(Words in italics are the unspoken thoughts of the character closest to them and I only did it once this time, maybe twice)

Ron's voice echoed in the bright little room. "Go to Ollivander, Bill! Go—he needs you there more than I do here!" Bill scowled and opened his mouth, but whatever his reply was, he left without saying it. Hermione had then spoken directly to him, her voice faint but decisive in a way that assured him that she was, still, now, how she'd always been. "Ron's got me. Please, Bill. Ollivander. Go."

Ron shut the door behind Bill and moved back to her immediately.

"We need something to heal you. Something to put on top."

"You can't. It's not on the outside."

Gently, he hovered his hand over the marks, not touching them. Mudblood.

"Hermione. This is."

"My bag. Get the dittany." He grabbed the bag roughly and began frantically pulling things out.

"Summon it." Was her voice getting weaker? He didn't want to think. "Accio dittany!"

He remembered it stinging, on his shoulder. And her hands would have done it better: she would have known how to do it. She knows how to do everything better than me.

"I'm sorry: how much?"

"Just a little. Don't rub hard."

She winced, but the marks, still obscene, looked less angry right away.

"Let me sleep. You need to leave. They'll worry if you stay."

"The hell with them," he said, simply.

"Ron." The words seemed to cost her an effort that wasn't entirely physical. "Let me sleep. I…don't want anyone near me right now."

Harry had spent most of the afternoon digging the elf's grave, but couldn't let himself give Hermione the space she'd asked Ron for. A saving-people-thing, he reflected bitterly, as he donned his invisibility cloak and slipped into the room being used for her. He'd have contented himself with watching her sleep, a bit. She wasn't sleeping.

He pulled the cloak off and spoke quietly. "I'm sorry. I couldn't leave you, all the way. But I will now, if you want me to." He paused. "It fades soon, you know. It won't hurt too much longer. I promise."

She looked at him directly, eyes fixed upon his. Almost imperceptibly, he nodded.

"In the graveyard."

"You never said."

"Dumbledore knew. I didn't want to tell you or Ron."

He continued, looking away from her now. "When he cast it, when he said it, I thought my head would split open. I thought I would die. I wanted to die. And then he said it again and I couldn't think at all."

He leaned forward. "But it didn't last. It faded. It was almost nothing, the next day."

Her voice was a whisper. "She said it six times."

"Hermione." There was no response to be had for that, except her name. He didn't dare even touch her.

She spoke. "I feel….I feel ruined, inside. Like a part of me is…soiled now. There's a better word. Defiled. Does that…does that fade?"

He wanted to say anything that could take that look off her face, but looking away from her eyes again, he saw her scarred arm and his own wrist burned an instant later. I must not tell lies.

"Not right away." She nodded.

He couldn't leave it at that.

"But it will."

Bill caught his brother as he finished washing up.

"What happened?"

"I can't tell you."

"Ollivander's dead on his feet right now. Hermione's hurt. I saw the knife the elf got killed with and the rest of you look like hell, too."

His brother responded, toweling his broad hands. "Ollivander and Luna were being imprisoned. No, I won't say where. Hermione…what did they tell you when dad got attacked? Injured in the course of duty for the Order of the Phoenix. Let me go, Bill. Hermione's sleeping, but I want to help dig the grave."

"We're not done with this conversation."

Ron's eyes flashed. "I'm done telling you all the things I can tell you!"

"You haven't told me anything!"

"I'm bloody well aware of that!"

With deliberation, Bill softened his tone. "You're my kid brother, Ron. I need to look after you."

Ron met his brother's eyes and left his own voice rough. "I know how that goes, Bill, even if you don't."

"What are you saying?"

A few seconds of silence. "Percy sent me a letter, my fifth year. Telling me to take care of myself and let Harry get the things that were coming to him. If you try that, also, I'll be two brothers down."

Ron took a breath and considered his next words carefully. "I've had my time to think it over, I've seen how it all is. I know he's in danger. We all are in danger, all the time, everywhere. He's the only one who can stop it, and I'm not telling you how."

He finished. "Harry's right, and I'm with him. Hermione's with him. We're of age. Accept it, or piss off."

Bill regarded the young man who stood in his cottage, taking in the steady eyes and the set of his jaw below the fringe of an incipient red beard. "When…when did you grow that spine?"

"I've always had one. I know there's a lot of us. You may not have noticed."

"You have, at that." Bill paused. "Be careful."

Ron looked down at the brother who was now shorter, by just the slightest measure, than he was. "As careful as I can."

A/N: I'm trying SO HARD not to head-hop! Any feedback you have regarding my use of narrative voice and how, if appropriate, to make it less confusing to move around the thoughts and perspectives of different characters in a shorter piece...would be gratefully appreciated and learned from.