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The Burrow was quiet. Painfully quiet.
It was the type of silence that Ron was unaccustomed to, even after a year living in a tent.
Even as the days stretched on, that silence had always been cold and pensive. Like you could actually feel the collective pressure of all their minds racing in circles, desperately trying to find some sort of way forward.
But this silence, it was dark and stifling. The weight of their collective grief crowded the air, making it feel impossible to breathe, let alone exist. The sounds that did make it through were muffled and toneless.
It had only been a week since Fred's funeral, but it was beginning to feel like the silence would never lift.
Based on the light coming through his bedroom window, it seemed like the night had successfully become the morning. Ron weighed his options, but it was becoming increasingly obvious that there was no hope of sleep taking over his consciousness again, and laying bed was making him feel restless.
He extracted himself carefully from his bed, moving as slowly as possible to make sure he didn't wake Hermione. Ever since her encounter with Bellatrix, Hermione had struggled to get enough sleep. She did better when he was beside her, something he took great pride in, but given that his mother would most definitely take issue with their sleeping arrangements, he wanted to make sure she got as much rest as possible before they were found out.
Mind you, the chance of Molly Weasley discovering her youngest son's choice of bed-mate seemed increasingly slim. Since they returned home after the battle, she had left her bedroom only when she was helping with the preparations for Fred's burial. The rest of the time, she stayed in her room, much like George was doing.
The rest of the family was taking turns staying beside them, typically between attending other funerals, Floo-ing to Hogwarts to assist in the clean-up effort, and, in the case of Harry, Ron, and Hermione, attending meetings at the Ministry to discuss the events of the past year, and how much information could be safely shared with the public.
Some days, Ron thought George and their Mum had the right idea.
As Ron descended the final steps into the kitchen, he tried to wipe his bleariness out of his eyes. Even as he did, he yawned heavily, because, no matter how much sleep he got, that heavy silence still made him exhausted.
Ron stumbled to the sink, pulling out a mug and filling it with water. As he did so, he saw, through the back window, the top of someone's long red hair, obviously sat on the little bench beside the door.
He grimaced and pulled out a second mug. Even with Harry sleeping beside her (something he refused to think about for too long), Ginny, like the rest of them, had been having a rough time.
It occurred to him then that their father, who had been leaving and returning at all hours of the day and night, as he was assisting with the reassembly of the Ministry, most likely knew exactly what was going on under the Burrow's roof. But if he did, Arthur Weasley certainly wasn't voicing any objections the way his wife undoubtably would.
One day, Ron would have to thank his father for that.
Ron stepped outside, levitating the steaming mugs in front of him.
"Tea?"
Ginny jumped slightly at the sudden noise and turned towards him, raising an eyebrow curiously.
"What are you doing up so early?"
"Couldn't sleep."
She nodded idly, reaching out to take the floating mug as Ron sank on the bench next to her.
"Thanks," she muttered, before turning back to stare out over the yard.
They like that for a few minutes, relishing in the warm tea and looking out over the foggy mist of the early morning, even as the silence felt completely alien.
It was that gnawing cold, working its way through his chest, that forced Ron to break their contemplation.
"Harry told you about the Horcruxes, didn't he?"
"Yes..."
It didn't come as a surprise as, a few days before, Harry had brought up the subject with him and Hermione while Ginny was upstairs keeping their Mum company.
"I want to tell Ginny about the them."
Hermione sat up straighter. "The Horcruxes?"
Harry nodded.
Ron chewed on his lower lip, mulling it over in his mind. "I don't know if that's a good idea, mate. Don't you think it's a little too soon?"
Hermione rested a hand on his back as Harry sat back in his armchair, his scar wrinkling with the rest of his forehead.
"I think she deserves to know. Outside of us and Dumbledore, she's the only one who ever had close contact with one, and I think she deserves to know the truth about what the Diary was. Why it did the things it did."
"It's probably better she find out sooner rather than later," Hermione said softly beside him.
Of course, deep down Ron knew they were right, although he wished he could save his baby sister from having to open that particular set of wounds, especially when there was so much other pain around them.
Hermione saved him from having to formulate a response by turning back to Harry. "Do you want us to be with you when you tell her?"
