He took another bite of potatoes to buy himself some time before finally looking up to meet her narrowed eyes. "We—Harry, Hermione and I—we aren't going back. To Hogwarts," he added hastily, as if that weren't obvious. He could see her eyes flickering dangerously as she processed his words.

His father looked much calmer, and Ron focused on him instead.

"Why?"

"We have something we need to do. I can't say much, but it's important." He suddenly wished he hadn't done this at the dinner table. Bill's gaze was piercing. Nobody was touching their food.

"What could be more important than your education?" his mother cut in, her voice reaching the level of shrillness she reserved only for those moments in which she was one wrong comment away from losing it completely. She was like a howler, steaming before bursting into life. He gulped.

It was too late to back down now. There was no use in giving in when he knew that what she wanted to hear wasn't the answer he could truthfully give. They were going. "It's something, a mission, that Dumbledore needed Harry to do. And Hermione and I are going with him to do it."

Much to his shock, his mother's face softened. But he wasn't given much of a chance to revel in his luck before all was made clear. "Well you clearly misunderstood him, dear."

Of course she couldn't just trust him. "We understood," he said firmly.

"There is no possible way Albus would have encouraged you three to drop out of school and go gallivanting around on some secret 'mission.'" She shrieked, her voice resuming it's previously heightened tone. "You must have misunderstood. Perhaps it was something Harry was supposed to tell the Order to do? Or something Dumbledore was planning to do himself and now Harry wrongly believes he must take on?"

"No, Mum. It's Harry who's got to do it. We've got to do it. The three of us."

"I will not let my son throw away his future to run off with his friends and do something foolish on impulse!"

"Well then it's a good thing it's not up to you!" Ron barked, slamming his silverware onto the table.

"Ron…." Bill said quietly beside him. He ignored him.

"No! I'm not a kid anymore, Mum. I'm seventeen and I can decide for myself whether or not I'm going back to school! It's not so much 'throwing away my future' when I'm trying to make sure we get a future in the first place! I'm going, whether you want me to or not."

His words were met with a resounding silence. Fred and George looked uncharacteristically dumbstruck. Ginny was staring at her plate, toying with the ripped up edge of her napkin and pulling it further apart into bits. Bill was still watching him evenly, a strange look on his face, hand clenched around Fleur's. And then his dad, eyes focused with apprehension on his mum, whose face was so strained he could barely imagine the type of speech she was forming in her mind. He certainly wasn't going to stick around to hear it. "I'm not hungry," he muttered, pulling away his half-eaten plate to the sink before dismissing himself upstairs.

He hadn't meant for it to go that poorly. It was obvious that his mother would be upset (this was Molly Weasley, after all) but he hadn't expected to lose his own temper so quickly in return. Someone would be up any moment, probably to yell at him. He sighed and returned to his bed, resuming his perusal of Hermione's letter halfheartedly. Sure enough, he had only half an hour of peace before someone was knocking at his door. He expected it to be his father, or maybe Bill. It was Ginny.

"I'm sorry," she said as she entered without permission, "It was stupid of me to bring up N.E.W.T.s, I wasn't thinking when I said that."

He rolled over on the bed to face her, shaking his head. "Don't worry about it, Gin. It had to happen eventually."

"Yeah…." She trailed off, eyes glazed as she looked out the window. "I wish you could tell me what you were doing. I hate not knowing. I wish I could help."

He opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off before he could get a word in. "I understand though, even if I don't like it. I support you."

She tore her gaze from the window and met his eyes.

"Thanks, Ginny."

Hermione didn't arrive on Saturday. She hadn't specified a time, but by supper she still hadn't come. Then it was eight, then nine, then ten. Still nothing. He kept glancing out his window, hoping to catch her apparating into the yard, but to no avail. He didn't get her owl until quarter to eleven. It was just one word, scrawled haphazardly onto a tiny slip of paper: "Tomorrow." And so he waited some more.

He was awoken by the sound of her voice and her gentle prodding. "Ron, Ron—"

He shifted to look at her, ready to let out an exaggerated grown at being forced awake at such an hour, but was stopped short by her face, which was streaked with tears. He scrambled up to a sitting position, eyes wide.

"What's up Hermione?"

She sniffled, swiping a hand across her eyes. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up so early, but Ginny let me in, and…and I needed to talk to someone. To you."

He scooted over so that she could sit beside him on the bed, and she complied, drawing her knees up to her chest and burying her head between them. How was it that she still managed to look beautiful like that? With her face all puffy and her hair wilder than ever? He fought to remember what that book the twins had gotten him had said to do when a girl was crying. He could even recall folding down the corner of the page for future reference—Hermione was an emotional person.

All he could remember was it saying something about physical contact, so he flung his arm around her. Much to his dismay, he seemed to have made the right choice. Hermione drew closer to him until her legs were pressed against his and she was crying against his shoulder, like she had at Dumbledore's funeral. He stroked her hair down her back as her soft tears soaked through his shirt. "What happened?" He asked finally.

Her answer came out with a choked sob. "Th-they don't remember me. I wiped their m-memories."

"What? Whose memories?"

"My parents." It came out almost inaudibly, and he could feel a knot of dread forming in his stomach. So that's what "taking care of my parents" had meant. "I sent them to Australia. I had to. I had to p-protect them."

"You made them forget about you?"

She nodded. "They don't even know they have a daughter. I made sure to do it well. I removed myself from all the pictures, I took all of my documents…." She gestured to a tiny beaded bag around her wrist. "Extendable charm," she explained, meeting his confused gaze. "I wanted to tell them, before I did it," she sniffled, "But they'd never have gone along with it. They wouldn't have understood that it was the only way. I haven't told them much, about the war, see. You should have seen their faces," she was full-on sobbing again, "When I drew my wand, they looked so scared. They were afraid of me, Ron."

"But you can fix it, right?" He meant it to be consoling, but it came out apprehensive.

She nodded. "It's reversible, so if I come back after all this I can go and find them. And they'll hate me for what I did." He clenched his fingers around hers.

"They won't, Hermione," he whispered. She just shook her head.

"If…If I don't make it, they'll be happy in Australia. I made sure of that." His breath hitched. He wanted to tell her that they'd be safe, that of course she was going to make it, but they both knew it was a lie. He'd sacrifice everything to make sure she survived this, but what if that wasn't enough? He settled instead for just squeezing her hand.

"We're really doing this." She was pulling herself together, and he had to stop himself from letting out a sigh as he felt her weight leave his and her hand pull away.

"We have to. Harry wouldn't last a day without us," He joked. Hermione chuckled, standing up and smoothing down her clothes.

There was a long pause as they simply stared at one another, the weight of what they were about to do hitting them both at once. Then her arms were around him, hugging him fiercely. He wasn't sure how long they lingered there, intertwined against one another, but it seemed like an eternity.

Then she was gone, before he had a chance to clear his mind.