Feel

By: Lady DeathAngel

Disclaimer: not mine, not profiting, 'nuff said.

Warnings: um, angsty sap.

A/N: Well, this has definitely surpassed what I expected it to do. Um, I don't know when this thing's going to end! Originally this chapter was never planned. In fact, chapter four was never planned either. Ah well, more for you. Next chapter Remus'll be along, and that'll be along as soon as I can give it a look over. Just so you know, all of my work at this point will probably be self-beta, at least for a while. I know there are probably some mistakes but please forgive me. Anyway, as always, read, enjoy and review.

"Dumbledore came around today."

Hermione perched on the edge of the couch near his hips. The dip in the cushion made his body roll into hers.

"What did he say?" he asked without moving, his head resting on folded arms.

"He was furious with us for taking you from your aunt and uncle's."

He raised up a bit to glance over his shoulder at her.

"Did he say why?"

She nodded.

"Why didn't you ever tell us? I mean, about the reason you're always forced to go back there?"

"I don't even know the whole of it," he answered, resting his head on his arms again. "Just that it keeps the bond between me and my mum. Protects me."

She didn't say anything, but he felt her hand resting hesitantly on the small of his back.

"He said you could stay."

There was a long pause.

"He looks really old," she continued softly. "It's frightening."

He didn't have anything to say to that. He knew it. The last time he'd seen the man he'd looked downright haggard. He could understand why. Years of plans, of anticipating things turning out different, and it had blown up in his face. There was never going to be any right time to tell him that his parents and friends and schoolmates and complete strangers were dying for him and that only he could stop it. There was never going to be the slow submerging of everyone into the harsh reality that consisted of death and pain and a path he would be forced down alone. It was all gone for Dumbledore, all over. It made sense.

But Hermione didn't know, he reasoned. And even if she wasn't very empathetic, even if she didn't know, who was he to take away the one man that she could still trust in?

"It'll be fine, Hermione," he said, hoping he sounded like he meant it. "He'll be fine."

Her hand clenched on the fabric of his t-shirt, bunching it up until a sliver of skin was uncomfortably chilled. She didn't say anything, didn't move and after several minutes he could feel her knuckles pressing against his vertebrae. He looked back at her with a frown that softened when he saw her, hunched over and sobbing quietly.

"It w-won't be fine," she said, voice shaky. "Everything's all wrong. You and me and Ron and everyone . . ."

He sat up and the minute she let go of his shirt she launched herself across his lap, circling his waist with her arms and pressing her face to his chest.

"I'm s-s-so sorry," she wailed.

"Sorry?" he repeated, holding her in a way he wasn't entirely comfortable with, rubbing her back.

"Y-yes. I d-don't know what it's like . . . none," she hiccoughed. "None of us do. And I'm so s-sorry."

"Don't cry, Hermione," he said softly. "It's not your fault."

But she babbled about how it was. How he was one of her best friends. How she loved him and she should've known.

"Ron said we didn't get it," she said after she'd calmed a bit and was slightly more coherent. "He's always telling me that it isn't something either of us can understand."

"He's right."

"You've changed so much," she continued. "I wish . . . I wish you'd blow up at us like you used to. At least then we knew what was wrong."

He was saved from replying when Ron poked his head into the room.

"Oh," he said, looking at them and nodding. "I'll just let you two talk then."

"Stay," Harry said, inclining his head and beckoning him in.

Ron looked weary but closed the door and walked in, sitting on Harry's other side so that he was sandwiched quite snugly between his friends.

They didn't say anything. It was like they'd entered a world where they weren't so different from each other. Where they all understood each other on some level that they would never reach, not really. In the end, he mused, they were all just so fundamentally different. They had different problems, different roads that they each had to walk. Hermione's path of the Muggle-born that wound right into the middle of a world where she was in danger of dying because she'd been born different but would always be guarded because, after all, they were fighting for people like her. Ron's path of being lost somewhere in the midst of everything that meandered and looked for a place to stop off but that wasn't lonely because he had his family and he had them. And his own path separate from their's, barely visible.

They had to go where they were supposed to go and it was that bittersweet discovery that had Hermione and Ron struggling. They weren't used to it, not like he was. But this moment, at least, they could ignore it. A rest-stop, perhaps, near the fork in the road that would send them all flying apart from each other. Or maybe a clearing half-way down those separate roads where they could see each other clearly and stop and talk and take a few deep breaths before continuing.

Either way, it felt good. It felt safe.

"Will you tell us, someday?" Hermione asked softly.

"About what?"

"What it's really like to be you?" she snuggled in closer, one arm thrown across Ron's lap now.

He blinked at her.

"Um . . ."

He looked down at her, saw that she was exhausted, probably from more than just that day, and nodded.

"Yeah." he said. "Yeah, someday."

She made a soft, happy sound and fell asleep. Ron, squeezed between the arm of the couch and his body slung his arm around Harry's shoulders to leave himself more room.

"D'you think we'll make it?" he asked quietly.

He looked over at him with a raised eyebrow.

"I dunno, mate," the red-head continued, answering his own question. "I'm scared."

Ron toyed fitfully with the fraying collar of his shirt and, every so often, his dark hair. He wondered if his often fidgety friend was even aware of what he was doing. But it felt nice. He liked being touched. He wasn't touched very often. Not like this.

"I don't know." he answered finally. "Maybe we'll make it. I hope you do, more than anything. I don't want you to die because of me."

The look on Ron's face was grave.

"People die for you, mate. Not because of you."

He just shrugged.

"You think you're going to die, don't you?"

"It's a possibility."

"Dumbledore told us about the prophesy today. About the whole 'kill or be killed' thing. He said that was why what we did was so reckless. Not because something might have happened to you because he was worried about you, but because something might have happened to you and that would have been the end of it." He shook his head. "I was . . . angry. You mean more to us than the future of our world, you know. At least, some of us. At least . . . me. And Hermione and my family and Lupin. So, if any of us die it's because we wanted to. For you. Not for ourselves or our future children or whoever else you're supposed to save someday."

He looked at him for a long moment and Ron looked back, completely serious.

"Don't plan on it." he said finally.

"Plan on what?"

"Dying for me." he smirked. "I rather like you alive, you know."