False Fate

By MD1016

Part II: Trial of the Century

Chapter 10 – Fool's Errand

"They're late," Harry whispered. "The hearing should've started ten minutes ago. You reckon she's sick?"

"Dad's here." Ron pointed out his father in the advocate's chair. With a fresh haircut and the new robes he looked calm, and more regal than Ron had ever seen him. "He'd know if it was something to do with Hermione. He's already seen her this morning."

"Well, Bombridge is here," Harry said with a scowl at the barrister. "It must be the judge. I don't like it. Something's happened."

"Malfoy's not here, either." Narcissa Malfoy was suspiciously absent. Ron scanned the room three times to be sure, but she was definitely missing.

Harry popped his head up to study the gathered people. "It can't be a coincidence, can it?"

Normally this would be something Lupin would be quick to respond to. "Where are Tonks and Lupin?" Ron asked. One would think they'd want to be there on Ron's dad's first day as a living target.

"Tonks was sick this morning, and Lupin said he was going to stay with her until she felt better. He came by for coffee."

"Sick? Are you kidding me? She's Tonks! How sick does she have to be to have Lupin coddle her? I tell you, Harry, he's lost his mind to that witch."

Harry gave him a look and then made a point of patting his belly. "She's sick," he said again. "He wants to be with her."

Ron frowned. "What do you mean?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Never mind."

The room quieted, and Ron strained to see over the heads of the people in front of him as the judge took his seat. He pointed at the Amplifitizmo, and it lowered into place. "Let the record show," the judge announced in a bored tone, "that the accused has acquired new council: a Mr. Arthur Weasley of the Ministry of Magic's Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects." There was a general murmur through the crowd. Bombridge looked displeased.

There was a cloud of orange smoke and Hermione was suddenly there in the chair, but she didn't look like herself. Ron's blood ran cold. Her eyes were dull and unfocused, and her hair was dark, flat, and stringy against her head. Her skin was the color of chalk, except for the raging acne that now bloomed across her chin, nose and forehead; and the cut across her left eyebrow had turned into a scar that seemed unnaturally pink. She wore black and white striped prisoner robes that were big enough for three of her. The Ministry of Magic's emblem was emblazoned across the front.

"Oh, Hermione," Harry whispered with all of the emotions Ron was struck with.

"Miss Hermione Jane Granger, the accused, present," the judge said. "Chancellor Bombridge, you may continue your examination."

"Thank you, your lordship." Bombridge approached Hermione, but Ron noticed he didn't look her directly in the eye. Perhaps she unsettled him as well. Was it possible the wizard had a conscience?

"Miss Granger. You've had some time to reconsider. Are you now prepared to tell us about the Order of the Phoenix?"

"I object!" Ron's dad said, jumping to his feet. "This hearing is not about Orders or Miss Granger's romantic life, or inconsequential happenings days before the act in question. This girl has obviously been subjected to unnecessary questioning and un-wizardly treatment at the whim of our Chancellor Bombridge. I petition this court to dispense with frivolity and get right to the heart of the matter."

The judge raised one of his thick brows and looked at Bombridge.

Bombridge cleared his throat. "Your lordship, everything we have discussed has relevance to the state of this witch's mind, and her willing ability to commit an Unforgivable. She is a menace to the wizarding world–"

"Your lordship!" Arthur shouted again, but the judge waved him down.

"And," continued Bombridge, "I intend to prove that she is not alone in her perversity. We are not safe if Unforgivables are practiced within rebel organizations once more!"

The room erupted in shock and fear.

The judge gave Hermione an appraising look. She hadn't really moved since she arrived. With a cough and a clearing of his throat, the judge quieted the room and announced, "Miss Granger, answer the chancellor's question."

She swallowed, licked her lips. Her eyes searched and then found Bombridge. "Would you…repeat the question?" Her voice sounded reedy, thin, barely there at all.

"Miss Granger, what is the Order of the Phoenix?"

She took a breath, and Ron waited for his father to jump up and stop her, but he didn't. Ron closed his eyes, not wanting to see Hermione willingly shock herself into unconsciousness again.

"The Order of the Phoenix," she said quietly, "is a game that I invented."

No shock came, and Ron looked up, stunned. Had his father arranged to have the chair's charm blocked?

Bombridge looked scandalized. He hesitated. "Excuse me? Please repeat that a bit louder."

Again, Hermione took a breath. "I said that the Order of the Phoenix is a game I invented."

"A game?" Bombridge repeated.

"Yes." And still no shock came.

"I shall humor you," he said with anger just below a very thin line of civility. "Then tell us, Miss Granger, how does one play the game?"

"I assign values to things."

"For instance," Bombridge prompted.

"For instance…when Harry tells me I'm pretty because he wants to kiss me, that's a compliment of the first order. But when he mentions to someone else how pretty I am, when he says it without expecting anything from me, that's a compliment of the second order."

"Nonsense," Bombridge barked out. "Tell the judge about the Order of the Phoenix!"

Hermione turned, focused on the judge and absently scratched at the side of her neck. "When Ron kissed me outside the store in Hogsmeade - that was a kiss of the second order, because it was spontaneous, but came out of frustration and not tenderness. When he kissed me at Harry's it was a kiss of the third order because when we kissed there was real…passion, I think one would call it."

