Disclaimer: I do not own, nor am I making money from, Harry Potter. Just because one of my players claims that the last two books were pure fanfiction does not mean that this piece is the real thing.

Content Warning: Idiot boy is an idiot. Yes, he's a stupid prat with the emotional depth of a teaspoon, but that's why we love him…right?

This chapter is brought to you by bubble bath. Because a single capful can provide immense entertainment to little girls and women alike (though not at the same as that would be squicky and most certainly not in the same way). The kind I get is the cheap stuff from Walmart- -lavender scented to help with relaxation- -but you can get it anywhere or just use a little bit of your shampoo or bodywash. Have a bubble bath tonight!

"I don't like it. It seems too risky."

Lily was not surprised that it was Alice that made the declaration. The witch had been on a terror since the boys' birthday party. She was vicious and blood-thirsty in a way that was not like the quietly calm witch that Lily had become friends with at Hogwarts. Despite the acceptance that Lily still found herself struggling with, Alice actually found the idea of Petunia, jealous and spiteful Petunia, raising a child of their Circle aberrant and had declared that it would only happen over her lifeless body, and woe be those that worked to thwart her will. If Dumbledore noticed how cold her stares were at the Order meetings, he certainly did not show it. Alice took all warnings from the Goddess very serious, but this time, the tiny woman was not going to just accept the way things were going to fall. Lily understood this. Perhaps more than the wizard who stood before them.

"Oh, come on, Alice, it's a great idea! The Fidelius Charm would make it to where old Snake-Breath could be standing on your front walk and not see the house," Sirius repeated. He slapped his hand against the wood of the table they were sitting at as if to emphasis his point or perhaps to vent some of his frustration. In desperation, he turned woeful eyes towards his best friend. "James, tell them! You aren't going to let this stubborn b—"

"I suggest keeping the slang to a minimum, Sirius," James interrupted. He leaned back in his chair as if he were a school boy testing the limits and didn't have a care in the world. Lily saw his eyes dart around the busy café, on constant alert for an attack. The redhead knew that he was not comfortable at the public and muggle location of this discussion, but he had understood the need to get out of the house to have this discussion, especially after Frank's spell revealed several monitoring spells placed strategically around their small cottage in Godric's Hollow. Inspection done, James straightened with a thwack and leaned forward, determined. "Sirius is correct in the ideal functioning of the spell, but he is unaware of the warning that Alice received a month ago…or at least I'm hoping that he is or else my faith in his intelligence will be sorely damaged."

"What warning? From who?"

James bent one arm and rested his chin in that hand. The way his head was tilted at Alice and Lily left no doubt to whom he wanted to answer the question. He also looked incredibly smug, reminding Lily of the arrogant toerag that would mess up his hair and play with a stolen snitch and making her want to hex him all over again. As if sensing her violent thoughts, his lips quirked into a grin…which set her thoughts in a much different direction. She sighed and began to try to explain a concept that she didn't fully understand to someone with whom she had never talked about even the basics.

"The Goddess told Alice that someone we trusted would betray us and specified Dumbledore as someone who could not be trusted and who didn't have Harry's best interests at heart."

"So…let me see if I got this straight," Sirius said slowly and with the tone of speaking to someone very young. "Alice had a vision and we're supposed to just go with it?"

"This entire situation started because of a prophecy," Lily pointed out after placing a hand on Alice's fisted hands to still the retort she knew the brunette wanted to make. "Why is it so difficult to believe that others could have such insights?"

"Point taken," Sirius conceded though he still looked as if he didn't believe it. He tugged on his ponytail as if straightening it. He fidgeted for a moment more and the other three let him. It was a known fact that Sirius was uncomfortable with some of the deeper concepts of the traditional ways such as visions, but the Blacks had always been traditionalists and even when he had left the family behind, there was some things too deeply ingrained to ever fully eschew. "Okay. So it's not the concept of the Charm that you have issues with—it's the swapping out one of us for Peter?"

