Mad Snorkacks and Englishmen

Chapter 31: This Mess We’re In







That there

That’s not me

I go

Where I please

I walk through walls

I float down the liffey

I’m not here

This isn’t happening

I’m not here

I’m not here



In a little while

I’ll be gone

The moment’s already passed

Yeah, it’s gone

And I’m not here

This isn’t happening

I’m not here

I’m not here



----Radiohead, How To Disappear Completely









A few days earlier



He’d been sitting in the corner quietly brooding for the last two hours as the Death Eaters filtered in and out of the dining hall; the disciples giving updates to the Dark Lord before receiving their next set of orders and bounding off with much flourishing of capes. Everyone bore a look of importance as they greeted each other stepping into the foyer, sometimes speaking in low murmurs in the hallways, their shoulders broadcasting their tension just underneath the surface with the straight backed posture of men well acquainted in maintaining an expert façade. There was a sense of urgency, nonetheless, in the quickness of their steps with that hint of excitement glinting in their eyes as all around the idea that things were finally happening, victory most assuredly theirs, took hold of Voldemort’s followers like children waking up on Christmas day breathless to discover that Saint Nick had indeed come through, their stockings overflowing with bounty.





He was getting hungry; had actually been hungry for hours now, but was too terrified to move while still within the Dark Lord’s line of sight. His muscles ached and his left leg had fallen asleep from his stillness during the wait, but he was loath to bring any unnecessary attention to himself until such time that it was absolutely required. He knew that the monster perched regally on a makeshift throne would summon him eventually, once Ministry affairs had been tended to and strategies were reiterated to unctuous minions, but he was in no hurry to have an audience with the latest, creepiest avatar of Tom Riddle.





He felt a fly land on the clenched fist that rested in his lap; knuckles white from the intense grip, and glanced down to watch it crawl over his hand with a disinterested stare while somewhere in the rush of panicked thoughts flitting through his brain he wondered how the insect had made it into the manor. The temperature throughout the house was always at a comfortable degree to disguise the weather outside and never had he seen any bugs make it past the sealed exteriors. There shouldn’t even be any flying around outside in the thick of this winter snow, so it was a curious visitor, indeed. Feeling the creature’s light, fluttering movements across his skin reminded him of the reason he was here; waiting in the French Provincial high-backed chair in the hallway directly across from the open arch of the dining room for the Dark Lord to call his name, so that the leathery hand could once again reach out to curve around the crown of his head and he’d feel that ghostly slither over the grey matter he called a brain. The intrusion into his memories was a violation that he abhorred, yet he couldn’t even tell what the master Legilimens was looking for, anymore. Having all those images of Potter culled from his banks had been unsettling, but expected, somehow, yet there couldn’t have been much there to shed light on whatever Voldemort was after. What could he know about Potter’s plans, anyway?





His thoughts were momentarily sidetracked when he heard the arrival of someone new in the foyer’s Apparition point and soon a swishing of robes and footsteps signaled the visitors’ entrance into the hall leading to the Dark Lord’s court. He looked up with mild curiosity, but was startled to see his former Potions teacher, now the current Headmaster, appear before him, his face in that perpetual, scornful sneer. Snape glanced in his direction with a slight widening of the eyes before his focus returned to his destination. He saw the man being accompanied by Dolohov as their backs turned to him and they marched toward the Snakey One sitting at the head of the dining table surrounded by his sycophantic attendees. Voldemort swung his penetrating gaze to the men at once, and that slow, sickening smile crept across his face.





“Ah, Severus, to what do I owe this pleasure?” he hissed in feigned delight.





Snape gave a small tilt of the head in deference to the Dark Lord then straightened his shoulders as he began to speak. While he could no longer see the man’s expression the sharpness in Severus’ voice was telling, particularly since he was using it on their Master. Something was not going well at Hogwarts, he imagined.





“My Lord, I came with the small army escort surrounding your captive on the last part of their journey. One would think they were bringing you Merlin himself with all the security, instead of a fanciful girl still in her sixth year of school. I met up with the team in order to ensure her interview was handled effectively and that her incarceration into Azkaban was done with expediency and with…appropriate…measures.” He saw Dolohov’s profile as the weasely man flashed Snape an unpleasant grimace.





The Dark Lord narrowed the red slits standing in for eyes further while his ghoulish grin spread wider across his reptilian face. “Ah, my dear, intrepid Severus, how touching it is to see such obvious concern for the Lovegood brat, but I don’t recall asking to you to intercept her transport here or make any of this matter your business. I wonder; do you not have enough to keep you occupied at that school I let you run?” The Dark Lord’s voice remained cool and mocking, but there was no disguising the thread of menace in the undertone.





His ears pricked at the name, however, while he listened intently to the exchange. Loony Lovegood was here? Whatever for?, he pondered. His thoughts scurried in his head like rats exposed to light, looking for a plausible reason that would explain her capture. Was it something to do with Potter? The parading questions were loudly interrupted by Dolohov’s petulant whine.





“He’s interfering, my Lord! He had already instructed the Aurors appointed to retrieval to confiscate any belongings on the girl and have them delivered to him without my prior approval. This is an outrage! I’m supposed to be in charge of the prisoner’s interrogation, Master; you said I could!” The thin, angular man even stamped his foot for effect, adding to the impression of a six-year old child demanding more toffees.





“Antonin, do shut up and let the Headmaster answer me. I will not abide your infernal squawking,” the Dark Lord snarled, his irritation a momentary flash across his visage before the features settled back into a calm veneer and he icily stared down the stoic man in black before him.





Snape responded quickly and with an obsequious bow. “Please excuse any effrontery, my Lord; I only wished to assist with the effort to extract information. She is still one of my pupils and, therefore, my responsibility. Recalling her involvement with the Department of Mysteries fiasco and knowing that she is a good friend of the Potter fool, I thought I might be best suited to…cross-examine her, being her former teacher and familiar with her…idiosyncrasies. The child is an odd one, I daresay; she is very much like her father in that respect. Yet, she is not without a sharp intelligence. Collecting a useful dossier on the prisoner will be a delicate process, and you and I both know that my…colleague is hardly known for delicacy in any undertaking.”





