You really had to hand it to Hermione, thought Ron. Once you had convinced her of the necessity of something, she was all business. She had gone back to pacing and muttering again, but now looked purposeful instead of hopeless. Ron let her do the planning; she was much better at it than he. He smiled wryly. He had wanted to leave as soon as she had said "Let's do it," but Hermione had quickly pointed out that that would leave them with no food, no direction, and no means but their wands and their wits. So she planned.
"Got it," she announced, stopping suddenly and snapping her fingers. She sat on her heels in front of Ron and spoke quietly. "All right, here's what we'll do. We'll need food, clothes, a few books from the library, and some other small things." She bit her lip in thought. "I think you had better get the food, while I go to the library and see what I can find about the Damodreds." Good idea, Ron thought. The house-elves still hadn't forgiven Hermione for trying to free them two years ago. "Then we'll meet back here and pack our clothes and things, and then…we'll leave."
Just like that? Ron thought. But he voiced another concern. "Hold it, Hermione. Don't you think it'll be a bit conspicuous? Me carrying a big pile of food through the school? For that matter, how am I going to carry a big pile of food through the school?"
"You're right. You'd better use the Invisibility Cloak, just to be safe. And as for carrying it, you can use my backpack." She dragged it off a table.
Ron looked at it skeptically. "Is that going to carry enough food for however long it'll take us?"
Hermione looked decidedly smug as she unzipped the top and stuck her wand in. She zipped it up, then opened it again. There was no wand. She zipped and unzipped it eight more times. Finally she was back to the first compartment and took out her wand.
"Ah," said Ron knowingly. "It's one of those. I didn't know you had one."
"I got it for my last birthday," Hermione said. "It should hold all we need for the trip. Now, let's get going."
§§§
Ron slipped upstairs with the backpack slung over his shoulder. Checking to see if the dorm was empty, he crossed the room and opened Harry's trunk. He felt funny taking the Invisibility Cloak; it was from Harry's father and was the most personal thing he owned. Harry could soon be going the way of his father. The thought came unbidden to Ron's mind. Who poisoned him? Who? He kicked the trunk closed. No time to think about it now. Ron covered himself with the cloak, checking in the mirror to make sure, and then crept down the stairs to where Hermione was waiting, and left the common room with her.
He carefully made his way down to the kitchens. He pulled off the cloak and stuffed it into Hermione's backpack before tickling the pear and going in. One of the house-elves noticed him immediately and scurried over. He bowed low, and his long ears brushed the floor. "What can Ducky be doing for you, sir?"
"Er…" What was he going to say? "A friend and I are…going on a camping trip." That sounded a bit ridiculous, but the elf didn't bat an eye. "For…three weeks. And we need some food—please," he added hastily. Ducky bowed again and hurried off.
"Mr. Wheezy, sir!" a squeak came, quickly followed by the small form of Dobby.
"Weasley," he muttered. It never did any good. "Hullo, Dobby."
"So happy Dobby is to see you!" he exclaimed. "Would you be wanting some tea, sir?"
"No, that's all right." No time to waste on tea.
"How is Harry Potter doing, sir?"
Ron sighed. "Not so good," he said reluctantly. "Dobby, someone's poisoned him. He's up in the hospital wing."
The house-elf's eyes went very wide. "Was it…He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, sir?"
"They don't know, Dobby." It could very well be. The thought made Ron pale.
"This makes Dobby wonder, sir…Dobby saw…" He grimaced suddenly. "No, no, no! Bad Dobby!" He walked off towards the other side of the room, hitting his head on the table as he did.
Ron was mildly interested in what Dobby was trying to say, but at that moment, Ducky and half a dozen other house-elves came back and made a small pile of food at his feet. Ron dug through and wasn't disappointed. Several packages each of sausages and hot dogs, four canisters of oatmeal, two sacks of oranges, and three loaves of bread. "Will you be needing anything else, sir?" said the house-elf, bouncing eagerly on his toes.
Ron looked around the kitchen, and his eyes fell upon the pots hanging in rows. He realized that they had nothing to cook or eat with. "Yeah, uh…a pot, some bowls and plates…spoons and forks, cups, and—" he looked at the oatmeal "—I guess a stirring spoon. I'll bring them back, I promise." The elf brought these things in short order, and Ron carefully packed them, and the food, into the bag. They took up four compartments. He thanked Ducky—Hermione would kill him if she learned that he hadn't been polite—and walked out the door.