"Your lordship!" Ron's dad stood, his face as red as ever. Ron knew his own face must look similar. "Teenage games are simply not relevant! Please redirect the chancellor!"

"Your lordship," Bombridge snapped before the judge could get a word in, "this girl is lying!"

"The chair disagrees!" Arthur insisted.

"Enough!" yelled the judge. "This is not a Muggle parliament, gentlemen. You will conduct yourselves as is befitting this court!" He twisted his mustache a little and then, when there were no further objections, he turned and looked at Hermione.

"So, this game," the judge asked, "what does it have to do with a phoenix?"

"It's possible, at least with Ron and Harry, for them to do something so completely wonderful that ranks an order of seven, which is the highest order, and then in the next moment say something so completely hurtful – like I have to stay with him because I've no other choices rather than he'd like me to stay, or he'd rather I not go…it amounts to the same thing, I reckon – which puts him down to a zero order. And then he will give me a bauble, a locket, say, because he doesn't know the proper words for the moment, or maybe he just doesn't want to use them, and in that moment he manages to rise again to a third order. So, like a phoenix he flies, and then dies, and then is reborn."

The judge considered her and then Bombridge before he turned back to Hermione and asked, "So, this order game is how you rate your boyfriends?"

"Among other things, yes."

"What sort of other things?"

She shrugged. "Books, chips, professors at school."

"And the assigning of order levels is completely arbitrary?"

"Not completely," she said. "It's based on how I feel at the moment. He's not ranking very high," she said off-handedly, and tossed a thumb toward Bombridge. There was a nervous twitter that rustled through the crowd.

"You kissed her in Hogsmeade?" Harry accused under his breath. "While we were still Fated?"

"What do you want from me?" Ron asked. "It only ranked a second order!" Ron wondered which order she would assign to that first kiss Harry had laid on her in the parlor. Higher than the kiss Hermione gave a three?

"How many other times did you kiss her? What else did the two of you do behind my back?" Harry demanded.

"Oh, shove off," Ron whispered back. "You said you were over her."

Harry continued to glare. Ron turned back to what Hermione was saying.

"…after all, it was a very confusing time. I'd all these new and old feelings that were in direct conflict with each other, and I'd no idea why. I thought for a while I was losing my mind…" She was now talking and staring out into nothing, her head cocked to one side as if lost in the memory and no longer aware that she was sitting before a judge and twelve score on-lookers. Ron wondered again if they'd put a potion in her food to muddle her brain a little.

Ron's father looked worried. "Your Lordship," he said, standing. "Once again, this game has nothing to do with why we're here, and the chancellor, while I'm sure he doesn't mean to, is wasting our time and further exhausting the accused."

"I agree," Rosmarus said with a flick of his hand. "Chancellor, continue with the next line of questioning, if you will."

"But, your lordship!"

"I'm bored with teen love affairs. Do not test my indulgence any farther," the judge commanded.

Bombridge grabbed the fleshy end of his nose and grumbled, "Very well, your lordship." His eyes narrowed on Hermione, but again she didn't seem to care. "Miss Granger. Tell us about the Cave of Regret."

For the next hour Hermione spouted off everything she'd ever read about the cave, including its geographical coordinates, its general geological make-up, and several of the more lively legends associated with it. Ron quickly lost interest, as did Harry, who continued to throw surly glances in his direction from time to time. Ron's dad let Hermione talk as much as she wanted, and every time Bombridge attempted to steer her back to how she felt while in the cave, she simply started quoting facts again. She was getting good at dodging his questions without the chair objecting. Ron started to wonder if his father had had the charm dismantled after all.

"Miss Granger, enough," Bombridge finally snapped after a list of all the different fish that could be caught in the waters around the island the cave was on. "You say that you were taken to the cave under duress."

"My wand hand was broken, as was my wand, and I was physically picked up against my will and kidnapped. Yes."

"And all this happened while you were staying at the Weasleys' house in Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon?"

"Yes."

"The same Weasley who is now representing you?"

Hermione's eyes didn't waver from Bombridge. "Yes."

"And who else was in the house at the time?"

"Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. And Ron, upstairs in his room."

"And all of these people were there while you were being abducted against your will? While your hand was being broken? And not a single one heard any of this? Is that so?"

She thought for a moment, and while her face didn't change, her voice became even more distant. "That is so."

"Hmm. Why is that, do you suppose?"

"I'm sure I don't know."

Draco had put a Muffle Spell on the room, Ron wanted to scream out. It wasn't a difficult spell to accomplish. Hadn't they learned it in fifth year?

"And so you were whisked away to the Cave of Regret? Just like that?"

"After breaking my hand and my wand, and kicking me in the head and stomach, and after a lengthy struggle, yes, I suppose Draco Malfoy did manage to whisk me away just like that." Her sarcasm sounded like music to Ron's ears. It was the first time all day that Hermione had shown a little of her old self.

"On his broom?" Bombridge asked. "I'm assuming if he stole you against your will that you didn't Apparate."

"He had a Portkey."

"Really? That's quite advanced magic, you know. I doubt there's a person in this room who could do it. Certainly none who could do it legally. Are you suggesting that Mr. Malfoy made it himself?"

"I'm suggesting that there was a Portkey."

"What did it look like?"

She frowned at this point, the first change in expression Ron had witnessed all day. "It was Ron's old prefect badge."

