Scattered

"...And I guess they were right," Bill added, trying to smile.

Hermione smiled back and stole a glance at her best friend; the tips of Ron's ears were red with embarrassment as he scowled at his brother.

"I didn't have anything to do with it," Ron said angrily. "Though I guess the twins were right. I think it's stupid to split us up this way, even if Professor Dumbledore thought it was a good idea," he added, his voice dropping at the sad reminder.

"Ron's right," Hermione agreed. "Well, not that it was 'stupid', just that he really had no control over how things ended up. I'm... I'm worried about Professor Lupin."

Bill nodded grimly. "I am, too but -- it might be nothing, he might have just changed his plans; we'll find out soon, I promise. After the twins made their prediction, he and I agreed that we'd each collect the two of you first, just to be sure. We figured you'd most likely be together and this way we could, um, count on Hermione to convince you to go."

Neville laughed out loud, earning him a glare from Ron. "Sorry," he said, still chuckling. "I just -- I mean, it's kind of funny, isn't it? Even the adults have you two figured out and all."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ron shouted.

Hermione let out a loud sigh of frustration. "Enough, Ron. This isn't what's important right now. Obviously something made Professor Lupin change his plan and go pick up someone else first. At least I hope that's what it was, but in that case, we should have waited, shouldn't we?"

Bill shook his head. "No, we couldn't afford to wait. It wasn't just for Ron's benefit that the Burrow was our first scheduled stop -- McGonagall's, too. It was also the most -- I don't know how to say this, Ron, but in all likelihood, the Burrow's gone by now."

"Gone!?"

"I doubt the Death Eaters left anything standing. It was one of their top targets, and now..."

The silence that filled the compartment at Bill's words was deafening. Ron couldn't think of anything except his room, and a pile of rubble where his home had once stood. Then he kept picturing the garden gnomes stealthily moving in, burrowing through the forgotten stones and bits of wood, with no one to chase them away.

"You can't focus on that, Ron," Bill said. "It was our home, yes. And it's gone. And that makes me sad and angry, too, but -- the important thing is that none of us were in it. We're all okay, right now. I'm sure of that. And we need to focus all of our energies on staying that way."

The two brothers shared a long, quiet look, and finally Ron nodded. "You're right. Okay. Then... Tell us what happened. What went wrong? How did Professor Dumbledore, I mean, who did this? Who killed him? How?"

"Wait," Hermione said quickly, before Bill could answer. "I want to know. I need to know. But -- I think we should take care of things first. Our supplies, I mean. Tell us where we're going."

"That can wait, Hermione," Ron said with a scowl. "This is more important."

"I disagree."

Ron snorted. "Well of course you disagree with me. What else is new?"

"You're being short-sighted and pigheaded as usual, so, very little, apparently," Hermione shot back.

"Enough!" Bill interrupted. "For crying out loud, this definitely isn't the time for bickering. Ginny told me you two were always having a go at each other but I thought she was exaggerating."

"She wasn't," Neville interjected, earning him two glares.

Bill turned to his brother. "I'm sorry, Ron, but Hermione's one hundred percent right. We don't have all the time in the world to talk this out right now. We need to assemble our supplies, plan out our next destination. There'll be time to talk later. From now on, we have to get used to the idea of prioritizing our strategy first. There'll be plenty of downtime later, trust me -- probably more time on our hands than you'll want. Now, though, we've got a lot to do."

* * * * *

A few minutes later, Ron and Hermione were left alone in the compartment, sorting through materials strewn about the floor. After casting the spell to reveal their supplies, Neville and Bill had slipped into the corridor in search of the dining car, which was supposedly the next one over. Bill assured all of them that they were perfectly safe within these limits. "It's a strong charm, don't worry," he said. "It's a modified version of the Fidelius Charm. I'll tell you about the modification sometime, Hermione -- I know how much you enjoy spellwork."

