Just Shut Up, Harry by Bexis

Rating: PG
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 7
Published: 24/10/2007
Last Updated: 24/10/2007
Status: Completed

A ficlet. I really liked everything about Deathly Hallows except the ships. But how to go about
making the necessary changes while doing the least amount of damage to the rest? This rewrite of
portions of Chapter 19 is my attempt. The basic premise, that for Ron to have come back at all, he
had to have decided to accept certain things, has been after me for week. It just would not let me
rest until I let it out, so I did. One shot




1. Just Shut Up, Harry
----------------------



**Just Shut Up, Harry**

After the ordeal, Harry had no strength left. He couldn't even lift his head to see who had
saved him from ending his life in some unnamed frozen pond. All he knew is that it could not have
been Hermione. She was strong, but not that strong.

Gasping for breath and shivering with cold, he touched a quavering hand to his throat, feeling
for the locket that had burned and torn his flesh is its attempt to strangle him. He felt - nothing
- just a raw and painful wound. The locket was gone, cut away doubtless by whomever had saved
him.

From behind and above, a voice declared, panting but not nearly as badly as Harry, “Are you
bloody … mental…?”

That voice struck him like an electric shock. Somewhere Harry found the strength, first to roll
over and then to sit up. His savior did not try to help him. Harry looked up as Ron Weasley's
image swam into view. Ron stood before him, soaked to the skin and shivering. His scraggly red hair
dripped cold water. In one hand he held the sword of Gryffindor, and in the other the locket, which
still jiggled dangerously at the end of its broken chain.

“Bloody *hell*…. Bloody effing *hell*,” Ron gasped as he tried to remain upright.
Finally he gave up, tossed the locket aside and stabbed the sword angrily into the mostly frozen
ground so he had something to lean on.

“Ron … I.…” That was all Harry was able to choke out before he started to cough. Almost
immediately his gorge rose and he vomited. Still too weak to move quickly, Harry soiled himself
before collapsing. Ron rushed to him, turned Harry over and thumped him forcefully on the back.
Finally Harry stopped retching, coughing, or anything else and just lay calmly in his friend's
arms.

“Now, let's clean you up a bit,” Ron said more gently, as he reached towards his back
pocket.

“Wand … over there….” Harry said indistinctly, pointing to where he had left his clothes and
Hermione's wand.

“Not to worry,” Ron waved him off. “Brought my own, I did.”

First he cleaned Harry up. Then he started drying him off with some sort of Heating Charm. While
doing that, he berated Harry, “I can't believe you, mate. Why didn't you take that bloody
thing off before going in there? Were you *trying* to kill yourself?”

Harry was speechless. The silver doe had been a surprise, to be sure, but it paled into
insignificance compared to Ron's providential reappearance. He still could not believe it. He
reached up and grabbed the redhead's shoulder, hard, and refused to let go. “Ron … you're
back.” He said those words as if expecting his rescuer to vanish from sight in a puff of smoke -
like the next minute he would wake up again in that miserable tent with little hope and even fewer
ideas.

“Yeah, I'm back, and a bloody good thing for you that I am,” Ron replied carefully. He
stopped casting any more spells. Instead, he brought his wand hand across his chest and laid it
Harry's, which still gripped his shoulder. “C'mon, we need to get you back together.”

Ron aimed his wand towards where Harry had pointed not long before. “*Accio
C**lothes*.” Harry's clothes, mercifully still dry, came flying.

Harry was still dumbfounded. Ron - who had abandoned them in a towering rage, had suddenly
returned - just in time to dive into a freezing pool to save Harry's life. Not only that, Ron
had also retrieved the Sword of Gryffindor. Harry could see it still stuck in the ground just
behind Ron.

Gesturing feebly at the sword, Harry said, “Y-you got … that?” when he finally regained enough
composure to talk.

“Last time I looked … yeah,” Ron replied carefully, as if unsure whether Harry was all
there.

“Cast that doe, too?”

“Oh hell, no,” Ron spluttered. “No way that one was mine. Thought it was you, actually.”

“Mine's a stag, Ron.”

Ron shook his head. “I thought something was off. No antlers and all….”

“Who, then?”

“Haven't a bloody clue. She … Hermione could do it, but it's not her shape either.” As
Ron mentioned her name, Harry thought his voice might crack, but it didn't.

Once he finished dressing, Harry couldn't help but get to the point. “Umm … what brings you
back here?”

Evidently, that was not a subject that Ron was hoping to address right away - if ever.

“Well … er … I - I've come back, you know. I've done some, well … a lot, of thinking,
and I…. If - ” For a moment he stopped completely, as if at a loss over what he should say next.
“That is - you know - if you'll have me back. If I'm still wanted….”

