When Ron woke, the first thing he noticed was a dim orange light shining from his bedside table. He opened his eyes properly, and saw that it was night-time, and that the light was coming from a small lamp. He turned his head slightly – he was still in the hospital wing, but in bed now, and under the sheets. There were other people there too. He couldn't see them in the darkness, but he could hear their quiet sleep-breathing.

"Welcome back, Mr Weasley," came a calm voice, and he physically started, half sitting up. The movement made his head spin, but at least he could see who was speaking to him.
It was Dumbledore. He was lit up with orange lamplight, and he looked exactly as he always had, warm and powerful. The only difference was a faint bruise on his right cheek, and a healing scratch across his neck.

"Professor Dumbledore," Ron said croakily.

"Ronald Weasley. Good evening – or good morning, I should say."

"What time is it?"

"Two o'clock. I believe you've just missed our Head Girl."

Ron sat up again, too quickly, and winced. Dumbledore put out a calming hand, his face assuming a pained expression.

"Please, Mr Weasley," he said lowly. "Do be careful, or Poppy will have me out."

"Hermione's OK?"

"She's fine – largely thanks to you, I believe."
Ron shook his head immediately, even as memories began to flood back, spilling over the early-morning fog that had taken over his brain. Harry falling. Malfoy – both Malfoys. Hermione holding his hand. Dolohov and the other Death Eaters. His best friend, glowing and screaming.

"What about –" he began, almost involuntarily, and Dumbledore cut in.

"Harry?" Dumbledore removed his glasses. "He isn't yet awake."

"But he's alive?" Ron said, and the headmaster's nod sent relief swooping through his stomach. "Thank Merlin."

"Indeed," agreed Dumbledore, very gravely. "He is alive, and we must all be thankful."

"What about Voldemort, sir?"

"The Death Eaters are subdued. They've have been questioned, and Ministry Aurors sent to the headquarters revealed in these interrogations. The wizard formerly known as Voldemort was found alone, in a small house on the grounds of what was once his family establishment. The house used to belong to the caretaker, now deceased. Harry would have recognised the village cemetery. At any rate, he was found there – quite dead."

"Dead?" Ron repeated faintly, and Dumbledore nodded.

"Dead."

"Not like before, when everybody thought …"

"No, Mr Weasley. Not like before. He is dead, and he won't be back again."

There was a long silence in which Ron attempted to digest this. No Voldemort anymore, not ever. No more fear, for his family or his friends or his girlfriend. Some return to normality, and the way things used to be, like when he was a kid.

"Perhaps you should lie down," Dumbledore suggested gently, and Ron did so.

"How do you think Harry is?" he asked eventually, and Dumbledore gave a slight shrug.

"It is impossible to say. All seems well, but there will be a number of scars – mental scars – from which he will not quickly recover."

"I don't understand how he won," Ron admitted.

"Why is that?" Dumbledore said. "Is it because he is a boy, and Voldemort was a Dark wizard, whose mind was surely better trained in magical discipline?"

"Well – yeah."

Dumbledore smiled, just a little. "Voldemort could never have won an internal battle with Harry, for a very simple reason. We are not only mind. We are emotion, too. We are soul and spirit. And in those criteria, Harry is far better equipped than Voldemort. For the better part of seven years, he has been surrounded by people who love him, and he has loved them too. He has learnt courage and sacrifice and loss and honour. He is filled, right down to his very bones, with the love of his absent parents, even his godfather, who gave their lives in his defence. In short, he is a more complete man than Voldemort could ever hope to be. Voldemort learnt nothing that did not serve his own interests. I'd like to say that he did not have a soul, but this is not the case – it was simply so underfed as to be almost non-existent. He saw intellect as his salvation – but ultimately, in his assumption that this facet of our humanity can be set apart from the rest, he constructed his own downfall." 

The Headmaster sat back in his seat and Ron tried not to stare at him. His words made a certain kind of sense, but it was very early in the morning, and his head throbbed in a monotonous rhythm.

"Oh," was his eventual response. "Right."

Dumbledore smiled again, with rather more amusement this time. "I see I have taxed you. Please, sleep. We will speak about this later."

"No, wait. Uh, I mean, wait Professor. Sorry."

"No, no. You are quite right. This is not the place for titles. Call me Albus, if it makes you feel better."

