Scattered

Hermione glanced at the clock with a guilty start. It was nearly five; she should have left at four, when her shift was over. There'd been this book she'd set aside, though, that she'd meant to take just a peek at...

"You should just take that home with you," Mrs. Tibbins said with a smile. "No need to stay late here."

"I really shouldn't let myself get distracted, though," Hermione said with a practiced look of resignation, carefully putting the book back on its shelf. "Too tempting."

The truth was, Hermione couldn't check books out of the library where she volunteered three days a week because she didn't have a library card. She couldn't get a paying job, either, because she didn't have any identification at all. At least, not any that wouldn't have said "Hermione Granger" on it, and those she couldn't use anymore. For lack of any other options, she'd started volunteering at the library around the corner from the safehouse. They didn't need to see identification, and she told them her name was Jane, Jane Granger, common enough not to attract attention anywhere. Bill had insisted, in her case. Three pureblood wizards and she was the one with the name out of mythology.

Mrs. Tibbins and the other people at the library did think it odd that she never wanted to take a book home, though. So she told them she was a university student with a demanding courseload next term, and that she had far too much classwork to prepare for to indulge in recreational reading. Nothing, of course, could be further from the truth. Too much time on all of their hands had been very much the problem.

They'd been at the safehouse for two weeks now. Bill had been disappointed to learn that it would be difficult for any of them to find legitimate work in the Muggle world; he fussed a bit about "what the neighbors would think" of him lazing about all the time, which made Hermione laugh. She told him to stop worrying and just find some way to pass his time, and no one would notice.

The neighbors were, luckily, busy people and not inclined to nosiness. A young married couple lived next door on the right; they were professional people and not home very often. The couple on the left had twin baby boys and seemed completely preoccupied with their own family. Bill and Hermione, in particular, made an effort to be friendly when they passed them on the sidewalk or saw them in the front yard, and that seemed to be enough to quell any curiosities.

Ron had grudgingly allowed himself to be introduced to both, then complained that he didn't understand why they were "wasting time" on meeting the local Muggles. Bill had tried to explain yet again how important it was that they all blend in and seem normal... As usual, Ron had remained surly and didn't seem to have heard a word.

Hermione knew it would only make matters worse if she spoke up as well, but she had a growing suspicion that Ron's incapability to grasp what Bill was getting at was intentional. It didn't make any sense, but she wondered sometimes if he -- unconsciously or otherwise -- just didn't want to admit, deep down, how things had changed, and not for the better. Or admit how much danger they were always going to be in, from now on. Admitting that meant fully accepting what they'd lost... and yet it had to be a subconscious thing, because at other times, that loss seemed to be all he could think about. She had a sinking feeling that Ron was much, much more afraid than he was willing to let on, even to her. Maybe especially to her.

Bill was having a grand time exploring the neighborhood, going into Muggle stores, going to movies, often taking Neville along. They convinced Ron to accompany them on one of their jaunts, but he didn't seem to find it as enjoyable. He had, however, discovered a fitness center about a half-mile away. Bill had readily agreed to pay for his membership there, and Ron spent part of every day down at the gym, running, learning how to use the unfamiliar machines. Lifting weights, he'd said in a mumble when Bill had asked. Hermione had blushed and turned away, ruthlessly pushing the image of Ron covered in sweat and focused, his muscles flexed, out of her mind. She couldn't deny, though, that his workouts were producing results. He certainly looked good... but tired.

He did sleep. That she knew for certain. Except sometimes in the night she'd open her eyes and see him sitting in an armchair he'd put by the window, the curtain pulled back just enough for him to see outside. The first time it had happened she'd asked him what was wrong; startled, he'd told her something about having too much coffee with dinner, keeping him up at night. It obviously hadn't been the truth... but she didn't want to push. When it happened again she didn't say anything, just watched him silently from the bed, after awhile her eyes drifting closed as she fell back to sleep. It bothered her, the fact that he wasn't able to find any peace, not even with her there, not as she did with him. But confronting him about it right now could only be a mistake.

Hermione had tried to make herself content. A trip to a local bookstore had assuaged her need -- and it had become a serious, all-consuming need, making her feel like an addict -- for something to read. She'd started volunteering at the library just this week, and enjoyed it very much. Other days she went to the park or, once, to the movies with Bill and Neville. Every few days, Bill would teach her a new spell, and more often than not, Ron and Neville would learn it as well. She missed her spellbooks and she felt stymied in her education, but she was trying to make the best of things.