§§§
Ron found Hermione waiting for him back up in Gryffindor Tower, eager to get on with their plan. She half-filled the fifth compartment with a few heavy books. Her voice took on a bossy tone. "Right, now we don't want anyone to get suspicious, so you go up to your room first and get what you need. And Muggle clothes, mind; we don't know who we'll run into. I'll come up in a few minutes and get what I need, then I'll come into your room. Make sure it's empty. We'll put everything in my bag, cover you with the cloak, and then we'll go."
Up in the dormitory, Ron flipped open his trunk and started piling clothes on the bed. He dug around, pulling out a few things that might be useful. Then he heard feet outside the door. Panickedly he slammed the truck closed and pulled the curtains around his bed, hiding the pile. He leaped up and was standing awkwardly when Dean Thomas entered.
"Hello, Ron," he said carefully. None of the Gryffindors wanted to risk upsetting Ron or Hermione.
Ron's heart raced and he heard Hermione's voice inside his head. Make sure it's empty…. Got to get Dean out. An idea came to him. Ron really didn't want to act on it, but there was no choice. He put on a sad face. "Er…Dean?" he said plaintively.
"Yes?" he answered, turning around.
Ron really hated to do this to him, but… Make sure it's empty. Their plan to help Harry depended on it. "I, uh, left my Charms notebook downstairs. Could you get it for me?"
"Sure thing, Ron," Dean said sympathetically. He left.
He really, really hated to do this to him. The way Dean was, he would look for a half an hour or until he found that notebook. Which he wouldn't. It was in Ron's desk. He'll understand later, Ron consoled himself. Still, he was feeling pretty low as he went back to searching his trunk.
Finding nothing more of use, he looked around until his eyes stopped on Harry's part of the room. Why not, he thought recklessly. We are trying to save his life, after all. For the second time that evening, he started digging around in Harry's trunk.
§§§
Hermione entered the boys' dormitory, seeing Ron standing nervously by his bed. He relaxed as soon as he saw that it was she. Hermione set her backpack on the floor and Ron began unceremoniously stuffing clothes in. Hermione opened her mouth to suggest folding them first, Ron, but she didn't feel like starting an argument, not now. After she made him pack the blanket from his bed, he shouldered the bag and she draped the cloak over him. He followed her carefully down the stairs, and out the portrait hole. Checking to see if there was anyone in the hall, she climbed under the cloak herself. It was close quarters; Ron had grown very tall. They sneaked through the corridors and out the front door.
"Can we take this thing off now?" Ron said in a loud whisper.
"No," she said in a much quieter voice. "Not until we're clear of the grounds."
They walked, past the cabbage patches, past the greenhouse, past the hencoop, until a ringing in her ears told Hermione that they were through the wards around the school. She pulled the cloak off and shook hair out of her face. Ron put the cloak in her bag. "All right, we got out of Hogwarts. What now, Hermione?"
"Now we walk. Quickly, as they'll be looking for us. Since Hogwarts isn't on any map, we'll keep going until I can tell where we are. I've got a map that shows where the Damodred castle was; we can find our way with that. Now come on."
Ron didn't move. "Hermione, if Hogwarts can't be plotted on a map, how are we going to find our way back? Leave a trail of bread crumbs?" he added sarcastically. "We have plenty."
Hermione stopped. That was a good question, and a very rare moment of foresight from Ron. She felt around in the corners of her mind for ideas, but there was nothing concrete. "I don't know, Ron," she said, feeling a little scared. How horrible it would be to have the Stone and not know how to get back to Harry. "Maybe a Location Charm or something…"
Ron took out his wand. "Mum used to use this on us when we were little." He waved it in a circle and pointed it at a nearby tree, which glowed purple for an instant. "Watch." Ron made a quarter turn and set his wand in his palm as if he were about to do the Four-Point Spell. "Esubi," he whispered, and the wand spun around and pointed straight at the tree. He gave Hermione an insufferably superior look.
"You say your mother cast it on you when you were younger?" she asked, trying to break his gaze.
