Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

What it comes down to	By : melinda1293 Category: Harry Potter > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 115219 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 7
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 20
- 21
- 22
Chapter 21. Riddles and Secrets

Ron met Madame Pomfrey on the landing when he exited the bathroom. His hair still damp, still barefoot, he looked ridiculous as he clutched Hermione’s beaded bag and another letter from Ginny to Harry that Pigwidgeon had dropped on his head as soon as he’d arrived downstairs this morning.
The good news was, Ginny hadn’t sent him another howler along with it. The bad news was that she’d sent the letter with Pig, who’d then whizzed around his head, hooting shrilly with great excitement at finding Ron and delivering the letter.
Ginny must have told him not to come back without a reply, or something, because he flat refused to return to Aunt Muriel’s. Or maybe the tiny owl was simply thrilled to see Ron after so long. Whatever the reason, Ron retreated to the bathroom finally to get away from the relentless bird, letting Dobby tend to him before he resorted to stunning the nutter just to get some peace.
He’d have to get Hermione to conjure a cage for him later because Ron didn’t have high hopes that Harry would reply to Ginny at all (he hadn’t even opened the first letter), and that meant the daft bird may be around for a bit.
“Oh…Madame Pomfrey,” he said in startled surprise when he nearly knocked her down.
He’d had to grab her arm to steady her when he walked right into her on his way out of the bathroom.
“Sorry about that,” he apologized.
She was becoming a familiar face at Grimmauld Place again as she’d been coming every day to check on Harry for the last three days, but he still wasn’t expecting to literally run into her in the hallway.
“Mr. Weasley,” she greeted him with a nod of her head and a half smile as she tried to get her bearings after righting herself, her white healer’s cap still knocked a bit askew. “How is Mr. Potter this morning?”
“Dunno really.” Ron shrugged, feeling a bit embarrassed.“He was still asleep when I came down for my shower, but he might be awake by now. I was later than usual getting in the bathroom. Hermione’s with him.”
They mounted the steps back to Sirius’ bedroom together.
“I bet he won’t be happy to see you today, though,” he told her somewhat apologetically, knowing the welcome she was likely to receive from Harry.
“No, I don’t expect he will, but I’m trying to keep that boy alive, not cultivate our friendship,” she replied a bit briskly as they reached the door.
Ron tapped once as he turned the handle to let Hermione (and Harry too, if he was awake) know that he was coming in with company.
Harry was sitting propped up on the bed as he had been so much of their time here at Grimmauld Place, and Hermione was standing next to him. The look on her face as they both turned to him made Ron think immediately something was wrong. It looked as if he and Madame Pomfrey had walked in on a row they were having.
The healer must have assumed so, too, because she asked, “Did we interrupt something?”
Harry’s eyes went dark at the sight of them both. It was clear to Ron that he was madder than hell at Madame Pomfrey or maybe at all of them. Ron glanced at Hermione then, raising his eyebrows, asking silently for some explanation or for some direction on how to proceed, but she looked away from him to stare at the floor while a flush spread across her cheeks. It sent warning bells going off in his head. Now he was really worried.
“Good morning, Harry,” Madame Pomfrey greeted him. “Hermione.”
Stepping back away from Harry, Hermione mumbled a reply as Madame Pomfrey nodded at her. She switched places with the healer as she made her way to Harry’s side, and Hermione came to stand beside Ron. He glanced down at her again, but she was still resolutely not meeting his eyes.
“Is there something I should know?” he muttered out of the corner of his mouth to her, but she only twisted her hands together and bit her lips, shaking her head almost imperceptibly.
Shit! Whatever it was, it wasn’t good. Why couldn’t it ever be good news, he lamented. Why couldn’t it be, “Hey, Harry’s all better, feeling great, and we’re going for ice cream!” or something? Why did every day have to be a steaming pile of dung they had to wade through? It was bullshit, and he was getting tired of it.
“How are you feeling today, Harry?” Madame Pomfrey asked, sitting down next to him on the bed while he glared at her, clearly in a foul mood.
“I’d like to get the hell out of this bed today if you’re done punishing me,” he replied belligerently.
Ron’s mouth opened in surprise. If Harry was talking like that to Madame Pomfrey, they were in for a real pleasant day, he thought miserably.
“I’m not punishing you, Harry,” she responded patiently.
“That potion you gave me was designed for torture, not healing,” he accused. “It was a powerful aphrodisiac and liquid Cruciatus rolled into one.”
“It’s true that it has been used to torture in the past. I warned you that it was very powerful. Many potions and spells which were initially created for nefarious purposes have been modified for medical use. Without the sedative—”
“You meant for it to hurt. You meant to mess with my mind.”
“Of course I didn’t,” she snapped, bristling at the accusation. “Don’t be ridiculous. I used it because I wanted to heal you as quickly as possible, to keep from dragging your recovery out any longer. Severus’ potion was the most effective means to that end.”
