Scattered

The island was at its coldest in January; finally, towards the end of the month, there was one day when there were a few flakes of snow in the air. The tiny, pixie-spit-sized bits of snow didn't amount to much of anything on the ground, but they had whirled about, caught in the wild air currents of the Hebrides, quite playfully.

Hermione and Ginny had volunteered to take young Christopher Shacklebolt out, to give his mother a few hours' rest, and had taught him the fine art of snowflake tasting. Noses red and cheeks cold, then they'd all gone in for a well-deserved treat of hot cocoa and declared it the best island outing they'd had thus far, making little Christopher's smile beam. The only child currently living at Liath Cuan, Christopher got quite a bit of attention from the older residents as they tried their best to keep the little boy from becoming too lonely, especially after what he'd gone through while in hiding with his mother. Molly baked him treats and his mother took him to play with the MacFarlane twins whenever possible. Ron and Seamus were teaching him Quidditch (as yet from the ground, as the boy didn't know how to ride a broom) and Charlie had taken him to see the dragons. Hermione and Ginny, along with the other people their age at the castle, pitched in as well.

Now that nearly everyone was home and safe, Arthur looked a great deal less tired... though Hermione knew that he and Molly, and the rest of the family, would not relax until they heard from Fred, and hopefully George, again. In the meantime, everyone fell to busying themselves with various projects, going about the process of settling in to life on the island in their own way. Bill was constructing a clock like the one he'd made for his parents long ago, with all of the Weasleys represented -- including a hand for Penny, and one for Hermione, as well. Percy had begun an inventory of the castle stores, with Winky as his secretary. Penny was assisting Poppy Pomfrey in stocking the Infirmary. Minerva McGonagall and the other ex-Hogwarts professors were discussing various useful charms to put in place around both the castle and the island. Susan and Hannah were drawing up plans for redecorating the castle hallways. Dean, who had artistic talent Hermione had never known about, was volunteering to work on some paintings for the Main Hall and the common room. Colin had rediscovered his love of photography. He mostly focused on outdoor shots now, though, spending most days traipsing across the island, often accompanied by Justin or sometimes Seamus. And Luna's father, Robert Lovegood, was preparing an expedition, he said, into the island's small central forest.

Ron spent more and more time exploring the island, sometimes with Charlie, other times with his father. He knew more of the McFustys than Hermione did, at this point, as she'd in turn been spending an ever-increasing amount of time in the castle -- more specifically, in the castle library.

She and Remus had begun their research just after the New Year. At first, the sheer possibilities had seemed overwhelming. What, if anything, could be done to help Harry defeat Voldemort? Assuming, of course, that Harry could destroy all of the horcruxes, and assuming, of course, that at the end of that process, Harry would still be alive.

Tucked in the warmth of the castle library, Hermione shuddered mentally at the thought, then pushed it aside. She wouldn't think about that, not even the possibility. Harry would be okay. Harry would be with them soon. They would all be together again, the way they were supposed to be.

She missed Harry. Not just as part of the circle that existed between the three of them, herself, Ron and Harry. Certainly not as the "Boy Who Lived". No, she found she simply missed him, Harry, the boy she'd been friends with for over seven years now, the one who'd always been kind to her, even when certain other redheaded prats had not. She missed Harry's gentle goodness and compassion, his steadfast protectiveness. He had a fiery temper and could be stubborn, it was true. He'd argued with Hermione many times over the years, and more than once he'd dismissed her advice (often, it proved, when he really shouldn't have). But underneath it all, he was always kind and caring... loyal. Harry watched out for her, in his own way, and Harry trusted her, which was a gift he gave to few. The Weasleys were her family now, but Harry would always be the true brother of her heart. Hermione knew he would always be there for her, no matter what happened. It wasn't because of circumstance, or because of proximity. It wasn't just because of everything they'd been through together. He simply loved her, she knew, as he loved very few people - Hagrid, Remus, Ron, Sirius, Dumbledore. And he's already lost two of those, she thought sadly. I wish there was a way I could promise him he'll never lose anyone else. Then again, she wished she could promise herself the same.

She and Remus had started out by brainstorming for days, trying to come up with ideas. They discussed potions Harry could take to increase his power, spells he could learn. Remus mused on battle tactics and diversions, methods of thwarting the Death Eaters who would be sure to be at Voldemort's side. They shared texts, read passages aloud and discussed new theories. In the end, though, they each knew that the problem facing Harry was at once incredibly simple and impossibly difficult. For Voldemort would be sure to cast the Avada Kedavra, and this time, there was no one to block the spell.

"What about Priori Incantatem?" Hermione asked.

