A/N - seems like I got many people confused with the rather anticlimatic ending of the last chapter. For a change, it was intentional (the anticlimax, not the confusion). I hope this next (and last) chapter will clear up some of the confusion...

Some days, Ron couldn't care enough to get out of bed. Today was one of those days. Was there a particular reason? No, he had to admit as he opened his eyes a crack, then closed them again. Not really. It was just another day.

Maybe that was reason enough. Maybe he'd feel like getting up again when the days changed a bit. When there was something to look forward to. Now he just wanted to turn over and fall asleep again. And maybe, just maybe, if he was lucky, never wake up.

Much later, in the darkness, he'd think to himself that maybe he could feel it coming, maybe he somehow could guess. Or maybe he'd just come to expect those terrible days and terrible things happening. But at the time, he didn't make any kind of rationalisation, none of the explanations and trying to make sense. No, all he thought at that morning was that he didn't want to wake up. Even though his dreams had stopped being a refuge a long time ago.

He wasn't sure when he opened his eyes. He wasn't sure when he didn't close them again. He was staring at the ceiling for a long time, not even thinking of anything, just staring. For a very long time. Eventually even this was becoming too much. Time to get up.

He put his clothes on slowly. Trousers, shirt, jumper... it was supposed to be summer. It was supposed to be hot and sunny. But it was cold outside, and the chill got into the house. So he put the jumper on before going downstairs.

Hermione wasn't in the kitchen, and she wasn't in the living room, either. Neither were Neville and Luna. It looked like everyone was gone. The house was completely quiet. Too quiet. He thought of turning on the radio, maybe listen to some music. Sometimes they still played music - after all, even Death Eaters needed entertainment. So when he got downstairs, he tapped the small radio.

They were playing music, alright. Celestina Warbeck. Ron almost broke the radio as he turned it off. He couldn't listen to Celestina Warbeck anymore. He never liked her - he used to wish his mum just turned off the radio whenever she was playing. But now he couldn't listen to her because of the memories. That's what came to his mind when he heard her songs these days - the image of his mother, singing happily with the radio.

Surrounded by silence again, he raided the kitchen for some food. There wasn't a lot of it. They'd have to go and look for something to eat soon. For a moment, he stopped to stare outside the window at the misty, cold day. He longed to go out, but not to this weather. Not to this Diagon Alley. His curiosity satisfied - or unsatisfied - he went back to the kitchen and found a bit of bread - going stale - and some cheese, or, more likely, the remnant of cheese, the way Luna used to call it. Wonderful. He made himself a sandwich, which he tried to transfigure into something more edible - or at least, less stale - and sat down to chew in silence. He'd have thrown it away had he not been so hungry - it was downright disgusting.

For the second time in five minutes, he thought of his mother. She would have been able to make something good out of it, he knew. Something tasty. He wondered if he'd ever get the chance to taste her cooking again. He didn't believe it, not anymore. He wasn't sure whether he ever believed.

The sandwich was soon finished; now Ron had nothing to do. He longed to go outside, but one of the others had taken the invisibility cloak with them, and whatever was left of the Polyjuice Potion. For one wild, impossible moment, he thought of going out as he was, and responsibility be damned. He knew his face was plastered on every Wanted poster on every wall, everywhere around them. Together with Hermione and Neville and Luna, he was Public Enemy Number One. Everyone knew his face. And for just one moment, he didn't care. But he couldn't. Not for himself - Ron Weasley had stopped caring a long time ago whether he lived or died for the cause. But he couldn't do it to Hermione.

So he stayed.

He tried reading a book, but couldn't concentrate. He tried bewitching his old set of Wizard's Chess into playing against him, but that didn't last much longer. He looked around the kitchen once more, maybe there was something there - perhaps he could surprise Hermione, make sure she had a hot lunch when she came home, even if she didn't come back until dinner. But the cupboards were empty. There was nothing to make lunch with. He sighed and threw himself back on the sofa, picking up his book again. But he didn't really read the story. His eyes didn't move. He just stared at the book, eyes unfocused. He could just as well stare at the wall. He wasn't sure how long he stayed that way. He knew he didn't fall asleep. But time did pass.

