Into The Woods

*

"It is a common Muggle saying that 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend'. As a guiding principle it is fraught with fallacies, yet there have been a few times when I've found it to be true. On those rare occasions, I discovered some of my most trusted allies..."

"When a fouled assassination attempt on Albus Dumbledore caused Lucius Malfoy to flee the Ministry, he left behind his wife and son to pay for his crimes. Severus Snape, a professor of mine at Hogwarts and a Death Eater turned spy, came forward and testified to Narcissa Malfoy's innocence. While Narcissa was actually guilty - a fact known only to her husband and Voldemort himself - Snape's actions brought him Draco Malfoy's goodwill."

"Draco's help proved invaluable in stopping the so-called 'Slytherin Uprising', a Young Death Eater plan to kill Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore, which ended with the expulsion of nearly a third of all Slytherin sixth and seventh years, and the deaths of Hannah Abbot, Eloise Midgen, and Vincent Crabbe."

"While this caused many concerned parents to withdraw their students, Hogwarts was actually a great deal safer than it had been for a long time. We experienced a period of relative calm which allowed us to focus on coursework, Quidditch, and personal relationships..."

~ "The (Second) Rise and Fall of Voldemort", an eyewitness account by Hermione Granger

*

The morning air was cold - or at least, cold for Britain in May.

Harry groaned and tugged the Cloak back over his forehead, burrowing back into the comfy little space where his and Ron's shared breath warmed them both. Still shivering a bit, he pulled at the Cloak, wrapping it around his side.

Ron pulled it back.

Frustrated, Harry tried again, more gently, bringing the it over to his side bit by bit. Just when he had got enough to keep him warm, Ron yawned and grabbed it all to himself again, curling around it reflexively.

When Harry for the third time tried for the larger portion of the Cloak, and was repulsed, he growled in frustration. Hearing his voice, and smelling a figurative rat, he simply said, "Ron."

Ron rolled over and smiled at him, blinking but awake.

"You know, you're much better company when you're in a separate bed," Harry informed him.

"Oh, really?" Ron replied, his voice husky and unused. He cleared his throat. "And who was it who kept hogging all the blankets?"

"You."

Ron shook his head. "Littler people get littler portions. Your feet weren't sticking out in the cold all night."

"It's not my fault you have big feet," Harry replied.

Ron's eyes flashed dangerously, but the quirk of his lips signalled his amusement. "Would you like to sleep on the ground?"

"No?" Harry answered meekly.

"You want to get up?"

"No." This time Harry was more firm.

"Then come closer," Ron commanded. "We'll fit under it better."

Harry wiggled over to his friend, the wand's width distance they had kept during the night shrinking down to the length of a fist. He relaxed for a moment, then tensed again, overcome with the feeling of being watched. That was - well. What else was there for Ron to look at, huddled beneath the Cloak as they were?

Eventually Harry became comfortable, and almost fell asleep. He barely noticed when Ron heaved a sigh and rose from the bed, only felt the slight shaking of the Cot and the fact that the Cloak was his to snuggle in. He forgot that they were trying to make good time for their NEWTs, that he shouldn't leave Ron to do all the packing, that there was really any world besides the bed...

"Sleepyhead!" a voice spoke in his ear. Harry jerked, startled, and with a cry of dismay fell out of the bed.

Ron stood towering over him. "I didn't know that would happen," he said, amused. He pointed his wand at the Corporating Cot and shrank it down before Harry could scramble back in it.

Harry muttered something nasty about Ron, involving the exact species of his ancestors and the failings of his grooming habits, which only made his friend smile more. "Wow - " he said. "That's really creative, Harry."

"I'll show you creative," Harry growled, lunging at Ron. Grabbing him around the waist, he pulled him to the ground, trying to reach along his sides to tickle him. Ron leaned over and stuck a hand in Harry's hair, mussing it, using his other arm to fend off the tickling.

Ron rolled, coming up over Harry, who stopped quite suddenly and stared up at him. Ron shifted, bit his lip, then ruffled Harry's hair one last time. He mumbled, "No difference, anyway" and got up.

Harry rose as well, a little more slowly. He scanned the clearing and realized Ron had already done all the packing up. "Hey," he said. "Thanks."

