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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
- 28
- 29
- 30
Chapter 29. At the Seashore

Ron appeared in front of Florean Fortescue’s old Ice Cream Parlor, figuring it to be as safe a place as any to Apparate into Diagon Alley now that the store was boarded up. He wasn’t likely to land right on top of some poor soul doing their shopping here. It had stopped serving patrons ice cream over a year ago when its owner went missing and was now presumed dead.
He need not have worried. Ron could have Apparated almost anywhere in Diagon Alley and not disturbed anyone. The place was practically empty. Counting on one hand the number of wizards he saw in the streets, Ron noticed they all had their heads down, going quickly about their business, not lingering to chat. In fact, they appeared to be trying to not be noticed at all.
Things had certainly changed, he thought sadly as he stood stock still under the invisibility cloak, gripping his wand tightly. He waited, looking around cautiously to see if anyone had heard the telltale pop of Apparition and might now be attempting to locate the source. Straining his ears, he listened for the sound of their approach while his eyes travelled over the familiar shops, inside store windows, and into the shadowy places between the buildings. Ron squinted, his eyes searching the dark spaces around him, fearful of what or who they might be concealing.
Glancing up warily, he watched swollen storm clouds roll overhead against a mournful, iron-grey sky. The wind moaned a lament, its cold breath swirling around him, penetrating through the layers of fabric to whisper warnings of this unfriendly place into his ears and against his skin.
Diagon Alley was no longer the popular wizarding destination it had been in the days before You Know Who’s return. Ron remembered looking forward to the family’s annual shopping trips before starting term. He’d spent many happy hours here, ogling the latest wares in Quality Quidditch Supplies or mysterious items that caught his fancy in one of the vendors’ carts lining the alley. He’d sat dozens of times in front of Fortescue’s place, having an ice cream with his friends while Hogwarts classmates stopped by to discuss the perennial question of who would be their new DADA professor. Now he stood alone on an almost deserted street.
Worst of all was the twin’s joke shop, which had felt the last bastion of hope, like a beacon of light against the encroaching darkness on their last visit. But it, too, had finally succumbed. Taking with it what remained of the color from this place. Now there was litter in the streets and ragged people sleeping huddled in doorways. No longer were there happy families enjoying an afternoon outing on a warm summer’s day, no cheerful Hogwarts students off to buy their first wand or their new school books.
He wished like hell for the simple worries of those years, when his biggest concern was running into Draco Malfoy and his cronies, Crabbe and Goyle, in the corner of some empty shop or down a deserted side street. Fearing only pain and humiliation at the hands of his Slytherin tormentors, Ron had been incapable of understanding the true evil of which people were capable. He’d merely been afraid back then of getting hexed or having his nose bloodied, of being teased for being poor and ridiculed about his hand-me-downs. The idea of anything worse, of anything more sinister truly happening to him, had been beyond his comprehension.
To only be that naïve again, to have the same feeling of invulnerability that came with youth before he’d come face to face with the real brutality of the world, before he’d learned how quickly death could come for him or someone he loved from one misstep, one tiny mistake or relaxing of his guard.
Ron couldn’t even remember what it felt like not to live with the constant weight of fear on his chest anymore. Fear for himself, but even more so for Hermione and Harry or for his family. The terror was so omnipresent at times that he felt as if he were suffocating under its tremendous pressure. God, he felt old right now, like he’d been on this planet a hundred years instead of the mere eighteen he’d been lucky enough to survive.
Shivering against the whipping wind, he tucked the cloak around himself, trying to shake off the pall of fear and despair that clung stubbornly to him because of the depressed thoughts which had gripped him so unexpectedly at the sight of this place.
Ron was careful to ensure he was completely covered before making his way slowly towards Gringotts so that his footsteps wouldn’t echo on the nearly deserted cobbled street, fearing the sound might be carried to unfriendly ears. Still, he needed to hurry to the bank before the rain that was threatening began to fall. He’d never really gotten the hang of that Impervious spell, and the cloak wouldn’t hide him well if it were soaking wet. It was too much to hope that the goblins wouldn’t notice a giant puddle being streaked across their marble floors while he tried to have a look around the bank’s interior.
As he walked, he saw Harry’s face plastered in every shop window he passed. Dozens of pairs of those captivating eyes blinked slowly at him from behind the wire frames of his glasses. The flash from the photographer’s camera reflected briefly off the lenses, making Harry’s pupils contract at the sudden blinding light. Undesirable Number One was printed in large letters under each black and white photograph. It was a face that had lost its own youthful innocence long ago to the ravages of this war; indeed, before most believed or would admit it had even started.
The weary image that stared out at him seemed lost, in shock. The picture was taken at the Ministry right after Sirius had been murdered, after their first disastrous encounter with Bellatrix. Ron supposed they didn’t have a more recent one they could use for the posters because Harry had taken great pains to steer clear of reporters anytime he’d had to make a public appearance, most recently, when giving testimony against Snape last summer at the Ministry.
His friend had changed a lot since that image was taken, and not just physically. Yet he was the same, too, still totally recognizable; still undeniably The Boy Who Lived.
The snowy white building finally came into view, towering majestically over Ron as he approached, but he wasn’t admiring its beauty today. Instead, his eyes narrowed as he gripped his wand and carefully studied the three men standing at the front entrance. There was a bored looking wizard on either side of the great bronze doors. Another man stood between them, carrying a large stack of rolled parchments.
As he drew closer, Ron could see that the first two men were both holding long thin metal instruments which he immediately recognized as Probity Probes, having become intimately familiar with them at Hogwarts at the hands of an overenthusiastic Filch, the Caretaker. They were waving the golden rods over the third man, who was arguing, though Ron wasn’t close enough to make out the words. He was clearly put out, however, protesting at having his business with the bank delayed, for being held up and searched so thoroughly.