Ron paused as his face got redder and redder. He seemed, almost bashful.

The pause grew oppressive. Like some great barrier, almost impossible to see over, Ron's
angry departure loomed between them. Harry felt the unsettling heat of bile rising within him. That
departure had hurt him … hurt the both of them … more than Ron could ever know.

But now he was back - and not just back. The undeniable truth was that Ron had not only
returned, but that his first act upon returning had been to save Harry's life.

Ron seemed to find his feet exceedingly interesting as he waited, in effect, for Harry to pass
judgment.

Harry tried to avoid that responsibility. “I don't understand, Ron,” he said slowly. “I
mean, how were you able to get here? How could you even find us? I thought our spells were better
than that….”

“Painfully long story,” Ron sighed. He seemed relieved that Harry hadn't chucked him out
straightaway - of course he knew as well as anyone that Harry would be the easy one. He would
understand. “I've been stumbling about in these damn woods looking for you for most of the day.
It was uncanny. Just when I was ready to look for some place sheltered to turn in for the night,
here comes that glowing deer … and then you right behind….”

“You didn't see anyone?”

“Nope, somebody could have hidden over there.” Ron pointed to a pair of oak trees that grew so
close together that the tiny gap between them made an ideal hideout for spying. “But they
didn't.”

“You checked?”

“I hid there.”

“Why, Ron?”

“Well, it was weird, what I was seeing,” Ron tried to explain. “That Patronus, and then you of
all people following it…. You looked rather busy with that - and I wasn't sure if you were -
well … er … alone. That was what I was wondering. So I just dipped out of sight behind the trees to
see what would happen…. I was going to come out, once it became clear…. Well, actually, I hoped to
talk to you first….”

“You really hurt her,” Harry said flatly. “I don't think you have the slightest idea how
badly.” He said this while walking towards him.

Ron took a step back, and then another. “I wouldn't go that far. I had plenty of time to
think about that, believe me,” he replied. “I was, well - I was … SHITE!”

Still backpedaling, Ron tripped over the Sword of Gryffindor, which was still jutting from the
frosty, the leaf-littered ground. He fell on his backside, while the sword remained upright,
quivering whilst the ruby encrusted hilt seemed almost to glow from within.

Ron stayed where he fell, looking up at Harry. He didn't think Harry would try to hit him or
hex him whilst down. He switched to a more comfortable topic. “How did this bloody sword get into
that pool in the first place?”

Harry shrugged. “Can't say. I reckon whoever cast the Patronus put it there, and then led me
to it.”

“Why?”

“No bloody idea.”

Ron reached forward and put his hand around the inviting hilt. “So, do you think it's the
real thing?”

“I know how we could find out,” Harry replied. He stooped and retrieved the locket. He could
feel it vibrating - trembling almost. It was as if that bit of Voldemort's soul inside had
heard him and knew exactly what he was thinking. But then, that thing had sensed the sword's
presence before, and had tried to kill him before he could get it. That alone gave Harry a pretty
good idea that the sword Ron retrieved was exactly what it appeared to be.

So Harry made a decision. “No time like the present, I guess.”

It was time to finish off the locket - if they ever could, it would be using this. He spied part
of what looked like a conveniently flat rock poking out of a snowpile. It was just in front of the
double oak tree behind which Ron had recently hidden.

“Ron, bring the sword,” Harry told his friend. Turning, Harry took a few steps, bent over, and
brushed the snow away. He had just knelt down to place the Horcrux on the stone when he felt
something poke him in the ribs.

Ron, holding the sword gingerly by the blade, was offering it to Harry.

“Don't think so,” Harry said as he looked at Ron. “You should do it.”

“M-me?” Ron squeaked, recoiling from the thought.

“Yup. You got it out of that pond when I couldn't. You got the locket away from me when I
couldn't. So I reckon that means that you're supposed to do it.”

It was not deference to his newly returned friend. Nor was it kindness. It was instinct, and
right now Harry trusted his instinct. Instinct had told him that the doe Patronus was not
dangerous. Instinct told him now that the sword was real. And instinct told him that that, because
Ron had retrieved the sword, he was the one destined to wield it.

Instinct did not help Ron, though. Nervously, almost painfully, he moved the sword's blade
is some sort of vague chopping movement.

“No, Ron, I think you have to stab it,” Harry instructed, trying to remain calm. “Once I open
it, I want you to run it through. Got that? I know from the last time I dealt with one of these
that it won't go quietly. Do it quickly, otherwise it may try to kill you, just like that bit
of Riddle in the diary tried to kill me….”