"I figured we could get going faster this way, and you could get more sleep."

"What about you?" Harry asked. "Didn't you want to sleep?"

Ron paused, as though deciding how to answer. "Couldn't."

"Why not?"

Ron ignored him, and Harry didn't ask again. Instead, he shoulder one of the packs, pulled a roll of parchment out of one of the pockets in his robes, and said to Ron, "Coming?"

They spent the better part of the morning cataloging plants and animals. They stopped briefly to prune a Flutterby bush, reasoning that if Harry's theory was right and there was a teacher watching, the extra work couldn't hurt. It was a frustrating job, trying to cut the ends off the trembling bush. Harry pocketed a twig, and wrote the name down on his parchment.

They were also delayed when Ron stopped to rest against a tree, not realizing it was guarded by a Bowtruckle. With Harry's help he fended off the territorial little creature. While Harry worked to free Ron from the Botruckle's tiny claws, he tried to reassure it that they meant no harm, much to his friend's amusement. "Well, you can't tell just what understands you in the wizarding world, can you?" Harry asked, defensively.

When they stopped for lunch they accidentally picked a spot near a Devil's Snare. They didn't discover it until it had wrapped it's soft, springy tendrils around Harry's leg and neck. Luckily they remembered the plant from first year, and Ron dispatched it easily with a Bluebell charm. "You know," Ron said, as they got ready to begin again, "this is almost too easy. Is it going to be like this the whole time?"

"Maybe," said Harry, but he doubted it. He remembered the hellhound from the night before.

Ron didn't seem to hear him, however. "We're obviously doing something wrong. But we won't know. We'll just think we're doing well, and when we fail, it will be that much worse."

Harry gave Ron a puzzled look. "Don't think like that."

"Don't worry," Ron said, "it's not that bad. Being a failure, I mean. You get used to it, when you have five older brothers who are better than you are."

Harry stopped abruptly and turned to Ron. "Don't say that," he replied fiercely. "You're just as good as your brothers - you're as good as anyone. Better."

"It doesn't matter what you think." Ron waved him away. Harry stood, hurt and disbelieving, as he continued. "What do you matter, anyway? You're just Harry Potter. Other people may think that's something special, but I know better. Live, die, there's no difference what you do. No difference. And even less difference for me. Who cares what happens to me?"

"I care, Ron," Harry said, bringing his hand to Ron's neck, forcing the taller boy meet his eyes. "Ron - " When he pulled his hand away, his fingers were bloody.

"It doesn't matter - " Ron said again, not bothering to swat at a bug that landed on his nose and began to crawl across his face. Harry gasped, recognizing it for what it was - a magical insect that induced melancholy.

"Ron - stay here - "

Harry ran desperately through the woods, searching for the Alihotsy plant. It was the only thing he could think of to counteract the glumbumble gnat that had been preying on Ron. But it was difficult to search, distracted as he was by worry. Could Ron become so melancholy he was in danger of depressing himself to death?

A flash of the Alihotsy's familiar coloring caught his eye and he breathed a sigh of relief, thanking Hermione for her insistence that they take Herbology all seven years. This particular antidote was something they'd learned a mere month before, and it was still fresh in his memory. Grabbing it, he ran back to where Ron was sitting, eyes closed, covered by glumbumbles. Harry rushed to his side, startling the bugs away.

"'sokay, Harry," Ron mumbled. "No point to it."

"Yes," Harry forced through clenched teeth, "there is. Now eat this, you stupid prat, eat it!"

Ron opened his mouth obediently, too listless to resist, but Harry had to stroke his throat in order to make him swallow. Ron didn't move for a long moment. Then, his eyes fluttered open, and Harry saw something weary but powerful in them. "Harry," was all he said.

"Thank Merlin," Harry breathed. He wanted just to sit there with Ron and let the relief pulse through his veins, but the gnats were coming at them again. "Up," he told Ron, pulling him out of the clearing.

"What was that?" Ron asked, rubbing his neck. "I just felt so - all of a sudden so - "

"Melancholy?" Harry suggested. "Here, take out your parchment. Put down glumbumbles."

Ron looked as though he was trying to remember something, but whether it was the Magical Creatures lesson or the scene in the clearing, Harry couldn't be sure. "Glumbumbles?" Ron asked finally, his voice weak.

