The Girl Who Hid | ✓

|125| Splinched

"If anything, it was mine," Harry put his hand in his pocket and drew out Mad-Eye's eye.

Hermione and I scrunched up our faces in horror.

"Umbridge had stuck it to her office door, to spy on people. I couldn't leave it there... but that's how they knew there were intruders."

"I told you —"

Before I could finish my answer, Ron groaned and opened his eyes. He was still gray and his face glistened with sweat.

"How d'you feel?" Hermione whispered.

"Lousy," croaked Ron, wincing as he felt his injured arm. "Where are we?"

"In the woods where they held the Quidditch World Cup," I said. "I wanted somewhere enclosed, undercover, and this was —"

"— the first place you thought of," Harry finished for me, glancing around at the apparently deserted glade.

"D'you reckon we should move on?" Ron asked Harry, and I could tell by the look on Ron's face that he was thinking the same.

"I dunno."

Ron still looked pale and clammy. He had made no attempt to sit up and it looked as though he was too weak to do so. The prospect of moving him was daunting.

"Let's stay here for now," Harry said.

Looking relieved, Hermione sprang to her feet, pulling me up with her.

"Where are you two going?" asked Ron.

"If we're staying, we should put some protective enchantments around the place," she replied. "Maisey, help me."

"Protego Totalum... Protego Maxima... Muffiato..." I mumbled multiple protective incantations as Hermione did the same.

"You could get out the tent, Harry," Hermione said suddenly

"Tent?"

"In the bag!"

"In the— of course," said Harry.

As I turned around to place more protection charms, I see Harry pulling out the tent from my bag.

"I thought this belonged to that bloke Perkins at the Ministry?" he asked, starting to disentangle the tent pegs.

"Apparently he didn't want it back, his lumbago's so bad," said Hermione, now performing complicated figure-of-eight movements with her wand, "so Ron's dad said I could borrow it. Erecto!" she added, pointing her wand at the misshapen canvas.

"Cave Inimicum," Hermione finished with a skyward flourish. "That's as much as I can do. At the very least, we should know they're coming, I can't guarantee it will keep out Vol —"

"Don't say the name!" Ron cut across her, his voice harsh.

Harry, Hermione, and I looked at each other.

"I'm sorry," Ron said, moaning a little as he raised himself to look at them, "but it feels like a— a jinx or something. Can't we call him You-Know-Who— please?"

"Dumbledore said fear of a name —" began Harry.

"In case you hadn't noticed, mate, calling You-Know-Who by his name didn't do Dumbledore much good in the end," Ron snapped back. "Just— just show You-Know-Who some respect, will you?"

"Really, Ronald?" I gave him an icy glare.

Harry, Hermione, and I half carried, half dragged Ron through the entrance of the tent. The tent was beautiful: a small flat, complete with bathroom and tiny kitchen. Harry shoved aside an old armchair and lowered Ron carefully onto the lower berth of a bunk bed. Even this very short journey had turned Ron whiter still, and once we had settled him on the mattress he closed his eyes again and did not speak for a while.