She did want to learn how the spell was built. But at the same time, she couldn't stop thinking about her parents. She'd trained herself, over the past year, to stop worrying about them. And to try to learn to stop missing them. There was nothing more important to her -- nothing in the world at all -- than their safety. Professor Dumbledore (she pushed aside another twinge of grief) had been entirely serious, and adamant. Her parents were prime targets, just pawns in the game of getting to Harry through his friends. They had to go away, and go away in such a way that she'd never see them again, never know where they were. At least until the war was over. It was a terrible price to pay, saying goodbye to her parents and pushing them out of her life, her heart, focusing on the war and nothing else. A terrible price, but not the worst price of all. And that made it the right choice.

"I don't even know what some of these things are," Ron grumbled, separating materials into their four packs. "Muggle stuff, I'd guess." He looked up at her for confirmation.

"Ron, it's you, isn't it?" she asked without preamble.

He looked understandably confused. "What are you going on about, Hermione?"

"My parents. You're their... You're their Secret Keeper, aren't you."

Now he looked unconvincingly confused; a tell-tale light blush spread over his cheekbones and when he spoke, his voice was higher than usual. "I don't know what you're talking about."

She smiled the wisp of a grin at his ineffectual dissembling. "Don't be ridiculous, Ron. You can't lie at all, at least not to me. You know exactly what I'm talking about."

"You're not supposed to know anything about that, either way," he said nervously.

"No -- I'm not supposed to know where they are. Who their Secret Keeper is isn't all that important. But -- I know it's you."

He sighed. "Why would it be me? It's a ridiculous idea."

"Why?" she shot back.

"Because. Picking some kid to protect that important a secret?"

"You're hardly a child anymore," Hermione said, and felt herself blush inexplicably. She turned away slightly so he wouldn't see.

"Picking somebody like *me*, then," he said with a self-deprecating sneer.

Hermione's eyes narrowed slightly. "I'm not even going to deign to respond to that last little bit of self-loathing, Ron. I know it's you."

He turned away, refusing to meet her eyes. "Well, it couldn't be Harry."

"No, it couldn't."

Ron remained silent for some time, and Hermione knew her guess had been correct. Even if Harry had been a possibility -- and of course he wasn't, not with Voldemort still attempting to break past any attempts at Occlumency Harry managed -- she somehow had the feeling Ron would have insisted that he himself be the one to guard her parents' secret. Ron, so sure he was worthless, and so devoted to protecting everyone else.

"I won't tell you where they are, so don't ask," he said finally, closing up his knapsack and doing the same to Bill's and Neville's, now all completely full. There were three other bags as well; Bill had said they'd share the job of carrying them from here on out.

She was stunned. "Of course not! Don't even suggest such a thing."

"I thought you'd try to pry it out of me."

She shook her head. "No, never. It's too important. I... didn't give them up just to put them in danger myself. You're right," she admitted with a sigh. "I probably shouldn't have even made you admit you're the Secret Keeper."

He shrugged. "It doesn't matter. There's nothing in the world that could ever make me tell anyone where your parents are, Hermione." He looked over at her then, serious. "You never have to worry about that. I promise."

"I know," she said softly, and reached over to squeeze his hand.

Sometimes, when she looked at Ron and saw how different he'd become from the eleven-year-old little boy with dirt on his nose, the one she'd met on a very different kind of train than this one, she felt sad. Not because he'd turned out poorly or anything like that. Never that. The opposite was true, really. Ron was a wonderful person, always had been, even in his worst pre-teen snotty days. He had a heart as big as the ocean and a steadfast loyalty to everyone he loved. As a boy he'd had a deplorable tendency to snicker and poke fun, just like all of his mates, but as he got older he developed a deep compassion that evidenced itself whenever he was dealing with someone smaller, younger, more scared than he was. He'd always had a wicked sense of humor; she'd spent a great deal more time than he ever could have imagined trying not to laugh at his jokes. But he was also kind, and to no one more than herself.

None of that made her sad; it made her proud. What depressed her sometimes was how the devil-may-care boy had turned into something of a serious man.