Dolohov appeared ready to object but Voldemort immediately held up a hand to silence him. The Dark Lord’s gaze looked admiringly at Snape now, and he spoke with an air that was almost affectionate to the Potions master.





“I see, my friend. How very much a forward thinker you are; where would I be without your counsel, at times, Severus? Although, I am curious to know where you are gleaning the idea that I am holding her for information? My only aim is to shut down her father’s misguided attempt to smear us with his futile campaign. He should fold quietly once we tell him we have his daughter. She can rot in the cellar with Ollivander for all that it matters to me. But let us direct our attention to the only useful thing out of Dolohov’s mouth; namely that you are in possession of her belongings. Did you come across anything of importance on the traitor or not? Is there any more propaganda from her idiotic father’s rag that I should know about?” Voldemort looked expectantly at Snape who was silent for a moment.





If he didn’t know his professor so well, he might not have caught it, but he had seen it, he was sure. In that brief hesitation, he saw Snape’s shoulder slump just the tiniest bit; a tenseness pulling the man’s back taut right after. The Headmaster had been shocked by something in the Dark Lord’s pronouncements, he felt intuitively. He could detect in that mellifluous baritone an adjustment to the news as the teacher smoothly wove his words to appease the self-appointed sovereign.





“She was in possession of a shrunken copy of the upcoming edition of The Quibbler, my Lord. Xenophilius has reprinted the old interview with the boy but…there are more disturbing references to activities happening inside of the Ministry. It seems that we still have informants from within spilling highly classified state secrets. Lovegood must still have ties to employees from his time there; there can be no other explanation for it. Other than that, she carried only the meaningless detritus collected by a teenage girl.” There was another pause as the somber man seemed unsure of whether to proceed. “My Lord…it was my understanding that the daughter was being sent to Azkaban. Have you, in your infinite wisdom, decided against that plan?”





The Dark Lord gave another chilling grin. “Yes, I have, Severus. Why bother with all of the bureaucracy of Azkaban when I can just keep her here under my nose? But perhaps you are right, my dear friend, and there is more information to be gained by healthier methods. Perhaps instead of a ruthless interrogation, we need to utilize other means at our disposal. I’m thinking we might finally have a service for our dear charge, here, one that he won’t fuck up this time. What do you say, Draco? Do you feel you might finally be up to the task?”





The scaly man had directed his bright red eyes to regard him fully and Draco’s breathing stopped for several seconds under the scrutiny. Both Snape and Dolohov had turned to look back at him with the Dark Lord’s change of address and were staring as if just noticing his presence; Snape’s white face a stony mask, while Dolohov only blinked in surprise. Draco knew he had no choice in the matter, whatever Voldemort had deemed for him to do with Luna he would have to oblige to protect his family. Then again, the blond boy thought sullenly, maybe it was just as well. It was partly the stupid girl’s fault that he was in this predicament to begin with; if she hadn’t helped to get his father put away he wouldn’t be asked to do these things, right? He thought back to the times he’d spent with her on her knees before him and for the first time in weeks, a small smile crept up to the sides of his mouth. His voice rang out clearly to the others from where he still sat.





“I can handle this, my Lord.” Draco Malfoy suddenly had something to look forward to.





~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~o~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~





Ron grunted as he bent over to grab another good sized broken branch from the ground. The bundle in his arm was getting quite cumbersome but he wasn’t particularly looking forward to getting back to their camp just yet. The sun was out today and even with the snow on the forest floor almost blinding them with the shining glare he was happy to feel the warmth settle into his skin. He glanced over to his companion picking up firewood with him and smiled. He hadn’t been alone with Hermione since he’d been back, and while he’d been shy at first to set out with her at Harry’s urging, he’d quickly realized that now was his opportunity to break through the wall she’d erected between them and convince her that he was dead set on doing whatever it took to gain back her trust. It had been tough dealing with her frosty treatment towards him this past week but he had struggled to keep his temper in check and remained cowed by her continued rage. He had been a bit surprised at her reserves; he’d thought for sure he would have melted her stubbornness away by now.





Today, though, Hermione hadn’t made a point to give him a cold shoulder when they headed out to collect the timber. She was silent as they ambled through the woods, but seemed pensive instead of aloof and Ron contemplated where her thoughts might be drifting. Was she thinking about him even the slightest bit? He had felt the need to check on her expressions throughout their foraging to see if she appeared ready for some small talk. He decided to test the waters when he caught her staring at him the next time he bent down. She turned away the minute he stood up to look back at her, but he went ahead and engaged the willful girl cheerily, the heat in his body giving him a loopy feeling.





“So, where do you reckon we should be looking to next, ‘Mione? I keep thinking about that cup that could have belonged to Helga Hufflepuff. I tried to do some research on it when I was at Bill and Fleur’s, but they don’t have much of a library, I’m afraid. Do you think that should be our next item on the list? It sure sounds like something You-Know-Who would want for a Horcrux. What do you think?” He knew he was rambling a bit, but he didn’t care, anything to get her to respond to him.





The girl stopped what she was doing and gave him an odd look. “Bill and Fleur’s? That’s where you went to after the Snatchers?” she asked in a rising pitch with some incredulity. Ron’s expression froze for a moment before he nodded dumbly. Hermione only shook her head and sighed, a sound he was getting extremely familiar with, but seemed to accept it enough to make no further comment and get back to his question.





“I guess it’s as good an object to start with as any of our other possibilities,” she replied. “Although, in terms of a hiding place, we’re no closer to understanding how Riddle thinks than before the locket was destroyed. We could visit Little Hangleton, I suppose, but honestly, I don’t really want to go there. It could be another trap.” She shuddered for a moment but Ron had heard enough about their encounter at Godric’s Hollow to know it wasn’t from the cold. That gnawing guilt rose up again in his chest, but he tamped it down instantly and tried to stay positive.





