False Fate

By MD1016

Part II: Trial of the Century

Chapter 9 – The Two for One

Ron, his father, and Harry hadn't been back at Headquarters for more than ten minutes when Lupin and Moody turned up.

"There's no sign of Hermione's retainer, James McTurvish, anywhere," Lupin said, breathless. He looked pale and pasty, and Ron recognized the symptoms right away. Undoubtedly there would be a full moon tonight, and Lupin would be out of commission for the next couple of days.

"I managed to track down where Hermione's retainer lives," Moody announced before swigging a flask from his pocket. He settled himself at the kitchen table with a groan. "No signs of foul play that I could see. I did talk with his landlady - a Muggle, so I had to play that one just right - and she said she hadn't seen him in several days."

Lupin lowered himself on to one of the kitchen chairs, and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to dab at his brow. Harry put a cup of tea down in front of him. "I've just been to see Mr. and Mrs. Granger, who by the way, now have absolutely no trust in me or the magical community any longer, it seems," Lupin told them. "But they're also at a loss. They tried several times to contact Mr. McTurvish, with no success. He specializes in cases involving Muggle-borns, you know."

"What do we know about McTurvish? Or Bombridge, for that matter?" asked Ron's dad asked.

"Hmm. Good question. I want a full background checks." His eye sized up Ron and Harry before he grumbled, "I'll do it myself."

"Good man," said Lupin. "You do that. You know, we really should do something about banning Muggles from the Ministry ipso facto. The Grangers should have a right to see their daughter tried, regardless of their non-magical status."

Just then Tonks hurried in, her clothes still black and her hair still blue, but now more upset than Ron had ever seen her. She knocked over a chair on her rush to get to Lupin's side.

"Remus," she said breathlessly, as if she had run all the way. "Remus, they won't let us in to see her! They've got her locked up and we can't get in! I'm an Auror and they won't let me through! How can I not have clearance? An Auror!"

"All right, now." Lupin pulled her down into the chair next to his. "Start from the beginning."

"They won't let us in!" exclaimed Ron's mum from the doorway, having just caught up. "Those bureaucratic imbeciles say little Hermione Granger is a danger to society, and they have her locked up in maximum security down on level ten! Level ten, Arthur! That wonderful child is being held in level ten! You've got to do something!"

Ron's father looked stunned.

"We took some clothes to her, and books and things," Tonks continued, on the verge of hysteria, "But they wouldn't even deliver them to her. They said I posed a probable security risk – me! I'm a security risk!"

This time Lupin put a hand to her belly, and her gaze rose to meet his. They had a moment of stillness between them where they seemed to loose track of everyone else in the room. Ron felt awkward, as if he was intruding on a private exchange, and he tried to shrink back against the stone wall. But then, Tonks gave Lupin a small smile of understanding and the moment ended. Taking a deep breath, Lupin looked to Moody.

"There's nothing we can do about the security. They have the legal right," Moody told them. "She did cast an Unforgivable. The law now classifies her as a danger to society, both magical and Muggle."

"Preposterous!" cried Mrs. Weasley.

Tonks shook her head. "You know Hermione, Alastor. Without her wand she can't open a can of soup! She doesn't pose a danger to anyone. They're doing this for some other reason. To make an example, or- "

"It's disgusting!" Ron's mum insisted. "Those people are making this into some huge sensational piece of propaganda! Just look what's already in the Daily Prophet! And the hearing didn't even adjourn an hour ago!" Ron's mum dropped the latest copy of the Prophet on the table, and Ron saw very clearly an upset and silently shouting Hermione leap from the witness chair and disappear into a puff of black and white smoke. The headline blinked, "TEEN LOVERS COMMIT UNFORGIVABLE!" with the subtitle: "HARRY POTTER'S LOVER GOES MAD!"

Ron took a couple of steps back, needing space between him and the paper. Harry met his gaze.

Tonks shook her head; calmer, but still angry. "Who's calling the shots in the hearing?" she asked. "Who's behind this Bombridge fellow? Surely there's someone controlling him, or influencing his line of questions. I mean, why else ask a teenager about her sex life?" Ron looked at his shoes to keep himself from looking beside him, at Harry.

Tonks accepted Lupin's handkerchief and blew her nose. "Are the Malfoys behind this? It must be the Malfoys."

"If the Malfoys are behind this," Mrs. Weasley said, "we'd best figure out why, and quickly."

"Do they need a reason?" said Moody. "This is the sort of thing they do for entertainment."

Ron felt a little queasy and turned away from the newspaper and the rest of them. No one seemed to remember that he and Harry were even in the room. Ron found himself sweating, and his heart thumping. They weren't doing anything, they were just sitting around talking as if trying to decide the best place to pitch a picnic. If ever Hermione need him it was now, but Ron was at a complete loss as to what to do. Why hadn't he stopped her from casting that bloody spell? She'd been right there, pressed up against him, he easily could have done something; anything...snatched the wand away from her sooner. Or killed Draco himself.

He thought his head might explode. He turned away and reached out to lean against the stone wall.

"She shouldn't have to go through this," Ron said to himself, under his breath. "None of this is her fault."

Harry was beside him, and still facing the rest of the room. He put a hand on Ron's shoulder. "We'll figure it out," he assured. "We always do."

How? Ron couldn't see his way through the fog of injustice. "I just hate seeing her cry."

"I know." There was a pause, a moment of exhale, and then Harry slowly asked: "Do you reckon there's a reason, you know, for the crying? Beyond the obvious?" He looked at Ron with sad eyes. "You were there, outside the kitchen with me. You heard everything I heard."

"What?" Ron asked, lost.

Harry nodded back to Tonks, who sat in the chair with a new bout of tears tracking down her cheeks and a protective hand over her stomach. It was no longer flat, but the small bulge was so slight that if one didn't know what to look for it would go completely unnoticed. Lupin was still talking, discussing options and strategy with Moody and several of the Order, but he sat very close to Tonks, his arm around her shoulders, and every so often he cast a concerned glance at her. He didn't like that she was so upset, not that Ron blamed him, but then his eyes lowered to her belly and …. Ron remembered what they'd heard in the hall.

