Scattered

"You weren't exaggerating, Bill, that's the sorriest sight I've ever seen."

"I told you."

"When'd you find him like that?"

"He stumbled downstairs last night, rambled on a bit about what a sorry piece of work he was, then basically passed out there."

"And you just left him like that?"

"I got him a pillow."

"Mighty kind of you."

"I thought so."

"Too bad you don't have a camera. Imagine showing this one to Mum someday."

"Or Hermione. Though apparently she got the live show earlier."

"What's that?"

Ron groaned and rolled over, blinking hard. "Keep it down, will you?" he mumbled, wishing he hadn't moved.

"Hey, there's life in the old boy yet."

"Stuff it, Charlie," Ron said, and then sat up abruptly, suddenly wide awake. "Charlie?! Ugh," he added in a low moan, holding his head in his hands.

"Slow it down there, Ronnie," Charlie said, laughing. "Bill tells me you can't hold your liquor. Shameful."

Ron eased back onto the sofa, staying just barely upright, cushioning his aching head against the soft fabric. That was better.

Bill shook his head sadly. "It wasn't a good show at all. Poor bloke only had a couple of pints and he was done in."

"Well, he's probably not had anything stronger than butterbeer before, after all. I guess we can cut him a little bit of slack, just this once," Charlie said, grinning, and reached over to cuff Ron on the shoulder affectionately.

Ron gave him a baffled look. "Charlie, what the heck are you doing here?"

"Supplies, little man. That's what I do, going from one safehouse to another through nefarious and secret means, bringing all kinds of black market goodies. Usually, wizards and witches are a tad more happy to see me than this, though. Hurts," he said theatrically to Bill, "him being my own baby brother, after all."

"What have you done to yourself?" Ron blurted out, finally taking a good look at his brother.

Charlie had always been a bit more stocky than the average Weasley. While Bill was broad-shouldered, he was tall and trim. The twins had been lanky beanpoles as long as anyone could remember. Ginny was a slip of a thing, deceptively small for all the punch she could pack, but Ron himself never seemed to stop growing. And Charlie? Charlie was short. There was no other word for it. Short, but stronger than any of his brothers, wiry and tough. He had an open, friendly face, though, his mother's eyes -- and the standard Weasley red hair, of course.

Except not anymore. Charlie's hair was blond. He had a scruffy beard and--

"Is that a tattoo?" Ron said before Charlie could answer. There was an elegantly-drawn design on his brother's upper arm, all in black. It was huge.

"I've had that for years," Charlie said nonchalantly. "See?" He turned his arm and Ron could see, now, that the scrolling lines depicted a sleeping dragon. "I just always used a charm to cover it up when I went home, so Mum wouldn't freak."

"Dad gets a real kick out of it, though," Bill added.

Ron just nodded, still trying to catch up. The last thing he remembered was Bill helping him onto the couch last night. He'd stumbled downstairs after Hermione... after Hermione asked him to leave. After he'd ruined everything. He groaned, leaning forward and putting his head in his hands. "What have I done," he mumbled.

"There it is," Bill said smugly. "All coming back to you now, I suppose."

Ron tried his hardest to ignore him.

Charlie threw himself down on the opposite corner of the couch. "Let's get back to the gory details. What's Hermione got to do with Ron's inebriated folly?"

"I suspect Ronniekins did or said something stupid last night," Bill said.

"Was Hermione at the pub?" Charlie asked, still confused.

"No," Ron said forcefully. "She was here. I shouldn't have gone upstairs."

"You came home pissed and made a lot of noise and woke her up or something, then? Well, that's rude, but not exactly cause for despair, mate," Charlie said with a bored yawn. "She'll get over it. The girl's not that scary."

"Yes, she is," Bill said. Ron glared at him. "In a good way. You really should have just crashed on the couch. What'd you say?"

Ron felt a wave of disgust, remembering how callous and rude he'd been, remembering Hermione pushing him away... crying. Christ, he was a bastard. "It was worse than just saying something."

"How worse," Bill said sharply. Charlie gave him an odd look.

"No, no, no, not that... that worse," Ron shouted back, and winced. "But I..." he faltered. "I still did something I shouldn't have, not like... that. But I... and she told me to leave, so I... came down here to sleep instead."

Charlie looked back and forth between his two brothers with suspicion. "You said instead," Charlie pointed out. "Bill, what's going on here?"

Bill frowned. "Charlie, they're not little kids anymore."

