Work Text:
Ron's knee bounces beneath the parchment on his lap, the sound of rustling paper breaking the suffocating silence of the hall. He's rewriting his notes for what must be the hundredth time, the ink filling pages of parchment with everything he knows about Peter Pettigrew. A year after Voldemort's defeat, the Dark Lord's most loyal surviving supporter is finally facing retribution for his actions.
Exactly how he survived, Ron still isn't sure. He watched Wormail's own silver hand strangle him; he saw his death with his own eyes.
Although, he'd been far too focused on Hermione to worry much about Wormtail after he was incapacitated; neither he nor Harry had bothered to check for a pulse before bolting from the cellar of Malfoy Manor.
"There you are."
Ron jumps, knocking over the uncorked inkwell beside him, and lets out a muttered swear at the ensuing mess.
"Sorry," Hermione says, her footsteps hurried now. She draws her wand as she approaches, always ready with the right spell. "I didn't mean to startle you."
"It's okay. Thought you weren't going to make it."
Ron watches as Hermione kneels in front of him, cleaning up the midnight black puddle of ink. She siphons it with her wand, turning the dark rivulets in the wood grain back to their natural beige.
"I made it work," Hermione replies with a shrug. She smoothes her skirt and settles beside him on the bench. "I thought you might need the support."
"Yeah, I do." Ron rubs a hand across his face before reaching for Hermione, locking their fingers together. "Thanks."
"Of course." She gives his hand a squeeze in return and reaches for his notes. "What are you working on?"
"Just trying to get all my thoughts in order," Ron answers. "I don't want to be the reason Pettigrew goes free."
"Oh, Ron." Hermione sighs and shifts to face him. "Why on earth would you think that you could be?"
"I dunno."
Ron's response is automatic, deflective; he does know why he thinks that. He has a million fears scurrying through his brain, jockeying for position at the forefront of his mind.
He meets Hermione's gaze, and the care in her eyes has the words tumbling from his mouth in spite of his hesitation.
"It's bloody ridiculous, isn't it? I mean, how could none of us have known he was an Animagus? They're going to ask that, aren't they?" He adopts a pompous tone to mimic a judge asking, "'Mr. Weasley, is it true you thought a regular garden rat could live for over twelve years?'"
"Domesticated animals live much longer than their counterparts in the wild," Hermione points out. Her change in tone elicits a brief smile from Ron's lips; to think he had once called her a nightmare over her bookish tendencies. "One of my cousins had a gerbil when we were young that lived to be nearly eight, and their average lifespan is only about two years."
"Twelve years, Hermione," Ron insists. "He lived with us for twelve bloody years and no one had a clue who he was. Even though he was missing a toe that whole time."
Hermione sets his papers aside, and he notices that her fingers are now tinted with ink from the parchment. She almost doesn't seem like herself without the dark smudges coloring her fingertips, and the familiar sight calms Ron's pounding heart.
"Of course it seems obvious in hindsight," Hermione agrees, "but what reason would you have had to suspect that he was anything other than a rat?"
Ron opens his mouth to retort, but Hermione cuts him off with a raise of her hand.
"Aside from his abnormally advanced age?"
Ron sighs; she's right. "No, I know. It just…seems like we should've known. Fred and George had the Map; that's how Harry figured it out."
"Peter Pettigrew might have been another student for all they knew. Harry only recognized the name because he knew who Pettigrew was by then. And I daresay the twins were mostly focused on where Mr. Filch was if they were looking at the Map."
Ron chuckles at her assessment, but it's Hermione who is serious now. She shakes her head, barreling ahead with the point she's trying to make.
"Besides, you are not the one on trial here. You know that, right?"
Ron nods and takes her hand again. "I know. It's just that so many people died because of him. Voldemort returned because of him. I have a chance to help put him away, and I'm taking it seriously."
"And it's good that you are. But none of what Pettigrew did is on you, okay? Regardless of the outcome today."
The door to the courtroom cracks open, and a clerk pokes her head out. "Mr. Weasley? We're ready for you."
Ron wipes his palms on the front of his trousers as he stands. Hermione rolls onto her tip-toes to kiss his cheek. "You can do this. I'll be right here waiting for you. Oops." She reaches a hand to his face, rubbing her thumb against the side of his nose. "You've got a bit of ink on your nose."
The accidental reminder of their first meeting puts a smile on Ron's face and a warmth in his heart that he carries with him into the courtroom, ready to face the task ahead.