A Trio Sundered

Author Notes: My best regards to Phantom of Delight for Betaing.

~*~*~*~*~

When Ron returned the next day Hermione was sleeping. Again. She was curled up on one side with her hands tucked up into her breast and her lovely soft hair strewn about the pillow. She looked peaceful and beautiful lay there and Ron knew without a shadow of doubt that, though he may have feared otherwise, he would never confuse her true sleep with that inescapable coma.

He briefly bent over to brush Hermione's hair back from her face, recalling her once say how annoying it could be to wake up day after day veiled by it. Her lashes lay soft upon the curve of her cheek. Carefully he brushed along them with the pad of his thumb, then over the ridge of her high cheekbone still soft with flesh that had fled the rest of her body, then over her lower lip.

She sighed and rolled over, that beautiful mass of hair falling across her features once more as if to hide it from the cruel world. She hadn't stirred once in the last million visits he'd paid and he could still recall the creeping look of horror behind Harry's glasses as he'd prayed to Hermione, visit after visit, in a voice too low for Ron to make out and all the while she'd lain still as the dead after rigour had passed.

Harry. The one person Ron would never forgive. His lips compressed, tracing a thin line across his face, and he balled his fists in rage. How could Harry have done this to them? How could he have left? Worse than left? And how the Hell could he, Ron, let Hermione know the truth?

She was stronger than he'd expected last night. It shouldn't have come as a surprise, but after those endless weeks, he'd almost forgotten her, forgotten what it was that made Hermione herself in the endless, draining pilgrimage to her bedside.

No. Hermione was strong enough. She would know what to do. He just had to have faith - she was, after all, the cleverest witch of their generation.

And he was so in need of some support right now.

Clenching his fist tight against the windowsill, a pale defiance against the images swirling through his mind, Ron was startled to find himself at the window, gazing out over a sweeping, seemingly endless woodland below. He didn't remember pacing. Dimly he wondered if he was losing his mind. Wondered if this was how Harry had felt. Wondered if things might not be too late for him already.

Harry had fallen, he thought, chilled, and wrapped his arms about himself for comfort. Why should he, Ron, be any different? After all, he had never been anything special compared to Harry. Only ever the shadow. And where the flesh went the shadow was doomed to follow.

Ron shivered and tried to cling to his mission. To the one person he would not abandon: Hermione. Harry had gone whilst he, Ron, remained, determined to the last to stay at her side.

For he had that which Harry did not. The one deadly weapon Lord Voldemort could not withstand. He loved Hermione and for her he would - he could - do anything.

Voldemort and Harry be damned! He was stronger than they were.

There was a soft rustle of bedclothes behind him and a familiar moan he knew too well. Even without turning he could visualise the scene: Hermione, propped up on one elbow, the other hand pushing her mane back from sleep blurred eyes. Her slender legs would be curled in upon herself, underneath the sheets, pulling them into her and leaving the bed in disarray.

In the past she'd have stumbled from the bed to give him a quick, sleep-warmed hug and a kiss against the nape of his neck. Her arms would be heavy and lazy about his neck and, for just a moment, he would know what she meant about all of that hair as it cascaded across his shoulders, tickling at his chin.

She'd insist on making the bed too, before they left the room. Couldn't stand for anyone to know that she, Hermione Granger, perfectionist, was such a careless sleeper.

He turned and, even with all of her changes, a smile still caught at his lips, his delight in her making his heart soar.

She returned his smile, sleep-hazy eyes focusing on him as she patted the bed besides her. "Come and sit down, Ron. Or is the day outside really so enticing?"

"Oh, definitely enticing," he teased, "though not so enticing as you." He ruined the flirtation by blushing more than Hermione, though she didn't seem to mind, welcoming him to her side with a hug. He held her and, for a moment, thought only of solace and warmth and wondered if the day was yet warm enough to wrap the waif-ish woman on the bed with thick woollen blankets and carry her outdoors so that she could see for herself the summer's enticement. So that she could see the growth and healing and peace, even if it were only temporary.

Then Hermione broke the silence as Ron had known she must. If her question was not so dark as he had feared, it was still grim enough to tighten his jaw and justify the frailty of his earlier peace.

"Who else was killed in the war?"

He didn't question the 'else'. Did she mean in addition to those whose deaths she'd been awake for? Or was it simply easier for her to chalk Harry up as a death of sorts? Ron didn't ask. He didn't want to know.

"Surprisingly few." Not, of course, that that was the full tale. "Katie Bell never made it. Or Colin Creevey-I never did figure out why he wanted to fight in the first place. Seamus got badly burned though you can hardly tell now and Fred-he lost a hand. 'Course both he and George have taken to wearing gloves so you can never tell which has the fake hand. Mum still has trouble telling them apart..."

