This and the next few chapters beyond this are gonna have a combination of Deathly Hallows writing, as well as some of my other writing from my other fics. Maybe. Some of my one shots, especially the one I made about Ron leaving, feel like they really fit in this story.

So if you see something that's familiar, that is why.

Also, along with some other missing moments, Imma slip a movie moment in here. It was actually a deleted scene THAT THEY SHOULD HAVE KEPT IN THERE, but it's still cute and I want it here.

These next few chapters are what I have been waiting for.

Also, this chapter, being The Goblin's Revenge is the book, has been split up into multiple chapters. Some are much longer than others. My question to yall is do yall enjoy the really long chapters?

Anyways on with the fic!

Chapter 204: Best Vacation Ever...Not!

I did not sign up for this lovely vacation.

The next morning, I woke up to Hermione prodding me gently, her voice soft but insistent. "Ron, come on, wake up."

I groaned, cracking open one eye to see her leaning over me. Her hair was tied back, but a few wild curls had escaped, framing her face. She gave me a small smile, and despite everything, I managed to muster one back.

"Morning," she said.

"Morning back," I muttered, sitting up slowly. My arm still throbbed, but at least I wasn't seeing stars anymore. "How're you feeling?"

"A bit peaky, as Mum would say," I replied, trying for a chuckle. "But I'll feel loads better with a bacon sandwich."

Hermione winced. "Sorry to tell you, there isn't any bacon around."

Of course there wasn't. Why would there be bacon when we were living off mushrooms and barely edible scraps? I sighed but didn't argue.

"We don't have time to focus on bacon anyway," Harry's voice came from the doorway as he stepped out of the bathroom, looking every bit as exhausted as I felt. "We need to move."

"Move?" I asked, blinking at him as I swung my legs over the side of the bed. My body protested, but I forced myself to stand. "Why? Did something happen?"

"Nothing yet," Harry said, glancing at Hermione, who was already packing up. "But it's better if we don't stay in one place too long. Someone could find us."

Hermione nodded, her hands moving quickly as she stuffed items into her bag. "The wards are good, but I don't trust them entirely. It's safer if we keep moving."

I groaned, rubbing my face. Moving again. My body ached, my stomach was growling, and all I wanted was to sit down for five bloody minutes without having to worry about who might be trying to kill us. But I couldn't argue with their logic. "Fine," I muttered, stretching on my way to the bathroom. "But let's make sure wherever we're going has access to a bacon sandwich."

Neither of them laughed. Typical.

After we freshened up, we went outside to break down the tent. The air was crisp, cold enough to sting my nose, and the silence of the clearing felt heavy—too heavy. Hermione moved like clockwork, her wand flashing as she murmured incantations to strip away the protective enchantments she'd placed the night before. I watched her for a moment, always so bloody precise about everything, before Harry and I got to work.

The ground was damp underfoot as we erased every trace of us being there. Scuff marks, footprints, even the faint impressions left by the tent pegs—gone. It was tedious, and my arm ached like hell, but I pushed through it. No sense in leaving breadcrumbs for Death Eaters.

When we finished, the three of us stood in a loose circle. Harry gave a quick nod, and with a sharp crack, we Disapparated. The world twisted and squeezed around me, and a second later, we landed on the outskirts of a small market town.

We found a grove of trees just off the beaten path and set up camp again. Hermione cast the wards—her voice steady, controlled, despite the tension that seemed to radiate from all of us. Harry announced he was heading into town under the Invisibility Cloak to find food, and before either of us could object, he disappeared into the trees.

I dropped into one of the chairs in the tent, rubbing my arm absently. The silence felt heavier now. I glanced at Hermione, who was tidying up unnecessarily—rearranging the same few items on the small table, over and over. "Relax, would you?" I said, leaning back in the chair. "Harry'll be fine."

She didn't respond, just gave me a tight-lipped look and went back to her fussing. I sighed, letting my head fall back against the chair.