“Well, do you think that there’s somewhere we can go to find the right books we need to get more information? Someplace that they won’t be actively looking for us, you know? I just don’t think that your book of fairy tales is going to be the resource we need. Although, Dumbledore knew what he was doing with the Deluminator, so maybe there’s something you’re missing?” He cringed inside when he realized what he’d just said, but Hermione didn’t get upset about it, merely seemed to be deeper in thought.





“I’ve looked and looked; it’s so maddening sometimes, like this simple puzzle that I just can’t put together.” She groaned, “Sometimes I just want to throw that book across the room!”





Ron couldn’t help but laugh at such a threat, and his face grew red when she suddenly glared at him with distrust. “I—uh, the picture of you throwing books. Uh, it was funny,” he stammered. Her mood softened at the explanation and then she gave a small smirk.





“I suppose it is. This is what months without a proper shower will do to me. I’m even threatening bodily harm to inanimate objects now,” she joked drily.





Ron was chuffed to see her in a lighter frame of mind and was swift to take advantage of it. Perhaps now he could inveigle his way back into her good graces. “Well, that may be so,” he began gallantly, “but you still look bang tidy, ‘Mione, even with your hair all wonky like that.” Her faint smile quickly downturned and his stomach plummeted. Why did he always have to stick his foot in his mouth? He scrambled to fix the damage.





“Um, I mean, I like your hair like that, there’s just a lot more of it than I recalled. Wonky looks good on you, though, I have to say,” he blurted, his eyes widened comically. It did not seem to be working; however, as the girl had let her affronted gaze wander away to the rest of the forest and then with another heavy sigh turned to walk in the opposite direction.





“Hermione! Hey, wait up!” He jogged up to her holding tightly to his bulky armload of twigs and resumed walking beside the moody girl as he apologized, not for the first time. Hell, not even for the eighth time in the last 48 hours. “Sorry, I’m a bit nervous around you, lately,” he admitted. Hermione gave him a doubtful look but kept quiet as she stomped forward. “I mean it; you’re very intimidating when you’re angry. I’m doing my best, ‘Mione.” She only rolled her eyes at that and Ron felt his ire spark again. The girl could be infuriating when she had a bee in her bonnet. “Look, there’s only so many ways I can apologize for leaving, alright? I promise you, I won’t do it again. Just give me a chance, Hermione. I won’t let you down this time.”





The determined witch ceased her stride and turned to gape at him, her eyes bearing the hurt she had felt at his departure, he knew. “How do I know that?” she shot back and this time her voice was husky and low. He wanted to reach down and kiss her in that moment to assure her of his loyalty, but he knew she would take it the wrong way; he hadn’t earned the right to do that yet.





“Because I promise,” he reiterated. “On my honor as a wizard, Hermione, I’m with you and Harry till the end.” He tried look meaningfully into her eyes to reach past her steely resolve. Surely she could see him baring his soul to her? Ron knew his pride often got him into trouble, but this time, he was willing to take the hit. She was worth it; they were both worth it.





His friend’s eyes blinked wetly as tears seemed to spring up instantly. He jumped back a second later when Hermione suddenly let the collected kindling in her arms drop to the floor. She burst into tears then, her hands flying to cover her face. Ron could only follow suit and let his own load fall on top of her discarded pile, his arms free to wrap around her back. This wasn’t what he had anticipated, but at least she wasn’t shouting at him. He tried to soothe her with more promises of his fidelity.





“I mean it, ‘Mione, every word. You don’t have to worry about me. We’re going to do this together and you’ll see; we’ll beat that fucker. I have faith in us.” He moved to hold her in an embrace, but she put her hands to his shoulders and stepped back from him, her sobs fading already as she pulled herself together. Her hands wiped across her face in disgust, but when she stared back at Ron she only looked exhausted.





“Ron, I believe you, I do. At least, I trust that you believe what you’re saying. I just hope that you’re right and that we can count on you the next time things turn ugly. But I think,” and she let out another deep sob as she fought to stem her weeping again, “I think things will only get worse! You don’t know how bad it’s been, Ron! Absolutely horrible, in fact. And we haven’t even come up against the real fight! We’ve been through so much already and we’ve only taken out one Horcrux! And that was through some freak help that we don’t even know anything about! How are we supposed to be assured that our source was even on the right side!” she shrieked.





Hermione seemed to be unleashing some powerfully pent-up frustrations and Ron thought it best to just let her vent. He held her eye contact and grabbed for her hand, wanting to give her any comfort he could while he maintained that they would prevail. “But it turned out alright, din’t it? We’ve got the sword and a means to destroy the next ones we find. That’s a good thing! That alone should tell us we were being aided by good forces. And the locket would have been ours sooner if it hadn’t been for Mundungus selling it off to that bitch! I guarantee you that the other Horcruxes are going to be a lot easier to collect; we just need to know where to look. Maybe Harry—”, but Hermione cut him off before he could finish.





“Maybe Harry what, Ron? Maybe he can come out of his depression and start moving forward? What do you think that’s going to take? A few jokes? An extra night of sleep? What do you suggest? Because I’m at my wits end on what to do for him and I’m worried sick. Have you even noticed that he’s not eating anything? He simply pretends to. He’s withering away to skin and bones. His cheekbones look ready to slice meat and he barely has two words to say most days. You don’t understand just how much the locket affected him, Ron. What if he’s still sick?”





Ron didn’t have an answer for her. What she said was true enough, though, and Ron had been aware that something was very off about his mate, but he just hadn’t known how to address it. Harry had always been kind of a brooding fellow. When he was in a funk, Ron had learned that it was often giving him some space that helped; the mercurial teen would come out of it eventually and then all would be hunky dory again. Harry didn’t always react well to confrontation and the red-head knew that his friend chafed at Hermione’s meddling. The fact was, sometimes humour did work better than a kick in the arse and when Ron could get Harry to laugh it would break up his moodiness faster. That was when they were at school, however, and the thoughts that dragged his friend down into darkness were just that, thoughts. Here, he wasn’t sure what to think, as he was afraid to ask exactly what had transpired while he’d been gone. He didn’t really want to know, either, if he was being honest with himself. There were still things that made him uneasy about Harry and Hermione. It hadn’t passed his notice the way Hermione would reach out to stroke Harry’s hair sometimes, or brush a hand across his back or his arms. And Harry’s reaction was even more disconcerting, as he would usually flinch at the touch and jump away from her, his expression impassive. Ron would try to brush it off and tell himself that the two friends had spent too much time in each other’s company and had developed their own way of dealing with each other. He felt a little left out, but that was his own damn fault, wasn’t it?





