…..
Ron had located Neville in virtually no time at all – he was pacing outside the Room of Requirement. As he made his way up the stairs to the abandoned Seventh Floor corridor that still had enormous chunks of rubble lining the passageway, he spotted the familiar figure of his old dorm-mate beside the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy.
"Hey, Neville," he called out. Neville jumped and turned to face Ron, a smile breaking out across his bruised, lined face.
"Hi Ron, good to see you. Hope the family's coping okay."
Ron shuddered at the memory of the falling wall, and looked out to the last blood-red remnants of sunshine peeking over the horizon further up the valley. He could see the decapitated remains of the clock tower, and the tonnes of rubble that marked the damaged courtyard. It was the end of an exceptional surreal day. Tragic and triumphant.
"Fine as can be," he sighed. "But I'm not sure how well Percy's coping, or for that matter, George." He gulped as he remembered seeing George, Lee, Angelina and Alicia all walk in, still with gallows humour intact and adrenaline pumping, only to have the surviving Twin's face transform into a mask of silent agony at the sight of Fred. Fred had literally gone out laughing like Sirius before him….
He felt a hand rest on his right shoulder; he'd been so consumed with thoughts as to Fred's last moments that he hadn't heard Neville walk up behind him.
"He didn't die in vain, Ron," the other young man said ever-so quietly. Ron gulped again to steady himself, brushed away the wetness at the corner of his eyes, and turned back to face Neville.
"I know." He looked on with curiosity at the blank wall which housed the enchanted room that he, Hermione and Harry had escaped from the previous night with the narrowest of margins, while dragging out a quite-undeserving Draco Malfoy and Gregory Goyle.
"You tried getting into the Room?" he queried. Neville nodded and frowned.
"I just got up here to get a few things, but each time the door appeared, I almost baked. What on earth happened in there?"
"Fiendfyre by Crabbe." Ron scowled at the memory of the pudgy, sadistic Slytherin. Crabbe had been fortunate to remain out of the reaches of his fingers after casting a Killing Curse at Hermione….
….but then he remembered seeing Malfoy's ashen, mildly-blistered face, and wiped the poisonous thoughts from his mind. Fighting to defend your loved ones was one matter, quite another to perish in that hellish inferno.
"He, Malfoy and Goyle tried to kidnap Harry while we were trying to find another one of You-Know – er, Voldemort's pieces of soul." It felt good to be able to say the name again, he thought triumphantly.
"Voldemort hid a bit of his soul in the Room of Requirement?" said Neville in surprise, his eyebrows disappearing into his fringe. "Why? Was he really that arrogant as to think only he could find….anyway. Sorry Ron."
"Yeah, that's what Harry concluded. Anyway, we came back, and that prick tried to kill me and Hermione. I chased after him, and he created this raging, unstoppable firestorm. We all survived….he didn't. I saw him burn and disappear right in front of me – almost immediately." Without warning, he felt his voice crack slightly at the end. Enemies though they may have been, Ron wouldn't have wished such a horror on even Bellatrix.
"Do you think it's safe to go in, Ron?" Neville asked with some trepidation as his face paled at the horrific implications of the information Ron had given him. Ron shrugged his shoulders. "Yeah, maybe. Wouldn't be surprised if it's still burning, though." Or was it that other iterations of the room remained undamaged?
"Only one way to find out," he said bracingly, closing his eyes as he thought of what he wanted.
Feeling a blast of heat on his face, he opened his eyes. The door had reappeared, though the temperature was on the verge of making Ron go sweaty-faced.
"Okay," muttered Neville. "Here goes nothing." Noticing the other boy's wince as he opened the door fully, Ron cautiously followed him into the mercifully intact dormitory. The hammocks still remained, and the colours of three of the four Houses, as well as the possessions of the DA's fighters decorated the interior vividly.
The heat, however, was almost unbearable. Neville gave a satisfied "okay, then," and, motioning Ron to head back out into the corridor, closed the door once more.
