Chapter 10
After what felt like an eternity of waiting, Harry finally stepped into Hermione’s office, the lines of exhaustion clear on his face. Hermione and Ron, who had spent the past few hours talking in hushed tones, looked up expectantly as Harry closed the door behind him.
“The safehouse is ready,” Harry announced, his voice carrying a note of relief. “It’s in Kent. Aurors are already stationed there, and everything is set.”
Ron glanced at Harry, his lips curving into a small, knowing smile. “So, Ginny, huh?” he said, his tone light and teasing despite the turmoil still brewing inside him.
Harry was momentarily taken aback, but then a smile spread across his face, a rare, genuine one that softened his features. “Yeah,” he said quietly, the word heavy with unspoken memories and shared history. He didn’t elaborate, and Ron didn’t ask for more. There was something comforting in the familiarity of the moment, even with the weight of everything that lay unspoken between them.
Hermione was the last to rise, her mind still on the conversation she’d had with Ron. They had talked about so much in those few hours—the war, the life she had built with the older version of him, their children. She had described Rose’s sharp mind and Hugo’s boundless energy, painting a picture of a family filled with love and laughter. But when Ron had asked about the rest of the Weasleys, she had faltered.
She just couldn’t bring herself to tell him the truth about Fred. The pain of that loss was still raw, and she couldn’t bear the thought of shattering Ron’s heart with that knowledge. So she had lied, telling him that Fred and George were still running the joke shop together, that they were still the chaotic, joyful force they had always been. The guilt of that lie weighed heavily on her, but she knew she had to protect him, at least for now.
Harry motioned for them to follow him, and together, they made their way to his office. The walk was silent, the echoes of their footsteps the only sound in the deserted corridors. Once inside, Harry grabbed a handful of Floo powder and turned toward the fireplace.
“Cheshire House,” he said clearly, throwing the powder into the flames. The fire roared, turning a vivid emerald green.
He looked back at Ron and Hermione, his expression serious. “Go ahead. I’ll follow right after.”
Ron hesitated for only a moment before stepping into the flames, feeling the strange sensation of being pulled through the Floo Network. The world blurred around him, and then, with a jolt, he stumbled out into a small, cozy living room.
The interior of the safehouse was quaint, a single-story house that seemed to have been plucked straight from a postcard. The walls were painted in warm, earthy tones, and a large, inviting fireplace dominated the room. An old, well-worn couch sat in front of it, the cushions sagging slightly, as if waiting for someone to sink into them. A wooden coffee table, scuffed and scratched from years of use, was placed in front of the couch, and a few shelves lined the walls, filled with an assortment of books and trinkets.
Harry and Hermione arrived moments later, stepping out of the fireplace and brushing the soot from their robes. Harry gestured around the room, his voice calm and steady. “Welcome to Cheshire House. It’s not much, but it’s safe.”
He led them through the small house, showing them around. The kitchen was compact but well-equipped, with simple wooden cabinets painted a soft cream, a stone countertop, and a small dining table tucked in the corner. A window above the sink let in a sliver of light, and from where Ron stood, he could see the front lawn through the glass—neatly trimmed shrubs lining the path that led to the street, with rolling hills visible in the distance.
Harry showed them the two bedrooms next. The first was painted a soft, calming blue, with a single bed covered in a patchwork quilt. A small dresser stood against one wall, a mirror hanging above it, reflecting the light from the small lamp on the nightstand. The second bedroom was done in shades of green, the bedspread a deep forest color that matched the curtains. Both rooms were simple but cozy, filled with the kind of warmth that made it easy to forget the world outside.
Finally, they returned to the living room, where Harry pointed out an old, rotary telephone set on an inconspicuous side table. “You can use this to communicate directly with my office,” Harry explained, his tone serious. “The Floo network to this house is connected only to my office fireplace and can only be used to travel to this house. It’s a security measure.”
Hermione didn’t look thrilled at the restrictions, but she understood. It was necessary, given the situation. She glanced at Ron, who was taking it all in silently, his eyes lingering on the small details of the house, trying to make sense of everything.
“I’ll leave you two alone for a moment,” Harry said quietly, his gaze shifting between them. “I need to check in with the Auror. He will be stationed here—it’s someone I trust completely. That’s why there are two bedrooms.” He paused, his eyes meeting Ron’s. “Stay inside, no matter what. We can’t risk anyone recognizing you.”
Ron nodded, his jaw tight, and Harry gave them one last look before stepping out of the house.
As soon as they were alone, Ron turned to Hermione, his expression troubled. “What’s the plan, then?” he asked, his voice low and uncertain.
Hermione sighed, running a hand through her hair. “I don’t know, Ron,” she admitted, the honesty of her words hanging heavily between them. “I need to do some research. I have to figure out what’s going on and how this is even possible.”
Ron managed a small, almost teasing smile, despite everything. “Sounds like you’ll be spending a lot of time in the library.”
Hermione’s lips twitched, a ghost of a smile appearing on her face. “You know me too well.”
Ron hesitated, glancing around the room, then back at her. “Will you visit?” he asked, his voice soft, almost hesitant. “You know, when you’re not busy solving this whole mess?”
Hermione’s eyes softened, and she reached out, placing a hand on his arm. “Every chance I get.”
They stood there for a moment, the silence between them filled with the weight of unspoken words, until Harry returned, a tall, shaggy-haired man following close behind him. The man was younger than Harry, with a warm, easy smile and an air of quiet confidence that immediately put them at ease.
“Ron, Hermione, this is Harold Sallow,” Harry introduced. “He was the first trainee assigned to me, and we’ve worked together for over a decade now. I trust him completely.”
Harold stepped forward, offering his hand. “It’s an honor to meet you both,” he said, his voice genuine. “I’ve heard so much about you—both of you. I want you to know that your secret is safe with me, and I’m here to help in any way I can.”
Harry nodded, turning back to Ron. “You can’t step outside the house, under any circumstances,” he said firmly. “You’re too recognizable. If anyone sees you, the safehouse’s location will be compromised. I know it’s not ideal, but we have to keep you safe until we figure this out.”
Ron nodded again, his expression resigned. He understood the necessity, even if it felt like a prison. But he also knew that he had no choice.
Finally, Harry and Hermione bid farewell to Ron. As they stepped into the fireplace, Hermione looked back one last time, her eyes meeting Ron’s, filled with a silent promise that they would find a way through this.
And then, with a rush of green flames, they were gone, leaving Ron and Harold alone in the quiet, cozy house that would be Ron’s refuge for as long as it took to unravel the mystery of his impossible existence.