When Harry had suggested this afternoon that Ron accompany Hermione to gather wood, he had smiled encouragingly at him and that was the image that Ron summoned now, realizing in hindsight that Harry’s face had looked gaunt. But Hermione was wrong about Harry not talking; it was just that the quiet boy usually waited until she was on watch or tending to some other duty out of earshot before he spoke at any length. He had told Ron in the middle of the night as they lay in their bunks that he had scared away Luna and that the girl didn’t want anything to do with him anymore. Ron didn’t know how to respond to that, either, but he had attempted to cheer up his friend with empty platitudes and silly reminders that there were plenty of other birds who would be interested in dating Harry. The teen had choked out a very bleak laugh before rolling over to fall asleep. Other times, they had talked about their next plan of action, but Harry had sounded only minimally interested in any success to be had. Then there had been a few nights ago when Harry had awakened Ron to take over his sentry. He’d been groggy as he pulled himself up out of bed, but still he had heard Harry very clearly. “I’m so sorry, Ron,” the boy had uttered mournfully into the pitch black of the tent.





“Whaaa? Huh? Mmm, sorry about what, mate?” he had mumbled in return, but by that time Harry had crawled into his cot and was feigning sleep. Harry slept a lot, actually, whenever he could. Ron had no doubt in his mind that even now, while they were out here worrying about Harry, the boy was back in the tent catching some zeds. But was Harry really that depressed? He seemed to not care much about anything, other than making sure Ron and Hermione had time alone together. The more Ron had thought about why Harry kept arranging that, the more suspicious it appeared, until the tall boy had decided not to think on it anymore.





All of this meandering had run through his head, though, while Hermione had crossed her arms and stared at him waiting for a reply. When none was forthcoming, her expression turned shrewd and she peered at him through slits as she asked her next question. “What exactly did the locket do when you opened it, anyway? Harry said it screamed when you crushed it, but I don’t believe for a moment that it didn’t put up more of a fight.”





Ron panicked a little at being put on the spot. There was no way he was about to confess to her what they’d really seen, but he was unsure of what to tell her as subterfuge. She would see right through any lies, he imagined, but he gave it a shot, anyway. “Uh, it, uh, there was a—red, there were red eyes. And it spoke. Hissed, more like it. Started saying a lot of shite about how we were weak and didn’t have the stones to kill it. You know, the usual taunting; how we were all going to die and the Mudbl—er, the Muggles would fall. Lot of evil bloke doom and gloom.” Her piercing glare was unnerving him. “There—there might have been a figure.”





Hermione’s eyes snapped wide open at the news. “A figure? Coming out of the locket? Who? What did it look like?” she demanded breathlessly. Shit! Why did he have to say that? Maybe if he just told her half the truth she would be satisfied, he considered.





“Um, well, it…looked….like Harry? But with the red eyes.” Hermione gasped as her hands immediately flew to her face and covered her mouth. She looked in shock at such a revelation, but Ron didn’t think it was such a far-fetched idea, really. After all, the locket had seemed to know them, had absorbed their feelings somehow while it was being worn, so the impressions it projected were almost to be expected when one thought about it. Of course, Hermione didn’t know the whole of it, but still, she had suspected enough to know that there was something more inside of its shell.





“What did Harry do when he saw himself?” Hermione whispered fearfully. Ron was puzzled by her question. She saw him when they got back, Harry had been fine.





“Well, he shouted at me to get on with it. So I did. The end.” He hoped she was done with her probing and that they could get on to some matters of real importance. Like, what was he going to have to do before she would let him kiss her again?





Hermione was in one of her brainstorming sessions now as she started to pace in front of him with her eyes to her feet and her fingers drumming on either side of her cheeks. She stopped suddenly and looked back up at Ron in alarm. He was getting very anxious with this change of attitude. The girl walked up to him closely and grabbed the sides of his open jacket to pull him to her. Their faces were right up next to each other, noses almost touching if they had been the same height. Her warm breath wafted over his skin as her eyes bore into him. He gulped when she finally spoke.





“Ron,” she said softly, “I’m about to ask you a question and I want you to think very carefully before you answer, okay?” The boy nodded his head slowly and then waited for her to continue. “When Dumbledore told Harry about the Horcruxes, he told him that Vol—,” Ron’s eyes got big, “You-Know-Who had made a new one every time he committed murder. He—he’s theorized that Nagini might be one of them. If that’s true…if an animal can be a Horcrux, a living thing, does that mean it’s possible for a person to be one, too?” Her voice wavered on the last part.





Ron did as she asked and pondered the question seriously. What did they really know about the requirements of the vessel for a Horcrux, anyway? Anything could be possible for all the information they had at their disposal. But, wouldn’t a person know if they were being saddled with another soul? How could they not? Would it be like having voices in your head all the time, especially bad voices, telling you do to bad things? Or maybe…images. Like, dreams. Dreams seen from another person’s perspective. The teen suddenly felt the cold outside chill him right through to his bones. Just what was Hermione suggesting?





“I think,” and he spoke as measured as she had, “I think that would be very unlikely, Hermione. People can’t walk around with two souls inside of them without knowing something was up. They’d probably end up nutters before very long.” The more he reasoned with her, the better he felt. He was sure he was right about that.





Hermione didn’t look convinced but cast her eyes downward as she offered her next bit of supposition, her voice barely above a whisper. “What if he didn’t necessarily set out to make a Horcrux, but it happened, all the same?” Her wet eyelashes flashed up as she honed on his face again and Ron’s insides squirmed. “On the night of Halloween, sixteen years ago, Riddle killed two people. And he tried to kill a third. But we still don’t know how Harry survived. Yet, he has this scar; a scar that hurts every time Riddle is near and one that allows him to see into Riddle’s reality. Now, what kind of magic could make that happen?”