"Okay," Neville said. "Once it's cooled properly, everyone can come in and get their things. Including….." his voice tailed off.
"Who, Neville?"
Neville kicked at an isolated block of rubble as he looked back at Ron with a distinctly haunted expression.
"Relatives and friends getting possessions of those who died," he explained morosely and Ron felt as though his intestines had been seized and twisted further. He turned to look Neville full in the eye, and was surprised to see wetness there - Neville had almost never been weepy over the last few years.
"It's going to be really awful getting Colin's things out of there," he muttered. "He was underage….he'd survived lying low with Dennis for a whole year, only to…."
"He was good as of age," Ron said sharply. "Neville, remember how much Harry and I tried to stop Ginny coming with us to the Department of Ministries when she was fourteen? How she still sneaked out of the room to fight last night? We could never hope to stop her and everyone else."
"But….but," Neville stammered, refusing took look at Ron properly. "She's Ginny! She's tough and resilient – she can look after herself."
Ron felt a spark of anger flare in him.
"No, she's my bloody little sister, that's what," he snapped back. "If it was up to me, I'd have stopped her from fighting like Mum tried to – but that's all in the past. It was war." He noted with a sense of satisfaction that Neville's determination to blame himself was breaking down rapidly, but he felt nauseous again as he recalled the identity of the first Hogwarts student to perish in this long, bloody conflict.
"Besides, tough and resilient would be words I'd use to describe Cedric," he muttered bitterly, kicking at one of the discarded broomsticks that he, Harry and Hermione had abandoned after their escape. "Brilliant, of age, and brave too….to think I thought he was an airheaded showpony. Look where that got him. Point is, they all knew the risks, but they did it anyway. For Harry, Hogwarts, their friends and family…."
"I guess you're right," Neville sighed. "But that doesn't mean I have to like any of it." He raised his eyes again to meet Ron's gaze.
"I owe Ginny my life, you know. Bellatrix had got the better of me while I was looking elsewhere after we'd lobbed the Mandrakes and battled a giant…..it was the Cruciatus, again." He swallowed nervously, then chuckled wryly. "She's pretty bloody scary when her friends are in danger."
Ron also chuckled weakly, raising an eyebrow at Neville's words. He'd long suspected that Neville had once harboured small crushes on Ginny and Hermione back in fourth year (and more recently, there had been a hint of something between him and Luna after the death of Dumbledore and on the train home), but if Hermione and Lavender were right, he now had eyes for someone else entirely….
"Sounds like you're in love, Neville," he said, doing his best to sound somewhat threatening, but Neville laughed nervously.
"Oh, come on Ron!" he cried out exasperatedly. "That…..that's not even a thing, anymore. Besides, I now…." He trailed off, embarrassment flooding his features. How was it, Ron mused, that you could be the leader of Dumbledore's Army, duel the woman who had tortured your parents into insanity, face Voldemort and kill his snake without a flinch, and yet be so tongue-tied about girls?
Hypocrite, said a sly voice in the corner of his brain. He brushed the voice away.
"Forget it," he said calmly, but exclaimed loudly as Neville suddenly tottered dramatically.
"Hey, Nev, you all right? Surely you need a rest." Neville yawned loudly, blearily blinked his eyes, and let out a sigh.
"I haven't had any sleep for almost two whole days," he mumbled, yawning again. "I've been helping Kingsley, Madam Pomfrey and Hannah coordinate cataloguing of the dead, as well as the missing Death Eaters."
"No wonder, you're dead on your feet," Ron replied sharply. "Neville, you have time to help. So does Harry. We can all assist tomorrow, and the day after…."
"All right, all right," Neville grinned, nodding his head and acquiescing. Ron noticed that his cheeks had reddened further at the mention of Hannah, but he dismissed the line of thinking. It felt obscene to be thinking about those things when dozens of deceased Hogwarts defenders and several of the enemy now lay in the small room that once housed the Mirror of Erised back in his first year.