This thought was far too frightening to contemplate.

"That's alright, Professor," he mumbled, and then cleared his throat. "I just have questions."

"Ah," Dumbledore said. "I understand, Mr Weasley, but I am afraid it is not the time or place. All we be explained to you in due course."

"When?" he said, surprisingly himself with his own insistence, but Dumbledore did not appear to be offended.

"Soon," he said firmly. "Later this morning. For now, I ask that you rest yourself. You have a concussion, from both a blow to the head and the knock you received when you hit the floor. Please – sleep."

Very reluctantly, Ron nodded and settled back on his pillows. As soon as he had accepted this proposal, he felt so tired that he could hardly keep his eyes open. Blurrily, between his half-closed lids, he saw Dumbledore stand up. The headmaster patted his hand a moment, and then walked away, shoes echoing sharply on the floor.

Ron slept.

~

He woke next at the clattering of bottles against metal, and quiet cursing. Facing his left, he opened his eyes, and saw Fred carrying a tray of potions, now balanced precariously against one another.

"Shit-bugger-wank," Fred muttered, and then saw Ron watching him, and jumped. "Christ! Hello. You're awake."

"What are you doing here?" he asked, confused, and Fred's eyes dropped immediately to the bed next door to Ron. George was lying there, asleep, his right hand in bandages.

"What happened?" Ron asked faintly, feeling his throat constrict, and Fred said nothing as he stared at his twin.

"Oh, he's alright," he managed eventually. "He's fine. Going to be fine. We came with the Order, to fight, you know. Death Eater knocked him out, and his hand's stuffed apparently, for now at least. But he'll be fine."

Fred said all this so fast that Ron wasn't sure if he'd caught it all. The twin flushed red and sat on the chair between his two brothers, balancing the tray on his knees.

"Anyway," he said, a bit calmer, "Pomfrey asked me to bring these out. This one's yours."

He passed Ron a glass with a tiny measure of liquid in it.

"What is it?" Ron asked, sitting up, and Fred shrugged.

"I don't know, Ronniekins. Maybe this is all an elaborate ruse, and there are people out to poison you." He dropped the sarcasm and rubbed at his forehead. "Drink the damn potion."

"Sorry," Ron muttered, and took it. Fred looked at him, took the empty glass, and then sighed.

"Sorry too," he said. "It's been a long night what with defeating Voldemort's little cronies, and then running around after you and George and Ginny …"

"Ginny?" Ron said, almost spitting out his potion. He swallowed quickly, and then spoke again. "Gin? Where is she? Is she OK?"

"She's OK," Fred said, looking a bit grim. "And she's over there."

Ron followed Fred's gaze, and found Ginny in the bed opposite. She was asleep, her hair tumbled across her pillow, and very pale.

"She's had a calming potion, and stuff to help her muscles. They're sore from the Cruciatus that fucking Malfoy put on her." He literally clenched and unclenched his hands and Ron remembered Malfoy's part in it all more clearly.

"Where is he?" he asked, subdued, and Fred shook his head.

"Here in the hospital wing. He got knocked out in the battle apparently. Dumbledore wouldn't let the Ministry take him yet."

"What?"

"I don't know. I don't know why. I want to punch his face in, that's all I know."

"What about the other Malfoy?"

"Dead," Fred said, sounding very satisfied. "Somebody hit him with a breath-loss curse, and he's dead."

I did that, Ron thought, and didn't know how it made him feel.

"Oi," said George hoarsely. His eyes were still closed, but he was clearly awake. "Can't a bloke get some sleep around here?"

"Sorry, Georgey," Fred said quietly, a smile creeping onto his face. "Want me to fluff your pillows? I could hold your hand if you like."

"Shut it," George said tiredly, but smiling a bit himself.

Ron looked from one brother to the other, and at the black marks under Fred's eyes. He really must have had a terrible night. Ron could hardly imagine Fred without George. He didn't know what would become of the twins if they ever lost each other, but Fred must have had that fear in the past twenty-four hours or so.

"Mum and Dad here?" he asked after a little while, and Fred was about to reply when there was a sharp intake of breath from the doorway.

Ron looked up. It was Hermione. She was wearing the same thing she'd had on the previous morning. Her eyes were puffy, and her hair was dishevelled and run through with knots, but he thought she was pretty much the most beautiful thing he'd seen in a long time.