Ron didn’t want to hear any more of this kind of talk, the girl was spouting madness. There was no way Harry could be a Horcrux, or his scar; he refused to even entertain the thought. He took hold of Hermione’s shoulders and gripped tightly; staring back into her pools of lush hazel and forcefully driving his point home. “The locket was evil. We felt it, all of us, and it changed us, ‘Mione. It was full of You-Know-Who’s hatred and that was what we saw at the end. Harry isn’t evil, is he? He’s a good person. You even told him he’s got a saving-people thing. Does that sound like something Mr. Poncey Boy Evil-Doer would care about? Of course not! Maybe there was some kind of connection forged that night between them, but he’s not a Horcrux. Now, snap out of it!” He shook her once to get some sense back into her head but she only gaped back dully as her head lolled, not seeming to mind the way he was handling her.





Having her up this close, it was vividly clear that she’d been suffering as much as Harry. There were faint bruises of half-circles under her eyes and she’d lost a lot of weight in her face, as well. He felt that pang of guilt again as he imagined how the two of them had endured the bleak weather, lack of food, and attacks, both physically and mentally, while he had been at his brother’s comfy and safe. He wished he could take it all back, he really did, but what was done was done and he was going to have to do his own coping with that fact. No turning back now, he thought, and seeing her in such despair and so anguished over their friend galvanized him into being the strong one. They could lean on him for a while, he decided. He moved his hands to cup to her cold cheeks, brushing her hair back before bringing her face closer to his. Hermione was totally focused on him now.





“’Mione, it’s going to be okay. Harry will get better. Give him some time; he’s just upset about Luna. Let me handle him while you—well, you need to rest and take it easy. I’ll take care of you, you’ll see. Whatever you need, just tell me. In fact, why don’t you head back to camp now and take a nap; I’ll finish up here. I’ll wake you in time for supper, I promise. I’ve been saving some figgy pudding in my pack from Christmas dinner and I think tonight is the perfect time for it. What do you say?”





Hermione was watching him intently as he spoke, and now he could see her gaze drift to his mouth longingly. She stood up on her tiptoes and reached for him then, and in that moment Ron knew what to do for her. He bent down from the neck and locked her lips to his as his hand curved around the back of her head and pressed her to him. Hermione’s mouth was warm and sweet and extremely receptive, opening for him almost immediately as his tongue curled around hers. His eyes were closed but he could see in his mind’s eye how she looked with that rapturous face and it made his heart ache. When she suddenly moaned deeply into his mouth he could feel it reverberate inside his throat and the power of it swept him up until his arms were circling tightly around her in an embrace and he was backing them up towards the trees behind them. He slammed into one within seconds but they never broke their kiss, the passion only gaining intensity as he moaned in reply, her breasts rubbing against his chest as she clung to him. Hermione was wild in her release; ensnaring his neck in her arms as she pulled herself up on his body. He grabbed hold of her bum to catch her and then her legs were wrapping around his waist. Ron had never felt so much a man before, so lost in his desire for a woman.





And Hermione was a woman, he realized, and one becoming more fevered in her groping the longer that their snog continued. Once she felt he had a good hold of her, her arms disentangled and fingers snaked down his spine, across the nape of his neck, tickling his sides, and even sliding up his torso to pinch at his nipples. Ron felt a little shocked at her boldness, but when she began winding her pelvis against his crotch as she started to thrust up and down his concentration shifted. The friction was amazing and his hardening length only grew the more she moved over his cock. He wasn’t quite sure how to deal with her amped-up eroticism even as he delighted in the dry humping, but then she suddenly dropped to the ground and knelt before him. He looked down at her perplexed for a moment, his mouth still slack from the disrupted kiss, before her hands reached for the button of his pants and popped it open. When she pulled his zipper down and reached in for his cock, something finally snapped Ron out of his daze and he quickly grabbed her by the wrists, stopping her movements so that her face glanced up at him quizzically.





“What are you doing?” he croaked, feeling out of breath. He wouldn’t let go of her, not knowing what she was likely to do, fearing that there had been some misunderstanding and he had missed a critical piece of information somehow.





Hermione appeared momentarily flustered before her chin jutted out and she turned sexy. “I’m going to make you feel good,” she told him confidently.





“But…you were already making me feel good. I liked what we were doing, ‘Mione; you don’t have to do this.” It seemed like things were going way too fast all of a sudden and he wanted her to slow down so he could explain to her how much she meant to him. This didn’t seem real, didn’t seem like his Hermione. He didn’t just want a repeat of what had happened before in the tent; this was his chance to make things right.





Her kittenish façade faltered at his words. She looked abashed now and went to wrench her arms loose from his clutch. “Never mind, then,” she muttered gruffly as she jumped up to her feet and tried to flee. Ron instantly grabbed for her again, catching her elbow with one hand, but now totally confused. What had just happened? He wrestled with her for a minute before pulling her back to face him.





“Hermione! What’s the matter? What did I say wrong?!” he implored as she fought him. The girl pulled her arms in close to her chest like a barricade, seeming quite miserable. He moved to touch her face again, gently, and she stiffened.





“Nothing, you just made me feel like a bloody idiot, Ron!” she groaned. She turned to him sharply and her voice rose in anger. “I thought that’s what you wanted. I thought you wanted to shag. I don’t need you to treat me like a child, like I’m made of glass! We can do just fine without you, you know!” Hermione was screeching now as her distress returned.





Ron felt completely undone and overwhelmed by her ever increasing hysterics. He wasn’t trying to do anything of the sort, he argued back in his head. The torn teen wasn’t about to let this turn to shit, however, and he made the effort to calm her down by speaking to her in a low murmur as her weeping came back in full force. It seemed that her emotions were all over the map, and while his range might only cover a teaspoon, he understood enough to know that this was about more than just sex.





