home is where the heart is (and you hold mine)

somethings are out of our control (but there is always going to be a choice)

Author's Notes:

We have another POV in this chapter and then it's all Harry!

This chapter is just barely north of 10.3K words so it's quite a bit XD It's a little bit of fluff, a little bit of angst.

Chapter 11

somethings are out of our control (but there is always going to be a choice)

Ron detested being unprepared.

He hated not knowing exactly what was going to be said, done, next. It left him scrambling at loose threads, seething as everything fell apart.

It was one of the reasons why he loved Chess so much.

Here was an organization to everything, there were different ways to act but Ron knew exactly how everything would end. Because with each move made, movements and paths were restricted and there were only so many moves that could be played before Ron took hold of the reins – then it was all lost.

He was always going to be the victor. It was just that simple.

So, Dumbledore, in all his old age wisdom, going through his notebook set a fire underneath his sternum, with writhing creatures clawing at the bone of ribs. He curled his fists and took in a sharp breath, glaring at the hands invading his privacy, Hermione's genius, and Harry's life.

It was unacceptable.

This was their work, the research they had been pouring over for nearly 3 months – Merlin, his brain had never felt too full in that time – and here he was, going through it and ruining every meticulous thing that they had set.

A plan to meet Riddle, a plan for Ron's little nephew/niece, and Ron felt as though somebody had destroyed a majestic sandcastle – firm yet fragile – that he had laboured over for hours, and now it was falling apart, running through the gaps of his fingers.

All out of his control.

"I hadn't realized that our free time, our recreation, had to be made known to you, Headmaster." The growl startled Ron from his thoughts and looked at Hermione.

Dear Merlin.

Hermione was leaning forward, digging her fingers into the wood of the table – when had it turned back from the sofa? – and with her hair pulled up into a messy bun, you could clearly see the anger sharpening every feature of her face.

"It's that, my dear girl." Hermione's face tightened. "It is simply that I am worried for you. Necromancy is very dark and very illegal. If you had fallen into its clutches, we might have been too late to save you."

Save them?

What?

"And young Harry, having his connection to Voldemort, it makes him particularly vulnerable to this."

Ron twitched.

He breathed in deeply, listening to the voice in his head that sounded scarily like Hermione, and tried to employ whatever calmness he could muster. It wasn't a lot but as long as he didn't explode and curse somebody into unrecognition, they'd be alright. There was no need to add fuel to the fire.

He summoned the notebook back, loosening his muscles when he realized that Dumbledore hadn't read the section with Harry's pregnancy notes. He didn't know. This was good, this was fantastic – this was salvageable.