"It's also a case of I'd rather not trust someone outside of the Circle," Alice declared and Lily nodded her acquiescence. Like he was watching a good quidditch match, James flicked his eyes from the women to his kin-brother. Lily stole his gaze back as she spoke.

"There are only the five of us that know what I did to protect Harry and Alice's glamour will keep it that way—at least as long as no one thinks to cast a purification spell on him." Lily thought about that and its implications for a moment. If Petunia raised her son, would he be lucky enough to find someone to teach him the old ways like she found Alice? Could she arrange something? She was already working on a personal grimoire… "I want to keep it that way if at all possible. If Moldy-shorts does not know it might be a danger, he can't prepare for it."

"Moldy-shorts—that's a good one, Lil."

"Thank you, James."

"What if he was a part of the Circle? I don't mean telling him about Harry so get that look off your faces, you two. In perfect trust, right? Circling bonds people, makes it more secure magickally. Worse come to worse, you'd feel something, right? If he wasn't worthy of that trust?"

Any protest that either woman had died at the pleading look on the Marauder's face. He was trying to understand. Lily knew that he was only doing what he thought was best. Sirius sincerely thought that this was a good idea—that the Secret Keeper should not be him and should not be Remus, shifty and withdrawing Remus—and that was hurting him, she could tell. She knew from the few times that they had Circled together, primarily Neville and Harry's Naming Ceremonies, that Sirius had issues with trusting himself. The fact that he truly, honestly, and completely believed that they would be safer with someone else in this important role was cutting deeper than any wound the Dark Lord could inflict. Lily felt Alice's hands shift under hers so that their fingers interlaced. Lily closed her eyes, blocking out the external while she focused within and sought that inner strength that flowed from Her.

'Mother, grant me the words to heal him and the wisdom to choose the best course through these troubled waters,' she prayed before she opened her mouth and spoke the first words that came to mind, trusting that they would be the right ones.

"We'll try it at Mabon, all of us. If he is worthy, the Goddess will know."

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Pain was the first thing that Harry became aware of as he drifted through the blackness. It prickled the edges of his mind like the tightening of skin against a source of heat. It didn't seem to originate from any specific portion of his body, a fact for which Harry was able to be vaguely thankful. It was also offset by a heady lightness that left Harry with the feeling of weightlessness, as if he had been swimming and was now on land. Woven throughout the two feelings was a giddy warmth that seemed to pulse like a heart at the slightest bit of attention.

The next thing to filter through the haze was the hissing sounds of furious whispers that were flung across him from either side. Occasionally the voice on his left would start to rise only for a third voice to bark out a stern command for silence. Harry didn't know how long it took, but eventually the voices transformed from tones to actual words though he still had to struggle to make sense of them.

"I told you it was dangerous," hissed the voice on the left.

"Oh, don't even start, Ronald," replied the right and feminine one. "The rite itself was not the problem—clearly, as I am fine. I think—for the sixth time—that the Goddess tried to purify Voldemort—grow up—through Harry's connection with him."

"And she obviously was not successful," Ron pointed out with a tone of expectation. There was sort of a smug satisfaction amidst the words that Harry knew he would be upset with had the pain not made him apathetic towards everything.

"What is that supposed to mean," Hermione demanded waspishly.

"I guess your 'goddess' isn't as all-powerful as you thought."

"I never said that!"

"You implied it!"

"Do you even know the meaning of the word 'imply'?"

"That's—"

"Utterly inappropriate? I know, but so was your comment." This statement was followed by a gusty sigh and a familiar-sounding intake of breath. Harry could picture the little gesture that she would be making with her hands as she sought to calm herself. The two certainly fought enough that he, their middle man, knew what to expect. When Hermione spoke next, it was indeed much calmer, and also very resigned. "Look, Ron, it's been a long day and we're both tired and hungry. Why don't we call it a night and discuss this when our tempers are less frayed?"

"Hermione—"

"Ronald, please."

"Fine," Ron snapped irritatedly. Harry felt more than heard the stomps across the room, but the slamming of the door was especially loud in the tense silence. Harry wanted to shift uncomfortably but his body did not seem to respond to his mental commands. He didn't even jump when Kreacher's voice broke the atmosphere.