It wasn't long before Harry came bursting back into the tent, looking pale and rattled. He yanked the cloak off and threw himself into a chair, his breaths coming fast and shallow.

"What happened?" Hermione asked, rushing over to him.

"Dementors," he panted, running a hand through his hair.

"What?" I sat up straight, my stomach dropping. "What do you mean, Dementors? I thought you had your Patronus!"

"I couldn't make one," Harry said, his voice still breathless. "Wouldn't come."

I stared at him, disbelief and frustration bubbling up in equal measure. "What do you mean, it wouldn't come? You're brilliant at Patronuses! You managed fine yesterday!"

"I don't know," he snapped, slumping forward with his head in his hands.

The tension in the tent thickened. Hermione looked between us, her lips pressed tight like she was holding something back. I tried to keep a lid on it, but my stomach growled, and the frustration burst out of me.

"So we still haven't got any food," I muttered, crossing my arms.

"Shut up, Ron," Hermione snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut glass.

"What?" I snapped back, glaring at her. "I'm starving! All I've had since I bled half to death is a couple of bloody toadstools!"

"You go and fight your way through the Dementors, then," Harry shot back, his glare matching mine.

"I would, but my arm's in a bloody sling, in case you hadn't noticed!" I said, jabbing a finger at my left arm.

"That's convenient," Harry muttered under his breath.

"And what the fuck is that supposed to mean—"

"Of course!" Hermione cried suddenly, cutting through the brewing argument like a knife.

Both Harry and I fell silent, startled, as she clapped a hand to her forehead.

"Harry, give me the locket!" she said, holding out her hand impatiently. "Come on, you're still wearing it!"

Harry blinked at her, then reached up to lift the chain over his head. The moment he handed it to her, it was like watching a weight physically lift off his shoulders. He sat up straighter, his breathing evening out.

"Better?" Hermione asked, her voice softer now.

"Yeah," Harry said, sounding almost surprised. "Loads better."

Hermione studied the locket, her brow furrowed. "Harry," she said cautiously, crouching in front of him, "you don't think you've been possessed, do you?"

"What? No!" Harry said defensively. "I remember everything I've done while I've been wearing it. I wouldn't know what I'd done if I'd been possessed, would I? Ginny said she couldn't remember anything when it happened to her."

Hermione hummed thoughtfully, her fingers brushing over the locket. "Maybe we shouldn't wear it all the time," she said finally. "It's… it's doing something to us."

"We're not leaving it lying around," Harry said firmly, his tone brooking no argument. "If we lose it, or if it gets stolen—"

"Alright, alright," Hermione said quickly, looping the chain around her own neck and tucking the locket into her shirt. "But we'll take turns wearing it. Nobody keeps it on too long."

"Great," I muttered irritably, leaning back in my chair. "Now that we've sorted that out, can we please figure out how to get some food?"

Hermione shot me a sharp look but didn't argue. "Fine," she said, glancing at Harry. "But we'll go somewhere else. There's no point staying here if Dementors are nearby."

I sighed but didn't argue either. My stomach twisted, whether from hunger or the lingering weight of the argument, I couldn't tell. The locket might've been around Hermione's neck now, but it felt like it was still suffocating all of us.

The field we camped in next was quiet, almost too quiet, with only the faint rustle of grass in the breeze and the occasional hoot of an owl somewhere far off. After days of nothing but mushrooms and misery, the smell of scrambled eggs and toast wafting through the tent felt like a miracle. Proper food. Hot food. It was enough to make me forget, for a moment, the constant ache in my arm and the weight of that cursed locket we'd been passing around.

Hermione sat across from me at the little makeshift table, looking smug but also a bit unsure of herself. She had, of course, left money under the chicken coop to "make it right." Because only Hermione Granger would leave a farm payment in the dead of night while we were practically fugitives.

"It's not stealing, is it?" she asked, poking at her toast like it might argue with her. "Not if I left some money under the chicken coop?"