"Well, Fred and George, mostly," he muttered, the tips of his ears turning red.
They walked briskly for a ways, in silence. The grass rippled in the late September wind, which had just a hint of a chill to it. The sun had just set, and the sky was darkening. Now Hermione could pick out several stars in the east.
"Hey," said Ron in a whisper, sounding amused. "Is there a reason we're not talking?"
"I suppose not. You don't have to whisper, Ron."
"So, how long do you reckon it'll take them to figure out we've gone?"
Hermione tilted her head. "I suppose that depends. They'll notice we're gone at bedtime, at the latest. It probably won't take them long to figure out that this has to do with Harry, though. They'll find our clothes gone and start looking outside of Hogwarts for us. We should probably avoid wizarding towns, if we can," she added as an afterthought. Ron said nothing but started walking faster.
They went on, over hills and around trees, until the growing darkness and the silence of her tall companion made Hermione uneasy. "Ron, what's your middle name?" It was a small shock to realize that she didn't know.
She thought she saw his jaw tighten. "Aldous," he said shortly. Hermione coughed to stifle a laugh. "It's not funny!" he said, kicking a rock.
"Of course not, Ron," she said between giggles. "You do realize that that makes your initials RAW."
"Fine. What's yours?"
"Irene. Perfectly normal name."
Ron thought for a moment. "HIG. Nothing you can do with that. Pity it wasn't an A or O name."
Hermione skirted a bush. "Mum and Dad wouldn't have done that to me."
She thought that that had ended the conversation, and was looking at the stars when Ron spoke up again. "You know, if you married Harry," he mused, "you could be 'HIP.' "
She looked at him strangely. "Marry Harry? That's silly. Why would I marry Harry?"
Curiously, Ron grew defensive. "Well, you do kiss him all the time!"
That's definitely an exaggeration, she thought wonderingly. "Honestly, Ron, they're friendly kisses!"
"Mmm-hmm," Ron said sarcastically.
"I don't know why it matters to you so much, Ronald Aldous Weasley! I never thought I'd have to hear this kind of talk from you. Honestly!" she said again. Come to think of it, she didn't know why it mattered so much to her, either.
They didn't talk again until almost midnight, when Hermione said, "All right, I think we've come far enough for tonight. Start looking for a place to camp."
Ron found one shortly. Hermione cleared it of twigs while Ron rested, rubbing his shoulders. "Are we going to have a fire?" he asked.
"I suppose," she said, bending over to snag a branch. "Do you want to cast it, or shall I?"
Ron opened his mouth in mock surprise. "This, from Hermione 'There's no wood' Granger?" Hermione glared at him and whipping out her wand, shot out a stream of indigo flame, which came to rest and danced in a perfect circle an inch above the ground. I'm not a Muggle anymore, she thought, her eyes narrowing. I've come a long way. She missed Ron's thoughtful gaze.
§§§
Ron awakened to the sudden pressure of a foot in his back. He opened his eyes and looked up at Hermione, who had her arms crossed and a disapproving expression on her face. "Oh, keep doing that, please," he murmured. "I don't think this ground agrees with me."
She suddenly shifted all her weight to that foot. He rolled over quickly, groaning. "We have to get moving," she said. "We still have no idea where to go. Eat." She set a bowl of oatmeal and a plate with a few sausages on it down next to him. Rolling his neck, he began on his food.
About ten minutes later (Hermione nagging him every one), they were on the road again, so to speak. The weather was bright and warm, and their conversation mirrored it.
"…but I did get back at him, I did. I put Grow-Your-Own-Warts Solution in his bed—"
"Road," Hermione interrupted. Ron looked up. There it was, in the distance.
"Reckon we should follow it?" he asked.
"That's probably the best thing," she said.
They walked alongside the road for an hour or two, until they came close to a small town. They stopped, peering at it.
"Wizard or Muggle?" Ron asked.
"Muggle," Hermione answered. "I can see the streetlights. Come on." They jogged into town.
Ron tried to see everything at once; he was not often in Muggle towns. The stop lights, the neon signs, the little boxes on street corners that had to do with the "post office," the gas stations, one of which Hermione led him into. "Stop gaping, Ron," she hissed. "And let me do the talking."