Ron mouthed a stream of silent curses. Even under the cloak, he wouldn’t be able to get past the guards without being detected, not with those secrecy sensors. He ventured as close as he dared, close enough to see the silver inner doors and the inscription upon them, but not the lobby beyond.
Shit! It was going to be hard as hell to get into Bellatrix’s vault if they couldn’t even make it past the front doors. What the hell was he going to do? If he got caught, it would be a catastrophe. He was completely on his own here and now seriously second-guessing that brilliant strategy. None of them had anticipated this obstacle.
The guards had finally tired of harassing the bank patron, who was still giving them a piece of his mind as he adjusted the load in his arms. He pushed past them and disappeared through the doors. The guards smirked at his retreating back and then went back to looking bored again while they awaited their next victim.
Discouraged, Ron stood there, trying to come up with a solution before finally deciding to walk the perimeter of the building in the hope of finding another entrance or weak spot. He was out of luck, however. He found nothing. The only way in or out of the bank, it appeared, was through those guards and the front doors. Frustrated, he finally gave up and Disapparated back to Grimmauld Place to deliver the disappointing news.
It had been less than an hour since he left when he appeared again in the foyer. Yanking the invisibility cloak off angrily and balling it under his arm, Ron marched upstairs. He gave a startled yelp of surprise when he nearly smashed heads with Harry who’d hurtled headlong into the hall from the bathroom as he was stalking past. Ron grabbed him by the elbows to keep them both from landing on their backsides.
As if Ron’s touch burned, Harry jerked out of his grip almost immediately and staggered backwards, his eyes round with fear or surprise.
“Whoa…slow down, Harry. Where are you headed so fast?”
Flustered, Harry righted himself before looking Ron quickly up and down.
“I heard something, and I was just coming…What are you doing here?” he demanded. “Why are you back already? What happened?”
Crossing his arms at his chest, as if he were an angry father catching his wayward teen out past curfew, Harry waited impatiently for answers.
“It’s a no-go,” Ron replied, his shoulders slumping with the admission of his defeat as he turned. “Couldn’t even get past the front doors.”
“What? Why not?” Harry asked, following Ron as he headed for the drawing room.
Tossing the cloak into the nearest chair, Ron threw himself onto the couch as he explained the situation at the bank.
“Damn it. We’re going to have to find a way around that, obviously. We have to be able to get a look inside the bank, Ron.”
“Yeah, I know. A Confundus charm, maybe,” Ron suggested. “Or some kind of diversion. I don’t know. Maybe we can break in at night if they’re off duty, unless you’re thinking we should just bypass them altogether and tunnel our way into the vaults, or something.”
Smirking, he glanced up at Harry for his response.
“Hey, you’re bleeding,” he blurted instead.
Getting suddenly to his feet again, he started back towards Harry.
“What?” Harry asked, startled.
He immediately looked down at his arm where blood was being wicked into the cotton fibers of his shirt, causing a small red stain to bloom in the gathered fabric at the bend of his elbow.
“Oh, it’s nothing,” he began dismissively, folding his arms again and covering the spot with his hand. “I scratched myself earlier. It must have just started up bleeding again when you grabbed me.”
He took a step backwards when Ron reached out for his arm to examine it.
“How did you scratch yourself there?”
“I don’t know, I just did,” he replied with a shrug. “It’s no big deal. It’s just a stupid scratch, like I said.”
Stepping past Ron, who was still standing in front of him with his arm outstretched, Harry took a seat in one of the chairs.
“So, these guards,” he continued, steering them back on topic and away from further discussion about the injury to his arm, “were they Death Eaters?”
“I…I don’t know,” Ron answered, surprised by the question, the thought having never occurred to him.
He felt suddenly stupid for not paying close enough attention to them, for not doing his job thoroughly enough.
“I didn’t recognize them if they were.”
Pausing, he tried to bring them into clearer focus in his mind, to remember the details of their faces as he slowly sank back onto the couch.
“They certainly weren’t any of the ones who’d been at the Malfoy’s, Harry, or I promise you, they’d be dead right now.”
Searching his eyes, Harry absorbed his pronouncement a moment before nodding his head once in silent acknowledgement.
“Well, they might still be Death Eaters, or Ministry workers, which are pretty much the same thing, or they could just be a couple of bank wizards. Whoever they are, we’ll have to draw them away somehow. Maybe we could use a Decoy Detonator or something. I suppose it’s too much to hope that they’d take their lunch together and leave their posts for an hour or so while we have a look around.”
“Not likely, mate.”
“Yeah. Well, I’m guessing security is probably even tighter at night, so going then isn’t really an option either. I guess we could try a Confundus charm on them,” Harry said thoughtfully, chewing on his thumb nail as he spoke.
One leg bobbed up and down energetically while he considered Ron’s suggestions, working his way through the more reasoned ideas and weighing their options.
“We should check with Fred and George first, though, and see if Gringotts might have purchased any of their shield cloaks. The last thing we want is to have a spell rebound back at us unexpectedly and give the game away.”
“Good idea. I hadn’t thought of that. What’s betting they did? It’d be just like that darkness powder they sold to Malfoy that came back to bite us in the arse. I still haven’t forgiven them for that. The stupid gits,” Ron said, scowling.
Then he sat up, pointing at Harry.
“Actually, you know, Bill might know something about that. We’ll ask him first. When do you want—”
He broke off. Harry’s face had already gone hard, his body going still a moment before Ron heard the fearful sounds and frantic footfalls of Hermione coming down the hall. He turned towards the doorway in time to catch her stumbling around the corner into the room. She drew up short at seeing them sitting there together, her eyes brimming with tears.
“Oh,” she gasped; the sound somewhere between relief and surprise.
Her hair was a wild mess, her face still lined from sleep as Ron watched the color rising in her cheeks.
