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Thy Will Be Done by Welsh Bard

Format: Short story
Chapters: 4
Word Count: 4,517
Status: WIP

Rating: Mature
Warnings: Strong Language, Mild Violence, Scenes of a Sexual Nature, Sensitive Topic/Issue/Theme

Genres: Drama, Romance, Angst
Characters: Harry, Ron, Hermione, Dumbledore, Snape, Regulus, Voldemort, Ginny, OtherCanon
Pairings: Arthur/Molly, Bill/Fleur, Harry/Ginny, Ron/Hermione

First Published: 06/21/2006
Last Chapter: 12/23/2006
Last Updated: 12/23/2006

"Mr Potter?" called the man. "Yeah?" said Harry hotly. "I need to speak to you about the Will of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore..."

Banner by the one and only Alohomora!

Chapter 1: Prologue
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Disclaimer: My name is harder to pronounce then Rowling's. Therefore, I am not she, and have no claim on the characters or setting of the Potterverse.

The last of the drunken wizards staggered out of the door of the Hog’s Head pub, with one last shout of “To the Boy Who Lived!”

Aberforth Dylan Gwydion Wledig Dumbledore gave a sigh and began to clear the tables, putting up a ‘Closed’ sign with a flick of his wand, and picking broken glasses from the floor.

Just as he was putting out the lights in the room with an odd-looking silver cigar-lighter, a voice he had not heard for a while came from table 4.

“Good evening, Aberforth. Please leave at least one candle burning.”

Aberforth spun around, his long, gray beard passing through a flame. He beat at the spark that had fastened itself there as if swatting a fly.

“Al-Albus,” he stuttered, “You gave me quite a fright.”

His brother, the silverhaired (and bearded), crooknosed, and bespectacled old Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, surveyed him with deep blue eyes.

“Will you not offer me a drink? I have had a rather long journey from Godric’s Hollow, and by Thestral at that, you see,” he said.

Aberforth rummaged with some bottles behind the bar desk and produced two glasses and a mug of elf-wine.

“Is it true about the Potters, Albus?” he asked taking a sip of the beige liquid. Albus ran a hand through his beard and sighed.

“Yes,” he said, “And that is in part the reason for my coming.”

Aberforth raised an eyebrow, curious.

“I am placing young Harry Potter in the care of his aunt, that is Lily’s sister, until he may enrol at Hogwarts. There is something crucial he must learn, then, and later, when I am gone, something almost as important.”

He stuck a hand in a deep pocket and withdrew a wax-sealed scroll of parchment.

“Keep this secret,” he said quietly, “Keep it safe.” Aberforth took the scroll, his curiosity intensifying.

“What is this?” he asked, looking at the seal, which did not show the Hogwarts coat of arms as he expected.

Albus emptied his goblet. “It is my will, or testament if you prefer,” he stated promptly, “The seal will open on the moment of my death. I trust you to contact the people this document concerns, and read it to them within a month of my funeral.”

He got to his feet and levitated his goblet to the sink. “And now, Aberforth, I must leave. Thank you for your hospitality.”

“Wait,” Aberforth exclaimed as his brother prepared to Disapparate, “How do you know you’re going to pop your clogs first?”

Albus gave a sad smile. “I am much older than you, and, of course, I have many more enemies.” He turned, walked to the door, and turned again.

“By the way, brother,” he said, “Could I perhaps borrow that Put-Outer of yours?”

The sunlight shone on the white tomb, almost blinding the black-clad mass of students, teachers, Ministry officials, and friends of the deceased Headmaster.

The funeral of Albus Dumbledore was a spectacular, glorious farewell.

Aberforth, from his seat to the right of Auror Ferdinand Dawlish, thought he saw truer grief in the faces of the students and staff, than in the crocodile-teared eyes of Scrimgeour and his colleagues.

One young face in particular seemed more sorry for Albus’ death than the others.

With black hair, green eyes, round spectacles and of course his famous scar, Harry Potter met Aberforth’ s gaze and held it for a second.

The barman of the Hog’s Head pub thought about the opened parchment lying on his desk.

He wondered if Harry’s eyes could take more grief after reading it...

Chapter 2: A "Happy" Wedding
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Disclaimer: I don't gain anything from this except for sore fingers. So don't sue me.

