Scattered

Hermione sighed in frustration. Their latest attempt had proven to be just as unsuccessful as the previous ones had been.

"I'm sorry, Penny," she said. "I must have missed a turn somewhere. Or it's possible I didn't chop those roots finely enough--"

"Hermione, stop it," Penny told her sternly. "I'm brewing this potion, too, remember? Or at least trying to brew it. Neither one of us has got the hang of it yet. But we'll get there, I promise," she added in a softer tone.

"You're right, I know," Hermione replied, trying hard to banish the last nagging feelings of guilt away. It just seemed as if they were never going to brew a successful batch of Wolfsbane, and if they never managed it, then Remus -- or some other member of the Order, probably Charlie, who would have to fetch it for him -- would never be truly safe. And nothing mattered to her now except making as many of the people in her life as safe as they could be.

Of course if that were really true, you would spend a little less time in your rooms and more in the library, or in the brewing room, the insistent voice in her head whispered, though. No matter how Ron wakes you up in the morning, that's no excuse to stay in bed until ten.

"It's not a crime to spend time with Ron, you know," Penny said, and Hermione was embarrassed. Were her thoughts so obvious? "You don't have to feel guilty about it. Should I feel guilty for spending time with Percy?"

"No, of course not," Hermione admitted reluctantly. She frowned. "How did you know I was thinking about--"

"You smile a certain way when you're thinking about him."

Hermione grinned. "You do the same thing, you know."

"When I'm thinking about Ron?" Penny replied, teasing. "I don't think so."

"No, about your own personal Weasley."

Penny laughed, completely unashamed. "That he is, and that I do."

Hermione smiled at her friend, somewhat envious of how confident and comfortable she seemed where Percy was concerned. Penny didn't get flustered and embarrassed when someone referred to her husband; she didn't stumble over words, or seem to feel awkward about public displays of affection. She didn't get upset if Percy was a half-hour late or if he wanted to spend the evening with his brothers. She just smiled and seemed perfectly content. Penny knew Percy loved her to distraction; it was clear to everyone that she was the most important thing in the world to him. Hermione suspected he'd changed as much as he had because of having Penny in his life, and only for the better. They were wonderful together, absolutely, but they were just so damn calm about it all. That's what drove Hermione crazy.

She and Ron were anything but calm, or secure, or comfortable. He wanted to know her every move but rarely shared his own whereabouts; if she was five minutes late he started searching the seas, whereas she was expected to shrug off an entire evening's absence of his. Ron still swore and grumbled and got moody, he still didn't listen to her, and he still wouldn't tell her what he was feeling, nine times out of ten. For her part, she knew she nagged him a little too often for his liking; she often worried that she was smothering him, trying to take too much of his time. But if she tried to give him space, he got anxious and followed her around at a hair's breath. Then he'd get quiet and start doubting himself, and ask her if she was having second thoughts about them. She'd reassure him, he'd be relieved, and then the whole cycle would start all over again. They clung to each other as if they were drowning, and they drove each other mad, and, to top it all off, they couldn't seem to keep their hands off each other anymore, and not just in the privacy of their rooms. Ron, it seemed, had finally been given a good enough reason to explore the castle with her: to her horror, he was keeping track of which rooms they'd already "christened".

Oh, who am I kidding? she chided herself, flushing. I'm the one who suggested that empty classroom yesterday, after all.

She felt guilty about every extra minute she spent with Ron, though, because on a certain level, she felt guilty about being safe. Too many of their friends were out there, yet, and in danger. Harry, Hagrid, the twins... Seamus and Dean... Padma, and Parvati... and Remus. She couldn't do anything to help Harry or Hagrid, or George, or Fred and Seamus and Dean or Padma and all the rest. But Remus? She could do something to help him, and through him, she'd be helping Charlie and Tonks.

Hermione sighed. Tonks had arrived at Liath Cuan last week, with Luna and Susan in tow. The formerly exuberant Auror had changed in some fundamental way that owed nothing to her skills as a Metamorphagus. She looked smaller, somehow, and she looked worried. She'd been glad to see them all, of course, but there had been a sadness about her. Hermione knew Tonks was still torn up about what had happened to little Dennis Creevey. She suspected, though, that it was Tonks' worries for the future -- for Remus' future -- that were leaving the lines on her face and the light out of her usually capricious eyes.

"Hermione?" Penny said softly, interrupting her reverie. "Seriously, we'll figure it out. Don't worry." She stood slowly, somewhat awkwardly, and banished the failed potion away with a wave of her wand. "I'm going to lie down for a bit. I'll see you at dinner?"