I rolled my eyes, smirking around a mouthful of food. "Er-my-nee, 'oo worry 'oo much. 'Elax!" I said, exaggerating the way she scolded me.

She gave me a stern look, but the corner of her mouth twitched. "Ron, chew your food before you talk. Honestly, you're worse than Crookshanks."

"Crookshanks doesn't talk," I shot back, swallowing my bite. "Though he probably would if he had to lecture me about 'morality of chicken eggs' or some rubbish."

Harry snorted into his tea, and Hermione gave me one of her infamous I'll hex you looks. I grinned, leaning back in my chair. "Anyway, I think the chickens would've happily donated the eggs. They probably would've handed over a loaf of bread, too, if you'd asked."

"You're impossible," Hermione muttered, though the faint smile gave her away.

Harry, finally looking like he wasn't on the verge of collapsing, leaned back in his chair too, cradling his mug. "This is better than mushrooms, though. You've got to admit it."

"Well, anything's better than mushrooms," I said, jabbing my fork toward him. "But it's still not a bacon sandwich, is it? You let us down, mate. No bacon, no sausages… I'd even take a bit of black pudding at this point."

Harry shook his head, grinning. "Right, because when I was running from Dementors, my first thought was, 'better find Ron some bacon.'"

"It should've been," I said. "If I were starving and splinched, you'd want me to think of your needs, wouldn't you?"

"Oh, yes, because you're known for putting others first, Ronald," Hermione cut in, rolling her eyes.

"Oi! That's unfair," I said, feigning offense. "I've risked life and limb for you two more times than I can count. You'd be lost without me."

"We wouldn't be starving," Hermione said with a smirk, earning a laugh from Harry.

Harry leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Speaking of being lost, Ron, remember that time you led us to the wrong section of the Forbidden Forest? What was it you said—'I'm great with directions'?"

"That was one time," I said defensively, though I couldn't help but laugh. "And who was it that got us out of there? Me. You're welcome, by the way."

"Right, after you lot ran into a nest of Acromantulas," Hermione said, raising an eyebrow.

"That was character-building!" I said, grinning. "Besides, Harry survived, didn't he? Mostly because he was too scared to breathe."

"I wasn't scared," Harry said, though his grin gave him away. "I was—uh—being strategic. Planning our escape."

"Sure, mate," I said, laughing. "Strategic. That's what we'll call it."

Hermione chuckled softly, nibbling at her toast, but I could see the spark of amusement in her eyes. It was rare to see her this relaxed, and I wanted to keep the mood light for as long as I could.

"Harry," I said, grinning as I sipped my tea, "did you know that Parvati fancied you?"

Harry nearly choked on his tea, coughing and spluttering. "What? Come off it, she didn't!"

"She did," Hermione confirmed, her tone matter-of-fact. "She used to ask me all sorts of questions about you."

Harry's ears turned red, and I couldn't hold back my laugh. "Blimey, mate. You could've had your pick back then. Shame you blew it by being a rubbish date."

"I wasn't a rubbish date!" Harry said defensively, though he was grinning now.

"You didn't talk to her once after the mandatory waltz," Hermione pointed out, shaking her head.

"She didn't talk to me either," Harry muttered. "She spent the whole night with that Beauxbatons girl."

"Because you ignored her!" Hermione said, exasperated.

"Alright, alright," Harry said, throwing his hands up. "I get it. I was a rubbish date. Happy now?"

"Very," I said, smirking. "See? Admitting it is the first step."

Hermione laughed, shaking her head at the both of us. Harry grinned, and even I couldn't stop the chuckle that bubbled up. For the first time in days, the tension had lifted, and it felt like we were back at Hogwarts, just three friends taking the piss out of each other over dinner.

We kept the mood light for the rest of the night, even hanging around with Harry during part of his watch shift, swapping more stories and teasing him relentlessly. And for a little while, it felt like everything might actually be alright. It was the kind of moment I wished we could hold onto forever.