She tried reaching towards him then, but Harry jerked back from her, making Ron’s eyebrows crawl farther up his forehead at Harry’s reaction and at the news that the potion Harry clearly despised was one of Snape’s own creations. He didn’t know why that surprised him, however, because he believed, like Harry, that it probably was designed to torture if Snape created it. Torture and humiliate if he could manage it.
Then Ron remembered what Harry had said to the bastard in the forest, about what the taste of potions reminded him of. He felt white hot anger again at what the scum had done to Harry. Still incredulous that Harry just let him go, that he’d stopped Ron from beating the piece of shit to death.
“May I check your temperature, Harry?” she asked then, attempting to keep the irritation in her voice to a minimum as she reached for him again.
Harry didn’t retreat this time, allowing her to place her hands against his face and neck as he sat stiffly on the bed while still glaring at her.
“If you’ve planned on giving me another potion, Madame Pomfrey, you might as well try and stun me now because I’m not taking anything else,” he warned her in a low growl. “Not from you or anyone. Not without a fight.”
Holy shit! That potion must have been a really nasty piece of work to rile him this bad. Though if it was anything like he described, Harry had good reason to be angry.
Ron glanced down at Hermione, who looked back up at him with growing concern on her face, and then with something like a warning before returning her gaze to Harry.
“Call me Poppy!” Madame Pomfrey snapped, grasping Harry’s wrist now to take his pulse.
“What?” Harry asked in confusion.
“If you feel comfortable enough to threaten me, or accuse me of trying to harm you, then I think we should at least both be on a first name basis.”
“I’m not threatening you,” he muttered, looking at least a tiny bit chagrined.
“You’ve just said you plan to attack me if I attempt to do anything else to aid in your recovery.”
“That was not aiding me in any way, shape, or form. It did me no favors, I promise you.”
“I think we will have to agree to disagree on that,” she responded. “Are you in any pain?”
“No,” he answered.
“No trouble breathing or swallowing? Coughing up any blood? Shooting pains in your ribs or stomach? ” she questioned him rapid fire.
“No, but—”
“Any nausea or dizziness? Headache?”
“NO!” he snapped angrily.
“Well, when I told you you’d torn some things, I didn’t mean a hang nail,” she bit back, matching his angry tone. “You were still trying to recover from some very extensive trauma. I had to do what I deemed necessary to try and quickly reverse the damage you’d caused yourself. Especially since it’s clear that patience is not one of your virtues, Harry. Nor it seems is any modicum of self-preservation.”
Ron stifled a laugh at the look on Harry’s face from the tongue lashing he was receiving at the hands of the formidable healer. Harry could be downright nasty when he was angry, but she didn’t seem the least bit intimidated by him. Of course, she didn’t know that he could melt her right where she sat if she continued to provoke him. It was easy not to be afraid when you hadn’t seen it firsthand. Still, it looked like Harry might have bitten off more than he could chew here, and Ron was thoroughly enjoying it.
Ron had yet to win an argument with anyone of the female persuasion. Not Ginny, not his mother, and certainly not Hermione. Now he knew not to tangle with Madame Pomfrey either. Maybe it was the same with all girls. He hadn’t met one yet that couldn’t take him straight to the mat in an argument.
They were vicious things, girls. They all fought in a no-holds-barred, battle to the death kind of way; nothing was off limits. Harry was way out of his league.
“I already knew you would refuse pain potions if we tried to do it more slowly,” she explained then, her voice more calm. “Knowing you as I do, Harry, as my patient, I made every attempt to get you back on your feet as quickly as possible. If I’ve made a mistake in that regard then I’m truly sorry.”
Then she did something completely unexpected, to Ron anyway. Leaning up, she quickly kissed Harry on the forehead. Harry’s eyebrows were in his fringe now, too, where Ron’s had been pretty much since he’d walked in the room. When she pulled back away from him, Harry looked utterly floored.
Yup, Ron thought, that’s what he meant right there. They’re vicious, totally unpredictable. Anything goes with witches. With Hermione, you’re as likely to get hexed or slapped, as kissed or cried on in the middle of a heated row, and sometimes, all the above. A bloke can’t defend against an attack from that many angles. It’s completely mental.
“You are a stubborn man, Harry,” Madame Pomfrey told him. She looked at him a moment, then sighed and stood up, gathering her bag. “You’re as healthy as I’m apt to get you for now, and seeing as you would prefer to see the back of me, I’ll go. Frankly, the less we see of each other, the happier I’ll be.”
Harry looked, if possible, even more shocked at her words.
“It will mean that you’re healthy and safe. And I can’t help but feel that it’s a good sign for those of us on your side, dear. No news right now is good news when it comes to you and this war,” she said as she walked away from him.