She nodded. "Thanks, Pen."

Hermione wandered into the common room in an uncharacteristically listless mood. Ron was off on the other side of the island with his father for the afternoon. She chided herself for wishing he was here in the castle, so that she could spend the rest of the day with him instead of beating herself up for not having all the answers.

I miss Crookshanks, she thought wistfully, thinking back to all the times at Hogwarts when she'd been alone and he had been there to comfort her. Sixth year, in particular, she'd cried quite a few tears into his orangey fur. She was very glad he was protecting her parents, of course, and wouldn't have it any other way. But... she missed him all the same.

"Were you planning something?" a soft voice wafted across the room.

Hermione turned and gave Luna a quizzical look. "Planning? What do you mean?"

"You're always planning something when you're not talking," Luna replied, curling up in one of the overstuffed chairs.

"No, I'm.... I'm not always," Hermione protested weakly. She sat abruptly with a small 'thwump' of cushions, and added, "I'm not planning anything right now, that's for sure."

Luna nodded knowingly. "That's it, then."

"Yes?"

"You're in a bad mood because you don't have anything to plan."

Hermione shook her head dejectedly. "Oh no, there's plenty that needs planning. The Wolfsbane potion, and what we're going to do if Penny and I can't brew it, for example. Or how Harry is supposed to defeat Voldemort once he's -- well, once he's done with everything he needs to do. How to find George. How to clear my name, if that's even possible. What to get Ron for Christmas. There are an awful lot of things I could be planning."

"Then, what's the problem?" Luna asked calmly.

"I don't know how to do any of them."

Luna smiled serenely and Hermione felt the usual wave of frustration she experienced in Luna's presence. She'd come to value the other girl over the past few years; she knew Luna was loyal and trustworthy, and reliable in a fight. And rather skilled at Defense, actually. Furthermore, Hermione had found her to be compassionate and comforting on more than one occasion in sixth year. Luna had several times come upon her in tears and sat by her side, been a friend to her when she couldn't allow herself to break down in front of Harry or Ginny. She'd misjudged Luna at the start, she could admit that now. But it didn't mean that the girl's more vagrant flights of fancy and her habit of responding strangely to serious things didn't sometimes get on Hermione's nerves.

"Anyway, nothing's wrong," Hermione said finally. "I'm not in a bad mood at all, really."

"Good," Luna replied brightly. "In that case, maybe you could try to cheer Ginny up."

Hermione frowned. "Ginny?"

"Ginny Weasley."

"I know which Ginny," Hermione snapped. She took a deep breath. "I just don't know what you mean. Is something wrong with Ginny? She seemed fine... well, the last time I saw her."

"When was that?" Luna asked dreamily.

Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but found she couldn't think of the correct answer. "It was... it must have been this morning. But no, I skipped breakfast and Penny and I ate lunch in the brewing room. So... yesterday? At dinner?"

"Mmmm," Luna hummed noncommittally.

"Luna, is there something wrong with Ginny?" Hermione demanded. "Where is she?"

"She was in her room, at least she was when I left her there, just before I came into this room. Well, and after I went through the hallway, of course," Luna added, twirling a lock of her hair around her finger and then staring at it. "My father's arriving this afternoon and I thought Ginny might like to help me show him around later. So I asked. But she said she wanted to stay in today. Except that's what she said yesterday, and the day before. I think she needs cheering up."

"You're probably right," Hermione mumbled.

"My father says the best way to cheer up is to drink Gnarplemoss milk," Luna said.

Hermione blinked. "Gnarple..."

"...moss milk," Luna repeated. "It's much more efficient than Pepper-Up potion, he says. But he hasn't been able to find a milk-producing Gnarplemoss in ages."

"Has he found a non-milk-producing... never mind," Hermione cut herself off hastily. She stood and headed for the archway. "Thanks, Luna. And tell your father we're all glad he's here."

"You're welcome, Hermione," Luna replied, still staring at the twirl of hair around her finger. "And don't worry so much. No one expects you to have all the answers, you know."

No one except me, Hermione thought dejectedly.

* * * * *

"Ginny, may I come in?" Hermione waited, but there was no immediate response. "Gin?"

The door swung open slowly. Hermione edged around the heavy oak and stepped cautiously inside.