A full stomach meant good spirits, an empty one meant fighting. Hermione and Harry seemed to figure that out over time, but I'd known it for years. When I was hungry, it was like my patience was sucked out of me faster than the food on the Gryffindor table at dinner. And now, add the Horcrux to the mix, and I didn't just get irritable, I turned into a bloody troll.

It wasn't just hunger anymore, though. That thing around my neck, it… it did things to me. It didn't scream or talk, not exactly, but it might as well have. The moment it settled against my chest, it was like a weight—an invisible hand pressing down on my lungs, on my mind. It didn't make me hear voices, it made me hear my own, but twisted and dark. The kinds of thoughts you try to bury in the back of your mind, where you hope they'll stay hidden forever.

"So, where next?" That was always my question when it was my turn to wear it. It wasn't a genuine question; it was a demand, sharp and irritable. I wasn't really asking, just prodding at the frustration we all felt, making it worse because I couldn't stop myself.

But Harry and Hermione didn't know what it was like. How could they? It wasn't like I could explain it. Not in a way that made sense. They thought I was just moody or tired, maybe even annoyed at being stuck out here, going nowhere. They didn't realize that thing was ripping me apart from the inside out.

You know how you have thoughts in your head—your own voice, running through things, sorting them out? The Horcrux turned that into a battle. It was my voice, but twisted, cruel. It fed on every doubt, every insecurity I'd ever had, blowing them up until they were too big to ignore. Harry doesn't need you. Hermione doesn't want you. You're nothing but a burden, dragging them down. It whispered it all, over and over, like it wanted to carve those words into my soul.

And the worst part? It wasn't making things up. It was taking the doubts I already had, the fears I tried to push away, and shining a bloody spotlight on them. It reminded me of every time I'd felt like the odd one out, the second choice, the least important. It wasn't like Harry needed a best friend when he had the whole bloody world looking at him, and Hermione? She was too clever, too perfect for someone like me. At least, that's what the Horcrux kept telling me.

It made me lash out. Over stupid shit, over nothing. I could feel it happening, feel the anger rising in me like boiling water about to spill over, and I couldn't stop it. One minute I'd be fine, and the next, I'd be snapping at Hermione for breathing too loudly or glaring at Harry for existing. They'd give me looks, confused, hurt, but they didn't say much. Maybe they thought it was just me being me. But it wasn't. Not really.

The worst days were when I was hungry and wearing that bloody Horcrux. That's when the whispers got louder, when the frustration burned hotter. Every word out of Harry's mouth felt like a challenge, every glance from Hermione like a judgment. I knew it wasn't fair, I knew it wasn't them, but it didn't matter. The Horcrux didn't just weigh on my neck; it crawled into my head and made me believe the worst parts of myself. It twisted everything until I didn't know where it ended and I began.

And still, I didn't say a word. How could I? How do you explain that something's tearing you apart inside when you don't even know how to fight it? So I kept it to myself, buried it deep like I always did, and pretended it was fine. But it wasn't. Not by a long shot.

The problem with this whole Horcrux hunt was that it felt like we were going in circles. Harry and Hermione spent hours, and I mean hours, talking through the same theories over and over again, their voices hushed like they didn't want to disturb me. Newsflash: they weren't being subtle. Every time I looked over, there they were, heads close together, whispering and pointing at scraps of parchment, looking like they were solving the world's biggest puzzle. Which, I suppose, they kind of were. Still, it was starting to get on my nerves.

Maybe it was the Horcrux hanging around my neck, whispering its poison in my ear. Maybe it was the fact that we were starving half the time and living in a bloody tent in the middle of nowhere. Or maybe it was just me, tired of being the odd one out. Whatever it was, every time I saw them huddled together, it felt like they were speaking a language I didn't understand.