They wanted for nothing. Bill's supply of cash seemed endless; he'd refused to go into details about where it came from but reassured her that it was nothing illegal or immoral, that it truly belonged to the Order through legitimate means. She took him at his word and tried not to worry. Everything they needed for the house was already there; they'd bought clothes the very first day they'd left the house, with Bill encouraging her to get anything that caught her eye. Hermione wasn't especially fascinated with clothes the way Ginny was, but she had to admit she did like getting new things. They bought more things for the yard, a hammock and chairs and patio furniture, a portable stereo and some CDs Hermione had picked out. She gave them advice on what Muggle games they might enjoy, though she felt a little guilty for neglecting to mention computers or video games. But only a little. They were bad enough with the television; if she gave any of these boys access to a Playstation, she knew they'd never come up for air.

Hermione turned the corner onto their street. It was warmer out today than it had been all week; summer was putting up a good fight before giving way to fall. She checked her watch mournfully one last time before fitting her key in the front door; it glowed very slightly for just a moment and then turned on its own.

"I'm home," she called, taking off her shoes and padding quietly into the kitchen.

Ron was at the stove, his back to her. The table was already set and the food seemed to be nearly ready with just one pan still simmering, a wooden spoon lazily stirring in circles while Ron watched.

She stood close to him, peering into the pan. "Gravy?" she asked.

"Sort of. A glaze, anyhow. We're having chicken."

"I find myself very unsurprised that you're a good cook, Ronald," she told him mock-seriously. "No one who likes to eat as much as you do could be otherwise."

He smiled a little, still watching the pan, but said nothing more.

"Bill and Neville are upstairs?" she asked finally.

"Outside."

She glanced out the kitchen window into the backyard; Neville was napping in the hammock and Bill was sunbathing. "Not a lot of help, are they?"

"That's okay."

Hermione frowned and turned back to Ron. He was still staring at the pan on the stove. She sighed a little and took a tiny step closer to him, tilting her head back to look up at his serious face.

"Ron," she said softly. "I'm sorry." She rested her hand on his arm.

He turned to her with a start. "What? Hermione, what are you sorry for?"

"For being late."

"Well, I figured you'd stay and read a bit, that's why I held back on supper," he said. He glanced down between them, seeming a bit surprised at how close they were standing.

"Oh, okay, I thought you were angry, you know, or worried... Oh, nothing sensible, really," she said in a rush, edging back from him slightly, embarrassed.

His arm snaked out around her waist to hold her firmly in place. He looked down at her, confusion written over his features. "Wait, wait, wait. What is this about?"

"Nothing," she mumbled, squirming away.

He smiled oddly and held her fast. "No, not nothing. You're upset... that I wasn't worried about you being late?"

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "Don't be ridiculous."

"You are," he insisted.

"I'm not upset that you weren't. I'm not!" she insisted. "I just thought you might be."

"I guess."

"Well, it's dangerous out there!" she said fiercely, and somewhat irrationally.

Ron's eyes flickered with something, briefly, and then he shrugged with a chuckle. "Yes, yes, but you were in a library, Hermione. The normal rules of the space-time continuum don't apply. You think I've been with you all these years and not picked up on that yet?"

She sighed in exasperation. "Fine, you're right, I'm being stupid. Just let me go."

"Nope."

"I'll hex you," she threatened, half-meaning it.

"Oooh, I'm scared."

"I'd be scared if I were you," Bill said as he walked into the kitchen, pulling a t-shirt over his head and dropping into a chair at the table. "Hermione knows a lot of hexes. She learned them on her own, I've taught her a few really nasty ones... and she learned all of Ginny's, as well. And even I'm afraid of a couple of Gin's."

Hermione felt her skin flush with embarrassment; Ron let go of her waist and she stepped away, trying to clear her head. "Ginny's actually a very powerful witch," she said distractedly.

"Yes, she is," Bill agreed, his voice sounding both serious and sad. "Not everyone picks up on it. She's a haphazard student, and she could do better, but when Gin does master a spell, there's a lot of power behind it. I've worried about her," he finished, trailing off.

Hermione sat down next time him. "So have I," she said, feeling a wave of tired defeat wash over her. She had worried about Ginny, wondered if there was a reason Ron's little sister and her own best friend had that almost hidden talent. A reason that might put Ginny in danger. In some ways, it was a relief to know someone else had thought along the same lines; in other ways, it reinforced one of her fears. "It could just be innate ability," she said finally.

Bill gave her a long look and then nodded, understanding her need to hope for the best. "It could be. Or -- it could be something else, and it could not matter, really. Just an aftereffect, that's all."

"I hope so," she said.

"What in blazes are you two talking about?" Ron asked, scowling.