Harry Potter awoke a fine summer’s Monday morning, to the sound of his friend Ron Weasley’s tired mumbling.

“C’mon, Harry, Mum says we need to go downstairs.”

Harry climbed out of bed, pulling of his pyjamas, and getting into a pair of jeans and a faded blue t-shirt. He put his wand in his pocket, rubbed his eyes and headed out the door.

He was at the Weasley family’s cosy house, dubbed “the Burrow” by its residents. Though he usually found it to be a wonderful place of relaxation, the last few days had been stressing.

Today was the day when the eldest of Mr and Mrs Weasley’s children, Bill, would be married, and for a fortnight Mrs Weasley had driven everyone under her roof to madness.

Decoration, invitation, accommodation and similar work had been done to perfection under Mrs Weasley’s supervision. The work had made Harry, Ron and the other Weasley children stiff in every joint.

Harry found his way clumsily to the kitchen where Tonks, Lupin, two Gringott’s workers called Flurry and Valutas, Mad-Eye Moody and of course the Weasley family all sat eating.

There came a weak chorus of “’Morning” from the table and Harry grunted it back. He sat down next to George and grabbed the butter.

After breakfast he, Ron and Ginny went out to do the final preparations, arranging flowers and putting out chairs. He tried his best to ignore Ginny’s presence, however painful it might be, but she kept throwing him meaningful glances.

Suddenly, as Harry was straightening a honking daffodil, there was a loud “crack!” and Hermione Granger appeared by the chicken pen.

“’Mione!” Ron squealed, running towards her and literally lifting her of the ground in a massive bear hug. She hugged him back, grinning and flushed. They suddenly seemed aware at how intimate the hug was, and they both let go, blushing.

“Gl-glad you could make it, ‘Mione,” said Ron. She smiled back at him, before turning to Harry, who pulled her into a hug.
“Good of you not to come sooner, Hermione, it would have distracted Ron from all the work,” he teased in a low voice, causing her ears to turn red in an almost Weasley-like fashion. Ron pretended not to have heard him, busying himself with the cushions in nearby chairs.

Harry flashed Ginny a grin as she was hugging Hermione, forgetting for one moment the tension between them, and how he had been trying to avoid eye contact with her since Dumbledore’s funeral.

“Lemonade!” shouted Mrs Weasley, “Lemonade for the tired workers!”

Ron looked up lightning-fast at the mention of cold drink, bumping his head on a chair as he did.

“Ouch! Bloody chair!”

Ginny laughed cruelly, and Harry couldn’t help but grin himself; Hermione, however, looked concerned.

“Are you alright, Ronald?” she asked, touching his shoulder lightly.

“Wha – yeah, uh, that is – yeah,” he responded, “Yeah, I – let’s get that lemonade!”

Looking a tad bit perplexed, Hermione followed him to the house, a laughing Harry and Ginny at her heels.

The next few hours were spent in nervous anticipation of the ceremony itself. The Delacour family arrived by portkey, and were quickly supplied refreshments by Mrs Weasley. They had, Harry noted angrily, the same patronizing look on their face upon seeing the house that the Malfoys had whenever they saw a Weasley or muggleborn.

About an hour before the wedding, Ginny and Hermione slipped away to their bedroom to “change”, or as Ron put it “groom ‘emselves”. Harry and Ron were left alone in the kitchen.

“Ron?” said Harry. A plan had been forming in his head for the last twenty minutes.


“D’you think Hermione fancies me?”

Ron’s reaction was exactly as Harry had predicted it. He turned around so fast he could have pulled a muscle in his neck, dropped the cupcake he had stolen from his mother’s immense arsenal of good food, and practically screamed, “What?!’

“I was thinking about asking her out, you know, on a date.” He studied Ron’s face, trying very hard not to laugh.

Then something he had not at all anticipated happened: Ron burst into tears.

“Mate, mate I was only joking, I don’t like her – Ron, you okay?”

Ron drew a shuddering breath and wiped his eyes.

“Bloody unnecessary joke, Harry!”

“I was only testing if –”

“Yeah, well now you know,” he said, his ears red as he walked out of the kitchen. Harry followed quickly.

“What are you gonna do?”

“What d’you mean?”

