It was a while before Hermione suggested she and Harry go downstairs and join the others, but when she did, Harry agreed.

"Hang on, let me just grab a few Quidditch magazines. You know, for something to do."

Hermione nodded, and Harry went over to Ron's desk. Pig, seeing someone come close to him, started zooming around his cage in what he seemed to think was an impressive way. Harry smiled despite himself. He picked up the magazines, which he'd seen there the night before, and stopped short.

"What is it, Harry?" Hermione asked, coming up behind him. She peered over his shoulder. Sitting on the desk was a sealed envelope, as well as what looked like an unfinished letter beside it. The envelope was addressed to Harry, but the letter was written to Hermione.

"These must be the letters…the ones we never got. Because of…" Hermione trailed off, looking at Pig. She knew Ron had lied, when he said Pig had messed up the delivery.

"Should we…?" Harry looked at Hermione, raising an eyebrow. She thought a moment.

"Didn't he say his, um, clothes had something to do with the letters he never sent?" Harry nodded. "Well, perhaps if we read mine. The unfinished one. We won't open yours though, or he'll know."

Slowly, looking over his shoulder in a paranoid sort of way, Harry picked up the letter.

It read:

Dear Hermione,

   How've you been? Good, I hope. Or as good as you can be, what with one thing or another. Thanks for owling me back so soon. So I'll see you in July then, will I?

   Bill and Charlie are back. For good, I mean. They wanted to come home. They say it's because they just want to be here with us, but I think it's for other reasons. I won't get into that. It doesn't matter anyway. Sort of. It's only, my family . . . (the next sentence was scratched out so violently the paper was ripped)

 Sorry. Ignore that. It wasn't important.

   There's one more thing. I've already written to Harry and told him, and I reckon you should know too. Not that, I mean, it isn't very important, but I've been having . . . I've seen . . .oh, fuck it. This is pointless. I'm not going to send this. I know I'm not. I'm not sending Harry's either. Like I'd ever have the nerve. So fuck  it.

This isn't right.

I hate this.

Harry looked up at Hermione, wide eyed.

"Wow. That…well, it explains nothing but…wow." Hermione nodded, speechless. She looked at him, and he could see the concern in her eyes. She bit her lower lip. She had felt guilty about reading something that Ron obviously didn't want read, but that feeling had since passed, replaced with fear for her friend.

Deciding there was nothing they could do at the moment, they joined the Weasley's downstairs. They agreed before leaving the room that they'd confront him about it later on, when everyone else had went to bed.

"Oh, hey Harry, Hermione," Bill greeted them as they entered the over-crowded living room. "Where've you been?"

It was an innocent enough question, but it made them uncomfortable. Nervously, they both glanced at Ron, who was at the moment sitting with the twins, talking nonchalantly.

"We were just upstairs. Not really doing much," Hermione answered, looking back at Bill.

The next hour seemed to go by quickly enough. By 9 o'clock, both Mr and Mrs Weasley had retired to their room, as well as Percy, Charlie and the twins. Another hour after that, and Bill and Ginny headed to their rooms.

"Don't be too long, Mione. We still need to talk," Ginny said, and she bounded up the stairs, taking two at a time.

"I s'pose we ought to go up soon as well, eh?" When he received no response, Ron looked up from the Quidditch magazine he was flipping through. Harry was looking at Hermione, eyebrows raised, and Hermione was nodding.

"What?" He asked, although he knew very well what. Hermione cleared her throat.

"Look Ron, we know you don't want to get into this," Ron sighed and leaned heavily back in his chair. "But we're worried." Harry nodded his agreement.

"Why would you be so bloody worried?" Ron asked angrily. "They're just clothes-"

"I know why you wear them. The long sleeves, I mean," Harry interjected. Ron paled a little, then blushed, an odd contrast.

"Excuse me?"

"I saw. When we were changing. I turned around and I saw your back. There are about 5 scars there, in completely random places, and at least one on your left arm. I'm sure there are more, too. That's why you've been dressing so warmly, to cover'em up."

As Harry spoke, Ron raked a hand through his hair once, then started to do it again, but instead he made a fist against his forehead, clutching his red fringe. He leaned forward in his chair.