"Do you think?" Harry asked. "Is it possible? That Hermione...?"

Ron's flushed face went ice cold, and the edges of his vision dimmed. For a moment he thought he might topple over, or that his head might actually explode, but then at the last second he lurched to his right and vomited. His knees buckled and had Harry's reflexes not been what they were Ron would've landed in the mess he just created. Ron's dad bounded to him and they managed to get him seated.

"Head between then knees," Ron's mum ordered. "I'll put on some tea." She flicked her wand, and a mop and bucket bounded in from the broom closet at the other end of the room.

Ron barely registered any of this. His mind was lost in a mantra of: "...she's not, she's not, she's not..." Hadn't she said she wasn't? Ron couldn't remember the exact words. All he could recall from that moment outside the kitchen door was a gut-ripping hatred and the feel of Harry's thin neck between his hands. He glanced at Tonks' stomach - he couldn't help himself - and then had to close his eyes again. A moan escaped his throat. Women in that condition cried all the time, didn't they?

"Dad," Ron croaked out. "You have to get me in to see her!"

"You know I can't," his father said.

"She's all alone!" Ron insisted. "On level ten. And what if she's…she's…" He lifted his eyes to meet Harry's

"She's not," Harry said quickly. "She said so, remember? She's not."

"Then why the bloody hell did you bring it up?" Ron's voice went shrill and cracked.

"I don't know!" They were talking over each other, and tension was flying. "I was just thinking how emotional she's been-"

"She's been cursed, pulled apart, thrown to the curb, kidnapped, beaten, tortured, and you wonder why she's been a little weepy lately?" Ron shook his head. "This is about her, Harry, not you! And just so you know: it wouldn't matter to me if she was, either! She's still Hermione! And it's about her, not you!" His gaze shot back to Tonks, the shock on her face and the protective hand over her middle. His insides went wonky again. He needed some air. "Let me go," he said as he yanked his arm from his father's grasp.

He headed out into the cool night with the intent of walking off the craziness buzzing through him, the steady beat of his mantra powering each step. He didn't even notice when it began to drizzle.

***

Ron pounded on the door without success, and then went to shooting flares against the windows above the store. Eventually Fred made it to the window.

"What's your problem?" he demanded through a yawn. "It's the middle of the night!"

"That's what I told him!" the sign said.

"Open up!" Ron shouted. "I need your help!"

"You're off your nut! It's bleeding one in the morning!"

"Fred! Hermione needs me, and I need your help! I don't know what to do and they've got her locked away and…" He was grasping, he knew, but he couldn't think straight. "Help!"

For a second his brother hesitated, and Ron could see the battle playing out in his head.

"Freddy, luv?" It was a girl's sleepy voice. "What'cha doin'?"

"Nothin'," he said over his shoulder. Then to Ron: "All right, then. But just because I like Hermione. Don't make a habit of this." Then he came down and let Ron in.

It took no time at all to retell the story to his brothers. George, a little less receptive than his twin, sucked down two cups of coffee before he said, "Another advocate won't do her a lick of good. The Malfoy's will just get to him, too. You need a better plan, mate."

"Assuming it was the Malfoy's," Fred added unhelpfully.

Ron wasn't ready to abandon the only plan he'd been able to come up with so easily. "What if the new advocate was someone they couldn't get to? Like someone with the Order?"

Fred shrugged. "Are there any barristers in the Order?"

Ron thought for a moment and then sighed. "'Don't think so. But she can't be left alone up there in that chair without council, without someone to object to the way she's being treated. It's like watching a lamb being slaughtered."

"Hardly that," quipped George. "More like a badger, I'd say."

"She's defenseless up there, and the whole time she's trying to protect me and Harry and Ginny..." Ron got lost for a moment in the image of Hermione taking one of the shocks from the chair, and then wild, terrified look her eyes held afterwards. "Do you have any polyjuice potion already made up? Maybe if I look like one of her guards I can get inside to talk to her."

"Talk to her?" Fred said, as if he'd just tasted something bitter. "She doesn't need a chat, man, she needs action! You've got to find that Draco wanker. Get him to admit to torturing her. Maybe if they understand how bad she had it, they'll let her off easy, and stick it to that little wart instead."

"I don't really see what that would do," said George. He sipped his coffee - black with seven sugars. "She cast an Unforgivable, not an Unforgivable-Unless-You've-Been-Tortured. Why are they having a trial, anyway? There's not a question of whether she did it, is there? Not that I want Hermione to go to wizard's prison or anything."

"It's a hearing," Ron said, "and it's to determine sentencing." He shook his head. They couldn't send her to Azkaban, they just couldn't. It would break her. If this is what she was like after just two days with Draco, then what would she be like after a month or two in prison? "Do they even send teenagers to Azkaban? Cripes! I've got to do something."

George sighed. "You know we'd help if we could."

"Just be careful," Fred warned. "Don't do anything that might make things worse for her."

Ron glared at his brother. "What kind of a cad do you think I am? Make things worse for her!"

"The kind who leaps before he looks," George agreed with his twin. "You've got to admit you're not exactly thinking clearly these days. I mean, case and point; you came to me and Fred for help."

Ron looked from one twin to the other. Damn.

"Go home," George said. "Get some sleep. And stay out of trouble. And don't wake us up in the middle of the effing night anymore!"

"I wish Dumbledore was still alive," Ron said quietly. Everything would be different. Ron thought that they'd probably all be back at Hogwarts, if Dumbledore was there to protect them. But even if not, he certainly would've intervened to help Hermione out of this nightmare. Dumbledore had been a wizard that created a nervous sort of awe in Ron, and he always felt safer knowing he was nearby and in control.

The twins nodded in solemn agreement.

***

The second day of the hearing had the chamber was packed so tightly people were practically sitting on top of each other. Not an inch of standing room was left, and the doors wouldn't shut for all the bodies. The room was overly hot, and before things got started, Tonks excused herself, saying she needed some air. "I'll be back at Headquarters," she told them. "Let me know what's happened the instant this is over."

