Scattered

Hermione and Neville had gone upstairs to explore the rest of the house while Bill took care of a few matters, transfiguring several forks into charmed keys to the house for each of them and unpacking a few magical items from his bags. Ron riffled through kitchen cabinets and flicked switches, marveling at the unfamiliar foodstuffs in the -- refridger, Hermione had called it. Something like that. After awhile he wandered upstairs and joined his two friends in the large bedroom, gazing out into the backyard.

"It... will it be safe, do you think, for us to go outside, you know, casually?" Neville asked, looking worried.

Ron clapped the other boy on the back. "Sure it will. Look, no one knows we're here. Bill was just saying, we've got to act normal, and normal people go outside."

Hermione frowned for a moment. "I guess you're right."

"Why, d'you want to be shut up inside all the time, like we've been for months already? Fat lot of good that did," Ron couldn't help adding.

"No, no," she said quickly. "I want freedom, too, of course. Just as long as it's safe."

Bill came up the stairs then and caught the end of their conversation. "We won't do anything that isn't safe, Hermione, I promise that." He sat down on the edge of the bed and stretched out his long legs. "But in fact, it wouldn't be safe for us to hole up in here. Our task is to blend in rather than seem strange and suspicious. Hermione's going to have an easier time with that than the rest of us, but we'll learn."

Ron yawned. Hermione shot him a look that was half-annoyed, half sympathetic (something only she could pull off, he thought wryly).

"I'm tired, too," Bill said, chuckling. "Let's call it a night. Hermione, this room is yours."

She looked scandalized. "No, no. This is the biggest room, it should be yours, Bill."

"It's also got its own loo, and living with three men, you're going to want a little privacy," Bill insisted. "Really, not another word, Hermione. If Mum were here, she'd skin me alive if I didn't make you take this one."

Hermione glanced at Ron and Neville. Neville nodded encouragingly. "You should definitely stay in this one."

"You're all sure?" she asked hesitatingly.

"Of course," Ron replied.

"Now, gents, we're going to have to double up in one of the other rooms, since we've got an extra body around," Bill added with a theatrical sigh. Ron took a half-hearted swipe at his head; Bill ducked and laughed.

Hermione looked worried. "Then I really shouldn't take this room. Whichever two of you are sharing should take it."

"Stop it," Ron told her affectionately. "All of these bedrooms are huge. Neville and I are used to sharing a space not much bigger with three other blokes. We'll be fine."

"Ron's right, we'll just bunk up like usual," Neville agreed.

Bill stood. "That's it then. Not another word!" he stopped Hermione when she looked as if she wanted to argue further. "It's settled. I'll go transfigure the bed in the middle room in two, and we can unpack and get some rest. Neville, want to get our bags?"

"Will do," Neville replied, going to the top of the stairs and levitating each of their bags up and into the appropriate room.

Ron glanced at his roommate, wondering if Neville would need any help.

"He's fine, Ron," Hermione said quietly, picking up on his thoughts. "He can handle far more complicated spells than that these days."

"I know that," Ron agreed. "You're right."

Hermione's bag landed with a soft thud just inside the door. She went to it and began unpacking her clothes onto the bed, making separate piles of items she'd shrunk and those that were ready to be put away. She hesitated, glancing at Ron; he quickly turned away slightly, realizing with a heated blush that she didn't want him gaping at all of her... well, her undergarments, and such. Don't think about it, he warned himself fiercely. Don't picture a single one, you bloody perv, just think about something else. Anything else.

"Don't hold it against Neville for getting upset," Hermione said finally. "Professor Sprout meant a lot to him."

Ron let out a huge sigh of relief. Hermione to the rescue. Wait, what is she..."No, I wouldn't do that," he said after a moment, somewhat defensively.

"No, you wouldn't," she agreed. "I just feel terrible for him. His parents are still in St. Mungo's, and now who knows when he'll ever get to see them again. Or his grandmother. And Professor Sprout, well, he told me she'd become like a mother to him, or an aunt. She believed in him long before almost anyone else did, you know?"

"I can imagine," Ron mumbled, still distracted. He stole a glance out of the corner of his eye; Hermione seemed to be finished with anything, er, private and was enlarging several sweaters and a coat back to normal size. He wandered towards the door and his own unpacking, feeling oddly reluctant to leave. "Are you going to be okay?"

"Of course," she responded brightly. When he didn't answer she met his eyes and sighed in defeat. "Well, I don't really know, if you want the honest answer."

Ron leaned against the doorframe wearily. "Me either."

"We just have to try, I guess," she said so quietly it was almost a whisper.

They both fell silent, Hermione with her wand in one hand and a shrunken pair of shoes in another, Ron slouched against the door. As the moments ticked by Ron began to feel more and more awkward, though he had no idea why. He wished he could think of something to say or do, something that would make both of them feel better.

But there was nothing. Finally he sighed and turned away. "Goodnight, Hermione."

"Goodnight," she replied, and as he walked down the hallway to his own room, he heard her door snick quietly shut.

