Post Bellum

Act II: Propositum

It was his one day of rest; leisure, if you wanted to call it that. Ron preferred "sleeping." And it was what he did for chunks of hours at a time, before he woke up sweating. Got up, then, to use the loo and scrub his face, avoiding the mirror at all costs. It clucked at him in a way annoyingly reminiscent of his mother. He flicked his wand and it shut up. He went back to bed. This happened several times.

Hermione helped Snape with the potions. She was the only one, Snape said, with an OWL high enough - that is, aside from Draco Malfoy, but Draco Malfoy was long since dead. He fought for the wrong side, even if time was proving it the winning side. She was turning into someone quite like Snape; greasy, snappish and tired, but they all were tired. The potion-makers didn't have a monopoly on that one.

He was awake for long moments before exhaustion took him. Long weeks of fighting without reprieve gave him permanent, Moody-like suspicion. Any little noise jerked him from the lull. All he could do was think, and even thinking was hard. His mind was overcrowded with images and plans and strategies and curses he now knew intimately, inside and out like a careful lover. Ron needed sleep, needed his day of rest and relaxation, but Snape and Hermione couldn't spare Sleeping Draughts; they were needed for the wounded. And all the Dreamless Sleep was given to Harry. Without it Voldemort made him scream so loud everyone could hear it, charmed tents or no.

Ron just wanted to sleep. How hard could it be? How hard could it bloody well be to sleep in comfort for more than an hour or two at a time? He rolled over and punched a pillow. His wand dug into his stomach from the squished angle, but didn't break: too many protection charms. His creaky bed felt like a joke compared to the cozy double at the Burrow, long since abandoned, and felt even more unreasonable when he compared it to the bed in his old dormitory at Hogwarts, freshly turned down courtesy of the house elves.

Merlin, this wasn't a life. It was a stark, hostile imitation of one. War didn't bring friends, just allies. Ron found he had to detach completely, look at his comrades as faceless incubi or death would crush him as easily as Crucio, day after day after nights when he didn't dare sleep.

So he really needed to sleep now.

---

A few people were always having sex. They weren't even discreet about it; didn't use their own tents half the time. Ron counted himself lucky to find wartime a real turn-off: it ignited no sense of primal fear, no need to copulate, to lose himself in another person. He felt... nothing whatsoever on that scale, but for mild irritation at those who fell victim.

Harry was, predictably, one of them. He fucked anything moving and, Ron was stunned to find after a disastrous raid, some things that didn't quite. Harry had fucked Lavender, and although it hadn't been in the Infirmary Tent (as it was full and she'd been placed under care in her own quarters), Ron could never squelch the shiver of disgust when he thought of what lengths they must have gone to in order to do it. Dumbledore spoke about war bringing out the extremes in everyone, both the good and the bad, and Ron could easily see how this was true.

He didn't know Harry anymore. It was probably because of his inability to connect the past with the present, with the reality of what they were doing. He imagined when the war was over they would spend a good few hours in a pub getting pissed and talking things out. Like they should have done a year or two ago, maybe right after Ron caught him with Ginny (only perhaps without the pub bit). There were still ties between the two, and when the odd thought appeared in Ron's mind, the dwelling fear of Harry's death, you know, because it really might happen, he'd get this great wrench in his stomach and could hardly function enough to draw his wand. Ron didn't let himself think those thoughts, at least, no more than he could help.

---

The shouts weren't what woke him. He was used to shouts and could tune them out; being tented so near the Infirmary, he could clearly tell when the nurses were so harried they couldn't remember to put up simple Silencing wards forced him to do it.

What woke him was Hermione bursting into his tent. He heard the wards chime even in sleep and shot up in bed, sweaty and already going for his wand.

"What?" he snapped, once he knew who it was.

Then he took a look at her. There was blood all down her front staining her white Potions smock a valentine pink. Ron swore and didn't bother to pull on shoes.