When Judge Rosmarus came into the room, he didn't seem at all surprised or concerned with the number of people in the chamber. He sat comfortably in his overly large judge's chair, waved at the Amplifitizmo which descended as he announced in a somewhat bored voice: "Let it be known on this day We are continuing to Hear the case of Hermione Granger v. The Ministry of Magic, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Chancellor Xavier Bombridge for the Prosecution. Chancellor Bombridge is in attendance, as is the Defendant."

The room grew silent in anticipation, and in the next moment there as a huge plume of orange smoke and Hermione appeared on the small dais. She looked awful. Her hair was limp and unkempt, her robes wrinkled as if she'd slept in them - only Ron doubted she had slept at all; the bags under her eyes were dark and pronounced. She didn't startle this time, but quickly took the offered seat, sinking down into it in a very uncharacteristic slouch. Immediately chains snaked up from under the seat and bound her wrists to the arms of the chair. She stared down at the chains, not in surprise, but more contemplative; as if she couldn't figure out how she came to find herself in this situation.

"Miss Granger. How lovely to see you." It was Bombridge's pompous clip that curled through the quiet. "I trust today you will keep your composure and give us only the truth. I'd hate to have a repeat of yesterday."

She didn't say anything, didn't look at him. Ron wondered if she had been drugged.

"Let us begin again," said Bombridge. "Please do tell the court about the night of September 19th."

Ron watched her swallow, and then the tip of her tongue flicked out to lick her lips. She closed her eyes. "That's was birthday," she said. Her throat sounded crackly, dry. "You know all about that now."

"Oh, not quite all, Miss Granger. Kindly tell us: What is the Order of the Phoenix?"

She immediately denied knowing anything at all about the Order of the Phoenix, and in her vehemence to do so the chair shocked her into unconsciousness. A healer was summoned and, with all the people still looking on, she was pronounced "still alive," though unfit to bear witness anymore that day. Then, Hermione was sent back to her cell in a puff of orange smoke, the room emptied, and Ron and Harry were left staring in shock at the empty dais.

"They're going to kill her," Ron said. "That's what this is about. They don't care why she cast an Unforgivable. They're going to get as much information from her as they can, and then they're going to torture her to death. Only they're going to do it legally."

"How did he find out about the Order?"

Ron shrugged. "Snape? I don't know. I don't care. I'm going to get her out of here."

Harry didn't look at him. He just asked, "How?"

"I don't know yet."

"When you do," Harry told him, "count me in."

***

Ron didn't go back to the manse. He knew Headquarters would be in an uproar, and he needed to think. Instead, he headed back to the Burrow, showered, and then sat on Ginny's bed. Hermione's bag was still a lump in the corner against the wall, her books still piled neatly next to his feet. The blood on the wall had been scrubbed off, but the posters Ginny had pinned up had been ruined, so there was a blankness to the room that mirrored Ron's mood. He looked down at the floor and remembered the night he'd held Hermione. He laid his head on the her pillow. It still smelled like her.

"I thought I'd find you here." His father stood in the doorway below the hole Ron had blown in the wall weeks before, and he hadn't gotten around to mending.

He wanted to be left alone, wanted to come up with some brilliant strategy to rescue Hermione and keep her safe. He wanted, more than anything, to go back to the beginning – the very beginning, on that morning seven years ago when they all met for the first time on the Hogwarts Express – and do everything different.

"Your mother said you'd be at Headquarters, madder than hell, but I said I know my boy, and I knew you'd come back here. I know you're planning something, Ron. I can feel it. But you mustn't. You need to let this play out."

"That's no longer an option," he told his dad, his voice hard and flat, alien even to himself.

"Son," he said quietly, placating. "Do take a moment to think."

"Think? That's all anybody says to me. Think, Ron! Think! Like I'm feeble or something! Like I don't know right from wrong! Like I'm supposed to sit there and watch them torture her all over again, and if I think about it, I'll be good with it. Well, Dad, I've thought a lot about it, and I'm not good with it. Not at all!" He jumped up from the bed and made to leave, to get some air, to just be alone for a while, but his dad stopped him with a stern hand to the arm. Ron couldn't bring himself to look him in the eye.

"Ronald," said his father. "Your intentions are always true, lad, but you're not thinking clearly anymore. You're so twisted up in this Fate business that you've lost sight of what's around you."

He hated this. Every bleeding syllable coming out of his father's mouth was like a loving slap on the face.

"And what's around me, Dad?" he asked sarcastically. "A justice system that punishes people for doing what's right? Two best friends who are suffering for my mistakes? The person I care most about locked up and out of reach – she probably thinks I've abandoned her, Dad! How can I do nothing? They're hurting her! If it was Mum would you do nothing?"

"Ron," he said. "You're surrounded by friends and family that care for you, and care for Hermione, and will do everything in their power to help her. To help the both of you. You have to know this. I'm sure she does-"

"The Order's doing nothing!" he argued. "Surveillance on the Malfoys and background checks aren't going to free Hermione!"

"Trust, Ron," his father said. "You have to trust that when you're falling your friends will catch you. That's what the Order is about."

His words reminded Ron of that night at number 12, when Moody asked Hermione if she trusted Harry with her death. It was a dark question, and Hermione hadn't answered it, but Ron wondered now if it came to it, what he would be willing to do for her - where the bounds of their friendship began and ended. Certainly he'd break her out of that cell they were keeping her in and turn himself into a fugitive to keep her safe. Absolutely, and without a moment's hesitation. But would he be willing to do that to her? Would he turn her into a fugitive in order to keep Bombridge from her? If he truly believed they were going to torture her to death on the witness chair, then shouldn't his answer be an unequivocal yes?

"What ever you're thinking, Ron, don't!" His father shook his shoulders a little. "You're a good lad with a heart of gold. But you're head's a little funny, and right now–"

"No, it's not. Dad…Harry's not Fated to her anymore. She's mine again. And that means that she's my Love, yeah, but she's also my responsibility. I have to help her. I can't afford to trust that someone's going to do it for me. For us."