Hermione must have leapt out of bed as soon as she woke up, and finding Harry’s room vacant, had gone on a frantic search of the house to locate him just as Ron had done earlier. Clutching a wand at her side as if she meant to stun Harry if she’d spotted him fleeing, she stood immobile in the doorway, fidgeting nervously with the hem of the t-shirt she’d slept in. Apparently unable to decide what to do now that she’d unexpectedly found him alive and well and sitting in the drawing room, she simply stared at Harry.
“Give me back my wand, Witch,” Harry growled in greeting.
Flinching at the anger in his voice, Hermione bit down on her lip while Ron’s eyes went wide. Stunned by the instant change in Harry’s demeanor, at the renewed hostility in his voice and his gaze, he sat frozen himself, caught off guard.
He’d been met with that same attitude this morning so he really shouldn’t have been surprised. But Harry had thawed since then, relaxing some at least as they discussed Gringotts so it felt like his anger had just erupted out of nowhere.
They’d been having a completely normal conversation, just now, like hundreds they’d had before things had gone sideways between them. Still in the midst of relative calm after their morning blow up, Ron had felt relaxed, optimistic even that they were on the verge of possibly reconciling. Harry, too, had looked fairly at ease as they sat talking. There was no real tension between them, sexual or otherwise, until Hermione’s appearance shattered the all’s-well-again illusion Ron had been happily enjoying. The suddenness of Harry’s temper left Ron unsure what to do.
Harry and Hermione stared unblinkingly at one other, Harry with murder in his eyes and Hermione’s still watery and full of regret. Then, without a word, she stepped forward, unwisely Ron thought, into what he would have told here was enemy territory if she’d bothered to ask. But he may as well have not even been in the room as they focused exclusively on one another and ignored his presence entirely.
That was fine. He was planning on being Switzerland over here anyway. There was no way he was messing up the tentative truce he’d just established with Harry. She could handle herself, especially in a war of words, which was the most he hoped this would come to.
Walking slowly, with as much dignity as she could, Hermione moved towards Harry whose gaze faltered at her approach, as if it suddenly dawned on him how formidable she truly was. Leaning back in his chair slightly when she stopped directly in front of him, he appeared nervous now despite his previous bravado, worried perhaps, she might slap him stupid again if he uttered another angry word.
The evidence of her previous attack still showed on his face, though it had faded considerably in the days since Ron had started all this chaos between them. What was left was only barely noticeable today, just a yellowish brown shading under his eye along the cheekbone. Still, Ron was certain that the sting of her palm wasn’t something Harry was likely to forget, even after the visible reminder was gone.
As if mindful of being perceived as a threat, Hermione carefully held out Harry’s wand to him. She didn’t simply hand it over handle first, however, since that would have pointed the business end at her. The girl wasn’t stupid. Harry was pissed, and she wasn’t planning to deliver the weapon and give him a head start on hexing her if that was his intent. Instead, she opened her hand where it lay in her palm and presented it for him to retrieve.
Harry looked up at her suspiciously as though afraid she might try and snatch it away again if he attempted to reach for it. He, too, moved with slow deliberation to take it from her hand. The scene was completely bizarre to watch. It was as if both of them thought the other was one of Hagrid’s vicious pets. Like facing a Blast Ended Skrewt, fearing that any sudden movement might cause the other to attack.
Ron felt like he’d been abruptly thrown back several weeks in time as he watched the slow motion scene being played out in front of him. He was reminded of watching Hermione’s disastrous attempt to return Harry’s glasses to him after that first bath and then later on the couch when she’d cautiously removed them again so he could sleep.
What the hell could she have done to return Harry to that fearful state? What really happened last night after he’d fallen asleep? Ron seriously needed Hermione’s side of the story.
In his anger this morning, Harry had first implied that that the two of them had been intimate. Then he switched tactics and accused her of all out assaulting him. Ron had been sure Harry was blowing it out of proportion, trying to provoke a fight with him, and he’d refused to take the bait. But he obviously hadn’t understood the severity of what went on or the rift it had caused. Whatever happened had clearly left a profound mark on them both.
God, it looked like they were really fucking things up with Harry. They needed to reverse this, Ron realized, and fast.
“I know I shouldn’t have taken it. I knew you’d be angry with me, but I had to, Harry. After what happened…I just had to. You were in no fit state to leave, and I needed to make sure you wouldn’t.”
“And whose fault was that? Who put me in that state? I sure as hell didn’t want you there. I begged you to leave, but you wouldn’t. You never should have come,” Harry snarled.
Hermione nodded her head in agreement. She looked miserable.
“I know.”
“Why did you have to do that? Why couldn’t you just let me be? You made everything worse.”
“You don’t know how sorry I am for what happened.”
“Yeah, sure you are. You’re sorry, but then you thought you’d just nick my wand as insurance? Worried I might’ve seen through your damn lies?”
Harry glared at her, his jaw clenching. Anger had turned his face red, and his nostrils flared.
She was shaking her head in denial, her hands held out in a supplicating gesture.
“I don’t know how to make you believe me, Harry. I was afraid. I didn’t know what else to do.”
“Why didn’t you just drug me again, huh? You’re good at that. Or you could’ve talked Dobby into doing it for you again, I’m sure, had him slip it into my tea at dinner or something to keep me here. Hell, we all would have slept better, and as a bonus, I might not have even realized anything was up,” Harry suggested snidely, his voice saturated with sarcasm. “It would have saved you a lot of trips to my room last night if you had. I think I would’ve preferred that. Just file that away somewhere in that devious brain of yours for future reference the next time you plan to hold me hostage in my own house!”
“He wouldn’t have done it, even if it had occurred to me to ask. Which it didn’t,” she replied defensively. “Besides, it wouldn’t stop you forever.”
Hermione was fighting back a little for the first time as she stood her ground against Harry’s continued verbal assault.
“I meant to try and talk you out of leaving us, but I never planned to hold you hostage. I don’t want to keep you here against your will. I don’t want this to become another prison for you, Harry.”