“What are you going to do about Hermione?”


“Well, that’s really romantic.”

“Sod off, Harry.”

Harry stopped walking. “I could help, you know.”

“No thanks, I’m doing fine on my own.”

“Then why’s it been six years?”

Ron turned. He bit his lip, looking very much like an anxious Hermione.

“How can you help?”

The wedding ceremony was quite an aesthetic affair. Fleur looked angelic in her white robes, while Bill looked, well, he looked a bit wolf-like. He was grinning in much the same way Ron did; lopsidedly, sheepishly, like a dog having fetched a stick for his master.

Charlie Weasley raised his wand at the couple’s clasped hands. First, Harry didn’t understand what he was doing. Then, as red fire shot out of Charlie’s wand and embraced the hands, he realised it.

“You have to make an Unbreakable vow?” he whispered disbelievingly to Remus Lupin.

“No,” whispered Tonks, who was sitting next to Lupin and holding his hand so hard, it was a wonder none of the bones broke, “But you can choose to. Isn’t it romantic?”

“It’s scary,” said Harry and Lupin at the same time, and Hermione turned in her seat to shush them.

There was an enormous cheer as Fleur and Bill left the alter and everybody followed them out into the garden.

Harry made his way to the food tables, where, conveniently, Hermione sat.

“Hey,” he said taking the seat next to her.

“Hi,” she replied distantly, as if her thoughts were elsewhere.

“Hermione, can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” she said snapping out of whatever it was, and looking suddenly serious.

“It isn’t anything do to with the Horcruxes,” he said. She visibly relaxed.

“Do you fancy Ron?”

She blushed.

“That means yes, eh?”

She smiled, blushed harder and nodded.

“Brilliant!” He jumped off his chair, grabbed a butterbeer, and hurried towards Ron, who was dancing with Fleur’s little six-year-old cousin.

“No, Harry, what are you doing?” Hermione ran after him. “Don’t you dare tell him! Harry, I will curse you to smithereens, I swear I will!”

Harry just grinned. He reached Ron and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Hermione wants to tell you something…”

He grinned madly, left the two of them facing each other, found a chair nearby and sat down to enjoy the show, sipping his butterbeer.

“Excuse moi, Emilie,” muttered Ron in french, and the little girl walked back to her newlywed cousin.

There was an awkward silence as Hermione fidgeted with her necklace and Ron stared at her.

“You look very pretty tonight, ‘Mione,” said Ron finally.

She smiled, staring at his left knee.

“Wh – what, uh, did you want to, y’know, er, tell me?

She closed her eyes, breathing deeply.

“I – I – Nothing.”

And she turned and left.

Harry’s jaw dropped open in god smacked surprise. He had not thought Hermione would have chickened out. He had thought it would be Ron in denial.

They’ll come round, he assured himself, they’re just being thick. He glanced around for Ginny; he had a sudden urge, a need to talk to her.

He soon found her dancing with one of the Delacours, a young, blonde man. Harry felt the monster inside him, which had for so long lain dormant, rear its head and roar angrily.

He strode up to her, grabbed her arm, and steered her away from the now slightly surprised blonde man.

“Ow, Ron, let me go, I’m – oh, it’s you ,” she said icily.

“Listen, Gin, I need to tell you something…”

He told her what had happened. When his tale was finished he received a slap to the back of his head.

“Hey, what was that for?” he protested.

“You prat, Harry!” she replied, “Can’t you let them do it on their own? Do you have to interfere?”

“I was just – ”

“Helping them along? The truth is, Harry James Potter, that you know nothing about love and, as such, you should not play matchmaker!”

“I do know something about love,” he muttered.

“Yeah. Right. Dumping someone because there’s a war going on. You’re a bloody expert,” she yelled sarcastically.

“Gin, you know – ”

“Sod off, Harry!” she screamed, shaking off his hand and running towards the house.

Harry saw her bump into Fred, burst into tears, and point at Harry. Fred gave him a dark look, before giving his sister a hug and escorting her into the living room.

Breakfast tomorrow, Harry thought glumly, is going to be hell.

Chapter 3: Banished
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Disclaimer: HAHAHA, it’s all mine………No, it isn’t. It’s Jo’s.