Ron could see that her eyes were a bit watery as she approached Hermione and him.
“If you should need me again,” she told Hermione, “make sure you go ahead and stun him first before summoning me.”
Then she strode to the door.
“I’m sorry,” Harry apologized, coming out of his shock as she reached for the handle, but she acted as if she hadn’t heard. “Madame Pomfrey,” he called. “Please…I’m sorry.”
She nodded her head once before pulling the door. “Good luck to you, Harry,” she replied quietly without turning back to look at him.
After a second’s hesitation, Hermione followed her out, leaving Ron to deal with what was left of Harry’s anger, or to muddle his way through whatever had started between the two of them before he arrived.
Brilliant, he thought. Thanks a lot, luv.
Ron stood awkwardly for a moment, still holding Hermione’s bag and the letter for Harry before finally deciding to just get on with it. He sat down on the opposite end of the bed, facing across from Harry.
“So, feeling better then?” he asked as Madame Pomfrey’s and Hermione’s footsteps faded away, trying to sound cheerful. “Ginny sent you another letter. I know you didn’t have time to respond to the last one yet.”
He tossed the letter to Harry.
“I reckon she’s not giving up, though. She sent Pig this time, and it looks like he’s waiting around for a response. Assuming Dobby hasn’t murdered him by now, that is.”
Harry just stared at the letter near his left hand, making no effort to pick it up. Then his face clouded up again. Ron sighed, feeling weary already, and they hadn’t even made it down to breakfast yet today.
“So, we’re not going for ice cream then, I’m guessing,” he muttered dispiritedly.
“What?”
“Nothing. Just wishful thinking. Have you been up yet?” he asked, trying again.
Harry shook his head. “I don’t know if I can on my own again,” he responded bitterly. “I’m not sure how much I’ve lost. I don’t know from how far back I’ll have to crawl this time.”
“I’m sure it won’t be that bad, Harry,” Ron told him reassuringly. “You haven’t been out that long this time.”
“What day is it?”
“Um…Tuesday, I think.”
“Four days?” Harry asked, sounding stunned.
“Well, three plus part of Friday, yeah,” Ron replied. “So do you want me to help you get—”
“And what have you and Hermione been up to while I’ve been knocked out?” Harry asked sharply then, his tone accusatory.
“Uh…” said Ron, treading cautiously, unsure where they were headed, but sensing they were nearing what the row between him and Hermione had been about.
“I asked Hermione what the hell she was playing at, but she didn’t have an answer for me. Maybe you do,” Harry continued angrily.
Ron’s eyebrows shot up again.
“What do you mean?” he asked slowly.
Harry’s eyes flashed dangerously, and he growled, “I’d put two and two together a few days ago and realized you two were fucking—”
“Hey!” Ron yelled indignantly.
“But I didn’t know you were doing it in the bed right next to me!” Harry shouted back with the same indignation. “What the hell, Ron? I woke up last night in the middle of it all, strung out on those damn potions, and had a flashback. I thought I was back there, in the dungeon. I thought…with her.” He shuddered. “You fucking prick! It was a goddamn nightmare, and I couldn’t claw my way out. What the hell is wrong with you?”
Ron felt his ears getting hot as his mouth fell open, gaping at Harry. He felt both angry and embarrassed, horrified at what he was hearing. Sshhiiittt!
“I… I knew you woke up last night. I knew you’d had a nightmare,” Ron stuttered, trying to explain. “Hermione helped get you calmed down and back to sleep again. I didn’t know we were the cause of it, though. I’m sorry, Harry,” he apologized. “I didn’t know we woke you up.”
“Is that it? You’re just sorry? How long has this been going on?” Harry demanded. “How did you think I’d react when I found out? Is that why you’re both so happy to dose me all the time? Can’t wait to knock me out so you two can shag? Did you get a nice little birthday fuck after your party?”
“That’s en—”
“You couldn’t keep your hands off her after what happened in the dungeons? How long did it take you to crawl into her knickers? She’d been raped, you arse!” Harry shouted.
Oh, hell no, Ron thought angrily. Hell. No!
“I haven’t forgotten what happened to her,” he snarled. “I had to stand there and watch. I had to watch what you did to her,” Ron bit back savagely, pointing an accusing finger at Harry, his face red with anger now.
“I’m the one who had to help her hold herself together once we got out of there. I was the one who helped keep her from falling apart. I never forced myself on her. That was you!” he yelled furiously.
All the color had drained from Harry’s face at his words.
“Ron,” Hermione called softly.
Both he and Harry whipped their heads around to stare at her, neither of them having heard her come back into the room during their heated exchange.
Ron found himself on his knees, leaning towards Harry. He didn’t remember getting to them. Slowly, he lowered himself back down to the bed, trying to calm down.
