False Fate

By MD1016

Part II: Trial of the Century

Chapter 11 – No Words

Ron shifted to sit on his other hip, and tried to readjust his legs without waking them up completely. He'd been crouched inside the shrubbery for nearly seven hours – only halfway through his shift – and it was taking a toll on his long, lanky form. Men of his size weren't meant to prowl around in vegetation, or sit still for hours on end. His stomach rumbled unpleasantly, and he pressed a fist against it. Supper had come and gone hours ago. It would be morning before he saw anymore food.

When Lupin had first suggested an assignment for the Order, Ron had leapt at it. Whatever it was, he'd thought, it would be doing something, rather than just sitting around being useless. Apparently there's wasn't much difference in being useless or useful for the Order. He'd been watching the same house in Wiltshire on and off for a fortnight, for hours on end, and seen absolutely nothing. Ron had serious doubts that Draco was within a hundred kilometers from the place, let alone hiding inside it. Why anyone would go inside that ratty old heap of timber was beyond him.

The house itself was an old thatched cottage that had been haphazardly added-on to several times in the last couple of hundred years. The plaster and beam walls were in varying stages of decay, the north side more so, which was where Harry was currently sitting and being useful. They had the place surrounded - the two of them, as it were - though surrounding an empty, abandoned house seemed to Ron to be a tremendous waste of time. Somehow he thought that doing something would include actual doing.

For about the hundredth time that night Ron pulled his slicker tighter over his double layer of jumpers and glared up at the dark, miserable sky. December rain bit more than any other, and the breeze seemed to burrow like smidge worms into his very bones. He pulled his mitten-clad fingers up to his face and warmed his nose and lips with his own breath. He closed his eyes.

His mind drifted back to that September night when he sat on the floor, his legs entwined with Hermione's, when her warm and solid body had draped languidly against his own. She'd had a nightmare that night, and hadn't yet learned to muffle her tears or turn him away. It had been particularly difficult to wake her, he remembered, and she'd struggled against him – that's how they'd ended up on the floor – but he recalled vividly when she finally came to herself how she wrapped her arms around him and squeezed him tight. It had taken a while for them to relax against each other, and when they did she drew lazy circles under his t-shirt, against his bare back. The thought of it now woke warm tendrils at the base of his belly. As they snaked lower he shivered. Just thinking about her these days was enough to drive Ron to distraction. He shifted again, pulled up on the legs of his jeans to make a little extra room in the crotch.

Out of the corner of his eye, a movement startled him. He held his breath and peered through the gloomy night, in an attempt to focus on just what he'd seen. It looked like a light, maybe, something running. Then he caught sight of it again, beside the old pile of rubble that was once a well. Shacklebolt's patronus was a silvery rhinoceros half the size of a pony. Ron heard the man's voice clear as anything inside his head, just behind his ears. "We've got him! Headquarters! Quick!"

Ron bolted up, and then promptly fell over again in the wet grass and mud. His numb legs went all pins and needles, except for his feet that felt as if they'd been flayed open. "Raging bloody hell!" he called out between gritted teeth. A few second later Harry came sliding in beside him.

"Are you hurt?" Harry demanded as he ran toward Ron. "What happened?"

Ron shook his head. "Patronus. Shacklebolt–"

"Yeah, I saw it, too. But you–"

"Fine," Ron choked out. "Give me a boost."

Harry helped him up, and once they were concealed behind the old barn, the two of them Apparated back to the alley on Grimmuald Place.

***

The manse, when they arrived, was abuzz with activity. Dozens of Order members were gathered in the basement kitchen, drinking mulled wine and blue bottles of Zombini's. Trays of food floated slowly around, and people picked off them as they passed. There were several huddles of people talking conspiratorially, one of which held Ron's mum and Bill and Elphias Doge. Ron made his way to them.

