Chapter Twenty-Five.

The Burrow looked dark and quiet. The snow had quieted the hills, and all Harry could hear was his own breath freezing on the wind. It was now well into the night; an ungodly hour to disturb a sleeping family. Still, Harry felt he had no other choice.

He paced quickly to the front door and knocked on it, twice.

The Weasley's home remained veiled in deep sleep. Harry knocked again and louder, his heart thumping tensely in his chest, and finally saw yellow light streaming from a window upstairs and onto the snow beneath. Then there was a murmur, and louder talking, and at last a light came on in the kitchen.

Molly Weasley opened the door, her eyes swollen with sleep, her red hair poking out at strange angles. She had wrapped herself in a soft, light pink robe.

'Harry?', she asked, her eyes widening. 'Harry, dear! What are you doing here?'

'Mrs Weasley, I need to see Ron.'

Mrs Weasley looked at him with a deep frown etched between her brows, as if she were still in the process of waking up. Harry added, trying not to sound too obviously impatient: 'It's urgent. Please.'

She snapped out of it then, perhaps seeing the wounded look in his eyes, and hurried Harry inside, already calling out to her son. Ron came down only shortly after, looking equally as dishevelled in his red-and-black striped pyjamas.

'Harry?', he whispered, his voice cracking from slumber.

'Ron, I need to speak with you. H-'

'What the bloody hell are you doing here? It's – what, it's the middle of the night, and I've told you-'

'You want nothing to do with me,' Harry agreed. 'But Ron, H-'

'No, Harry. I've said everything I want to say.'

Ron turned to go back upstairs, trudging lazily as he went. Harry felt powerless anger grip at his insides.

'Ron!', Harry urged. 'Something has happened to-'

'I want nothing to do with you, Harry! I've told you that last time.'

'But-'

'Nothing means nothing! Bugger off, Harry.'

Harry opened his mouth to scream at him. He felt furious… outraged that Ron wouldn't even consider why he'd shown up this time of the night, but before he could yell at him or even think of what insult to use, a sudden voice boomed through the room, stopping both boys in their tracks.

'RONALD WEASLEY!' Molly stood, her hands to her sides, her eyes as sharp as if it had been the middle of the day. 'I've had it with this nonsense! You get down here and listen to him, this instant!'

Ron looked at her with wide eyes. 'B-but, mum, I-'

'NOW!'

Ron looked from Harry to his mother, swallowed, looked back at Harry, and finally relented. He came slowly back down the stairs, his arms wrapped tightly around him as a sign of protest.

'Well, spit it out, then,' he muttered. 'What do you want?'

'Something's happened to Hermione,' Harry said. 'She's been attacked. She's lost a lot of blood… she's at the healers now, but-'

Ron's arms dropped to his side, and once again his eyes widened to the size of saucers. 'Wait, hold on, hold on, Harry!' he said. 'Who attacked Hermione?'

'I don't know.'

'Well, where?!'

'Godric's Hollow.'

'Bloody hell, is she alright?!'

'I- they- they're not sure-' Harry swallowed hard, felt his throat begin to burn, and stopped. But they understood. Molly stood, awake as ever, with her hand clasped to her mouth in horror, and Ron looked at Harry as if he'd just seen Aragog resurrected in his very own living room.

'No,' Ron said, shaking his head determinedly. 'No, none of that, Harry. She's going to be fine. She'll be fine. She-' He looked at his mother, who for once had nothing comforting to say, and looked back at Harry with the corners of his mouth drawn tightly down.

'Wait here,' he said, and he turned around and sprinted up the stairs, taking them two at a time. 'I'll get dressed!'