Now it was Ron who looked like he might just hurl. “You sure, Harry? I mean this … this is sort
of what you do best, isn't it?”

“Not this time, I don't think.”

“How - how can you even get it open?”

“Well, with the diary I used Parseltongue,” Harry answered slowly and deliberately, “so
that's what I'm going to try.” Again, it was instinct. The diary. The encounter with
Nagini. The snake-like “S” engraved on the locket itself. The glint of the green stones that formed
the “S”. It all fit, and it would be extremely easy for Harry to see - and address - it as a snake.
Much easier than a bathroom fixture, for that matter….

Harry knelt with the locket in front him. He held the pulsating object in both hands whilst
looking at it intensely.

“No, Harry, don't,” protested Ron. “Leave it closed. I mean it….”

“Hell no, Ron,” Harry barked at him - trying to stiffen his prodigal friend's spine.
“It's time to get this over with. If we don't, it will only drive us - you - crazy again.
You know it. We can't allow it to make you run away again.”

“You do it then,” Ron squealed back. “I'll hold. You kill it.”

“Why the hell…?”

“I can't,” Ron protested anew. “It … it … I think it possessed me! I can't handle it.
Your mind's just stronger that way than mine. Look what it made me do before. It made me feel …
think all kinds of stuff that I shouldn't have. You said it yourself. It made me hurt you - and
her - really badly. I don't want to do that again, I'm just not that strong, like you and
Hermione. I can't do it! Please, Harry. You're the bloody hero….”

Ron was backing off, dragging the sword through the snow. His face was white as a sheet.

“You can do this, Ron, I know it,” Harry cajoled. “You just got the sword when I couldn't.
Hell, you just saved my life. That thing would've killed me. It's fate. It has to be you.”
Then Harry's voice hardened. “If you want us - her - to accept you back, you *have* to do
this. Please, Ron. Do the right thing.”

Ron swallowed so hard that Harry heard him. Something he said - whether it was the flattery or
the threat, Harry didn't know - had gotten through. Ron steadied himself and grasped the
glittering sword with both hands. Still, Ron was breathing almost as hard as the moment that
he'd dragged Harry from his would-be watery grave.

Staring at the locket on the stone, Ron muttered, “OK, you win - like always. Just tell me
when.”

Harry tried to speak far more calmly than he felt. This thing he was holding could very well
blow up in his face. “I'm going to count to three,” he said, looking at Ron. Then he looked
down and concentrated fiercely on the “S” in the locket. By now, he had to clutch the thing with
both hands simply to keep it still. “Then I'm going to command it to open in Parseltongue. The
moment you see it open, stab it.”

“One … two … three….” Then Ron heard the same sort of strangled hiss he remembered from so many
years before in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

The locket appeared to glow as it popped apart with a surprisingly innocent click. Then Ron saw
it - a lividly red and very much alive eye - a bit of Riddle/Voldemort's soul looking straight
at him, and practically through him, with a single reptilian pupil.

“Stab it,” Harry commanded, his voice low and deadly. As steadily as he could, Harry held the
locket out in front where Ron could get a good aim at it.

Ron tried. He clutched the sword like a meat cleaver, but his strength failed him. His hands
shook and with them the tip of the sword wavered inches in front of the fiercely staring eye. Harry
tried to align the locket with the swordpoint to make it easy to Ron, but it was impossible.

Harry growled, “Stab it, dammit.”

The eye morphed into a mouth, from which a forked tongue flicked. The mouth hissed, “*I have
seen your heart, and it is like mine….*”

“Don't listen to it,” Harry ordered. “It lies. Kill it!”

“*I see your dreams, Ronald Weasley. I see your hopes … your fears. All is possible. Your
greatest desires. Your deepest dreads. All possible….*”

Harry was shouting, “Stab! Now!” But Ron seemed transfixed. The point of the sword wobbled and
came to rest on the rock only inches away from its target. But those inches might just as well have
been miles. Ron could not tear his eyes away from the locket.

“*Your mother wanted a daughter, not you…. She couldn't love you like the others….*
*She named you Bilius.* *Nor can the girl love you. She prefers* *the other**. You
know that. You've always known that. Always the runnerup. The* *knight**, never the
king….*”

“Ron, you've got to do it - now!” Harry screamed at him. Finally, his shouts seemed to have
some effect. The sword lifted from the rock. It seemed like Ron was gathering his strength.

The locket started to burn. Smoke rose from the two windows on either side. The smoke seemed to
solidify - to harden. Like two hideous spectres, figures of Harry and Hermione began rising from
the locket, grotesquely malformed but distinctly recognizable.