She went up to the man at the counter, a friendly-looking man with a mustache, and put on a pleasantly puzzled expression. "I'm afraid we're a bit lost," she said apologetically. Hermione unfolded the map which she had taken out of her bag. "Could you point out just where we are, please?"
"Of course," said the man. He mused over the map for a moment, then pointed. "Here we are. Colfax."
"Thank you ever so much," Hermione said, flashing a winsome—and, Ron thought, completely out of character—smile at him. They left the station and Hermione pulled him around the corner. "Colfax," she muttered, taking out her wand. "Here we are." She pointed with her wand, leaving a glowing blue dot on the paper. "Here's the castle." Another dot. She drew a line connecting them. "Not bad," she commented to herself. She seemed to have forgotten about Ron. "Sixty miles, about. We ought to have plenty of time. Ades!" she hissed, and a red marker appeared on the map, right over the blue dot, with "You are here" in tiny letters next to it. "And that," she said, still to herself, using her wand as a pointer, "makes Hogwarts right about he—" Her wand had jumped out of her hand. "Hmmm. That's the Unplottable Charm. Interesting…" Ron sighed impatiently. "Oh, sorry, Ron. We can go now." They hiked out of town and began the long walk to the remains of Damodred Castle.
§§§
A week later, they were very close—another day or so—and excitement was running high in both of them. They were practically skipping, despite the overcast sky, and Ron talked Hermione into "just one more mile" before they stopped for the night. They settled into routine—Ron cleared the site and Hermione set out the blankets, then cast the fire while Ron brought out the hot dogs. They toasted them over the flames and ate them hot, and Hermione reflected for at least the fifth time that week how nice it was, sitting there with your best friend around a warm fire roasting wieners. She could even shut out the part that said how much nicer it would be if Harry were there too. After dinner, they played Go Fish with Ron's deck of Self-Shuffling cards. And then it began to rain.
The hisses from the fire alerted Hermione just as she felt a raindrop plop onto her head. "Oh, no!" she cried, grabbing up the bedding and stuffing it into the bag while Ron stood up, looking panicked. The shower was quickly becoming a deluge, and Ron's hair quickly turned a dark copper color and lay flat and wet on his head. "Do something!" he said.
"What?" she asked. Her hair hung in dripping strands around her face.
Ron did not respond. They huddled close to the trees; much good that does, she thought. Hermione had just become resigned to the idea of getting very wet when a man stepped into the clearing. He had a short white beard and a square face. He was also holding a large umbrella.
Hermione was alarmed. If he was a Muggle, and he saw their fire (and the color it was, it couldn't be missed), he would probably panic and they'd have the Ministry on them in no time. If he was a wizard, he would probably know that they were the runaways from Hogwarts and they'd have the Ministry on them in no time. A lose-lose situation, as she saw it. Her heart sank.
The man motioned them over. Ron went gratefully to the shelter of the umbrella, Hermione more slowly, picking up her bag as she went. "Who are you?" she asked.
"Later," he said. "We've got to get you out of this rain—unless you've got Pepperup Potion in that pack of yours." A wizard, then.
He led them through the forest into a large clearing. It contained a vegetable garden, a chicken coop, and a small cottage. The garden looked ready to be harvested, she noticed. Large tomatoes hung fat on their stems and leaves that might have been carrots spread over the soaking ground, as well as small chamomile flowers and mint. The man ushered them into the cottage and closed the door. The room was plain, but comfortable. Ron and Hermione took chairs at the table. "Tea?" the man asked.
"Yes, thank you," Hermione said. "But who are you?"
"My name is Bertram Bott," he said with a small bow.
"So you live here?" Ron asked.
"Yes. I'm a hermit." He seemed to take great delight in saying it, and smiled to himself. The kettle boiled—by itself, Hermione noticed—and he poured the hot tea into mugs. Hermione took a long sip. It warmed her up right away, and she thought she recognized chamomile; from the garden, she supposed.
"A hermit? Cool," said Ron.
"And what about you two?" Bertram asked.
"I'm Hermione, that's Ron," she indicated.
"We were out camping," Ron lied. "Didn't think to bring an umbrella." The old man seemed to accept this. Hermione was relieved. Apparently hermits did not keep up with the news.