He was quite right. The next morning he was not woken by Mrs Weasley’s gentle shake, nor the twins amusing flatulence-in-you-face trick, nor yet the sound of Ron rolling out of his bed.

Harry made his way downstairs carefully, bracing himself.

“Good morning, Harry,” said Mrs Weasley as he entered the room. Harry returned the greeting in a mutter and sat down on the last vacant seat, which was, inconveniently, next to Ginny.

He could feel a host of icy gazes on his face and shivered; the only two who did not seem hostile were an anxious looking Hermione and a terrified looking Mrs Weasley.

“So…Harry,” said Bill, breaking an uncomfortable silence by pushing them to the next level of uncomfort, “I’m now a married man, we all know Charlie and Ron are in love with some old acquaintences(at this the mentioned brothers blushed, while Hermione looked slightly shocked and very curious), and Fred and George…shall pass without comment. Is there any…special lady for you out there?”

Harry, looked up, horrified, and nodded.

“Well, that’s…nice,” Bill smiled, looking more wolfish then ever, “You see, we’ve been hearing some rumours…”

Harry almost choked on his cereal, “Re-really?”

“Oh yes. We’ve heard you’re quite a heartbreaker.”

There was silence. Harry dared a quick glance at Ginny. She was looking anywhere but at him.

“Well,” said Arthur Weasley finally, “I’d best be off. Perkins will have a fit if I’m late for work again.”

“I’ll go with you, dear, I have some errands to run in Diagon Alley,” squeaked Mrs Weasley.

“All right – Bill, you’ll look after this lot, will you?”

His son nodded, and husband and wife left for London with a swirl of their robes.

“Mum and Dad…they still love each other after 26 years. That’s what I want with Fleur: a lifetime,” said Bill in a dreamy voice, though Harry knew this was all directed at him, “’Till death do us part…’cause there’s nothing else worth leaving the woman you love for. Is there?” He looked around at his many brothers.

“Nothing at all, Willie,” replied Charlie.

“Nothing,” Ron echoed, blushing a little around the ears.

“I’m going for a walk,” Harry exclaimed and jumped up from his seat, walking swiftly towards the door.

“Is there, Harry?” Bill called after him.

The Boy Who Lived turned slowly on the spot.

“Some things, Bill. Life is more important than love.”

He left.

Is it? Bill asked himself. Or is it so that you cannot have one without the other?


She turned.

“Hey Ron.”

“Would you care to take a turn with me?”

She nodded, butterflies rising in her stomach.


They walked in silence for a good five minutes, until Ron suddenly stopped.

“I was jealous of Viktor Krum. I – I still am.”

“Oh,” she replied, and, not wanting to jump to conclusions, added, “I supposed you would be, he’s quite a famous Quidditch star, isn’t he?”

“Bugger Quidditch. I’m jealous because he had the one thing I wish I had.”

Heart thumping like a gavel, Hermione asked shakily, “Which is?”

“The guts to ask you to the Yule Ball.”

He took her hand. “I like you a lot, Hermione. I care about you. And if you’re no longer seeing Vick- Viktor, or anybody else for that matter, I was wondering if you were willing to give us a chance?”

It was as if a hand reached out and grabbed the shoulder of the scream of joy that was about to leave her mouth and whispered “Wait. Think.”

If she let Ron know how she felt, the war would be harder on them. If one of them died…too hard. She had to lie.

“I’m sorry, Ron. I never- I don’t think of you in that way. I-I’m in love with Harry…”

Ron dropped her hand.

“I suspected this…that you- oh, Ron, I should have told you, I’m so, so sorry about this.”

Ron cleared his throat. “Are we still friends? If you want me to stay away from you, I will…”

“No, no, no Ron! I- I do love you, just not in that way.”

He nodded.

“I’ll, er, I’ll leave you then – go see Fred and George – yeah…” he mumbled, his eyes filling with tears he desperately wanted to hide from her.

But she did see them. And it tore at a place in her chest, to see the one she loved pulled down, once again, to that special place in his best friend’s shadow, the darkest place, reserved for him.

She had loved him since- she didn't know when, or how. She knew why, though. He was her best friend, a protector, a source of comfort and entertainment. Her mind raced.

If he dies without there having been anything between us, it will hurt less. And likewise if I die. And if we survive, I can tell him the truth. If he'll still have me...

