Scattered

Ron followed Harry through the Ministry corridors with a single-minded dedication, barely looking at the walls and doors and windows around him as they passed, not even acknowledging the Ministry workers who passed them. He didn't notice when they were questioned by an old wizard, suspicious at the group of them walking together through the halls, and paid no attention when Remus Obliviated the suspicious man, leaving him mumbling and confused in their wake. He didn't care about any of that. He just followed Harry.

"This is probably hard for Kingsley," Ginny said in a whisper, at his side.

Ron gave her a blank look.

"He worked here, remember? Before. And now it's taken over by Death Eaters and he has to sneak in like a criminal. It's wrong."

He nodded.

"Imagine how Dad would feel, coming here."

The idea of his father being with them on this mission gave Ron an odd feeling. He didn't want his father there. He was glad he wasn't with them. And that didn't make sense, because for all the years of his life his dad had been the steadiest, most reassuring figure in his world. Mum went bonkers and screamed at everyone, but Dad was always calm and steady, always knew just what to do. In a crisis, he wasn't Harry, or Dumbledore; he didn't charge off and save the day. But he always knew what to do. What foot to put next in front of the other. So why was Ron feeling this way?

"I'm glad he can't see it like this," Ginny said.

Ron glanced at her, startled at the way she'd echoed his thoughts.

"He'd hate to see all his hard work come to this."

Ron looked away. "Yeah," he agreed, but he knew his concerns were different from hers. He hadn't even thought about Dad being disappointed. He was just glad he didn't have to worry about his parents. He thought back to the dark days after Dumbledore's death when they'd gone to the safehouse, not knowing where his family was, where his parents were... I never want to feel that way again, he thought. I don't know how to stand it.

"Dad would be here if he could, though," Ginny was still saying. "So would Mum."

Ron frowned, not able to make sense of her words. "I'm glad they're home, Gin."

She turned and looked at him, her expression blank. "Are you glad Hermione's home, too?"

"Yes," he said shortly. "And Fred, and George, and Percy and Penny and the baby, and I wish to hell you were home, as well."

"Poor Ron. You always try so hard to protect everyone you love," she said in a teasing tone.

He scowled, wishing she would shut the hell up and stop needling him, especially at a time like this.

Ginny gave him a small, crooked smile. "It's the nicest thing about you, really."

He stopped in his tracks and took her by the arms. "Gin. It's not too late. Go home. We can do this, somehow, without you. You don't have to put yourself in danger."

"Yes, I do," she whispered back and, sliding out of his grip, moved away, following Harry down the corridor.

Ron watched her go, unsurprised. He knew how determined Ginny was; nothing could change her mind. There was a part of him, for that matter, that knew she was right. But he'd had to try.

Up ahead, Harry stopped abruptly and pressed his hand to his forehead. Ron felt a shiver of fear. "Harry?" he asked, worried.

"I don't know."

They waited, tense. They were somewhere on Level Two, Ron knew, where his father's old offices had been. He'd only been there once, years and years ago, and didn't remember it much. But, glancing around him for the first time, he frowned; it didn't seem any different than it had been, back then.

"Any ideas?" he asked Harry.

"Wait," Harry said again.

Beside them, Ginny drew a quick, sharp breath. "Harry."

"Okay," Harry said faintly. "It's him."

Ron froze. He remembered the night Harry had woken them up with his screams, the night he'd seen through Nagini's eyes and the night Ron's father had almost died. Harry had been almost uncontrollable then. And then that night at the Ministry... Harry hadn't ever wanted to talk about it, what it felt like when Voldemort possessed him, but Ron knew it had been bad. And that was with Dumbledore there, to know what to do. If Harry became possessed now...

"It's okay, Ron," Harry said, smiling at him. "It's not... I'm okay. It's not going to happen like that again." The strange, sad smile faded, to be replaced with a look of determination. "I'm not such an easy target anymore, after all."

Ron looked at his friend and for the first time, admitted to himself how much Harry had changed in the months they'd been apart. He'd locked a part of himself away somehow, ruthlessly, and Ron began to worry if he'd ever be able to let it out again, even when this was all over.

Remus stepped forward. Tonks, Jamie and Kingsley took out their wands, ready. Ron took a deep breath and stood beside Ginny and did the same.

Harry nodded. "Follow me."

* * * * *

"Here now, Hermione, I made some tea," Hagrid said, handing her a cup and saucer.

She took them absently, making no move to drink. She could feel the warmth of the cup in her hand, the weight of the saucer on her lap, but neither registered; she simply stared into the fire, willing herself to calm, trying to reserve her strength instead of wasting it on anxious tears.

"Oh my, now, how could I forget? No wonder you're not drinkin', I forgot to put out the cakes. Made 'em myself just last night," Hagrid said, beaming.