"Yes."

"I didn't say anything, you know - mad, did I?"

Harry wasn't sure what to say. Part of him wanted to forget it all. Part of him knew that glumbumbles fed upon what was already there. "No - not really. But, Ron, you know - you're not a failure. Not at all. I don't care what Snape or Trelawney says."

Ron's ears went pink. "Thanks," he said softly. Then, "Mad. Yup."

"It was - " Harry decided not to finish. How could he say what he was feeling, that it had been like a nightmare, that he had suspected and dreaded his friend harbored the emotions behind it for a long time? "We should - "

"Harry - "

"Come on, then," said Harry. "Gotta make up time."

Leaving the experience with the glumbumbles as far behind as they could, they made their way along the path, gathering samples, writing down the names of animals, and, of course, talking about Quidditch.

"And so all these years of comparing the Cannons to the Banchory Bangers," Ron spat out the name of the worst Quidditch team in history, "and we've finally got a shot at the finals! Looks like crossing our fingers and hoping for the best worked, eh?"

"It was signing Dunster that did it," Harry said knowledgeably. "Needed a Seeker that wasn't half blind."

"Hey!" cried Ron, offended on behalf of a Cannons player that wasn't even on the team anymore.

"Hey or not, they didn't have a chance with him."

Ron decided to steer the subject in a different direction. "Aren't you glad you picked the Cannons as your favorite team, now?" Harry nearly rolled his eyes. With Ron for a best friend, it wasn't like he'd had much of a choice. "Aren't you, Harry?"

Harry nodded. "Ron, I don't know how to tell you this - it's - I - no, it's too hard - "

Ron looked at him intently. "Harry - what is it? You can tell me anything..."

"I'm - I'm - "

"You're - ?" Ron held himself absolutely still.

Harry sniffed. "A Ballycastle Bats fan."

The range of emotions that crossed Ron's face was extensive - and really quite impressive. Shock, disappointment, anger, a grudging admiration at the joke, each flashed in his eyes and disappeared. Finally he muttered, "Well, I'm not getting you Flying With the Bats, that's for certain."

He walked ahead, effectively ending the conversation, to Harry's puzzlement. They went almost a half hour in silence, until Ron broke it with a startled cry - one that quickly gave way to laughter. Hurrying up behind him, Harry recognized the bouncing bulbs they had once had to replant in Herbology class. They hopped and skidded along the path, looking like tiny bludgers, banging into trees and stones and, once, Ron's shin. His chuckles ceased abruptly.

While Ron rubbed his leg and muttered a curse on all things magical, Harry tried to decide what to do with the bulbs. They could replant them, a task which might take until sunset with only the two of them, or send them flying into the woods, which was more efficient but probably not what the professors had in mind. Or -

"Ron, do you think you could levitate me?"

Harry breathed a sigh of relief at a problem avoided as Ron gently lifted him into the air. When he reached the other side, he brought Ron over, halting him before his feet hit the ground and asking, "What if I just left you there?"

Ron wiggled his feet and shrugged. "I'm helpless before you, Harry."

Harry grinned and set him back on the ground. "That was easy," he said. He spotted a stream a little ways ahead. "Maybe we should do the same for that stream?"

"Whatever you think."

"Maybe we should poke around a bit? See if there are any water-dwelling creatures we could write down?"

"I said, whatever you think."

"You're not still mad at me, are you, Ron?" Harry asked as they came up to the stream. It was dank and smelly but stirring with life.

"Mad at you for what?" Ron said innocently.

"I don't know!" Harry replied. "You tell me." He grabbed a stick and poked it viciously into the water.

"You're the one whose accusing me of being mad - "

"Ron - "

"No, I'm serious, there's a burden of proof here."

"Ron - !"

"I learned that much from Buckbeak's appeal, if you're gonna say I'm mad then - "

"Ron!" cried Harry. A creature from the water had grabbed him, yanking down his leg, causing him to stumble beneath the surface. Harry jumped in after him, trying to see his friend among the swerving tentacles and thrashing legs.