This surprised Bombridge. "Ronald Weasley? It was his prefect badge? Not the Malfoy boy's? I'm given to understand he was prefect at Hogwarts at the same time you and Mr. Weasley were."

"It was Ron's," Hermione confirmed.

"And you didn't find that curious in the least?"

"At the time I was in a tremendous amount of pain," Hermione said. "Curiosity was beyond me."

"And still you noticed the badge, and recognized it to be Ronald Weasley's."

"As I've said three times now, yes."

"Your lordship," Ron's dad said as he rose once more. "Can we move this along? This line of questioning has become repetitive, and once again has nothing whatsoever to do with why we are here."

"Yes, all right," said the judge. "Chancellor, please move forward with your questions."

Bombridge shot Arthur an angry glare, and then turned to Hermione. He walked toward her and spread his hands on the rail that separated them. She just looked at him, unimpressed with his temper.

"What happened when you got to the Cave of Regret? A place, I'd like to add, you've already explained as being out-of-bounds to the wizarding world."

"I'm sure you mean to ask what happened once my abductor, Draco Malfoy, deposited me on the cave floor. I didn't just arrive. I was dropped there. On my hand, I might add. The broken one."

"Don't argue semantics, Miss Granger."

"Then don't make it sound as if I strolled into a restricted cave."

"Your lordship, the accused is becoming argumentative."

The judge flicked his hand again. "Move it along, Chancellor."

For the first time Bombridge's eyes narrow on the judge, and Ron found himself wondering just what their connection might be. Certainly they both worked for the Ministry, but was there something more?

"You do realize that it's just your word that we have that you were abducted at all, Miss Granger. No one has seen nor heard from young Mr. Malfoy since you last attacked him."

"How lucky for him, then, that he's managed to escape the Ministry's reach and hasn't been forced to answer the many, many charges for casting Unforgivables I'm sure will await him when he decides to surface."

"Hmph," said Bombridge. "You say that you were attacked."

"Repeatedly. For days. With the Cruciatus Curse. Yes."

"And then you were rescued?"

"Yes."

Bombridge turned and face the room. He had a smug look on his face. His eyes met Ron's, and a chill went up his spine. "Tell us, Miss Granger. Who was it who came to your rescue?"

"Ron and Harry," she said simply.

"The same Ronald Weasley who told you that Draco cursed you? The same Ronald Weasley who kissed you even when he knew you were intimate with his supposed best friend Harry Potter? Is it possible that it's the same Ronald Weasley whose prefect badge was used as a Portkey to abduct you from his parents' house? The same Ronald Weasley whose father is now acting in your defense?"

"Uh…" Hermione's eyes shot to Ron's father, and for the first time that day she looked startled. "Yes."

"We've been told you're a clever girl, Miss Granger. Can you honestly tell us that you never once questioned Ronald Weasley's role in all of this?"

"Yes," she said, and when the chair didn't shock her several witches in the front row clucked their tongues at her in shame.

"But you're wondering now, aren't you? You're wondering if it isn't possible that Ronald Weasley set up this entire charade."

"Nonsense," she said. "Why would he do that? He's my best friend. He cares for me."

"Ah. But as you so eloquently explained earlier, it was Harry Potter who was your Lover, not Mr. Weasley. It must be hard to live in that kind of shadow for…how many years was it? To see one's best mate with fame and fortune, and the girl that he loved. Harry Potter's good at everything, or so the papers have reported. Good marks, a natural on a broom – he was Quidditch House captain and champion. I'm certain you were not the first young witch to have her head turned by him. On the other hand, poor, ginger Ronald Weasley – it must be hard for him to live up to that. What could he possibly have to offer?"

"Plenty!" Hermione snapped.

"Objection!" Ron's father called out.

Bombridge ignored them both and continued. "Perhaps he wanted more than mere friendship, Miss Granger, and he needed a way to act the hero to you. Perhaps he knew of your involvement with Harry Potter and needed an excuse to explain it away. Certainly you wouldn't continue your affair with Mr. Potter if you knew it was nothing more than a curse, would you? Knowing you, Miss Granger, I rather think not."

Her eyes left Bombridge, and for the first time in almost two weeks, she met Ron's gaze. His heart skipped a beat. She could see him. She'd known where he was all along. He leaned forward, as if drawn to her. Her face dropped ever so slightly, and he knew she was considering what Bombridge had just said.

"No," he said, and then he shouted. "No! Hermione, you know it's not true! Don't listen to him!"

Harry grabbed Ron's arm and forced him back in his seat, but it was too late. Guards in maroon robes were already closing in on him, and the press snapped pictures as fast as their flashes would allow. The whole room seemed to be talking and moving at once. Ron was escorted from the chamber, past all the gaggling people, past a dark face he recognized as the Portuguese wizard, and next to him another dark figure: Viktor Krum. Ron gaped at him until he was tossed into the hall.

***

Ron arrived at the manse in a fit of panic. He hadn't expected Tonks and Lupin to be there, nor his mother, Fred and George, nor Moody, but they were all gathered around the massive old mahogany table drinking tea and eating tea sandwiches. When Ron saw them it was like he hit a brick wall. He needed to be alone, to think, to find a way to save Hermione.

"Over already?" Lupin said, frowning at his pocket watch. "How did it go?"