“I think you’ve said enough,” she admonished.
But Ron didn’t agree. It was about time they had some of this out. He’d been dying to get some of this shit off his chest since their visit to Snape. This was the perfect opportunity to say what he needed to say, he thought as he turned back to Harry.
“Hermione and I are just two people trying to find a little time for each other in the chaos of caring for you,” he told Harry, trying to keep his voice steady. “But I’m just about finished apologizing to you. I’m done coddling you. What we did was inconsiderate, I’ll give you that.   I’m sorry, okay? I’ll admit that I wasn’t thinking much about your feelings at the time. I said I was sorry, and I meant it. It won’t happen again. But I’m warning you, too. You make another snarky comment about Hermione like that, and I’ll kick your arse. I’ve warned you before, and you just keep pushing my buttons. I’m not telling you again. You can attack me all you want, but you leave her out of this,” he warned, staring hard at Harry and pointing back towards Hermione.
“I told you I’m not leaving you, and I won’t, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to lie down and take this shit either. If you want to fight, then fine, let’s fight. And when it’s all over, I’ll call Madame Pomfrey back to patch you up again, and we’ll go on.”
“Ron, you’re not helping,” Hermione interrupted, but he acted as if he hadn’t heard her. He wasn’t finished. Harry needed to hear what he had to say, and he was just warming up.
“Why is it that you’re taking all your anger and frustration out on me and Hermione, anyway?” he asked. “I get punched in the jaw and pummeled in the guts for trying to protect my family, but you let Snape just walk away without touching him after what he did to you? What the hell is that about? I stood there watching him. I stood right next to that greasy bastard under the cloak, my wand pointed at his chest the whole time. Watching you weaken and damn near collapse from the strain, I listened to every word out of both of your mouths. And you did nothing. It was like you were letting him do it to you all over again.”
Harry flinched, recoiling back against the pillows.
“I stood there until I couldn’t take it anymore, and then, when I try and avenge you, when I finally gave that bastard what he had coming, I’m the one you attacked?” Ron couldn’t keep the hurt out of his voice now. “I’m the one you raised your wand to finally? You protected him?” he yelled, outraged.
“So my question to you is this: What the fuck is wrong with you? Was I supposed to just stand there while he got a stiffy thinking about what he’d done to you? Was I supposed to just let him walk away after what he did? I don’t think so,” he growled. “You need to start realizing who the enemy is here ‘cause it sure as hell isn’t me and Hermione, and you’ve been attacking us since you woke up. The first shot you have at someone you really owe payback to, and you folded,” he spat in disgust, glaring at Harry.
Harry just stared at him, total silence falling in the room except for the sound of Ron’s heavy breathing. Clenching his jaw, Harry curled and uncurled his fingers before he finally spoke in a voice of forced calm.
“I couldn’t kill him, Ron…I believe him. I still hate him, but I believed what he told me, and I needed the answers he gave me. If I hadn’t knocked you off him, he’d never have given me the memories.”
“All right, fine. What about after? You could have killed him after getting what you needed from him. You could have at least cursed his dick into a knot. Castrated the fucking pervert—”
“It’s all or nothing with me right now, Ron. Okay? There is no in between. I either had to kill him, or let him walk away,” Harry interrupted. Then he paused, pressing his lips together, breathing deeply before saying in a lower voice, “I’m trying to hold on to me,” he explained, pointing at his own chest. “I’m not who I was anymore. I tried to goad Snape into attacking me. I tried to give myself a reason. I couldn’t just kill him in cold blood. He tried to save my life in there, whatever else he did.”
“And the others? The ones on your list?” Ron questioned then. “What about them? Are you just going to go up to them and ask them nicely to apologize for what they did to you? And then, if they’re real sorry, all is forgiven?” he mocked.
“The people I killed in the dungeon deserved it and more,” Harry responded between gritted teeth, his face reddening with anger again.
“If I could, I’d bring them back just so I could kill them again more slowly,” he said savagely. “The ones left? I’ll be smiling while I’m doing it. I can promise you that.”
His voice had gone cold then, and the look in his eyes told Ron he meant it.
“Snape’s not on the list anymore, Ron. Maybe one day, if I see him again, I’ll kick him in the balls, but you don’t get to tell me I was a coward—”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You’re right that I’ve been taking it out on you guys, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’ve been such a burden to you both,” he sneered. “Don’t worry, though, you can be certain the coddling is over,” Harry told him, throwing Ron’s words back at him.“But you could have shown me a little courtesy. If I’m interfering in your ‘relationship time’, then I’m real sorry about that, too. Maybe the two of you could’ve moved out into one of the other half-dozen rooms in this godforsaken house instead of drugging me. As a matter of fact, I think that would be best for all of us if you two did.”
“NO,” both Ron and Hermione said in unison.
