Scattered

The fields and trees and roads swept past the window in a seemingly never-ending blur; Hermione finally gave up and turned away. When she looked back at the compartment, however, she remembered why she'd sought the numbing refuge of the outside view in the first place. Ron was next to her, slouched over and asleep, his hand still clutching hers. Bill sat on the seat opposite, staring at the floor, lost in his own thoughts. The small train compartment was quite similar to the one they'd traveled in just a short time ago, the one that had taken them from everything they'd ever known to the safehouse. It was a little shabbier, a little older; the seats weren't quite as comfortable. Pig was snoring quietly in his cage in a corner. But in essence, it was much the same.

Except that Neville wasn't there. Neville wouldn't ever be there again.

Hermione couldn't stop thinking about it: how it seemed that that last train trip had been just days ago, and how it couldn't be possible that so much had happened since then. That this huge thing had changed. She felt like she should be able, somehow, to just reach into the past: a few weeks ago, days, hours, even. To just this morning. There had to be some way she could open up the book of time and pluck Neville from its pages, and bring him here, now, safe and whole and alive.

She thought of the time-turner she'd worn all of third year and she finally truly understood the dire warnings Professor McGonagall had given her about trying to change the past. Saving Sirius and Buckbeak had been one thing, and dangerous enough; but that time, they'd only stopped something from happening before it happened, not after... there was a difference. Still, if she had a time-turner right now, she didn't think she could resist using it to go back to just this morning, to marching right up to herself and Neville and saying that they had to stay home... to telling Bill that they needed to leave the safehouse and run somewhere, anywhere before something terrible happened... to doing whatever it took to save Neville.

It was impossible, though. She didn't have a time-turner, and she remembered Professor McGonagall's words:

Not only is it dangerous, Miss Granger, to try to change the past... it's impossible as well. Many desperate men and women have tried, to no avail. Once something has taken place... the universe has a way of making sure it happens, no matter what we do to try to prevent it.

It felt as if every moment, every step and every turn, was taking her further away from a world with Neville in it. There was no way to stand still. Bill had called them downstairs and they'd found Charlie waiting with a Portkey for them; a few moments later they were on a train again, traveling, as best she could tell, northward. Bill hadn't said anything further about where they were going and Hermione hadn't asked. Charlie had stayed behind; she hoped he was safe.

Ron shifted slightly in his sleep, tightening his grip on her hand as he did so. She winced and squeezed back, then gently eased his fingers open slightly, still maintaining contact. She could feel the tension in him, the fear and the anxiety. He'd worked himself into a frenzy and then crashed into a restless, fitful slumber, as if his body was demanding the rest his mind and heart was loathe to give.

She sighed and looked away, catching Bill's eye. His face was blank and impassive and anyone who didn't know him would think him calm and focused. But Hermione knew Bill Weasley now, knew him as a friend and mentor... as a brother. She knew he was hurting as much as she was.

"Don't blame yourself, Bill," she said softly.

His expression didn't change. "On the scroll Dumbledore gave me that night, where it described my assignment, my mission -- it said 'Protector'. That was my job, Hermione. Right there in black and white. It was my task to protect you all, and I failed."

She shook her head sadly. "That's not true."

Bill took a deep breath, then, and sank back against the seat. As she watched, the mask dropped from his features until all that remained was sadness and fatigue. "It is true," he argued quietly. "Oh, I keep remembering what I told Tonks, about the little Creevey boy, and I know exactly what she's going to say to me now. I... know I'm not to blame, precisely. I'm not Harry; I know Voldemort is the reason for the losses we've suffered, Voldemort and his followers, and black-hearted minions like Malfoy. I didn't cause Neville to die but... I didn't stop it either. And that's mine to deal with."

Hermione didn't know what to say. "We'd all have been lost without you, Bill, months ago."

"Thank you for saying that," he replied with a sad smile. "But you're a strong, resourceful witch, Hermione. Never doubt your own abilities."

She scoffed. "My abilities? Books and cleverness, and foolishness sometimes too, it seems, at least... at least today. And that foolishness has cost us..." She trailed off, unable to continue.

Bill seemed to think carefully for a moment, as if weighing his next words with precision. "The truth, Hermione? What I really believe is, sometimes there's no way to avoid what's going to come. It's like Dumbledore said... there's no way to predict, sometimes, what fate will do, how the tides will turn. After all, imagine if we hadn't left the Burrow in time that day, we'd all have died. Or if the Death Eaters had found us on the way from the train to the safehouse? Who knows what could have happened, but didn't? So I think we were meant to make it to safety. But sometimes... fate has bad things in store for us as well. If you and Neville hadn't been in that alley today, you might have met Malfoy next week in a pub, or tomorrow on our front lawn." He paused and shrugged. "It's natural to think about how things could have gone differently. Imagine if the tide could have turned our way, in the war. If there had been more professors at Hogwarts, maybe they could have held the castle. Or if Dumbledore hadn't died, we wouldn't have lost at all. If Peter Pettigrew hadn't betrayed the Potters, all those years ago, Lily Potter wouldn't have had to sacrifice her life for Harry's."