The conversations weren't even getting anywhere. Dumbledore had apparently told Harry that Voldemort had hidden the Horcruxes in places that were significant to him. Great. Fantastic. That narrowed it down to, oh, I don't know, his entire life. The orphanage where he grew up, Hogwarts where he went to school, Borgin and Burkes where he worked, Albania where he went into exile. The bloke might as well have left a note saying, "Good luck!"

"Yeah, let's go to Albania," I said sarcastically one night after it was brought up again. "Shouldn't take more than an afternoon to search an entire country."

"There can't be anything there," Hermione said, her tone sharp and exhausted. "He'd already made five of his Horcruxes before he went into exile, and Dumbledore was certain the snake is the sixth. We know the snake's not in Albania, it's usually with Vol—"

"Didn't I ask you to stop fucking saying that?" I growled, the words snapping out before I could stop them. I could feel the Horcrux pressing against my chest like it was trying to crawl inside me. "It feels like a bloody jinx, Hermione!"

"Fine!" she snapped back, glaring at me. "The snake is usually with You-Know-Who—happy?"

"Not particularly," I muttered, tugging at the chain of the locket. It felt like it was tightening, choking me even though it wasn't.

Harry, trying to play peacemaker, jumped in. "I can't see him hiding anything at Borgin and Burkes," he said, repeating the same point he'd made a hundred times before.

"Many… many times before," I muttered under my breath, earning a glare from Harry.

"Borgin and Burkes were experts at Dark objects," Harry continued, ignoring me. "They'd have recognized a Horcrux straightaway."

I let out a loud yawn, not even bothering to hide it. Harry glared at me harder. "I still reckon he might have hidden something at Hogwarts."

Hermione let out an exasperated sigh. "But Dumbledore would have found it, Harry!"

Harry's jaw tightened, and I knew exactly what was coming because he'd said it a million times. "Dumbledore said in front of me that he never assumed he knew all of Hogwarts' secrets. I'm telling you, if there was one place Vol—"

"Oi, what the fuck!" I shouted, cutting him off.

"YOU-KNOW-WHO, then!" Harry shouted back, his frustration spilling over. "If there was one place that was really important to You-Know-Who, it was Hogwarts!"

"Oh, come on," I scoffed, crossing my arms. "His school? Really?"

"Yeah, his school!" Harry snapped. "It was his first real home, the place that made him feel like he was special. It meant everything to him, and even after he left—"

"This is You-Know-Who we're talking about, right? Not you?" I said, raising an eyebrow. I tugged at the locket again, the weight of it pressing harder against me with every word.

Hermione jumped in, her voice calm but firm. "You told us that You-Know-Who asked Dumbledore to give him a job after he left," she said, looking at Harry.

"That's right," Harry said, nodding.

"And Dumbledore thought he only wanted to come back to try and find something—probably another founder's object to make into a Horcrux?" she pressed.

"Yeah," Harry said again, frowning.

"But he didn't get the job, did he?" Hermione said, her tone softening just a bit. "So he never got the chance to find a founder's object there and hide it in the school!"

Harry's shoulders slumped in defeat. "Okay, then," he muttered. "Forget Hogwarts."

I leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling of the tent as they fell silent. The tension in the air was thick enough to choke on, or maybe that was just the locket. Either way, I didn't have the energy to keep arguing. Let them sort it out. I just wanted the damn thing off my neck.

London was just as gray and miserable as I remembered, but it felt even worse now, skulking around under the Invisibility Cloak like criminals. The three of us crammed under its folds, jostling each other with every step, trying not to step on someone's heels. It was bloody uncomfortable. And all for what? A wild goose chase for a place that didn't even exist anymore.

Hermione had dragged us to some library where she managed to charm her way into the records. Typical Hermione, she couldn't resist a bit of research, even if the world was on fire around us. When she came back, clutching a scrap of paper and looking triumphant, I felt a flicker of hope. Maybe we were finally getting somewhere.