He jumped when he heard the door open. It was Hermione. He let out a sigh of relief, and it surprised him - he didn't even realise he was tense until now. But of course he was. He always was. Every time Hermione went out, there was a chance she wouldn't get back.

There was something in her face. He could tell, just by looking at her, just for that second. Something was wrong. She didn't want to look him in the eye - she must have been afraid he'd be able to see it in hers. But it was too late. He could already tell.

He didn't start with it, though. He had learned a long time ago that if there was something he needed to be told, something Hermione wanted to tell him, she would. He just needed to give her the time. "Hey," he said instead, as casual as possible. She didn't buy it, of course. She could hear the tension in his voice, the way he prepared himself for whatever disaster it was she was going to share with him. But she answered the same way: "Hey". Maintaining the illusion for just a bit longer. They were very good at that.

Slowly, she took off her red jacket and put it on the coat hanger at the entrance.

"Want a cup of tea?" he asked her, buying her time, buying himself time.

"Sure," she nodded. He followed her to the kitchen, where she sat on the chair, almost defeated. He pretended he didn't see as he put water in the kettle. "Sugar?"

"Do we have any sugar left?" she asked.

"Erm. I think so."

"Then yes."

"I think we're out of milk, though."

"Never mind that. I'm used to drinking it black."

He nodded at that last one, and soon she had a cup of warm tea, his best effort. She didn't smile at him, didn't say thanks. He didn't ask what was going on. Wordlessly, she got up and went to the living room. He followed her. She sat on the armchair, in front of the empty fireplace, but he remained standing, looking at her. Preparing, stalling, he wasn't sure. Just being with her.

Finally, Hermione raised her head - and he knew. She opened her mouth, she was about to tell him, but just a split second before the words left her mouth, he already knew what she will say.

"Ginny is dead."

-X-

Some days, Ron couldn't care enough to get out of bed. Hermione could already tell that this would be one of them. After his almost light hearted question, 'Now what', they just left Malfoy Manor and went back to their hiding place. As if nothing had happened. As if the Dark Lord - no, she corrected herself. Time to call him by his name. As if Voldemort was still alive.

She couldn't understand it. She couldn't imagine it. The Dark Lo - Voldemort - gone. The nightmare was over. It just didn't make sense. When they got home, someone offered halfheartedly to drink that bottle of wine she'd been keeping all that time, but then Neville confessed half of it was already gone. She didn't mind. For some reason, she didn't feel like celebrating. She was too exhausted.

It didn't feel right. She should feel like celebrating, she knew. Maybe tomorrow, she thought. Maybe after she had slept and had a good meal and went outside for a bit. Maybe when there's sunshine. Right now, she didn't want to celebrate. She just wanted to go to sleep.

Ron still poured her half a glass of wine. They didn't sit in the kitchen with the rest. Actually, the rest didn't seem to be sitting in the kitchen, either. They all went somewhere else. She thought they'd be together, whenever she imagined that day, in her wildest dreams, she imagined them all together. Celebrating, definitely. Laughing, maybe. But in the end, reality disappointed, as it always did. Everyone, it seemed, was like her. They didn't feel like spending that time together. She didn't know why.

In her bed, she took the glass from Ron's hand. "Cheers," she said, tired. Cheers, he mouthed, but no voice came out, and then he drank his entire glass in one gulp. She was slower - one sip, then another, but soon, her wine was gone, too.

"Do you feel like going to sleep?" she asked him. "I guess," he answered, but didn't sound very convinced. He'd sleep and everything will be better, she thought, but she still felt that she was probably wrong. She had a feeling that when Ron woke up, he wouldn't feel any better.

She took a long bath before going to sleep. For a moment, she entertained herself with the thought of asking Ron to join in, but she could see he wasn't in the mood. Neither was she, when she thought of it. So she just took an extra long bath, sinking into the blessed hot water and thinking. When she finally got out to hide under the blankets, Ron entered the shower. She turned off the lights, not waiting for him. She really wanted to close her eyes, and besides, it was three steps - maybe - between the shower and bed. Ron would be able to do it in the dark.