"How was your father?" Ron's mum asked, fretting. "He was quite anxious this morning. Tonks, you should've seen him, all aflutter with excitement and nerves. Out of his depth he kept saying, but I assured him he was doing the right thing–"

"She thinks it was me!" Ron blurted out. He couldn't help himself. The image of Hermione's anguished eyes had him shaking where he stood. His mind spun, his body hummed. Was this a heart attack? He couldn't catch his breath.

"You stupid bugger!" Suddenly Harry was behind him, and when Ron whirled around Harry shoved him back against a painting on the wall. The black birds in the painting startled and flew off over the jagged burnt umber hill. "She lost it with you howling like that! How could you do that to her? What were you thinking?"

Lupin jumped up to intervene, but Moody was already across the room. "Easy, now," he said in his gruff bass voice. Harry didn't let up, though. He kept his arm across Ron's shoulders and throat, fury in his eyes.

"Harry," Ron said, almost pleading, "she thinks it was me! She thinks I did all that stuff! Didn't you see her? The look she gave me? Bombridge's got to her, they've brainwashed her–"

"She wasn't questioning you! She was scared for you, you bloody berk! She finally understood that Bombridge plans to pin all this on you!" Disgusted, Harry gave him one last shove.

"Ronald, where's your father?" his mum asked a little stiffly, eyes wide, now truly worried.

"He's seeing to Hermione," Harry cut in with a deadly glare to Ron. "He may be a while."

"What in the bloody hell happened in that chamber today?" Moody demanded.

"The chancellor," Harry began, "he's controlling the truth, twisting it to make Ron look like the mastermind behind all of this, and he's making Hermione out as delusional and dangerous. He's trying to lock her up for good."

"How badly did I mess things up for her today?" Ron quietly asked.

Harry was still fuming, but his temper seemed to mellow some as he considered his response. "You're out of the hearing. Sorry to tell you, mate, but you've been banned."

Ron closed his eyes. "The chair…it didn't hurt her again, did it?"

Harry shook his head. "No, she was yelling for you when she jumped out of the chair, and that ended the session. She was just upset, I reckon. Your dad will calm her down." He said this with such confidence that Ron couldn't help but stare. Harry was self-assured; he was strong and smart. Today he'd been in control of himself, when Ron went mental.

"You're sure she didn't think–"

"Don't be a divvy. Of course I'm sure. You should be, as well. She's Hermione, after all. She's cleverer than the both of us combined."

"You should've kept her," Ron found himself saying. "She'd be better off with you."

Harry swallowed and looked down at Ron's knees. "She wasn't."

"I never should've kissed her. I'm sorry I did that to her. To you."

"Don't do this," said Harry, with weariness in his voice. Then, in the next moment he was doubled over, grunting in pain, a hand firmly clasped to his forehead.

Ron had seen this enough times to know what it meant. He grabbed Harry's arm and helped him to a chair.

"Are you all right, dear?" asked Ron's mum. Various other queries were made to Harry from around the table, as well.

But when he recovered enough it was Ron he looked at. "He's happy," Harry said. "Delirious."

***

The next morning Ron's face was all over the Daily Prophet. He didn't bother with the articles. The headline "EVIL MASTERMIND?" followed by photographs of him falling off his broom during an assortment of Quidditch games told enough of the story for Ron to roll his eyes and toss the paper away. He dressed and decided to open up the shop. He felt guilty about going to Hogsmeade when Hermione was still fighting for her future, but if he sat around the Burrow all day he was likely to lose it.

The sign greeted him with a sarcastic, "Hullo, and fancy meeting you here." Ron noticed it had changed its hours to "OPEN – your guess is as good as mine, CLOSED – right now, so shove off."

When he closed up early, the sign just sighed.

Ron went to Headquarters to wait for word of the hearing. Tonks and his mum were already there, as was Shacklebolt. When Harry finally turned up, he looked dazed and pale. Ron's mum immediately went for him.

"You all right, dear?" she asked in that tone that said she knew he wasn't. But Harry nodded and dropped down at the table. She placed a cup of tea in front of him.

"How did it go?" Ron asked, worried that he was seeing the result on Harry's face.

For a long moment Harry gazed, sightless, down at his tea. "Your dad started his case today," he said at last. "He showed the healers' records. Hermione's St. Mungo's hospital records."

"And?" said Ron impatiently.

Harry just shook his head.

Tonks reached across the table and touched his hand. "You knew it was bad, Harry–"

"No. I didn't know it was that bad. I'd no idea. I mean, I saw her and everything, but I didn't know. I wish I didn't know now." Harry closed his eyes. "What Draco did to her, it's the same thing that Bellatrix Lastrange did to Neville's parents. She was tortured, Ron. Tortured."

"I know that–"

"No!" Harry insisted. "You don't. You've no idea. They showed us – your father showed us! Every inch of her was battered or bruised or broken or twisted. It was the most horrible thing I've ever seen. Neville's parents went mad with the Cruciatus, yes, but Draco kicked her and bit her and hit her with rocks as well. He tied her up and then hung her upside down for hours with her nose broken and her eyes swollen shut…and all that blood running into her head…" Tears fell down his cheeks, but he didn't seem to notice.

Ron was too stunned to be uncomfortable for him, but he did feel a little quiver deep within his energy well. Was that Harry?