Nope.

The orphanage was gone, replaced with a tower block of offices that looked as depressing as I felt. We stood there, staring at the building like it might suddenly sprout a Horcrux if we stared hard enough. Hermione, bless her, couldn't let it go.

"We could try digging into the foundations?" she said, her voice small and uncertain.

"Yeah, and maybe we'll dig up some cursed rubble while we're at it," I muttered under my breath. I wasn't even trying to hide my annoyance anymore.

"He wouldn't have hidden a Horcrux here," Harry said, his tone flat and final. He sounded exhausted, and I didn't have it in me to argue. He was probably right. Voldemort wouldn't hide a piece of his soul in a place that no longer meant anything to anyone. Still, it felt like we were going in bloody circles.

After that, we just kept moving, Apparating from one lonely spot to another, like ghosts haunting the countryside. One night, we'd pitch the tent in a shadowy grove of trees; the next, we'd find ourselves on a wind-swept moor or crouched in the crevices of cliffs. Once, we ended up in this little pebbly cove, the kind of place that might've been nice if we weren't starving and paranoid about being caught. Every morning, we'd scrub away any trace of our presence, like we'd never been there, and then we'd do it all over again. Rinse and repeat.

The Horcrux made everything worse. We passed it around like some cursed baton, each of us dreading our turn. Twelve hours of fear, anxiety, and this overwhelming sense that something was crawling under your skin. I could feel it digging into my thoughts, whispering the worst of my fears back to me. I hated it. Hated how it made me feel like a stranger in my own body. Hated how it made me look at Harry and Hermione like they were against me.

Harry wasn't much better off. I could tell his scar was bothering him more lately. He'd try to hide it, but I wasn't blind. I'd catch him mid-wince, his hand twitching toward his forehead like he wanted to claw the pain away.

"What? What did you see?" I'd demand every time, my voice sharper than I intended.

"A face," Harry muttered, barely meeting my eyes. "The same face. The thief who stole from Gregorovitch."

And that was it. No new details, no progress, just the same damn thing over and over. I'd turn away, making no effort to hide my frustration. What was the point? I was tired of this mystery, tired of chasing shadows while the world crumbled around us.

But even as I grumbled and snapped, my mind kept drifting to my family. I couldn't stop worrying about them—Mum and Dad, the twins, Bill and Fleur. Charlie, but he was tending to dragons, so of course he was safe. And Ginny. My baby sister. Ginny, stuck at that school crawling with fucking Death Eaters. She was strong, sure, probably the strongest of all of us, but it didn't matter. I was her big brother. I was supposed to be there for her, and instead, I was here, wandering through Merlin-knew-where, chasing these bloody Horcruxes that felt more like a curse than a lead.

The guilt weighed on me almost as heavily as the locket. I felt like I was letting everyone down—Ginny, my parents, even Harry and Hermione. But what the hell could I do? We were all just fumbling in the dark, hoping we'd eventually stumble across the light.

The only times I would have a good time was when I was well fed, not wearing the bloody Horcrux, and spending alone time with Hermione.

The lake stretched out before us, calm and glassy, the kind of quiet that made you feel like you were the last people on earth. Harry was still out cold in the tent, snoring faintly from exhaustion. That left Hermione and me by the water's edge, her eyes darting across the surface like she was trying to figure out how it all worked.

"Alright, it's easy," I said, crouching down to pick up a flat, smooth stone. "You just flick your wrist like this and—" I let the rock go, and it skipped three, maybe four times before plopping into the water.

Hermione tilted her head, her arms crossed like she was scrutinizing my technique. "That's it? Just flick my wrist? It doesn't look that complicated."

"Go on, then," I said with a smirk, stepping back and folding my arms. "Show me how it's done, Professor."

She rolled her eyes but crouched down, picking up a rock that wasn't exactly flat. I didn't say anything, just waited. She lined herself up like she was about to cast a spell, muttered something to herself, and flung the rock… which went straight into the water with a loud plop. Not even the faintest skip.