"Nothing," Hermione said briskly. She stood and crossed to the door. "Neville, I think supper's almost ready!" she called loudly. Neville came awake with a start and climbed out of the hammock. She held the door open for him and he smiled sleepily in thanks.

Ron was dumping the sauce down the drain. "The chicken'll be fine on its own, I guess." Hermione gave him a confused look. "It overcooked. You really have to watch it for just the second it starts to boil, but I must have gotten distracted."

She sat down hastily, feeling ridiculous. He hadn't been short with her on purpose, he'd just been focused on cooking, and she had to go and read too much into everything, and --

"Not that I'm complaining," Ron mumbled in a whisper as he leaned over her chair, placing a dish of potatoes on the table. "It was a pretty nice distraction."

"Enough, enough, you two," Bill said, grimacing. "Save the whispered nonsense in each other's ears for when you're behind closed doors, okay?"

Ron grinned, sitting down and beginning to load up his plate with food. Hermione took a careful, deep breath and smiled in return, resolved to keep a cool head.

"Bill, did you speak to Remus today?" she asked calmly.

It was Neville who answered. "I did, actually. Bill was out at the store."

"Oh, did we need something? I could've picked it up on my way home, you should have said something," Hermione said, and was surprised to see Bill blush. "What?"

"There's a woman he likes flirting with at that antique store," Neville said.

Ron guffawed loudly -- and rather unattractively, Hermione had to say. No amount of attraction was ever going to make the sight of Ron laughing with a mouth full of food appealing to her. Bill rolled his eyes and Neville looked sheepish.

"I also like antiques," Bill said defensively.

Hermione laughed. "Of course."

"I do," he said firmly. "The woman's bloody gorgeous, but they've got some nice furniture in there as well. Two birds with one stone."

Ron was still laughing, so Hermione kicked him under the table. "As you were saying, Neville?" she nudged. "Did Remus have any news?"

"Not really," Neville said regretfully, and they all sobered abruptly. He looked at Ron. "There's still no word from George's group."

There was an awkward silence, but what was becoming a familiar one. Either Ron or Bill asked for news of George every day, but there hadn't been anything at all.

"He said that the Death Eaters are running the Ministry now. Openly. They've appointed themselves the new government. Vol... Voldemort still hasn't appeared to the public, they all say they're speaking in his name and running things according to his orders. People are..." Neville hesitated. "Remus says people are afraid. Afraid to say anything, so they're just going along. Even... even some people who weren't really on his side before, now they're too scared to say so. Remus says... he says this is what happened before."

When Neville paused asked, Hermione asked, "Has there been... a great deal of violence?"

Neville didn't have an answer. He looked at Bill.

Bill sighed. "Some." He caught Ron's confused look. "I asked Remus about it a few days ago, when we were speaking alone. There was some. Against Muggle-borns. I'm sorry, Hermione."

She smiled weakly. "No, I want to know."

"Voldemort doesn't seem concerned with wizards of mixed parentage, like Harry-- "

"And Voldemort himself," she couldn't help muttering.

Bill nodded. "Exactly. The pureblood Death Eaters are in control, and half-blood wizards are being treated as slightly second-class, but not with violence. The Muggle-borns, though... I'm afraid, Hermione, that it's entirely possible that the only Muggle-born wizards left may end up being the ones we've saved."

Hermione took a deep breath. It was horrible, but she'd been prepared. The unfortunate lessons of the past few years had taught her not to be caught unawares by the worst. She sometimes felt numb with it all, and the numbness made her feel confused. People were suffering, her loved ones and friends. She'd lost her parents for possibly forever, they'd all lost Dumbledore, and the other professors who had fought for Hogwarts... little Dennis Creevey... Muggle-borns being targeted for no reason other than genetics...It was terrible, and she'd always been so infuriated by and energized by injustice. And yet, lately, she just felt shell-shocked. Maybe because this is just the beginning, she thought with some despair, and because I know it's only going to get worse, and I don't want to feel it when it comes.

She knew Ron was watching her silently, making sure she was okay. He did that so much that she spent all of her time either convincing him she was fine or, sometimes, admitting that she wasn't. Either way, as each day ended she felt frustrated with herself for not having forced him to open up more, made him stop worrying about her and forced him to let her take care of him for awhile. But as each day went by, he simply became more closed off, and angrier.

Never at her, of course. Not since that last silly fight over spells. Once, fleetingly, she'd considered picking a fight with him just to stir things up. In the end, she couldn't do it. She remembered the desperate sound of his voice when he'd said he could stand anything but fighting with her right now... She wouldn't do that to him. Or to herself.

"Listen, let's not ruin dinner, okay?" she said finally, looking around at everyone. "Ron slaved over a hot stove all afternoon, after all."