There was a flash of red hair as Ron broke up out of the water, gasping. A long rope of green was wrapped around his neck. He choked and struggled, and fell back in -

Harry's hands were too slow to catch him, so they went for his wand. He pointed it at the river and screamed with desperation the drought charm that he had learned in preparation for the Tournament fourth year. He did not have time to reflect on the irony that once again trying to rescue from below water the thing which he'd miss most.

The river steamed and disappeared. Fish flopped helplessly on the damp land. The creature shriveled and loosened its tentacles from Ron, who lay unmoving on the ground.

Suddenly, Ron began to cough. Harry ran to him, knelt next to him and pulled a string of water weed off his cheek. "Harry!" Ron gasped, spitting riverwater out of his mouth. "What happened? What was that, mate?"

"You're - you're all right then?" Harry asked when he was done.

"Yes. What was it?"

"I don't know. Some type of lake monster. Maybe even a Dark one..." Harry paused a long moment. "A trap, maybe?"

"Dumbledore sent us out here, in case you've forgot," said Ron, regaining his bearings. "And there aren't many people I'm sure aren't in league with You-Know-Who, but Dumbledore's one of them, right after you and my mum."

Harry laughed. "I guess you're right. It's only - with all the fighting we've done at Hogwarts... it's second nature to blame Voldemort for stuff like this. I can't believe nothing's happened this year. I was expecting - I dunno - "

"You-Know-Who to come blasting into the school, killing Muggle-borns and challenging you to a Quidditch match?"

"That's about right."

Harry stood up, giving Ron a hand to clamber up after him. They stared at the riverbed. "You know what, Harry?" said Ron after a moment. "Maybe you should put the water back."

Harry nodded and began reversing the spell. As he did so, Ron found a large, flat stone that was well away from the river but still bathed by sunlight. He lay down for a moment, aching and wet. He closed his eyes.

Harry returned and sat beside him, a bit weary himself. Ron had fallen asleep, and Harry watched him, as his red hair dried and his cheeks regained their color. Ron looked sweeter, younger while he was resting, and Harry was content to look at him for a while, but eventually grew bored.

Hermione and Neville probably entered the forest a little while ago, he mused. Suddenly a thought struck Harry, and his eyes gleamed. He dug into his pocket and took out a parchment and small quill.

'Hermione - ' he wrote. 'How are you? Run into anything with tentacles or pointy teeth yet? We have. There seems to be rather large three-headed dog following us. Any ideas on what to do? Ron's sleeping. A plant just tried to have him for lunch. Harry.'

He folded the parchment carefully up. And then he preformed a particular type of banishing charm, which Hermione had once made him learn.

The parchment came zooming back a few minutes later, only it was strangely red. As it quivered before him, Harry realized to his horror that Hermione somehow knew how to form a makeshift Howler.

What is she doing? he thought, panicked. She'll wake the whole forest! Or at least Ron.

Knowing it wouldn't help to wait, he opened it.

"HARRY POTTER!" Hermione's voice screamed, so loud the nearby branches shook. Ron sat bolt upright, muttering sleepily,

"'Mione? That you?"

"HARRY POTTER! HOW DARE YOU TRY TO CHEAT ON YOUR NEWTs! HOW DARE YOU ATTEMPT TO EMBROIL ME IN YOUR SCHEME! I DON'T CARE IF SALAZAR SLYTHERIN HIMSELF IS STEALING YOUR PARCHMENTS, THAT'S NO EXCUSE FOR CHEATING!"

Harry and Ron looked at each other.

"I think she's a bit mad at you, Harry - "

"AND RON! SLEEPING! MAKING HARRY DO ALL THE WORK! NO WONDER HE HAS TO COME BEGGING FOR MY HELP! SHAPE UP!"

Harry grinned. "I don't think she's all together too pleased with you, either, Ron."

The howler was not finished, although there was a long pause. Then came a sound like a whisper, although magnified it still hurt their ears. "DON'T DO THAT AGAIN, GUYS, PLEASE?" It was Neville. "SHE'S REALLY SCARING ME."

The boys, finding a howler wasn't half as bad without a whole school of people to hear you receive it, gathered up the bits and pieces as the makeshift howler tore itself inexpertly up. Harry apologized on Hermione's behalf for waking Ron up, but he waved it off. "Shouldn't have slept that long, anyway."

