Ron nodded, straightening a little as Hermione took some of Harry's weight. The thought of a warm, dry tent was just as appealing now as it would have been if he'd been out here for weeks. He felt like it had been ages since he'd returned. Still, he had to keep forcing down the smile that threatened to break over his face when he glanced down at her and found her looking back up at him.
"It's - dead," he said, feeling that broken was the wrong word. Whatever had been in that thing had been alive, somehow. "I used the sword. Here." He dug awkwardly in his pocket with his free hand, and held it out to her. It was seared and scarred, and still smelled faintly of smoke. He'd left the sword lying by the lake, he realized. He would go fetch it later.