"There you are, poppin," Ron's mum said brightly. "You've heard the news, then? Isn't it wonderful? Elphias and Hestia found him, and called in Tonks and Kingsley for the capture. Did everything by the book, just like we'd planned!" Tonks and Shacklebolt were Aurors, of course, so it was important that they be the ones to make the formal arrest, or so it had been drilled into his and Harry's skulls. "You're father's there now filing the formal motion of complaint again him."

"That little wart," Doge grumbled. "Shot Hestia but good right in the face! But I held him off until the others could arrive."

"Never fear," Ron's mum added quickly, "Hestia will be fine in a couple of days. They've got her at St. Mungo's."

"And it was Draco Malfoy?" Ron questioned. "You're certain?"

"Couldn't be any more," Doge said smugly. "Saw the Dark Mark on his arm m'self. Caught him trying to break through the new protective hexes Moody put on the Burrow, see? Knew right away it'd be the little bugger."

Ron's eyes went wide, and shot to his mother. "He was at home?"

"Seems so," she said. "But don't you fret. Moody's work is top-notch, you know. We knew the moment he Apparated. Can't imagine what he'd want at our place, though. Unless he was trying to get at your father. I worry so much about him these days–" She stopped herself and offered Ron a broad smile. "But we got him, didn't we?"

"So, now what?" Harry asked, coming up behind Ron. He'd a butter beer in one hand and a small green ball of something in the other. He popped the food in his mouth and chewed.

"Hard to say," Bill said. "They've got to charge young Malfoy, and then Dad will be free to examine him as a hostile witness in Hermione's hearing."

"But still, she cast an Unforgivable," Ron anxiously said. "Capturing Draco doesn't change that."

"Ron," Harry said quietly, "Hermione didn't just cast an Unforgivable at a classmate, she was tortured by a Death Eater. Like the Longbottoms. With Draco present and accounted for, we now have real proof of that."

Ron's brows lifted. "So…it's all right to cast Unforgivables at Death Eaters?" Was this really a loophole he'd never heard of? The one they'd been hoping for?

Harry shifted from one foot to another. "Well, no. Not exactly. This is uncharted territory."

It was not the answer Ron had wanted. He grabbed Harry's beer and took a long, deep swig. Then he went in search of something stronger. With a couple of bottles tucked under his arm, Ron headed upstairs to Hermione's old room. He pulled out his wand, lit the fire in the fireplace, and settled down in the chintz chair nearby with his drink. Harry followed a couple of minutes later with some food. They didn't talk. They sat and drank through the night, Harry slouched against the overstuffed front of the chair and Ron with his legs flung over the rounded arms.

Despite everything that had happened, everything that had been done to him and by him, Harry was a good friend, Ron decided. The best.

***

Tonks woke them the next morning with a frown on her face, and holding the side of her belly while she muttered something about animals and wizards. She glanced over the empties that seemed to have multiplied, as the two boys roused themselves, a little stiff and worse for wear.

"Time?" Harry asked, one hand on his forehead, and one on the back of his neck.

"Half an hour before the hearing is scheduled to begin, and Ron, I want you to come today, too."

This caught Ron's attention. "Really?"

She nodded. "With Draco in custody we're expecting fireworks."

***

They arrived at the Ministry together, but Tonks sent Harry down to the judge's chamber before leading Ron back to the Night Room. There were half a dozen guards on duty this morning, monitoring all the different crystal balls that were, at this time of the morning, all fluttering with activity. Ron went straight to Hermione's orb, and he breathed in the sight of her. It was an awkward angle; mostly what he saw was the top of her head. But she was there. She kicked her foot against the wall in a slow, rhythmic way as she stood against the wall, arms crossed over her chest, still wearing the over-sized, striped prison robes. Why hadn't someone performed a shrinking spell on them? It wouldn't have taken more than a few seconds.

"I'm going down," Tonks told Ron. She peered over his shoulder at Hermione, studying her image for a moment. "Stay here until Kingsley comes for you, won't you?"

Ron absently nodded. She squeezed his shoulder.