Oh God, please don’t let this turn out to be a big mistake, she thought miserably to herself.

“Did you have a nice walk, Potter?”

Harry looked up from the Daily Prophet to see Charlie looking down at him with contempt.

“I did, yeah.”

The dragon-tamer sat down opposite him.

“Cutting to the chase, I have a question for you, Potter. Why did you break up with my sister?”

Harry clenched his teeth. He got to his feet.

“I don’t want to talk about this.”

He walked out into the kitchen.

“Oh, but I do. Did she bore you? Was it all for a bet? Did you think ‘I could have someone better’? Isn’t she worthy of you, Harry Potter?”

Charlie was following him, his voice rising from dangerously quiet, to an almost-yell.

“Or maybe you didn’t approve of her chastity? Is that it? She wouldn’t sleep with you, so you threw her away like a broken watch?”

Harry turned around at this. “I don’t love her for her body, Charlie! Don’t drag sex into this!”

“Oh, you love her, do you?”

“Yeah! I do!”

“My arse you do! This whole family – we’re just a charity for you, aren’t we? Famous Harry Potter and his touching friendship to the pathetic, muggle-loving Weasley clan! You selfish, swaggering cowar – ”


One and a half months of grief, frustration and heartache found their release in that punch. Charlie fell back and landed hard against the clock that showed where all the Weasleys were at all times. The clock fell to the ground with a great clatter.

Red heads came running into the kitchen, attracted by the noise. They were met by the shocking sight of Charlie lying on the floor, blood oozing from his nose and mouth. Mr Weasley knelt down by his son.

“Ennervate! Charlie, do you hear me? Ennervate!”

He woke to, blinking and groaning, and wiped some blood of his face with his sleeve.

“What – how did – who did this to you, Charlie?”

Charlie waved his hand at Harry.

The older Weasley got to his feet and glared at his famous guest.

“You are no longer welcome in this house. My hospitality on your account is dead and cold.”

Harry could only nod. He was staring stupidly at the blood on Charlie’s face. He couldn’t comprehend that he had just done something violent to a Weasley. They were his family, he felt like a filthy traitor for punching one of them.

“Accio Harry’s belongings!”

Ron’s voice. He seemed not at all hesitant to be rid off his best friend.

Harry’s Firebolt clothes, books, and all other tidbits zoomed down the stairs. The Weasley brothers threw the smaller things into the trunk, closed it, and handed everything to Harry.

He dragged his things out into the hallway, not looking anyone in the eye.

Look at yourself, Potter; he thought to himself, look at whom you’ve been hurting. Say goodbye properly, you owe her at least that much.

He turned around, walked back into the kitchen and stopped right in front of Ginny.

“I love you. And I’ll come back for you, once I’ve done the things I must do. Even if you’re with someone else, even if you’re married, I’ll come back for you. Even if you hate me like you do now. I’ll come back. Goodbye, Gin.”

Then he was off, leaving his true home, his true family, and the girl he loved. He looked over his shoulder once, to see the gentle, rickety house with smoke unfurling from its chimney.

He would never see the Burrow again.


I’ll try and update soon, if you prompt me.

Chapter 4: Sleep Until It's Over
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Disclaimer: Mine? No…

“Bastards! You disgusting bastards!”

They all jumped and stared at Hermione, who had just come down from the second story.

“Hermio-” Ron began, but she cut him off.

“He’s one of the greatest friends to your family! Not even Dumbledore loved you all more than he does.” She pointed at Ron, “Your best friend, and you owe him your life!”

“You! His love, his one great love, the source of happiness he gave up, just to keep it safe! You owe him your life as well.” Ginny backed up against the wall, tears forming in her eyes.

“Charlie! Why did you have to provoke him? Don’t you understand his pain? You don’t… none of you do…”

She glared at them all, tears of sorrow and frustration running down her cheeks.

“And you, Mr Weasley. After all Harry’s done…he saved your life, he taught you about Muggles!”

“No-one treats my childr – ” Mr Weasley cried out, but Hermione, eyes red and wet, did not seem to hear him.

“I banish myself from the Burrow! I’m – I’m going after him.”

Mrs Weasley wailed. Charlie closed his eyes, an expression of enormous regret on his face.