"I'm aware of that, O eldest one. But they're a little young to be shacking up together, don't you think? Bloody hell, Mum would have kittens if she found out about this," Charlie said incredulously. "Hell, I'm pretty much having kittens. What were you thinking?"

"What was I thinking?!" Bill asked heatedly. "Charlie, cut the crap. We just lost everything, all of us, that we ever had. We're hiding here in a safehouse, we're all separated from each other, we don't know what's going to happen and we don't know where our brother is, people have died, and I was supposed to spend time worrying about our seventeen year-old brother sleeping with his girlfriend?"

Charlie let out a frustrated sigh. "You don't have to describe it to me, Bill. I'm out there seeing it every day, remember? But still--"

Bill smiled suddenly, an evil sort of grin. "You're not really going to push this, are you Charles? You're not going to bring up Mum and act all self-righteous when you're sitting here talking to the fellow who taught you how to brew a Contraceptive Potion at fifteen... are you, now?"

Ron hadn't been able to muster up the energy to interrupt their argument until now, and he still wasn't finding much funny at the moment -- but even he couldn't help letting out a guffaw at Bill's revelation.

"Cut it," Charlie said, thumping him on the back.

Ron buried his aching head in the couch cushion again, wishing the world would just stop being so entirely bizarre for a little while.

Bill sat back in the armchair and sighed. "Listen, I had the same concerns. I talked to both of them. If Ron wanted my advice--"

"Ron's right here in the room, and he doesn't," Ron snapped irritably.

"If he did, though," Bill continued implacably, "I'd tell him that circumstances like ours --- war, exile, whatever this is -- have a habit of throwing people into situations they're not ready for. And I'd tell him again that he and Hermione need to stop pretending everything's the same as it was when they were twelve years old, and sit down and have an adult conversation about what's going on." He paused. "But, Charles, Ron doesn't want my advice, and he's of age, and I can't stop him. Or Hermione, for that matter."

No one said anything. Ron kept wishing he could turn the clock back twenty-four hours and make everything right... Or maybe a couple of months, instead, he thought. Just wake up at the Burrow and realize it was all a dream... but thinking that way's just a waste of time, isn't it?

"Charlie, is that you?"

Ron's head snapped up abruptly. Hermione was paused mid-step at the base of the stairs, one hand trailing along the banister. She was staring at Charlie with some surprise; she wasn't looking at him, Ron, at all.

"You look different," she was saying. "I wasn't sure..."

Charlie stood and crossed the room to her. Ron watched as they hugged briefly. "I'm here with some magical supplies," Charlie said. "How are you doing?" he asked, gesturing her towards his place on the couch.

Hermione smiled briefly and sat in the empty armchair instead.

"I'm fine," she said, with a shrug. "We all are, here, at least."

"I meant to ask, where's Neville... Longbottom, right?" Charlie asked, glancing at Bill.

Bill looked smug. "Neville was up and out bright and early this morning. Seems he had a bit of a date, for breakfast."

Ron scratched his head, remembering. "Wait... wasn't Neville talking to some girl at the pub last night?" he asked.

"He was. Apparently they hit it off."

"That's wonderful," Hermione said. Ron stole a glance at her. She had a huge smile on her face and her eyes were shining; she looked genuinely happy. She seemed to sense his gaze, though, and her smile faded abruptly.

Ron wished there was a way he could get the hell out of the sitting room. Out of the house, even, maybe to the gym where he could work out all morning and not... think... about anything. Not about Neville, or his brothers, or... about the fact that Hermione still wouldn't look at him, that instead she sat curled into her chair, as if shielding herself from his presence.

He sat up and once again regretted it, but he wanted to get away from all of this more. He was just starting to gather up the energy to stand when Bill shot an angry glare in his direction, making it clear he'd better not try going anywhere.

"We'll fill Neville in later, but it's just as well the rest of us are here now," he said. "Tell us what you know, Charles."

Charlie sat forward and grimaced. "I don't have much to tell you."

"Anything," Hermione said in a soft, pleading voice. Ron winced, knowing how anxious she was and wishing desperately that he could walk over to her and take her hand, touch her... but he couldn't, and he knew he only had himself to blame.

"A lot of the violence has... well, stopped. For awhile, there, you saw battles right out in the open, in the street. People being pulled from their homes. It was terrible... But now..."

He stopped and looked at Bill. Ron frowned and then let out an exasperated breath. "We're not little kids, here, Charlie. Stop trying to protect us."