Harry had always been, well, gloomy. He had reason, of course, but by nature Harry was more reserved, less exuberant, more self-contained. Ron was the extrovert -- in a family of seven children you had to be -- and he had pulled Harry out of his shell from the moment they'd met. Maybe the rest of the world thought Harry was the leader and Ron the follower, and maybe that had become true later. They all followed Harry's lead now. But initially, Ron had been the one to take Harry on, show him around and make him part of the wizarding world. Hermione knew Harry never forgot that, and neither did she.

Ron, with his wild gestures, his misfired spells and fits of temper... He'd always been so passionate and loud and blunt, speaking his mind even when he didn't know his mind. No matter how dire the situation, you could still count on him to care deeply about the Chudley Cannons, to be hungry at any time of day, to be afraid of spiders and to love chocolate frogs. Once, in the midst of a row, Hermione had yelled at him that if Voldemort turned out to be a Cannons fan, Ron might have a hard time choosing between striking him down and asking what the Dark Lord thought of the team's chances this year. Harry had laughed out loud at that, which was unheard of where Voldemort was concerned. Ron had sputtered a denial but they'd all ended up smiling.

But that was ages ago. Ron had changed a lot in the last few years. They all had.

"I meant what I said before," he told her quietly. "About being together. It's bad enough Harry's off on his own somewhere, and my family, most of it, anyway. I feel completely lost and I don't know what the hell is happening anymore. But I'm glad you're with me."

"I'm... glad I'm with you too."

He hadn't let go of her hand and now he turned it over in his, his thumb sweeping over her knuckles slowly. She smiled at him a little and a grin crossed his face in return. He reached up slowly and tucked her hair behind her ear, his hand trailing down and his arm wrapping around her shoulder, pulling her close. She went gladly, resting her head on his shoulder and curling her legs beneath her, Ron's back up against the row of seats.

"I'm glad Neville's with us too," Ron said after awhile, his voice rumbling beneath her ear.

She nodded slightly. "He's a good friend. A good person. And Bill's a good brother."

Ron sighed. "I know. He's my oldest brother though, you know? He can't help being bossy and I can't help giving him a hard time."

"He's got a lot of responsibility now. He's just trying to make sure he does what he's been asked to do." She paused. "I know you probably resent that we're being treated like children--"

"No," he interrupted. "That's -- that's not true. I'm glad he's here. I'm glad there's some kind of plan, even if we don't know about all of it yet. Right now I feel like a little kid, because I don't have the faintest idea what's going to happen. Or even what has happened. Where we're going, what we'll do when we get there--"

"Are you scared?" she asked abruptly.

He didn't hesitate, but he didn't sound happy with his answer. "I'm sorry, Hermione, but... yes."

"Good," she told him. "Because I'm terrified."

There was a brief pause, and then Ron snorted with laughter. "Well, great. I'm sure we both feel a lot better now."

Hermione sat up, smiling at him. "As a matter of fact, I do. So that's one of us, at least."

Ron climbed to his feet, reaching out to pull her up as well. "No, that's both of us."

There was a clumsy knock on the door and Bill's voice called from the hallway, "Our hands are full, open up, will you?"

"Do you have food?" Ron yelled back.

"Yes!"

"Well then," he said with a grin, throwing the door open and relieving Neville of a tray, "I'm happy to oblige."

* * * * *

Hermione was glad to see Ron's appetite hadn't been affected by their situation, even if hers had -- he ate everything in front of him and then some, just as always. He'd frowned at her own tray and how little she'd eaten but acquiesced when she'd shoved it in his direction. "I'm not on a hunger strike or anything, I just don't want to eat right now," she told him.

"Fine," he said in-between mouthfuls. "But next time, no excuses."

She smiled agreeably. When everyone finished, they couldn't help but look at Bill expectantly. It was Neville, however, who spoke first.

"Is there anything else we need to do? To, you know, strategize?" he asked carefully.

Bill swallowed and put his tray on the floor, brushing crumbs off his lap. "We'll be on the train another three hours. When we leave, we'll take a Muggle taxi to an address; from there we're going to find the safehouse."

"It's really safe?" Neville asked.

"It really should be."