Picking up their things, they levitated themselves over the river, then picked a path and followed it for several minutes. Harry noticed Ron getting tenser and tenser until finally the other boy turned and began,

"I didn't want to say this before, Harry, but - "

"But what?"

"I get the feeling like we're being followed."

Harry jerked his head around in the direction they had come. He saw nothing, not flowers crunched by invisible feet, not the beady eyes of McGonagall in tabbycat form. "It could be anything - " he said to Ron. "Professor or dark wizard... or even a student..."

"Like Malfoy?"

"Or Hermione."

"Oi!" Ron shouted out suddenly. Harry winced and covered his ears as Ron continued. "If you're Malfoy, you'd better show your face, you bloody prat! And if you're a Professor then - then - you ought to be fired for letting me almost drown before! Show yourself, you gits!"

"Ron!" Harry said. "And what if that was Hermione?"

"Then she'll be bursting into this clearing any moment now, to scold me for my language."

Harry nodded his assent. He wasn't about to argue with Ron, who he suspected was still cranky from being woken up before. "Do you think you can travel some more, or should we stop here?"

"Let's keep moving. We've got daylight, still."

Harry glanced warily around. "Have your eyes open. I don't want any more surprises."

"Right."

They continued, weary and unsettled, finally understanding the "Nastily Exhausting" in N.E.W.T. Ron paused every once in a while to pick weeds out of his hair, while Harry glanced around worriedly. There was an edginess to their chatter, when they did speak. Before - before they had felt safe in Harry's guess that there were teachers following and grading and protecting them. But now they knew they were alone, and if something was trailing them, in probably wasn't friendly.

The sun was anxious to get down past the trees, and the day began to gray, then burn. Yellows and pinks lit up the parts of the sky that they could see. The wind picked up, brushing past the tree trunks, bringing a chill, and Harry caught the scent of something terrible. He tried to call ahead to Ron, but his friend was plowing determinedly on, cutting away branches from the path and peering about for animals. There were footsteps behind him, and Harry thought he really ought to turn and look -

And if he did? If he turned and saw that yet another cloud of darkness was hovering above him, ready to engulf those he loved? Who was it this time who sought to kill him? A teacher? A classmate? One of his father's friends? Good people were loved by those they lived and worked with, but Harry was abandoned, helpless, undeserving. And so what if something stalked him? He was worthless; he had no chance against it. He might as well succumb to the darkness already inside of him.

It was really quite hopeless...

The last thing he saw before his eyes rolled up in his head was the flash of teeth.

*

He was weeping as he awoke, pushing past the darkness behind his eyelids, which still blurred his vision as he took in a terrified face. All he remembered was the feeling of hopelessness which had overwhelmed him, the sudden understanding of the futility of his life. The futility of fighting. The futility of even attempting to love. There was blood on his arms and his fingertips, and he knew it was his own, and wondered when the source would run dry and if it would be soon.

"Stop it!" someone hissed. "I chased it off. Harry - Harry, look at me - "

The despair began to drain away, yet Harry followed it, searching for the relief his parents had once found. What was there to keep him in this world besides danger and violence, why should he try to stay? He looked up at the thing in front of him and asked it - "Please, I want to die... help me die..."

The hands that were shaking his shoulders released him, and he fell back against the ground, his head banging against the hard-packed dirt. The stars that jumped before his eyes dispelled the last of the darkness. He squinted, recognized the person before him. "Ron?" he murmured, lost. "Ron, I'm okay..."

"Don't ever - ever ask me - " and now Ron was crying between words, his face crumpled and closed. Harry went to him, placed a hand on his back, but Ron shuddered and yanked himself away. He faced the forest, hands crossed upon his chest. He shoulders shook.

"Ron, I - "

"Why!" he shouted, spinning around. He wiped at his face furiously. "You bloody - you bastard - you - "

"Ron, what is it?"

"What is it?" Ron yelled, his face a mask of anger. His fear and pain showed only through his eyes, which still leaked tears. "What is it? You bloody asked me to kill you!"

"I don't know why - "

"You have a better idea of it than I do! After everything - after all we've done - you just want to give up - ?"

"I don't."