"He dislocated her shoulder, and then fixed it, and dislocated it again. There were burns on her legs. He conjured spiders to bite her there. He told her she was a Mudblood, and not worthy of food or drink while he sat inches from her and ate and drank until he was stuffed, and then threw the rest on the ground just beyond her reach and kicked dust over it. He told her you were dead, Ron. And when she cried, he Cru-"

Shacklebolt jumped up. "Enough!" He grabbed Harry by both shoulders from the other side of the table and pulled Harry's face very near his own. "Get a grip, Potter!" Harry seemed to suddenly come back to himself, and he pulled away to collapse back in the chair.

Ron felt a huge release within him, as if a tension rope had just been snapped, and he lost his balance and fell to the floor.

"Ronnie?" Ron's mum called to him, but to his relief she didn't get up to help him. "You all right? That boy hasn't fallen out of a chair in years. Used to all the time as a tot, of course. Had all the balance and grace of a lead balloon, that one."

Ron ignored her. Harry had tapped into his well, now he was certain, even without Ron having let him in. He placed a protective hand over his chest, as if flesh and bone could keep Harry out. Ron looked up to see his friend now wiping his eyes, unaware, it seemed, of what he's just done. Or, what he was about to do, Ron thought darkly. Kingsley had stopped Harry. Did Harry really have the power to commit an Unforgivable without a wand? Ron swallowed around the lump in his throat. With Ron's well, perhaps Harry did.

***

It was a week later before Ron was able to catch up with Lupin. Early in the morning, a few hours before the hearing was set to begin, Ron found him and Bill just in from all night duty. They exchanged the usual hullos. Bill made excuses to leave almost immediately, most of which revolved around Fleur.

Once they were alone, and the coffee was put on to percolate, Ron sat down next to Lupin.

"Something's happened," Ron told him. "I think it might be important."

"Hermione?" Lupin asked quietly. "Tonks said there was some concern…" He touched his belly, and Ron rolled his eyes.

"She wasn't supposed to tell anyone!"

Lupin nodded sympathetically. "When she hadn't heard anything, she began to panic a little. She's prone to that these days, I'm afraid."

"It's not about that." Ron hadn't heard anything, either, and had unconsciously assumed that no news meant no news. Surely his father would've told him something if there were something to tell. Wouldn't he?

"All right, then. What's happened?"

It took a moment for Ron to switch gears and go from Hermione preggers to the possibility of Harry accidentally casting an Unforgivable without so much as a wand.

"What?" Lupin said, once Ron explained. "Why didn't you tell me sooner? Or Moody? Or…anybody?"

"Uh…"

"And you're sure you didn't intentionally give him your magic?"

"I'm sure. We were just sitting there."

"And you didn't actually feel him? You weren't sure he was there?"

"It was a queer sort of swishing feeling, but…"

"Before when you and he connected, in the lessons–"

"It was different," Ron assured him. "This was almost…sneaky?" That wasn't the right word. "Snake-like." And then he realized what he said. For a moment Lupin gave him a hard look. "His scar has been hurting again," Ron said quickly. "You don't think that You-Know-Who is controlling him, do you?"

Lupin dismissed that thought. "Harry's strained just now, so his defenses are weaker. I'm not surprised that the link through his scar is more active, but I seriously doubt it goes any farther than that. By now he knows what to look for. I'm sure…" But there was doubt in his voice.

"He hasn't been acting erratically, has he?" Lupin asked.

"No. Just that night when he got back from the hearing."

"And he was upset. Blimey, I was upset. Those images…" Lupin shook his head. "I hate that she's going to end up in Azkaban after everything she's been through. It's–"

"Dad'll get her released," Ron said, and hopped up to get the coffee and two mugs. His response was almost knee-jerk by now. He'd said the same words to himself so many times over the past week.

"Ron. Come sit down." It was the way that he said it, serious and morose, thatmorose that made Ron nervous. So, he took his time coming to the table, fussed over cream and sugar, and asked if Lupin wanted honey.

"Ron," Lupin repeated. Ron obeyed. "Now, Ron, tell me you understand what Hermione has done."

"Don't be daft–" Ron began, but Lupin wouldn't let him dodge the question.

"She cast an Unforgivable, Ron."

"I know that! I watched her do it!"

"There is only one consequence for an Unforgivable."

"But–"

"That's why it's called Unforgivable."

Ron shook his head. "No! Why are we all going through this if it's hopeless? Why are we putting her through this?" There had to be hope that his Dad would figure something out. Hermione couldn't be sent away; it would kill her. He thought it very likely it would kill him as well.

Ron jumped up, anxious and twitchy, and ignored Lupin's pleas to sit and calm down. He had played calm, he had been sitting for weeks, and now Lupin was telling him that it didn't make a lick of difference. "I'm getting her out of there."

"Ron–"

Ron wasn't about to listen anymore. He turned on his heel and made for the door, only to bump into a yawning Harry on his way in.

"Coffee?" Harry asked, and inhaled deeply. Ron didn't bother to stop. He was out the door, down the steps, and heading across the street to the alley so he could Apparate away when Harry caught up to him.

"Wait!" Harry yelled. Ron didn't. He didn't want to give Harry or anyone else the opportunity to talk him out of what needed to be done. "Ron!" Of course, when Harry grabbed his arm and swung him around, Ron did slow up a bit.

"Life in Azkaban. That's all she has to look forward to. This hearing, my father parading around like he's a barrister, it's all a farce! They're going to send her to Azkaban, Harry, forever!" The words brought tears to his eyes, but Ron wasn't about to let them fall; he was too angry at the world, and at the moment the world included Harry. "I'm not going to let that happen."