"Who is it?" he asked, knowing it had to be bad if Hermione was involved personally. Dean and Seamus' faces flashed through his mind and he had a hard time steadying himself, wobbly from sleep and swiftly-suppressed fear.

Her mouth opened and she blinked at him. This was so very un-Hermione-like Ron paused, one hand at the flap of his tent. He looked at her, her eyes turned down. "H-Harry."

A tendril of fear Ron hadn't been able to restrain jumped in his stomach, latched around his heart. "Where is he? Is he dead?" Far too efficient for a best friend, really, but Ron knew to act now and feel later.

"No, Severus got him in time."

"Snape?"

They were moving briskly now, over the dead grass and past the housing tents. It looked passably like families camping for the World Cup, but there'd been no professional Quidditch for nearly six months. Another casualty, one Ron actually allowed himself to mourn.

"He--went out to gather ingredients and found Harry at the edge of our wards."

"What the fuck was he doing?" Ron spat, pushing past someone with perhaps too much force; they stumbled and fell. "He's not supposed to be that close to the fighting." He was supposed to be training or practicing spells with the troops, even cooped up in his tent. He was not supposed to fight yet, not supposed to know what it looked like. He didn't know why, but it was imperative.

"V-Voldemort's dead, Ron. He. We think he killed him."

He didn't even freeze. Just kept walking, nearly at Snape and Hermione's work tent now. He pushed the flap aside for her and followed her inside, close at her heels, wand first checking the perimeter just like he'd been trained. "Who else?"

When Ron's eyes adjusted to the much dimmer light, he saw Snape standing at a table, looking stoically ahead like someone under a trance, but he was stirring furiously.

"I have the blood," Hermione said shortly. She turned to Ron but avoided his gaze. "Harry's lost a lot."

"What?" Ron boggled. Snape's eyes flickered to him meaningfully. "Oh. That's why I'm here. Right." He rolled up his sleeve without prompt and settled uncomfortably on a stool. "Do what you need to."

Hermione cast several spells and suddenly there was a small slice on his arm, starting to seep blood. He turned away, not hurting but always queasy when it came to his own wounds, however minor. Hermione picked up a vial from near Snape's elbow and maneuvered Ron's arm so it dripped a steady flow. "How much does he need?"

"As much as we can give," she murmured, tapping at a vein and gently rotating the vial. He forced himself to watch as she cast a spell he didn't know and more blood started to pour. "I'm going next; you're going to have to stir. Then Severus."

Apprehension. He was crap at Potions. "Fine." Ron covered up the feelings with a brisk tone. "What's his status?" What happened, for Merlin's sake?

It wasn't Hermione who answered him. "Several rounds of the Cruciatus Curse have left him with some amount of brain damage. The Dark Lord found it prudent to use Skinning Spells and... various other methods of torture. I've repaired his skin, but I'm no mediwizard and the brain damage is beyond my skill." Snape kept stirring and staring into space.

No one spoke for a long moment. Finally, as Hermione pulled the vial away and cast a Healing charm, Ron managed to extract himself from the silence. "How did Harry do it?"

Hermione's lips quirked into a humorless moue. "An exorcism."

Ron's eyebrows rose as he pressed cautious fingers to the newly healed skin of his forearm. Hermione was already moving again, stepping over to Snape and checking his progress. She beckoned Ron over and he stood from the stool, feeling quite dizzy but not intolerably so.

"Eighty clockwise rotations a minute, Weasley," Snape instructed.

Ron took up the ladle, surprisingly without any problems. Amazing what adrenalin did. Once he'd spent a few seconds getting the rhythm down pat and praying he wouldn't bollocks it up and kill Harry, Ron watched Snape tilt Hermione's arm so the vial could better collect her blood. He had no problems watching this. "Like with Holy Water and a priest?"

Snape's eyebrows rose but he didn't look away from his task. "Hardly. With a spell."

"I never even heard of a spell; did someone teach him?" Ron tried to probe, every once in a while checking to see he wasn't sloshing over the cauldron's rim.