Ron blanched in amazement and fear. He backed off a step, the fatal blade again retreating. The
figures kept growing, rising, until almost the complete forms of Harry and Hermione swayed in the
gloom, seemingly generating their own unearthly light.

Suddenly, the locket glowed white hot. It burnt Harry's fingers, and he reflexively dropped
it.

He wanted to shut the locket, but having let go of it, Harry had lost what little control he had
over the situation.

The voice of Voldemort was speaking through the misshapen mouth of the spectral Harry. “*Go
away. Why did you come back, anyway? We were better off without you … very well, indeed. Happy. You
were so pathetic it was laughable. A coward…. The one who ran away….*”

“Dammit Ron, STAB IT!!” Harry shouted futilely as his mind raced. If he didn't do
something…. This - this thing would attempt to possess his friend.

“*Pathetic*,” the Riddle-Hermione figure was speaking now. “*Nobody can see you when you
stand next to Harry Potter. What can you do? Belch slugs?* *He's the Boy Who Lived. You
are nothing, except comic relief. He's the Chosen One - and I have chosen….*”

Harry screamed, “Kill it. Kill it for what it's doing to you. It lies. It hates you.
You're my best friend! You always have been….”

His words seemed to have no effect. Ron was mesmerized - his eyes wide and unblinking. Harry
could even see the forms of himself and Hermione, doubly misshapen, reflected in his friend's
eyes. They joined in an evil duet.

He had to do something.

“*Your own mother told me*,” the Harry figure sneered, “*that* *she* *would
have preferred me to be P**refect, not you…. Would have preferred me as a son…. Or Hermione as
a daughter…. Anyone but you….*”

“*Your mother isn't the only one*,” the Hermione figure jeered. “*I've the same
preference.* *What* *woman could possibly want you when he's available* *-*
*certainly* *not me**. And he has been* *so* *available….*” The two
figures started writhing, like snakes. They intertwined and looped together in an evil embrace.
Their lips met - then their bodies started to join….

Ron gasped and almost stumbled, but he braced himself before falling. The sword pointed straight
out in front of him.

“AAAAAARRRRGGGHH!!” Harry's wild, half-crazed scream tore through the evening as, again,
instinct took over. He lunged at the locket. His hands sizzled as the white hot metal burnt them.
Using the stone as leverage, he hurled himself forward, straight at the razor sharp tip of the
sword.

If Ron couldn't bring himself to stab the locket with the sword, Harry would stab the sword
with the locket. There was a clank as metal met metal. Ron staggered but managed to push back,
providing the resistance that Harry had to have.

The locket gave an extended, earsplitting shriek as the sword point pierced it. Gouts of black
blood spurted onto the ragged patches of snow.

The locket split in half against the sword's cold steel. Harry screamed - this time in pain
- as the blade of the sword slashed along his wrists all the way up to his elbows.

A fiery flash erupted, followed by the loud report of an explosion. Harry was hurled backwards.
He struck the oak tree, hard, with his right side - hard enough to spin him completely around.
Harry landed face down in a nearby snowdrift, spread eagled. His gashed and bleeding arms quickly
tinted the snow crimson.

Ron, who was a bit farther away, landed hard on his bum, but the snow broke his fall, as well.
He held the sword in a deathgrip, too stunned to do anything more than stagger to his feet.

Above them, flames from the destruction of the Horcrux had set alight the overhanging oak, its
branches still choked with long dead leaves. The blaze overhead crackled merrily and bathed
everything in macabre firelight.

“Harry!! Harry!! HARRY!!!”

A familiar voice cried in the darkness. Holding a jar of bluebell flame in her hands, Hermione
came crashing through the underbrush, heedless of the branches and brambles that tore at her skin
and slashed at her clothes. She hurtled into the clearing, and her eyes took in an amazing,
terrible sight.

Ron!

But Ron was just standing there, unmoving and unresponsive, with a bloody sword in clutched
awkwardly in both hands. Ron looked as if he could not believe what he had just done.

A few metres away lay Harry's prone figure, bleeding profusely from his arms and more slowly
from another injury to his side. Something quite small lay smoking on the ground. But that wisp of
smoke was insignificant compared to the cloud rising from the burning canopy overhead.

Hermione drew the obvious conclusion - and at the same moment, saw something else lying
inconspicuously on the ground.

“RONALD WEASLEY, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO HARRY!?”

She hurled the jar of bluebell flames at him. Ron was too taken aback to duck, and it struck him
in the shoulder, knocking him backwards, if not down.

“Owww!”

“JUST BECAUSE I DECIDED TO STAY!!”

The next instant, Hermione flung herself to the ground. Grabbing her wand, which lay there
forgotten, she rolled over and came up pointing it squarely at Ron.