"That's what you said! It was attacking you, and you weren't even fighting it, and when I chased it away and woke you up all you could say was 'help me die'?"

"I didn't - something attacked me?"

"Yes! Yes, you git, something attacked you. That thing that was following us. It was small with nasty little teeth and you could've taken care of it in a second, but you just let it - let it eat you - "

"A pogrebin," Harry breathed. "It was a pogrebin." He began to laugh.

That, far more than Ron's rage, banished the despair from his mind. It wasn't real, he thought, wasn't real.

"What are you on about?"

"A pogrebin - don't you remember? From Defense Against the Dark Arts? Like a boggart, except instead of taking the form of the things you fear, it makes you believe the fears you harbor inside yourself. It makes you hopeless..."

"Oh, yeah. I remember." Then, "But aren't they from America or something?"

"Not America. I think - China or Russia or somewhere. But not here. It was put here." And just as suddenly as his laughter had begun, it stopped.

Ron stared at him, aghast. "Put here - you mean we're under attack? Again?"

"Again." Harry pointed up to the quickly darkening sky, then busied himself with his things, giving Ron a chance to collect himself. "We might as well camp here. No wood-gathering this time. And we can take watches."

Ron nodded, and bent down to rummage through his pack. He pulled out a small can and tossed it to Harry, saying with a brave attempt at normalcy, "You want to get dinner, this time?"

Harry engorgio'd the can, then started a fire, a bluebell flame that each could keep alive during the watches. He levitated the can over it, allowing the food inside to cook. He heard Ron mutter charms and curses, nearly a dozen of them, wards and traps. He didn't place the silencing charm, however.

"Why no silence?" Harry asked as he handed Ron his dinner. Ron took it eagerly.

"We'll have time enough when we're taking watches. I mean - I'm just not up for talking about Quidditch, or a game of Exploding Snap. I'm exhausted."

"Understandably," Harry said. He ate quickly, as hungry as Ron was tired, although Ron put away the meal pretty quickly as well. They both shot nervous glances into the forest, as if expecting a Death Eater or a werewolf to walk in at any moment. Ron was sneaking anxious looks at Harry as well. Harry suspected it was for yelling at him before.

Harry felt his own guilt about the incident. He couldn't imagine how Ron must have felt when Harry asked his friend to kill him. Finishing up his meal, he decided to broach the subject.

"Ron, I'm sorry about before," he said, getting right to the point.

"You were - it was the pogrebin, not you - "

"Yes and no. It - I think it feeds on what's already there." Harry bowed his head at the admission.

"Bloody - Harry - you really want to - "

"No! But sometimes I do feel like it's too much. Some of the things we've seen, Ron, they'd make anyone want to die."

"But you don't have to tell me you're sorry. You could've said it to anyone, right?"

"It just makes it worse, that I asked it of you. You, of all people, when - " Harry faltered. "You - "

It was as though neither of them breathed. Then Ron said carefully, "What do you mean?"

"You're my best friend, Ron. You make me laugh. Even when the rest of the school hates me, or I've just been a horrible git, or when Sirius and Hermione are telling me to 'be careful!' and it feels like the world's gonna end tomorrow - you can make me laugh. Make me happy, at least for a little while."

"I can?"

Harry couldn't understand the doubt in his friend's face. Why had they never said this before? "Why not? Maybe 'Mione's smarter than us, and I've gotten nearly killed more often than the both of you, but you've always been the better friend - the best friend - and Ron, you know you were the first friend I ever had - the first person I ever loved - " Harry stopped, embarrassed, his face flaming. He added softly, "I do."

"Love me?" Ron almost mouthed it. He stood still for a long time, just looking at Harry, like he never expected the words. The silence stretched onwards.

"Please, Ron, say something," urged Harry, finally. "You must be better at this than I am. You've loved people before."

Ron eyes - changed, somehow. "I have?"

"Yes - your family. Hermione. And - " Harry stopped again.

Ron said it as thought it was extraordinarily painful. "And you."

Is that all he has to say? Harry thought, dismayed. After the fool I made out of myself? I thought after seven years it was okay to love a best friend...

Even the suspicion that Ron might not feel the same way was enough to send him teetering back into darkness. "Forget it," he said roughly. "Forget I said anything."