“No,” Ron repeated. “We’re not moving out, and we haven’t been drugging you!” he said indignantly. “You can sleep in the middle, or something, to make sure I keep my horny little hands to myself if you like, or one of us can sleep in the chair, but I’m not leaving you alone in here.”
“So you’re not done coddling me then? You think I need round-the-clock supervision, a full-time minder? You think I’m a nutter, just waiting for the chance to be alone to finish the job I started?” he accused turning his arms wrists up.
Ron stared hard at him a minute before answering.
“Sometimes,” he admitted quietly. “Sometimes, yeah…I do. I think you know it, too. I think you’re closer to it than you want us to see, and it scares the shit out of me. I think you’re lashing out at me because I got out of the dungeons unscathed. I think you hate me for not being able to help you or Hermione. I hate myself for it, too. I really do.”
The overpowering feeling of hopelessness and guilt he felt in the dungeons was washing over him again.
“I’m so sorry I couldn’t stop what they did to you, Harry. I couldn’t do anything then to help you, but I’m doing my best to help you now,” he told him earnestly, his anger at Harry totally gone, replaced with a deep, aching sadness.
Staring at him for a long time, Harry absorbed his words, and the anger seemed to recede from his face, too, the fight having finally gone out of the both of them. Ron hoped so, anyway. He’d already said things today he regretted, adding more transgressions to the list of things he had to apologize for.
“I’d like to help you now, if you’ll let me.”
He slid off the bed, coming around to stand next to Harry.
“Are you ready to see how much you’ve lost in the last few days, or do you want to do it on your own?” he asked. “Because I’m fucking starving, and if we don’t get our arses downstairs soon, Dobby will be feeding us Pigwidgeon. I know you have to be hungry, too. You’ve been on those nourishment potions again for the last few days. You probably think Pig sounds delicious right now.”
Harry stared up at him for a few seconds, and then pulled Ginny’s note, still lying on the bed to him while Ron and Hermione stood silently watching him, Hermione wiping her eyes again. He flipped it over in his hand to see his name on the envelope in Ginny’s handwriting, the corners of his mouth turning down again as he stared at it.
Without opening it, he set it on top of his journal on the side table. Then he turned on the bed and reached out for Ron.
Immediately bending down to Harry to help him stand, Ron placed his arms around Harry’s back, gripping him. Harry, in turn, slid his arms around Ron’s shoulders, his hands linked behind his head, both of them moving automatically together, working as a unit without having to think about it.
It was like a well-rehearsed dance, the choreography so familiar to them both, the steps memorized by heart. It was clear Harry didn’t need the help, however, once he was on his feet. He stood on his own with only the smallest bit of unsteadiness.
Ron slid his hands down to Harry’s waist, to step back from him, but Harry held onto his shoulders, holding the embrace. Leaning into Ron so that their chests were touching, he ran a hand back up Ron’s neck.
“I don’t hate you for what happened at the Malfoy’s,” Harry told him quietly, his mouth close to Ron’s ear, and his warm breath on Ron’s neck. “I never wanted them to touch you, either of you. I tried my best to make sure it didn’t happen.” His fingers tightened on Ron’s neck for an instant. “It’s me I hate for getting us all in there in the first place.”
He paused a moment, sighing deeply, before he went on. “I’m sorry I’m so angry, Ron. I know it’s not your fault. I know you’re trying to help me, both of you. Sometimes I’m just so tired of being me,” he finished on a whisper.
Then he drew away, letting his hands slide off Ron’s shoulders.
“I think I can manage,” he told Ron, stepping back from him so Ron’s hands fell away from his waist to dangle heavily at his sides. “Thanks.”
With that, he turned and made his way to the bathroom, leaving Ron standing there with his heart beating faster than it should. He felt stunned by that last emotional punch to the gut Harry had just delivered to him.
Fucking sneak bastard! Harry had never been a touchy bloke in the first place. Ron wasn’t either, for that matter. They’d both grown accustomed to touching each other these last few weeks with Harry so badly injured, but that was a hug, an actual Harry-initiating-it hug. He struggled to recall an instance of it ever happening before. It left him reeling slightly.
Ron stared after Harry until he closed the bathroom door behind him, and then he looked at Hermione. She gave him a sort of grimace, her eyes still watery. Ron drew in a breath and blew it out, running a hand through his hair. He really was exhausted now. He felt raw. What a bloody ordeal. Every damn day was just a new version of hell.
“Thanks for letting me just walk right into that.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to say,” Hermione apologized. “He just sort of blindsided me with it when I came out of the bathroom, and then you and Madame Pomfrey were there before I could even say anything. I was worried that we woke him up last night. It’s my fault. I was trying to keep him calm, you know, like I had done before, rubbing his arm, but I think it disturbed him more. He accused me of doing it on purpose.”
“Do you want to move to a different room?” he asked her.