“DROP IT, OR I'LL MAKE YOU DROP IT!!” she screamed. “If you've killed him, then you damn
well better be ready to kill me too … because if he's dead, I swear I'll kill you!”

Ron gawked at her like she was a madwoman, but even in his nearly paralyzed state he had enough
sense to let the sword go clattering to the ground.

Once Ron no longer seemed like a threat, she ignored him.

Almost instantly she was kneeling over Harry. “Harry, you can't….” Gently, she rolled him
over. Then she gasped at what she saw. His forearms were both bloody messes, slit almost to his
elbows. She realized that Harry must have fought barehanded against a broadsword. His battered side
was covered with nasty blue-black bruises - from which bits of what looked like tree bark extruded.
“I can't….” His broken glasses had been jammed into his forehead hard enough to make him bleed
all across his eyebrows.

For a horrific instant, she feared he actually might be dead.

But he was breathing.

“Thank Merlin!” She allowed herself to breathe as well.

Frantically, Hermione began casting Coagulating Charms that staunched the flow of blood from the
long cuts on his arms. As best she could, she applied Analgesic Spells to Harry's other wounds.
Expertly, she fixed his glasses.

All the while, Ron Weasley just stood there and watched, too emotionally wrung out to do
anything - even to defend himself.

In one furious motion, Hermione stripped off her own outer robes and struggled to wrap Harry in
them, to keep him away from losing what body heat he had left to the snow.

Finally, her eyes flashing with indescribable anger, she turned again to Ron. “Why couldn't
you just stay away, instead of thinking you had to finish him off? Merlin damn you! What for?
We'll probably be dead soon enough anyway, without your having to hurry things along! He was
your friend. How could you…!?!”

His mouth hanging open, Ron found himself unable to say anything. His face was the colour of
overripe cottage cheese. His hands were outstretched as in supplication, as her harsh words flowed
over him.

A gurgling sound came from behind her. Immediately, Hermione whirled around. Once again she
banished all thoughts of Ron. Dropping to her knees, she cradled Harry's head in her arms.
“Don't worry, Harry, you'll be all right…. You have to be all right….”

She was suddenly aware of how much her overwhelming exhaustion was weighing her down. Hermione
was on the verge of bursting into tears.

Harry rasped, in a very low, very halting voice, “No…. Saved m'life…. Ron's good….
Saved. Locket's gone.… Horcrux … dead….”

Hermione eyes went wide as she caught the import of those words.

She did burst into tears.

“Oh … sweet … Merlin,” she started to howl. “Ron…!? I'm so sorry…. I jumped to the wrong
conclusion….”

Ron was emotionally wrung out himself. After his experience with the Horcrux, he was too tired
even to bicker with her - even though she had falsely accused him of something very heinous.
“S'OK, Hermione,” he murmured. “Can't blame you….” He took a step. In the eerie perspective
of the flickering fire light, Hermione couldn't tell in what direction.

“No, Ron! Don't go…! Not again!”

His step had been towards her and Harry.

“Don't worry, I'm not,” he said reassuringly, his head clearing. “But we really better
get him back to the tent, and I don't know where it is. In case you haven't noticed,
it's started to snow.”

A long, miserable night lay ahead. Harry had lost a great deal of blood, and he teetered back
and forth along the edge of unconsciousness. Hermione almost depleted her entire supply of Blood
Replenishing Potion.

Hermione feared for Harry's life every time he passed out. But when conscious, he was
wracked by pain, most acutely from his hands and fingers, where the scorching locket had burnt
patches of his skin clean away.

Hermione was no Healer, and burns were the hardest type of wound to restore. The Healing Charms
she placed on his hands were agonizingly slow to take effect, and her Analgesic Spells wore off all
too quickly, leaving Harry in torment before she could recast them.

And then there was Ron. Obediently and without objection, he did whatever she told him to do,
but otherwise he sat in the corner and sulked.

And Hermione was more than happy to let him sulk. Weeks ago, she had begged him to stay, and he
had left. Worse than that, he left the impression that it was her fault he had gone.

She would have happily ignored him, but that was impossible.

Tenaciously, Hermione dragged out of Ron - and Harry, when up to it - bits and pieces of
information about what had happened. For all her troubles, what she learnt only made her feel
conflicted. Ron had saved Harry's life, and then helped destroy the Horcrux.

And here she had gone off accusing him of trying to kill Harry out of sheer bloody-minded
jealousy.

Because of that, and only that, she decided not to hex him for leaving. She would try to be
civil to him - as long as he behaved himself.

That was all well and good, but it was hardly everything.