"You'd be surprised," Hermione said. Her body was tense. She was pallid and her lips were drawn in a harsh line. Ron wagered she hated this procedure as much if not more than he did. "Harry's been reading so much lately, more than any of us guessed. It was his idea about the Abrumalum spell, no one--ouch!"

Snape muttered an apology and hurriedly capped the vial while Hermione healed her cut. He set the blood down with a careless thunk, probably out of haste, and undid the buttons at his wrist. The black material of his robes rolled up his forearm and Ron noted with relief this wasn't the arm with the Mark. It was though, he noted, the first time he'd ever seen much of Snape's skin. Ron hoped it was also the last.

"Cast it, Granger," he snapped, eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

Hermione readied the vial and poised her wand. Snape's wound was a bit larger than Ron's had been initially, but Snape didn't seem to care. He helped her angle the vial until blood rapidly filled it.

Ron remembered to keep stirring, even when his arms started to ache.

---

No one but the Healers, Snape, Hermione and Dumbledore were allowed to see Harry for long days. The camp was assured that he was alive, but few knew how close he teetered to death.

It became apparent on the first raid back at the field that all of the Death Eaters had not died with Voldemort, as Snape and Dumbledore had previously assumed. The theory had been concocted over long months of research and once sufficiently hypothesized, Snape began a rigorous set of Protection spells and Runes to ensure his own safety.

"I don't understand," Dean whispered to Ron during a tactical meeting. "I thought they said the Death Eaters were history."

"Apparently they were wrong," Ron whispered back, flushing when Snape caught his eye and frowned.

"Where's Hermione?" Dean asked. Ron was very sick of his questions at this point.

"Probably with Harry. I dunno."

Dean bit his lip and Ron was acutely aware of Snape's eyes still being on them. "It's bad, isn't it?"

Ron debated how he should answer, but Dean wasn't stupid and Ron wasn't a very good liar. "Yeah, I think it is. But he's alive."

"And Voldemort's not."

Dean and Ron exchanged a small smile, one of the little celebrations they had all been trading, since there was no time or energy for parties with all the clean-up and Death Eater troubles.

---

"Weasley." Snape's voice jerked him from fitful slumber without pre-emption. Ron sat up with his wand pointed straight at Snape's heart. The man's thin lips curled into something like his old sneer. "Potter's awake."

"Har--"

But Snape was already gone, Ron's tent flap fluttering in his wake. Hurriedly Ron swung himself out of bed, wrestling on a new pair of trousers that weren't slept in or covered in any manner of filth. He didn't stall; just made sure everything was in place before tearing out of there. He headed in the direction of Harry's tent, now an improvised one-room hospital separate from the Infirmary.

Hermione, Snape, and a mediwizard Ron didn't recognize crowded around Harry's bed, blocking him from view. Ron could see he was sitting up, legs covered by blankets, but the look he so longed to get of Harry's face was impossible.

"Ron!" Hermione called suddenly, sharp and startling. He looked over at her and saw that her eyes were equally strange. "You--Harry's--"

"I know," Ron said, and it was rather self-evident; he had to know Harry was awake, or he wouldn't be here. Wasn't allowed to be here normally.

"I think you should go," Hermione said, licking her lips before starting to explain, but Snape interrupted her as he was wont to do now.

"Granger, we both know there's no real harm in Weasley's presence." His tone didn't match the words. Snape's dislike for him (and vice versa) was loudly broadcast, so why was he pushing for Ron to stay? Pushing Hermione? "Let him come up before Dumbledore gets here."

The mediwizard, who was somewhat bulky, made room for Ron to stand next to the bed. Ron's eyes settled on Harry, his face unnaturally gaunt and without spectacles. Green eyes were narrowed and strained as Harry stared blankly in front of him, not even glancing up at Ron when he took his place near Harry's side.

"Harry?" Ron tried cautiously.

"Severus, this is... Ron should..." Hermione stuttered desperately, putting an anxious hand to her face and shaking her head. "We have to explain!"

"Explain what?" Ron asked. He kept his eyes on Harry, but lifted his face in her direction.

