Everything was proceeding according to Jon's arrangements. Ron, wounded and anxious, had left Hermione and Harry under the Horcrux's influence, and the mood within the group suddenly became tense.
When Harry woke the next morning, it took him a few seconds to remember what had happened. He naively hoped it had been a dream, that Ron was still here and had not left.
But when he turned his head, he saw Ron's empty bed, drawing his gaze like a corpse lying across the road.
Harry jumped out of his own bed, refusing to look at Ron's.
Hermione was already busy in the kitchen. As Harry passed by, she did not say good morning to him, but hurriedly turned her head away.
He'd gone.
Harry told himself.
He'd gone.
As he washed his face and dressed, he could not stop thinking it, as though repeating it would lessen the blow.
He'd gone and was not coming back. It was a simple fact, Harry knew, because their protective magic meant that once they left this place, Ron would be unable to find them.
He and Hermione ate breakfast in silence. Her eyes were red and swollen; she looked as though she had not slept all night.
As they packed, Hermione dawdled. Harry knew why she wanted to linger by the river.
Several times, he saw her eagerly raise her head. He believed she was deceiving herself into thinking she had heard footsteps in the heavy rain.
Yet no red-haired figure appeared among the trees.
And whenever Harry looked around as she did—though he could not help clinging to a little hope himself—and saw only the rain-lashed woods, a small burst of anger flared inside him.
He could hear Ron saying, "We thought you knew what you were doing!"
So he continued packing,