At The Burrow
Ron had to stop after an hour or so. Hermione was dead weight and he had already tired out from fighting...whatever it was. She had awoken once, and offered to walk, but Ron didn't want to see her hurt.
Dawn was breaking; fog spread over the marshlands that were slowly turning to the forests surrounding his house. Doubtless his mother was up, fretting over his and Hermione's safety. He'd left shortly after dinner, when he'd seen Hermione fall apart over something. Ron still didn't know what it was. He intended to find out, though Once Hermione was rested and her gash tended to, he'd talk to her.
Oh no, he thought, as he saw a dark figure with greasy black hair standing in front of his house. It was Snape, looking sour-tempered and extremely furious at Hermione and Ron. He swallowed.
"What the hell did you think you were doing?" Snape inquired, using that quiet voice of his that always meant he was livid. "Look at the both of you. You're filthy, and you've managed to get Miss Granger all bloodied up. You're mum'll give it to you, though. Hopefully she'll make you clean the attic...I'm getting rather tired of all the spiders crawling around where I sleep." He leaned his face up close to Ron's, so that he could smell the stink of his breath and feel the anger emanating from him. Ron shuddered, hoping cleaning the attic bedroom (they had recently evicted the ghoul) was not his punishment. He hated spiders.
"Love to talk, Professor," he said as casually as he could, "But Hermione's leg needs tending. Can we talk about this later?"
"Don't look so unconcerned, Weasley, your mum is at her wit's end with you and your little friends."
Ron ignored him. He was probably giving Harry a much harder time, and Harry already had enough to cope with, what with the loss of Sirius and all. The Order still mainly resided there, but the Weasleys had been homesick and Snape was in trouble, so they had been told by Dumbledore that going back to the Burrow was best. Dumbledore was its secret keeper as well, so they'd had to do a lot of complicated spells on it lately so that Dumbledore could keep an eye on them.
Mrs. Weasley came out, looking tired but still flushed with extreme anger. When she saw Hermione, she let out a small little scream.
"Ronald Weasley! What on earth is going on? What have you done to Hermione?"
"It's a long story, Mum," he said. "I'll tell you later; right now, Hermione needs some help with her leg."
"It's not much," said Hermione, awake, though her face told of great pain: it was strained and quite pale. "Just a cut."
"It's more than a cut, Mum, there's a gash along her leg."
Mrs. Weasley looked at them sternly. "Come on, in the house. We'll see to her, and then," she turned to Ron, "We're going to have a LONG talk. Not just about this. I got your O.W.L. scores."
Ron's stomach plummeted. He hadn't done well on them, then. He should have studied more.
Grimly, Snape trailing along behind them, a smile playing around his mouth, the four of them trod back up to the house.
Ron had to stop after an hour or so. Hermione was dead weight and he had already tired out from fighting...whatever it was. She had awoken once, and offered to walk, but Ron didn't want to see her hurt.
Dawn was breaking; fog spread over the marshlands that were slowly turning to the forests surrounding his house. Doubtless his mother was up, fretting over his and Hermione's safety. He'd left shortly after dinner, when he'd seen Hermione fall apart over something. Ron still didn't know what it was. He intended to find out, though Once Hermione was rested and her gash tended to, he'd talk to her.
Oh no, he thought, as he saw a dark figure with greasy black hair standing in front of his house. It was Snape, looking sour-tempered and extremely furious at Hermione and Ron. He swallowed.
"What the hell did you think you were doing?" Snape inquired, using that quiet voice of his that always meant he was livid. "Look at the both of you. You're filthy, and you've managed to get Miss Granger all bloodied up. You're mum'll give it to you, though. Hopefully she'll make you clean the attic...I'm getting rather tired of all the spiders crawling around where I sleep." He leaned his face up close to Ron's, so that he could smell the stink of his breath and feel the anger emanating from him. Ron shuddered, hoping cleaning the attic bedroom (they had recently evicted the ghoul) was not his punishment. He hated spiders.
"Love to talk, Professor," he said as casually as he could, "But Hermione's leg needs tending. Can we talk about this later?"
"Don't look so unconcerned, Weasley, your mum is at her wit's end with you and your little friends."
Ron ignored him. He was probably giving Harry a much harder time, and Harry already had enough to cope with, what with the loss of Sirius and all. The Order still mainly resided there, but the Weasleys had been homesick and Snape was in trouble, so they had been told by Dumbledore that going back to the Burrow was best. Dumbledore was its secret keeper as well, so they'd had to do a lot of complicated spells on it lately so that Dumbledore could keep an eye on them.
Mrs. Weasley came out, looking tired but still flushed with extreme anger. When she saw Hermione, she let out a small little scream.
"Ronald Weasley! What on earth is going on? What have you done to Hermione?"
"It's a long story, Mum," he said. "I'll tell you later; right now, Hermione needs some help with her leg."
"It's not much," said Hermione, awake, though her face told of great pain: it was strained and quite pale. "Just a cut."
"It's more than a cut, Mum, there's a gash along her leg."
Mrs. Weasley looked at them sternly. "Come on, in the house. We'll see to her, and then," she turned to Ron, "We're going to have a LONG talk. Not just about this. I got your O.W.L. scores."
Ron's stomach plummeted. He hadn't done well on them, then. He should have studied more.
Grimly, Snape trailing along behind them, a smile playing around his mouth, the four of them trod back up to the house.