"Fated again? Are you now?" A wistful smile touched the corners of his mouth, and his eyes softened. "If that's so, son, remember then that the Fates have linked the two of you together. Forever. And if you go and do something stupid, like whatever it was you were just thinking, and then when Hermione is released, she's still going to have to live with whatever thick thing you came up with, and for the rest of her life. You're Fated, and that means every decision to you make in your life affects not only you but another person. Every choice you make is, in a very real sense, a choice you force her to make as well."

"But," Ron asked, a little belligerent, "what about the choices I don't make? Doesn't she have to suffer those as well?"

His father gave him a sad smile. "I'm so very proud of you, Ron. And not because you're a Smisurato or because you're Fated, but because you've grown into a good man. The man I always knew you could be. If you stop and give yourself enough time to work it out, Ron, you'll do the right thing. You always do."

He wasn't so sure about that. But his father had called him a man, looked at him as if he was a man, and so he let him think it anyway.

***

Ron was placed in charge of walking Hermione's parents through the paperwork necessary to get her healers' records released. There were endless scrolls upon scrolls, some just because they were Muggles, some because they weren't wizards. It was awkward sitting in their formal dining room, surrounded by the hum of electricity and a sudden roar of a "dishwasher" from the kitchen; doubly so because Hermione wasn't with him.

The Grangers were terse with him, but not unkind, and Mrs. Granger kept him plied with tea and biscuits, which Ron felt was very civilized. He kept catching her staring at him, but then she'd busy herself with papers or pouring, and never really said whatever it was that she was thinking. She was probably wondering if he'd debauched her daughter, too. He tried to not seem too much like a debaucher while he was with them.

Surprisingly, they didn't ask too many questions. Once Ron told them that no one had admittance to see Hermione, Ron supposed there wasn't much point. He was relieved he didn't have to explain about the chair. But then, he considered that Lupin may have already filled them in. After all, he'd been the one to tell them about her missing advocate.

Her parents were Muggles. He'd always known it, and it never bothered him, but now that he was actually spending some time with them it hit Ron as a strange new reality. Muggles were odd in that they were very different from Ron and the way he lived his life. Yes, he'd always considered Hermione an odd girl, but honestly, he'd never really considered her that different from himself. Maybe he'd just gotten used to her. Or, maybe she'd made a smooth transition from Muggle to Muggle-born.

Once they'd finished, Mr. Granger excused himself and went out to the garden to smoke. Mrs. Granger remained, standing anxiously behind her chair. She seemed to want to ask something, and wasn't sure how to broach it. Ron rather hoped that she wouldn't.

"Don't worry," Ron said at last, parchments safely stowed in his parchment sling. "There are a lot of people working to help Hermione. She has a lot of friends."

"Did she…" Mrs. Granger put a hand over her mouth. "What she did. Is it really that awful?"

"Not to me, it wasn't. I was there. It was perfectly understandable. I mean, you saw what she looked like when we got her out of the cave."

"But…to everyone else. The judge? What do they think?"

Ron looked at the table. "What she did…I don't know what a Muggle – I mean a non-magical equivalent would be. She cast a spell, a really horrible spell whose only purpose is to torture, and in our world that's, well…yeah, it's bad. But you must know, Mrs. Granger, that Hermione, she's not like that. She's a good witch, probably the best I've ever known, next to Dumbledore. She would never, never even think of doing anything like that if Draco hadn't used it on her. For days. And like I said it's a horrible spell." He added quietly, "He deserved it, and more, if you ask me."

"What's going to happen to her?" The look in her eyes was something close to despair.

"I don't know," he said honestly, and then regret instantly gripped at his chest when Mrs. Granger's face crumpled in just the same way Hermione's had taken to doing lately. She hung her head, covered her face with her hands, and her shoulders began to bob as she cried. Ron looked at his shoes.

"I'm sorry," eked out of his mouth, a pathetic apology for everything he'd done. But he was sorry, genuinely sorry, even if he couldn't find the proper words to tell her.

"So, your father," Mrs. Granger said, wiping her face with the side of her hand. She reigned in her emotions, just like Hermione could. "He's her new lawyer?"

"Uh…yeah. He made the formal petition last night."

"Is he a good lawyer?"

Ron hesitated; afraid she'd break down in sobs again. But there was something about Mrs. Granger that forced the honesty from him. "Dad's not a lawyer. And before you get upset, the other fellow isn't, either; he's just a chancellor with the Ministry. Of Magic," he added, just in case she was confused. "It's not really a trial, since they've already decided her guilt. But my father is well-respected in the Ministry, and he cares a great deal for Hermione. He'll do right by her, that I can promise. He's a good man."

And I'm a good man, too, he thought, remembering his father's words. Now he had and idea of what that meant - not just the good bit, but being a man, as well. It was more than just growing, more than the act of taking a life. A man knows responsibilities and lives up to them. A man shares the anguish of those he cares about. To be a man, one must know love. Not Love, but honest, chosen love.

"I love your daughter, Mrs. Granger. I will move mountains if I have to." He said it, love with a little L, but not diminished. The Fates could have their way, he knew they would, but he didn't care because he loved her anyway.

Her response was stunned silence and a confused, wary expression.

***

That night Ron apparated back to the street in front of number 12 Grimmuald Place, and thought about the manse and its occupant. And, just like it was supposed to, the manse appeared. Once again Ron was left remembering too late that he didn't have a key. He sighed heavily.

They needed to work out some system of communication, Ron thought. Or, he just needed to get his key back. But then, he remembered, he could communicate with Harry. Ron shuffled over to the alley across the street and checked carefully for a moment or two to make sure that there were absolutely no Muggles about, and then he pulled out his wand and created a fully corporeal patronus. His, unlike Harry's, was small, and far from regal or commanding. His little dog was still a bit misty around the edges, but solid enough that when it lifted its leg, it peed on Ron's shoe.

"Hey, now!" Ron objected. "Go in and tell Harry that I'm outside."

The dog chased its stump of a tail for a moment, jumped up and tried to catch a small insect that was bumbling by, and then sat happily and panted up at Ron.

