Scattered

Ron's back hurt like hell. Hermione had fallen asleep ages ago, curled up in a ball and cushioned against him. She was probably pretty damn comfortable, he thought with only a bit of resentment.

He edged himself out from under her carefully, though he needn't have bothered; she was dead to the world. Glancing down, he saw that Bill was still asleep as well. Neville, on the other hand, was watching him silently from across the compartment.

I'm going to the loo, Ron mouthed silently.

Neville nodded. It's right across the hall.

After finishing up, Ron felt restless and didn't want to return to the compartment. He glanced up and down the hall. A man and a woman left their own compartment, heading into the next car. A little boy ran out into the hall, followed by an older girl who looked exasperated. They all looked perfectly harmless but Ron reached into his back pocket anyhow, clutching his wand for reassurance.

His stomach chose that moment to emit an insistent gurgle. Well, he was always hungry these days, after all. No harm in getting a bite to tide him over.

The dining car was mostly empty. The man and woman he'd seen earlier were being seated at a table in the corner. Two elderly women were chattering over the remains of their meal, sitting near the door. Somewhere in the course of the day's bizarre events Ron had lost track of everything, and he had no idea whatsoever what time of day it was.

"May I help you, sir?" a steward asked.

Ron hesitated; he realized he didn't have the faintest clue how to order Muggle food. "Some tea, I guess."

"Shall I bring some biscuits and sandwiches along with your tea, sir?"

"Yes," Ron said gratefully.

After he finished eating he sat hunched up against the window, staring at the unfamiliar countryside passing by. He didn't know where they were, either, where they were going. How long they'd be there. He didn't have a home to return to. The Burrow was gone.

The Burrow was gone. It didn't seem possible. In his mind's eye he could picture the cluttered kitchen, the fireplace he'd tossed Floo powder in a thousand times. Ginny's room, just as messy as his own except for when Hermione slept there. His posters. His Mum's knickknacks and Witch Weekly magazines, and Percy's things, boxed up in the attic with the ghoul. The ghoul -- what happened to the ghoul? You can't haunt an attic that isn't there anymore, after all. The clock with its hands pointing towards danger, his chess set, the old sofa where Hermione had dozed off, her feet pressing up against his thigh... gone.

He tried to think of it as Bill had said: just a place, and a place none of the people he cared about had been in when it was destroyed, burned, blown up, whatever they'd done to it (all of his father's Muggle devices in the garage, Great-Aunt Sylvia's portrait, his broomstick). People are more important than things, obviously. But -- this morning, he'd had people and things. Was it a crime to want both? A home that was safe and a family even safer? Now, the only things he had left fit in a bag, and the only people, right here on this train, in a single small room. He wanted to think they were all safe somewhere, his parents, Ginny, Fred and George. Bill hadn't mentioned Percy or Charlie; they could be anywhere. He hoped they were all okay. They had to be.

And then there was Harry.

Ron couldn't get rid of the feeling in his gut, a sinking, twisty nasty feeling, that he was letting his best mate down with every single moment that passed. Just because Professor Dumbledore had some big idea Ron didn't even entirely understand about splitting them up, it didn't mean Ron had to agree. They belonged together. Him, Hermione and Harry -- they were supposed to fight side by side. Ron was supposed to be there when Harry took on Voldemort, standing at his side, right along with Hermione. He'd always thought, somehow, the two of them would make the difference for Harry in some way, give him that thing -- that one thing, whatever it was -- that he needed to beat the Dark Lord. It was a bit of conceit, he reckoned, to think of himself and Hermione as being so pivotal. But ever since the Department of Mysteries, late at night in his bed he'd lay awake and imagine how it would all fall out. He, Ron, would stand at Harry's side, take whatever hits came his way. Watch his back. Hermione would dream up some fantastic new spell, something powerful, something never heard of before, something that they'd all take part in -- and they'd cast this spell in a huge battle, and they'd win. They'd destroy Voldemort, together.

And now? It hadn't happened that way at all. Voldemort hadn't come for them; why should he? They held no real power. Instead he'd taken over everything, and now the bastard just sat there just daring Harry to come after him. And Harry would, Ron knew it, sooner or later. With or without Moody and Hagrid, and now definitely without Ron and Hermione.

Ron thought about running. About getting off the train and finding Harry, wherever he was. He'd try to talk Hermione into joining him. Or -- or maybe he'd leave her here, where it was safer, with just Bill and Neville, the way it was supposed to be. He'd find Harry on his own and they'd go up against Voldemort together, just, you know, on their own. They'd find a way somehow, even without some fabulous spell of Hermione's, without anyone else at all. They'd just do it, and then this whole nightmare would be over, and he'd have his family back again. Perfect.

Except the whole plan sounded foolish even to him.

Ron didn't know where Harry was. He didn't even have the vaguest idea of where to look, and Moody was sure to be doing his damnedest to make sure Harry couldn't be found at all, anyhow. Ron freely admitted he'd never paid the least bit of attention to how Muggles did things, so traveling on his own was out of the question; he could Apparate to anywhere in the wizarding world, but every place he knew in the wizarding world was currently being run by Voldemort. Ron didn't think of himself as lacking in courage, but the idea of being on his own with Death Eaters in power everywhere, hunting him down -- a tad daunting, to say the least. He'd do it for Harry, though, in a second, assuming he could find him -- but then, there was Hermione.