She was shaking all over now as she tried desperately to plead her case.
“I want you to want to stay with us, but please understand. I couldn’t let you leave last night. Not like that.”
Hermione had finally lost the battle against the tears, and they began streaming unchecked down her face. For his part, Ron sat mutely on the couch, a silent spectator to the terrible fallout. He wanted to say something, to defend her, to diffuse this, but he had no words. His voice had apparently packed its bags and taken the Knight Bus out of town.
He realized now what Hermione felt like these last few days with the two of them having a go at each other every few hours, and it sucked. He and Harry had been at each other’s throats recently, but that hadn’t really bothered Ron. They’d been like that plenty of times before. The relationship between Harry and Hermione had been strong, however, until now. And that made Ron truly worried for the first time. Maybe their friendship really was crumbling as Hermione feared. If so, he, Ron, was to blame.
“Whatever the consequences I knew I’d be facing today, Harry, I couldn’t let it be all my fault. Your…your anger I can endure, but knowing I was the person that drove you away? I could never have lived with that.”
Her voice was wavering, and she took a deep breath, holding it, trying to get control of herself before all out sobbing threatened to reduce her to incoherent blubbering.
“Maybe after last night the damage is already irrevocable, but despite what it appears, I’m trying to repair things with us. That was all I was ever trying to do last night. I hope you can forgive me.”
She wiped at her eyes and then turned away from him without waiting for his reply. Head bowed, she headed back out of the room.
“I’m going to get dressed,” she mumbled to Ron as she passed, acknowledging him for the first time. Then she left, leaving Harry and him to stare after her.
A heavy silence hung in the air between them in the wake of her departure. Ron scratched nervously at the back of his neck before clearing his throat.
“You were a bit harsh, don’t you think? She said she was sorry.”
“Bullshit! She’s just sorry she got caught,” Harry snapped back. “I bet she’d planned to replace the wand this morning before I woke up, hoping I’d be none the wiser.”
“Harry, that’s not really fair—”
“I think I’m going back to bed,” Harry announced, interrupting Ron and getting wearily to his feet.
The anger in his face had dissolved, and he looked miserable now, too, as miserable as Hermione had been, as miserable as Ron felt.
“I got hardly any sleep last night. Maybe we can go to Bill’s after lunch or something.”
“Yeah, okay. Look, are you all right?” Ron asked.
Harry nodded and then sighed.
“Yeah, I’m just tired and making a mess of things, as usual. This day started out like shit, and it keeps getting worse. I’m making it worse. Maybe if I can get some rest and start over again, I’ll be less of an arsehole.”
He rubbed at the bridge of his nose as if a headache was forming between his eyes, and Ron resisted the urge to ask once more if he was feeling all right.
He did look exhausted, and he was all over the place this morning, going from normal to irate in the span between heartbeats and then collapsing into regret as soon as Hermione had left. Ron sincerely hoped a nap would help him relax.   Harry was wound up tight, and his little display of wandless magic this morning reminded Ron of how dangerous that could be.
“I was a bit mental last night. I don’t blame her for wanting to stop me doing something stupid. You’re both trying to control me, though, trying to protect me, like I’m a child or something. It’s driving me mad. I need to be able to trust you and her, Ron. I need you to trust me.”
“It’s not that we don’t trust you, or think you’re a child,” Ron argued. “We’re just trying to help you.”
“I know. You have helped me. Both of you stayed with me when you shouldn’t have, and I wouldn’t be here without you two. I’m grateful. I can’t tell you how much, but I need friends right now, not guardians.”
“We are your friends Harry, and we just want the chance to stay, to finish this with you. I know we’re doing everything wrong, but don’t give up on us. Okay? We’re trying.”
“I know you are.”
Harry closed his eyes.
“I just need some space right now,” he began again and then went silent, glancing at the door as if expecting Hermione to march back in suddenly.
His shoulders sagged after a minute, and Ron heard the faint click of a door farther down the hallway.
“Damn it. I hate to see her cry. Tell her…tell her I’m sorry, too, would you?”
“Okay,” Ron agreed, nodding. “I’ll tell her that you want to apologize to her later.”
Ron didn’t mind giving her the message, but Harry needed to tell her that he was sorry himself if they were truly going to fix this. He knew from experience that trying to use a go-between only mucked things up worse. Forgiveness could only be asked for and accepted in person.
“Yeah, you’re right. I should…I will. Later, I promise.”
Pocketing his wand, Harry headed for the door.
“You could hear her, couldn’t you?” Ron asked then out of curiosity. “Both times, long before I did.”
Harry stopped.
“Yes, I suppose.”
“What…what’s that like?” he asked hesitantly, but then wished he’d kept his mouth shut and let him leave as Harry turned back to him.
Harry studied him before responding.
“I feel completely raw. I can hear everything. I can smell everything. Plus there’s apparently no fucking filter on my emotions. I’m constantly irritable and aggressive, and I can’t get a handle on it. It’s making me bat shit crazy.”
“Blimey, Harry. Remus didn’t make it sound like it would be that bad.”
“Yeah, well. Bill and Lupin aren’t the head cases I am, but it’ll pass soon. At least I hope so.”
“Why don’t you close your door then, so you can sleep? Maybe stuff a pillow under it and toss on a silencing charm or something, too, if it will help. Only…don’t lock it, okay? Hermione and I will try not to disturb you, but don’t lock us out. It freaks me out.”
Looking exasperated, as if his earlier pleas had fallen on deaf ears, Harry stared at Ron. Clenching his jaw, he pressed his lips together in a thin line, caging his tongue behind his teeth as he tried to hold back the fresh diatribe Ron knew he longed to throw at him.
“Look, I’m asking, all right? I promise not to come barreling in there to check you’re all right every time you fart in your sleep or something, but meet me halfway here, okay?”
“Fine. I guess I can do that,” Harry finally agreed.
