Chapter Text
“I don’t know how he can sleep on a train,” Ron says, frowning at Harry on the seat across from them. He’s got his head tipped back against the wall, mouth hanging open with drool, glasses crooked and hair all askew. It doesn’t look comfortable, but Ron is just glad Harry’s finding sleep at all. The nightmares never stopped with him, and they hadn’t gotten any better since Dumbledore’s death.
Hermione looks up from her book, a dark, dusty thing that belongs in Borgin and Burkes. “At least he’s sleeping,” she says, mirroring his thoughts. He’s sitting sideways on the bench, one leg bent and the other stretched out on the floor. Hermione’s in her preferred reading position, legs tucked underneath her. For their last journey on the Hogwarts express, it feels simultaneously appropriate and devastating that they’re not closer. Or speaking much, really.
Only a few hours ago, Harry turned their whole world on its head again. He revealed his plan, which involved some horrible journey for horcruxes, but more importantly, not returning to Hogwarts. Ron was surprised for all of two seconds and then he was wondering just how stupid Harry was to think he could do all that on his own. He wouldn’t last two minutes without Hermione. And Ron… well, Ron was the sidekick. Where Harry went, Ron went.
Hermione already knew of course, as she knew everything. He wishes she’d told him, but forgiving Hermione was all too easy these days.
His thoughts flit between Dumbledore and plans for the future, Hermione in a dress for the wedding, and how he’d ever get out of going to Hogwarts, when Hermione breaks their silence.
“I have a plan,” she says quietly. Vaguely he realizes she hasn’t turned a page in a while.
“For… horcruxes?” He whispers the last part, even though they’re the only ones in their compartment.
“No,” she says simply. “My parents.”
Her parents. Ron isn’t expecting that. He gives himself a moment to work out what she’s saying, but the answer doesn’t come. “Your parents?”
“I need a way to protect them, while we’re gone. So if they’re… attacked, they won’t have any information on me.”
Ron nods. “Right. They can stay at the Burrow, if you want. They’ll be as safe there as they are anywhere and—”
“No, Ron. If there’s even a chance …” She trails off, and he recognizes the beginning signs of tears. “I have to obliviate them.”
This is perhaps more shocking than anything Harry has told him in the last twenty four hours. Obliviation isn’t a spell that’s used lightly, meant for muggles and trauma victims. And it certainly isn’t meant for Hermione’s parents.
“Are you barking?” It’s out before he can realize it was the wrong thing to say. Hermione instantly devolves into tears. “I mean—are you sure about this? There’s got to be another way.”
Harry starts to snore loudly, but they ignore him.
“I’ve racked my brain, Ron, and gone through every Muggle protection book I can find—there’s not a lot—and none of them cover anything like what we’re about to go through. I mean… it’ll be months, maybe even years before we find anything. And if the Death Eaters get one whiff of what we’re searching for—that’s it. We’re done for.”
And the rest of the wizarding world would be done for too.
It hasn’t quite hit him yet that they’re basically the world’s last hope for defeating Voldemort. They’re the only ones who know his secret now. A secret that already managed to kill R.A.B. and Dumbledore. For a moment, his mind spins a wild scenario where Hermione and Harry are gone and the deed is left up to him. He shuts the thought down immediately. No amount of heroics will ever make up for losing his best friends.
He forces his mind back into the train and scoots closer to Hermione, pulling her to him. She falls easily into his chest, tears wetting his t-shirt. It’s easy now, cradling her in his arms, and he wonders how he never thought to do it before. Of course, he was also in complete denial of his feelings before.
She starts to sniffle and continues. “I can’t be the reason they get hurt. If they don’t know who I am and they’re far away from this mess, they might be safe.” He feels her shiver in his arms. “And they won’t know they’re missing a daughter if I… if anything happens to me.”
Ron can’t help squeezing her tighter then. The thought of Hermione, hurt, gone, dead is too horrible to stomach so he doesn’t. “Over my dead body,” he mutters angrily.
“Don’t joke, Ronald,” she says, pulling away to look him in the eyes.
“I’m not joking.” He puts as much sincerity into his gaze as he can. “I won’t let anything happen to you. Or Harry.”
She pauses, tears frozen in her big brown eyes. With Hermione practically in his lap, Ron feels his ears start to go red. They’ve reached this moment before, stuck between a familiar friendship and the realm beyond, where it’s more about Ron and Hermione than Ron, Hermione, and bloody Harry Potter.
The lad in question snores noisily, breaking up their heartfelt embrace.
Hermione sniffs and draws away.
“Obliviation is the only thing I can think of that might work,” she says, bringing them back to the conversation at hand.
Ron considers her. He’s never doubted Hermione to have the right answer, but even this one seems out there for her. He wants to offer up solutions, but each one seems more dangerous than the last. Staying with his parents will work until the ministry raids the Burrow. The order members can’t protect them if they’re too busy protecting the rest of the world, and Hogwarts won’t be safe for anyone, least of all a pair of muggles.
“If you’re sure it’s the only way…”
“It is.”
“Alright then. I’ll help—they’re gonna need new identities. And a new place to live, hopefully as far away as possible from the Death Eaters—”
She cuts him off. “You don’t have to help me, Ron. I can do this on my own.”
“But you don’t have to.” It’s easy then, to rest his hand on hers. She twists her own, so their palms are together and they’re holding hands. Hers are as delicate as he expected, soft from turning the pages of so many books. He wonders what memories she feels on his.
“I should meet them,” he says suddenly. “So you’re not the only one who has to carry their… their memory.” He hopes it doesn’t sound like they’re already gone.
“You’ve met them before!”
“No, I mean—properly. Like we’re—”
He doesn’t dare finish that sentence.
Like they were what? Dating? Boyfriend and girlfriend? It couldn’t be further from the truth, and yet Ron can’t help but hope that she hears the unspoken ending anyway.
“Alright. But you can’t come through the fireplace.”
He laughs at that, remembering the scandal of arriving at Harry’s for the Quidditch World Cup. The poor bloke would be going back there today, if for the last time. At the end of every year, he feels that familiar anxiety for his friend return. He was so tiny his first year, clearly underfed, unloved. Bars on his window second year, running away his third year, Ron couldn’t imagine what other horrors Harry came home to. If he could call it that.
“And you can’t tell Harry,” Hermione says, again reading his thoughts. “He’ll throw a fit about doing this on his own and then do something stupid and self-sacrificing.”
“I thought you liked stupid and self-sacrificing.”
“No, I’d prefer brave and noble over stupid.” And their banter returns, as comfortable as ever. Ron wonders if she really means that. If she really believes him to be brave and noble, more than just the loyal friend.
Harry wakes up, choking violently on his own drool. Ron gets up to pat him on the back, his hand slipping away from Hermione’s. It’s unconscious, really, the way they separate that part of themselves from Harry and all his problems.
“Thanks mate,” Harry says, swallowing heavily. He adjusts his glasses and blinks out at the window. “What were you guys talking about?”
“Oh, the usual. Horcuxes, taking down Dark Lords, whether or not Bill will have werebabies.” The answer comes easily and then they’re all laughing. He glances at Hermione, pleased to see a smile for the first time in days.