"Does Missy Granger need anything before Kreacher goes to clean up the feast?"

A stranger feeling of pride bubbled within Harry at the respectful tone in the little house elf's voice. This tone was a long sought achievement that Harry had more or less became resigned to never getting Kreacher to use for anyone other than himself—well, no one living at the very least. Kreacher's respect apparently struck a chord within Hermione as well because he heard a swallowed sob that sounded like it may have contained the words "oh, Kreacher", abet in a strangled way.

"Missy Granger looks like a filthy blood traitor when she cries. She mustn't shame herself so!"

And there went the warm burst of feeling…but it clearly had a positive effect on Hermione because the choked sounds immediately ceased and when she next spoke, her voice was firm and strong despite the fact that it was still thick with unshed tears.

"I could use one of the healing potions from the kitchen, Kreacher—the bright blue one. Harry's got to be in pain…"

If Kreacher made a reply, Harry didn't hear it. A muted roaring like a rush of water filled his ears. It warmed him, but in a distant way as if he was detached from everything, which caused its own blossom of worry. As if sensing his distress, or perhaps to soothe her own, Hermione gripped his right hand tightly in both of hers. He felt the trio of hands lift until he felt something smooth and dry against his knuckles. His achy mind realized that the gesture must have been a kiss just as the warm air moved over the exposed portions of his hand. His eyes unexpectedly felt tight and itch as confusion, happiness, and sorrow swirled inside of him.

"Dear Goddess," Hermione said thickly to the empty room—unless she was really confused and was talking to Harry, but he somewhat doubted that theory. Hermione was never wrong, at least about the things that mattered. "I've never done this before—I don't know what to say or how to say it properly. Just please let him get better—he was my first friend, you know." Harry heard a few sniffly breaths before she continued, stronger than before. "I don't know what You did—whether You tried to purify Voldemort's magic, like I told Ron, or—" There was an audible swallow and Hermione's voice turned shaky. "Or if Harry was, somehow, a Horcrux himself. As much as I hate that thought, I have a feeling that it is true. Thank you—for Harry finding the purification ritual. Everything I've found before that had said that items needed to be destroyed—'damaged beyond repair' was the phrase. I can't—" Moisture spilled over his clutched fingers. Harry had never longed to move so much as he did in that moment—to offer some form of comfort to his friend who was obviously hurting from something. "Life without Harry would probably be safer, but emptier as well. There's this…this energy that he brings to everything he does. He's my best friend, my partner in crime—he makes me a better person just by being who he is. I need him in my life. So, yeah, thanks for purifying him and please let him get better. I don't know how to end this…um, amen?"

Darkness began to pull him under, but unlike before there was a calming aspect to the warmth that cocooned him in a way that reminded him of Mrs. Weasley's hugs…or Hermione's hands clenched tight around his. Something within him shifted and turned like a yogi changing stances. It was important, he knew, but he was too tired and too relaxed to focus on analyzing it.

When Harry next came out of the darkness, the pain was gone. There was a stiff feeling in its place, as if he had been in the same position too long after a strenuous activity. He stretched before he really thought about it and had to bite back a groan as his muscles protested the motion and threatened to seize up. Instantly, he felt a hand in his right one and another one brushing his hair away from his face soothingly.

"Harry," breathed Hermione. Harry sighed and blearily opened his eyes. Hermione's face hovered above his, close enough that he could clearly make out her relieved brownish-gold eyes though his eyes crossed shortly afterwards. He opened his mouth to say something and let out a strangled croak. He swallowed and tried again.

"Hermione," he managed with a thick, furry-feeling tongue. Harry floundered for a moment before he managed to get his arms under him and pushed. Hermione moved backwards out of his way, but assisted in helping him set up. She held a glass tumbler with a straw for him while he drank what he would have told anyone listening was the best tasting water he had ever had. He drained the cup with a rude-sounding slurping noise and grinned at the scrunching of her nose. "So what happened after I passed out? How much of a git has Ron been?"

