Scattered

Ron slowly blinked awake, bright sunlight stretching across the bedcovers and inching towards him. The window curtains had been pulled back and the morning sun was unrelenting. He flopped restlessly onto his other side, trying to steal a few more minutes' rest. He hated getting up in the morning. Mornings always came too bloody soon.

He slowly remembered the previous day's journey and all of the anxieties that had followed him into sleep. He was still tired from it all, still needed rest, but he was too interested in what the new day would bring to sleep much longer. Some good news would be lovely, he thought without much enthusiasm and a small amount of sarcasm. Or at least no more bad news.

Hidden back in the recesses of his mind was the faint hope that somehow -- some crazy way -- Pig would find him, and that somehow, someway, he'd have a message from Harry with him. Ron knew he had to accept their separation; he even knew that in some ways, it was for the best. But that didn't stop him from wanting word. Even the shortest message would make it a thousand times easier both for him and for Hermione. She was so worried, and not herself -- and Ron needed her to be herself very badly.

Hermione. Wait...

Ron realized, slowly, that he'd never left Hermione's room last night.

His eyes opened fully and he sat up, pushing the sheet and blanket off and glancing around nervously. This was Hermione's room, alright, with its green walls and new curtains and her shoes by the door. Her wand was on the dresser. Her closet door was slightly ajar. And her side of the bed was empty. He remembered her falling asleep last night, and how he'd decided to stay a little while longer, just in case she woke up again. He must have dozed off himself, and slept through the rest of the night. And Hermione had woken up first -- and left. She had to be furious with him... but, on the other hand, she'd left him sleeping peacefully. Furious Hermione did not respect the peaceful slumber of another. In his considerable experience, Furious Hermione rather took pleasure, actually, in waking said other up.

He stood, uncertain, and wondered what time it was. Should he go back to his room? Wait for her to come back? Head downstairs? Where was she? He then realized the water was running; Hermione, he had to assume, hadn't left the room at all and was taking a shower (stop it, Weasley; follow that train of thought and you'll start picturing something you're absolutely not supposed to want to picture, and then you're a dead man). She'd come out soon and--

Downstairs it is.

He closed the door behind him slowly, silently, and then moved as noiselessly as possible to his own bedroom -- only to find the door ajar, Neville's bed already made and his own unkempt but, of course, equally empty. He tossed the covers up over his pillow (the closest he ever came to making his bed, much to his mother's ever-dismay) and, grabbing some clothes, headed for the loo.

Ron was showered and dressed a few minutes later. He knew Hermione hadn't gone downstairs yet; not only was her door still closed, he knew all too well just how long that girl took to wash her hair. His mum had tried to convince her that learning a suitable cleaning charm would be easier, but Hermione insisted they all made her hair bushier than ever and stuck with the Muggle way. Personally Ron thought she was bonkers; he preferred a hot shower in the morning, sure, but washing his hair took all of three seconds, less time than the charm, really. Thank Merlin he'd had Ginny cut it this summer -- the short cropped style meant he never really even had to brush it, much less worry about the sort of nonsense Hermione went through. Bill was nutters to keep that ponytail going, Ron thought, purposely and conveniently forgetting that he'd been trying to emulate his eldest brother's hairstyle for years.

Ron wanted to talk to Hermione alone before going downstairs, but there didn't seem to be any help for it. He'd just have to postpone that awkward conversation until later.

Ron could smell coffee when he was only halfway down the stairs and his stomach grumbled in appreciation. Bill loved coffee as much as he did. He rounded the corner and found both Bill and Neville in the kitchen, eating breakfast. "Morning," he said in a mumble, on a mission for caffeine and food.

He fumbled about through the cupboards, finally locating a mug. He took out his wand but there was a strange device on the kitchen counter with a glass carafe containing what was clearly coffee; he shrugged and poured himself some. It saved casting the spell, he supposed.

"I'm starving," he said, rummaging around for a plate. "What's for breakfast?"

Behind him, Bill coughed.

Ron turned around, confused. "What? I'm just joking. I can cook for myself."

Bill shook his head. "I don't care about that. But before you start stuffing your face, we need to talk, little brother."

Ron narrowed his eyes and glanced at Neville. The other boy turned beet red and looked away nervously. "I'm sorry, Ron," he said finally. "But I didn't know where you were."

"When?" Ron asked belligerently. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Come off it," Bill cut in, rolling his eyes. "You weren't in your bed this morning. Neville was, understandably, a bit concerned when you weren't downstairs, either, or in the yard. So was I. We are, after all, living in ever-so-slightly dangerous times."

"Enough with the sarcasm," Ron replied. He could feel the tips of his ears going bright red, whether with anger or embarrassment he couldn't tell.

"Fine," Bill shot back. "I'll be blunt. We couldn't find you this morning. We were concerned and went looking. We found you in Hermione's room, or rather, both of you fast asleep in her bed, to be more specific. I chose not to embarrass Hermione by waking either of you, but now I'd like to have a word with you about it. Neville, could you excuse us, please?"

Neville nodded quickly and stood, obviously more than happy to leave.