"Good time of year for it," he replied. "School about to start, I expect?"
"Er, yes."
"Hogwarts?"
"Yeah," Hermione said. This train of conversation was making her very uncomfortable, and she wished the subject would change. Luckily Ron was thinking the same thing.
"So you're really a hermit." He sounded amazed. "How does that work? I mean, what do you do all day? And what about stuff you need that you can't get yourself?" He looked ready to take notes.
"Well," said Bertram, "I lead a simple life; it's why I came out here. I work in the garden and feed the chickens and pretty much just live. And the rest of the time I spend in the library. I'm a bit of a collector of old books." He got up and opened the door; Hermione was too distracted to notice that it was the same one they had entered earlier. Inside was a room full of shelves, shelves full of books, old, thick, and calling to her. "Uh-oh," said Ron. "We'll never be able to drag her away now." The door closed, cutting off the view of treasure within. Ron elbowed Hermione out of her trance. "Isn't that the door we came through?" he asked. "Where does it lead?"
"It leads wherever I want it to lead," said Bertram, sitting back down.
"So, where do you get the things you need that you can't make yourself?" Ron asked, seeming eager to get on with their conversation.
"I go into town and buy it," he said, indicating a broomstick leaning against the wall and shrugging.
"But where do you get the money? I mean—ow!" he exclaimed, rubbing his shin where Hermione had kicked him.
"I'm sorry," she said to Bertram. "That was quite indiscreet of him."
"Not at all," he replied. He turned to Ron. "Stocks. My money is in stocks."
"Where did you get the stocks?" Ron asked. Hermione wondered if he really was considering becoming a hermit, with all these questions.
"Well, that's a long story, young man. I suppose it was our candy store. Been in the family for seven generations, just like the name. Recipes handed down too—top secret. Bertram Bott's put the town on the map." Something tugged at Hermione's mind there. "Then, about forty years ago, my father decided to take a gamble and try going national. I put up a lot of the money for it, I guess about half. Anyhow, it was a giant success after a few years; you may have heard of it—"
"Bertie Bott's!" Ron exclaimed. "That's you, isn't it? You guys make the best stuff! Every Flavor Beans and Fizzing Whizbees and…"
"Of course!" Hermione said. Then her eyes widened. "That trades for about a thousand galleons!"
Bertram Bott was wearing a small smile. "Yes. That's my story; what is yours? Hogwarts started term a month ago."
Ron and Hermione exchanged worried gazes. Hermione spoke up. "Will you promise not tell anyone?"
Bertram looked serious. "I cannot condone any action that would cause harm to someone."
"Quite the contrary," said Hermione, and launched into explanation. Bertram listened attentively and looked thoughtful when she was done. "That's quite a story. I believe you, and I will not stand in your way. In fact, I believe there's a book about the Damodreds in my library. You can look at it, if you like." He opened the door and she entered, feeling like Christmas had come early. The last thing she heard before the door closed was Ron, asking Bertram, "Want to play cards?"
§§§
Whew. Long one there. Apologies to Patricia C. Wrede, whose door I stole.
Author's Note: Hugs, kisses, and thank-you's to: Katy D *in spirit* and Angelface, Kelzery ("himself" in the sentence referred to Ron; I thought that might be confusing), Rebecca Starre (I'll only say that every scene had a purpose), Svolkame (oops…Maybe it's just into or out of, not within…or maybe the wards weren't working that day J), Mladybug3 (you'll find out *wink*), LiLi (yes, I am American), Adelina, Ronluver (go Ron), Yushia, California Love ("Hurry and post more"? That was so sweet of you!), Cateroo (Yeah, it took me a while to come up with the perfect divider, and the squiglies are it. A friend recommended me to you? You have no idea how happy that makes me!), Hermione (Dear, I'm not trying to be rude, but isn't it kind of a waste of the box if you don't review and only answer the question with an "I don't know"?), Jume (thanks for reviewing all the stories), A.J. Solo (Weasleys in general rule…), and Nickzchick and Daydreamer.
Brownie points: No one got it last time, so I'm posing it again: what book inspired me to name this story after a poison? Worth six thousand and two points.
Yet Another Author's Note: I could really use a beta-reader. Any volunteers?