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December 3: 1997
22 days until Christmas…
I'm staying. I'm staying.
Her words echoed in his head. Bouncing around, turning his field of vision red. He was walking off angrily, crashing through trees, as Hermione cried out for him.
Ron, come back!
He didn't glance backwards, didn't even slow down.
And she was crying. Because of him. Because he had hurt her.
He tried going back, but they were gone. Where did they go? Was she safe? Did she miss him? Or were she and Harry laughing at how stupid their friend had been?
The pounding of sea on sand outside Shell Cottage greeted Ron as he woke up. He lay staring at the whitewashed ceiling for the longest time before dragging himself out of bed. Sleepily, he flipped on the antiquated wooden radio sitting on his nightstand.
"This is Keith Rulyd, and we'll be back with more music right after the break: Celestina Warbeck, the Weird Sisters, and more. So stay tuned!" the radio blared.
"Ron."
He froze. It had been Hermione's voice. He'd know it anywhere.
"Ron…wand…broken…"
It was coming from his pocket, Ron realized, yanking out his Deluminator.
He clicked it, and the lamp on the dresser went out. But outside the window…
There was a round sphere of blue light, pulsating like a Portkey, beckoning him.
He nearly tripped over his own feet running downstairs.
Bill and Fleur were at the kitchen table, sipping coffee and talking in hushed voices.
"I have to leave," Ron blurted out.
Fleur looked up. "Whaz do you mean?"
"I have to," Ron forced himself to meet Bill's eyes. "I have to go back to Harry and Hermione. I think they need me."
"Your stuff's cleaned and everything. It's in the mudroom," Bill nodded. "Go do what you have to do."
"Bill! How could you…" Ron heard Fleur protesting as he grabbed his rucksack and hurried outside. But there was no time to waste.
The light was still waiting for him. As if sensing his presence it began to move towards the shed. Ron followed it cautiously, but he somehow knew that it wouldn't harm him. That it was just another thing Dumbledore had planned for all along.
He rounded the corner of the shack and stopped short. The light was floating towards him. Should he follow it? And then it floated right into his chest.
The unexpected warmth was a sharp contrast from the frigid air. It was the kind of feeling you got after downing five Butterbeers in a row. The kind of feeling he got when he heard Hermione's laugh or felt her soft touch. When she rolled her eyes at him when he was stupid or smiled when they danced.
He realized in his heart that wherever he went, he wouldn't be home until he was with her.
The Portkey light's warmth spread through him, from his fingertips to toes, and he knew what he had to do.
He closed his eyes and Disapparated.