"The Common Room will be nice and cozy," he added, as they passed the tapestry back down the rubble-strewn corridor towards the rest of the castle and Gryffindor Tower. "I'm looking forward to lying in my old bed again."
"So am I," Neville admitted. "The Room's wonderful and all, but it's not the same, you know what I mean?"
"Yeah," said Ron huskily, his thoughts trailing to where Harry, Hermione and the rest of his family were. He nodded in satisfaction as he pulled out the Marauders' Map once more, quickly finding Harry and Ginny's dots in the Common Room. And Hermione was just entering through the portrait hole.
He heard Neville pause beside him. He looked up to see much of Neville's melancholy gone, replaced with a look of gratitude and satisfaction.
"Welcome home, Ron," he said quietly, patting him encouragingly on the shoulder.
….
The rest of the conversation and the walk back to the Gryffindor Common Room passed by in a blur for Ron; they discussed Snape's true loyalty, of Neville's surprise that Snape gave them such a lenient punishment with Hagrid and of his apparently idle irritation at the Carrows' brutal in-class mistreatment of Seamus, of Dumbledore's final gamble with Harry and Voldemort (Ron knew he was struggling to explain it properly to Neville, as he still didn't comprehend it himself), before matters moved to a distinctly less pleasant topic – the Death Eaters that had been killed or captured.
"You ever actually thought about killing Bellatrix yourself?" Ron whispered to Neville, grimacing as they passed a set of congealed bloodstains beside a wrecked tapestry not far from the Fat Lady's portrait. Beside him, he sensed Neville stiffen like an alert hare and shiver.
"I….I did," he positively stammered quietly, stopping and turning to face the view of the moonlit grounds; the bodies of Acromantula and giants littered the lawn. "For everything. I was going for her after I'd killed the snake, and I really, really wished it had been me. But…"
Ron gave an encouraging gesticulation and a nod. "Go on, mate, it's okay."
"But then when we were cleaning up – cataloguing the dead and wounded, moving them, all that waste of life…. I'm….I'm really glad I didn't face her."
Ron frowned. "Why, Neville?" Neville let out a sigh; his expression was nauseated.
"Because your mum killed her while defending Ginny and all the others. I wasn't thinking about them when I tried to rush her and got distracted by Greyback with you. I wasn't even thinking about Harry, or my own safety. I was trying to satisfy myself and my own desires." He swallowed once, then, with a more croaky voice, continued.
"If I'd killed her – and I would have – I'd have actually murdered someone. And what for? My parents – they…..they wouldn't comprehend it anyway," he finished sadly. "And that - I find it different from me throwing Mandrakes….I know it sounds silly."
"And lobbing Mandrakes was simply part of the battle," Ron chimed in, nodding in comprehension. If he was being honest, he had only narrowly avoided succumbing to the same passions during the ceasefire. "But if you had gone berserk on her, mate, I wouldn't have blamed you. In fact, I was trying to get a crack at her for…..for torturing Hermione." His eyes watered as the sounds of Hermione's blood-curdling, raw screams threatened to overwhelm him again, but thinking of their first snog, the sounds began to fade from his mind once more.
"It's okay Ron," said Neville quietly, but his eyes were shining. Ron pretended to not notice as the other boy wiped his slightly streaming eyes with his cardigan sleeve. "I actually had to restrain McLaggen at one point. He actually managed a Killing Curse on Colin's murderer. No problem at all with casting it – and if Seamus and I hadn't seized him, Merlin knows what he might have done with some of the captured Death Eaters."
Ron let out a whistle. He knew that this was an issue many people were facing in the wake of the battle. Percy and Ginny had been tight-lipped about the battles they'd fought, but Charlie, Hannah and Ernie had been witness to both using potentially lethal force – Charlie had pulled Percy away from combat in the wake of Fred's death after the latter had used a combination of Sectumsempra and a rock on Travers. Meanwhile, Ginny had cast a powerful Reductor Curse that had laid waste to four attacking Death Eaters. He'd personally seen Seamus - largely unsuccessfully – attempt to use the Cruciatus Curse on Thodore Nott in addition to more legitimate self-defence spells, while Dean had pummeled a Death Eater's face into a bloody pulp while struggling to gain a wand.