"Only you, Harry, can wake up after three days and be more concerned about Ron's attitude than whether or not the ritual that made you unconscious in the first place worked," Hermione huffed. Harry winked at her. Her response somewhat shocked him. She launched herself across the little space separating, her arms wrapping themselves around his shoulders and pulling him tight against her chest. She was speaking, too fast and breathless to understand more than one word in half a dozen. Belatedly and unsure of what to do, he pulled her into his lap like he had once seen Fred do to Ginny in the common room after a particularly nasty rumor was spread about her. Harry rubbed Hermione's back in small circles just to have something to do with his hands. Whatever he was doing seemed to be working as Hermione's frantic words seemed to be slowing enough that he could actually make out the gist of what she was saying. He focused on calming her down to hide the fact that he was undecided between laughter and anger.

"Kreacher did what," Harry finally decided to ask. Hermione had shifted to where she actually sitting beside him on the bed with her legs draped over his. Her arms had released their near-stranglehold and lowered to his chest. Harry made sure to keep up the backrub. He didn't think he could handle a truly distraught Hermione. His skills in dealing with upset females were woefully stunted, after all.

"Locked him in his room and refuses to let him out for anything," Hermione said in a quick burst as if the words were under pressure. She sounded as mixed in her response as Harry was himself. "Nothing I said would get through to him! Kreacher just won't listen to me; just keeps telling me that you would deal with it when you woke up."

"And what set him off?"

"Um, well, we were fighting a lot—he was still against the ritual and thinks that we were stupid for doing it in the first place—he said something about how you deserved it—getting hurt, I mean," Hermione clarified all in one breath. Harry had the odd thought that this was really impressive. "And Kreacher heard and that was when he banished Ron to his room and locked him in. So he's been in there for two days now. Kreacher says that he's been 'taking care' of him, but you know Kreacher—that could mean anything. I haven't heard from Ron since I made an offhand comment about wishing he'd be quiet yesterday afternoon. Harry, I'm really worried. You don't think that Kreacher would actually hurt him, do you?"

"No, I don't," Harry reassured her. He patted her on the back one final time before disentangling himself from her and turning so that his back was to her, and his legs were over the edge of the bed. In a firm and even voice, he called out the house elf's name. The little being appeared instantly, his large yellow eyes staring calmly at Harry without a trace of remorse within them. Harry knew, just as he knew that Dobby would have been giddy with excitement, that Kreacher was not sorry about how he treated Ron and felt no need to either apologize for his behavior or punish himself. They looked at each other for a long moment, a master and a servant locked in silent but expressive communication. Then Harry spoke, each word causing a look of confusion to grow upon Kreacher's face. "You know that I'm not mad at you, but what you did was wrong, Kreacher. You will apologize to Ron after we go let him out."

"If Master thinks that would best," Kreacher replied carefully. His bat-like ears flapped once in agitation. He balled his little hands into fists at his sides as if he really just wanted to hit something at the thought of apologizing to his captive.

'As long as he doesn't argue,' Harry thought as he stood on shaky legs. He noted in some corner of his mind that he had been dressed somewhere along the line in pajama pants and a worn tee shirt that used to be Dudley's about four years ago so that it was close to fitting. Harry looked back at Hermione who was now sitting cross-legged on the bed. When he asked his question, he was only half joking.

"So, ready to face the Weasley wrath?"

Hermione bit her bottom lip, but nodded. He noticed that she looked really worn and her hair, which he hadn't seen this frizzy since fourth year, looked as if she had ran her hands through it too many times without a good brushing. He wondered if she had stayed beside him the entire time he was unconscious. Harry shot a querulous look at Kreacher who promptly nodded as if he had voiced a question aloud. Perhaps in house elf magic, he had. Harry held out a hand to help her stand up, which Hermione took with a grateful expression.