Yes, something was going to happen, he could feel it. The street outside the Ministry, normally devoid of any signs of life, had been packed full of wizards and witches protesting with magical signs and shouts of "FREE THE HEROINE!" and "FORGIVABLE AGAINST DEATH EATERS!" and "SAVE HERMIONE TODAY!" There were more protesters gathered in the main atrium of the Ministry, though they were far more controlled and less vocal. They too wore magicked shirts and held signs, many with the brutal images of Hermione just after her rescue. As Ron and Harry had passed they cheered. Well, they cheered for Harry, anyway.

Hermione had no idea that all of these people had turned out for her. How could she? They wanted to help her, wanted to see justice done. They wanted her to come home. Ron wanted her to come home. She'd been shut away since September. He reached up to touch the smooth surface of her orb. Hermione disappeared in a puff of smoke. Ron snatched his hand back. Had he done that?

In the largest crystal ball, suspended above the rest, the image flickered to life and there was Hermione again, in black and white, sitting in the chair, surrounded by a cone of bright light. One of the guards shoved an ear disk at him, and Ron quickly put it on.

The judge announced that Ron's dad could begin.

"Miss Granger, good morning."

She responded with a flat, "Good morning, Mr. Weasley."

"A lot has happened since last we met here, Miss Granger. Your kidnapper and torturer has been caught and is currently in custody here at the Ministry."

This news brought her to the edge of her seat, though after months of conditioning she was careful not to leave the chair entirely. "Here? He's here?" She looked terrified.

Ron couldn't see his father or his reaction to Hermione's almost panicked question, but his voice came in a reassuring tone. "You're quite safe, Miss Granger. His wand has been confiscated and a Muffle Charm has been put on him so he won't be able to cast any spells." This didn't seem to ease her anxiety much. "We do, however need to bring him before the judge now."

"Here?" she shrieked. "Now?"

Ron heard his father's voice lower, and compassion filter through. "Hermione, we have to do this. It's important."

She looked unconvinced, but she gave a little nod. Her chair was shoved to one side and then another large cloud of smoke appeared, and then cleared to reveal a second chair and occupant beside her. Malfoy's hair was a blinding white in the viewing globe, and Ron noted with satisfaction, that he was already chained to the chair. Draco blinked a couple of times, coughed at the remnants of smoke, and then turned and saw Hermione. A slow, morbid grin cracked his pale face. It twisted into a snarl. She shrunk back a little, turned her head away, and refused to look at him.

"Mudblood," Draco swore under his breath. "Disgusting, cowardly mudblood."

There was a general rumbled of shock from the on-lookers, before Ron's dad said anything.

"Draco Malfoy. You are accused of multiple castings of the Crucio Curse. Do you deny casing an Unforgivable?"

Draco's eyes darted out into the darkness, his pointed nose and chin came into stark relief. "There's no reason to deny it, blood traitor! It's not an Unforgivable if it's on a mudblood like her. She's not a real witch. And as far as I'm concerned, neither are you, Weasley. Blood traitor."

"You'll forgive me if I put very little weight in your opinion, I'm sure." Ron's father appeared in the spotlight, his arm and head reaching over the banister. He yanked Malfoy's sleeve up, and forced his arm to rotate in the chain cuff. There, for all to see, was the writhing tattoo of a skull swallowing a knotted snake. The room gasped at the sigh of the Dark Mark. Ron, however, looked closer. It had cuts across it, and gouges around it, as if Draco had attempted to physically cut the Mark from his arm.

"Did you abduct Miss Granger under orders from You-Know-Who?"

Malfoy puffed out his chest. "Maybe I did!" The chair shocked the hell out of him, and Ron had to fight the urge to cheer it on. When Draco recovered, he strained against his bonds and screamed in outrage. The chains held with little complaint. Hermione, through this, shrank even farther from him, curling herself as far over in the chair as possible. Ron had never seen her cower before. It twisted his heart in two.