* * * * *

This house is way too quiet, Ron thought as he turned over on his side for the thousandth time in the past hour. Back at home, there'd never been a lack of noise. The ghoul in the attic could be counted on to rattle and stomp at any time of night. Dad got home late and Mum got up early. The twins came and went all the time, despite having a flat of their own. Pig made all kinds of noise, rattling about in his cage. The old house itself had creaked and groaned, small little noises he'd heard all his life and never noticed until now -- until he found himself sleeping in this too-clean, new-feeling house, complete with Muggle furniture and lights and refridgers and such. There was almost no noise at all except for a low hum, which Bill had said was something called "air conditioning". Ron wasn't complaining about that, since apparently it was what was keeping the house comfortable without any need for casting a cooling charm every day.

It simply felt strange. This was his home now; he had no other home. Not the Burrow, not Hogwarts and Gryffindor Tower. Just this room and this house, a house he hadn't even seen by light of day as yet. It might only be for a short while, and it might be forever. And it was too damn quiet.

Across the room, Neville was sound asleep. Ron knew his friend was as troubled and worried as he was, but the news about Sprout seemed to have taken the last of his energy and Neville had been dead to the world since his head hit the pillow. Neville was always a heavy sleeper, though -- much like Ron himself, in normal times.

I can't just lie here awake all night, he thought irritably. With a frustrated grunt he clambered out from beneath the covers and stood, crossing to the door. He tried to shut it behind him quietly, though Merlin knew Neville probably wouldn't have noticed if he'd slammed it with all his might. The hallway was dark and he turned carefully towards the stairs -- when he noticed the light shining from beneath Hermione's door.

She was awake, he knew. He shouldn't have been surprised.

Ron stood there, his bare feet sinking into the cream-colored plush carpet, tugging at his too-short pajama bottoms. He'd given the shirt to Ginny ages ago; it hadn't fit him in years. The air was cool -- too cool -- and he stood there silently, undecided. He could go downstairs and get something to eat, he supposed. Try sleeping on the couch. Stare out the window. The choices were limited and none of them sounded appealing. He could just get a drink and use the loo, then go back to his room. He could stay up all night by himself.

Or, he could knock on her door.

He scowled and shook his head, moving to the top of the stairs. No, he couldn't do that. It was the middle of the night. He shouldn't bother her. She was probably just reading, and she'd give him that look, the one where her eyebrows scrunched together and her nose wrinkled, and she obviously thought he was a bit daft. He'd have to be a bit daft to go creeping into her room in the wee hours of the morning, like a lost child looking for comfort.

He knocked on the door.

"Who is it?" she said immediately, her voice just above a whisper.

He coughed and cleared his throat, then regretted it -- the sound seemed to echo loudly in the dark hallway. "It's me."

She didn't respond. Ron shuffled nervously, wishing he could go back in time a few moments and just go downstairs or back to bed.

The door opened a small crack and Hermione's face peered through the crack. She had her hair up in a loose pile on top of her head and she looked tired. "Ron?"

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have bothered you--"

"No, no," she cut him off, still whispering. "I'm glad. I can't sleep," she admitted, looking embarrassed.

"Me either."

They stood in awkward silence and Ron stared at his feet, unsure what to say.

Hermione sighed exasperatedly and opened the door wider. "Oh, come in. We don't want to wake anyone else up."

Ron slipped into the room and stood aside as Hermione quietly closed the door behind her. She frowned for a moment and then retrieved her wand from her bedside table and performed a quick Imperturbable spell. "That's better," she said in a normal voice. "Are Bill and Neville sleeping, then?"

"Neville definitely is. And probably Bill, too. He looked pretty knackered."

She nodded. "Well, lucky them, I guess."

Ron grunted in agreement and yawned. That was the problem. He felt exhausted but he just couldn't seem to stop his mind from spinning. From the looks of her, Hermione felt the same.

He glanced about her room, noticing that she'd actually done some decorating. The walls were a pale green now, and the curtains, he thought, had been changed as well.

"I was bored," she said with a shrug, seeing he'd noticed. "Not much else to do."

"I thought for sure you'd be reading."

Hermione looked sad and then turned away. "There aren't any books," she said in a small voice.

Ron's heart went out to her. A world without her parents, without most of the people she knew, without Dumbledore, without Hogwarts -- it was all pretty hard, but for Hermione Granger, a world without books was like another man's hell on earth.

"I'm sorry," he said, and meant it.

She shrugged and smiled a little. "I'm being silly. I'm sure we can get some. Regular books, I mean, Muggle books. It's not quite the same, but there are still plenty of fascinating Muggle texts I've wanted to read and never had the time for. It's fine. It's nothing, really, in the grand scheme of things."

He knew what she meant. He missed his things. His broomstick. His Cannons posters. His Chocolate Frog wizard card collection. His school robes, even. He missed all of it, even though he knew these were all just junk, just things -- nothing compared to their lives, and his family's, and Harry's. Being safe and alive, that was what mattered. Even if right now he'd give almost anything for a battered old wizards' chess set or a deck of Exploding Snap cards.

Hermione was sitting with her back against the headboard, her arms wrapped around her drawn-up knees, seemingly lost in thought. She was wearing her favorite pajamas, he saw, the white ones with a chain of embroidered daisies stitched around the neckline, the pants much too long for her. She'd worn them all summer -- a gift from her mother last Christmas, she'd said.