“Thanks, mate.”
“Sure, whatever…but I don’t fart in my sleep.”
“If you say so,” Ron replied with a shrug of his shoulders.
Snorting, Harry shook his head, and Ron grinned at him.
“Get some rest, git, and maybe Hermione will have a clever idea to get us into Gringotts by the time you wake up.”
Harry raised his hand in response as he rounded the doorway, and Ron was left alone. Then the smile slowly slid from his face, and he laid his head back against the couch to stare up at the ceiling. He still felt unsettled by Harry’s volatility and was relieved to have gotten through that round without digging the hole any deeper.
Harry had a point. They had been acting like his parents, trying to tell him what he could and couldn’t do, restricting his movements, dictating his actions. It was out of fear, though, out of a need to protect him. It wasn’t that he didn’t think Harry was capable. Of course he was, and Ron knew that better than most. But Harry had no idea how much it had affected him and Hermione to be forced to sit back, powerless, as the Death Eaters tortured him. He didn’t know how agonizing it was to witness his slow painful recovery. He couldn’t understand how strong their feelings for him had become after having come so close to losing him.
Physically Harry may have been healthy again, but mentally, he’d barely even begun to heal. He just continued to push forward, trying to outrun it. And Ron only wanted to keep him from running headlong back into it. Trying to rein in that protectiveness was going to be damn near impossible.
Harry needed them. He’d been suffering while Ron and Hermione watched helplessly. Ron could see it in the depths of his gaze as Harry stared up at him in confusion on Sirius’ bed that day they’d found him unresponsive in the shower. So he’d done the only thing that made sense to him. His own emotions were completely jumbled up, but it didn’t stop him, and it had felt right at the time. It turned out to be a huge mistake, though. He never anticipated this kind of damage from his actions, never thought it might cost him Harry’s friendship. Part of him wished he could take it back, but another part thought he could fix it if he could just try again, if they could take it more slowly.
Ron didn’t want to miss out on Harry. He didn’t want Harry to miss out on them. They could be brilliant. They could get through all of this together. Ron was sure of it, he was desperate for it, but he couldn’t force Harry into it, couldn’t make him accept what Ron knew he craved, too.
Harry could deny it all he wanted, but Ron knew it was a lie. What happened between them wasn’t one sided. Harry wanted them as much as they wanted him.
Ron understood that this was awkward, for all of them. It had been awkward for him and Hermione, too, at first. You didn’t just embark on a romantic relationship with someone whose been your best friend since the age of eleven, much less with both of your best friends without a few bumps, especially when one of them was the same gender as you and neither of you had ever had any leanings towards that kind of thing before. This was special, though. Hermione and Harry were special, or maybe their circumstances were.
Ron didn’t feel this way about men in general; only Harry. If someone had asked him six months ago if he ever thought about Harry in a sexual way, he probably would have beaten the hell out of them. But a lot had changed in the last six months, in the last six weeks really.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” he replied, startled out of his musing.
He hadn’t heard Hermione come back in, and he sat up quickly.
“Where’s Harry?”
“He went back to bed. I don’t think he’s feeling well, but he says he’s just tired.”
“Oh. All right.”
“He also wanted me to tell you he was sorry for the things he said.”
She nodded, biting her lip, but continued to stand in the doorway, still looking totally miserable.
“Come here,” he said, patting the cushion beside him.
Coming to sit down next to him with her feet tucked under her, Hermione laid her head against his chest, and he placed his arm around her shoulder. They sat quietly for a few minutes while he stroked her neck with his thumb and straightened locks of her curls between his fingers only to have them bounce back when he released them.
“Is there something you need to tell me?” he prompted finally when she remained silent.
Then he started to chuckle. It probably wasn’t the time, but he couldn’t help it. Everything felt suddenly so ridiculous, so amusingly absurd to him.
“Why are you laughing?” she asked, lifting her head to stare at him apprehensively as if worried he’d gone mad.
“What else can I do? I need to relieve some of this tension. It’s that, or start crying. I mean, good lord! Could we possibly muck this up any worse than we have?”
“I don’t know how.”
She sat up then fully to look at him.
“Ron, I’m sorry—”
He kissed her lightly, briefly and then pressed his finger to her lips.
“Come on. Let’s go get you some breakfast. Then you can tell me your version of what happened with him last night, and I’ll tell you about my morning with him, and my visit to Gringotts.”
“I’m not really hungry.”
“Yes, you are,” he argued, getting to his feet and pulling her up with him. “We need some food to have the energy to face whatever mood Harry’s going to be in when he wakes up. And if you clean your plate, maybe I’ll tell you about the wandless magic he did this morning.”
“The what?”
“Yeah,” he explained as they descended the stairs. “Just a little bit. It freaked him out, though, and he wouldn’t try it again when I asked. He’s either growing more powerful, starting to control it, or more dangerous.”
Despite her protests, she filled her plate with generous helpings of toast and bacon and a couple of poached eggs Dobby had whipped up for her. As they ate, they mostly discussed Harry. But when didn’t they talk about Harry? He was their focus, and not just since they arrived here at Grimmauld Place. He’d always been the center of their lives since first meeting him.
Hermione told him about her nocturnal visit with Harry, the things they’d discussed, what it escalated into, and Harry’s reaction to it. She talked a lot about her theory that Harry had post traumatic stress disorder, having to explain it to him first, of course. And by the end of their meal, she’d decided to go to a library in Muggle London for some books on the subject to better understand how to help him, insisting on going while Harry was asleep.
The idea would have amused Ron under normal circumstances. Running to the library for help was just such a Hermione thing to do, but right now, the plan terrified him. Endangering herself for what he thought was an unnecessary trip, to obtain a book of Muggle remedies for a condition she, herself, had diagnosed him with seemed foolish and pointless.