Ron's father's voice was louder now, and more forceful, to compensate for the unrest in the room. "Did you abduct Miss Granger, torture her, and perform the Crucio Curse on her as a direct or indirect order from You-Know-Who?"

"Yes!" Malfoy shouted maniacally, but the chair got him again. Ron thought he could see little wisps of smoke rising from his head before it was done. "Rotten, bloody blood traitors!" he cried out in his anger and pain.

"I think from the chair's reaction, Mr. Malfoy, it's safe to assume you did not, in fact, act under the instructions of You-Know-Who. That your actions were your own."

Draco glared at him, breathing hard but saying nothing.

"Did you not understand the consequences for what you did? Specifically the Crucio Curse? Did you know that it was an Unforgivable? Do you lack the wit to know what that means?"

With a strangled guffaw, Draco barked, "DIE!" Immediately his lips were sucked inside his mouth, and then they disappeared completely.

The room erupted as the Muffle Hex took effect. There was a slam of something heavy hitting the ground, and the sound of mass panic filled. Ron couldn't make out what was happening. All he could see was Hermione screaming, though her voice was drowned out in the general hysteria filtering through his ear disk.

In the Night Room the guards jumped up cursing under their breaths, while they pressed and twisted the orbs. Both Draco and Hermione were smoked back to their cells – Ron found Hermione again in her smaller crystal ball, though now, without the chair to force her stillness, she ran to the door and pounded her fists against it.

The guards in the Night Room began the frantic process of locking down the entire Ministry.

"What's happened?" Ron demanded, but no one stopped to answer. There were calls going out for all available guards and Aurors to "report to level ten, Judge Rosmarus' chambers immediately!" In the large Orb Ron saw nothing but the banister that separated the dais from the room, and the over exposed white light. People still shouted, and above the rest Ron heard a voice that chilled him to his very core: his mother. Screaming.

"AAAAARTHUR!"

Ron strained but couldn't see anything beyond the darkness.

"Confirmed death," said one of the guards, pressing an ear disk against his head. "They're removing the body now. Open the doors."

Ron went cold. "W-who died?" he heard himself ask in a voice he didn't recognize as his own.

Again, no one paid him any mind.

In his ear disk Ron heard the judge's voice calling for order. He got little response. Shacklebolt's voice boomed, but Ron couldn't make out what he was saying. His mother was crying. Weeping. Ron felt his legs go wobbly. He sank to his knees, watching the white ball, hoping that he was wrong.

"Sit down!" Shacklebolt's command was the first utterance from the chamber that Ron could understand. "All of you! Sit!" The room began to quiet somewhat, and the sounds of crying became fainter.

The judge tried again. "Order!" This time he seemed to get his desired reaction. "I daresay that ends the defense examination. Bombridge, have you anything further to add?"

There was a pause, and a clearing of the throat. "No, your lordship," came a weak and shaky response.

"I've no need to deliberate on my sentence. Bring the accused back!"

And again Hermione appeared, seated, chest heaving as if she'd run all the way.

"In this case, in light of these circumstances, and with all of the evidence provided by Chancellor Xavier Bombridge of the Ministry of Magic's Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and Mr. Arthur Weasley of the Ministry's Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects, I, Lord Phillean Rosmarus, III, having already established the guilt of Miss Hermione Jane Granger, and am ready to deliver her sentence. 
 
"Because of given testimony, this court dismisses the charge of failure to report the misuse of an Unforgivable." He added in a sincere voice, "I daresay you gave it your all, my dear." Then the judge addressed the room again. "As for the second and first charges, the misuse of and Unforgivable Curse and intention to inflict bodily harm with an Unforgivable Curse – well, I'm sad to say that these charges stick."
 
Now both the judge's chambers and the Night Room became truly silent. Ron felt his chest cave in. 
 
