Scattered

Ron closed the broomshed door with a bang and headed back to the castle. He was sweaty, achy, tired and completely satisfied with himself for the first time in a long time. He'd just played a great pickup game of Quidditch with Ginny against Bill and Madame Hooch -- Rolanda, she'd said to call her. He couldn't resist grinning a bit over their win. Hooch was awfully good, but Bill was completely out of practice and Ginny was as lethal as ever.

The wind had died down a bit since yesterday, he thought, which had made flying easier. Hermione said that the Hebrides were known for stormy winters; the past few days had been downright nasty. On the whole, though, he had no complaints about winter in Liath Cuan. In fact, it still seemed awfully strange to him that they could be further north than Hogwarts but that even now, in December, there was no snow on the ground and little chance of seeing any all winter long. Hermione said it was something about the current; Ron didn't much care. He'd miss snow, he supposed, sometimes. Snowball fights. Hot chocolate after coming in from the cold outside. Snowflakes in Hermione's hair...

Hermione. Just thinking about her put a smile on his face and made his pulse race a little faster. He hadn't imagined that it was possible to be this obsessed with another person. Though, 'obsession' didn't really describe it. Infatuation? Fixation? He wasn't sure. He'd loved her for so long, and he never would have thought that sex would really make that much of a difference in how he felt about her. But it had; it did. Whenever they were in the same room together now, he couldn't help but stare at her, at every little thing she did. Just watching her walk, and talk, and breathe. Watching her eat was a huge turn-on, he'd discovered, and watching her laugh usually resulted in his dragging her out of the common room and off to a dark corner somewhere.

Bill had noticed his bemused state at dinner the other night and given him a knowing look; Ron had just shrugged. He'd braced himself, later, for the inevitable return of the Older Brother Lecture, but it hadn't happened. Bill had simply thumped him on the shoulder and said, "I'm happy for you, Ron." That was it.

Although there was a certain part of him that wanted to spend every possible moment alone with Hermione, Ron knew how important it was to her to help Penny brew the Wolfsbane they needed for Lupin. Being useful, figuring things out, having a project and finding solutions, all of that was part of what made Hermione tick. He understood that. He knew she loved being with him and he knew she felt safe at Liath Cuan. But she also needed something to focus her mind on. Hermione Granger's brain wasn't built for idle musings. Ron knew he'd be of no use to them in the brewing room; Hermione thought Potions hadn't been her best subject, but Ron knew it had been one of his worst. So for the past few weeks, while she and Penny had been researching, he'd spent a lot of time with his father instead, going around the island, getting to know the McFustys, and realizing just how lucky they'd been.

One long afternoon, Ron had thought long and hard about what it would have been like if Dumbledore hadn't done what he had. Without a plan, the Order would have fought to survive Voldemort's attacks, of course. More would have died, though, than had. Some would have survived, as well -- survived and fled, gone somewhere, anywhere, to try to regroup. And when they'd done that, then they would have faced the cold, terrible truth: that they'd been defeated. That it was over. They would have tried to hide, holed up somewhere. They could have barricaded themselves in Grimmauld Place, he supposed. But they wouldn't have been able to leave, not ever, not without risking capture, torture, death. And they would have had to leave, eventually, for supplies if nothing else. And they would have been caught, and tortured, and died. Sooner or later. One by one.

Ron grimaced and shook off the dismal scenario he'd created. Instead of that, they'd been sheltered and protected every step of the way. And though it hadn't been enough for Neville, or for Dennis, and maybe, damn it, not for George, it had saved almost all of them. And instead of hiding in the dark they were living together here on this amazing island, in the freedom of their own home, with good people and with family, perfectly safe. Every time he looked out across the hills of Liath Cuan, every time he was greeted with a warm handshake by Hamish, every time he watched Hermione sleep, the lines of her face smooth and peaceful... every time, Ron counted his lucky stars, and every time, he felt just a little bit more okay.

Of course, no matter what, there was always that small twinge of disquiet, deep below the surface. Because at the end of the day, Harry still wasn't with them, and George still hadn't been found, and Neville was gone.

Ron sighed and thought about something Hermione had said the other day, about Harry. She'd reminded him that Harry had never really wanted them to be pulled into this with him in the first place. Ron had gotten a bit angry at that: of course he'd wanted them as friends, and he'd needed them, too. Hermione hadn't denied that, she'd agreed that on some level Harry had always wanted them with him, whether it was about going into the Forbidden Forest, into the Chamber of Secrets, or at the Department of Mysteries. He'd always reluctantly agreed that he felt better with them along. But, she reminded Ron, at the same time, the worry and the guilt had nearly killed him every time.

"He hates seeing the people he loves in danger," she'd said softly. "It's a small comfort, I know...but he always worried about us. He was afraid something would happen to us, because of him."

"Nothing that's happened has been because of him," Ron had argued.

Hermione had smiled sadly. "I don't think we've ever really convinced him of that, do you?" Ron hadn't been able to argue. "In any case, I guess at least he's not worried about that right now. I suspect he's glad that you and I... and Ginny... are safe."