“Hey, hey,” he soothed, “you’ve got it all twisted. I wasn’t trying to shag you; I just wanted to kiss you. Not that I don’t want to, you know, do that with you eventually, but what’s the rush? Can’t we spend some time on the first part, luv, before we get to all the rest? I wasn’t even expecting any of this, to be honest. I figured you’d be pissed off at me for at least another week.”





Hermione’s crying had abated to sniffles as she listened, and she wiped her face again as she peeked up at him sheepishly. “I am still pissed off,” she mumbled, but then the smallest hint of a smile touched the corners of her mouth. She sighed again. “I’m sorry; I don’t mean to keep losing it on you today. I feel a bit out of sorts.” When she looked straight into his face, he could see her discouragement. “It’s just that….I wanted to feel….I—” she struggled with her words, but then gave up, letting the thought hang mid-way in the space between them as her shoulders drooped heavily.



Ron brushed the hair back from her face again just so he could feel the soft skin of her cheek. He let his hand curve downwards to rest under her chin and he tilted it up so that her eyes would be forced to look into his again. “I think I get it. You must feel so tired all the time. And so scared, too; especially with all of your worry over Harry’s mental state,” he added gravely. “It’s too much for one person to handle. But I’m here for you now, Hermione. Please, let me help. Let me,” he paused as he searched her expression for some glimmer of need, need for him. “Let me make you feel good, ‘Mione. You deserve it. I’ll give you whatever you need.”





The girl let her body fall into him again and this time when he kissed her, he made sure to take it very slow so they could savor every minute.





~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~o~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~





It was well into evening as Hermione lay back on her squishy chair looking over the Tales of the Beedle Bard for perhaps the millionth time, the blue flames from her jars making shadows on the canvas. It was like a ritual now, she mused, as she pored over the familiar pages each night before bed. The contented witch half-listened to Ron chatter excitedly to Harry about what was going on with the Resistance out beyond their tent and what the twins and Remus might be up to right now. He had been searching for some underground broadcast on his wireless that supposedly featured members of the Order and hosted by someone sounding suspiciously like Lee Jordan. After a determined search, he finally settled into filling the two of them in on what he’d heard and read while staying at Bill’s house, called Shell Cottage, somewhere on the coast of Cornwall. Harry appeared to be eager for news and even laughed a few times as Ron made caustic jokes about the Prophet and its staff. Seeing Harry so animated instead of the lifeless, wan figure he’d become recently was heartening and Hermione felt a little buoyant as she basked in their glow. Harry was doing better already; Ron was staying true to his word to keep their mate up and motivated, getting him to play some Wizard’s chess after supper and reminiscing with Harry about the more memorably fun times at school to keep the mood light. And Ron? Well, Ron was just wonderful, the girl smiled secretly.





The two of them had stayed in the forest and snogged for quite a while after he had calmed her down. She had been surprised as much as Ron by her histrionics and still felt a bit embarrassed that he’d had to witness it, but she supposed he was right, wasn’t he? I’m just one person. I can’t carry everything on my shoulders, she agreed, while wondering on some level if that was how Harry sometimes felt being the Chosen One. Knowing that Ron wanted to be there for her, that she had his support to rely on, had invigorated her in a way that had let all of her anger evaporate. Hermione had been feeling like she was all that had been holding Harry up these last few months, and now she had someone to turn to that wasn’t unstable or obsessed or fixated on their own problems. Ron had shown her that he had grown, that he was remorseful for his past mistakes, but most of all, that he was committed to caring for her. It had felt like a gift. Her body still tingled where he had stroked and caressed her.





Hermione’s sight was glazing over as she ran through the book of tales, so she decided to switch to another book sitting near her on the floor, one that she hadn’t practically memorized. The curious witch cracked open the spine of The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore, determined to finish reading it before passing judgment on the man. Not that Rita Skeeter was liable to do a fair and balanced account of the legendary wizard’s life, but at the very least, Hermione wanted to glean as much as she could from his history. The woman might be a terrible reporter, but she had to have come across at least a few facts in her research. Just the revelation about Dumbledore’s friendship with Gellert Grindelwald alone was mind-blowing enough, but the proof was there. She looked over the letter reprinted in Albus’ handwriting again, periodically glancing at the photo included of the two boys laughing; both so carefree and handsome but with that tinge of arrogance. The girl swung her gaze back and forth across the pages until she got to the end of his long-ago missive once again. Something stood out this time, though, when she took a closer look at his signature. Something that looked very familiar. She left it open on her lap, but grabbed for her Beedle Bard and flipped through the stories quickly until she found the one she was looking for. There was the sign again, drawn into the title, that same weird eye character in the triangle. Her brain started to work very fast.





The boys were getting louder and a bit physical as they recalled a particularly thrilling Quidditch move from Oliver Wood in their first year. She cut them short when she called Harry’s name and both of them looked to her as if surprised to see their friend still there in the tent with them. Harry blinked owl-like before answering. “Yes?” He acknowledged her earnestly.





“There’s something I’d like you to see,” she told him, marking the page with her finger while taking the Skeeter book over to him. When she opened it before him and he could see which tome she was holding out, he looked up at her with the disgust clearly written on his face.





“Hermione, I told you, I’m not interested in reading that shit. I don’t think I can handle any more ‘truths’ about Dumbledore right now,” he beseeched her.





“No, Harry, that’s not what I’m pointing at. Take a look at this. See the signature?” Harry glanced again, Ron trying to see over his shoulder, and then shrugged. “Yeah? What about it? I get it, it’s really his letter. What am I supposed to be looking for?”





“Look at the way he’s written the A in Albus. Doesn’t that look familiar to you?” When Harry looked a second time, his eyebrows furrowed together and he took a few more minutes to recognize it. His features scrunched up in thought. “Isn’t that—”





“The sign that was in the story I showed you? The one we figured out was Grindelwald’s mark and then also happened to be on Peverell’s grave?” Hermione interrupted, now hardly able to contain her excitement but still slightly afraid to broach the other sighting they’d had of the cryptic symbol. She expected major resistance from the boy for the suggestion she was about to make.