"I'm not."

"Yes, you are," Bill interrupted, sounding resigned. "I know, because I'm always tempted to do it too. But Ron's right. And, honestly, we're fooling ourselves if we think we've got the luxury of even trying. You know?"

Charlie stared at his older brother and finally nodded. "You're right. Old habits, I guess," he said with a shrug.

"It's okay," Hermione said. "But please keep going."

"I don't know if I can explain it, exactly. Now... things are quieter. And in a way, it's even worse. It's not quiet and peaceful; it's still, and tense. People are living in fear. Because the only reason there's no more violence is... there's no one left to kill."

Bill looked away. Hermione stood and crossed to the mantel, her back to the room.

Ron swallowed hard. "All of the Muggle-borns?"

Charlie nodded and wouldn't meet his eyes. "As far as we can tell. All but the ones we saved."

No one said anything, but Ron knew they were each looking at Hermione's still form, her bent head and her thin, resolute shoulders. They were each trying to imagine how she felt... and each knowing no matter how bad they imagined it, the reality was undoubtedly worse. The idea that strangers who shared nothing with Hermione except for a silly distinction of parentage, that those people had been killed for no better reason than that... and that she herself had only escaped by hiding here... Ron clenched his fists and forced himself to take deep breaths, trying desperately to keep from hitting something hard over and over again, just thinking about it.

"The half-bloods... people with only one wizard parent, or people with Muggles in their near ancestry... Those are the people that are the most afraid now," Charlie went on. "Voldemort and his followers aren't killing them, exactly, but there've been some attacks. Some... torture. Purebloods, well, it's hard to tell, anymore, who's just pretending out of fear and who's on Voldemort's side. Except for the Order, of course. But they're all in hiding now, too. The ones who didn't die in the first attacks."

Ron couldn't stop staring at Hermione and wondering how he could've been so stupid, last night. Getting drunk and acting like a randy bastard when people were dying. When she needed him to be there for her. When he needed her to be there, always.

"What about the Ministry?" Bill was asking.

Charlie shook his head. "The Ministry as we knew it is gone. Mostly dead. And now Voldemort's followers, the Death Eaters -- they're all in powerful positions of authority. Lucius Malfoy is the Minister of Magic. All the other Death Eaters are in positions of power... the Lestranges, Dolohov, Rookwood, Macnair. And a lot of younger wizards as well: Lucius' son Draco and a boy named Theodore Nott are everywhere these days. They're responsible for most of the torture, they say."

Hermione turned around and returned to her chair, her face clear and unreadable. "Voldemort's taken over Azkaban, then?"

"Apparently that was his first move," Charlie said. "We shouldn't have trusted the Dementors."

"Dumbledore always said that," Ron muttered. Charlie nodded in agreement.

"And George?" Bill said quietly.

Charlie took a deep breath. "I've been to his safehouse. The one he was supposed to use. There was no sign of him or the girls... I can't remember who was supposed to be with him."

"Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown, Fred said," Hermione told him.

"Right. No one had been there, not since I'd stocked the place. No one at all."

Ron felt his heart beating wildly. Charlie's words were making this all too real. "What about, you know, their houses? We saw George at the Burrow that morning, and then he left."

"He must have gone to pick up Lavender first," Hermione said, her brow furrowed as she tried to piece together what they knew. "Because Fred went to get Padma, and George hadn't been there to get Parvati yet."

Bill nodded. "That makes sense. Did you check out where the Patils lived?"

Charlie shook his head. "I can't. It's in an area surrounded by Death Eaters, by Ministry officials, now." He stood abruptly and paced around the room. "It's frustrating the hell out of me. I'd go in a heartbeat anyhow, what do I care... but... I can't."

Ron felt confused. He snuck a quick glance at Hermione and her face wore a sympathetic expression; Bill's was the same. He scowled. "I don't get it," he couldn't help blurting out. "What? Why can't you?"

Hermione looked away again, but not before Ron caught a look on her face that sent a cold chill down his spine. She looked... disappointed with him.

"I can't, little brother," Charlie said in a menacing hiss, "because while I'd jeopardize my own life in a heartbeat if it meant even a chance of finding George, it's not just my own life that would be on the line. I'd be risking every single person in these safehouses. If I were killed, that'd be bad enough. But if I were captured, it'd mean all of our deaths. And I can't risk that."