Even if he wanted to put her in danger by talking her into running with him, Ron knew she wouldn't go. Hermione wouldn't ruin all of these plans so carefully made and constructed for them by taking off half-cocked, blindly dashing into danger. Oh, she wouldn't hesitate if it were a matter of someone's life or death, even at... even at the cost of her own life. She was that brave, and that giving. He knew that. But if what Bill said was true, they... might be safe. They just might all be okay. And trying to find out if anything had gone wrong might put the very people he was worried about in danger. That's what Hermione would say to him.

No, he wouldn't talk to her about running off. Though she gave nothing away, Ron knew the only thing holding Hermione together right now was the fact that there was a Plan. A map to follow. Steps to take. They'd be safe if they all followed that map, and deep down, Ron agreed it was working pretty well so far. I'm sitting here still breathing, after all, he thought darkly.

When they were younger, Ron used to think Hermione was a bit mental at times. So passionate and urgent and vigorous about things. Almost desperately so at times. Never a quick learner, it had taken him a few years to figure out that Hermione was smart and strong and self-sufficient and hugely brave, but she was also terrified of a great many things. Failing. Losing. Being left behind. Left alone. So she fought that terror with logic, and reason, and had the passion of a zealot for order and control. It made her feel safe. But this year she'd effectively lost her parents, and now they'd lost a great deal more of what mattered to them. Everything they'd ever known was in disarray, and Hermione needed something logical to help her keep it together. Dumbledore's plan was doing the trick. Hermione didn't need Ron second-guessing the only thing keeping her sane.

And if she wouldn't go, Ron wouldn't either. He wasn't about to leave Hermione alone. She was his best friend, and she did need him. Well, not, you know, to take care of her. Hermione was a sight more capable at such things than he was. But she needed him. He knew she did. And he certainly needed her.

"You're a growing boy still, aren't you, Ronald?"

Ron grimaced as Bill sat down on the other side of the table, taking the last biscuit from his tray. "Get a haircut, William."

The two brothers sat in silence for a few moments. Ron began to feel uncomfortable, as if Bill was waiting for him to spill his guts.

"Is this the part where we have the brotherly heart-to-heart?" Ron asked finally.

Bill shrugged. "Is that something you want?" he asked, looking doubtful.

"Not really. I mean, no offense."

"None taken. Ron, listen. We're all in shock. I don't know about you, but basically what's running through my mind, for the most part, isn't much more sophisticated than 'Bloody hell!' and "Okay, what now?' If you're looking for advice, I'll try to give it but -- you're still my brother. We're still Weasleys. We didn't turn into different people overnight. I know I can count on you and you can count on me. What else matters?"

Ron snorted. "Does this mean we won't be hugging and weeping all over each other on a regular basis now? Because I was really looking forward to that."

"If you need a hug, Ronniekins, I'd suggest Hermione as a more viable alternative. Anyhow, I came to get you because it's almost our stop. We need to get ready," Bill said, standing.

"You can say that again," Ron agreed, following his brother out of the dining car.

Back in the compartment, Hermione and Neville were now both awake.

"I'm so sorry, Neville," she was saying. "I know how fond of him you were."

"What's wrong?" Ron asked sharply. Hermione gave him an odd look and he shrugged, regretting his tone. He couldn't help being on edge, though.

"Neville was just telling me that Trevor died at the beginning of the summer," she answered.

"It's hard to lose a pet," Bill said sympathetically, crossing over to their bags and doing some last-minute checking of supplies. He pulled out a sheet of parchment and became engrossed in whatever was written there.

Ron clapped Neville on the shoulder and sat down. The only pet he'd ever lost had been Scabbers and... that wasn't the same thing, really. He was far from sad when he thought about "losing" Scabbers.

"Thanks, Hermione," Neville said, still looking downtrodden. "Though I guess, well, I guess it's better now, considering. Taking him along, you know, I probably couldn't have anyway. Oh, that sounds awful," he finished quickly in a shamed tone.

Hermione shook her head. "No, it doesn't. I've been thinking the same thing about Crookshanks."

Neville looked horrified. "Crookshanks didn't--"

"No, no," she cut him off with a smile. "He's absolutely fine. I mean, I'm sure he is. But I sent... I sent Crookshanks to be with my parents. They're in hiding," she explained, when Neville looked confused. "I haven't seen them in months. Professor Dumbledore said, well, he said it was necessary."

"I'm really sorry," Neville said. Ron could tell he felt terrible for bringing the entire subject up.

She smiled. "It's okay. Really. Well, it isn't, but it is, at the same time. I'm glad they're completely safe. It makes me feel better. And that's sort of why I sent Crookshanks with them. Almost as if he could be helping to take care of them while I can't. He's very resourceful," she said proudly.