He seemed to have the same idea she had about the shower. She wasn't sure how long he'd been there, but she was already drifting, half asleep, when she felt his weight on the bed. He didn't go under the blankets. Instead, he sat outside, on the tip of the bed, unmoving. She waited for a long time - and maybe just a couple of seconds. With her eyes closed and her mind all fuzzy, it was hard to judge the time passing by. She wanted to call his name, but was too sleepy. Her mouth didn't seem to want to move.

She thought she fell asleep - she wasn't sure. Maybe just for a moment. She definitely was awake again, if somewhat fuzzy, when she felt the covers rising, and Ron slipping in next to her. He drew himself closer to her, putting his hand on her shoulder, then her arm. It was cold as ice - how long had he been sitting outside the blankets, the fool? she thought. And it wasn't just his hand - he was shivering. She could feel it from his grip. His hand was shivering with the rest of him. She moved her hand over his, trying to warm him up, but it didn't do any good.

"You're freezing," she whispered. He didn't answer. In fact, he didn't say anything at all. He was completely quiet. She opened her eyes and turned on her back. Now she could see. He wasn't shivering at all. He was shaking, overcome - at last, after all these years - by silent tears and grief. "Hey," she said softly, and raised his chin. He could keep it quiet, under control, at least somewhat - until that moment. When his eyes met hers, he could no longer keep the pain at bay. He buried his face in her chest, his entire body shaking violently, his silent sobs becoming louder and louder. She held him tight, burying her face in his hair, and could feel the tears in her own eyes, too.

-X-

Ron was still sleeping when she woke up. She didn't remember when he fell asleep last night - she thought he must have fallen asleep after her. She didn't remember his breaths become regular, the tense muscles unclenching. He fell asleep hugging her, and she now moved around, careful not to wake him up, and got out of his embrace and the bed. He looked so peaceful when she watched him sleeping. She wanted to kiss him, but was afraid it would wake him up. So she didn't. She just went downstairs, as quietly as she could.

She expected the living room to be empty. It couldn't have been long after sunrise. But Harry was already there, already awake. Or maybe he never went to bed, she thought.

"You're not sleeping?" she asked him, half whispering.

He gave her a non-committal shrug. "I think I slept enough for a lifetime," he answered in the same kind of half-whisper.

She sat next to him on the sofa. "How are you feeling?" she asked carefully.

He considered this for a moment. "I don't know," he said at last. "I should be feeling something, shouldn't I?"

"It'll come to you," she said, and was surprised to see a smile on his face.

"What do you want to do, Hermione?" he asked her all of a sudden.

She looked at him in confusion. "How d'you mean?" she asked. "When, now?"

"Yeah, now."

"I don't know. Eat breakfast?"

He laughed. It sounded strange - unnatural. Maybe he wasn't used to laughing anymore, or maybe she just wasn't used to hearing him laugh.

"No, I meant - now. You know. No longer hiding from Voldemort."

"Oh," she said, getting red and feeling extremely silly. "Of course. Er, I don't know. Find my parents, I guess. And then - oh. Ron proposed the other day."

"That would be brilliant," Harry concluded.

"Yeah," she said, thoughtful. "It would, wouldn't it." She was quiet for a bit. "It would be weird," she said at last.

"Weird? You are practically married already!"

She smiled then. "I know. That's why it would be weird." They laughed for a moment again, the both of them. His laughter started to sound more natural to her ears - or perhaps, she was just getting used to it. He kept on looking at her long after his smile was gone. Longer than was comfortable for her, she realised, and looked for a way to start the conversation again.

"And then I don't know," she returned to the conversation, very late indeed. "Maybe give survival lessons. Maybe work in the Ministry. There's probably going to be a lot of need for people like us now," she said in a dreamy voice, dreaming of a future that all of a sudden had become relevant once more. "I never thought of it before... What about you?" she asked. "What are you going to do?"

He didn't answer. He didn't have to. The answer was obvious. He didn't know. Neither did she. The silence descended between them.

"I had plans once, didn't I?" he asked her all of a sudden.