Ron sighed and passed through the castle doors. Hermione might be right about Harry always wanting to protect them, but that didn't make it okay that they weren't by his side, right now, regardless. He knew she was just trying to make him feel better about, well, about feeling better, really, since there was nothing to be done about it either way. And he appreciated the effort, he did. But sometimes -- it got to him.

Loping up the stairs, he found most of the family already gathered together in the common room. Nearly every other resident of the castle was there as well, making the room a bit crowded indeed.

"Ow," Ron mumbled, rubbing his elbow.

"Sorry," Tonks said as she stumbled past. "There's no where to go without bumping into someone in here."

"It's okay," he told her, smiling. Scanning around, he saw his father, his mother, Bill... Justin and Ernie... Ginny talking to Luna... Rolanda and Hestia... Percy... but no Penny, and no Hermione. He sighed, knowing they were probably still hard at work in the brewing room, having lost track of time. He'd just slip out and --

"Hey there, stranger," her voice said in his ear as her arms twined around his waist from behind. "You look remarkably like this bloke I sleep next to every night."

"You must be mistaking me for someone else, then," he whispered back, "because the lady I was with last night didn't let me get much sleep."

"Really," Hermione said in a low, mock-scandalized tone. "She sounds like something of a scarlet woman."

Ron laughed and turned around. She was grinning up at him mischievously. "You're never going to let me forget that, are you?" he asked.

She shook her head and laughed with him. "No. It was so wonderfully, I don't know, Victorian of you, Ron, to come up with a phrase like that."

"Well..."

"Someone snuck a few of his mother's romance novels, didn't someone?"

Ron blushed. "They were educational."

"I've got no complaints."

Ron grinned and ducked his head down to give her a quick kiss. He felt her lips still curved in a smile that matched his own.

"Would everyone take a seat?" his father's voice called across the room. "Please, gather around here, if you would."

The common room furniture had been rearranged into eclectic rows of seating all facing the hearth where his father stood. Ron put his hand on the small of Hermione's back and gently guided her toward one of the sofas on the right, where Bill was already seated.

"What's going on?" he asked his older brother.

Bill shrugged. "Dad's got to tell us a few things."

Ron's pulse raced a little faster: good things? bad things? Hermione squeezed his knee briefly, but her eyes were glued on his father.

"Everyone got a place to sit? Arabella, do you need someone to conjure another chair? No? Good, then," his father said amiably. "I think we're outgrowing this room as a group. Molly, is the Main Hall ready?"

His mum nodded grimly. "Scoured to an inch of its life. The grime we found..."

"Excellent," his father continued, beaming. "I'd like to start a custom here at Liath Cuan, then. We've all been sort of informally congregating in groups at mealtimes, and that's fine, but starting tomorrow, every evening, we'll eat together in the Main Hall. It'll save the elves some work," he said, with a quick grin at Hermione, "and it'll give us a bit of structure to our day, a time we'll all see each other and reconnect. Does that sound alright with everyone?"

There were general murmurs of assent.

"I think it sounds lovely," Hermione said clearly.

"Thank you, dear. It won't be quite the grand Hall many of you were used to at Hogwarts, but it'll serve, I think, nonetheless." He paused, and his face grew sober. "That settled, there are a few more serious matters to discuss tonight."

Ron tightened his arm around Hermione's shoulders. Next to him, Bill leaned forward slightly.

"We've received a message from Alastor Moody," his father said simply. "It took some time to get to us; as you can all imagine, Moody was -- how shall I put it -- exceedingly cautious in his methods. He sent us news of their progress, his and Harry's and Hagrid's, and I know you're all eager to hear it. Some of you learned of the nature of his quest last year, but many of you, I know, are still uninformed as to just what Harry has been doing these past few months. If you'll bear with me, I'll explain."

Ron sighed impatiently as his father began to slowly and carefully detail Harry's search for the horcruxes, beginning at the very start of the tale with Voldemort's thirst for immortality, his plan to achieve it by dividing his soul into seven parts, and Dumbledore's efforts at discovering the whereabouts of those magical objects. Beside him, Hermione was listening raptly, trying, he knew, to make sure there wasn't a single bit of information they'd missed, any small detail they hadn't known.

"That's how things stood last summer," his father was now saying, "when Harry was studying with Alastor Moody and preparing to go in search of the horcruxes. That's when Voldemort attacked, and that's the day we all Remembered the instructions we'd been given, the plans that we'd made that have brought us together here today. We've all faced hardship and danger," he said, "and loss. Harry, with Moody and Hagrid at his side, has been hunting down these horcruxes in secret, in harsh conditions, and with grave peril at every turn. I do not know the details of their journey thus far, but I can only surmise that it has been a very difficult time.

"The dangerous nature of their quest, and of our own precarious situations, made contact from Harry's group inadvisable, at least on a regular basis. It was agreed that they would get word to us only when they had achieved a significant portion of their quest. And that's why Moody has sent us word now."