Hermione raised her wand. “Accio belongings!”

“No, Hermione, please-” said Ron grabbing her shoulder.

“Ron,” she whispered in a shaky voice, “I love you so much, but you are such a stupid, stupid prick!”

Ron’s arm dropped as Hermione’s trunk, clothes and books reached the kitchen.

“Goodbye!” she said furiously, grabbing her things.

“Bye, Mrs Weasley. Thanks for having me,” she added in a softer tone.

“Oh, it was a pleasure,” Mrs Weasley whispered through her sobs. The young woman and the older embraced, tears running down their faces.

Then Hermione, casting one last, sad look at her favourite family, followed Harry’s steps through the door out into the cool evening air.

Ron watched her go from the doorway. He knew he would not let her go alone; nor Harry for that matter. He would, as well, soon have to leave the Burrow.

It doesn’t matter that they both hate me now, he thought, we need each other. I’ll follow them soon…we will be reunited.

He sighed and turned back to the uncomfortable, awkward atmosphere in his family home.

He emptied a mug of Firewhiskey so fast he almost choked. He could feel his brain beginning to fog; he knew he was getting drunk.

Good, he thought angrily, Maybe I’ll forget everything. Ginny’s face. My stupidity. Everything.

Harry glanced around the dingy Hog’s Head pub. There were only a few people in it, most having gone home. Harry, however, no longer had a home.

He had seen a notice that announced the closing of Hogwarts School. He had been banished from both the Burrow and, in a sense, from Privet Drive. Where could he go?

The answer came suddenly. Godric’s Hollow.

He had to get there. Now.

“Bartender,” he slurred loudly, “Bill.”

The old man walked up to him with a greying piece of parchment in one hand and a bag of coins in the other, presumably for change.

Harry pushed some coins into the man’s palm. “That ‘nuff?”

“Yeah, that’s fine. Would you like a room, or do you plan on leaving now?” the bartender asked politely.

“No, I’m leaving now,” Harry assured him, pulling on his denime jacket.

“Quite sure?”

Harry looked out the window. Rain was falling from an inky sky. It seemed like lightning and thunder was just waiting to be set loose.

“OK, I’d like a room,” he said. He probably wouldn’t find Godric’s Hollow in this weather anyway.

“This way, sir.”

Harry followed the man up a set of unsure stairs. At the second landing, they turned right, reaching a door with the gold number 21 nailed to it.

Harry stumbled into the room, and walked across the floor to sit on the bed. On the wall opposite him were carved the words that would change his life.

She knocked on the door with her knuckles, hair wet from running through the rain. “Harry!” she shouted, “Harry, I know you’re in there! Talk to me!”

But only silence came from beyond the door. Hermione, beginning to lose her patience, banged harder on the door, but there was no response.

Suddenly, a horrible suspicion began to grow in her mind, and she whipped out her wand, screaming “Alohomora!”

Harry was on his knees in the middle of the room. A knife was in his left hand. From the wrists of both his hands, red blood was running in rivers, dripping down onto the floor.

“No!” she cried, “No, no, no!”

In a flash she was by his side, muttering charms under her breath, wand pointing at the deep cuts, tears falling from her big, brown eyes.

The skin closed again. Blood no longer pumped out into the open, but back into his hands.

She cradled his pale, sweaty head in her arms, rocking him back and forth like a child. “My Harry, my Harry…” she breathed, her whole body shaking.

“Look at the wall,” she heard him whisper. She obeyed, and read, engraved in the stone, the words:

Padfoot and Prongs were here, 12th of October 1972

“Oh, Harry!” She held him closer, her heart almost bursting with compassion and understanding.

“I don’t want this, Hermione…” he muttered, “I want to sleep until it’s over.”

She kissed his forehead, tears falling into his black hair. “But you can’t, Harry. Because it will never be over unless you act.”

For a while they were silent, lost in thoughts and grief. Then, suddenly, Harry spoke again.

“She hates me, doesn’t she?”

Hermione knew exactly whom he meant. She just didn’t know the answer.

And it brought a question to her mind as well: What did Ron think of her now? Did he hate her? Did his whole family hate her? And did they truly hate Harry?

A/N: Sorry about the delay. And I know it's very short:/

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