“Wait a minute, what are you talking about; Grindelwald’s mark? And who’s grave?” Ron interjected as he looked from Harry to Hermione and back again waiting for someone to answer him, but the other two only stared at each other as Hermione willed the dark-haired boy to figure it out so she wouldn’t have to say the name first. Harry only stared back expectantly until she had to prompt him, finally. “Think, Harry; where else have we seen that mark?”





Harry was thoughtful for another few seconds before a light bulb appeared to go off in his head. His jaw clenched as he grew a little tense, but he spoke the name softly aloud. “Mr. Lovegood wore it at the wedding,” he remembered. He frowned again. “So what, though? What are you getting at, ‘Mione?” he asked with an edge to his voice.





“What are you two talking about? Mr. Lovegood had on those crazy robes. What sign?” Ron kept up. He got exasperated and yelled at them both. “Will someone answer my fucking questions, please?”





Hermione grew agitated with Ron but brusquely answered him as succinctly as she could. “Pay attention, Ron. The emblem Mr. Lovegood was wearing around his neck at the wedding was the same sign that Krum called Grindelwald’s mark as it’s carved in the wall at Durmstrang, and then we saw it etched into one of the titles in this copy of Beedle Bard that Dumbledore gave me. In Godric’s Hollow, in the graveyard, we found it on the headstone of Ignotus Peverell. Now, here it is again, in Dumbledore’s own signature. Got it? Can I continue now?” she huffed indignantly.





The ginger teen made a face and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, fine,” then added sheepishly, “thanks.”





She looked back at Harry and got ready for a fight. “Harry, I—I think we need to talk to Mr. Lovegood. I really think we need to go to Luna’s house,” she prescribed.





“No. No way,” Harry refused immediately, but Hermione wasn’t about to give up so easy.





“He might have information we need, Harry. This sign keeps popping everywhere, it has to mean something,” she argued. “Maybe, this is exactly what Dumbledore meant for me to find. But we won’t know anything until we ask Luna’s father.” She watched Harry’s jaw clench even tighter while his pupils turned to black beads, the green of his irises glimmering darkly, before adding in a softer tone, “I’m sure she’ll be eager to see you by now.





Harry only stared back at her flatly. “Is that supposed to be funny?” he challenged looking nowhere near amused, but Hermione had been completely sincere and was taken aback by his anger, tripping over her denial.





“N-n-o, of—of course not. I—I really believe she’ll have forgiven you and that she—she’ll want to see you. This is Luna we’re talking about; she’s not the type to hold grudges.” The girl tried to appeal to his sense of reason. Harry looked for a second like he was about to tear into her, but seemed to change his mind, turning away from them both momentarily before deciding on a different approach.





“What makes you think Mr. Lovegood will know anything about its significance? He could be under the impression it’s to keep Heliopaths at bay or something. This conversation is sounding awfully familiar, don’t you think? We talked ourselves into thinking Godric’s Hollow was the answer, too, and look what happened there.”





Hermione would not be deterred, however, and jumped at the opportunity to present her logic. “That was different, Harry. There were…o-other factors involved in that decision. I’m seeing this as a quick operation; get in, get an explanation and get out of there. We certainly don’t want to draw any attention to them from unsavory forces, so we need to be brief. You…well, we don’t even need to see Luna if you don’t feel comfortable. Our resources are slim out here, Harry. This could be a good starting point for the next Horcrux location.” She turned to her left and crafted the suddenly turned quiet Ron into agreeing with her. “You can keep Luna occupied while Harry and I chat with Mr. Lovegood, right?”





“Me?” squeaked the boy, his eyes frozen big like a deer in the headlights. He glanced over at Harry first before answering her. “I’ve never really had that long of a conversation with her, ever, but I guess I could find something to rabbit on about. It’ll be all right, Harry, you’ll see. I think Hermione’s got a good idea. It’s the best we have to go on, yeah?” Harry gave a disgusted snort but merely shook his head at them patronizingly.





“And what are you going to do if Luna’s dad chases me off his property? Or decides to turn me over to the Death Eaters? I’m sure Luna’s told him everything by now. We could be walking into a disaster,” he insisted. Hermione was starting to feel that Harry was blowing the situation out of proportion. Surely, Luna wouldn’t have detailed her night with Harry with such candor to her eccentric father? The young witch understood being close to one’s parents but considering what the couple was into, it didn’t seem plausible that Luna would divulge everything. Then again, knowing what she did now about their history, it wouldn’t take much information from Luna to get Mr. Lovegood protective of his daughter, she could see. The thoughts swirled around her head while Harry pulled the cuffs of his long sleeves down further to cover his hands and fidgeted. She didn’t have an immediate retort for the boy and she glanced over at Ron again to wordlessly gain some more support. He seemed to recognize her request and promptly spoke up, asking Harry exactly what Hermione had been thinking.





“How do know she’s said anything, Harry? Blimey, that’s not the kind of stuff I’d ever talk about with my parents. Mind you, the tying up and the whipping? Anyone would be kind of freaked to hear that about their kid’s boyfriend, right? I’d think Luna would want to protect you and not upset her father. Maybe you’re stressing over nothing. You said yourself she was okay when she left you,” he countered.





Harry glared back at his friend. “I said she was no longer hysterical when she left, but I would hardly count that as ‘okay’. And you don’t know Luna that well; neither of you do. She and her dad are extremely open with each other. Luna told him we were sleeping together pretty much right from the beginning.” He expelled a long, drawn out sigh and slanted his head back as he watched the roof of the tent. “But none of that matters, because she doesn’t want to see me, I told you. She wouldn’t come when I signaled her with the Galleon. She’s made her decision and I want to honor that by leaving her be. Perhaps the two of you could go and talk to him without me there,” the boy suggested.





“No, Harry; we all go together or not at all. And did you ever stop to consider that Luna couldn’t answer your call because she couldn’t get away at the time? You’re assuming an awful lot.” Hermione remained adamant on the point but it appeared Harry had fallen back to his blank state as he studied her with a resigned air. He stood up and made to leave the tent.