She nodded. "You and Ron were going to become Aurors. Back when there still were Aurors. Feels like a different lifetime now, doesn't it?"

"I don't remember," he said shortly. And then seemed to reconsider. "I mean... maybe I do. It sounds familiar, but..." that 'but' hung in the air between them. She had heard him say that he didn't remember so often in the days he'd been with them, and he never reconsidered. Perhaps he was making an effort, she hoped. An effort for himself, or perhaps even for her. She wondered for a moment whether she should ask him further, probe his memory. Did he remember Hogwarts? Did he remember the way they used to be? All their adventures, all those ridiculous things they did? He must remember something. Too many of his reactions were the right ones; too much of his trust was in her and Ron. That couldn't be if he didn't remember. What went on in that head of his, she wondered, but she wasn't sure whether she should ask him. She wasn't sure whether he would even hear her. He looked so lost, sitting there next to her.

She touched his hand slowly, carefully. It didn't work - he still jumped, tension written all over his face and in his hand.

"I'm sorry," she said hurriedly.

"No, it's alright, I shouldn't... it's just..." He didn't seem able to finish that sentence.

"I'm sorry," she repeated. He just shrugged in response. Then he sniffled. "You know what, maybe I should learn how to cook. I always wanted to learn to cook."

"No, you didn't!" she said, slightly louder than she intended, but still with a smile on her lips.

"No, I didn't," he agreed, but also light heartedly. "But I can decide that now, can't I?"

"Sure you can. You can decide to do whatever you want," she said. It was a lie; she know it and so did he. But it was good to maintain the illusion, just for a little longer. As long as they were allowed to. "Want me to give you some tips?" she asked, and jumped off the sofa. It looked as if he was only looking for an excuse to do it, too. "Come on, let's see what we can find in the kitchen," she said. He followed her.

-X-

It was a wonderful dream. On some level, Neville knew it was a dream, but still he hoped it would never end. He was fighting a lost battle, he knew, but he was used to fighting lost battles. And this one was worthit. Still he could feel it slipping away. He was already not sure what the dream was about, even though he had that feeling, that absolute knowledge, that if he just managed to go back to sleep, he could drop right back into it.

Falling asleep again was becoming harder and harder, though. Someone was shouting in the kitchen. Ordinarily, Neville would assume that shouting downstairs meant something bad and they all had to jump and grab their wands and go downstairs and fight Death Eaters and die horrible, painful deaths, but at the moment, he just didn't care. Let the Death Eaters come to him, he thought as he took his pillow and threw it above his head.

His clever strategy failed. He could still hear the voices downstairs - albeit somewhat muffled - but now they were joined with an awful smell. Something was burning. Maybe the house was on fire. He didn't care.

"Neville," he heard a voice beside him. Great. Will no one let him go back to sleep? He knew it was already too late - even if he did fall asleep now, the dream was gone, gone forever and would never return. He didn't even know what it was about anymore, although he had the vague impression he had spent some of it teaching Herbology. He didn't care. Not getting up was now a matter of principle.

"Neville," Anthony said again.

"Mmpf," Neville gave his most coherent response and buried his head deeper under the pillow.

"Neville," Anthony tried for a third time.

With a sigh, Neville removed the pillow from his head and sat up. "What?" he asked.

"How can you sleep with all that noise?"

Neville stared at Anthony in amazement. "This is what you woke me up for?"

"You were already awake - hey!" Anthony got out of bed and tried to dodge the shower of pillows that was thrown his way. "Anyway, sounds like people are having fun downstairs. Thought we might as well join them."

"We could have fun upstairs," Neville pointed out. He got hit with the same pillows he had thrown at Anthony a moment ago. "Fine, fine," he muttered, "I'm getting up."

He dressed up slowly. Anthony, he noticed, was already all dressed. Great, he thought. Just what I needed. A morning person.

"Hey, Neville?" Anthony started casually, in that tone of voice that said the discussion was about to turn serious.

"Yeah?" Neville said.

"Did you think... What are you going to do now?"

Ah. One of those conversations. Neville sat down on the bed, officially to put on socks, but really he needed the time to think.