"I said: tell Harry that I'm out here!"

This time his patronus sped away and ran easily through the magical front door to the manse.

Ron looked down at his shoe and wondered idly why these things always seemed to happen to him. He wasn't cool or polished or fit or smart. He wasn't…Viktor Krum. That name felt like it had come out of no where, but Ron knew better. Krum was everything that he was not. He was dark and daring and muscled and made the girls giggle and swoon. Krum was sure of himself and what he could do. He'd been a god at 18. And Ron was…just Ron. Whose patronus used him as a urinal.

Hermione had kissed Krum. He had probably been her first.

Harry stuck his head out the manse door. And there was her other first.

He didn't know why he was thinking about these things now. Who cared who she'd snogged or bagged in the past? She was alone now, tonight. But the truth was he did care. And he had a sneaking suspicion that he cared because of the particular chaps she'd chosen. Viktor Krum, who even Ron had idolized at one point, and Harry Potter who, while he was their best friend, also happened to be The Harry Potter. The Chosen One; and the bloke who was now waving in a hesitant and slightly confused manner from across the street. Honestly, if she'd kissed Shamus or Goyle, Ron thought he'd be more amused than jealous. Neville? Ron would still be lost in a fit of laughter. But she hadn't chosen them. She's chosen two of the most daring, handsome, famous gits in the wizarding world.

Ron shoved his fists into his pockets and trotted across the street. He and Harry exchanged nods. There was a fire going in the parlor, the flames were just about the only light in the place, so Ron went in that direction. Harry came in behind him a minute later with a neatly folded blanket and a mug of tea. Ron settled on one end of the couch with the offered blanket and drink, and Harry sat back down on the other end. The manse was chilly, and felt very empty with just the two of them there.

Ron gazed into the orange and blue flames. Apparently Harry hadn't been able to sleep, either. There was some comfort in that solidarity. Neither of them spoke that night. There wasn't really much to say. But every so often Ron's eyes would drift in his friend's direction and he found himself wondering what it would be like to be someone other than Ron Weasley.

***

The next morning Ron woke in the his old bedroom at the manse. The sunlight that managed to filter through the heavy drapes was still tinged with red. Down in the kitchen Ron found that Harry was already up and pouring coffee in the kitchen for Lupin and Tonks, and Ron's tired-looking father.

"Ah," said Ron's dad. "There you are. Your mother was worried. You really should leave a note, you know."

Ron was surprised to see Lupin so soon after the full moon. He was still looking peeked and pale, but he didn't sport any new scars or rips in his clothes, at least that Ron could see. Beside him Tonks was picking apart a piece of dry toast. She gave Ron a smile and a small "Wotcher," and then a more genuine, "How are you doing?" Her hair was still blue, though this morning the curls seemed tighter, and there was some color to her cheeks. She wore a light green top, light pink pants, and a light yellow pull-over that made her look like a bowl of sherbet.

Harry placed a mug down on the table, and Ron sat in front of it. Next to his cup was the new Daily Prophet. A picture of Hermione smiled shyly at him from the front page. It was a candid shot from the Yule Ball three years earlier, when they were in their fourth year. Ron didn't remember anyone with a camera, but there she was with a grin on her face and a little wiggle of her finger tips, on the arm of Krum as they entered the Great Hall during the opening precession. She was stunning that night. And obnoxious. Ron recalled the capper to the evening was her screaming at him on the stairs about what a berk he was. He hadn't been able to get away from her fast enough.

"What are they saying about her?" Ron asked. He hadn't the patience to wade through the whole article.

"Mostly about how she was such a promising young student, entering the prime of her life, and how I corrupted her with my abhorrent ways," Harry quipped, darkly. "They warn parents about letting their daughters quit school in their final year, and warn them even stronger to keep their daughters away from me."

"Stupid Prophet," Ron grumbled under his breath.

"Eat." Ron's dad placed a plate of eggs on toast in front of him.

"Two days, Arthur," Lupin said. "Is that really enough time for you to prepare? Tonks and I are here to help, of course–"

"In any way," she added solemnly.

"It'll have to do," Ron's dad said, and sat back down in front of his own plate. "I want to get this over with as soon as possible, for Hermione's sake."

"Poor, thing," Tonks murmured. "Still reeling from the trauma of being kidnapped and tortured by that horrible boy, and now locked away from friends and loved ones with the threat of Azkaban in her future. It's cruel!"

Ron's stomach turned to stone, and any further swallowing became impossible. He pushed the plate away, and stood to go.

"Check in with your mother," Ron's dad called after him. "Let her know you're still upright."

As if that was something worth noting.

***

When he arrived, there was a long, dark wizard sitting at his mother's table. She'd given him tea and cake, and seemed relieved when Ron came through the door.

"There you are!" she said as she leapt up to greet him. "This man has come from Portugal to meet you, Ron. You know, next to Spain, yes? Isn't that something? A Portuguese in my kitchen!"

"Miguel Amoro," said the wizard, standing and extending a hand. Ron shook it. "Is this truth?" he asked, shoving a well-worn Daily Prophet excitedly at Ron. The picture was of Harry and Hermione embracing. Their stunned faces stared up at him.

"Er…"

"Destino. It says you be Destino. Yes? You and Menina Granger? Fated, yes? This is true?"

"Er…it says that? How did they…?"

"I can see!" Amoro said with a triumphant laugh, pointing to Ron's hesitance. "I see it be truth! Ha-ha!" He danced around a little looking oddly child-like considering his incredibly tall frame and good fifteen stone of bones and hair. His beard was easily as long as Dumbledore's had been, only jet black. His dark eyes were balanced above a long, straight nose and thin lips. His robes were green and dark orange, and richly embroidered with stripes around the hem, and animal figures and stars on the sleeves. He looked foreign in his mother's small, modest kitchen, even for a foreigner.

"How did you find this place?" Ron questioned. "We put on all kinds of new wards about a month ago."

"Ronald!" his mother scolded. "Don't be rude!"