Remus sighed. "Voldemort is no fool. He won't confront Harry with the same wand as before."

"Won't he be weakened by using a new wand?" she asked hopefully.

"He's had years to work with another. We can't count on that as an advantage."

Hermione tossed her quill aside in frustration. As long as she'd known about magic, she'd known the incontrovertible truth: nothing, and no one, can block the Avada Kedavra. The contradiction of Harry's doing so had proved to be his mother's magic, not his own, as she herself could now attest.

She looked out the window and stared off into the distance. "We might as well talk about the elephant in the room," she said finally.

"An elephant?" Remus queried, mildly. "Are you thinking of some type of magical creature?"

"No," she said, smiling slightly but without mirth. "It's a Muggle expression, Remus, I'm sorry. What I mean to say is -- the thing neither of us wants to say out loud." She paused. "That there's a very simple and effective way of blocking the spell. It worked before, and might again."

Remus sighed, and for moment neither of them said anything. She turned from the window and met his gaze sadly.

"It might," he agreed quietly. "And there are... so many people... who would do that for Harry. For all of us. That was something Albus had no doubt of: that the love that binds us all together is strong enough to win the war, in the end. To do anything. Look at what it has created, here, on this island at the end of the world. That love holds together a group of people who have been torn away from everything they once knew, and from many people they once cherished. It's brought us together as a family, as a community. It's wonderful, what it's done."

"It's what Professor Dumbledore did for us," Hermione whispered back.

"Yes. His love for us made all this possible. Voldemort called him an old fool, for loving, but he was wrong, in that and in so many other ways, of course. But that's the thing of it, Hermione. Albus did this for us so that we could do more than just sacrifice ourselves. He did this so that we could try to find another way." Remus leaned forward, his hands clasped between his knees, his expression intent. "I love Harry like a son. I would die for him. I will die for him, if it comes to that. So would we all. But it's not good enough. We've lost so much already. That's what you and I have to do, put an end to the loss and the sacrifices. We have to try, at least."

She reached out and clasped his joined hands with her own. "We'll do it," she said firmly. "I know we will. Let's get back to work."

They were still there, hours later, when Ron came to find them. Both he and Tonks had made a habit of checking up on the two scholars, making sure they stopped to eat, to rest, to leave the library and spend time with the others every now and then. Hermione tamped down any irritation she felt at being interrupted and remembered what Neville had said to her that day, about living: they've only beaten you when you stop.

Ron joined her on the sofa and asked her how their day had been, if they'd had any new ideas, just as he always did. She couldn't help noticing, however, that he seemed more distracted than usual.

"You're hardly listening. Is anything wrong?" she asked, puzzled.

"I'm sorry, love," he replied. "I was just thinking about something..." She gestured for him to continue. "I was on my way back from the fishery and I Apparated downstairs, into the Main Hall. Thought I'd cadge a snack out of the kitchens, you know, before supper." She rolled her eyes. "Well, Ginny was there, with McGonagall. And I'd obviously interrupted something."

She frowned. "Were they having a conversation, you mean?"

"No, they were... I think McGonagall was teaching her something, some spell, and Ginny was practicing. All the tables were pushed to the sides of the room and there were mats, just like we used to have in the Room of Requirement for D.A. meetings. I apologized for just popping in, since they looked so startled, but McGonagall just waved her wand and put everything back and left. And Ginny said it was nothing and she left too. It was rather strange, the whole thing."

Hermione squeezed his shoulder. "Ginny told me that Professor McGonagall has been teaching her some advanced shield charms over the past few months. They were probably just practicing those."

Ron's brow furrowed. "Shield charms? What for?"

She shook her head. "Ginny didn't say."

Remus had been putting their books away as they'd talked, but he crossed back over to them and sat down. "Minerva has been teaching Ginny shield charms?" he asked, surprised.

Hermione nodded. "When they were in the safehouse. But that's not entirely unusual, is it? Bill taught us -- well, me, in any case -- quite a few new spells while we were in our safehouse. I'm sure Professor McGonagall was just trying to further Ginny's education and not let all that time go to waste."

"So she taught her shield charms, and nothing else? And only Ginny?" Ron asked skeptically. "That doesn't strike you as odd?"

She flushed, embarrassed. "Well, it did strike me as strange, when Ginny told me about it. But she didn't want to talk about it and I... I let it go. I didn't want to make her uncomfortable. And then... I didn't think anything more of it," she admitted guiltily. "There's just been so much going on, around the island, and with us..."