"Bury my Gran," he said at last. Properly, he wanted to add, but he didn't have to - Anthony understood.

"And then?"

"Bury Hannah."

"And then?"

"Bury Seamus."

"Andthen?" Anthony was losing patience. Neville chuckled, and the annoyance on Anthony's face subsided.

"And then... I don't know." He remembered the dream, all of a sudden. "Maybe teach Herbology."

"Herbology?"

"Yeah. I got an O in my Herbology O.W.L.s, I reckon I could have got the same in the N.E.W.T.s. I liked it. It would be fun to do something like that. You know, something I like."

Anthony seemed to think this over. His expression was too serious for Neville's liking. "Oh, come on, let's go downstairs. It sounds like they're having too much fun on their own." He gave him a quick kiss and was up on his feet.

It was fun downstairs - once Hermione stopped Harry from burning down the house, that was. He was all red and embarrassed, and Neville just had to laugh at the way he concentrated in front of the frying pan. Hermione hit him with a towel in response, and gave him a look that could kill much braver men. He smiled at her sheepishly and she glared at him some more but then relented. Making sure Harry wasn't going to burn down the house was more important than scolding Neville, apparently.

"What's that smell?" Padma showed up, too.

"Burnt bacon. It's a delicacy - ouch! Okay, okay, I'm quiet, I'm stopping, not a word," Neville had to retreat in response to Hermione's recent towel attack.

"D'you think it will go well with parsley?" Harry asked vaguely.

"I don't think we have any parsley," Hermione hurried to say. Neville wasn't quite sure that bit was true, but he appreciated the sentiment nonetheless - and, of course, was not going to open his mouth again.

"Something's burning," Luna announced to the world as she walked in, and before Neville had the chance to tell her to shutupshutup. Hermione, however, did not attack her with a towel. Neville thought of complaining about biases, but decided against it.

It took Harry two more minutes in front of the frying pan before he admitted defeat. "I don't think I'm very good with that," he said.

"It'll come back to you," Hermione said kindly. "There's only so many ways to mess up bacon."

"Or burn down a house," Neville added in an audible whisper. Hermione glared at him again, but Harry didn't seem to mind. He cracked a smile - the first Neville had seen on his face for so, so long.

"Yeah," he said. "That would be appropriate, wouldn't it. Me burning down the house on us the day after Voldemort dies."

Something changed in the room when the name was spoken. They were all so used to not saying it, not even thinking it, not for years. It was too dangerous. The name had been Tabooed, and the only way to make sure not to say it was to never think it. It had an eerie quality now, as if it wasn't really a name anymore.

Maybe it wasn't. Maybe it was a state of mind.

"I'm sorry," Harry said in the silence.

"Don't be," Luna was the first to recover. "Isn't that the point? We can say the name now. It's over."

She was right. Shewasright. It hit Neville so hard that he felt his legs wobble, he had to sit down. They could say the name now. It was over. Voldemort was dead. They stared at each other silently for a moment, then two, marvelling in that piece of news, in that knowledge. It was all over. Then Hermione, a smile plastered on her face so big that it seemed almost unnatural, said, "We need a cake!"

"Where are we going to get a cake?" someone asked, but Hermione ignored them. She pulled out an old, stale loaf of bread and bit her lip. "If I do that just right..." she said, then looked at it critically. "We need stuff."

"Stuff?"

"Stuff! Anything. Edible stuff. Stuff to transfigure. Go check the fridge - go!"

Luna went to the fridge, while Neville had a look at the cupboards. "We've got sugar," he suggested and Hermione quickly said, "Good, bring it over. All of it."

Luna, in the meanwhile, pulled up some carrots, potatoes, and parsley and put it in front of Hermione. "Excellent," Hermione said.

"There's some more bread here," Anthony offered, at the same time as Padma started to put some onions on the table. "I still don't understand how this is going to end up being a cake."

"Anthony, when did you ever know Hermione's Transfiguration to fail?" Neville asked, and Anthony had to concede that he had a point.

Hermione kept on looking at the ingredients critically. "Do we have chocolate anywhere?" she asked, but Luna and Neville snorted at the same time. The day chocolate would survive in that kitchen... was unlikely.