Ron had to admit that Crookshanks was quite clever, even though he'd never been one of the cat's biggest fans (he always suspected the old bugger saw right through him and could read his mind, particularly some of the not-entirely-platonic thoughts he occasionally had about the furry fellow's mistress). When Hermione had announced her decision to send Crookshanks along with her parents, Ron's first reaction had been indifference colored with a bit of relief. And then, guilt -- when he stopped to think about how much Hermione loved her pet and how she was selflessly giving up yet another thing that mattered to her most.

"Pig," Ron said suddenly.

"Yes?" Hermione said with a smile.

Ron ran an exasperated hand over his face. "I forgot about Pig. I forgot entirely."

"I know," she said, grinning. "I was wondering how long it would take you to remember."

Neville looked appalled. "You just left him?"

"I'm not that bad," Ron said with a scowl, then relented. "Well, I am, but not this time. No, I sent him with -- Bill!" The older Weasley looked up, startled. "I sent Pig with a letter for Harry!"

Bill looked thoughtful. "When?"

"This morning. Right before..."

"I don't know, Ron. If it was right before, he probably didn't get to Harry in time. Pig's not very fast, is he?" Hermione laughed and Ron shook his head. "Well," Bill continued, "then he's probably still looking for Harry. Or you."

"Do you think he would have gone back to the Burrow?" Hermione asked softly, giving Ron a worried glance.

Bill shrugged helplessly. "Care of Magical Creatures wasn't my best class. I mean, I know the basics about owls, just as we all do, but I don't know how they behave in abnormal circumstances. I was told they always either deliver their letter or return to you."

"Hedwig always finds who she's looking for," Hermione said thoughtfully.

Ron felt despondent. "Pig's not Hedwig, though. He's probably flying in circles around the rubble where the Burrow used to be."

He and Bill shared a bitter but accepting look. Neville was silent, but Hermione had tears in her eyes. She'd spent a part of every summer at the Burrow for years and was very fond of being there, Ron knew, and she also knew how much his home meant to him. Harry -- Harry would be horrified to learn that the Burrow was gone.

"Are you sure it's been destroyed?" Hermione asked Bill, a small note of hope in her voice.

Bill reached over and squeezed her arm kindly. "There's no way to know much of anything for sure right now, but awhile back I saw a report given to the Order listing top Death Eater targets. Harry spent so much time there, you see."

"Don't ever say that to him," Ron said quickly. "It would kill him to know that it was because of him."

"But it's not his fault," Bill said, looking confused. "He's certainly not to blame for being targeted by a mad, evil wizard."

Hermione shook her head sadly. "He doesn't understand that. We've tried to tell him, but it doesn't help. He blames himself. For everything."

"She's right," Neville agreed, looking at Ron for confirmation. "He -- he does."

"Poor bloke," Bill said. "No one can carry that kind of weight on their shoulders all the time. Listen," he said briskly, moving closer to them, "I know you've got a lot on your minds right now but it's time to set that aside and make our plan. We should be reaching our station in about ten minutes."

"Fine, what do we do?" Ron said, sitting down next to Hermione and leaning forward to look at the papers Bill held in his hand. Neville scooted up close as well.

"I have no reason to think anyone could find us on this train," Bill said reassuringly, "or know that we got on it in the first place. That doesn't mean we don't have to be very careful when we depart. You know what Moody always says--"

"Constant vigilance," Ron and Hermione chanted together.

"Exactly. Well, he's right. In fact, as a side note, crazy as it may feel, we all need to use Moody's advice from this day forward."

Ron snorted skeptically. "The real Moody's advice, or the stuff we heard from the Death Eater impersonating him?"

"When you think about it, though, most of the advice Bartemius Crouch gave us, when he was Professor Moody, I mean, was still rather useful. Isn't that odd?" Hermione asked thoughtfully.

"He was quite nice to me, actually," Neville said hesitantly. "A bit nicer than, you know, the real Moody."

"Well, who isn't?"

Bill coughed pointedly and they stopped talking. "Sorry," Hermione said.

"That's okay. So, when we get off the train, we need to get a taxi. And we need to do it without much fuss, which means, no fumbling around. Hermione, do you think you can take care of that?"

She nodded. "Absolutely."

"Good, we'll step back and let you handle that, then. We tell the driver this address," he continued, pointing to the top of the page. "It's a Muggle hotel. We go inside one door and walk through the lobby and out another door. Hermione gets another taxi, and we give the driver this second address. It's a local restaurant. We go inside but come out again. Hermione, will we be able to do that without looking foolish?"

"Let me think... It's getting to be rather late in the evening, isn't it?"

Bill nodded. "It's nine p.m. now."

"That's perfect. I'll ask what time they close and it's bound to be in less than an hour, by the time we get there. Then I'll say oh, that's too bad, we wanted to have a long late supper, thanks anyhow."

Ron grinned. Hermione was excellent at dissembling. He had to admit it was something he admired about her, which was a bit backwards. Anyone who could fool the twins, however, into thinking she had learned the secret location of the Holy Grail -- their faces when they'd returned empty-handed from the Wessex County Cat Show had been priceless -- was worthy of admiration. On a number of levels, he thought.

"That sounds good. Then when we leave it's a short walk and -- we're there."

"There?" Neville asked.

"To the safehouse. To the place we'll be calling home -- for now."