"Stop right there," Ron interrupted. "We've gone over this already. You're not superhuman, Hermione. You're not responsible for figuring everything out. And you're also not allowed to feel guilty for living your life. That includes us."

"I know," she said, pushing the old familiar feelings of guilt aside. "You're right. In any case, I did think it was odd, at the time, yes."

Remus had been silent throughout their exchange, tapping his fingers on the arm of his chair and lost in thought. "Albus said something to me once," he said distractedly. "Something about shields. I can't remember what it was. I need to talk to Minerva. If there's something to this, though, I don't know why she hasn't spoken to me about it already." He stood and gave them a reassuring smile. "I'll look into it, though."

Ron took her hand, pulling her to her feet, and they followed Remus from the room. In the corridor, Hermione stopped suddenly and sneezed several times in quick succession.

"Too much library dust?" Ron teased, hanging back.

She waved him off. "No. I'm feeling a bit stuffy, to tell you the truth. I think I may have a bit of a cold."

He frowned sympathetically. "You're working too hard."

"Don't be silly, hard work doesn't give you a cold. Viruses do." He looked at her blankly. "Germs," she simplified.

He didn't seem to understand that any better and waved her attempts at explanation aside. "Whatever. Pomfrey can give you something for it, can't she?"

"I don't need to bother her. Penny's got some Anti-Flu Potion in her workroom, she just finished preparing it yesterday. I took a dose last night but I think it's worn off. I'll nip over to the workroom and meet you in the Hall for supper."

"Okay," Ron said, but then tugged on her hand and pulled her close. He slid his arms around her waist and kissed her.

"You'll catch my cold," she warned, laughing. "This is how viruses spread."

"Only this?" Ron asked. "Makes you wonder how I used to catch my brothers' colds."

She laughed as he nibbled his way down her neck. "People in close quarters, breathing the same air, that's all it takes. Exchanging bodily fluids is just asking for trouble."

"If that's true, then somehow, after what we... exchanged... last night, I think I'm doomed to the sniffles already, don't you?" he asked. "So why stop now? We've got a few minutes before supper..."

"It'll serve you right if you do get sick."

"Oh, but it'll have been worth it, believe me."

* * * * *

She came awake abruptly and for a brief moment she couldn't remember where she was -- Ron was behind her, his arm was thrown over her waist, but the room was completely dark and momentarily unfamiliar. They weren't at the safehouse anymore. She tried to clear her head, but she felt so drowsy... the castle. They were in their bedroom at the castle. She'd taken another dose of the Anti-Flu potion and it had made her sleepy. She'd barely stayed awake through supper and now, according to the clock on her nightstand, it was the middle of the night. She blinked hard and sat up, trying to wake up completely. She was trying to remember why when there was a gentle knocking at the door again.

"Lumos," she whispered, picking up her wand from where it lay on the bedside table. Swinging her feet to the floor, she slipped out of bed. Ron mumbled behind her but did not wake.

Padding softly to the door, she asked as quietly as she could, "Who is it?"

"Hermione, my dear, I'm sorry to wake you but it's rather urgent."

She froze and glanced back at the bed. Ron was still asleep, his long form buried beneath a mound of covers.

"Hermione?"

She grasped for the knob and turned it, opening the door partway and shielding the space opened with her body. "Mr. Weasley, is everything alright?" she asked, her heart pounding.

He smiled gently. "Yes, of course. And really, we do have to settle on some other name, dear girl. You can't very well keep calling me 'Mr. Weasley' after you're married to my son, can you?"

She smiled nervously. "No, I'm sorry."

"If 'Dad' is too strange for you, then at the very least, 'Arthur'."

"No, I'd very much like to... but are you sure there's nothing wrong?" she asked again, confused and anxious.

He chuckled. "There's something right, really. I hope you'll forgive me for waking you but I knew you wouldn't want to wait. Can you wake Ronald and come with me down to the common room?"

Hermione's eyes widened. "Wake... wake Ron?" she stuttered. "You want me to... shall I go and knock on his door, you mean?"

He gave her a patient grin. "No, Hermione, I want you to turn around, walk over to the bed and give him a good shake. We both know he sleeps like the dead. I'll just wait for you here."

She stared at him mutely.

"We're old, befuddled folks, Molly and I, I know," he said, still grinning, "but when you're a parent, a father of six boys, especially, you do make it a habit of knowing where they sleep at night. I imagine that Charlie, for example, is climbing out of Hamish's niece's window as we speak."

"Mr. Weasley, I feel so... you must think..."

He shook his head and took her hand in his. "I think my son loves you, and if he wasn't sleeping in here, he'd be sleeping outside your door. And this stone floor is very uncomfortable. Hermione, it's alright."