"I'm not hungry just now." She saw his frown of worry and gave him a small, glancing smile. "But thank you for the tea."

Minerva stepped back to the fire, having just received a Patronus from Amos back at the castle. Bill and Charlie had arrived safely at the island and George was in Madame Pomfrey's care -- but in the lower bringing room, as he was too weak to be moved again yet. Hermione pictured George's small, emaciated body, the almost unrecognizable features she'd glimpsed before he and Andy had been called away by the spell and she shuddered, feeling as if a chill had settled in her bones.

A soft blanket was draped around her shoulders and Percy took the chair beside her, warming his hands to the fire. They sat together in silence while Hagrid brought tea to Minerva and Elphias and the wind blew the flames before them wild.

She slipped her hand into her brother-in-law's and squeezed tightly; he clenched hers in return, and together they waited for the next call to come.

* * * * *

Later, Ron would remember everything. He would remember following Harry and Ginny through the door, would remember Remus, behind him, beginning to chant the words of the spell even before they'd all entered the room, the voices of the others raised to join him. He would remember that the first face he saw was Peter Pettigrew's and how Pettigrew had stepped forward, as if to attack, and then changed into his Animagus form and skittered across the floor, disappearing into a crack in the wall. He would remember Jamie, Kingsley and Remus fanning out around the room, slowly, slowly, seeing the three other doors that led from the large chamber they were in, a circular room with an impossibly high ceiling, a raised dais in the center, and a throne. He would see Bellatrix Lestrange moving as if through water, flowing towards them, her wand raised and the words of a deadly curse on her lips, and Tonks pushing past them, shouting Protego! and drawing her fire, away from them, away from Harry...

He would remember it all as if in slow motion, all of them moving together, coordinated as a dance. But in the moment, it seemed to happen in an instant, all at once like chaos, and his mind registered none of those things. He stepped within the room, behind his sister and behind Harry, and he saw only Voldemort -- and beside him, the snake, his mission, his task to complete.

He hadn't had very much training with the sword, no more than the few hours he'd spent with Hamish the previous afternoon. His wand rested in his pocket, useless for the moment; Nagini's tough, charmed hide was impervious to any spell he could conjure. Instead, the heavy sword, Hamish's sword, was in his hand, the hilt cold and hard steel in his palm. He felt the weight of it through his body and he swung, with all his might, taking the advice he'd been given, without pausing, striking the first blow.

Might as well catch 'em by surprise while you can, lad. And in that first moment, you always can. Most folks size up for a second and then strike. That's what the beast'll expect you to do. So don't. Hamish had paused and looked at him quizzically. Ye're not afraid of snakes, are you?

Actually, Ron wasn't afraid of snakes, per se. The garden snakes at the Burrow, slithering through the weeds, no, he wasn't particularly afraid of them, despite the twins' best efforts to make him so. Little crawlers, that's all they were, slipping through the grass, more eager to get away from him than he was from them; nothing to worry about at all, and nothing to be afraid of. No, he wasn't afraid of snakes... except when they were great bloody huge magical snakes that just happened to be two steps away from the evilest wizard to ever exist.

His heart pounded in his chest and the adrenaline flew through his veins. He struck right away, the way Hamish had said, because of the fear, because if he thought about it too much, if he thought about anything too much, he was afraid he'd freeze as still as if he'd seen a basilisk.

The great serpent let out a deafening hiss; his blade had struck home and created a gash about a foot below her flat head. The cut was deep, Ron saw, and his breath came in wild, hopeful pants. It might be enough.

You need to injure the beast first, not kill her, Remus had said. Because if you try to kill her in one blow, you won't, and then you'll be bitten. If you are, he'd warned, you have to get out of there right away, even if it's not finished. The poison is fast and we need to get the antidote to you right away. You saw what nearly happened to your father, Ron. If we hadn't had Harry's warning and gotten him medical assistance right away...

He had seen. And he also knew there was no chance he'd leave the Ministry, leave Harry and Ginny and the rest, until he'd done the task he'd be given, until he did what he'd promised to do. Even if the poison killed him. Even if he'd never wanted to die less.

Strike below the head and get in a good hit, Hagrid had told him. She won't be able to strike back as quickly, then, she'll be hurtin', and not able to turn her head quick-like. Plus, if you get in a good cut, she'll bleed, and that'll slow her down so's you can avoid the fangs.

And then finish it, Bill had said, gripping his hand. Finish it and help Ginny. Do everything you can to protect her. We won't be there, he'd said, and Ron had understood. He was the only one of her brothers who would be there when she stood before Voldemort, stood in front of Harry and risked everything. But you will.