"What are you going to do?" Harry was slightly out of breath, and his hair was more unruly than usual in the frosty morning breeze.

Did Harry want to help or stop him? It didn't really matter. Ron couldn't allow either. "Don't worry your pretty little head over it. Just go back inside and do nothing with the rest of your precious Order."

Harry was taken aback. "Ron, she's my friend, too."

"She's my Love!"

Harry nodded. "And now I know what that means. Let me help you."

"You'll just get yourself into trouble."

"I don't care!" He meant it, Ron saw, and it reminded him of why he'd liked Harry in the first place. They were a team, the three of them. Or…they had been.

Ron sighed, glanced around the street to be sure they weren't being watched, and then turned back to Harry. "The thing is, Harry, we'll be fugitives, me and Hermione. Like Sirius was. You can't live like that and defeat You-Know…Voldemort," he corrected. "The Order needs you now. You're the reason they exist. Me? I'm dispensable."

"Not to me," Harry said. "You're my Smisurato."

Ron rolled his eyes. Things were getting far too sentimental for comfort. "You're still in your night clothes, you know."

Harry looked down at his slippered feet, robe, and pajama bottoms and gave Ron a crooked grin. "At least…at least let me help you plan–"

"Can't," Ron said simply. "You've got to stay out of it, mate."

"But…but that's not how we work."

He left Harry then, and didn't look back. He didn't want to admit to himself that he might not see his friend again.

***

It took three days of planning, gathering supplies, and making covert contacts before Ron was ready to jump into action. He'd purposely not gone back to the Burrow for fear he might implicate his parents by proximity. He worried that they could be the subject of attack once the Ministry announced Hermione was missing, but Ron had made as many allowances to his scheme as he could afford in an effort to protect them. He would have to trust that the Order would be there when he could not.

It was the end of the first week in November, cold and rainy, and in the very first hours of the morning no one stirred outside the visitor's entrance to the Ministry. He stowed his pack behind a rubbish bin half a block from the phone booth; not too close to cause suspicion and yet close enough that he and Hermione could reach it quickly once they made their escape.

Heart hammering, Ron squeezed himself inside the phone booth, punched in the necessary numbers, and yelled his reason for being there. The nametag the booth spit out read "Ronald Weasley, Fool's Errand." Soon he was deposited into the vast underground lobby, just as he planned.

Only one guard in maroon robes was on duty. He was a large, tired-looking wizard with thick blond hair that seemed to start at his eyebrows and continue up and over his head.

"Name?" the guard said without looking up from his magazine. "And why the bloody hell are you bothering me at this time of night?"

"Ron Weasley, and as I said to the booth, my father's the advocate for the Muggle-born who cast the Unforgivable. He's sent me to pick up some parchments he forgot to bring home. I'll just pop up, get the satchel, and get back to bed. What d'ya say?"

"Yeah, yeah," the guard muttered. He turned a page. "Just leave your wand, and sign in."

The plan was working beautifully. Five minutes later Ron was in his dad's office. It was a cramped space with all the odd Muggle artifacts and rubbish he'd collected over the years, but Ron wasn't concerned with that just now. He dove into one of the many cabinets that lined the walls and searched quickly for the bright red canvas bag labeled ROYAL MAIL. He emptied the contents (a few old mailers and adverts that never arrived at their destination), threw the strap over his shoulder, and poked his head out the door. He didn't really expect to see anyone at that time of night, but he indulged in a deep, relieved breath when it turned up empty anyway.

Phase one, complete.

The stair at the far end of the hall was monitored. The same with the lifts. Without his wand, Ron was extremely limited in his magic, but luckily he'd planned for this as well. From out of his pocket he pulled a Chocolate Frog. He ripped open the package he'd so carefully sealed the night before just in case he'd had to turn out his pockets. He bit the head off the frog. Buried down inside the body was the tiny yellow pin he'd secreted there. He pulled it out with his nails and was about to carefully place it between his teeth when a voice stopped him.

"Ron?"

He froze at the familiar voice. Tonks was the one thing he hadn't planned on.

"Ron? Is that you?"

Of course it was him. She was standing not four meters from away in a fairly well lit corridor. He squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to think, but his mind only screamed that Tonks was about to ruin everything.

"What are you doing here?" she asked without an ounce of suspicion in her voice. She actually looked pleasantly surprised to find him prowling about at three in the morning. "I was just buttoning up a case we've been working on for ages. Finally nabbed the wizard who's been hunting down elderly Muggles and then hexing their houses for their family members to find. Terrible stuff. It's such a relief." She dropped a couple of the parchment rolls she was carrying. Ron picked them up for her.

"You know," she continued, giving him a smile of thanks, "you probably shouldn't be on this level. Care for a nip down in the Atrium? They've a cart with the best sausage hillmacks."

Never mind that the food cart had packed up hours ago, hillmacks were probably the most revolting thing his mum had ever put on his plate.

"Ron?" she asked, now sounding a bit concerned. "You good?"

He nodded.

She didn't seem to believe him. "Why don't I just deliver these," she indicated her parchments, "and we'll pop up to my office and…we can talk more freely." She gave a little look at the walls to tell Ron someone might be listening.