"Brilliant," I said, biting back a laugh. "Really top notch work there, Hermione."

"Oh, shut up!" she said, laughing despite herself. She bent down to pick up another rock, this time one that actually had a chance. "It's harder than it looks."

"Only for some people," I teased, grinning as I crouched next to her. "Here, let me help you. You're holding it all wrong."

I moved behind her, taking her wrist lightly in my hand. She tensed for a second but didn't pull away. "You've got to flick it, not throw it. Like this." I guided her arm in the motion, slow and exaggerated. "It's all in the wrist, see?"

She glanced back at me over her shoulder, a little too close for comfort. I caught the faintest smile playing on her lips. "If this doesn't work, I'm blaming you."

"Fine by me," I said. "But it will. I'm a great teacher."

She snorted at that, pulling her hand back and flicking the rock into the lake. This time, it skipped once, maybe twice, before sinking. She gasped, turning to me with wide eyes. "I did it!"

"Barely," I said, unable to hide my grin. "That second skip was a bit dodgy."

"Oh, come on, Ron! I did it!" she said, playfully smacking my arm.

"Alright, alright, you did it," I said, holding up my hands in surrender. "But let's see you do it again. No pressure, though."

She stuck her tongue out at me, a rare sight, and I couldn't help but laugh. Hermione Granger, sticking her tongue out. She was really letting loose.

She picked up another rock, her face scrunched up in concentration. I couldn't stop myself from teasing her. "You're thinking too hard. It's not an exam, Hermione."

She threw the rock, and it skipped three times before sinking. She turned to me triumphantly. "Ha! Beat that!"

"Oh, it's on now," I said, grabbing another stone and sending it skimming across the lake. It bounced four times. I gave her a smug look. "Guess I win."

"Not fair! You've had years of practice!" she protested, laughing as she grabbed another rock and hurled it into the lake. It didn't even skip once, just plopped straight down.

"You've got to let it go, Hermione," I said, laughing. "Not everything's about being the best, you know."

"Oh, really? This from the boy who sulks when he loses a game of Wizard Chess?" she shot back, grinning.

"Well that must have been in a dream, because I never lose at chess," I said, puffing out my chest dramatically.

"You're impossible!" she said, laughing so hard now that she nearly dropped the next rock she picked up.

"Impossible and winning," I corrected, stepping toward her. Before she could protest, I grabbed her by the waist and lifted her off the ground.

"Ron!" she squealed, her laughter ringing out as I spun her around. "Put me down!"

"Not until you admit I'm better at skipping rocks!" I teased, spinning her faster. Her laughter was infectious, light and free, the kind of sound I hadn't heard from her in what felt like ages.

"Fine! Fine! You're better! Now put me down before I'm sick!" she said between giggles.

I set her back on her feet, but I couldn't stop staring at her, my hands still resting lightly on her waist. Her cheeks were flushed from laughing, and her eyes sparkled like they used to when we were back at Hogwarts, before everything went to hell. It hit me like a punch to the gut. I'd do anything to make her laugh like that again. Forever, if I could.

She caught me staring and raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"Nothing," I said quickly, stepping back and shoving my hands into my pockets. "You've got a good laugh, that's all."

Her smile softened, and for a second, neither of us said anything. The sound of the lake hitting at the shore filled the quiet space between us. Then, Harry's voice called out from the tent, snapping us back to reality.

I groaned. "And there goes the moment."

Hermione just laughed again, shaking her head as she turned toward the tent. But as I followed her back, I couldn't help but think about her laugh, about the way it lit up the world for a second. I'd do anything to hear it again. Anything.

As the days stretched into weeks, I was really growing even more tired of this bullshit of bouncing around and sometimes starving. We seemed to really have no direction nor clue as to where we were going.

And I full on said that to Hermione one night.