"No, no," Amoro assured with a wave of his hand. "He is good. I tell you that I here to learn and to help. I am Miguel Amoro," he said again, as if the name should hold some important significance to Ron. It didn't. "I study Destino. The Fates, as you say in the English. My life only this study, and now I find you!"

"I thought perhaps he could help, dear," Ron's mum said sweetly. "You know, with the three of you?"

"There's nothing wrong with the 'three of us,' save that one of us looks to be spending her life in Azkaban. Can he help with that?" Ron turned to the stranger. "The Fates have done nothing but ruin our lives."

"Yes, yes," said the nodding wizard. "Many people touched by Destino say cursed by Destino."

Ron narrowed his eyes at the man. Had he seen him before? "How do I know you're not with the Daily Prophet or The Quibbler or something?"

"Oh, no, no," said Amoro. "I here to study you. And Destino. Fates are mystery. Fates are silent, but for few they touch lives with grand finger."

"They didn't do us any favors-" Ron began but Amoro cut him off.

"Oh, no, understand, Amigo. The Destino, they do this not for you. No, never for person they touch. For others. For Harry Potter

Ron shook his head. "You're mad. You're telling me that the Fates bound her to me, they did that to her, because it's supposed to help Harry?"

"Si!" Amoro said, though his smile wavered with Ron's growing anger. "She and you, you and her. They Fate you for her, for him. Two must be one to help Harry Potter."

"But why? They didn't have to do that to her! There's nothing that I wouldn't do for her – nothing! And that didn't change while she was Fated to Harry. I don't need to be Fated to her to be completely, stupidly, ridiculously devoted to her!"

Ron's mother gasped in delight and clutched at her chest. Ron rolled his eyes. He'd forgotten she was there, and that declaration certainly wasn't intended for her ears. Not that every word of it wasn't the absolute truth. It was a little pathetic, actually.

"In whole of time, no Muggle-borns are touch by Fates. No Muggle-born…but two." He raised two very long fingers. Your pequena amiga, Hermione." He bent and lowered one finger, leaving only one remaining.

Ron swallowed; licked his lips. He felt his heart begin to pound behind his eyes. He knew the answer without really knowing how, and he didn't want to hear the name out loud. It came out of his mouth anyway. "Lily Potter."

"Si." Amoro lowered the second finger slowly. "Lily Potter."

It took a moment for the reality of what being said to sink in. Ron felt his heart in his throat.

"Lily and James were Love Fated?" Ron's mum asked, stunned.

"No, no, Senhora. Lily Potter no Destino Amore. Destino Bambino. One baby. She Fated with Harry Potter."

"Not Harry! Enough about Harry!" Ron interrupted, annoyed at the wizard's obvious fixation with his best mate. "I want to hear about Hermione. If she's Muggle-born, then what does that mean, exactly? To be Fated and Muggle-born, why only Mrs. Potter and Hermione?"

Amoro's eyes lit up, and raised his hands in excitement. "I know not! I come here to make known. Lily Potter and Hermione Granger, importando! Harry Potter importando!"

"You're off your nut," was Ron's only response. He didn't care how far this wizard had traveled; he had an obsession with Harry that was starting to make Ron's skin crawl. None of this was anyone's business. How he felt about Hermione, his friendship with Harry, even Hermione's Muggle parents - these were personal things. "You need to leave."

This surprised both the wizard and Ron's mum. "Now, Ronald," she warned.

But the wizard put his hands up in surrender. "Is good," he said. "Many words in little time." Then he pulled a card from the folds of his robes and placed it on the table. "I stay in London. Please find me." He gave Ron's mum a cordial bow, and then took his leave, stooping to get through the kitchen door.

"The wards aren't strong enough," Ron said. "I'll talk to Moody about that. If Dad's representing Hermione now, we have to be more vigilant."

"Oh, Ron." His mum's voice was tired and disappointed. "That wizard might have some answers for you."

Ron scowled. "I don't want answers." He wanted Hermione back. He wanted to go back in time and slam Draco's head into the cave floor just once more. "I'm going to Harry's."

"All right, dear. Just stay out of trouble, won't you? The two of you?"

It was then that Ron's father came in, followed closely by Moody. The air outside the house was chilled in the blustery evening, and a cold gust blew in past them. Dead leaves swirled around them. The house groaned against the firm slam Moody gave the door.

"What a night," Ron's dad commented lithely. "How now? Why the long faces in here? After the day I've had I'd hope to see a smile or two."

Molly dutifully smiled for him, crossed to him to plant a sweet kiss on his cheek. "I've not made supper," she said. "If you want something hot you'll make it yourself."

"Just tea," he said. "I can manage a sandwich or something later."

"Tea I can do," she told him, and headed to fill the kettle. "Alastor?"

"On my way out again. Just wanted to be sure to see Arthur through the door. Constant vigilance!"

"I was just saying that same thing," Ron quipped. "We've just had a visitor. Some bloke from Portugal who read about Harry in the Prophet."

Moody's eye began spinning, checking the rest of the house through floors and walls. "An intruder? Here? You mean he walked up and knocked? You didn't let him in, did you?" This last accusation was directed at Ron's mum.

"Of course I did. He–"

"Never should've happened. I charmed the hell out of the grounds. How'd he find the place? Did he say? Never mind, I'll have to start from scratch. Blast it!" He turned and stormed out, his leather robes billowing like a cape.

Once the door was closed, the room became uncomfortably quiet for Ron. He turned to his dad, who was unloading parchments from his leather case.

"Any news?" Ron asked, hopeful. "Did you see her today?"

"I did!" Ron's father beamed. "And I'm happy to report I've made some improvements in her living conditions as well. She's to be given clean clothes and a shower every three days, two meals a day with at least some nourishment, and…a bed with a blanket and pillow. You've no idea how I had to fight for that one."

"A bed? What in bloody hell has she been sleeping on?"

"Language!" Ron's mum harshly reminded as she pulled her wand from her apron pocket and lit the stove.

"Well, the floor, of course. It might not sound like much, but believe me, son, she was in tears when they brought everything in."