Bill and Neville laughed.

"I really did, you know," Ron said in a mock-offended tone. She caught his eye and saw a hint of gratitude there, for changing the subject. They shared a quick smile and she turned back to her food. "And it's quite good, if I do say so myself," Ron continued. "Of course, the chicken would've been loads better if someone hadn't..."

Hermione waited for Ron to finish his sentence, already grinning at the retort she was about to make. After a moment, though, she realized he'd trailed off. She looked up; he was staring over her head, at the window.

"Ron, wha--"

"Pig," he said in a whisper. "I don't believe it."

He leapt out of his chair and lunged for the back door, flinging it open. To her amazement, a familiar tiny ball of feathers came careening into the kitchen, swooping past Ron, diving past her head, skittering over the table and knocking over Neville's drink and, finally, coming to an undignified halt on the floor in the corner of the room.

Ron scooped up the tiny owl in an instant. "You crazy bird. I can't believe you're here."

Neither could Hermione. If Hedwig was the smartest owl she'd ever met, Pigwidgeon, it must be confessed, was probably the most dim-witted. And yet he had managed to find them, hundreds of miles away from home, hidden away and protected by the most powerful of spells...

She glanced at Bill sharply. Ron was taking Pig over to the sink, putting water in a small bowl and trying to keep his pet from drowning in it. Neville caught her look and followed her over. "Bill--" she began worriedly.

"I know," he said in a low voice, looking a bit concerned as well. "I'm a little worried about how he found us, too. But -- he's Ron's owl. They say every owl has a talent for finding his owner. So I don't think just any owl could find its way here."

"I hope not," she whispered. Neville nodded in agreement.

"HE'S GOT A LETTER!" Ron yelled suddenly.

They gathered around him quickly. "What are you talking about?" Bill asked. "He didn't have--"

"I know, he didn't, I looked first thing, but he does now," Ron babbled excitedly. "I was just checking him over, asking him where he'd been, you know, and -- look!"

Hermione peered closely at the little bird and saw that he did indeed now have a rolled up parchment tied to his leg. She felt her heart beating madly as Ron detached it carefully, a wild hope bursting inside of her. "Ron, is it--"

She knew the split-second before he spoke; his face lit up and his eyes were on fire with elation. She pressed herself up against him, peering at the paper in his hands. Bill and Neville stood behind.

"Harry," he said finally, his voice shaking. "It's Harry. Oh gods, Hermione..."

She thought her heart might explode. There were tears on her cheeks, tears she couldn't remember shedding. Clutching at Ron's arm, her eyes raced over the words written in the familiar hand she'd feared she'd never see again...

Dear Ron:

So, how's your summer going?

Okay, so I'm not very good at the whole dark humor thing, though Moody just walked by and read what I'd written, and he seemed pretty amused. I figure any day you can make Mad-Eye Moody laugh is one for the books, right?

Pig has been with me since you sent him on the morning before the attacks. I'd just read your letter and given him an owl treat or two, let him take a bit of a rest with Hedwig, when Moody and Hagrid showed up and... well, you know the drill. I'm sure you went through it yourself.

The reason you haven't heard from me until now is that I had to talk Moody into it. No one's supposed to know where we are, and we haven't talked to anyone since the attacks. I don't even know what's happened to everyone, and I can only hope you're all okay.

Hagrid told me about Dumbledore. I can't talk about it right now.

Anyhow, Moody laid down the law right away, no contact, no word, no nothing. I've been working on him ever since, and Hagrid's helped out a lot in that department. I finally convinced him, I think, because he got tired of listening to Pig rattle around his cage. Also because he couldn't deny he could fix it so there wouldn't be any risk, because you'd sent Pig to me before this all started. So he's going to cast about a thousand spells on the poor guy before he lets him go, including a spell to help him locate you, and another one to make it so that this letter will only reveal itself to you. Which is a pretty neat trick.

We've been a lot of places in the past few weeks. And there've been some near misses. But you know there are things I have to do, things I have to find, before I can try to fix this. I can't risk facing Voldemort until I've found every single one. So for now, Moody's right, I guess. We need to stay underground so we can get this done. That's what Dumbledore planned.

I don't know when I'll be able to be in contact again. I wish I had a way to get word to Hermione, as well. And to Ginny. But Moody says there's no way, and he's right. If you can contact them, tell them everything I said.

I hope you're all safe. I hope you're all okay. I hope you're reading this.

Harry

Hermione took the letter from Ron's hands, passing it to Bill and Neville. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, burying her face in his chest. "He's okay," she whispered to herself, too low for even Ron to hear.