"And if Tom Riddle had never been born, none of it would have happened at all," Hermione said in a whisper. "I know. I know. That's what I can't stop thinking about, all of the what-ifs."

"We never can," Bill said sadly. "Still, what I try to tell myself is that it doesn't help to dwell on the what-ifs. It's part of life, accepting what comes and letting go of what could have been, what else could have been done." He shrugged ruefully. "I don't always succeed, but I try."

Hermione wiped at her eyes and took a shaky breath. "I'll try, too." They were quiet for a moment, and she tried to let go of the weight bearing down on her heart. What Bill said was wise, and true, and yet... and yet... "But..." she said finally, "I can't help... Neville, what he did... for me..." The tears were flowing harder now, and she felt Ron's hand slide up her arm, wrapping around her shoulder and pulling her close. She hadn't realized he was awake and wondered how long he'd been listening.

"It's okay," he said, "It's okay."

She took a shuddering breath. "It really isn't, Ron."

"I know."

She sat up and looked at him, at his tired, familiar, loving face. He held her close and didn't say anything more.

Finally she felt calmer, though just as devastated. She looked at Bill. "Neville... he saved me. I don't even really understand how."

She watched as Bill and Ron shared a look she couldn't completely interpret.

"Hermione, you know how Harry's mother saved his life by sacrificing her own?" Bill asked. She nodded. "Neville... well, from what you described to me, I think he did the same for you."

"But, Professor Dumbledore always said that was an ancient magic that Voldemort never paid any attention to because it was based on love, a mother's love for her child."

"Professor Dumbledore never said it was specifically a mother's love, Hermione," Ron said hesitantly.

She frowned, considering. "No... he didn't say that specifically." She felt embarrassed for jumping to an erroneous conclusion. It wasn't like her.

"You said Malfoy gave Neville a chance to step aside and walk away, but he didn't," Bill said. "He chose to protect you instead of saving himself, and that's what gave the spell its power. That and... love."

Hermione's mind was spinning, trying to grasp the magnitude of what Neville had done for her. "He was such a good friend," she whispered.

She saw Bill give Ron another look. Ron glanced away, clearly uncomfortable.

"What is it?" she asked.

Neither answered at first. Finally, Ron cleared his throat and reluctantly turned in the seat, shifting slightly away from her and taking both of her hands in his. "Hermione... I don't want to upset you further but..."

"What?" she said again, starting to feel anxious.

Ron sighed. "Did you never... I mean to say, I always assumed you sort of knew and didn't want to, you know, make Neville feel awkward." He paused and looked at her; she still couldn't quite process what he was saying and he seemed to sense this, saying, finally, "Hermione, Neville's fancied you for years."

She looked over at Bill, who nodded. "I didn't really know Neville until these past few months, but it seemed obvious he had feelings for you."

"Not to me," she snapped, and instantly regretted her anger. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she said, pulling her hands away from Ron's and running them through her hair, feeling agitated and confused. "This is just... I never... Ron, are you sure? Did he... say something to you?"

Ron shook his head. "No, never. Well, sort of but not exactly, he just said something to me... when you and I got, you know, together, officially. He said congratulations and that, well, he'd known for a long time that you and I... belong together. I knew it was hard for him, you know, and he was being such a good sport about it, I asked if he was okay and he said he was. That's all but, it was enough, you know?" He rubbed her shoulder comfortingly. "But he's liked you since -- well, I think since first year. I mean, it wasn't so much what he said, it was how he acted around you. Harry and I used to talk about it, you know, when we were younger. And then he asked you to the Yule Ball, remember?"

Hermione nodded. "But only as a friend."

"Oh, that's just something we blokes do," Bill said, smiling gently. "We ask a girl, and if it looks like she might say no, we throw that 'just as a friend' thing on there, so we don't look too foolish."

Ron seemed to agree. "When you said no, Neville put a brave face on and all. I don't think it really hurt his feelings," he reassured her. "You had a date already, after all."

Hermione looked at Ron curiously. "I'm surprised this all didn't... well, bother you more, or something."

He grinned slightly and took her hand again, the tips of his ears turning slightly red. "Are you suggesting I have a jealous nature?" She rolled her eyes, and Ron continued, "Well, you know, that was fourth year and I was busy directing my, ahem, jealous thoughts elsewhere."

Bill scoffed. "Please don't start in about that Krum fellow. It was all his letters were about for months," he told Hermione, rolling his eyes. She gave him a grateful look, knowing he was just trying to make her smile.

Ron ignored Bill, and continued, "And since then... truth be told... Like I said, I thought you knew how Neville felt and you weren't interested, so it didn't bother me." He gave her an uncomfortable look. "But you didn't know. Would you... have been interested, if you had known?"

"That's not a fair question," Bill said sharply. "Not now."

She took a deep breath and looked out the window again. For a few moments she did nothing but stare, as she had for hours, at the passing landscape. There seemed to be less evidence of civilization going by, and in the distance she could see water. They must be near the coast now.

"It's okay," she said finally. "I didn't know. It never even occurred to me. The truth is, I loved Neville as a friend. But I never thought of him as anything else..." She turned back then, meeting Ron's eyes. "There hasn't ever really been anyone for me but you," she said softly.