She was struck immediately by how... bare... Ginny's rooms looked. Their rooms -- hers and Ron's -- had started off looking much like this. A bed, furniture, a fireplace, some shelves. But over the brief time they'd been at Liath Cuan, they'd begun to acquire... things. Books, for Hermione, of course. A cage for Pigwidgeon. A few hangings for the walls. Curtains. And all the little signs of every day life: clothes, shoes, a favorite mug, quills and scraps of parchment lying around. Hermione was by nature a neat and organized person, though Ron was not, so their rooms were always clean and tidy. But they were beginning to look lived-in. Inhabited. Their own. Whereas Ginny's rooms looked exactly as they had the day she'd moved in.

"Are you here to see me or did you just want to stand in my doorway?" Ginny asked.

Hermione glanced around and found her friend, finally, in the window seat. She remembered that Ginny had gravitated there on her first night and she wondered, now, if there was something meaningful about her preferred perch.

"I came to see you, of course," she replied finally. "I just didn't spot you immediately."

"There's a lot of camouflage in here, I know," Ginny replied dryly. "I blend right into the stone walls."

Hermione felt flustered. "No, of course not. I was distracted, I'm sorry."

Ginny waved her apology off. "Don't be."

"I'm not disturbing you, am I?" Hermione asked.

"Not at all."

Hermione frowned, uncomfortable. She couldn't understand why she and Ginny were being so formal with each other, acting like strangers or casual, polite acquaintances, when once they'd been as close as sisters. Once, they'd been best friends.

Had she done something to make Ginny angry? Or was it more that she simply hadn't done anything at all? Luna had asked when she'd last seen Ginny, and Hermione hadn't been able to immediately answer. She'd seen Ginny at meals; she'd chatted with her a few times in the halls. They'd all gone on that walk together, the day after the funerals, and met a few more of the McFustys. There were two dozen or so small houses scattered around the island, only about half of them inhabited so far. Hamish had mentioned that some of those living in the castle might prefer a little more open space. Hermione wasn't sure. Maybe someday she'd want to set up a little house of her own, but for right now, she felt safest, and strongest, with everyone close by.

She shook her head; her thoughts had wandered away from Ginny, even with the younger girl sitting right in front of her. In the past few weeks she'd given Ginny almost none of her time and even less of her attention. All those months in the safehouse she'd missed Ginny terribly, and then as soon as they were together again, she'd taken her for granted.

"If I were you, I'm not sure I'd even be speaking to me," Hermione said finally.

Ginny gave her a small smile. "Well, I'm not saying much, am I?"

"I'm so sorry, Gin," Hermione said. She perched on the opposite end of the window seat. "I've been a horrible friend. I haven't been around, and I've been distracted, and the stupidest thing is that I missed you like crazy. What's wrong with me?"

"It's okay," Ginny said, turning away from the window finally and settling more comfortably against the cushions.

"It's not," Hermione protested.

Ginny shook her head. "You're too hard on yourself. Do you think you're the only one who's been distant? I haven't exactly been my usual gregarious self either."

"Well, you've been through a lot, after all." Hermione saw Ginny about to argue and cut her off. "Yes, of course we all have. But you were more alone than the rest of us were. Ron and Bill and I were together. Your parents were with Percy and Penny. We worried about you, Gin. We would have given anything to have you with us."

"Ron told me the only thing you asked for, for your birthday, was to have me there," Ginny said hesitantly, seeming almost shy about bringing it up.

Hermione nodded, tears in her eyes. She swiped at them in frustration. "Oh, what's wrong with me? I keep crying at the drop of a hat. I've been doing it for months; I feel like I've got my emotional wires crossed or something."

"Don't sweat it," Ginny reassured her. "No one's themselves these days. Everyone's behaving strangely. Mum's all calm and collected; she hasn't shrieked at any of us even once, except for Ron -- but I don't totally blame her. I can't believe he still talks with his mouth full like that." Hermione laughed. "Dad's running the Order, and supposedly that's not weird. Tonks' hair is mousey brown. McGonagall's Scottish accent has gotten as thick as pea soup in the past few days, and I think Madam Hooch and that Auror, Hestia Jones, are an item now. The world's gone a bit crazy. I mean, for crying out loud, Percy's normal. He actually told a joke the other evening. A pretty good one. So, go figure, you know?" Ginny concluded. "The whole world's got its wires crossed."

Hermione had tears rolling down her face by this point, but from laughter, not sadness. She buried her face in a pillow and laughed until her sides hurt, peeking out at her friend. Ginny was smiling widely.

"Or at least, that's how it seems to me," Ginny added, and she laughed as well.

The tension between them had finally broken. Hermione reached out and pulled Ginny into an impulsive hug. The younger girl remained stiff for a moment, but then she returned the gesture just as warmly.