"Charlie is the only one who can travel between all of the safehouses," Bill explained when Ron still looked confused, though chastened. "He has a special key that opens all the doors, one that breaks the curse we -- all of the protectors -- have placed on the lock. He knows where we all are, for that matter. If he were to be captured, they'd have that. Or they'd torture him and use Veritaserum to get it."

Hermione stood and crossed to where Charlie was, placing a hand on his arm. "I'm sorry you had to make that kind of choice," she said. "Thank you, for everything you're doing."

Charlie smiled at her fondly. "You don't have to thank me, Hermione," he said. "You're family, after all."

She smiled. "So I've been told." She took a deep breath and looked at Bill. "If it's alright, I'd like to go out on the patio and get some air. I know there's more to discuss but--"

"Don't worry about it," Bill said kindly. "I'll fill you in on anything else later."

Hermione nodded and left. Ron watched her go, his heart aching more than his head.

Charlie sat down in the chair she'd vacated. "There's one other thing. Percy."

Ron froze. None of them had spoken of Percy in months. Ron hadn't allowed himself to think about the brother who'd walked away, the one who'd turned his back on his family. He didn't want to picture his brother fighting at Voldemort's side or dying in the Ministry hallways. Ron wasn't sure which reality would be worse... and those were exactly the kind of thoughts he'd tried to avoid.

"Just tell us," Bill said.

"He's with Mum and Dad," Charlie said, and smiled. "He's okay. He's been with them from the beginning."

Ron felt as though he'd been doused with cold water. "Wha-what? He's not still... being a git?!"

Charlie frowned. "Well, Perce'll always be a bit of a git, I suppose. But he's our brother." He caught Ron's incredulous expression and went on. "Look, I know he behaved like a total prat for awhile. But you can't honestly think he would ever have sided with Voldemort?"

"He sided with Fudge and the Ministry! Even against Dad!" Ron blurted out.

Bill shook his head. "That's one thing. Voldemort's obviously another. Come on, Ron. He was a rotten pain in the ass there for awhile, but he's Percy. He's a good bloke underneath it all. He was just, I don't know, rebelling. Dad understood. He didn't like it, but he understood."

"He did?" Ron asked, surprised.

"Dad understands more than you give him credit for, Ron." Bill turned back to Charlie. "Percy got out okay, then? I was worried."

"Mum was with him when it started, actually. They were having tea. They're all together now and safe; that's all I know."

Ron closed his eyes. He couldn't handle all of this at once. The news about the Ministry, George... Percy. He was glad Percy was okay, of course. And that was all that really mattered in the end. But it was just too much to take in all at once... especially with Hermione sitting just outside, but as unreachable as if she'd been a continent away.

Bill coughed, apparently to get his attention. Ron opened his eyes reluctantly. "What?"

"You need to talk to Hermione."

Ron scowled. "Bugger off, Bill."

"Don't even start, Ron," Charlie warned. "We're not going to waste time on arguing about this. Bill's right. Whatever you did, straighten it out. Now. The world's too dangerous a place for you two to be squabbling like this."

Bill interrupted. "I agree with Charlie, but I'm talking the bigger picture here, too, Ron. You told me you knew what you were getting into. Hermione promised me the same thing. I don't know exactly what the problem is, but I don't think either of you were being entirely honest with yourselves when you said those things, and now you need to fix that."

Ron groaned and rubbed his head with his hands. "I know," he muttered.

"Bill?" Charlie said. "I know it's against policy, but..."

"I was thinking the same thing," Bill admitted. He stood and took out his wand, crossing to the couch. "You don't deserve this, Ron. I've held a strict policy with every one of my brothers that there's to be no healing charms performed for anyone's first hangover. I think everyone should live through one, just to learn a lesson. But," he said, with a flick and a quick incantation, "special circumstances prevail. You can't talk to Hermione like this, and you have to talk to her now. Next time you drink, you're suffering through the aftermath."

Ron felt as though a wave of clean, good air was being flushed through his body. The dull, throbbing headache was gone and his stomach stopped sloshing around unpleasantly. He felt fine -- good, even. Refreshed. Still miserable, of course. But otherwise a new man.

"Charlie and I are going to go out for awhile. We'll be back in a few hours."

Ron nodded. Bill said nothing more and went out the front door; Charlie paused, giving his youngest brother one last, hard look.

"She needs you now, Ron," he said quietly. "Remember that first. And then remember that you love her. That's when you'll realize that this is too important to screw up."