Ron felt Hermione take a quick, sharp breath. All around the room there was an almost audible energy as everyone took in what Arthur Weasley had just told them. There was news. And more, it seemed: good news. A step forward, finally, instead of two steps back.

"Harry Potter destroyed the first of six horcruxes in his third year at Hogwarts, in the form of a diary once owned by Voldemort. Albus Dumbledore destroyed another, a ring that had once belonged to descendents of Salazar Slytherin. Harry and Albus were thwarted by forgery in their attempt to destroy the third horcrux, a locket, also of Slytherin's," his father reminded them.

"From the news we've received from Alastor today, once the quest began in earnest Harry was able to locate the real locket fairly quickly, and destroy it. They also learned, at the locket's location, what the other three horcruxes were. First, a cup that once belonged to Helga Hufflepuff. Next, a quill of Rowena Ravenclaw's. And lastly, Voldemort's familiar, the snake Nagini herself."

Ron took this information in. They'd known about the locket and the cup, and suspected another would be something of Ravenclaw's.

"But that would have been foolish of Voldemort," Hermione said, "to use a living creature as a horcrux. Furthermore, we thought for sure the final horcrux would be something of Godric Gryffindor's, so that he'd have used something from each of the Founders."

"Tom Riddle never would have included anything of Gryffindor's in his plans." It was Minerva McGonagall who answered. "Even when he was playing the part of the model student, he never quite managed to hide his hatred of everything to do with our House." She gave Hermione, Ron and Bill -- and Percy -- a proud look. "He had no capacity to understand what it meant to be a Gryffindor, you see."

Ron swallowed hard. He was never really sure if he'd lived up to his House's reputation, but he did know what it meant to be a Gryffindor. He'd learned it the hard way.

"The snake, though," Hestia Jones was saying. "The girl's right, it seems like a poor choice to use a living creature."

"Albus always said that Voldemort's worst flaw was his pride. His vanity. According to what Harry has learned, he created Nagini last, when he was feeling confident. He had five other horcruxes, after all -- though, it was four, really, by that time. The diary had already been destroyed."

Bill looked thoughtful. "But Voldemort was unaware? He can't sense when his horcruxes have been destroyed?"

"It appears not," Amos Diggory replied. "Which is a good thing for us. For Harry."

Ron ran a hand through his hair, his mind whirling. He watched his father, sure there had to be more news to come.

"With that knowledge, then, Harry, Alastor and Hagrid went out in search of the cup and the quill," his father continued, confirming Ron's suspicions. "The news that Alastor sent to us today is that they have successfully destroyed the cup, and they have located the quill. When they have acquired and destroyed the quill, they will join us here."

Amidst the cheering and chatter that followed, Hermione spun around and threw herself into Ron's chest, burying her face in his shirt. He could feel her taking long, deep breaths, struggling to contain her emotions. "It's alright, 'Mione," he whispered. "It's good news."

"I know," she said, her voice muffled. "I know. I know."

"Then why on earth are you losing it?" he asked.

She looked up at him, then, and her eyes were dry but shining. "Don't you feel it?" she asked.

He shook his head, unsure of what she was asking. He could feel a great wave of relief at the news that Harry was okay, that he was making progress. At the same time, he felt the fear he'd been living with for months, that the worst could still happen yet, that he might never see his best mate again. He felt anxiety and confusion and a strange sort of expectation, as if he was still holding his breath and waiting for the next thing to happen.

"I know you do," she insisted. "You just don't recognize it anymore. It's hope, Ron. I feel hope, and so do you, and it's wonderful and scary all at once, isn't it?"

"Yes," he said, gripping her hand in his as she spoke and her words put a name to what was inside him. "That's... yes."

They spoke with Bill for a few moments. Hermione went over and hugged his mother, the two of them whispering together with huge smiles on their faces. Ron was about to join them when he realized his father was still standing at the hearth.

"Dad?"

"I probably should have saved that news for last," his father admitted sheepishly. "There are a few more things to go over, but I don't see how I'll get anyone's attention now..."

"EVERYBODY? QUIET DOWN!" Ron hollered. Faces swung about to stare at him, puzzled. "My dad isn't finished," he said in a sheepish tone.

"Thank you, Ron," his father said, smiling. "I do apologize, everyone, but there's just one other thing I wanted to mention and then we can all talk informally over supper. In the next few weeks, the last groups will be arriving from their safehouses. We know you're all eager to have everyone here and we wish that we could speed things along a bit. However, we have reason to be concerned that the Death Eaters -- the Ministry, now, I'm afraid -- has grown suspicious of our usual routes, the ones we used to bring your groups here. Don't worry," he said kindly. "We have alternate routes, alternate plans. They will simply take slightly longer. I promise you, though, by the end of the year we'll have brought in everyone we can." He paused and took in all the people gathered before him. When he spoke again, there was a quiet certainty in his voice. "This war isn't lost yet, my friends, not while we stand here together, not while we still have the strength of our beliefs and of our friendship to bind us together. I promise you that, as well."