"I'm so sorry --"

"Though I will tell you now that if Ron hadn't put that ring on your finger, his mother might not have been able to keep pretending to herself that she didn't know anything much longer. My dear, let's not keep everyone waiting. I'll just give you both a moment."

He released her hand and pulled the door closed behind him, not quite catching the latch. She stood stock-still, staring at the heavy oak, her feet frozen in place.

"'Mione, are you sleepwalking?" Ron called from behind her, his voice rough with sleep.

She took a deep breath and turned around, her eyes wide.

"What's the matter?" Ron asked, alarmed. He threw back the covers and sat up. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she said, hearing the beginnings of panic in his voice. She crossed to him swiftly and clutched his shoulders, urging him to calm. "I'm fine. I'm sorry. It's just that -- your father is at the door. He wants us to come downstairs."

"Did he say why?" Ron asked, still looking worried.

She paused. "Well, no, actually... I was... Ron, he knows you've been sleeping here!" she whispered urgently. "I tried to... but he seemed to know... I'm so embarrassed," she finished, leaning into him and hiding her face in the curtain of her hair.

Ron chuckled softly and tucked her hair back behind her ears. "It's alright, Hermione. He does know. Don't worry."

"What?!" Hermione yelled. Ron flinched. "What do you mean, he knows?" she continued in a much lower voice.

"We talked about it a couple of weeks ago. He said to just keep a low profile about it until after the wedding." He smiled at her and, shaking his head, tugged her down to sit on his lap. "You're adorable, you know."

"I'm mortified."

"Four months ago you made fun of me for worrying about someone catching us together, and now, when we're practically legitimate, you're embarrassed." He rubbed her arms affectionately. "Mental, and adorable."

She shoved him away and stood. "We'll continue this discussion later," she told him in as dignified a voice as she could manage. "Right now your father is waiting. Get dressed, you prat."

"Or maybe just mental," he amended, laughing.

* * * * *

Hermione found that as long as she didn't look her future father-in-law in the eyes, she could speak to him normally enough. Walking in the hallway made that easy enough to do. It's not that I think it's terribly wrong for us to be living together, she thought furiously. And I didn't really think we were fooling anyone, but for goodness' sake, he wasn't supposed to ADMIT it to his father, of all people.

Though, it could have been worse. He could have told his mother.

I'm going to kill that big redheaded galoot, the first chance I get.

"Dad, what's going on?" Ron asked.

"Almost there," his father answered in a cheerful tone. "No point in ruining the surprise now."

Ron reached out and grabbed her hand, giving her a teasing grin when she scowled at him. The dark hall gave way to warm light coming from the archway up ahead; Arthur gestured for them to go first, his smile wide. Hermione met Ron's eyes. He shrugged and led the way into the common room.

She felt Ron's body go still beside her, heard his breath catch and hold. She glanced up at him and saw his face go blank and then, just then, a spark lit up in his eyes... a certain something she hadn't seen there in months, not in his eyes, and not in her own. She squeezed his hand, hard, and he clutched her in return, his gaze unwavering.

There, standing at the fireplace, nervous and still as the man beside her, was Harry.

"Sorry to wake you up," Harry said awkwardly.

A moment later he and Ron were thumping each other on the back, laughing. Harry's glasses were knocked askew and he righted them; they paused and just stared at each other, and then they were talking and laughing and pounding each other roughly, affectionately, again.

"You wanker," Ron said. "Trying to give me a bloody heart attack, showing up in the middle of the night like this?"

"I thought about just strolling down tomorrow morning, for breakfast," Harry admitted. "Can you imagine? You'd have spewed pumpkin juice everywhere for sure."

"Probably would have thought I was still dreaming."

Harry laughed. "Either way I'd have woken you up." He looked up and sobered, seeing her still standing in the doorway. "Hermione," he said, his grin changing to a tentative, affectionate smile.

She moved slowly into the room. He was thin, she saw, too thin. He had a bruise on his chin, and one on his forehead that looked new. She could see the bump forming there already and she chided him mentally: he should be in the Infirmary, getting that looked at. His clothes were clean but faded, old. Peeking from beneath the short sleeve of his t-shirt she could see a jagged scar, this one old and long-healed.

"Hermione," Harry said again, taking a step toward her. She met him halfway, still silent. He scanned her face and then smiled gently and tugged on a stray curl. "Aren't you going to say anything?" he asked.

She moved forward, then, wrapping her arms around him as tightly as she could. She buried her face, wet with tears, in his shoulder. "Nothing's felt right without you," she said finally, and he hugged her fiercely in return.