"He doesn't need to go anywhere," Ron said forcefully, giving his friend a hard stare. Neville looked disappointed but stayed where he was. "I'm not talking to you about anything."

"Really."

"Yes, really," Ron said furiously. "I'm seventeen. I'm of age. So is Hermione. What we do is none of your business." He brushed past Neville and moved into the sitting room, heading for the stairs. His appetite was gone.

Bill followed close behind. "You may be technically right, Ron, but Hermione is a young woman who has been placed in my care. Her father isn't here and neither is ours, and that means it's up to me to watch out for her."

Ron stopped and scoffed, "I've been watching out for Hermione for years, and she's done the same for me, and Harry."

"This is different, and you know it," Bill replied. "You're not little kids any more, as you just pointed out yourself. You're all grown up. And I remember seventeen all too well."

Ron turned to face his brother. His eyes were hard and he spoke in a furious near-hiss. "Stop being so suspicious," Ron said. "Nothing happened."

"You're going to have to do better than that," Bill shot back.

Ron threw his hands up in the air, exasperated. "It's the truth. I don't really know why you feel you have to get involved, but I'm serious. We just slept. Together, as in, in the same bed. She didn't want to sleep alone, okay? She's... scared."

Bill looked dubious. "I find it hard to believe that's the reason."

"Why? Hermione isn't allowed to be afraid and worried? She's only human. Hell, I'm scared, too, okay?" Ron shot back.

"We're all scared. But I don't know, Ron, should we all start sleeping with Hermione?"

Ron took a slow, shaking breath and when he spoke, his tone was low and dangerous. "Cut it, Bill."

"Why?" Bill pushed. "I'm just saying, is that what she's here for?"

"You... I don't ever want to hear you talk about her like that again," Ron growled, clenching his fists and advancing across the room.

Neville took a step forward, hesitantly. "Guys...calm down, okay?"

Bill glanced at the other boy. "It's alright, Neville," he said reassuringly. Then, turning back to his brother, he continued, "Relax. I don't mean it. I'm just trying to prove a point."

"Which is?" Ron asked in a tight voice.

"Don't take advantage of her."

Ron stared at his brother for a long moment. "I'd never do that."

"Not intentionally, of course you wouldn't," Bill said. "Just... don't forget that this is someone you care about. And I think we all know just how much. Don't -- just don't get into something for the wrong reasons."

Ron turned to stare off into the distance. "I'd never do that," he repeated finally.

They stood together awkwardly for a moment, neither of them moving.

"We're not talking about this again," Ron said finally.

"Okay," Bill said simply.

Ron glared at his older brother a moment longer and then turned and went back upstairs, still clenching his fists tightly.

"He means it, you know," Neville said. "About Hermione."

Ron froze at the top stair, listening. He heard Bill cross the room to the sofa, sitting with a loud 'floop' of cushions and a sigh of relief, like a man who'd just finished a job well done. "Why do you say that?"

"Because... it's not possible for him to do... that... I mean, you know, or anything like that... for the wrong reasons," Neville stumbled. "The right reasons are already there."

"I know," Bill replied.

Neville sounded confused. "Then... why did you say what you did?"

"Because I wanted to make sure he knew it, too."

Ron took a shaky breath and went into his room, sprawling out on the bed, one arm flung over his eyes. He couldn't think straight. He definitely couldn't think about what Bill had said, or Neville, or how he'd answered. There was just so much going on, everything was different -- they'd had unexpected circumstances before, sure. Like the summer after fifth year, when they'd all moved to Grimmauld Place. That had been strange, especially at first, with the old house full of dark magic and Kreacher and that portrait of Sirius' mum screeching at everyone in the hallway, Order members coming and going at all hours of the night. They'd all missed the comfortable familiarity of the Burrow, but the Black house had been rather interesting, at least. Most of all, though, they'd all been together. And, it hadn't been forever. They'd gone back to Hogwarts in the fall, and though it had been a year unlike any other, it was still... Hogwarts. Someplace he'd probably never see again.

That was the question really gnawing at him. How long was this for? Forever? Was there any kind of plan? The story Bill had told of Dumbledore's scheme to get them to safety had been, well, rather brilliant, even Ron had to admit. Smart thinking and all that. But what came next? There'd been all these hints that it was so important to keep them safe in order to... what? Fight back? How? Wait for Harry to do something miraculous and save them all? For how long? Were they supposed to hide in the Muggle world forever?

Were they really going to have to learn to live like Muggles, going out in the world and getting -- non-magical jobs? Doing what? But surely they'd have to make money -- and for that matter, wasn't money a problem already? Who paid for the house, the supplies, all the Muggle expenses he'd never understood but Hermione had tried to explain on more than one occasion?

We'll never get to finish school, he thought, and was surprised at how much the idea bothered him. We should have been getting our Hogwarts letters right about now -- Hermione said just the other day it was the only thing we had to look forward to all summer. Crazy girl, he thought fondly.

"Ron, are you asleep?"

He sat upright with a jolt, startled to find Hermione standing at the foot of his bed. She was dressed and her hair was pulled back at the sides; she looked more refreshed and relaxed than she had the night before but... still tired, he thought. There were still dark circles under her eyes.