Suddenly he felt distinctly uncomfortable standing there bare-chested in his too-short pajamas. They'd spent the summer locked away together and frankly there had been plenty of days when none of them got dressed until well past noon, even Hermione. And he'd never felt strange being around her like this then but -- Ginny had been there. Often his Mum as well, and the twins. He'd never thought anything of it. Hermione was practically family after all... That's a lie, he confessed to himself almost immediately. Who do you think you're fooling? If Hermione really is "practically family", why do you spend so much time trying not to stare at her legs. Or her hair. Or her--

"Ron, what's wrong?" she was saying, frowning up at him. "Sit down and keep me company."

He glanced around the room. There were no chairs, nothing to sit on but the floor and the bed. He considered sprawling out on the floor, but it obviously wasn't what she meant and she was already eyeing him strangely, wondering why he was standing there so long. Out of options, he perched tentatively opposite her at the foot of the bed.

"Does this seem real to you?" she asked quietly, not looking at him.

"What do you mean?"

She shrugged. "I can't figure it out. On one hand, it's all been too real, every minute of it. My mind is racing and I keep thinking about what must be going on out there, and where Harry is, and how he's doing. There's so much to think about, and so much we don't know yet. It's terrifying, really, and huge. But at the same time, there's this little part of that's thinking, did this all really happen? Is it possible that less than twenty-four hours ago we were at the Burrow, and everyone was fine and we were just bored and actually looking forward to school? How did it happen so fast? How can it be that in the space of less than twenty-four hours' time, I've been forced to leave behind everything and everyone that I care about -- everyone except you -- and now we're here? All on our own? How can that be real?"

Ron tried to reassure her. "We're not alone, Hermione. We've got Bill and Neville."

"I know," she admitted. "And I'm glad we do. I am. But, Ron... Harry. We should be with Harry. And Ginny. It doesn't feel right to be without them."

"No, it doesn't," he agreed. She looked up at him, her face sad and desperate. He continued, "I was thinking the same thing... I even, I mean, I guess I just thought, really, it wasn't serious, but I even wondered if I shouldn't try to convince you that we should go looking for them. For Harry, at least. Leave and take our chances and find him. But I know you won't do that," he added quickly. "I'm not saying we should."

She stared at him for a long moment and then turned on her side, facing him but looking off into space. "No, we shouldn't. We can't. We won't be able to find him, not with Moody there. And it wouldn't be fair or right for us to jeopardize everyone's safety that way, not to mention our own. A lot of people went to a lot of trouble to keep us safe. We need to respect that. It's the way it has to be."

"Right," Ron said.

"Ron?" she said softly.

"What?"

"I thought about leaving, too."

He was shocked into silence.

"We're not going to," she added. "Even though this doesn't feel right. We're going to just have to learn to live with that. But I thought about it."

He moved to sit beside her and caught her eyes with his. "Hermione, Harry knows we wish we could be with him. I'm sure of it. He'd be glad to know we're here together. And I have to believe that we'll all be together again, all three of us. That's how it's meant to be."

"I always thought so," she said dejectedly. "But now it doesn't seem that way anymore. What if we don't see him again? What if he fights Voldemort without us? Oh God, Ron, what if he fights him and he loses? How will we be able to go on? And what if nothing happens? What if we just stay here and live the rest of our lives in hiding? What if we can never go back? What if we're stuck living here forever? What if--"

Ron reached down and pulled Hermione up into a tight hug, cutting her off. She wasn't crying but her voice held an edge of hysteria that scared him. She wasn't okay. None of them were. But he needed her -- desperately -- to be okay. I can't do this alone, he thought. I just can't.

"I know," he murmured over and over again. She clutched at him, her face buried in his neck. "I know."

Finally, he felt her take a deep, shuddering breath; she seemed to relax a bit against him. Relieved, he loosened his hold on her and reluctantly began to pull away.

"Don't."

He stopped, unsure. "What?"

"Don't go." She lifted her face from his shoulder; her eyes were dry but they were still heavy-lidded and sad. "Stay here. Unless you don't want to."

"That's... I don't, I mean, I don't not want to," he stumbled.

She laughed a little, and then she did pull away, laying back down and curling up on her side again. "Then stay here. Stay and talk to me. I can't sleep and neither can you. If we can't... can't be with all the people we want to be with, we should at least be glad we're together, right? Like you said."

"Right," he agreed, his heart pounding. "Okay."

He slid down and, mimicking her position, curled on his side as well so that they were facing each other, not touching. She gave him one of her two pillows; he smiled a thanks and they both fell silent.

"Or not talk," she said with a yawn. "Just, you know, not be alone, together."

"That's fine," he said.

As he watched, her eyes began to slowly slide closed. She seemed to catch herself and blinked a few times, but almost immediately she was drifting off again.

"I guess... I guess I'm sleepy after all," she admitted.

"That's okay," he replied, though he wasn't sure she heard. Within moments she was sleeping, finally, and he smiled, relieved. She was going to be okay. No matter what it took, he'd make sure of that.