Ron still looked pale and clammy

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.

“Where are you going?” asked Ron.

“If we’re staying, we should put some protective enchantments around the place,” she replied, and raising her wand, she began to walk in a wide circle around Harry and Ron, murmuring incantations as she went. Harry saw little disturbances in the surrounding air: It was as if Hermione had cast a heat haze upon their clearing.

“Salvio Hexia… Protego Totalum… Repello Muggletum… Muffliato… You could get out the tent, Harry….“

“Tent?”

“In the bag!”

“In the… of course,” said Harry.

He did not bother to grope inside it this time, but used another Summoning Charm. The tent emerged in a lumpy mass of canvas, ropes, and poles. Harry recognized it, partly because of the smell of cats, as the same tent in which they had slept on the night of the Quidditch World Cup.

“I thought this belonged to that bloke Perkins at the Ministry?” he asked, starting to disentangle the pent 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, which in one fluid motion rose into the air and settled, fully constructed, onto the ground before Harry, out of whose startled hands a tent peg soared, to land with a final thud at the end of a guy rope.

“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 and Hermione 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?”

“Respect?“ Harry repeated, but Hermione shot him a warning look; apparently he was not to argue with Ron while the latter was in such a weakened condition.

Harry and Hermione half carried, half dragged Ron through the entrance of the tent. The interior was exactly as Harry remembered it; a small flat, complete with bathroom and tiny kitchen. He 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 they had settled him on the mattress he closed his eyes again and did not speak for a while.

“I’ll make some tea,” said Hermione breathlessly, pulling kettle and mugs from the depths of her bag and heading toward the kitchen.

Harry found the hot drink as welcome as the firewhisky had been on the night that Mad-Eye had died; it seemed to burn away a little of the fear fluttering in his chest.

After a minute or two, Ron broke the silence.

“What d’you reckon happened to the Cattermoles?”

“With any luck, they’ll have got away,” said Hermione, clutching her hot mug for comfort. “As long as Mr. Cattermole had his wits about him, he’ll have transported Mrs. Cattermole by Side-Along-Apparition and they’ll be fleeing the country right now with their children. That’s what Harry told her to do.”

“Blimey, I hope they escaped,“ said Ron, leaning back on his pillows. The tea seemed to be doing him good; a little of his color had returned. ”I didn’t get the feeling Reg Cattermole was all that quick-witted, though, the way everyone was talking to me when I was him. God, I hope they made it…. If they both end up in Azkaban because of us…“