"It's nothing," He said simply, and quickly got up, heading for the door. Harry leaped up and blocked his way.

"You're not going anywhere," He stood in front of the doorway, making it clear that he wasn't going to move. Ron glared.

"Ron," Hermione said quietly behind him. Ron turned to look at her. "Why…why are Bill and Charlie here? Is there a reason?"

Harry gave her a panicked look, but she ignored him. Ron looked thoughtful.

"They said they want to be here, just in case, you know, something were to happen. Because…because the war, it affects everyone." It felt to both Harry and Hermione that that was a rehearsed answer.

"No, I mean, is there another reason. One that might, maybe, affect your family more…directly?" Ron stared at her. Harry took this opportunity to steer Ron towards a chair, then settle in one across from him. Ron, who looked more than a little dumbfounded, didn't even appear to notice.

"Why would you ask that?" He asked in a very quiet voice. He looked from her to Harry, then back again. His brow furrowed. "Hermione?"

"I just…" She glanced over at Harry, then changed wind. "Never mind. It doesn't matter. What matters is the scars. The secrets. You."

"Yeah," Harry said. "Where'd they come from?"

Ron just shook his head. "I don't know. They're just there. Probably a collective of scars from all the years I've known you, Harry. God knows we've been through enough to cause a few."

"You know that's not where they come from."

"How can you be so sure? I was bitten by a dragon-"

"On your hand, which you make no attempt to hide, I see."

"I was dragged on my back by my arm by a giant dog in third year." Ron seemed pleased with himself. But Harry shook his head.

"I've never seen these, not since today. And they're pretty hard to miss, I must say." Ron looked defeated, and Harry felt sure he'd confide, or confess, or whatever, but he didn't.

"Ok, I get that you're just worried, but don't be. I'm fine. It's fine. Everything's just fine. Alright?"

"No, not alright!" Harry tried his best not to shout and wake the rest of the family, but this was getting to be ridiculous. "How would you like it if it were one of us? What if you'd seen scars on me, ones you've never seen anyway, and I refused to tell you about it? I know you, you wouldn't let up until I said something about it."

"That's different. That's very different. You, you're-" He stopped short. Harry knew what he was going to say. 'You're Harry Potter'. At first, he thought he stopped because he was afraid of how Harry would react, but something in his eyes said there was something else. Was it sadness? Or fear? Maybe a bit of both, Harry couldn't tell. Either way, Harry suddenly didn't feel frustrated anymore. He felt sympathetic. He rubbed his forehead.

After a rather prolonged awkward pause, Harry decided to take the plunge.

"What's not right, Ron?" He asked. Such a funny question, really. It seemed to confuse Ron.

"I don't…I…what?"

"You hate it…what's not right. Whatever it is."

"There are many things that aren't right, Harry, and many of those things I hate. Make sense, please."

Harry looked up at Hermione. He didn't say anything, but she knew what he was asking, and she nodded.

"Ron, we, that is, Hermione and I, we…we saw the letter. The one you wrote to her, that you weren't going to send."

Ron didn't look shocked, but he did look angry.

"You mean, you read it?"

"Well, in all fairness, it was written to me, and I-"

"Oh don't give me that bullshit! You knew I didn't want you to read that! I know you did, you're not that thick!"

"Well what choice did we have? You won't tell us any-"

"I don't believe this…" Ron got up, and headed for the door.

"Ron, I'm sorry! We're sorry! Don't go, we have to talk." Hermione pleaded. She seemed about to cry in desperation.

"Save it. Please." Both Harry and Hermione tried to stop him, but he pushed his way by.

He ran up to his room and grabbed the envelope and the letter, stuffing them in his pocket. He was just about to leave when the other two showed up at the door.

"Listen, Ron, this is important! Something's going on and we need to know what!"

Ron just shook his head furiously. He needed to get out of this room, out of this house. He needed air…fresh air…He pushed his way by yet again, saying over his shoulder;

"Just let me think, please…I need…I need a minute to myself…" He sounded so sincere, that Hermione couldn't help but listen. She held Harry back.

"He'll be fine. He needs to think, like he said. Don't worry, we'll figure this out. We always do."

Harry just nodded.