"Harry. He's not. Well, Harry's still--"

"He's got residual brain damage, and severe dehydration. And that's not including anemia from all of those transfusions." The mediwizard spoke quickly, quietly, obeying the command tension had over the tent and its inhabitants. "I'm afraid Mr. Potter is suffering from retrograde amnesia."

"He remembers... Not a lot. I don't...." She stopped, apparently unable to continue. She looked defeated, exhausted, and close to hysteria.

"Does he remember any of--any of it?" Ron asked. His throat felt too tight, like someone had an angry hand clutched around it.

"No," said Hermione in a ragged little whisper. "He doesn't even remember the Dursleys."

"Luckily Mr. Potter is as much a fully-functioning adult as he was before--" Snape snorted but everyone ignored him "--and there should be no problems on that score. However... There is the issue of his former...."

Ron tuned him out. It was too much. Without thinking, he reached out and touched Harry's shoulder, bony and hard underneath the soft pajamas. Harry started almost imperceptibly under the touch but didn't look up. "Harry?" he tried. "Do you... I'm..." Without words, he looked up at the mediwizard who was watching them silently. "What do we do?"

"Wait for Dumbledore," Snape said.

"But--"

"Nothing is to be done without Dumbledore," Snape said firmly, looking at Ron with nothing like sympathy in his eyes. "We won't discuss anything, Weasley, until we know how Albus wishes to proceed."

"How he wishes? How he wishes?" Ron drew himself up to his considerable height (taller than Snape now, to boot) and stared him down. "Shouldn't it--"

"Ron, we can't. We have to wait for Dumbledore."

Ron looked over at Hermione, who wasn't looking anywhere in Harry's direction. Dumbly he glanced down at Harry, who stared right back with unflinching green eyes, and it startled him, the sudden response to Ron. Just moments before Harry had acted like he was in some sort of trance.

"I..." Harry had to stop and cough, fighting the disused hoarseness of his throat. "I knew you? You were my friend?"

"Yeah," Ron answered. Harry's use of the past tense was somewhat jarring, and Ron's own voice was nearly as hoarse as Harry's, but he couldn't claim forced silence from a magical coma.

"And they..." Harry gestured with a limp hand to Hermione and Snape. "Them too?"

Both Hermione and Snape stayed silent so Ron answered. "Yeah," he said, not wishing to confuse matters with a 'well, the girl is, but you kind of hated that bloke's guts.' "Them too."

"Mr. Potter needs quite a few... medicines, I'm afraid." Even Ron noticed Snape's judicious use of the word 'medicines' over 'potions.' It shocked him into realizing further how much Harry's mind was damaged. He couldn't remember a thing. "Mr. Weasley, if you please?"

Ron stepped aside, still holding Harry's wary gaze. There was frankness in it now, a naïvety that hadn't been there at all before. Harry looked so young. No knowledge of Voldemort, of the Dursleys, nothing of war and desperation shone there--only a timid sort of worry. Ron was not used to being this able to read Harry's emotions and it bothered him more than the rest.

He had no more time to dwell; Snape handed Harry three vials (Ron dimly recognized them as being blood fortifiers and hydration elixirs, although the class and strength were beyond him) and Harry studied them gawkily before swallowing each. The hydration elixir, purple and thick, went down with a grimace.

"He should sleep now," the mediwizard informed them. Ron took the hint and backed away further from Harry's bed. Hermione stayed where she was, but Snape collected the vials so carefully they didn't even clink together and retreated as well.

"Give him the... red vial." Ron recognized it as Dreamless Sleep. He was over-aware of how careful everyone was to not clue Harry into what exactly he'd forgotten. "And make sure to feed him as soon as he wakes up again--"

"Yes, thank you, Professor." The mediwizard's voice had been soft and low, patient throughout, but it was tinged with irritation, and if anyone could irritate a fucking Saint, it would be Severus Snape.