He leaned over then and kissed her forehead softly. "And not really for me, either," he whispered. "I hope you know that."

"I do," she told him. She pulled away, though, feeling a wave of guilt wash over her. "But what he did for me... I didn't deserve that, not if I didn't love him back."

Bill smiled softly and shook his head. "That didn't change how he felt about you, though," he said gently. "When you love someone, unselfishly and completely, you just want them to be happy. That's what Neville wanted for you. Do you understand?"

Hermione couldn't answer right away. Was Ron's happiness more important to her than her own? If Lavender had been a good, kind person and she'd made Ron happy, would Hermione have been able to put aside her own feelings and wish them well? She wasn't sure. She loved Ron so much, it would have broken her heart no matter who the girl had been. She hated to think of Neville going through that kind of pain.

Bill seemed to sense her distress. "Hermione, I never talked to Neville about you. But I did have a chat or two with him about Megan, and he liked her a lot. He wasn't upset or hurting. He still loved you, but I think he'd accepted that you didn't feel the same, and he was okay with that. He was trying to move on."

She nodded, somewhat reassured. She remembered the things she and Neville had talked about... just that morning... their conversation about Ron, and about Megan, suddenly took on an added layer of meaning. She was glad, now, so very glad that she'd written the letter to Megan, and given it to Charlie just before they'd left the safehouse. Neville had liked her very much, she could tell, and he'd been happy to be dating her... Hermione felt a sharp pang of grief as she told herself to always remember that, to think about how relaxed and content he'd seemed for the past few weeks. If nothing else, she thought sadly, he'd finally been really happy. He should have been happy for so much longer, should have had time to fall in love with someone who loved him back, someone like Megan. To grow old and have a house and a family, a career... he'd never have any of that now, but at least he'd been happy, for awhile.

"It was still... he knew what he was doing," she said, seeing in her mind's eye, over and over again, Neville standing in front of her, without fear, telling her that everything would be okay. "He did it on purpose. He gave up his life... for me," she said, the tears flowing down her face once more. She didn't regret them, though; Neville deserved every tear she could ever possibly shed for him, and so much more.

"He was a true Gryffindor," Ron said, his own voice thick.

"Hermione, he made his own choice, remember that. He did what he did because he wanted to, and you have to honor that choice. We all do," Bill said.

She nodded, wiping her eyes. "I'll never forget what he did for me," she said fiercely. "Not for a single moment of the rest of my life."

"Just as Harry will never forget what his mother did for him," Bill said. "They both made the ultimate sacrifice in an act of unselfish love. Can you see now why Dumbledore always said this was the kind of magic someone as black-hearted as Voldemort could never understand?"

"Yes," she whispered. She felt drained, then, and leaned back against the seat. She couldn't think about any of this anymore -- Voldemort, Dumbledore... Neville. She wished she could stop thinking about the war and all of the loss they'd already suffered, just for a little while. But right now they were speeding towards an unknown future, and she couldn't let her guard down. Not yet. Maybe not ever again.

"Why didn't Charlie come with us?" she asked Bill, worried. "Why did he stay behind?"

"He left a few minutes after us," Bill replied. "Don't worry."

Ron frowned, puzzled. "But why didn't he leave when we did? With us, even?"

Bill sighed. "Charlie stayed behind to set a few spells. But he did leave a few moments later; you saw the Patronus he sent me, remember?"

Hermione nodded, and a thought occurred to her. They'd packed up a lot of personal belongings, and the safehouse still had charms on it, of course. Supposedly impenetrable ones. But the Death Eaters knew they'd been living somewhere in town. They might find it. And if they somehow got inside, or even in the backyard... found something, anything...

"The Order can't use that safehouse again, can they?" Ron asked, clearly following the same train of thought.

"No, we can't. And that house contains too much magic, and a Floo connection. We couldn't just leave it there. Charlie stayed to cast a curse that would cause the house to implode as soon as he left it, so that nothing would be left to find," Bill replied. He caught Hermione's concerned look. "Don't worry, the curse will turn the house to instant rubble. No one will get hurt, not even if they're walking by on the sidewalk."

Hermione had to admit that destroying the safehouse had been necessary. But that made it just one more place she'd lived in that had been taken away. Her childhood home had strangers living in it now. The Burrow was gone, Hogwarts defiled. Now, the safehouse, the place where she and Ron had finally broken through their insecurities and their hesitancy and admitted their feelings for each other, was gone as well. The bed they'd slept in each night. The backyard where they'd danced and kissed on her birthday. Gone, like everything else.

And what happens now? she thought, feeling lost. Where is there left for us to go?

Bill stood and took his bag down from the overhead rack, adding Hermione's things and Ron's. "We're almost there," he said.

"We're getting off the train?" Ron asked. "Where are we?"

"You'll see when we get there," Bill said. He caught Ron's mutinous glare and smiled. "I'm not being difficult. It'll just be easier to show you than to explain. But I promise you this," he said, and his face lit up with an expression that was filled with relief, joy and something like hope, "we're almost home."