"Hold on," Harry said, and fetched some old biscuits from a drawer. They were covered in chocolate. "Ron tried to make them edible a couple of days ago," he said. He sounded apologetic, but Hermione's face lit up in excitement. "Brilliant!" she said and threw them on top of the onions. And then she flicked her wand.

There was a boom. And smoke again. Neville coughed some of it out, but the smoke kept on coming. "Oh, no," he thought he heard Hermione say, but he wasn't sure. Maybe it was just his ears, full of smoke. But suddenly it disappeared, and the room was bright again, and on the table stood - a cake. They all stared at it suspiciously. It looked like a cake, all chocolate covered and round, but - "Did it work?" Luna asked.

"Only one way to find out!" Hermione said brightly and fetched a knife. She cut a slice - not too large, Neville noticed, and assumed it was just in case the cake did not come out as planned - but when the time came to take a bite, she hesitated. "Anyone wants to try?" she asked the room.

No one volunteered.

"Cowards," she said, and tried the cake herself. She didn't spit it right out. That in itself was a good sign. Instead, she chewed on it thoughtfully for a moment or too. "Slightly too oniony," she admitted. "But it's definitely cake."

Laughter filled the room. Everyone queued to take a piece. Neville tried the cake - Hermione was definitely right, there was a strong sense of onions in the cake, but it fit the overall taste and wasn't that bad at all.

Now the noise truly filled the house - Parvati showed up, and after a few moments, so did Dean. Everyone was awake and in the kitchen and eating cake, except for Ron. "You think we should go and wake him up?" Neville asked Hermione, but she shrugged.

"Nah," she said. "Let him sleep. He'll come down when he feels like it."

Neville nodded and went back to chatting happily with Padma.

-X-

The kitchen was still full of laughter and party spirit when Ron walked in. He felt empty. Almost dead. He couldn't figure out why the rest of them were laughing, dancing, partying. At the centre of the room Hermione took Parvati for a little dance, and Ron just stared at them. They didn't know, they didn't realise. He had to tell them, but he couldn't find the words. Outside the window, he could see the Dementors gliding past in the street. Did they know they were there, he wondered. He had to draw everyone's attention to them, but couldn't get his mouth to work. Neville walked up to him, looked at him critically. Ron knew what he must look like - he didn't even finish dressing when he rushed downstairs. He was still wearing his slightly-too-short pyjama trousers, he didn't have the time to put a shirt on, or even shoes, and his hair was sticking in all directions. But Neville didn't comment, just raised his palm, offering the cake he was holding. "Want some cake?" he asked Ron. "It tastes a bit like onions, but other than that it's your perfect chocolate cake."

Ron shook his head. Cake. They were eating cake.

"Everything alright?" Neville asked him. He must have seen something in his expression, or realised finally something was wrong. Ron shook his head again, but couldn't get the words out of his mouth. "What is it? Ron?" By now, the rest had noticed him as well. The laughter died out slowly, and they all looked at him, uncertain. Ron still didn't open his mouth to speak - but he didn't need to. Instead, he aimed his wand at the radio, turning it on. Let them hear what he had heard, he thought. It will save him the need for words.

From the radio, Draco Malfoy's voice filled the room. "... These terrible crimes will be punished. Nor will we wait for the murderers to be caught. I have personally ordered the destruction of the camps in retaliation to these cowardly attacks. And after the families and friends of the murderers are punished, so will they. The Ministry urges our people to be patient, but most of all, to have faith in us. We have lost a lot today, our esteemed leaders, our spiritual leaders, our Minister, and our Lord. And we will not rest until the murderers are caught! We will not rest until those who are responsible to the heinous crimes that have happened tonight are dealt with. We will not stop until our society is united once more, united under the Ministry, and all those who would come to destroy us - from within and without! - are given a striking blow. I take this new appointment as Minister with all the respect and seriousness that it brings, and I promise you, my citizens - your dedication will not be in vain! Your perseverance will be rewarded!"

They stared at each other in shock and silent horror.