The savagery of war, he reflected in disgust. None of them would ever be wholly the same in the wake of so much trauma, brutality and fear.
"What matters is this," he began. "Just answer this question, Neville. If she was unarmed, wounded and totally unable to fight back, would you still have a crack at her?"
A spasm of thought and disgust crossed Neville's face as he chewed on his lip.
"I can't say for sure," he began timidly. "But in my gut…the answer would probably be no."
"The idea that you're a murderer is ridiculous, Neville," Ron sighed, his lips twitching upwards as he caught sight of the familiar, homely corridor that housed the Fat Lady's portrait. "If you're still thinking about us dueling Greyback and what happened to him….it was a lucky double hit. Expulso from me and Stupefy from you. Not that I'm upset about him dying, but we were fighting to win. It's the stupid smelly git's own fault that he leapt at us when he was in front of a bloody window."
Neville laughed, then jumped as he looked around at the familiar settings. "Blimey," he croaked, wiping his face once more. "It's just….bizarre. So much that's wrecked and destroyed and yet this…. This is still perfect in every way."
"I'm glad, too," Ron interrupted, smiling at the thought of his four-poster bed once more as he approached the Fat Lady's portrait. She was positively beaming away, sipping with her friend Violet on a bottle of clearly expensive elf-made wine. (He wondered if Hermione had been too tired to notice when she'd come in here earlier.)
"Mr. Weasley and Mr. Longbottom!" she exclaimed, hiccupping slightly and going cross-eyed. "Forget about the password, come on in, now." With a click, the portrait swung back.
"It's good seeing you again," Ron replied with a grin and a raised eyebrow, ushering Neville through first.
He turned to Neville, expecting to continue their idle chat, but Neville had stopped in his tracks and was looking over at the couch by the now-roaring fire, a small smile playing across his lips.
Harry and Ginny lay on the couch, Harry's head on Ginny's shoulder, their legs intertwined and their clothes and faces both still bearing the evidence of the ferocious battle earlier that morning. But both looked incredibly peaceful and carefree – more so, in fact, than Ron had ever seen Harry before. No twitching, no feverish muttering. Just low, steady inhalations and exhalations, with Harry's lips frozen in a slight smile.
Ron's protective instincts, bizarrely, failed to flare up. Ordinarily, he assumed he'd have been extremely consternated that his sister could so easily fall asleep in the embrace of one of her boyfriends – even Harry. But these were not ordinary circumstances; both had been forced apart by an evil force beyond their control, they all had lost several people dear to them, and now, with victory secured, now was the time to relax, reassure and grieve together – beginning in full force tomorrow. Ron simultaneously felt both like a mature man grizzled by the traumas he'd faced, by all the close shaves, as well as a small child who wanted nothing more than to climb into the security of his dormitory bedsheets like the innocent eleven year-old he had once been.
"Ex-boyfriend, my foot," Neville whispered to Ron. "None of us believed her."
Ron didn't say anything – feeling guilt once more at having interrupted Harry and Ginny's moment on his best mate's birthday. Though he knew Harry could be trusted to treat her considerately, he knew it would be better for all of them if he ensured their separation remained in force. But it didn't mean that either Harry or Ginny had to like it; Ginny had barely stopped throwing him filthy looks all day, and had asserted heatedly that she could be trusted to make her own decisions with what little time remained before they left.
Letting out a sigh as he thought of the sights and emotions that would catch up to him in the Great Hall the next morning, Ron gruffly nodded at Neville, and both traipsed up the stairs, passing some rubble on the stairway. All the windows, however, had clearly been repaired by whoever had come up the stairs before them; Ron could see some dusty and muddy footprints heading to their dormitory.