Beyond what they were able to tell her, she sensed that there lay something else, something she
knew not. It had to be something major - a huge something that neither Ron, nor even Harry, felt
comfortable discussing in her presence. She suspected the Horcrux. She knew it had defended itself.
That was the source of Harry's injuries. Just what that defense had entailed was something that
she had not been able to coax or cajole out of either of the two boys.

Finally, Harry was stable and sleeping. It was soon clear that neither she nor Ron would be able
to follow his lead without help. Thus, she carefully measured out some Dreamless Sleep Potion for
the two of them.

Of course, she gave Ron more than she gave herself. That was her way, even if she was furious at
him.

Hermione awoke the next morning before dawn. She needed to brew more Blood Replenishing Potion
from the ingredients in her purse. More importantly, she needed to forage. They were running out of
food as it was, and with Ron back there was another - notoriously insatiable - mouth to feed.

Most important of all, she wanted to make sure that she did not strangle Ronald Weasley in his
sleep - for leaving them in the lurch. With time, she might forgive him. But she would never forget
his massive betrayal of her trust.

She also thought that Harry and Ron needed to have a chat without her around.

Fortunately, only a couple of inches of new snow, light and powdery, had fallen overnight. She
brushed it away from the front of the tent and set up her collapsible cauldron. After filling it
with snow, she lit a low flame to melt some water for the potion.

Creeping back inside, she set an Alarm Charm that would go off whilst she was away foraging. She
checked Harry's wounds and satisfied herself that they were healing properly.

Asleep was the only time Harry looked at peace. She sighed and gave him a light kiss on his
still injured forehead.

Then she looked at Ron. He had left Harry, and her, to their fates.

She shook her head, but did restrain herself from spitting on him.

Neither of them woke, which to her was just as well.

Minutes later, trudging through the forest, Hermione came upon deer tracks leading over a rise
to her left. The new-fallen snow was worth something. It saved animal tracks of all kinds.

Not having a better idea, she followed the tracks. Maybe the deer would lead her to some edible
leaves, leftover seeds, or something….

Or something.

Hermione could hardly believe her eyes when the tracks circled around a crabapple tree. Its
higher branches were still laden with frozen, but still quite edible, fruit.

She gathered almost two pounds of it.

Making her way back to her original trail, Hermione encountered another set of tracks - made by
a large dog, or even a wolf.

More hesitantly, she decided to follow those - at least as long as they passed over relatively
open ground.

Once again, she was rewarded. The tracks led to the torn open remains of a Muggle rucksack. Its
khaki cloth had been largely ripped loose from the aluminium frame, and it reeked of animal urine
and feces. But Hermione could see what appeared to be intact plastic resealable bags inside, as
well as what looked like a Muggle entrenching tool.

So she held her breath and emptied the rucksack.

Bits of rancid meat and mouldy bread flopped to the ground - probably what had caused some
animal to drag the thing away in the first place. But as she shook it out, objects emerged that
Hermione, in her drastically reduced state, thought of as treasures.

A retractable ski pole.

Two intact bags of trail mix - the kind with candied chocolate drops.

Three undamaged granola bars.

A bag filled with little fast-food packets of salt, pepper, sugar, and even tea.

A Muggle first aid kit in a red, hard plastic container

A compass.

Two relatively clean towels.

Lots of empty resealable bags.

Just as she was pocketing her scavenged hoard, the tiny brown streak of a ground squirrel across
the snow caught her eye. It was gone, of course, by the time she turned fully around - but its
tracks remained.

She followed the tiny beast to its lair. Then another inspiration hit her. Pulling out the
entrenching tool, she dug out the nest - and found quite a cache of edible nuts, seeds, and dried
berries. She selected the best and placed them carefully in one of the empty plastic bags.

Over the next half an hour, she repeated that process twice more. It was surprisingly easy to
locate the nests, since the newly fallen snow faithfully preserved the smallest tracks.

Hermione was ready to go back to the tent when she heard a high-pitched growl to her left,
coming from behind a snow choked mound of high grass and brambles. Making her way around the snowy
mound, shovel in one hand and ski pole in the other, she saw a badger worrying a rabbit. The badger
saw her too. It immediately abandoned its prey and fled.

The rabbit was dying. With the entrenching tool, Hermione put it out of its misery. She
telescoped the ski pole and attached the carcass to it with a Fixing Charm.

Hermione was feeling rather pleased with herself as she approached the tent. She would have been
happy with anything edible - and she had returned with enough food for several days, and all of the
ingredients for rabbit stew. At least she would be able to give Ron a suitable welcoming meal,
including real tea - whether he deserved it or not.

From the voices, she could tell Harry and Ron were awake. They seemed to be chatting easily -
much more easily than they had with her around the night before.