“No, Ron, I don’t. We both said no. I don’t want to leave him alone here either.”
“All right, I’m just checking. Do you have some sweatpants or something you could wear to bed from now on, though?” he asked. “Maybe a little less temptation for me at night? Because if you’re sleeping in just your knickers still, I don’t think it will matter if Harry sleeps between us from now on or not. I’m still likely to crawl over him to get to you.”
She gave a little snort before saying, “Yes, I think I can manage that.” Then more seriously, she asked, “Do you really think he’ll sleep in the middle?”
Ron just shrugged in response. It looked like opportunities to engage in his new favorite pastime were about to dry up, he thought mournfully.
“Dunno. I hope it’s that instead of one of us taking the chair. I’ve slept there before and it’s worse than the middle. We’ll work something out,” he assured her.
It was late by the time they made it downstairs for breakfast. Ron helped Harry a little bit on the stairs, but otherwise, he really appeared to be doing fine on his own. They probably could’ve made it down to the kitchen today, but Hermione didn’t think Harry should push it, and they agreed. They’d be back to slathering the minty ointment on Harry’s thighs tonight if he overdid it.
It was kind of nice to be helping Harry again, though. He’d missed it, actually, which was weird. He shouldn’t be wishing for Harry to be needing his help, but maybe it was just because things had calmed down so much after their big row this morning, and it made him feel close to Harry. Maybe it was a good thing that things had come to a head. They all seemed to be on the same page again now, anyway.
Dobby didn’t feed them Pigwidgeon for breakfast, as he feared, but Ron was wishing he had after about an hour of his shrill hooting. Hermione conjured a cage for the tiny owl, but it didn’t silence him. He looked positively thrilled to be in their presence again after so long.
Harry ate second helpings of everything, his appetite back full force as he sat chatting with Dobby, who, at Harry’s invitation, was sitting next to him on the couch, which had sent the elf into hysterics for a bit.
Dobby had been beside himself with worry when they’d returned from their trip into the forest, when he saw the state Harry was in. It was good for Harry to spend some time reassuring the elf, letting him know that he was feeling better and thanking him for his help, fetching the healer and caring for them all.
Harry truly did seem healthier than he had since their capture. However Harry felt about the potion, there was no question that Madame Pomfrey had done an amazing job helping him to recover, in Ron’s opinion. Harry must have thought so, too, because he asked Dobby if he knew what Madame Pomfrey’s favorite sweets were.
“Dobby doesn’t know, sir,” the elf replied.
“Well, I’d like to thank her for all her help, and apologize for being such a jerk this morning, Dobby.”
“Maybe you could write a letter, Harry Potter, sir.”
“If it’s intercepted, it could mean a lot of trouble for her. I can’t do that.”
“Dobby would be glad to take it. Dobby would make sure that no one else was around before giving it to her, sir,” he offered earnestly.
“I’m sure you would. I trust you, Dobby,” Harry told him, and the elf beamed at him. “But I’m rubbish at apologies, too. Do you think maybe you could get the finest box of chocolates from Honeydukes for me and deliver them to her, Dobby?” he asked. “Tell her they’re from me, tell her…tell her how sorry I am?”
“Of course, sir,” Dobby agreed immediately. “Of course, Harry Potter.”
Harry rummaged around for some gold before sending Dobby off on his errand, after assuring him that he didn’t need to worry about making their lunch and going over what he wanted the elf to say to Madame Pomfrey one more time.
Ron was impressed. Harry must have read his copy of the book, Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches, he’d bought Harry for his birthday cover to cover, he decided. If he hadn’t, he sure was a fast learner. Even Hermione looked like she might melt in his arms. She looked like his mum did whenever Harry looked at her with those stupid eyes. It was a bit annoying, really.
Harry had brought down his journal and the rubber ball, but he really didn’t need either of them any longer. And Ron, throwing caution to the wind, decided to test the new peace in the house after they’d finished breakfast and Dobby had departed.
“Are you going to read the letters from Ginny?”
“No,” Harry answered quietly, glancing at his journal where he’d added the new letter to the back, joining the first. “I can’t, Ron.”
“Look, I know I asked you to stay away from her and all back in the summer, Harry, but you don’t have to do that anymore. I can see you miss her, and she’s clearly not giving up on you. She’s safe at Aunt Muriel’s now.”
“It’s more than that, Ron. I can’t…I just can’t. Not right now, maybe not at all anymore. I’ve got to finish this.”
“Then you should write back and tell her.”
“I did tell her,” he argued, sighing. “I told her not to come back. I don’t think I can say it again, okay? Even in a letter.”
“All right,” Ron relented, nodding his head, but frowning slightly. He decided to drop the matter. There was nothing to be gained by pushing harder.