"Hey," he croaked, and she ran forward and threw herself at him, on top of him, crying and hugging him and planting kisses on his face.

"Oh my God," she sobbed, "you're awake. I thought you were dead when you fell over. I missed you. Don't fall over ever again, OK? I jinxed the man who got you. I'm so happy you're awake. Did you drink your potion? Are you OK?"

"Fine," he managed, even though his head was throbbing with the shock of her leap. "I'm fine."

He put his arms around her properly and his head on her shoulder. His heart was going fast. She stopped speaking and lay quietly, apart from a few tears, clutching him as though she didn't intend to let go. Her hair fell into his face, but he didn't mind.

"Well," Fred said eventually. "Do all of us get that reception, Hermione, or just the twats who hurt themselves? If it's the latter – I think George needs a hug."

"If you wouldn't mind," George said plaintively. "Just a quick one."

Hermione gave them a look, and they grinned simultaneously (albeit George rather painfully). Even after a death-defying battle, they could still be smart-arses. Ron caught Fred's eye, and the twin gave him a broad wink and appreciative nod. Ron tried to ignore him.

"Where's Harry?" he said in her ear.

"My room," she said in his. "Dumbledore put him there."

"Everyone else?"

"All milling about in the Great Hall. I was just down there for breakfast, and nearly got swamped. Everyone's in shock. Parents keep owling, and people from the Daily Prophet have turned up. McGonagall sent them away, and turned one into a teapot for a while."

"Lovely." He breathed in her smell, and it was sweet and exactly her. "Are you OK?"

"I'm OK," she said lowly, and he knew she wasn't really, but it would have to do. "I'm just glad it's over."
Ron was almost too scared to ask, but forced himself. "Did we – I mean, did anyone – did we lose anyone?"
There was a long pause and then Hermione sat up, and swung her legs around so that she was perched on the side of his bed. Now his heart was really going fast. He had to know, and gripped her hand hard.

"A Slytherin boy and a girl from Ravenclaw are both dead. Neville Longbottom is missing; he struggled when they tried to curse Luna, and the Death Eaters took him away, nobody quite knows where. Some other people aren't well, but are recovering. Dumbledore's alright, just a couple of scratches. He tried to fight his way out from underground, I think, but he won't say. Snape's his usual self."

"Why wasn't Snape there in the morning?" Ron interrupted.

"He was leaving the dungeons when he heard noises beneath the flagstones. There's a passage down there, an old cellar they dug into from the outside. At least, that's what I gathered from the teachers. From there, they got into the Quidditch change-rooms once everyone was on the pitch, and made their way up to the stands. Something like that, something very simple. McGonagall's fuming that they could have missed it. Snape got out as soon as he could and contacted – well, you saw them."

"Right," said Ron. "They should've seal that up."

"They would have found another way to get in. Anyway, it's – well, it's Lupin who we're most worried about," Hermione went on. "He's at St Mungo's. He's not well. They think – he'll probably die. Tonks is a mess. I think they were together."

Lupin. For God's sake, Lupin couldn't die. Harry couldn't lose another person he loved, not after all this. Not after Sirius. He couldn't lose another father.

"I suppose we should count our blessing," Hermione said shakily, eyes on her feet. "The Death Eaters were so focussed on Harry and Voldemort, that they weren't very violent. Lucius Malfoy wanted it to go smoothly until the Dark Lord won, and then they could do what they liked. But still … even if it's better than we hoped for … still … it's horrible, isn't it?"

She looked like she might cry again and Ron rubbed her hand awkwardly. Fred and George maintained a rare, solemn silence.

"He's not dead yet," Ron said. "It'll be OK."

"I suppose so," Hermione murmured. "I suppose there's always a bit of hope."

"More than a bit," he said firmly. "Lots more."

Another gasp from the doorway, followed by a shriek, and Ron barely had time to look up before his mother was half-strangling him.

"Ron," she said, near hysterical. "Ron, you're awake! Are you cold? Are you hot? I can open a window. Lord, that bruise is coming up. I'll have to fetch your father from downstairs. Thank Merlin you're awake!"

"Mum … air …" he choked, and she released him, before checking him all over, patting his arms and legs.