Of course, she ignored him completely. Undeterred by his lack of enthusiasm, she dismissed his arguments with a wave of her hand and a determined look, which left Ron with the option of staying here to keep watch on Harry or following her into London to keep watch on her.
In the end, he decided to go with Hermione, figuring if he was going to try and start this trust thing with Harry, it may as well begin now. Besides, if he had his way, they’d be back before Harry even knew they were gone with the added bonus of shortening her time in the library. If he left Hermione to her own devices, she’d likely be gone all afternoon, which would cause him to go mad with worry.
Before departing, they left Dobby with instructions to inform Harry where they were if he happened to wake while they were gone.
They appeared in a wooded area the middle of St. James Square. Hermione led him by the hand down a paved garden path before he’d even had time to orient himself. At the edge of the trees, she stopped and glanced around quickly before pulling off the cloak that was concealing them and stepping into the street.
Walking briskly, Hermione still gripping his hand, she continued to lead him in silence while he craned his head around to stare at the buildings that surrounded the park on all sides and at the Muggles they passed. His wand was concealed up his sleeve, but at the ready in case they were attacked.
The London Library was tucked into the very corner of the rows of unassuming buildings that surrounded the square. It looked almost like a residence, indistinguishable from its neighbors except for the name embossed in gold lettering over the door.
As soon as they stepped inside, the noise from the streets was silenced, even though there were a fair number of people within its surprisingly spacious interior. It smelled like parchment and wood polish with a musty scent Ron always associated with the dusty tomes of the Hogwarts library or Dumbledore’s office on his brief visits to the Headmaster. The floor was carpeted in deep burgundy, the tables and walls paneled in rich cherry with high coffered ceilings supported by ionic Greek columns and wrought iron staircases that led to catwalks above. The walls were lined with books from floor to ceiling two stories high, more books than he’d seen in his entire life. More than Hogwarts and Flourish and Blotts contained combined.
It was clear that Hermione had been here before, many times as she walked with purpose to a counter to confer with who Ron presumed was the librarian. It took her only moments to be directed to an area of the library where books on the subject she was researching were housed.
“I’ve been coming here for ages. My parents have been members since before I was born,” she informed him in a whisper as they walked up staircases and around corners, past rows and rows of books in narrow aisles while Ron continued to stare around the place. Watching the other visitors to the library, he checked to see if any of them were paying Hermione or him any untoward interest, but no one was.
The place was starting to remind him in some ways of the Burrow, only much fancier of course, with rooms added on as the library expanded when its collection outgrew the space. Each new addition was a slightly different style, carpet giving way to wood, white painted walls changing over to green and wooden and wrought iron railings turning to a more modern steel and frosted glass.
It was something, he imagined, like the home he might have with Hermione some day if they could survive this war. A perfect blend of them both, though the walls of their home themselves would be constructed from the books she loved so much, he decided. Laid on their sides, stacked like bricks with their titles facing out and held in place with some kind of magical mortar so that she might always be surrounded by them, able to slide one out when she wanted to read it again. Replacing it and selecting another when she was done. The home expanding and growing as her collection grew or their family did like the Burrow, becoming a lexicon of their lives. He smiled as he pictured it, his fondness for this place growing on him the farther into its depths they went, and he began to relax, feeling safe finally.
“I wish we could’ve gone to the British Library, but it’s still not open,” she lamented. “I’ve been waiting for it to open for years, but it keeps getting delayed.”
“Only you would be disappointed that a library wasn’t open. Were you hoping to spend your summer holidays there or something?”
“It’s supposed to contain the largest number of items of any library in the world. Of course I planned to visit it.”
They came to a halt, finally arriving at their destination, and she bent down to read the titles on the lower shelves.
“How could you possibly need a place with more books than this?” he asked in disbelief, gesturing around, but she didn’t respond. Apparently, there was not such a thing in her world as too many books.
She perused the shelves, occasionally pulling out volumes to flip through the pages, replacing some while handing others to Ron. Working her way down the rows in silence, she continued to hand him her selections, until he was holding five or more large tomes. Then she looked back through the books he held one by one before she’d satisfied herself with her choices.
Walking over to a table, she drew her wand, looking around to ensure she wasn’t being watched, but there was no one in this corner of the library except the two of them.
“Set them down here,” she instructed.
“What are you doing?”
“Well, I’m not actually planning to check these out, am I? What if I can’t return them?”
“Um…”
The idea that she would be worried that she wouldn’t be able to return a library book on time seemed utterly absurd to him.
Tapping her wand against the first book, she silently cast a spell, and a duplicate of the book materialized beside it. She repeated the process on each one in turn until she had two identical stacks sitting side by side. Then she slid the copied books into her beaded bag.
“Now we’ll just return these to the shelves,” she told him, and they did, carefully replacing each book where they’d found it. Then they covered themselves with the cloak again and Disapparated.
Harry still wasn’t awake when they returned. Ron checked just to be sure. Silently turning the handle of his door that, true to his word, Harry had left unlocked, Ron peered quickly in at him before pulling it closed again and tiptoeing away.
Hermione helped him send a Patronus message to Bill later that morning to arrange the visit, and he responded, saying that he would be waiting for them at two o’clock. She spent the next few hours absorbed in the new books she’d acquired, occasionally reading sections out loud for him that she thought were important.
They had lunch and still Harry slept, until Ron was forced at one thirty to go in and wake him or be late to meet Bill.
“Harry,” he called softly.
Harry stirred on the bed, but did not open his eyes.
“Harry,” he called a bit louder, though cringing, afraid to startle him.
Opening his eyes, Harry blinked slowly.
“What?” he mumbled, yawning and trying to blink himself awake.
“It’s late, you missed lunch, and we told Bill we’d meet him in half an hour. I don’t mean to wake you, but we need to get going. I don’t want to make him wait.”
“All right,” Harry said, sitting up and stretching before sliding his glasses on.