She decided not to disturb them for the moment, since she needed to gut the rabbit and check on
the water for the potion.

From her beaded bag, she extracted a Swiss Army knife that her father had given her years
before. Finally, she could say that the two years she spent in the Girl Guides weren't a total
waste.

And she couldn't help but overhear.

Harry and Ron were talking … about her.

It was impossible for her not to listen.

* * * *

Harry knew that annoying sound well - and so did Ron. It was the Alarm Charm that Hermione
always set when they had to get up ridiculously early to do something that almost always turned out
to be ridiculously frustrating.

“Can't I have half an hour more, Hermione?” Harry moaned. Then he felt his hands. They were
heavily plastered, and the plaster was soaked with some ointment that smelled strongly of
camphor.

“Hermione?” Harry called out sleepily.

“She's not here … I don't think,” came Ron's equally groggy voice.

That's right, Ron was back.

But where was Hermione?

“Hermione!” Harry yelled more loudly as he tossed the ragged duvet off of him.

There was no answer.

“Oh, Merlin, where did she go?” Harry mumbled as he found his glasses and looked through the
tent flaps. There was no sign of her, just a cauldron full of half melted snow with one of her
trademark blue flames dancing beneath it.

“Oh, Merlin, where did she go?” Harry asked aloud again, this time more frantically. Even in his
badly injured state, it was painfully clear that Ron's sudden reappearance had thoroughly upset
Hermione - it was something about how she'd first encountered him. He worried out loud, “What
if she's finally had too much and left…?”

All Harry heard was Ron's semi-sarcastic chuckle. “She'd never leave you, mate.
That's what all this was about, wasn't it?”

“What do you mean, Ron?” Harry asked suspiciously.

Ron rolled his eyes. “I wanted to leave. She wanted to stay. I couldn't stand it any longer,
so I left. Stupidest thing I've ever done in my life….”

Harry wasn't inclined to disagree. “So you went back to the Burrow, then?” he asked, mostly
to make conversation - and to change the subject.

“Hell, no,” Ron grunted. “And admit to Mum and Dad that I'd done a runner? They'd just
have thought I was too scared to stay.”

“Where'd you go then?” Harry asked.

“I spent some time at Bill and Fleur's place,” Ron revealed. “He was disappointed in me, of
course, but he wasn't Mum and Dad. Then I got worried that my being there might put them in
danger. So for the last few days of it, I stayed in a cave that I've known about since I was a
kid - on the back of Stoatshead Hill. I could even see the Burrow, but I never went there. Instead,
I did a lot of thinking. Finally I decided I had to be a man about things…. You know, like that old
saving? `Sane enough to accept what can't be changed, brave enough to change what can be, and
clever enough to know the difference,' something like that.”

“I always hoped you'd come back,” Harry told him. “I checked the Map every night, afraid
that you'd gone back to Hogwarts. I knew if that happened, I'd lost you. So every night
I'd watch that dot named “Weasley” until bedtime. Thank Merlin it always went to the girl's
dorm. As long as that happened, I still had hope.”

Ron cracked a half smile and sighed. He asked a question to which he already thought he knew the
answer. “And did you tell Hermione that was what you were doing?”

“No, not really,” Harry admitted, as Ron rolled his eyes. “She never asked. She was just too
upset with your leaving … cried for days, she did. I didn't want to raise any false hopes….”
Harry snorted, “I'll bet she thought I was thinking about Ginny, but I wasn't. I was
watching after you, mate.”

“You're still a git, but I'm damn glad to be back, mate,” Ron said, holding out his
hand.

“You're an even bigger git. But I'm even gladder that you're here,” Harry replied,
pulling his friend into a rather stiff hug, since his hands and arms still hurt.

After their emotional reconnection, Harry drew back. He was confused. “How did you even find
us?” he asked. “I always thought Hermione's charms were really, really something.”

A very sarcastic retort made its way to the tip of Ron's tongue, but he bit it back. “They
are, only Dumbledore's were better.” He pulled a small silver object from his back pocket.

“That's the Deluminator,” Harry stated something obvious.

“Well, it does more than just turn lights on and off,” Ron explained. “It's sort of a homing
charm for you. It lets me hear your voices. Not only that, it directs me when I Apparate. I could
follow you, even if I couldn't see you or know exactly where you were. For that, I had to wait
and hope that you'd somehow find me….”

The next half hour or so was devoted to a detailed discussion about what each of them - but
especially Harry and Hermione, since they'd been more active - had done whilst they were
apart.