"And in the other houses?"

"Daphne Greengrass, Mordred Blackthorn, Crabbe-"

"Crabbe? You mean Malfoy's..." She paused. Goon, thought Ron. "Friend," she finished.

"The one and only. Took a killing curse to the chest in the final battle. Stepped in front of Malfoy." Which was something Ron was damned if he could understand. For family, yes; for love, of course; but for duty? Because that was what Crabbes did for Malfoys? He tried not to remember the bleached and sickly hue to Malfoy's face immediately afterwards or the way he seemed to lose his mind and go on a rampage. Those memories were disturbing and not only because they showed how very dangerous an enemy Malfoy could be.

Hermione seemed lost in her own world when he looked over at her and it was a moment or two before her gaze focussed on him once more. "They really are on our side then," she whispered wonderingly. "I always thought... and after Dumbledore. Well..."

There was a lightness to her spirit that Ron hadn't seen since he told her about Harry yesterday. A lightness Ron was about to have to shatter.

"Well, they were certainly against You-Know-Who." Her sharp mind picked up this evasion, her eyes piercing into him and Ron was forced to concur that maybe Mum was right and he did have all the subtlety of a brick. Oh well, in for a Knut, in for a Galleon. "Malfoy's the one who led the defection to the new 'other side'. Guess he wasn't joking all those times he talked about an alternative to both Harry and Voldemort..." He paused. "I guess I just never really thought he'd take Harry off with him."

"Harry left to side with Malfoy? To have a war against us?" Hermione looked as bewildered as he felt, her chocolate eyes round and lost. "But why? And why on Earth would Malfoy follow Harry now? He spent the entire of forever-" She threw her arms wide for emphasis and Ron knew then how upset she must be to have resorted to exaggeration, "-swearing that he didn't need Harry. He made up all those awful names too."

Ron sighed. "Harry's not leading. Malfoy is." Damn it all, he might almost have understood if Harry wanted to become his own Dark Lord, but Malfoy's minion? Crabbe's replacement? "Malfoy's in charge of the side - he runs it all now. Harry's just the leader for strategy, fighting, defences, you know what Harry's strengths are."

But Hermione was just frowning at him, head tilted to one side in an alarmingly seductive manner and Ron found himself blushing again for no apparent reason save that his eyes seemed incapable of escaping the sweep of her hair as it trailed down her neck and brushed the tops of breasts hidden only under thin cotton. The fabric rose and fell softly with each breath and it was only with the break in this rhythm that he realised that Hermione had spoken.

His head snapped up even as his cheeks flooded further with heat. "Wha--I mean, um, sorry?"

For once Hermione didn't roll her eyes at him with her typical 'honestly, can't boys in general and you in particular focus' sigh. Instead she blushed and shyly tugged the bedsheets to her chest. Her pupils had dilated, the irises shrinking until Ron felt certain that he would drown in pools of purest black. There was something he should remember, something which they should be talking about, but for the life of him he couldn't remember what.

Hermione's cheek was soft beneath his fingertips and her breath on his lips felt like salvation. Ron wasn't even aware of closing his eyes until he felt his lashes brush, ever so gently, against Hermione's nose and then they were kissing.

Finally, something right.

Her mouth was soft and wet, opening willingly beneath his own as her fingers-beautiful, perfect fingers - caught in his hair. Every tug an amazing miracle that here he was and here she was and here they were kissing again, together again, when he'd feared they'd never touch again.

Finally the kiss burned out and he was left gasping for air with his lover's face buried in his shoulder. She was crying, he realised. All that he could do was hold her and lie to her, say that it would all be alright while she rocked her back and forth like a child. No. There was no way that he would ever, could ever, betray Hermione. Not when she looked at him like she had, not when she clung to him like she did.

So she cried and he held her and all the while he dreamt of breaking Harry's bones.

There was one last hiccup before Hermione sat up, face red and blotchy as she scrubbed it dry with the sheet's hem. Watching her ragged breathing he wanted to simply reach out. To dry her tears softly and lull her off to sleep with a gentle lullaby. Hermione's face, however, was folded into lines of determination, a familiar expression that stopped Ron from his comforting touch. He tried to tell himself it was because the look reminded him of the girl who always won against her studies, a girl who lived in a happier time. The honest part of his mind dredged up more recent memories; memories of death and war and blood; of a woman - his woman - who always seemed to know best.

She was like Harry, Ron realised in a blinding moment of clarity. The same determination, the same stern way of facing a problem head on, though where Harry used action, Hermione resorted to reason. They both acted on their impulses for better or for worse because, deep down, they honestly believed that what they did, they did for the best.