The tent was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of canvas and the faint crackle of the fire outside. Harry had gone off to fetch water, leaving Hermione and me alone at the little kitchen table. The light from Hermione's wand cast long shadows over the cramped space, making it feel even smaller. She sat across from me, her brow furrowed as she stared at her mug of tea, her fingers tracing the rim absently.

I leaned back in my chair, staring at the table as the words swirled around in my head, waiting to come out. Finally, I couldn't hold it in anymore. "Hermione," I said, keeping my voice low, "do you reckon Harry actually knows what he's doing?"

She looked up at me sharply, her expression immediately defensive. "Ron—"

"I'm not saying it to be a prat," I interrupted quickly, raising my hands in surrender. "It's just… we've been at this for weeks, and what have we got to show for it? A bloody locket that makes us all miserable and no clue how to destroy it. Feels like we're spinning our wheels, waiting for something to fall into our laps."

Hermione sighed, setting her mug down with a soft clink. "Harry's doing the best he can," she said, her tone calm but firm. "He's under so much pressure, Ron. More than we can imagine."

"I know that," I said, leaning forward and bracing my elbows on the table. "But it's not just his life on the line, is it? It's all of us. You. Me. And sometimes it feels like he's… I dunno, flying blind."

Her fingers fidgeted with the edge of her sleeve, a telltale sign she was thinking hard. "It's not like we have a roadmap," she said finally. "Dumbledore didn't leave us instructions—just clues. Harry's trying to piece it together, and we're here to help him."

I let out a bitter laugh. "Yeah, some help I've been. Splinched and useless half the time. Meanwhile, you're running yourself ragged trying to keep us alive, and Harry's… well, Harry's pacing around like the answer's going to fall out of the sky."

"You're not useless," she said sharply, her eyes locking onto mine. "Don't ever say that again, Ron."

I blinked, caught off guard by the intensity in her voice. "I'm just saying," I muttered, looking down at the table. "Maybe we're going about this the wrong way. Maybe we need to regroup, you know? Go back to the Burrow, get our heads on straight. Even just for a few days."

Hermione's face softened, but there was a tension in her shoulders that didn't ease. "You know we can't do that," she said quietly. "Going back to the Burrow would put everyone there in danger. You-Know-Who's people are probably watching it day and night. If we go there, it'll lead them straight to your family."

I rubbed the back of my neck, the guilt creeping in. She was right, of course. I knew that. But still… "I just hate this," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. "I hate seeing you and Harry like this. You're both exhausted, and I can't do anything to fix it. Feels like we're just waiting to fall apart."

Hermione reached across the table, her hand brushing against mine. Her touch was warm, steady. "We'll figure it out, Ron," she said softly, her voice full of quiet determination. "We've always figured it out. And we will again. I know it feels hopeless right now, but we can't give up. Not now."

I looked up at her, meeting her gaze. The worry in her eyes mirrored my own, but there was something else there too—something that made me feel like maybe, just maybe, we could get through this.

Before I could say anything, the sound of boots crunching outside the tent made us both freeze. A moment later, the flap opened, and Harry stepped inside, the bucket of water in one hand and his wand in the other.

He glanced between the two of us, his expression wary. "What were you two talking about?" he asked, his voice casual but edged with suspicion.

"Nothing," Hermione said quickly, standing and moving to take the bucket from him. "Just figuring out what we'll do for dinner."

I nodded, forcing a grin. "Yeah. Mushrooms again, I reckon. Can't wait."

Harry didn't look convinced, but he didn't press it. He just set the bucket down and muttered something about needing to check the Sneakoscope. Hermione gave me a quick glance, her lips pressed into a thin line, before turning away.

I sat there for a moment, my thoughts spinning. I wasn't sure if we'd done the right thing by keeping it from him, but what was I supposed to say? Hey, Harry, do you actually know what the hell we're doing? Because we're not so sure anymore.

No. Some things were better left unsaid. For now, anyway.