"Are we staying there?" Hermione said quietly. "Indefinitely?"

Bill hesitated. "For now we are but -- I don't really know for sure. When we get there, that's when I'll have the means to contact some of the other Group Leaders. McGonagall, the twins. And Remus."

They were all quiet for a moment.

"Was Dumbledore attacked by Voldemort?" Ron asked finally.

Neville looked startled; Bill looked resigned.

"No, he wasn't," Bill said sadly. "He wasn't attacked, or injured in battle, or taken by surprise, or poisoned, or cursed, or anything. He just... He wasn't well. Apparently. I didn't know. I don't think anyone knew. Well, maybe McGonagall. Dad said he'd wondered, and that made me feel like a heel for not noticing."

"Noticing what?" Hermione asked.

"Just that - he was tired. Drained. He was getting old. When I think back now, the last couple of Order meetings, he seemed a bit -- dimmed. I did notice, damn it. I just didn't want to wonder."

"Why?" Ron asked, confused.

Bill sighed. "I just didn't want to envision a world in which Albus Dumbledore was as mortal as the rest of us."

Hermione smiled sadly. "I think I know what you mean." Bill gave her a grateful look. "What exactly happened, then?"

"Last night, Dumbledore collapsed in the Staff Room; he was talking to Sprout and McGonagall. They called Madame Pomfrey and took him to his rooms. Apparently it was a heart attack; when he regained consciousness they wanted to move him to St. Mungo's, but Dumbledore said he needed to stay at Hogwarts. Wouldn't hear of leaving. And... he said... he told them he knew it wouldn't make any difference, and he wanted to die in his bed.

"And in the early hours of the morning, that's exactly what happened. McGonagall notified the Ministry, and she called Dad and Remus and told them to let the Order know. We were going to meet at Grimmauld Place as soon as possible."

"Wait," Ron interjected, puzzled. "You said Dumbledore -- died, and then McGonagall was making arrangements and so on. But earlier you said you felt the Charm of Remembrance activated this afternoon. How? Dumbledore couldn't have, then..."

Ron trailed off miserably. Try as she might, Hermione was having just as hard a time referring to their Headmaster's passing. It still didn't seem possible. She knew just what Bill meant: one of the more comforting and reassuring facts they'd all come to rely on was that the most powerful wizard in the world was on their side, leading them, advising them. Powerful, wise, kind and noble -- humorous, compassionate -- the man they all trusted. A man who should have been intimidating, but wasn't, truly. Instead, he was someone they loved and admired. And someone who had been, in the end, all too human. Back in first year, Professor Dumbledore had talked to them about the Elixir of Life, and what it meant to be mortal. She'd known his words to be true... but in the whirlwind of war and strife, she'd forgotten what happens to all of us in peacetime, eventually. They'd learned to be prepared, as prepared as anyone could be, to lose friends in battle. But losing the greatest friend of all to the simple passage of time wasn't something any of them had thought to contemplate.

"It wasn't him, no," Bill agreed. "It was McGonagall. Dumbledore cast the spell on her before he died, so that she could be the plan's guardian in his place."

"What happened next?" Hermione asked.

But to their surprise, Bill let out a frustrated sigh and sank back against the seat cushions, looking frustrated. "To tell you the truth, I don't know."

"What?!" Ron yelped.

"I don't. McGonagall cast the Charm of Remembrance. I Apparated straight home and got my things. Then I went to the Burrow. All McGonagall told me, before you all came downstairs, was that Harry was safe but Voldemort has taken over the Ministry. And Hogsmeade. And Hogwarts."

"Hogwarts!" Hermione exclaimed, shocked. "How?!"

"I don't know, I'm telling you!" Bill said, exasperated. "That's all she had time to say."

Ron was still sputtering in anger, louder than before. "How can you -- I mean, why are we -- you have to--"

"Don't holler at me, Ron," Bill said, looking exhausted. "Honestly, I know you're frustrated and angry and you need to take that out on someone. Tomorrow I'll be your punching bag again, but could you give it a rest tonight?"