"I've missed you," Ginny said, pulling back. "I've missed being able to tell you things."

"Like what?" Hermione asked quietly.

Ginny sighed. She turned away, not meeting Hermione's eyes as she spoke. "I missed having you there at the safehouse. Colin was a wreck, I couldn't say anything to him about my own, you know, worries. And Justin's a nice guy and all, but not very... deep. It was lonely."

"Professor McGonagall... Minerva... oh, whatever we're supposed to call her now --"

"I know she's your favorite teacher, Hermione, and I really respect her as well but -- she isn't really the warm, cozy chat kind of person, you know?" Ginny said.

Hermione had to admit this was true.

"You know, she never told us to stop calling her 'Professor'," Ginny reflected. "Since there's no school anymore, that's kind of weird, isn't it?"

Hermione shrugged. "I suppose, but we certainly weren't going to start calling her 'Minnie', after all."

"No." Ginny laughed a little, silently.

"Bill taught us some new spells, and charms," Hermione said after awhile. "Sometimes just to pass the time, but other times for real purpose. There was this one he built, sort of a variation on... sorry, I'm babbling." Ginny just smiled. "Did Professor McGonagall continue any sorts of lessons with you and Justin and Colin, as well?"

Ginny met Hermione's gaze with a strange, unreadable expression on her face, as if judging how she should answer. Hermione's brow furrowed in confusion, but she waited patiently for Ginny to reply.

"We couldn't get Colin to be involved in much of anything, let alone lessons. And Justin spent most of his time reading at some Muggle library," Ginny said finally. Hermione smiled. "As for me.... she taught me shields. Every single day. Starting with the simplest shield charms we learned at Hogwarts and then building up to ones I'd never heard of."

"What kind of shields?"

Ginny sighed. "Shields to block specific curses. Shields that were stronger on land, or stronger on water. Shields that would rebound a curse on the caster, and even one that would send a completely different curse. That's what she taught me."

Hermione's throat felt small and tight. She whispered, "Did she say why?"

"No."

"She must have --"

"But she really didn't," Ginny replied firmly.

Hermione didn't believe her. But she heard the sharp tone creeping back into her friend's voice and, wary, she pressed no further. Once upon a time, she'd have kept nagging and pushing at Ginny, just as she always did at Ron and Harry, even if the other girl ended up blowing up at her. She still would have persisted. But there was just something about Ginny now that kept Hermione from demanding more answers.

Moreover, she chastised herself, this wasn't supposed to be about spells, or lessons, or the war they'd lost. It was supposed to be about being there for her friend.

"Was it hard, being on your own there?" she asked quietly. Ginny shrugged. "Ginny, please tell me," she pleaded quietly. "You're so like Ron, you know? I can't get him to tell me what he's feeling most of the time either. The two of you -- it's so silly. Don't you realize by now, when I ask these kinds of questions, that I almost always already know the answer? I'm not asking for my sake, I'm asking for yours. Talk to me, Gin. Because I think you've needed to talk to someone for awhile," she said, reaching out to grasp the other girl's hand and give it a strong squeeze.

Ginny turned away, as if she didn't want to hear what Hermione was saying. Suddenly, though, she was reaching out as well and grabbing her in a fierce hug. Hermione held on and hugged her back as hard as she could. Ginny took deep, gasping breaths for a few moments; when she pulled away her eyes were red, though there were no tears.

"It started off horrible," Ginny said. "As soon as we got to the safehouse, we heard about Dennis. Colin was awful. And Professor McGonagall.... she spoke to him about it, of course, but, well, you know how she is...."

Hermione sighed. "Truth be told, Gin, I think she's a very warm and caring person, underneath it all. I think she just isn't comfortable expressing it."

Ginny shrugged. "I suppose you're right. But it just seemed as if there was no one there to help Colin except for me, so I did. And then, there wasn't anything else. No news, no word, no idea of what was happening to us. McGonagall wouldn't tell us anything. Or couldn't, I don't know. She said we were able to Floo-talk only with Tonks, and only every week or so, but that didn't do much to help things. Tonks was even worse then than she is now, and I really don't know Susan Bones. Luna was the only one worth talking to, and you know how sometimes talking with Luna isn't the most successful endeavor in the world.

"I didn't hear from Harry. I didn't hear from my parents, or any of my brothers. Or from you. I had no idea what was going on or when I'd ever see you again. If I would. Every day I'd get lessons from McGonagall, and try to convince Colin to talk, and I'd stare out the window and wonder what you all were doing. And that's... it. That's all, every day, all those weeks...."