For the first time in a long time, Ron was glad that Hermione had lain in her coma for so many months. She hadn't been there. Its evil hadn't reached and warped her as it had Harry.

He wondered how Harry had folded, what corner of his soul this creeping evil had latched on to and twisted until his best friend would have sworn that day was night.

Hermione gave him a gentle push. "Oi, Earth to Ron, please come in." There was a gentle smile on her lips now and it turned them up into a teasing slant, but failed to reach her eyes. Those remained fixed on his own and, as soon as she was certain she had his attention, she asked the question he'd been dreading.

"Who went with Harry, Ron?"

There were so many lies and evasions he could have replied with, but her gaze was cool, level; she wouldn't thank him for trying to soften the blow.

Ron didn't soften the blow.

"Malfoy left first. He went about a month after the end of the war and took all of the Fringe with him. That wasn't so much of a surprise, I guess that lot was always more for following Malfoy than the Order. I guess we just got used to them being around. I certainly hadn't expected them to still mean all that standing by themselves stuff."

It was one of the things which had made it all seem surreal to begin with rather than sinister. Sure, Malfoy had always claimed that there were enough people in the Fringe that they didn't really need support. That they just happened to have the same goal for a while. When Voldemort was, well, 'mort' and Malfoy and his little Fringe cronies were no longer in danger of having to kiss his hem, they said they'd be off.

Ron had been hoodwinked. Half a year of fighting with the git and he'd almost been ready to forgive and forget. Okay, maybe not forget, but well, he had a family, he knew how hard it must have been for Draco to have had them threatened.

Harry had never forgiven Malfoy. He'd taken the help - more willingly than most admittedly - but he'd always watched Malfoy with suspicion dark on his face. He hadn't trusted Malfoy, yet now he stood at his right hand.

"But they meant it?" Hermione's voice cut into his musings. Her fingers were cold on his, but the touch brought warmth to his heart. He hadn't even realised how cold and removed he felt 'til then. How betrayed he'd felt.

He'd trusted Malfoy, damn him!

"Seems so. They declared war shortly afterwards." Well, they'd set fire to the Minister's Party as he travelled to Malfoy Manor with the intention of inviting them back. The war with You-Know-Who had been too recent and no one had wanted another one. Or so Ron had thought up until then.

Clearly the Fringe had thought differently.

"There was a scuffle. The Minister was badly injured - Harry managed to get him to safety, but a lot of his bodyguards died. It was awful. I can't believe we helped train them to fight and they turned it on us like that.

"There have been loads of scuffles since then." There was a hollow laugh that should have taken Ron a second or two to identify as his own. Pity he'd gotten used to laughing like that. "Scuffles. Yeah. Right. They kidnapped children, dammit! And then Harry went and joined them! Just left one day and joined them. Couldn't be more than seven weeks ago.

"It's worse now, of course. Everyone knew that things were going wrong. We could see it was going bad, but that it got Harry? Merlin, Hermione, can you imagine how Malfoy must be crowing away? The strongest bloody war mage just out and out joined him and we're all in chaos and--" He noticed finally that Hermione wasn't listening. Her knuckles had a white grip on the bed linen and she looked about ready to faint.

Sweet Ceres! She'd only just woken from a six-month coma and here he was, pouring all his bitterness into her!

Taking her into his arms seemed natural and he felt a moment of profound relief as she relaxed into him - alright, I'm doing something right - before she pressed her palms to his chest and pushed him, hard. Or pushed, at any rate.

Taking the gesture as intended Ron sat back, confused. Why was he always learning all of these new things about Hermione? He'd thought that giving a hug could never be the wrong response. Clearly he was mistaken. Maybe he should try communication. Ginny was very big on the importance of that. He could explain that he knew she needed to be self-sufficient, but that he was just trying to help and that maybe pushing him away had hurt his feelings a little. Of course, he knew she had her reasons, but he'd like her to tell him more clearly what it was that she needed.

What came out was: "Er..."

Thankfully Hermione appeared to have developed Legilimency in her coma because she said, "Ron, I understand that you're trying to help me and protect me, but right now I just need you to tell me the truth." She folded her arms and waited. Ron didn't have the heart to tell her that she was white as a sheet and shook like a leaf.

The only problem was that he didn't know where to start. "What do you want to know?" Hermione always had been the one to piece leads together. Maybe he should just put all of his memories in a Pensieve for her to sort through. Be a blessed relief for him.

But no, his memories were awful. Besides, who knew, maybe the darkness was contagious and then he'd infect her too.

"Who else went over to Malfoy and the Fringe?"