While she dropped off her reports, he slipped the yellow pin into his pocket hoping he wouldn't be discovered with it, as his carefully contrived and planned-out Chocolate Frog hiding place was now in pieces. He followed her, not knowing what else to do. His window of opportunity slipped a little further away with every step he took.

Tonks' new office was more spacious and less cluttered than his father's. She offered Ron a seat, pulled out her wand, and two cups full of tea appeared on her desk between them. She held up a hand to stop him when he went for his cup, made a jab with her wand, and a small yellow and orange sphere at the corner of her desk began to glow. A soft, melodic tune filled the room. Then she jabbed at it again, and the globe began to pulse.

"It's safe now," she said, and picked up her tea. "Moody made it for me. Blocks all kinds of magical listening devices – seeing eyes, crawlers – and will tell us if anyone approaches the door. Lovely little thing, isn't it?" She took a sip, set down her cup, and knocked over a stack of parchments in her NEEDS ATTENTION box.

"Leave it," she said with a wave of her hand. "Just tell me what's going on."

"Nothing," Ron said. He wished he'd thought to rehearse that response.

She eyed him for a moment, cocked her head, and then said, "You know, Harry's rubbish at lying. He stutters a little, and can't make eye contact. You just turn red. Is this Order business? And don't lie to me, Ron, I'm on your side."

He sat there for a moment considering his options, none of which he particularly liked. "Tonks," he said slowly, "they're going to send her to Azkaban. Life in Azkaban. She's eighteen."

Her blue brows lowered as what he said sunk in. Tonks frowned. "I knew this was rubbish," she said. She rubbed her hands over her face. She looked very tired all of a sudden, as if her body had just realized it was close to three in the morning. "Bloody, bloody hell. I wanted to tell you, Ron. I knew you'd go all barmy."

"I'm not!" he insisted defensively.

"Ron, I know it looks as if the Order isn't doing much–"

"You're not!"

"We, mate. We." She sat forward, crossed her arms, and rested them on the desk. "We've been taking turns – well, not me because…" She looked down at her middle. "But the rest – Kingsley, Remus, Moody, they're all taking Polyjuice to look like your dad so that they can take turns with your dad to defend Hermione."

Ron's brows rose. "Whatever for?"

"Ron, your dad's a great bloke; he's witty and clever, but he doesn't have Moody's experience with Defense Against the Dark Arts, or Kingsley's knowledge of the law, or Remus' ability to talk himself out of corners. Each of us has special skills, and we're all working very hard on Hermione's behalf. And when we're not in court, we're hunting – actively looking – for Draco. We reckon You-Know-Who's got him. And we reckon we might know where."

"But…but why didn't you tell us?" Ron asked darkly.

Tonks pursed her lips and gave Ron a hard look. "You've not been…reliable lately. Understandably," she added, but it didn't take the sting out of what she said.

"I'm completely reliable!"

"Oi, then! What was it was you thought you were going to do here tonight?"

"Nothing!"

"Lovely," she said dryly, and then opened one of the drawers in her desk. "Have you been keeping up with the Prophet this week?"

She dropped a stack of parchments in front of him. A half-page image of Hermione in her under-things glared up at him. In the picture she was still crying, still hurting after what Draco had done to her, and every bruise, cut, burn, break, and insult was clearly visible as someone off-camera prodded her to turn. Luckily the picture was resigned to black and white. The headline read TORTURE VICTIM COMMITS UNFORGIVABLE. FORGIVABLE?

"You think it's an accident that the judge released these pictures to the press? Once the Prophet printed them, they started painting her as a survivor and a strong young witch, not some batty slag. And just in case you were wondering, they haven't printed anything about your supposed mastermind plot to win Hermione's favor for days now."

She continued talking, but Ron lost the thread of what she was saying. He couldn't take his eyes from the picture. It was as Harry had described: horrible. And everyone had seen this. Hermione, in her knickers. Hurting. It was extremely private, and she'd been exposed to the world. He jumped up from the chair, startling Tonks into silence in the process.

"I can't stun you," he muttered, trying to reason things through until he realized he was staring at her expanding mid-section. "But I can't let you stop me, either. Hermione doesn't deserve Azkaban for what she did. You know it as well as I do. I'm taking her out of here tonight." His voice was calm, sure, the complete opposite of how he felt.

"Have you not been listening? We're fighting for her!"

"Lupin is right and I've been naive. There's only one sentence for casting an Unforgivable. The Order can't change that, and I can't let her live the rest of her life being tortured. I won't."

Tonks shook her head, took a deep breath, and picked up her wand. "Follow me, but don't open your yap. And if you do anything funny I'll stun you into tomorrow, Weasley. Don't think I can't. Order or no, I'm still an Auror."

He followed. She was right when she said she was still an Auror. They were in the very heart of the Ministry, and if she was suspected of anything nefarious she would risk not just her job and her freedom, but she might also expose the Order as well. She had divided loyalties, whereas Ron, as of three days ago when he'd dreamt up this scheme, had only one. In a way, it was freeing, but part of Ron felt as if he was standing on the edge of a great chasm with nothing but his robes to break his fall.

Tonks led him down the corridor and through a series of rooms, as if to avoid the obviously well trafficked areas. Twice she pointed to a floor tile, was careful to avoid it, and watched as Ron did exactly the same. There were three flights of stairs that Ron had never known were there; all three were accessed with Tonks' wand. She opened a secret passage by pulling a tooth on a grinning gargoyle guarding a small room lit only by a suspended green orb. Inside was a room unlike any Ron had ever been in. There was no floor, at least that he could see (though he was certainly standing on something) and no walls, either.