Hermione bit her lip and looked away, realizing Bill's observation was on the money. Ron was on the edge of hysterics, and the easiest target in the room was his brother. If she and Ron were alone, she thought, she'd let him holler at her for awhile because he obviously needed to and, frankly, a good brawl might ease her own frazzled nerves right now. But they *weren't* alone, and they weren't entirely safe, and Bill, ultimately, was right.

Thankfully, Ron came to the same conclusion on his own.

"I just -- I just can't stand this," he mumbled, running his hands through his hair. "Mum and Dad who knows where, and Ginny--"

"You know Professor McGonagall will take care of Gin," Hermione said quickly, squeezing his arm. "She will."

Ron nodded and smirked at her gratefully. "She's your favorite professor for a reason, huh?"

Hermione nodded. "And I have excellent judgment."

"You do at that," Ron agreed quietly and turned back to his brother. "I'm sorry."

Hermione knew the Weasleys weren't in the habit of apologizing to each other, certainly not amongst the boys. Only if their mother threatened them with dire punishment was an "sorry" quickly mumbled, and as often as not followed by a rude gesture or teasing grin. They were an affectionate family in a rough rumble-tumble kind of way, she thought, clearly all completely devoted to each other, but not all that likely to say as much except in jest. So Bill's look of surprise at Ron's genuine contrition wasn't hard to explain, but she wondered, a bit, why he then stared at her, speculatively, before turning back to his youngest brother.

"It's okay. Listen, I'm just as frustrated. I'm just as worried. Hell, I probably shouldn't say that, I should tell you how everything's going to be okay and there's nothing to worry about. That's what I'm here for, to make sure that happens."

"No, don't do that," Hermione interjected. "We may be young, but we're not infants, either. We know..."

"We know it's bad," Neville finished for her in a small but steady voice. "There's no point in pretending it isn't."

Bill just nodded, looking at the floor.

"But we're lucky to have you," Neville went on. "I mean, I feel lucky to be here with you. All of you. I know I probably don't have as much to offer, you know, but I just wanted to say I'm glad -- to be with friends."

Ron leaned forward and looked Neville in the eye. "You are with friends. Friends who aren't about to let you talk about yourself that way. You're one of our best mates, Neville."

"And you've proven yourself to be the kind of person anyone would be lucky to stand next to in battle," Hermione said firmly.

Neville looked away, his face red. Bill clapped him on the back and smiled.

"They're right, Neville. We're lucky to have you as well." He sat up a bit straighter, then, looking more determined. "But I'm obviously not on top of my game right now. None of us are. Listen, one of the things the older Aurors taught us when we joined the Order was that when you're in a battle situation, you have to think about managing your time and reserving your strength. Using downtime to your advantage. We've got a few hours to go yet. Let's everybody try to relax for a little while."

Hermione looked dubious. "I'm sure it's a good idea, Bill, but I honestly doubt I'll sleep right now."

"Then just work on clearing your mind for a bit," he replied, and smiled. "We're going to need that brain of yours working full time soon enough, I'm sure."

She rolled her eyes. Beside her, Ron chuckled softly. Bill got out a few blankets and a couple of pillows from the overhead compartments, tossing one to each of them and then contentedly stretching out fully on the floor of the compartment, closing his eyes. Neville curled up on the row of seats on his side of the compartment, his back to them and his head buried.

Ron wedged his pillow into the corner of their seat, leaned back and gestured silently to Hermione. She shook out the blanket and edged closer to him, hesitating. He took her by the shoulders and gently turned her around, then pulled her back to rest against his chest, his arms wrapped around her tightly. She shifted awkwardly for a moment, unsettled by being so close to him. Finally, she brought her legs up onto the seat and stretched out, tucking the blanket around them both. She felt his chest rise and fall in a big release of breath and she closed her eyes. A moment later his hand sought out hers and threaded their fingers together.

Hermione felt some of the tension ease out of her and she sighed into him, clasping his hand in hers and feeling his heart beat beneath her ear. She didn't feel safe. She doubted she'd feel safe again for a very long time. But at least she knew she wasn't alone.