"He's a teacher?" Harry asked, looking at the mediwizard. And Ron should have known his name, but that was too personal, like getting too close to death. "But I thought... He's not a doctor?"

"It's complicated, but rest assured you are in good hands."

Ron started to walk away, Snape close at his heels. Hermione wasn't moving but she wasn't standing over Harry's bed and fussing, which was what Ron expected her to do.

"Granger!" Snape barked, yanking Hermione out of her reverie.

"Oh, yes. Well." She looked over at Harry; his eyelids were drooping and his torso was sagging under the effects of the Dreamless Sleep. "Good...bye, Harry."

Snape snorted his bitter version of a laugh. Hermione scurried towards Ron and Snape, avoiding both of their gazes as she pushed past them into the open air outside the stifling tent. Ron watched her busy mess of hair swaying along with her hasty steps. She'd behaved strangely, to say the least.

---

An hour later, Dumbledore stood in the middle of Snape's tent, wearing his usual half-moon spectacles and glittering purple robes. He looked untouched by the war, and Ron found that disquieting; he assumed Dumbledore would weather the losses harder than anyone, but the only sign of distress on the wrinkled face was the lack of a smile. His eyes even retained their twinkle when he offered Ron a seat.

"It appears that we have a problem."

"Sir?" Hermione asked tentatively. "You've... seen Harry, haven't you?"

"Indeed I have, indeed I have. Harry seems to have acquired severe memory loss. This is most unfortunate." The bland, innocuous tone reminded Ron of the 'chat' he'd been called in for during sixth year, when his Charms grade started to fall. Dumbledore sat him down, offered him sweets, and started to ruminate merrily on the pitch of Molly Weasley's screaming howler, back when Bill's Transfiguration grade slipped. I daresay my eardrums have never quite recovered. Ron's grade was back up by the next month but he couldn't help feeling manipulated and patronized. There was just something about Dumbledore, something beyond the façade of calm and wisdom, and it was starting to get at Ron's nerves.

"What are we to do about Malfoy and the others?" Snape butted in. Ron and Hermione both stared at him disbelievingly. He was asking after Lucius fucking Malfoy at a time like this?

"A good question, Severus, one which incidentally leads to the questions Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger are no doubt contemplating." Ron stiffened as he watched the old man speak, not liking anything about his attitude. He was too jovial, too normal to be real. "Harry is in no state to fight. However, I'm positive the remaining Death Eaters have already begun the hunt for him." Dumbledore sat down on a stool Snape had set out, adjusting his robes over his legs as he did so. "It would seem the death of Voldemort has not disbanded them. Far from it, in fact. They are uniting to continue the fight against our forces."

"Mr. Potter seems an unlikely target now," Snape pointed out. "The Death Eaters never saw him as anything as nuisance, part of the Dark Lord's plan, part of some stupid prophecy. With Malfoy ostensibly in power, I doubt they will be wasting energy on him."

"Ah, but Harry's death would all but cripple our ranks," Dumbledore murmured, twinkling at Snape, who did not look like he appreciated being corrected yet again on the subject of Harry Potter. "It would leave us wide open for defeat."

There was a pause. Snape realigned some vials on his work table. Ron alternated between watching him and eyeing Dumbledore. The old wizard still conveyed an irritating air of serenity under the circumstances. But Dumbledore was right. Harry was a target and he couldn't defend himself against a fucking Jellylegs curse, let alone a full-scale manhunt and attack.

"You overestimate Potter's significance, I think." It was hard to say whether or not Snape meant that to be as slighting as it sounded. Then again it was Snape, and there was no love lost on his and Harry's account. "Though I do agree that he's not safe."

"What are we going to do?" Ron asked.

Dumbledore turned and met his gaze directly, which was about as comfortable to return as staring straight at the sun. "Harry will be informed of the situation--" Hermione made a noise like she'd choked, "--and we will take precautions to ensure his safety."

"He'll never believe us!" She hastened to argue, wrenching her potion-stained hands desperately. "About magic, about Voldemort... about anything."