Then, finally, Ron found his voice. "They said on the news earlier. They've started murdering everyone still in the camps," he said. Dean sat down heavily on a chair, stunned and full of fear. Hermione shot a look outside the window - Neville's gaze followed hers, and they could see them, too. Dementors. All that time, the Dementors gathered around their house, around their window, and they were all paralysed with fear, paralysed with shock...

It was Harry who first returned to his senses. Perhaps it was ironic. Perhaps not so much. "Luna! Do you have any emergency backpack or anything? Luna?"

She blinked and looked at him for a moment, as if trying to understand the meaning of his words, then nodded slowly. "But just for the four of us," she said. "We didn't expect there to be so many..."

"Okay. Get up there and bring it down, and try to pack another one. Dean, help her. Hermione! I remember you guys said they can trace us if we Apparate out of Diagon Alley."

Hermione snapped out of the shock and started thinking. "Yeah. We can't Apparate. We have to get to Muggle London, first. They didn't cover all of London, just Diagon Alley and its surroundings and a couple of other places."

"Okay, is there any way out of here other than the front door?"

"No," she shook her head.

"Only through the Dementors, okay. Not good. Erm, can you come up with a couple of defensive strategies?"

"You mean, other than casting the Patronus charm and hoping it would work?"

"Yeah, that's against the Dementors, but we need to take Malfoy into account as well. He may be here any minute." She nodded, and he rubbed his forehead for a moment. "Neville, did you guys come up with any back up plan?"

"Back up plan?"

"Another safe house. Hiding place. Anything. Malfoy knows where we are! We need to get somewhere safe."

"Yeah - I know - well, not really, we never thought... because of the Fidelius charm..."

"Not good. Okay. Where did you guys hang out before this place?"

Neville thought for a moment. "Well, our old place is out of the question, it's Ministry property..."

"... But there's the cave Hermione and me used to live in," Ron offered. "Near Hogsmeade."

"Hogsmeade! That's brilliant," Harry held on to that piece of new and encouraging information. "Hogsmeade it is then."

"We can't Apparate into Hogsmeade, there's a trace there as well. We'll have to get to the cave from the other side..." Neville started planning.

But Ron wasn't planning. He looked at Harry for a moment, somewhat confused, slightly amused, and more than a bit in awe. It probably wasn't the right reaction in the middle of a crisis, but he couldn't quite help it. Harry, of course, was too busy taking charge and coordinating everything, and he didn't notice him. He went up to help Luna find everything, asked Hermione which ways were best out of Diagon Alley, asked Neville everything he could about the cave, trying to determine whether it was still safe, whether, perhaps, they should go to Ab Dumbledore first. And when he did that, his green eyes were shining and aware and in focus, the nervous mannerisms he had shown all through the last several days disappeared, and he sounded composed, self assured - and mostly, in control. Even the lines in his face seemed to fade a bit. If Ron ignored the paleness, he thought he could see the 17-year-old boy again, the best friend he had lost so many years ago.

Five minutes later Harry settled down, because all of the preparations had been made, and the only thing left was to wait for Hermione to finish her spell work. And then they'd storm out and try to get past the Dementors. There was so much at stake - this could end up with all of them killed or captured; and even if it didn't, there was Ron's family they would have to save, and the Muggle-borns in the camps, and a never-ending rebellion to restart. It should have made Ron despair - but it didn't. Looking at Harry, so much in control, had calmed him down. And it should have made Harry tense again, return to his wild-eyed nervousness. That's what Ron was expecting of him. But he didn't. Instead, the worse the situation turned out to be, the calmer he became. And despite all the danger, and everything that was at stake, Ron smiled.

"What?" Harry asked, confused at the smile.

"Nothing," he said. "I was just thinking... you could do it, you know. Lead a rebellion. Get people to do things." Because after all this time, we can still believe in you.

"You know that whole Chosen One thing? How I was supposed to be the one who killed Voldemort?" Ron nodded. "Well, you and Hermione ended up killing him, not me. And I figure - " Harry laughed all of a sudden, a small laugh, but one that sounded absolutely free. "I figure there may still be a destiny for me to fulfil."

That's it, folks! Thanks for all the wonderful feedback!