But she smiled at him and perched on the edge of the bed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

"I wasn't asleep," he said gruffly.

The silence between them was quickly uncomfortable. He didn't know what to say or what they should talk about. Was there anything to talk about? Was he making too much out of things? Or not enough?

Hermione sighed. "Actually, I knew you weren't. I... I heard. At least, part of it. The end part."

"Oh."

"I wasn't sure I should mention it."

He couldn't help watching her for a few moments as she fiddled with the end of her shirt, looking down, obviously nervous. Her face was more familiar to him than anything else in the world right now, and he realized for the first time just how much that meant to him.

"You should always... I mean, you can talk to me about anything you want to, Hermione. You don't have to wonder about that."

She shrugged a little. "I know that, I guess."

Without thinking or hesitating, Ron slid forward to sit beside her and pulled her close. She came into his arms readily, her face buried in his shoulder and her hand curling around his neck. He took a long breath.

"Hermione--"

"I thought things would seem better in the morning, but they don't," she confessed. "In some ways, I feel worse. Yesterday it was all about getting here, and now, this morning, we're just -- here."

"I know," he agreed. He brought one hand up to smooth the hair away from her face.

"And we're safe, and that's good. That's really good. And Prof--Remus is safe, too. And Ginny. That's hugely important. But Ron... your parents, and your brothers. Our friends, all the other Gryffindors and people in the DA. And Harry."

She'd just listed every fear lurking in his heart, the things he really hadn't allowed himself to think about. If he started thinking about his parents, he might not be able to pull himself back together. "We'll get word today, Remus said so," he reassured her, and himself.

She nodded but didn't say anything.

As the moments ticked by, Ron stopped thinking about his family and about all the things that had troubled him just a few moments ago. He forgot about the danger, the questions, everything, and only one thought remained. For some reason, instead of all that was wrong in their world right now, all he could think of was her.

She sat up but didn't move away from him; his arm was still around her and her hand rested lightly on his chest. Her eyes were clear as they searched his. "Ron."

"Hmmm?"

"I just want to make sure you know how much you mean to me."

He grinned; he couldn't help feeling a little embarrassed, but when she said things like that... He felt like twice the person he knew he was. "I--I do. Know, I mean."

"You're all I've got left," she whispered, and he felt an ache in his chest, because in a sense he felt just the same way. "But that's... that's not the only reason. You have to know that."

He knew, oh, he knew, but he couldn't find the words to tell her. He just stared and nodded. "I do," he said again.

Hermione smiled softly. Her hand left his chest and moved to smooth the fringe of hair back from his forehead. "I like your hair better this way," she said.

"So do I," he replied without thinking, then laughed. "I was quite a sight last year, wasn't I?"

"Well, I thought you looked fine, but this is better," she said fondly. "Ron?"

"Yes?"

"On further reflection, I don't like the sleeping arrangements we came up with yesterday," she said, still playing with his hair.

He frowned. "Hermione, we went over this with you. You're keeping the bigger bedroom, everyone agrees. Stop making a fuss."

"I know, I'm not arguing about that."

"What, then?"

Her hand dropped away from his face and she looked down, biting her lip. He waited, and then all at once she looked up and met his gaze and said, "Stay with me."

"Huh?"

She blushed but didn't look away. "I want you to stay with me. Instead of here."

He stared at her. "Hermione."

"Unless you don't want to."

He shook his head. "It's--it's not that, it's, there are..."

"I can't sleep without you there," she admitted softly. "And I don't think you can here, either."

"I guess... well, no, I--I can't, either," he admitted. He didn't know what to say. He'd stood up to Bill and meant it, but he'd never thought of what had happened the night before as anything but a fluke. They'd dozed off together at the Burrow on warm summer days, with Ginny catnapping nearby. They'd huddled together on the train, exhausted from stress and fear. And last night they'd sought each other out, and he'd fallen asleep watching her breathe in and out, over and over again, until his heart was beating in the very same rhythm as the rise and fall of her chest, buried beneath the covers. But he hadn't thought of sleeping beside her every night, of being able to turn to her when he woke up alone in this strange place, of being there for her to turn to when she couldn't stop worrying. He hadn't thought of that. He'd never imagined it. Until now.

"I love you, you know," she said simply.

Ron stared at her. He stared. He was reeling, he couldn't think, there were a thousand thoughts shouting in his head.

"You love me, don't you?" she said.

It had always been there... for ages, he'd always, and yet he'd never spoken it aloud, never said a word to anyone, never really even allowed himself to think it, and yet there was only one answer he'd ever be able to give her to that question.

"Yes."

She smiled, and it was the most amazing thing he'd ever seen. She curled back into him, slipping back into his arms fully, and her small, strong hand curled around his neck once more. Her face was pressed into his neck and when she spoke, he felt the words flutter against his skin. "Then stay with me." He started to speak again, and she cut him off. "No more, not now. But stay with me."

Her arms were bare and he ran his fingers up from the crook of her elbow to her shoulder and back again, up and down. He felt her lips move in a smile and he took a deep breath and dipped his head to her hair, pressing his lips against her in an almost-kiss. "Okay," he said, holding her close. "Okay."