He gave Neville a quizzical look.
"Seamus or Dean returned to sleep here?" he queried. Neville shrugged his shoulders.
"Nah, they're down in the Great Hall right now with the Patils, your parents and Oliver."
Ron raised his eyebrows at that and pushed open the door.
Before him was a sight that he once thought would remain forever in his (mostly) unacknowledged dreams in fifth and sixth year: Hermione Granger, lying on top of his duvets.
On his bed, asleep.
As Ron froze in the doorway, not wanting to find out Neville's reaction, she let out a sigh and blearily opened her eyes. Her face was still shining with dirt and sweat, and still bore the cuts and scrapes they'd all sustained in Gringotts and from that morning.
"What's the….Oh!" she exclaimed, sitting upright and her cheeks filling with colour. "Ron, Neville. I'm sorry, I'll just…"
"You're fine, Hermione," Neville laughed, elbowing Ron forwards. "Not sure if Seamus or Dean will return here later on, but feel free to stay here. You've earned it." He yawned and took off his jersey.
"As you can see, the usual orderly state of things has been thrown out the window, so please, don't worry." He disappeared behind the curtains of his four-poster bed, and Ron heard a hiss of pain as Neville began to get changed for bed.
"You all right mate?" he asked mildly, and Neville stuck a thumb out from behind the curtain. "All right," he replied hoarsely. "Just a bit of wear-and-tear from the Carrows, don't mind me."
Ron chuckled as he pulled out his wand, closing the curtains around his four-poster bed, then looked at Hermione and flushed vividly. Words wanted to come out, but his vocabulary was failing him at this point in time.
Much to his surprise, Hermione seemed to be similarly struck down. She opened her mouth hesitantly, then closed it.
"Water," Ron whispered, Summoning the nearest glass and filling it with his wand.
"Oh, thanks Ron," she whispered back, downing it desperately. Then she turned back to face him, and Ron felt himself shrink under her chocolate-brown gaze.
"Ron, I'm so sorry. I didn't want to disturb anyone in the Great Hall, and it didn't feel right with everyone there, with….with Fred there, and I didn't want to go back up to my dormitory to sleep, not after so long and…"
"Hermione," Ron growled quietly, rolling his eyes and ignoring the constricting feeling in his chest as he heard the name of his brother. "You're fine. There's no place I'd rather you be than….Merlin, that sounded wrong," he finished lamely, ears burning.
"Goodnight, you two," Neville whispered in a sleepy slur.
"Thanks for everything, Neville," Ron called back as he turned back to face Hermione.
"Shall we talk about…" he gesticulated wildly, his face heating up further, "…this in the morning?"
Hermione nodded sleepily. "Good idea," she mumbled, her eyes out of focus as she squeezed his hand once. Tottering slightly, she got to her feet.
"What are you doing?" Ron hissed. "Don't worry, Hermione, you're fine here."
"Okay," she said, dropping her eye contact and blushing.
Ron pulled back the covers and tucked himself in on the far right side of the bed, giving Hermione enough space. She hesitated for a moment, then still refusing to look at him, laid herself back down as far away from his as possible on the left side of his bed, on top of the duvets.
"Oh, sorry," she whispered as she accidentally made contact with Ron's left leg; he snorted and pulled it away from her side to give her more room.
Thoughts about Harry, Voldemort, the Horcruxes, Neville, Greyback, his parents, the casualties downstairs, and most painfully of all, Fred, flashed through Ron's mind, but he closed his eyes and pretended all was well with the world.
The world wasn't right, not by a long shot. But with his best friend still alive, Hermione right next to him, and with the man responsible for all this terror and tragedy gone forever, Ron knew all would be well once the mourning had finished.
The building of a brand new world could begin tomorrow. Dwelling on that thought as Hermione's soft snores began to fill the room alongside Neville's, and nothing else, Ron let sleep take him, more smoothly than in many months.
Next Chapter: Harry and Ginny.