Nagini hissed again and struck out at him, but Hagrid had been right: she couldn't seem to whip her head around, instead pulling back, crouching down, wrapping her coils together in pain. He moved forward, thinking to end it, but she lashed out again, this time coming much closer to making contact. He could feel the hard coldness of her fangs sweep over his skin, closing hard and fast... but missing their target once more.

He circled around, his eyes never leaving the snake still angrily hissing on the floor. He wondered what Nagini was saying, but not being a Parseltongue, he'd never have the answer.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tonks fall. Bellatrix stood over the crumpled form of her niece, laughing, and kicked her hard. Tonks did not stir and Bellatrix turned to rejoin her master, her smile triumphant.

With a cry, Remus tore himself away from the doorway and lunged. Ron could not seem to hear the words, but he saw the bolt of green light leave Remus's wand and moments later, Bellatrix, too, had slumped to the floor.

Ron tore his eyes away from the scene before him and jumped back to avoid Nagini's latest strike, just in time. She was tiring now, though, losing blood every second, and he knew the moment had come. With a great heave, he raised the sword above his head with both hands and brought it down, hard, cleaving through Nagini's scales and hide. Her tail lashed out violently, knocking him off his feet, and the sword was ripped from his hands. He scrambled to his knees and saw the blood, and the severed snake's head, and the tail twitching its last. He sank back on his heels taking a deep, shaking breath.

"Ron, over here!" Kingsley yelled, and the rest of the room came back to him with a jolt. Remus, he could see, had pulled Tonks to the side and was casting the spell on her medallion to send her home. Ron tried not to look at her still form, pushing the image of the curse slamming into her from his mind.

Kingsley and Jamie were left guarding the room alone and the strain was beginning to wear on them. Kingsley's dark skin had gone chalky-gray and the sweat was pouring down Jamie's face. They would not be able to hold the room very much longer, Ron could tell, not on their own. They chanted on, though, their voices still strong, the barrier still holding.

There was a cry to his right and Ron's body turned before his mind could react; his sister's voice, just a short gasp, but he surged forward, remembering the other half of his duty. What he saw before him, however, stopped him in his tracks. Somehow, amazingly, through it all, he had managed to ignore the fact that the wizard he'd been taught to fear was standing before him, in this very room. For the first time, Ron realized, he was looking at He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, the terror of his childhood and the nightmare of his youth. He looked at Voldemort and the room seemed to stop moving, and the only sound he could hear was the pounding of his own heart.

Harry had faced Voldemort twice before this, once in a dark graveyard with almost certain doom before him and once here, in this very building, in the Atrium up above. Harry had tried to describe his face to Ron and Hermione, once, late at night in the common room, back at Hogwarts. But no description could have prepared Ron for the creature before him.

He was tall, Ron saw, and gaunt and thin, but his arms, reaching out from the black robes he wore, were like bleached-white wood, strong and powerful. His skin was as cold and pale as porcelain and his skull bare, bereft of hair or crown; his nose was flat, like that of the serpent he'd loved, and his mouth was a thin, mocking line. It was his eyes, though, that struck a bolt of fear into Ron's body -- dark, so dark, like pits that had no bottom, and as piercing as an eagle's, fresh from the kill.

Voldemort stood on the dais, his throne pushed back and overturned, his long arm reaching out before him, his wand aimed directly at Harry's heart. Harry lay panting on the ground below, his glasses knocked askew and blood seeping out of a gash on his leg. As Ron watched, he tried to push himself up on his hands but his arms shook violently, unable to support his own weight.

"Ron, help Harry!" Remus yelled, and he tore his eyes away to see his old professor, having sent Tonks to safety, rejoin Kingsley and Jamie at the doors. Their chanting grew in volume and the glow of the barrier charm grew brighter. Kingsley took several deep gulps of air and Jamie wiped his face, squaring his shoulders.

Ron hesitated. Even with Remus's help, they were sure to fail, soon, on their own. He could not see the Death Eaters at the doors but knew they were there and their numbers were growing. The barrier would weaken unless they held up their pace, and if they did that, they would die, as Alastor Moody had before them.

But when Ron heard Harry stumble and fall once more, and heard Voldemort's laugh of triumph as he advanced on his weakened foe, he wrenched himself away, the time for hesitation at an end.

Ron turned and began to run towards the dais. His wand was in his hand, though he knew no spell to cast. He wasn't clever, like Hermione, or talented, like Harry and Ginny. His magic would never stand up to any curse of Voldemort's. But he thought of his brothers and the trust they'd placed in him; thought of Harry and all he was meant to do. He thought of his parents, safe back at home, and he thought of his wife, and thanked Merlin she was miles away. And he ran, not knowing what he could do, but knowing he would not let any of them down.