Ron still wasn’t sure Harry was even aware of where he was yet. He’d slept fully clothed, and his shirt was all rumpled as he leaned down to pull on his trainers before getting unsteadily to his feet.
“Just let me just go to the loo first and splash some water on my face. Then we’ll go.”
“All right, no hurry. You should grab something quick to eat, too,” Ron suggested.
He stepped back to let Harry pass, and then followed him down the hall.
In twenty minutes they were all in the drawing room, still feeling awkward after uncomfortable apologies had been made and accepted. They gripped hands. Ron concentrated on the three D’s drilled into his head by Wilkie Twycross, hoping not to get anyone splinched. Focusing with determination on his destination, his mind imagining the place next to the sea shore with as much clarity as he could muster, he turned with deliberation, vanishing with Hermione and Harry.
He knew they’d arrived at the right spot before he even opened his eyes as the wind hit him in the face, carrying the briny scent of the ocean with it. It smelled of salt and seaweed, and more subtly of wet sand and rotting fish. The familiar smell should have reminded him of summer visits to his Aunt’s cottage. Instead, the salty tang of the air evoked memories of his abandonment of Hermione and Harry. It smelled like regret and shame to him now, bringing back the ache in his chest he’d felt for them during his brief stay here during Christmas while Hermione and Harry were off fighting for their lives in Godric’s Hollow without him.
Both Harry and Hermione had made the journey with him intact, he was relieved to see. They stared around, taking in their surroundings. Releasing his hand, Harry walked over to the cliff edge to gaze down at the water crashing against the rocks below.
“The cottage is this way,” Ron said, but the wind tore the words from his mouth, scattering them, making it difficult to hear anything else over the dull roar of it in his ears. It whipped their hair around wildly making it slap against their faces.
Harry turned back to them, and Ron motioned with his hand instead.
They headed up the sandy slope to where Ron knew the house stood, but he couldn’t see it as it was concealed under Bill’s Fidelius charm. He spotted Bill on a rocky outcrop, and they made their way towards him.
Bill had his wand drawn, as did the three of them, holding it down at his side as they approached. His eyes were squinted against the wind, though it was much less harsh here away from the shore, no longer tearing at their clothes.
“What did I tell you in the tree house when you were six years old that made you cry?” Bill asked him in lieu of a greeting.
Ron looked at Bill’s anxious face, and then started to grin.
“When I showed you my first loose tooth, you told me it was falling out because I was growing vampire fangs, and I believed you! You didn’t usually tease me, Bill.”
“Damn, it’s good to see you, brother!”
He gripped Ron in a bone crushing hug before releasing him to look him over.
“How are you? Are you all right?”
“Yeah, of course. Couldn’t be better, Bill, really.”
“Thank God for that! You three really had us worried this time.”
Bill reached for Hermione then, kissing her on the cheek.
“And you, luv?”
“I’m fine, Bill. It’s so nice to see you.”
Nodding, he then he looked to Harry, who’d been lurking behind them both.
“Harry. Welcome to Shell Cottage.”
As he spoke the words, sharing his secret with them, the cottage materialized behind him as if curtains painted to blend in perfectly with their surroundings had been pulled back to reveal the home he shared with Fleur.
Hermione let out a little gasp of surprise at the sight of the modest shell covered cottage now standing alone on the cliff top where a moment before, there was nothing but sky.
“Oh, Bill, it’s lovely!” she exclaimed.
“It belongs to our Aunt Muriel and was always my favorite place to visit as a child. Fleur and I love it here,” he explained, though he never took his eyes off of Harry as he spoke.
Bill held his hand out, and with only a moment’s hesitation, Harry took it, shaking hands with Ron’s eldest brother, who then clapped him on the shoulder.
“Where would we be without you, eh?”
“Safe, probably,” Harry deadpanned.
“Nonsense! They’re safer with you. Half the family would be dead if it weren’t for you. You saved their lives.”
He motioned with his hand to Ron and Hermione. Harry flinched at that.
“Yeah, but it’s my fault their lives always need saving.”
“Not one member of this family will ever regret the day Ron sat next to you on that train to Hogwarts, Harry. You’re a Weasley now, and we stick together.”
“Except for Percy,” Ron contradicted him.
“He’ll come round, Ron. Now come on. Fleur is dying to see you all.”
Turning, he held out his arm to Hermione, who took it with a smile, and they led the way past Ron to the house.
Fleur was indeed glad to see them, kissing them all on both cheeks, speaking in rapid French in her excitement as she ushered them into the house.
“I am so glad you are ‘ere! Bill and I almost never ‘ave visitors. Oh, but ze place is a mess.”
“Of course it isn’t. You’re home is lovely, Fleur,” Hermione assured her. “I just hope we aren’t intruding.”
“Ne soyez pas ridicule! You are always welcome ‘ere.”
“Yes,” Bill agreed. “And now that you have the secret, you can come whenever you want.”
“Thanks, Bill, but I don’t think we’ll be doing much visiting for a while longer.”
“No, I didn’t expect you would, but the offer still stands. Our home will always be open to you. Now, how about a tour of the place? It’s not much, but we’re proud of it.”
Bill led them on a short tour of the cottage while Fleur made tea. Ron went along, though he’d been coming here as long as he could remember and knew every nook and cranny. He’d even seen Bill and Fleur’s stamp on the place already, having occupied one of the small bedrooms for a short time just a few months back.
Fleur met up with them again in the walled garden out back where spring had arrived in all its glory. Ron could identify witch hazel, sweet violets, primrose, bleeding hearts and daffodils blooming alongside one another, filling the enclosed space and the air with their color and heady floral scents.
Harry walked over to a clump of large, pure white flowers, brushing the petals with the tips of his fingers.
“Ah, my very favorite. Ze fleur de lis,” Fleur informed them, setting down the tea service on the small patio table and coming to stand beside him.