Ron had no trouble believing that, though he wondered if it was gratitude or the realization that she was going to be there long enough to need the things that had her crying. Or…was it what Harry had mentioned days earlier? Weren't there any symptoms ladies had that didn't revolve around crying? Aside from the very obvious?

"Uh…Dad…how does she look?"

His father had wandered over to the cupboard and pulled out a box of biscuits, sniffed, and then popped one in his mouth whole. Once he chewed he said around the crumbs: "A bit rough, actually, but once she's bathed and has had some food, and a good night of sleep–"

"I mean, does she look…at all…different?"

Ron's dad cocked his head to one side. "Different? What do you mean?"

"Changed at all?"

"Ron?" his mother asked from across the kitchen. "What are you asking? What have you three been up to?"

"Never mind," he said quickly. His ears burned with blush.

"Ron," his dad said quietly as he placed a hand on his shoulder. "She sends her regards."

Regards. Yes, that sounded all too Hermione. "All right then."

His father searched his eyes for a moment until Ron caved and pulled away.

"Just tell her…" Tell her what? That everything would be all right? Undoubtedly his father had already told her that, true or not. "Tell her I miss her."

His father nodded.

"Ron? Will you take tea, then?"

"I'm off to Harry's." He pulled his jacket from the peg by the door.

"All right, then, come give your old mum a hug," she said, arms stretched as she padded over to him.

"Oh, mum." He hugged her, but rolled his eyes the whole time.

"Too old to hug your mum, are you?"

"Yeah, ten years ago!" He gave his dad the obligatory wave and headed out.

***

Ron was about to send his Patronus in when Harry skulked out of number 12 in a dark coat with the collar turned up.

"Fancy meeting you here," Ron quipped.

"It's three in the morning. What are you doing here?"

Ron shrugged, looked out into the dark, damp. "Thought I'd pop by. Where are we going?"

Harry seemed pleased that Ron was ready to join him, and glanced around to be sure they were alone. "I thought of a way to get in to see her," he said quietly. "Moody knows a bloke who has a brother who works for Madame Stoley," he indicated the figure walking behind the cloudy windows. "She once ran the securities department for the Ministry building. She knows the ins and outs of the whole complex, where the anti-magic spells are, and how to get by them."

Ron blinked at him. "Harry. You're never going to break into the Ministry, are you?"

"Not exactly. But if I can navigate around some of the-"

"Harry! Think, mate! What if we get caught?"

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Then I'll go alone," he said flatly.

"I didn't mean that. What if we get caught and they associate Hermione with us? Or what if we get caught and arrested, and then Hermione needs us even more? Or what if we get caught and it's decided that the Ministry isn't a safe enough place to keep her and they move her to Azkaban until the hearing plays out?"

Harry went a little green. "Er...I hadn't thought about that."

Ron rolled his eyes. He felt very like Hermione at the moment, and he didn't like it one bit. "Don't make me be the sensible one, Harry. I'm no good at it."

"But how can we do nothing? Lupin said to let the Order handle it, but from what I can tell, they're not doing anything."

They were both wizards of action, Ron decided. Doers, not talkers. They needed motion to feel useful. Hermione wasn't like them. She was always in her head, always thinking and planning. She would talk an opponent to death faster than either of them could lift a wand. "What would Hermione do?"

"Just what I've been doing all night," Harry grumbled. He stared down the street for a moment and then seemed to reach some sort of decision as he shook his head. "Bloody hell."

Harry headed back into the manse, and then up the stairs without another word, and Ron followed. The hearth in Hermione's room was ablaze, and it lit the place with a bright golden flicker. Dozens of piles of books as tall as Ron stood in precarious arrangements throughout the room. Harry quickly resumed pulling more books from the shelves.

"What's all this?" Ron asked.

"I was thinking all day, how off we are without Hermione. And then I started wondering what Hermione would do if it was one of us in there instead of her." He gave Ron a smirk. "Great minds, eh?"

"Right. The thing is, Harry, she's already read most of these. She knows what's in them. We don't. It'll be like trying to find a flea on a hippogriff."

Harry threw the book in his hand to the ground. "I have to do something!"

"I know, mate." He picked up one of the book from a nearby pile. Lois Buttermuncker's The Complete Encyclopedia Of Three-Legged Banchie-curs.

"Not those. I've been through those. Try over there." Harry pointed to the wall of shelves still completely stocked with books.

"So, what am I looking for? Anything in particular? Spells, laws…the history of Azkaban?" He pulled a small black book from the shelf. "Why would she have a book on the history of Azkaban? Why would anybody?"

Harry sighed. And tossed another book on to a pile near his knees. "She's an odd girl, our Hermione."

Ron cracked the book open and saw a streaky inscription inside the front cover. "For you, Hermione, to understand little more. Viktor."

"It's from her boyfriend," Ron said between gritted teeth. He'd meant the comment to come out as an off-handed quip.

Harry looked up, curious. "Who?"

"Krum."

"The history of Azkaban?" Harry asked. "Really? And she still went to the ball with him?"

"The Historie and Notables of Azkaban Prizon. And the inscription is dated last year. What were we doing 18 November last?" Ron tried to think back. What was he up to in November? Quidditch, most likely. "Hey, when did you start dating Ginny?"

Harry's face went funny for a moment, and then he turned back to the shelf and pulled off another book. "Have you heard from her?" he asked lightly. "Has she written at all? About Hogwarts or whatnot?"

"Naw," said Ron as he flipped through the book. There were passages all through that were marked in red, and small notes written in the margins in Hermione's small girly handwriting. "But then, I've never really been good at correspondence, and she knows that. Writing to me would be pretty much a pointless task."

Harry didn't really respond; he just kept pulling books off the shelf, flipping through, and then piling them.

One of Hermione's notes caught his eye. A name was underlined, Igor Karkaroff and the dates of his incarceration in Azkaban under the charge of being a Death Eater. Then there were a dozen or so names he'd listed as being fellow Death Eaters, and then his subsequent release date. Hermione wrote: "Durmstrang Headmaster, dead by Death Eaters. Retaliation. Can't ever leave. Is this what you were trying to tell me, V?" And then below, in the same jerky hand from the front of the book was the word: "Yes."