"You don't hurt anywhere?" she said anxiously. "Madame Pomfrey told me you hadn't broken bones, but it's best to check."

"My head's a bit sore, is all."

"Lay off the child," George commented, and Mrs Weasley whipped around.

"George!" she wailed and almost hugged him too, before stopping herself. "Oh, I wouldn't want to hurt your hand. You silly, ridiculous boys! Why did you come?"

"We're part of the Order aren't we?" Fred said indignantly, and Mrs Wealsey had to pull out a handkerchief to mop at her eyes.

"Of course you are," she said. "But that doesn't mean I want you to throw yourself at You-Know-Who."

"There is no You-Know-Who anymore," Ron said faintly, and all of them were quiet a moment, contemplating this.

No more You-Know-Who. It still seemed impossible.

"Are you allowed to get up?" Hermione asked softly, as Mrs Weasley straightened George's doona, and then spun on her heel to go to Ginny. His sister was stirring a little in sleep.

"I don't know. I suppose. If Pomfrey's not looking."

"Want to see Harry?"

He barely paused to think about it. "Yeah, I do."

~

In Hermione's room, Ron had a brief memory of the last time he was there – sleeping with Hermione, a few nights ago. It was so incongruous with what he saw now that it made him dizzy. The room was neat and almost silent. Harry was lying in Hermione's bed, quite still, but breathing steadily. His scar was red-raw, as it had been earlier, but he wasn't glowing. Dumbledore was sitting beside him. He looked tireder than he had previously, and did not glance up as they entered.

"Miss Granger, Mr Weasley."

"Professor," they murmured, and went to sit on the other side of his bed.

The silence returned. Harry did not look much different, really. He looked like the usual sleeping-Harry. There was a slight frown creasing his brow, and his hair was sticking up at the back, but apart from that – he was himself.

"Miss Granger has told me something of what happened," Dumbledore said suddenly. "As has Mr Malfoy, who remains in my custody."

"Professor –" Ron began, but Dumbledore held up a hand.

"I know how you feel about Draco Malfoy, and I understand that he has betrayed us all in more ways than I can count. What he did is unforgivable, but it did not happen without cause, and perhaps we must all take a little responsibility for that. It is not what I want to discuss."

"Alright," Ron muttered, and Dumbledore nodded once.

"Miss Granger has told me something of what happened," he continued, "but even I am at a loss to explain it."

"He glowed," Ron said, eyeing Harry and remembering. "And he screamed, but it was Voldemort."

Dumbledore stared at Harry too, and then sighed heavily. "The mind is a complex place, full of twists and turns that nobody could expect or comprehend. My guess is that whatever spell Voldemort has been using to enter Harry's mind –"

"Has been using?" Hermione interrupted and Dumbledore glanced at her.

"You mentioned blackouts, of a kind," he said simply. "I believe these were Voldemort's 'tests' on Harry's mind, if you will. Practices for his final confrontation, but so brief that they would not cause concern."

It made sense, and Ron found himself filling up with guilt and taking Hermione's hand for reassurance. They should have done something about those damn blackouts. They should have realised something was wrong.

She squeezed his hand. 'We couldn't have known' the gesture said, and he took a deep breath.

"And the glowing?" he asked.

Dumbledore was looking at Harry again. "That, I cannot say for certain. Whatever spell Voldemort used to enter the inner workings of Harry's mind – and it must have been strong and obscure, probably resistant to Occlumency, which he knew Harry had been taught – whatever spell he used, I suspect that Harry's overthrow of it caused a release of energy. This could have been the glow you saw."

Harry shifted slightly, but he was not awake. Perhaps he was dreaming.

"I don't suppose we'll ever know what really happened between Voldemort and Harry," Hermione said, quietly thoughtful.

"I don't suppose we need to," said Dumbledore. "It is enough that he did what he had to, and saved us. It is more than enough."

They sat where they were for some time. Ron knew the Headmaster was right. He wouldn't ask Harry about Voldemort until his friend was good and ready, no matter how badly he wanted to know.

And feeling Hermione's hand in his, warm and soft and small – he knew that some things were enough.

~

A shout-out to my old school chaplain, the undeniably cool Fr Sid, who always said: "I wish you just enough." More to come, including more explanations about Malfoy etc., so don't freak out if there are a few loose ends to go. ~airports, see it all the time~ Shez