That went all right, though, he reasoned. There weren’t any angry flare-ups from Harry. Maybe they’d turned a corner. Still, his eyes fell on Pigwidgeon who hooted happily once in greeting. Ron sighed. It looked like the feathery menace was theirs again for a while.
Talk then turned to Snape as the afternoon wore on. He and Hermione had discussed it some while Harry was recovering, but Harry was the one with the real answers.
“Harry? Can we…can we talk about the meeting with Snape?” Hermione asked tentatively.
Harry looked up at her, having been doodling in his journal again for the last several minutes. He set down his quill then and nodded.
“You said you believed Snape,” she began. “I do, too. I believe he was actually working for the Order. Well, for Dumbledore anyway, although I can’t explain some of the things he did… and certainly not what he did to you,” she went on quickly.“But what do you think is in those memories he gave you?”
Harry pulled the mokeskin pouch from around his neck. He’d put it on this morning for the first time since they left the dungeons. It contained a broken mirror shard, his broken wand pieces, a page of a letter from Harry’s mother to Sirius, the Snitch Dumbledore had given him in his will, the Marauder’s Map, and now a small glass vial of silvery memories. Opening it, he withdrew the memories and the Snitch, contemplating the objects a few moments before speaking.
“Snape said he wasn’t to give me the information until Vol—until Riddle started protecting Nagini,” he said, catching himself, causing Ron to nearly have a heart attack.
“I think it means that if he starts protecting the snake, then he’ll know we’re after his Horcruxes. Maybe Dumbledore believed that would mean we’re close since the snake would be the last one we’d be able to get, probably, before Tom himself. Dumbledore wanted me to know something important before I face him. But not before then.”
He went silent again, rolling the small golden ball in his fingers. It was the object he’d obsessed over for weeks in the tent, ever since their meeting with Luna’s lunatic father. Harry was sure Dumbledore had left him the resurrection stone inside it, but he couldn’t break the puzzle to open it, and now Dumbledore had dropped a new secret on them, Ron thought in dismay.
“Dumbledore’s played an awful dicey game here with his secrets,” Ron grumbled. “Why not tell you everything we needed to know? What’s with all these games? If Snape was telling the truth and Dumbledore was already dying, why not just spill it all? I’m beginning to think he’d gone totally barmy in the end.”
“I’ve been feeling like that myself,” Harry agreed, sighing in frustration. “I’ve got answers in the form of more riddles, and I don’t have a Pensieve. How am I supposed to view these memories? Dumbledore was the only one I knew who had one, and it’s not as if he left me that in his will. He died, expecting me, and maybe Snape, too, to carry on without giving us enough information to understand what we’re supposed to do. If Snape wasn’t trying to get information out of me for Tom, then he wanted it for himself. I can certainly understand the frustration of only knowing part of the damn story. Only half of the truth,” he said, the anger reappearing in his voice again. “It’s what sent me into the forest to meet him. To finally get some answers out of somebody. Instead, I have this.”
“Well, what do you think it is? What did he want you to know right before you go after You Know Who? I think it must be a spell or something to kill him, but Hermione doesn’t think so.”
“No, I don’t,” she admitted.
“I don’t either,” Harry agreed. “He never once tried to teach me any dueling techniques during our meetings, no advanced defense against the dark arts lessons. He always just told me that the power I had to beat him with was love, but somehow, I don’t think he meant for us to hug it out,” Harry said sarcastically.
Ron grinned at the absurdity of that image. He couldn’t help himself.
“Although, if it was a spell or something like that, if it was information, maybe, on how to kill him, he may not have wanted me to have it too soon in case Tom read my mind. Dumbledore knew I was crap at Occlumency.”
“But that really doesn’t make sense either. If he was worried that You Know Who would rummage around in your mind, then why tell you about the Horcruxes? If he found out we were searching for them, he’d just move them or make more, wouldn’t he?” Hermione asked.
“Well, if Dumbledore knew he was dying, he had to tell Harry about the Horcruxes,” Ron reasoned.
“That’s true,” she agreed.
“The memory is probably nothing more than the answer to this riddle,” Harry theorized, shaking the Snitch. “He probably gave me the Snitch and Snape the answer on how to open it. The timing is about right. I open at the close,” Harry mused. “If it means at the end, then it could be.”
“Yes, I suppose it could be,” Hermione conceded. “But if the resurrection stone truly is inside it, as you believe, what did Dumbledore think you’re supposed to do with it? If he really meant for you to combine the Hallows, why not just give it to you? Why wait until the close?” she asked. “And why didn’t he tell you about the Hallows when he told you about the Horcruxes?”
“Aaarrgg,” Harry growled. “I don’t know, do I? And it’s not as if I can bloody well go to Hogwarts and ask to borrow the Pensieve.” He glared at the vial in frustration. “Just walk right up the front steps and knock on the door,” he said with a derisive snort.