“Wait, where are you going? We’re not done!” she cried. Harry looked back at them over his shoulder. “Do what you want. I’m going to start watch. We’ll set out tomorrow if that’s what you think is best,” he relented, and then stepped through the flaps. Hermione felt like there was more to discuss, but if he was willing to cave, she’d take the win. The brainy witch had a good feeling about her instincts on this one. She just wished that Harry didn’t look so defeated.





Once it was just her and Ron again, though, her thoughts instantly turned to the boy next to her. She smiled warmly at him, grateful for his help in getting Harry to concede. “Thanks, Ron, your input really made a difference,” she beamed. The gangly boy smiled shyly back at her but then slipped into a concerned frown as he contemplated their actions.



“You don’t think he’s right, do you? That Mr. Lovegood knows that Harry and Luna like the freaky sex and that he pushed her too far? I’d hate to be in Harry’s shoes if that were the case; that puggled old man might play merry hell on Harry’s arse.” He looked worried all of a sudden, but Hermione dismissed the notion.





“Ron, Mr. Lovegood is harmless; you’ve seen him. The man wouldn’t hurt a fly. Or a Snorkack, or one of those Aquavarius maggots, or whatever they are,” she smirked. She got up to put her books away and head to her bunk to get ready for bed. Ron followed behind her and prepared to go to sleep, too. He toed off his trainers as he continued to talk about Harry’s attitude in low whispers, while Hermione sat cross legged on her cot and pulled her toothbrush from her rucksack propped up against the legs. Being the daughter of two dentists, Hermione felt that there was only one proper way to brush her teeth, and that was the Muggle way her parents showed her, not trusting to do it with magic as if that would be some kind of slap to their care. She did magic the toothpaste, though, and started to languidly tackle each tooth with the required brush strokes while Ron prattled on. The girl’s body tingled when he started to undress; slipping his jeans off down to his boxers and then discarding most of his jumpers and jackets until he was down to a tee-shirt. When he turned to lie on his side so he could watch her, she couldn’t help but notice that Ron was sporting a slight erection. Of course, for Ron, slight was an understatement when addressing that particular body part. She felt a bit shy; a state which she found ridiculous considering that she’d held Ron’s cock in her hand already and had done plenty more with Harry besides. Almost instantly, her body got warmer at that thought, as images of her riding her more intense friend’s face while he cupped her breasts loomed in her head, making her a little uneasy to be in this intimate situation with the boy of her affections. How long could she uphold the lies? She spelled some water into a cup and rinsed her mouth, feeling ashamed and no longer flirty as Ron gave her another sweet smile. She ignored him while she eased off her shoes and thick sweater, leaving everything else on as she rolled over to crawl under her blanket.





“Hey, goodnight over there,” the boy called out to her accusatory once she swished her wand to put out all the flames lighting the tent.





“Oh, goodnight, Ron,” she echoed absentmindedly, but her thoughts crowded her head so tightly she knew it would be a while before she could fall asleep. Her blanket rustled as she suddenly slid over to his side and searched his face out in the dark. “Ron?” she whispered, even though he was right in front of her, she just couldn’t make him out yet. All around them, the din of the nightlife in the wilderness increased once their voices were no longer in conversation.





“What is it?” he whispered back, although he sounded like he was right next to her. She put out a hand to see how close he was and it brushed against what felt like his nose.



“Oh, sorry. You do think we’re doing the right thing going to Ottery St. Catchpole, don’t you? Bill would have told you if there were a lot of Ministry forces around the Burrow, right?”





“Yeah, I think it’ll be good. I know they’ve been watching Dad carefully, but there’s not much going on around home. And I think Harry is wrong about Luna’s father. The Quibbler is Harry’s biggest support, right now. You should see the stuff he’s been printing; puts the Prophet to shame. It’s so obvious the paper is in You-Know-Who’s back pocket. If you want any truth on what’s really happening, Quibbler’s the only source that’s reporting it, which is pretty ironic,” he chuckled. Hermione felt his hand shuffling around to find her hand and she let him grasp it. “Bloody hell, ‘Mione, you’re freezing. Why don’t you come over to my side and I’ll get you warmed up,” he offered plainly.





Despite her mixed feelings and anxiety, she had to giggle at his suggestive come-on. “Oh brother, Ron, that was pretty lame,” she teased, but he was ingenuous.





“Nah, I mean it. You need to get your body heat up. C’mon, just slide over here and bring your blanket.” He coaxed her to roll on to his cot and she held on to the side bar while he spooned her tightly and fluffed the blankets back over the both of them. It was kind of awkward being smashed up on such a small panel, but she found herself feeling lighter and her thoughts less cluttered almost immediately. It was hard to think about anything else when she had such an impressive bulge moulded to her bum. Ron wrapped his arm around the top of her and tucked his nose into the crook of her neck, smelling her hair as he did so and making the girl giggle again.





“Ron, what are you doing, you ninny?” she gushed as his nose slid up to her ear and he licked at her earlobe.





“I’m just tasting you, is all. Always wondered what it smelled like under all that hair. S’clean and flowery,” he approved. She couldn’t help herself, she grinned out into the darkness as she felt the tip of his tongue trail against the nape of her neck. She moved to roll her head back and bashed him in the nose, accidentally.





“Oww!” he cried in a hush and the girl fretted that she’d seriously hurt him, sitting up quickly to glean the damage. But he was laughing in a low, throaty rumble that not only soothed her alarm, but had the added effect of bringing forth a trickle of wetness in the folds between her thighs.





“Are you okay?” she purred to him in her own husky delivery, and he gave her another sexy laugh.



“Yeah, I’m good. It’s the least I deserve. Don’t mind if you want to beat me up now and again.” The girl let the humor in his voice flame inside her chest, and when he reached for her face so he could pull her down on top of him, her skin lit up in tiny explosions. Then his lips were on hers again and she let everything else fade away.





And for the second glorious time that day, Hermione didn’t think about Harry, at all.















Next up: Draco talks to Luna, the trio go to the Lovegood home.