"No, I think it would be better coming from only me."
"How are you feeling about it?" Ron asked, though he certainly knew the answer.
"I feel... poisoned, damaged."
"Well," he bumped her shoulder lightly with in, unable to stop himself from trying to ease the tension with a joke, "I certainly know a thing or two about being poisoned, if you want to talk about it."
But Ginny didn't respond, instead she stared down at her mug, her hands wrapped firmly around it.
Ron sighed, "what did Harry tell you about the Locket?"
"What?" Ginny asked, looking up in surprise. "Slytherin's locket? He said that's what they had been looking for, the night Dumbledore died, but that Sirius's brother had stolen it years before? Later Mundungus stole it from Grimmauld Place, and Umbridge took it from him as a bribe. Which is why the three of your broke into the Ministry, right?"
"Yeah, but what did he tell you about after that?"
"Well, you destroyed it, didn't you? Once you got your hands of Gryffindor's Sword, you got to be the one who stabbed the thing."
"True, but there's a bit more to it. We had to wear the ruddy thing for months, before we got the Sword."
She nodded, taking a sip of her tea. "Harry said it was awful, like having a Dementor following you around."
"Honestly, I think this was worse than a Dementor. They make you feel numb, but this thing, it felt like You-Know-Who was there, whispering in your ear."
Ginny stiffened beside him, so Ron plowed on.
"We would take turns wearing the Locket, and I didn't handle it well, and way worse than Harry or Hermione. It was the same thing over and over again, repeating every little thing I have ever been insecure about. Eventually I snapped, I stormed out on them and apparated away, abandoned them-"
His voice cracked slightly, and Ron had to rub his eyes to try and keep his composure.
"He didn't tell me that," Ginny whispered.
"No, I figured he wouldn't."
It was true. Harry was a stupid, noble git, who had apparently found it in his heart to forgive Snape of all people. He knew that Harry's forgiveness was absolute, and therefore he would never bring up Ron's betrayal, nor all the awful things Ron had said to him in his anger.
But Ron would never forgive himself.
"Riddle said..." Ginny's voice trembled, "he told me that he was the only one who could ever love me. That I was a disappointment to Mum and Dad, that they expected their only daughter to be special ..."
She trailed off, and Ron let the silence weigh on them as they processed it all.
Eventually, Ginny spoke again, this time in a much clearer voice. "Where did you go?"
"Well, initially I tried to figure out how to get back to them, because I realized what an absolute idiot I was being. But Hermione had worked out a very thorough set of charms to our campsites hidden, so it really was a hopeless task. Eventually I went to Bill and Fleur's to regroup."
"When was this?"
"Around Christmas."
"Ah, so that's why they didn't come for the holidays."
"Exactly."
"And how did you get back to them?"
Ron tugged at one ear, trying to get the uncomfortable burning to go away.
"Well, I certainly wouldn't have figured it out on my own, but luckily Dumbledore’s Deluminator was able to bring me back. I just apparated, and it brought me to where they were."
The sun was starting to come up now, and birds began chittering happily in response.
"Why are you telling me this?" Ginny asked.
"Because, that locket was the worst thing I have ever experienced. Just wearing it once every third day, I felt like I was loosing my mind. And I can't imagine what it would be like, feeling like that, everyday for almost a year."
He turned slightly, hoping to catch her eye, but she kept her gaze firmly on her lap.
"You were a kid, just a tiny kid. But you survived it, just like you survived the last year with Death Eaters running around the castle. So if You-Know-Who did try to poison you, all he did was turn you into one of the strongest people I know."
Ginny sniffled, so Ron reached out an arm and wrapped it around her shoulders.
"I know I've never told you this before, but I am constantantly impressed by you."
He rested his chin on her head, and they stayed like that for a long time, until the cold morning glow had been completely replaced by warm sunlight. Off in the distance, they heard one of the neighbor's roosters signaling the start of a new day.
"Ron?" Ginny said tentatively.
"Yeah?"
"Do you think we'll be okay?"
There was any number of things she could be referring to. Their family living in a world without Fred, her and Harry's relationship, maybe even the Wizarding World as a whole.
But regardless, Ron knew what his answer was.
"I know we will be."