There was one guard on duty, eating a cucumber and ramble jelly sandwich. He looked up when they entered. Then, he went back to eating and watching the dozens of crystal balls that hovered in a semi-circle around him. Each held a small, unmoving scene of different corridors and rooms within the Ministry.

With a gentle arm, Tonks led Ron over to one side and pulled him closer to the spheres. The images weren't still, as Ron had first thought. One, on the upper corner, was quite bright and a small figure moved repetitively within it. Pacing. Ron leaned in, savoring his first sight of Hermione in more than a week.

"She's not asleep," he said quietly.

"She rarely sleeps." Tonks watched with him, concerned.

"How much more of this can she take? And then Azkaban?"

"Ron, I don't think you've considered all that's at stake. Here, she's safe at least. No one can get to her."

"Not even me," Ron whispered under his breath.

"There are some of a certain family who might not want to wait for the final sentencing…or who might think it too lenient, whatever it is. Particularly if they had a family member directly involved with her crime." She said this quietly, pointedly. "Ron, as bad as things are for her right now, she's safe."

It was the one thing he'd not considered, and the enormity of that particular set of consequences left him speechless. For a brief moment the disorientation of standing on nothing, in nothing, left him wobbly enough to cause Tonks to grab his arm and shove her shoulder under it.

"Easy, tiger," she said, and led him in the opposite direction. It wasn't until they were through the door that Ron realized there was one. In the corridor she asked, "Better now?"

It was kind of her to suggest that it was the room and not the guilt and self-loathing that left Ron light headed.

"I can't get you in to see her. Wish I could, you know, but I can't."

Of course she couldn't. Now Ron understood that she should, as well.

She took him up to the lobby and helped him check out. Wand in hand, Tonks gave him a hug. She whispered, "Ronald, you brave, stupid little wizard, if you ever come here to do anything like you were thinking of doing again, I'll have you stunned, tied, and fried up for breakfast." She gave him a golden smile and then turned and headed back to her office.

Ron was starting to understand what Lupin saw in her.

***

It was a couple of days before Ron saw Harry again, and only then because Harry tracked him down at the store.

"So! That's how it is, is it?" Harry demanded as the tinkling music announcing his arrival died away. "A week I've been waiting! A week, you bloody berk, and not so much as an owl comes my way!"

Ron looked up from behind his register, baffled. "Eh?"

"The last I know my best mate is about to break my other best mate out of the Ministry, and a week goes by with no sign of any of it, or him, and every day I've been going to that hellish hearing, every blood day, and Hermione – do you even care about her anymore?"

"Hey now!"

Harry turned and punched at a box of Sour Stomachs. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Ron sighed. "Sorry," he muttered.

"Sorry?" Apparently Harry had expected something more. The smell from the broken box was quickly filling the room. Ron pulled a stink bag from behind the counter and put the Sour Stomachs in it, pulled the cord, and then tossed the whole thing into the masticating rubbish bin near the door. It burped happily.

"Look," Ron said, tired and defeated. "I tried. I went for her. I had it all planned out. I just couldn't do it. And I'm not even sure that's a bad thing anymore. I mean, I'm not you, Harry. Right? I'm not a hero. Sure, in a fight I can stand my ground, but I'd be no protection for her. I could get her out of there, but I'd be the one painting a target on her. I'm useless. Is that what you wanted to hear me say?"

Harry's face dropped. "I know what happened at the Ministry, if that's what you're going on about. Tonks and your dad sat me down and had a long, hard go at me to be sure all thoughts of rescue were driven from my head."

"If you know, then why did you come in here ranting like a Howler sent from my mum?"

"You've been avoiding me."

"Have not."

Harry glared at him again.

"All right," Ron admitted. "I've been avoiding everyone."

"Well, sure, you're going to avoid the other lot for a while. That just makes sense, right? But not me. And you're not useless. It's no wonder you couldn't do it all on your own, really. You're part of a team. That's how we work. Bloody prat."

"Yeah, well," Ron said. Harry gave him an encouraging grin and Ron returned it with a little nod.

That's when the door chime announced a customer, and Ginny walked in the store. She froze when she saw Harry, and her eyes went round. Harry had much the same response. After a few tense moments she simply turned and walked out again.

"Not that I even pretend to understand birds, but shouldn't you go after her?" Ron asked.

"What would I go and do something like that for?"

"Well, because you fancy her, maybe?"

"She's got a bloke."

Ron just shrugged.

"She wasn't with him, was she? Just now?" Harry asked. Ron shrugged again, but Harry seemed to feel this was enough participation to continue the conversation. "Maybe they broke up. Or maybe she's moved on to the next poor sap." This he said with an ugly edge to his voice. "She looked good, though. Don't you think? Pretty."

"I think she's my sister."

"Yeah. I should've known you say something like that."

"Something like what? She is my sister!"

"Care for a pint?" Harry asked miserably.

"A pint of what? Are you buying?"

"Does it matter?"

It didn't, much. Ron closed up, the sign huffed its disgust, and the two of them went back to the manse. Harry opened several bottles of wine he found in the larder. They got stinking drunk together for the first time that day, before the sun ever set.

End of chapter 10