The Cost of Silence
The letter arrived at sunrise.
Remus brought it to the Burrow himself, face drawn, cloak soaked with dew. No owl this time—just parchment, rolled and sealed, with Hermione’s name scrawled in Harry’s unmistakable handwriting.
She didn’t wait. Her fingers tore it open, eyes darting down the page, her breath catching halfway through.
Fred, still rubbing sleep from his eyes, saw her freeze.
“Hermione?” he said softly.
She looked up, voice barely steady. “It’s Ron.”
⸻
They gathered in the kitchen—the whole family, Order members who happened to be nearby, tension thick as smoke.
Hermione passed the letter to Molly, her voice calm even though her hands were trembling.
We’re okay. Sort of.
Ron got hit with something—looks like a blood-freezing hex. We’ve stabilized him, but we can’t move. Still near Tinworth. Out of sight.
Need help. Supplies. Fast. Don’t alert the Order unless you have to.
Come quietly. Full moon’s the marker. —H
Fred’s knuckles whitened around the edge of the table. “I’ll go.”
“No,” Hermione said immediately. “You can’t.”
“I have to.”
“You’ll be seen, Fred,” she said. “You’re too recognizable. You’ve been part of the last three raids. If anyone tracks you—”
“Then I won’t go alone.”
“I said no.” Her voice cracked on the word. “It’s not just about you.”
Ginny stepped in. “Then I’ll go.”
“No.” Molly’s voice was sharp, firm.
“Yes,” Ginny replied, not backing down. “I haven’t been on a mission since the spring. I’m not on anyone’s radar, and I can handle myself.”
“You’re seventeen.”
“I’m a Weasley,” she said, eyes flashing. “And he’s my brother.”
Arthur looked at her. “She’s not wrong.”
Molly stared at him, betrayed. “Arthur.”
But his voice was quiet. “She’s smart. She knows the risks.”
Hermione touched Ginny’s arm. “We go together.”
Fred turned to his father. “You’re just going to let them walk out there?”
Arthur studied his son. “Sometimes bravery means going. Sometimes it means not stopping someone else.”
Fred’s jaw clenched, but he said nothing.
Hermione didn’t look back as she left the kitchen to prepare.
⸻
Upstairs, Hermione packed quietly while Ginny stood near the window, pulling on her boots.
“I’ve got the field potion kit,” Hermione said. “Burn cream, blood replenishing tonic, the strong fever reducer…”
Ginny nodded, slipping a dagger into her boot. “I’ve got your back.”
Hermione turned, eyes meeting hers. “And I have yours.”
They left at twilight, wrapped in invisibility charms, cloaks drawn tight. The wind was sharp as they walked past the protective wards of the Burrow and disappeared into the trees.
Fred didn’t go with them.
He watched them vanish from the orchard, hands deep in his pockets, expression unreadable.
Arthur stood beside him, arms crossed against the cold.
“She’ll be alright,” Arthur said gently.
“I know,” Fred said. “But what if she’s not?”
Arthur didn’t answer. Not with words.
Instead, he looked at the same trees and thought of Molly, years ago, walking away in similar moonlight.
“You ever wish she weren’t brave?” Fred asked after a long silence.
Arthur gave a small smile. “Only every day.”
⸻
The beach near Tinworth was quiet. Silver moonlight spilled over the sand, washing the world in pale light.
Hermione’s boots sank slightly with each step as she scanned the horizon. “That rock formation. See it?”
Ginny nodded.
They approached slowly, wands ready.
“Password?” Hermione called softly.
“Dobby.”
The word made her breath catch.
Harry stepped out from behind a stone. He looked thinner, sharper—like the war had whittled him down to bone and fire.
Hermione ran to him and wrapped her arms around him without a word.
“God, you’re okay,” she whispered.
“Barely,” Harry muttered. “Come on. Ron’s here.”
Ginny followed, her mouth pressed in a tight line.
They found Ron lying in a hollow near the rocks, bundled in cloaks. His leg was wrapped, his breathing shallow.
“Hey,” he rasped as Hermione dropped to her knees.
“Hi,” she said, already checking his pulse. “You idiot.”
He gave a faint smirk. “Still pretty, though.”
“Delirious,” Ginny muttered. “Absolutely delirious.”
Hermione worked quickly, muttering charms, applying salves, measuring potions into Ron’s mouth.
While she worked, Harry stood with Ginny a few feet away.
“You alright?” he asked her, voice quiet.
She shrugged. “You’re lucky I’m not cursing you.”
“I figured.”
“You should’ve sent word sooner.”
“I didn’t want to put anyone in danger.”
Ginny folded her arms. “You think not telling us makes it easier?”
Harry looked down. “No.”
There was a long pause.
Then Ginny said, more gently, “We were always going to come for you, Harry. No matter what.”
His voice cracked a little. “I know.”
Her hand brushed his.
And then Hermione called out, “I need a signature.”
They both turned.
Hermione held out the parchment she’d brought—unassuming, folded carefully, sealed with a wax rune.
“What’s that?” Harry asked.
“Contingency magic,” she explained. “If the worst happens—if we can’t get to you again—it’ll send a silent signal back to me if either of you go missing. But it only works if you sign it willingly. With code names.”
Harry raised an eyebrow. “Paranoid.”
Hermione looked at him. “Prepared.”
Harry took the quill and signed Stag.
Ron, wheezing slightly, signed Chessboard.
Hermione sealed it again with a flick of her wand and tucked it into her cloak.
“We’ll meet again in three days,” she said. “Same time. I’ll bring more supplies.”
Harry nodded. “Thank you.”
“Always.”
⸻
When they reached the ward line again, the orchard was bathed in silver.
Fred was sitting on the stone wall, arms folded, waiting.
The moment he saw Hermione, he stood. Didn’t speak. Didn’t hesitate.
She didn’t speak either.
Just walked straight into his arms.
He held her tight, burying his face in her hair, exhaling the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
Ginny watched them for a beat, then slipped past into the house.
Arthur stood on the porch, silent, then nodded once and followed.
Fred and Hermione stayed like that, wrapped in each other, for a long time.
Then, without a word, they walked inside together.