Ron headed out on watch, feeling again like he had said too much to Hermione. Not that he'd actually said much of anything, really. But it was definitely all there, between the lines. How much he cared about her. How much he loved her. She hadn't seemed put off by it, though. Her reaction had been positive, at least, if not a declaration of her undying love in return.

He brought the deluminator out with him, pondering what had happened inside the tent as he stared down at the object in his hand. He couldn't rationally explain what it was or what it meant, but the words he said to Hermione had tumbled out on their own, as if he just knew the answer. That blue light did something. He was sure of it. Now they just had to figure out what that something was.

Ron thought about clicking the deluminator and letting the light back out to study it, but remembering the anxious response Hermione had had to it, he tucked it back into his pocket instead. Hermione didn't do well with things she couldn't explain; it was why she had stormed out of Divination all those years ago. Then again, her keen mind and logic had gotten them out of plenty of sticky situations over the years.

But Ron could be objective. He could think about this from both angles. If it was a sort of portkey, the risks of traveling with it were obviously great, even if it came from Dumbledore. They had no way of knowing where it would take them, and the last time any of them had encountered a portkey of unknown origins (albeit accidentally), it had resulted in Voldemort's return and the death of Cedric Diggory. Even if it was something Dumbledore had set up, the headmaster had been dead for months, and a lot had changed in the wizarding world since.

On the other, less logical, hand, Ron couldn't deny he felt a certain pull to the blue light, and its sudden appearance seemed to coincide with Hermione's pessimistic mood. Even if they hadn't figured out exactly what it meant yet, there was a timing aspect to the snitch—I open at the close. Whatever the close was. And that seemed to hold true enough for the deluminator, as well. Every other time he had used it, all it had done was put out lights. Something about this time was different, and that had to be significant. The objects were both waiting for something before revealing their hidden uses, and the deluminator seemed to have gotten what it wanted from them in order to function.

It felt heavy in his pocket, but Ron vowed not to do anything more with it without Hermione. It had by now been several weeks since they had left Harry, and she hadn't brought it up since their early days on their own, but Ron still felt that he needed to make things up to her for leaving the way he had. It was his fault she was spending Christmas with him and not Harry. At least all three of them could blame Voldemort for not spending the holiday at home where they belonged.

They had been trying to conserve their resources, but if there were ever an occasion for a passing attempt at a full breakfast, Ron felt that Christmas was it. He woke up early so that he could have things ready when Hermione came back in from her portion of the night watch. Breakfast was all he could give her, after all.

The grin she bestowed on him when she returned to the tent was well worth the effort. "Ron, this is lovely," she said as he handed her a cup of instant coffee. "You didn't have to do all this."

"I just wanted to do something nice for you. This isn't exactly an idyllic Christmas."

"We've had worse, haven't we?" Hermione said wryly, and when she met his gaze over her coffee mug, he knew she meant last year. It was one of the only Christmases they hadn't spent together since becoming friends. Although, Ron thought as the years whizzed through his memory, there had still been some doozies. It was Christmas Day when Hermione had accidentally Polyjuiced into a cat. The Yule Ball and its accompanying row had been on Christmas. His dad being attacked at the Ministry. But they'd weathered all that together, and none of it topped the pain and longing for her he had felt last year.

"Yeah," Ron agreed with a chuckle. "Reckon we have."

Hermione offered him a smile and sat down on the couch, skating over the moment with a surprising lack of awkwardness. "What was your best Christmas growing up?" she asked as she picked up one of the plates in front of her.

He sat down next to her and reached for the other plate. "I was probably about five. Bill and Charlie had both been at Hogwarts a couple of years, but Percy hadn't gone yet. Anyway, they got me some sweets from Honeydukes. It was my first ever Chocolate Frog. Headmaster Dippet." He paused, thinking how pathetic it sounded that a Chocolate Frog had really made his best Christmas, but Hermione was just smiling at his story. "Harry's grandfather's got a Chocolate Frog card, you know."

She raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Does he really? No, I didn't know that. Harry's never mentioned it."

"Not sure he knows. I never told him because I thought it'd be better as a surprise. Plus if he never found one, he wouldn't be disappointed. Reckon he's never gotten one, though. Or if he has, he hasn't mentioned it to me, either."

"Have you got one, then?"

Ron nodded. "Just the one. He's not a very common card."

Hermione was silent for a moment before she said softly, "You should tell him. Harry. When you see him again."

"If I see him again," Ron corrected her.

"No." Hermione reached over and squeezed his hand. "When."

Ron smiled gratefully at her. "How about you, then? Best Christmas?"

"Well, it would have to be—" Hermione cut herself off abruptly as both of them turned sharply toward the far side of the tent. If it weren't for Hermione's reaction, Ron would have thought he'd gone mental for sure. Because he couldn't possibly have heard what he just heard.

Harry's voice.

It was sort of distant sounding, but Ron was certain he had just heard Harry say his name. The sound had come from the direction of the bed. Next to which Ron had haphazardly dropped his jeans when he went to sleep, the deluminator still in the pocket. "It can't be," he said slowly, but he stood up to check all the same.

"Can't be what?" Hermione asked, watching him.

He crossed the tent and pulled the deluminator from his jeans pocket. As he held it up to show Hermione, it happened again. Harry's voice, not any clearer than before, said his name, along with some other garbled words he couldn't quite make out, but he thought he heard "Burrow" among them. He walked hurriedly back over to Hermione.

The deluminator didn't look any different, and though they both stared at it for several intense minutes, no further sound came from it. "What could this possibly mean?" Hermione asked, looking totally bewildered by this turn of events.

"You think it's some way to communicate? Like that old mirror of Sirius's?" Ron held the deluminator up and said clearly, "Harry. Harry, can you hear us?" But again, nothing happened. Ron put his finger on the clicker, but Hermione grasped urgently at his hand.

"Ron, don't." She shook her head frantically. "I don't like this thing. That light last night, and now this?"

"It's Dumbledore's," Ron reminded her. "He left it to me to use, it's got to do something to help us."

He didn't like how uncomfortable he was making Hermione, but they were finally getting at something, and the deluminator was key. He linked their fingers together and held her hand tightly—partially to reassure her, and partially to make sure they weren't separated if something actually happened—and then clicked the device. The same blue orb from the night before soared out in front of them. It didn't look any different, but the pull Ron felt to it was stronger than before. He tried again: "Harry?" There was still no response, other than the rhythmic pulsing of the light. "I think we need to follow it," Ron said softly. He still couldn't explain what made him say it, but he felt certain about it.

Hermione's fingers tightened around his almost to the point of being painful. "You must be joking," she retorted, her voice tight with fear. "Follow it where?"

"I dunno."

"Exactly." She shifted around to face him but didn't loosen her grip on his hand, probably thinking the same thing that he was. "Ron, think about what you're saying."

"Look, I know it sounds mental. I just know that's what we're supposed to do with it." He looked at her imploringly, willing her to trust him. "It's the right thing, Hermione. I know it is."

She sighed heavily. "Put it away, then, so we can pack up." She waited until he had returned the blue light to the deluminator to let go of his hand, then added as she stood, "If this leads us to the sword, I reserve the right to stab you with it." Ron grinned at her as he got up to help her pack.