“A lily. Ze flower of France. A gift from Maman so zat I would always feel at ‘ome ‘ere. Grown from a plant my Papa gave to ‘erze day I was born. It is magnifique, non?”
“Yes, it is,” Harry agreed.
“The most beautiful flower for his new flower,” Bill said then, and she turned, beaming at him.
“My aunt had a garden I helped tend growing up, but she never had lilies.”
“Zat is a shame.”
“I agree, but I don’t think she ever had a fondness for them.”
He turned his back on the plant then and walked away.
Soaking up the fresh air and sunshine that they’d been missing cooped up at Grimmauld Place for so long, they drank their tea in the garden, engaging in small talk and enjoying the last daylight hours before getting down to the real reason for their visit. Of course Bill knew they hadn’t just come for afternoon tea and pleasantries.
“So, what can I do for you three?” he asked when they’d returned to the sitting room, and Fleur left them to prepare dinner.
“We have some questions about Gringotts.” Ron explained. “Harry needs access to his vaults.”
“I see, and there’s a ten-thousand galleon price tag on your head, and every member of society searching for you. So strolling into the bank and announcing yourself isn’t the best idea right now.”
“Exactly,” Harry agreed with a nod. “And worse, I can’t find my key.”
“Blimey! Well, if it’s gold you need, Fleur and I would be happy to give you what we have.”
“No, no, it’s nothing like that. There’s something else stored in the vaults that I need desperately.”
“Yeah, thanks for the offer Bill, but what we really need is to know how to sneak in the place.”
“That’s no easy task, Ron. The goblins are pretty discrete and claim to be neutral, but there’s no telling where their loyalties truly lie in this war. You Know Who is campaigning pretty hard to get them on his side, and you’re going to need them to drive the cart and open the vault if you don’t have the key. My advice to you would be to look elsewhere for what you need or do without.”
“That’s not an option. Can we break in?” Harry asked.
“You’d be mad to try.”
“Well, we really don’t have much choice. I know the vaults have been broken into before. We need to know everything you can tell us about how to get around whatever defenses they have in place.”
“I see what you mean about always being the one that keeps getting them into dangerous situations, Harry.” Bill replied sharply.
“Bill!” Ron growled in warning.
Harry had gone a shade paler, but he didn’t look away from Bill. His face was set in stone, masking his thoughts.
“I didn’t ask them to come, believe me.”
Ron could have kicked his brother for saying that. The last thing any of them needed was someone else putting the idea into Harry’s head that they’d be better off if he left them behind.
“Harry isn’t getting into anything he doesn’t have to. We’re not just playing around here, Bill. We have to do this.”
“You barely made it out of the last one alive, Ron!” Bill replied angrily.
“And you didn’t come to save us!” Ron shouted back, suddenly furious at his brother, at everyone in the Order for abandoning them to the horrors of that dungeon. “No one did. We broke into the Ministry all on our own. We broke out of the Malfoy’s all on our own—”
“Because you won’t tell anyone in the Order what you’re doing. How do you expect us to be able to help you, if you won’t tell us what’s going on?”
Hermione had grabbed his hand and was trying to calm him. Ron had no idea where the sudden anger had come from or why he was lashing out at Bill for things that weren’t his fault, things that Ron didn’t even blame him for, really. Maybe Harry wasn’t the only one suffering from that trauma disorder thing Hermione had been on about all morning.
“God, Bill. I’m so sorry,” he apologized. “I completely lost my head. I don’t know what happened.”
“We’re all under a lot of stress,” Hermione explained, now stroking Ron’s arm while he got himself back under control.
Fleur cleared her throat then, having stepped into the room without anyone noticing. They all turned to look at her.
“Supper is ready,” she announced quietly.
“We’re telling you what we’re planning this time, Bill. As much as we can,” Harry said calmly into the silence. “So help us now. Just tell us how to get into the bank, please.”
“I competed against ‘Arry in ze tournament, Bill. I believe if anyone can do it, ‘e will be able.”
“Thank you, Fleur,” Harry said gratefully.
“I’m not doubting their abilities, luv, just their motives. What could possibly be so vital in that vault that you’d willingly risk your lives to acquire it?”
“I can’t tell you, Bill, but I swear I wouldn’t do it if it weren’t absolutely necessary.”
Bill rubbed his face and sighed.
“I’m sorry for what I said, Harry. I didn’t mean it, and Fleur is right. If anyone can, it’s you three, but there has to be an alternative. Tell me what it is you need, and we’ll work out another way to get it. I’ll do anything I can to help you.”
“I’m sorry, Bill, but we can’t,” Hermione apologized. “What we need is in the bank, and we have to get it. Can you help us?”
“I’ll tell you what I can,” Bill finally agreed. “But I don’t know how much help I’ll really be. I spent most of my time with the bank away from Gringotts, as a Cursebreaker. I only took a desk job once the war started.”
“Thank you, Bill. Anything at all will be greatly appreciated, and more than we know right now,” Hermione told him gratefully, getting to her feet.
Fleur had prepared poached salmon with new potatoes and a spinach salad for supper served with white wine and a spectacular view of the sunset from the dining room window while they quizzed Bill on everything he knew or suspected about Gringotts.
Ron watched Harry as they ate. He seemed normal mostly, unusually cool and calm since they arrived. The nap had obviously relaxed him or maybe it was just being out of the house and around other people instead of being trapped with just him and Hermione for weeks on end. Still, he kept wincing every once in a while, shifting in his seat, and his color was still off, too.
He’d been around Harry long enough to suspect what was up, but he didn’t want to call attention to it. Harry rubbed his face using his fingers to dig at his temples, and Ron shared a glance with Hermione. She, too, seemed to suspect that Harry was struggling to hide the fact that he had You Know Who’s thoughts in his brain.
Brilliant, he thought. That was just perfect.

~ . ~
- 28
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What it comes down to

Chapter 29. At the Seashore