"Harry - "

"No, forget it. Don't say what you don't mean. Go to bed. I'll take the first watch."

"Harry - "

"No."

In the end Ron walked from the fire, and Harry heard rustling sounds as he got into the Cot. Even as he strained to see into the darkness, to watch for an attack, he was most aware of his friend as he tossed and turned and tried to fall asleep.

Why does it matter so much? he asked himself, but he knew the answer. Ron was his first friend, his last hope, the person who was meant more to him than anything...

Harry sat silently for so long that the moon moved noticeably across the sky. When he got up to stretch, his feet brought him to the Cot, where the mattress was pressed in by an invisible body. Harry drew the Invisibility Cloak back.

His face was dirty, his red hair messy on the pillow, but the look on his face was one of sweetness and peace. And Harry felt so separate, so rejected, so lonely, that it was all he could do not to crawl into Ron's bed and hold him so tightly they became one - one person, with no room left between them for Ron's uncaring or Harry's fear...

Where did that come from? he asked himself, shaken. He knew he should replace the Cloak and go away. But the fire and the fighting had left him heated and reckless, and he drew the Cloak back further, revealing the lines of Ron's body. His robe slipped open at the chest. Harry reached out and almost touched that smooth expanse of skin, before he came to his senses and hastily pulled his hand away.

Harry didn't understand what he was feeling, only knew what he wanted something, and that it was terribly far away. When it was his time to rest, he shook Ron awake, and took his spot without a word. He fell asleep, burrowed in Ron's neglected warmth.

*

Hermione had taken charge of both protecting them and serving them dinner. Neville watched her, sitting uselessly on a log, full of awe as she managed several charms at once. A pan levitated over the fire, which Hermione periodically brightened with an Incendio spell, while she gazed off into the eaves of the forest and made pointed incantations.

"Desinidor! Confundo! ... what do you think, Neville? Is that a good one to use?"

She was just saying it to be nice. Everyone knew he was useless. Sure, he had been able to spot some plants, but his partner was Hermione Granger. She needed help with her work about as often as Draco Malfoy needed someone to boost his self-esteem.

Neville shuddered at the thought of the bullying Slytherin, and changed the direction of his thoughts.

Merlin, he hoped he didn't have the nightmares tonight. Usually he waited until the other boys in his dormitory fell asleep before putting up a spell which blocked the sound of his cries - it was one of the only spells he'd managed, and that after long practice. But Hermione was smarter than that. She'd notice if he used it. She'd ask questions. What could he say? That he screamed himself awake and then cried himself to sleep, almost every night?

That's why he had worked so hard to master the silencing spell. If anyone knew about his nightmares, Neville could only imagine the round of mocking jokes...

But would Hermione laugh?

Somehow, Neville didn't think she would. Somehow, Neville knew that if he was going to tell anyone about his parents, it should be her. Somehow, a long while back, Neville had figured out that he was in love.

And somehow, he understood that it was hopeless.

He got up, staring out at the woods, so he wouldn't have to look at her and feel so heartbroken.

Hermione finished boiling dinner, raising the pan up high over the fire so it would simmer. She turned to look at Neville, who was staring out into the woods, his hands clenched and his shoulders shaking. She knew she should let him help her more, but she didn't want to hurt her grade -

Besides, she knew how he felt about her, and didn't want to encourage him. Neville was a nice boy, more attentive than Ron, and he shared more of her interests than Harry did. But he lacked that spark. That nobility.

Her friends didn't understand that it had been Gilderoy Lockhart's tales of bravery which had caused her infatuation, not his good looks. She didn't care any more for a handsome face than the next girl. It was strength, it was honor, it was the Gryffindor spirit that she loved most of all in people.

It had attracted her to Harry, and then to Ron. And she could tell herself over and over again that Neville was brave enough to risk his life for a friend, but it was different than seeing Ron tell a convicted murderer he'd have to go through him to get to Harry, different than seeing Harry fight against incredible odds - it was just different.

It wasn't logical. She couldn't find the reason for it in a textbook. It just was.

"Hermione - " Neville began softly, and she thought it was tenderness, and pretended she hadn't heard. When he screamed, though, she knew it was fright.

"Oh, no - " was all Hermione had time to say, before she was silenced.

*