"I'm sure he will come to realize the truth if we show him a few tricks." Dumbledore flicked his wand pointedly. "It may even help him to remember."

"So, what?" Ron said impatiently. "We're going to tell him all this and stash him away somewhere? Are you going to put the Fidelius charm on him?"

"You would be correct, Mr. Weasley." Ron suddenly noticed Dumbledore's tendency towards calling Harry and Snape and his parents by their first names, but patronizing everyone else with 'Mister' and 'Miss.' "He will of course be accompanied by someone able to protect him, should that need arise. Ms. Granger?"

Hermione looked up, wide-eyed and face devoid of all color. "S-sir?" she stuttered. Ron could understand her terror; if Dumbledore was suggesting Hermione protect Harry, he was barmy. Her spells and wand work were both textbook-perfect, but instincts couldn't be learned from one.

"Do you agree," Dumbledore started, head cocked as he studied her, "that Mr. Weasley would be an ideal choice for the job?"

"What?" both Ron and Snape asked.

"I... oh!" Two spots of red returned to her cheeks and she ceased wringing her hands. "Yes, yes. Ron is an excellent choice, Headmaster." Her relief at not being selected was evident in the slapdash way she threw off her agreement. The Hermione Ron knew wouldn't have agreed to anything involving anyone's safety without a shrewd moment or two of meditation. "But... you're sure telling Harry about the wizarding world is a good idea?"

"Completely, my dear. And should Mr. Weasley need to use magic, as I'm certain he will, it will save Harry a lot of shock and hurried explanations."

"But the psychological impact--"

"--Will be far lessened if we answer all of his questions now, as a group. Surely you don't wish to leave the stressful task to Mr. Weasley?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, sir. I suppose you're right."

"Excellent!" Dumbledore chirped, standing from his stool with a great swoop of his sleeves. "Now that it's settled, let me arrange the safe house and other matters. Severus, if you could update me on Harry's progress through the night, we'll be moving him in the morning." Snape nodded briskly. "Good, good. Mr. Weasley, Ms. Granger, I suggest you two get some much needed rest."

---

He packed up his tent as soon as he returned to it. The next morning, Ron purposefully slept through Snape and Dumbledore's crash-course of magic. Hermione missed it too, stayed behind to mix batch upon batch of Dreamless Sleep and other potential necessities for Ron and Harry's seclusion. It hadn't really hit Ron yet, exactly what he'd be doing and what he had agreed to. Possible months of no one but Harry and the occasional message from Snape or Dumbledore, hiding out like... the Potters had. No small amount of ominous irony.

When he finally woke and got dressed, Dumbledore and Harry were waiting for him in Snape's tent. Hermione was nowhere to be found.

"Glad to see you're up, Mr. Weasley. Harry," Dumbledore turned to Harry, but Harry was staring at the floor and most likely didn't notice, "this is Ronald Weasley. You may remember him from his visit yesterday. He and Ms. Granger were your two best friends at school."

Harry suddenly looked up. "Hog--" but it cut off and he went back to studying the floor with exaggerated intensity. There was a flare of hope in Ron's stomach; was it possible Harry remembered Hogwarts somehow, was it buried in his subconscious?

"Hogwarts, yes, as I said." Dumbledore smiled kindly.

The hope wilted and turned to resignation. "Hello," Ron tried, feeling awfully stupid and gawky. Harry nodded at the floor. "Is he all packed?" Directed at Dumbledore, clearly; talking casually to the cowering facsimile of Harry was too much too fast.

"Yes. I understand Harry did not take much. Just clothing and a few other items."

"Wh--" The reasons were obvious when Ron took a moment to think about it. "Oh, yeah. You wouldn't know what to do with half of it, would you?"

Harry shook his head and started in on staring at his feet again. His hair was its usual mess, his clothes plain and functional, his trainers scuffed, battered. The old Hogwarts trunk was sitting off in a corner, his initials shining in gold. Everything looked as it should. Everything was wrong. Ron didn't want to go anywhere with this Harry Potter, let alone be shut in a house with him for months. The overdue panic began to fill him and he had to fight against saying something or fidgeting.