"It's a companion book," Ron told Harry. Viktor had an identical one, a twin, and whatever Hermione wrote in hers, the same words and lines appeared in his, and vice versa.

"Really?" Harry was more impressed by this. Companion books were difficult and expensive to charm.

Now that he knew that the book was a private conversation, Ron felt weird about reading it. He knew Hermione, where she there, would snatch the book away and scold him for going through her things. But she wasn't there, and he held in his hand information about Hermione and Krum. Harry glanced at him, and then the book, but kept quiet when Ron didn't put it down.

But, Ron wasn't sure he really wanted to know what the book might contain. Did he want proof that she hadn't done anything with Krum? Or proof that she did? He knew she'd kissed him. While she was Fated to Ron. Of course, now that she knew she was Fate, surely she wouldn't be kissing just anyone. Ron glanced at Harry who was lost in his own thoughts. She'd kissed Ron while she knew she was Fated to Harry. Apparently the Fates didn't keep her lips still. He tried not to remind himself that he'd also kissed someone while Fated to Hermione. Lavender Brown. But really, he reasoned, she was hardly in the same class as Krum or Harry, and therefore didn't really count.

Ron tossed the book aside, deciding he didn't want to know, but he was sure to notice where it fell.

"So…you've not written to Ginny, either?"

Harry seemed startled by the question. "I doubt she'd want to hear from me."

"Even to say you're sorry."

Harry flipped through a large, old tome to avoid looking at Ron. "Before the heading Hermione said she's got another bloke."

"Already? Who'd she manage to find?"

Harry seemed puzzled by Ron's response. "What, managed? She's pretty and smart and brave, I'm sure there were a hundred sods lined up to date her."

"And you're all right with that?" Ron demanded.

"I didn't say that. But she's her own person. I don't have any say–"

"Oh, come off it, Harry. If you want her, then go and get her!"

"Like she's a chocolate frog? Girls don't quite work that way, or hadn't you noticed?"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Just that you shouldn't be giving advice about the opposite sex. At least until you've had some!"

"You wanna have a go at me, you gormless git?"

"I want to get through the night without you trying to marry me off to your trollop of a sister!"

Ron lunged at him and they ended up in a heap amid several dozen books. They were at each other's throats for a while, and in the tussle Ron ended up on the floor more often than not. Harry pulled back to land a punch at Ron's face, but Ron managed to tuck to one side.

"Hold still, you bloody sod! Let me break your nose this time!"

"Get off me, Harry!"

"What in blazes is going on in here?"

Both Harry and Ron froze at the unexpected shrill of a female voice. Tonks stood in the doorway, fists on her hips, looking very mother-ish with her stern, confused, disgusted expression. Hermione had often given them the exact same look.

Harry let up, and the two of them slowly made it to their feet, though Ron remained a bit hunched toward his left to favor a surprisingly sore back muscle. Must've landed on a book, he thought sourly. They were nothing but hazards, really.

"Is there really so little going on in your pathetic little worlds that you have time to turn on each other like wolves?"

"Oi!" Ron protested. "He called my sister a trollop–"

"She's not a trollop," Harry said quickly and quietly. "She's not. It just didn't take her long to get over me, did it? Am I that easy to replace? It hasn't even been a month. Has it? I thought I meant more to her than that."

Tonks crossed her arms. "She probably was thinking the same thing. I'm sure Ginny was just as hurt when she found out that you and Hermione–"

"But – but I was cursed! She's not! And she's got a new bloke. Already!"

"Good for her, I say," Tonks said.

"Good for her?" Ron couldn't believe his ears. "You're just saying that because you're a girl! You people always stick together."

"I could say the same for you two," Tonks said in retort. "You'd prefer her to sit around and mope, would you? Feel sorry for herself? Worked out well for the two of you, has it?"

Harry didn't respond, and when Ron turned looked over at his friend, he knew why. Harry had gone green in the face, and his eyes had glazed over while staring at Tonks' now noticeably protruding belly, made even more obvious by the way she crossed her arms over it.

"Harry?" Ron said, trying to get his friend's attention. He didn't blink, so Ron tried again. This time he reached out and touched his arm. "Harry, breathe."

"I think…I'm going to be sick–" He bolted out of the room and down the hall to the relocated toilet closet.

"The two of you have been drinking, have you?" Tonks asked.

"We overheard you and Hermione talking in the kitchen on her birthday."

"Did you." Tonks didn't seem to grasp the significance of what he was saying. "And?"

"She was asking you about…" Ron motioned to Tonks' mid-section, without deliberately letting his eyes fall there. He felt a hot blush rush up his neck. "About how you knew…and well, Harry's concerned that maybe Hermione is…"

"Pregnant? You think Hermione's pregnant?"

There it was. The words had been said out loud, and it was as if the entire world shifted a foot to the right and the possibility that Hermione might actually be carrying Harry's baby became as real as the books that surrounded them. It didn't matter, he told himself. It didn't matter because she was still Hermione. And still he felt a sour burn at the back of his throat.

"Ron? Are you all right?"

He gasped a little, but then nodded. "She'd know, right? If she was? I mean, how could she not know? She'd have to know, wouldn't she? She'd tell us."

"But if she doesn't think it's safe…if she's trying to protect you or Harry or maybe a baby she might not say anything just yet. Oh, bullocks! I need to talk to your father."

"What?" he choked out.

"He's the only one who can get in to see her, Ron."

"But! But he's my dad!"

"If she's with child, and at this young age, we need to do everything we can to keep her healthy and protected."

"But if she's not," Ron said quietly.

"I know. I'll only tell your dad. And I'll ask him to keep it to himself, at least until we know for sure." She turned to leave, and then asked without looking back at him, "Not that it matters, but if she is…who do you reckon is the father?"

Ron rubbed at the heat on the back of his neck. "Harry," he told her. "It'd have to be him, wouldn't it?" She didn't say anything before she left.

End of chapter 10