Without further ado, the pair made their way down the stairs to the second floor and the room where Ron was staying. It took Harry ordering him, but Kreacher released the enchantment sealing the door. The door slid open with a near-silent click. Hermione gave Harry's hand a squeeze—funny, he hadn't noticed that they were still holding hands—before letting go and pushing the door wider to enter the darkened room.

"Ron?"

The wizard in question didn't answer, but remained prone on his bed and glaring at the ceiling. The only sign that he made of hearing Hermione's softly voiced question was a tightening of his eyes. Harry had a bad feeling about this. Ron was not quiet when he was angry. He blew up, and then it was over. The last time that Harry had seen him with this expression of angry resolve was when Ron had turned his back on him during the Triwizard Tournament. The realization sat like a stone in the pit of Harry's gut. It grew to a boulder after Ron sat up and swung his legs off the bed. Without a word, the youngest Weasley son picked up a satchel sitting on the trunk at the foot of the bed. He stood facing them, stony faced and surprisingly calm.

"So," Harry finally asked in the silence, "you're leaving, then?"

"Harry! Ron wouldn't leave—he knows how important this is!"

But Hermione looked at Ron uncertainly as if she was trying to not come to the conclusion that Harry had. Harry wanted to be angry. He wanted to rage against the idea of his first friend abandoning him once more, but somehow, it seemed like it would be just so much like Ron to do it. Harry just wished that it didn't hurt quite so much. And he knew—he knew—that his pain would be nothing compared to what Hermione would feel.

"Fine," Hermione said in a huff of breath. Harry could see mixture of anger and hurt on her face and it made him sick. He longed to give her a hug and tell her that it would be alright, but knew that it wasn't the time for that. The Gryffindor witch charged forward and shoved at Ron. "Fine! Just go, you great prat! We don't need you!" She began to hammer on his shoulders and chest with her fists as if attempting to beat sense into him. Her voice, choked and pleading, had risen in her anger. "DO YOU HEAR ME? WE DON'T NEED YOU! SO JUST LEAVE ALREADY!"

Harry couldn't stand by any longer. He went forward and pulled the now sobbing woman away from Ron, who at least had the good grace to look sheepish. Hermione went limp in his arms and they sank together into a kneeling position. Ron stepped around them on his way out the door. Harry watched his retreat with a sorrowful resignation. When Ron looked back in the threshold, their eyes locked for a moment. Ron touched the doorframe with one hand and looked lost. Harry could see the waver and felt heartened by it, a moment of foolish hope that swelled within him.

"Fine," Ron agreed and that hope died a quiet death as Ron softly punched the frame before continuing through the door. Harry listened to his retreating footsteps, hoping against all evidence that it was not over, that Ron would turn around and say that he was sorry. Like an exclamation point, the front door slamming punctate the entire thing. Harry held Hermione tighter and focused on whispering useless platitudes into her hair.

It was the end of something and Harry didn't want to think about it or how he was seriously contemplating not taking Ron back this time. It was too much, too much for any seventeen-year-old to handle. But Ron was lucky. He could just walk out if he wanted. Harry didn't have that option. Oh, no, Harry was the Chosen One. Harry was stuck between predestined duty to a world that couldn't commit to a feeling for him and sheer cowardice.

At least he wasn't alone.

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Author's Note: So according my word processor, this chapter is 4,020 words long. I believe that is the record for this story. The story itself is 22,202 words long. I really feel like I should squeeze in exactly twenty words somewhere to make a straight line of twos...

I don't know if anyone has been paying attention to the chapter titles, but this one's (Berkano) I find ironic and humorous, in a snarky way. The rune 'Berkano' means, according to my source, new beginnings and new growth or in reverse, domestic troubles or family problems. The word 'berk' also means idiot. All of the above have their place for the Harry half of the chapter. Unfortunately, according to JK, Ron was the less mature of the Trio and let me just say, he is really showing it. I wonder what's going to make him and Harry bond this time since the Horcruxes are taken care of this time.

I would just like to say thank you to all my readers and favers and alerters out there, especially those that follow up with a review. Let me assure you that I do read every review, even the single word ones. And they are all appreciated.

Keep it up.

~Magi