"Oh, Gin, no wonder, that sounds horrible," Hermione cried, squeezing Ginny's hand again.

"The worst part, though.... the worst part is that I was..." Ginny didn't seem to want to finish.

Hermione told her firmly, "Go on."

"I was jealous of you," Ginny whispered finally. "Isn't that terrible? But I was. You were with my brothers, and you weren't alone. You weren't stuck with a teacher who's always half-scared the heck out of you, a mourning boy and some bloke from Hufflepuff you'd never said more than three words to before. You were with people... who loved you." She took a deep breath, her face red. "I'm so sorry, Hermione. It was horrible of me."

"No, it wasn't."

"But it was -- and then we heard about Neville and what happened to you, and I knew I really was an incredibly selfish person because I still wished I was there instead of you.... anywhere but where I was, alone," she finished, and finally a lone tear crept down her cheek. She wiped it at roughly and let out a deep, strained breath.

Hermione sighed. "Ginny, stop it. Of course you felt that way. Listen to me: it wasn't fair, what happened to you," she stressed, trying to get through to her friend. "I had Ron every step of the way. If I hadn't I wouldn't have made it through, the way you have. You're stronger than I am, Gin. I couldn't have done it."

"You would have been fine. Better than I am now, that's for sure," Ginny argued.

"No way. Not by a longshot. I was every bit as scared and worried and upset as you were, but I had some answers. I had friends. I had Ron, taking care of me whether I wanted to let him or not. It's not fair, Gin, that I had so much help and you had so little. It's not. So of course you felt cheated," Hermione insisted. "I would have, in your shoes."

Ginny sighed and nodded. Hermione couldn't tell if she'd gotten through to her or not, but at least she'd gotten her to talk.

"You know Harry would've written you, if he could have," Hermione said softly. "If it had been safe."

"Yes, I know," Ginny replied. "It's not.... I understand that, I do. To be honest, I'm not really upset about Harry. He's got to do what he's got to do, that's all there is to it. He can't be anyone other than who he is, and I can't hate him for that." She pulled her legs up under her on the cushions, leaning her head on one hand. "I don't regret being with Harry, even though breaking up with him was awful," she said. "I'm glad we were together. But it had to end the way it did."

Hermione tried to be encouraging. "Maybe when this is all over," she suggested.

Ginny shook her head. "Maybes are always sometimes. That's what Mum used to say, when I was a little girl."

"What did she mean by that?" Hermione asked, puzzled.

"I have no idea," Ginny replied, laughing. Hermione laughed along with her. "Oh, and Fred and George used to come up with, you know, joke endings, every time she'd say it. 'Maybes are always sometimes smelly', or 'Maybes are always sometimes naked on Tuesdays'. I'm rubbish, I can't remember the good ones. Basically it was a competition with them, to see who could be the weirdest."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "A competition that never ended, apparently."

"No. I miss the twins," Ginny said wistfully. "They're horrid, but in a really wonderful way."

"I'm not sure Ron would agree about the 'wonderful' part," Hermione said.

Ginny smirked. "No. Well, they do know how to get at him, don't they?" She gave Hermione a sly look. "As do you."

Hermione felt her face heat up. "Well, now..."

"He's ever-so-much in love with you, you know," Ginny told her, her eyes warm and serious.

"It's entirely mutual," Hermione admitted, unable to keep from smiling.

"Thank goodness," Ginny said, "because you're the only person in the world that I think is good enough for him... and as far as Ron is concerned, well, I think he just might deserve you, too, one of these days. If he keeps up the good behavior."

Hermione beamed.

"Or the bad behavior, from what I hear."

Hermione shrieked, "WHAT?! How did you -- he told you?!"

Ginny laughed. "Well, who else would he tell, without Harry here? Why, are you embarrassed about it? Hermione --"

"No! I just wanted to tell you myself!"

"Well, I didn't get anything really interesting from him," Ginny reassured her. "He just stuttered around about how amazingly wonderful you were and how he never wanted to be with anyone else, and then he turned all beet-red and told me you'd done it. Though not in so many words; I recall some hand gestures were involved." Hermione snickered. "So, spill. Keep in mind, though, that this is my brother we're talking about. It is not necessary to describe, say, um, anatomy in any specific detail. It's regrettable, I know; if you'd slept with any other man, I'd want graphic sketches." She paused and smiled fondly at her friend. "Which means I never will have the opportunity to demand sketches from you, will I?"

"No, I don't think so," Hermione replied, smiling in return.