That one at least was simple. "Not that many really. I mean, a fair few seemed interested. Especially those pure bloods that jumped ship and ran for the continent when we were fighting You-Know-Who. Still, Malfoy doesn't seem all that interested in letting the Right Dark fraction in."

"The who?"

"The Right Dark. Conservative purebloods who would have picked You-Know-Who if he wasn't such a dangerous psycho."

"In that case I can't say I blame him," muttered Hermione, looking very much as if she were trying to distance herself from the moral issues involved in anything to do with Malfoy. "They've turned coward once. They'll probably do it again."

He just shrugged. People running out on Malfoy sounded just fine to him. "Well, one way or the other, it seems like Malfoy's just got a bunch of young pure bloods around him. Pretty much business as usual for him."

"And he's got Harry." Hermione just had to remind him.

"Yeah." Ron didn't want to mention the rest. Hermione was still weak. She didn't need this type of hassle, so he'd keep it from her.

Except, if her raised eyebrow was any indication, he was as transparent as glass to her; more easily read that a 'Little Isis Goes To' book. "There have been trials," he confessed.

"Trials?"

"Yeah. Trials." She was meant to be the smart one. What was all this with forcing him to connect the dots?

"What trials? Trials of whom?"

Fine then. He could connect the dots. "People." Okay. Maybe he should be a little less vague judging by the look on Hermione's face. "People we know." That wasn't much better. "Look, first it was Padma Patil for stealing dark arts books from the Ministry of Magic. Then it was Susan Bones for corrupting the course of justice - she was found to be hiding known supporters of the Death Eaters. Heck, even Dean's gone mad. He's in Azkaban for spreading dark arts propaganda."

"What!" If possible Hermione looked even more disbelieving with each name. By the end, however, she was glaring at him suspiciously. "This isn't some sort of wind up is it? Because if it is, it's really not very funny."

Ron couldn't bring himself to be offended that she thought he would joke about things like Azkaban and treachery. He wished it was all just a wind up.

"Well, maybe it was a mistake. Or they were coerced. Or..." Her protests died off as he carried on shaking his head.

"There was Veritaserum, Hermione. The trials were public. Harry even went to Dean's before he..." Ron stopped. When would finishing sentences like that cease to hurt? "Well, you know. There's no chance that... Oh, Merlin, they're guilty. They're all just guilty."

Hermione was still gazing at him sceptically. "Look, I don't know Susan that well. As for Dean, well, I'm certain you know him better than I, but I know Padma pretty well thank you very much. We used to study Arithmancy together. Ron, she's as likely to go off the rails and support the other side as you are."

"Or as Harry was?" Watching her face crumple into despair, Ron felt like a complete monster. "Hermione?" He touched her wrist gently, trying to give her a reassuring smile as she looked up at him. "Hermione, it's all true, but it's going to be alright. We'll keep it under control. You'll see."

And Hermione leant into his touch, rested her cheek against his breastbone. "God, Ron, how is any of this alright? How on Earth is it under control?"

There was the crux of it. The thing he'd been dancing around all night. Might as well get it over and done with. "We know the rough pattern now. You see, when You-Know-Who died, well, it looks like what was left of his soul, er, splintered. Rather a lot. Hell, it couldn't have been that well anchored after he'd sliced off bits here, there and everywhere to make Horcruxes. It kind of, well, you know I'm not that great at the technical explanations." No, that certainly wasn't his strong point, maybe he should see about changing that fact. Time to learn a new skill and all that.

Yes, like Malfoy had Harry learning strategy.

"Well, the soul's remains kind of latched onto those nearby. The people there when Voldemort..." He only realised he'd said the name when he was done. Oh well, too late to take it back now. Maybe not wanting to flinch from calling him that was a sign of moral degradation. Nah, surely that would be wanting to call him the Dark Lord? "When he died, they were the ones who got the full brunt of it. Guess it's not surprising that Harry fell. Stood right next to him as he, well, kicked the bucket."

There was a moment's silence and, for the first time that day, Ron could see that Hermione was slotting everything into place without him. He'd know when she was done, naturally. She'd pull away. Who wouldn't if they found themselves in the arms of someone whose soul was tainted by Voldemort's? Still, at least Hermione was safe. At least she had been absent from the final battle. She could help the side of good now and maybe, just maybe, things would work out alright. In the end. Or a century or so.

It came as rather a surprise when she hugged him tighter before leaning - collapsing - back against the headboard. There was a strange light in her eyes and a driven smile on her lips.

"Well now, if all that's wrong is that you guys have merged with a bit of Voldemort's soul, the answer's simple. We just have to figure out a way to get those pieces out and destroyed once and for all."

Ron hugged her tightly to him - this time for his own comfort, not hers - as he realised that the light in her eyes was hope.