“So, she conjured flowers for you to put on your parents' graves?” Ron asked. It was a
question that needed no answer. “Damn, that's so bloody … Hermione….” Other than the faraway
look in his eyes, Ron's expression was unreadable.

“Er … Ron? I - I think I know why you left,” Harry began haltingly.

“Then I'm absolutely and positively sure that Hermione knows,” Ron groaned. “It's not
like I wasn't pretty damn obvious about it.”

“I - I, want you to know that … while you were gone - nothing happened,” Harry said earnestly.
“I wouldn't….”

Ron's sarcasm could no longer be restrained. “Now why am I bloody well not surprised?” Ron
cut Harry off. “What with you letting her think that you were pining over my sister every night
before bed.”

“I want you to know that what you saw last night was a lie,” Harry told him. “Just another of
V….”

Ron slapped a hand across Harry's mouth. “Don't say that name,” he ordered. “You know
damn well what happens….”

He looked into Ron's intense gaze and nodded. Harry was in great pain - and it wasn't
physical. He knew what had to be done, what had to be said, if he was to make sure that Ron was
going to stay. In his struggle to get that over with, he had almost used the Dark Lord's
name.

Ron dropped his hand.

“It was a lie,” Harry repeated. Grimly, he kept his mouth moving. “She cried for a week,” he
said. “Because of you. We could hardly talk. It was all I could do to get her out of bed some
mornings. With you gone….”

Harry had to stop. He'd sacrificed a lot to fight Voldemort, and if necessary he would
sacrifice his future. Ron was back, and for the three of them to have any chance of survival, Ron
had to stay. Harry fully realized just how much Ron's departure had cost them, and he was not
about to give Ron an excuse to leave again. There was no future without Ron, so what he wanted
didn't really matter, anyway.

At least that was the logic Harry used to convince himself. If he tried to save his future, Ron
would leave again, it would never be able to happen anyway.

“Ron, you need to know,” Harry choked out. “You've nothing to fear from that lie. Umm …
Hermione and I, well I….”

To Harry's surprise, Ron purpled. “Just shut up, Harry,” he growled, sounding almost like
Mad-Eye at his notorious worst.

“What?”

“Whatever you're planning to say, just … don't,” Ron repeated. “It wouldn't have any
more truth to it than You Know Who's rubbish, anyway.”

“Ron?”

Ron signed deeply and went on. “Like I said earlier, Harry, I had so much time to think whilst
alone in that cave. I decided to come back, that's it. I've accepted everything.
There's no fingers crossed behind my back. I made a mistake; I'm back; and that's my
decision - whether or not `something happened' while I was gone … as you so daftly put it.”

Harry was looking back at Ron with exactly the same slackjawed and stupid expression that Ron
had worn right after the Horcrux had been destroyed. “You mean, you don't…?”

“No, I don't mean that I don't,” Ron spat. “But I know better than to ruin everything
for something that was beyond my reach in the first place. You'll have to give me time…. But no
matter what, I'm not leaving again.”

“Ron, I've never allowed myself even to dream of it….”

“Then start. Don't go all bloody noble on me Harry,” Ron said with a clenched jaw. “That
only makes this harder. Are you dumb as well as blind? That was what made me leave, and it was on
display in all it's bloody glory again last night….”

“What?”

“Dammit, you are *everything* to her, Harry!” Ron practically shouted.

Harry finally didn't bother to deny it, “And - you're OK with that, then?”

“Not OK,” Ron told him. “I might never be OK, but I accept it, and I accept anywhere that leads.
That's the decision I had to make before I could come back.”

“I can't help it, Ron,” Harry said evenly. “Sorry.”

“Neither can I,” Ron replied, shaking his head. “Just - well - if you string my little sister
along after this, I'll have to kill you.”

Harry could hardly believe what he was hearing. If he had stood up, he might have floated out of
the tent without using magic. “All right, then,” he said, allowing himself the first hint of a
smile he had shown during this entire conversation. “But what did you mean by `on
display'?”

“Hah!” Ron gave a mirthless laugh. “I don't know if you were even conscious to hear it. But
she thought I'd tried to kill you because I was jealous. She told me … well … that if I'd
killed you, I'd have to kill her too. She doesn't want to live without you, Harry.”

“I - I don't want….”

“She'd die for you, and she'd kill for you,” Ron went on, “but most of all, I think - I
know - she wants to live for you. And leave it to you to be too damn daft to see it. She's
yours, Harry, and I was a bloody fool to think that could ever change.”

Harry was almost too choked up for words. “Ron, you are the best mate anybody could ever….”

There was a clatter as outside the tent - the sound of metal striking metal.

“Oh, blast…. *Scourgify*.”

“Hermione's back,” both of them said simultaneously.

27

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