"You are packed as well?" Dumbledore asked. Ron nodded. "Good. Ms. Granger wants a word with you before you and Harry Portkey to the safe house."

"Portkey, sir?" Portkeys were notoriously unreliable in high-security incidents. They could be tracked, and if it was Ministry authorized... However much the Ministry was crumbling under Voldemort's onslaught, they still took official responsibilities seriously, perhaps in an attempt to bolster what normalcy was left in the world.

"You will destroy them when you arrive," Dumbledore directed. "There is no risk of being tracked." He sounded certain but Ron still wasn't.

"Where's Hermione?"

"She and Severus are tending in the Infirmary tent."

"Do I have time to go talk with her?"

"Yes. The Portkey activates in one hour. I'd like you back here with your belongings well before that, if you please."

Ron nodded again, ignoring Dumbledore's incessant twinkling, and walked towards the tent flap. As a Potions tent, it was charmed not to flutter and let any air in or fumes out unless specifically modified. His own wouldn't resist fluttering even with multiple Petrificus spells on it.

"I'll be back soon, sir."

---

Hermione seemed irritated to see Ron because she was overrun with patients to dispense potions to. With a quick word to Snape, who tried to make it an extended argument, she wiped her hands on her apron and met Ron by the front of the Infirmary. He immediately cast a Silencing spell and a few wards just to be on the safe side.

"You're leaving soon?"

"Yeah, in less than an hour." She couldn't have asked to speak with him for conversation. Ron thought she'd wanted to say goodbye but from the look of things she didn't. "Do you know how long we'll be gone?"

"Dumbledore didn't say. Ron..." Gently she placed her warm hand on his arm. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and it was the first time he had felt her skin on his for a long time. The touch made him shiver imperceptibly. "You have to be careful with Harry."

"I know that!" He hadn't meant to snap. Still, the loftily instructive look in her eyes rankled him; he wasn't a child, he knew things with Harry would be difficult, fragile even.

"Ron, he's going to be like a child! I don't believe doing magic around him is a good idea, no matter what Dumbledore may think. We shouldn't have told him in the first place, it's stupid to expect him to come to terms with all of this..." Started off on a rant, Hermione didn't notice him rolling his eyes and shifting weight from foot to foot impatiently.

"I already know the lecture, Hermione. If you're so convinced Dumbledore's botched this up maybe you should ask him to send you along instead of me."

She sighed and pulled her hand away. "That's not it at all. I'm worried. And months in seclusion is going to be miserable, Ron, have you thought about that?"

"We don't have a choice! Harry's fucking memory is gone and he needs to be protected. If you have a better idea, please say so because I'd love to hear it."

"I don't have any ideas," she said. "Not one. Be careful, Ron. Now, I'm going to try and have Dumbledore send me out to see you in the safe house, or if Snape is going I'll include some books or something." She chewed her lip, lost in thought. "Damn. I wish I had more time..."

Grumbling, Ron pulled over a chair and sat down heavily in it. No doubt Hermione had a lot of instructions to unload on him.

---

Hermione's "instructions" were more of a huge lecture and took up the better part of Ron's allotted hour. He had to hurry back to his tent and shrink his luggage, tucking it into his pockets for the walk back to Snape's tent. When he got there, Harry was clutching the handle of his trunk fiercely and staring at Snape's work table. Better than the floor, at least.

Dumbledore handed him a crumpled parchment and instructed Harry to grab an end. "I will be in contact with you when the need arises, to refurbish supplies and the like. If there is an emergency we will know as I have placed monitoring spells on both you and Harry." He turned to look at Harry then. "Do not fret, Harry. Soon you'll have your memory back and all will be right as rain. And as I understand it, Mr. Weasley is pleasant company."

Ron spared him a sarcastic half-smile and went back to waiting. A minute, forty seconds, thirty...

"Mind your steps at the front of the house."

He had no time to reply before the Portkey activated.