Ron smiled again at the new scene forming in his mind. Hullo, he thought, mind if we come in?
“Hermione, can you put an unbreakable charm on this?” Harry asked her, holding the vial of memories out to her.
“Yes, of course.” Pulling out her wand, she took it from him.
“I have no choice except to hold onto that and keep it safe until I can find a way to view it,” he told them with a sigh.
Hermione performed the spell, and the vial went briefly opaque before returning to normal. Then she handed it back to Harry. Replacing it and the Snitch back into his mokeskin pouch, he relaxed back against the couch.
They skipped lunch and had an early dinner instead, choosing to actually make their way down to the kitchen and eat there for the first time since they arrived. And when they headed to bed that night, Harry really did take the middle. It was a bit tense when they’d all lain down to sleep. He and Hermione had waited for Harry to crawl into bed first, to see where he would sleep before sliding into bed beside him, like bookends.
Ron lay on his back with one arm under his head and his leg hanging off the side. He was scooted to the very edge of the mattress so that he wasn’t pressed up against Harry. Harry, too, seemed to be trying to take up the least amount of space possible.
This was nuts. Ron tried to force himself to sleep, but he kept thinking about their meeting with Snape and about the contents of the vial of memories. Both Harry and Hermione believed Snape was really working for Dumbledore, but Ron still wasn’t sure. He hated the man. He didn’t think Snape had ever done anything that wasn’t self-serving.
Snape was cruel and nasty, and he enjoyed it. Ron knew it. He knew Snape enjoyed what he did to Harry, at the very least.   Ron could see it in his black eyes while he stood next to him, close enough to touch the greasy bastard if he’d stretched out his arm. If Harry and Hermione would have stood as close to Snape as he had, he bet they wouldn’t be so sure, either.
That’s what was probably in those memories he gave Harry, he suddenly decided, nearly sitting up on the bed. Snape’s own memory of what he did to Harry. He was probably tossing off somewhere right now at the idea of Harry viewing his memory of it, letting Harry see how much he enjoyed it, and fantasizing about doing it to him all over again.
Ron’s blood was boiling at the thought, seething with anger at the image that was now burned into his brain of what that bastard had forced Harry to do to him. There was no way he could have, no way Ron would have let Snape stick his cock in his mouth, unless it was to bite it clean off. The idea of it made him feel sick.
Then he remembered how Snape had gotten Harry to do it, remembered that he’d threatened to do it to Hermione. The rage that came over Ron then was like a red film covering his eyes. He was actually panting, trying not to growl into the darkness as his hands and jaw clenched.   He could feel his chest tightening, suppressing the roar of hatred that wanted to burst out of him.
Harry may not have been able to kill Snape in cold blood, but Ron didn’t have the same misgivings, the same compunction. If he ever had the chance, if he ever saw the fucking pervert’s greasy head again, he’d kill him without hesitation, but not before cutting off Snape’s dick and shoving it into his own mouth first, he thought savagely.
That would be justice, he thought with satisfaction. That would be the retribution Snape deserved. Unclenching his hands at that image of Snape getting his due, Ron forced himself to relax back onto the bed.
Then with a jolt, he remembered that Bellatrix had wanted to force Harry to do that to him after she’d made him rape Hermione. She’d said she was going to make Harry show him what Snape had taught him.
Ron lay there in shock at the realization. He hadn’t remembered her words until just now. He’d still been reeling at what Harry had done to Hermione. Then right after that, all hell broke loose. He was under the Cruciatus again, screaming in agony; so that what came between was just now filtering back into his brain.
A new picture came to his mind then, and he shuddered with fresh revulsion. Revulsion with himself, though, because it didn’t make his skin crawl like it should have. He actually wondered what it would be like, and then burned with shame at his ruminations.
Would Harry have done it, he wondered? Of course, he already knew the answer. He would, Ron knew with certainty, if it delayed Bellatrix killing them. But would he have actually gotten hard from it? Could he have come if Harry had done that to him? Did it make him a pervert for wondering? Did it make him as bad as the Death Eaters? As bad as Snape?
Ron lay there a very long time, until Harry and Hermione had both fallen asleep, until Harry turned over and curled up on his side, facing Hermione. He lay there despising Snape and Bellatrix even more for making him think these thoughts, for putting these images in his head.
He didn’t know how he’d managed to empty his brain of the vivid images of Harry and Snape in the dungeons with Lucius and Avery watching. Images of Harry kneeling in front of him, then instead, while he stood chained to the wall, with their own audience of jeering Death Eaters. And then of himself killing Snape with his bare hands, all swirling around in his mind.
Eventually he did, but it wasn’t until the very early hours of morning. And when he finally slept, it was fitfully, trying even harder not to touch Harry.

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What it comes down to

Chapter 21. Riddles and Secrets