"It is because of the heinous nature of the crime, regardless of circumstances, that there must be some sort of imprisonment as part of the sentence. So, I do hereby sentence you, Miss Hermione Jane Granger, to two months in Azkaban Prison; sentence commuted as time already served. You were attacked by a Death Eater, and quite possibly acted with an Unforgivable in an attempt at self-preservation. For this reason alone I do not demand a more lengthy, if not indefinite stay. However, your admitted use of an Unforgivable - for whatever reason - can never, never be repeated. Therefore, from this day forward you are banned from carrying an Apparition license or a wand. Nor shall you be permitted to hold a position that would naturally be denied any wizard having once been incarcerated in Azkaban. 
 
"I do not feel, at this time, that you are a danger to yourself, wizarding society, or the world at large, so as of this moment, with time served and observation of the conditions of your release, you are, Miss Granger, now free to go."
 
There was a rush of voices again, many of them cheers, but Hermione didn't move. A hand came out of the darkness, then the arm, and Ron recognized them as Harry's. It took her a moment, but she reached out for him, and allowed him to pull her to her feet. They embraced fiercely, and Ron heard and saw the cameras flashing. Ron was shaking. Harry pushed her far enough away to hold her face in his hands, to kiss her forehead and then briefly her lips, and then she burst into tears, and he cradled her against him once more.
 
Hermione was safe. Ron's dad was not.
 
A broad, dark hand landed on Ron's shoulder, hoisted him up. Shacklebolt led Ron out of the room, and to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. His mum was already there. She was crying, but trying to put on a brave face for her sons; Bill, Fred and George had already arrived. 
 
"He's gone," she said. "They tried. None of them had ever heard of that curse, just 'Die' without a wand or anything and the person falls over…dead. It's not even Latin! They said there was no way to fight it. Nothing they could do." She dissolved into tears again, and Bill pulled her into a bear hug. "Ginny. She's to be coming home for the winter holidays tomorrow, anyway. Bill, you'll collect her, won't you? She's going to need someone strong to be with her on that ride home."
 
"Of course I'll go," Bill told her. "Tonight."
 
She nodded and her eyes landed on Ron. She reached for him, pulled him into a hug. 
 
"I'm s-sorry, Mum," he said. 
 
She sniffled a little and gave him a watery smile. She looked deep into his eyes. He had to look away. "Your father knew something like this could happen. We took all the precautions we could, but he knew what he was risking. This is not your fault, Ronald, so you just get that thought out of your head."
 
Of course, it was his fault. Everything that had happened as a result of his stupid quest for the Cup of Oaths was his fault. But he nodded to her anyway. His pain, he knew, couldn't be anything compared to hers.
 
"Have they postponed the hearing, then? We'll need to find Hermione a new advocate. Oh, dear," she said, seemingly overwhelmed by the thought.
 
Ron shook his head. "She's out. Free." This was all Ron could manage at the moment, but it was enough to start his mum sobbing again. 
 
"That's a relief," she cried. 
 
"Free?" asked Fred and George in unison. They'd all left with their father's body, and had missed the judge's sentence.
 
Ron nodded. 
 
"Shall we go see her, then?" his mum asked. "She's likely to be in shock as well, and I'm sure she'd welcome some familiar faces." She reached up, and with her thumb wiped at the tears on Ron's cheek. "Bet you can't wait to see her. It's been ages."
 
"But Mum," Ron said. "Dad…"
 
"Yes, well," she turned a little and stared longingly at the door behind her. "I've said my good-byes. And I rather think I'm not quite ready to be alone yet."
 
He was in there. Behind the door. Ron's shoulders shook as a shiver wormed its way up his spine.
 
"Go on, son," she said encouraging. He opened the door, went inside.
 
The room was small. Cool and dark. It smelled of old potions and chemicals, and the Muggle cologne his father always wore. There was a narrow wood table, and his father was laid out on top, with a clean white sheet covering him from head to toe. The shaking in Ron's shoulders got worse. He felt like he was floating. He ended up at his father's side, staring down at the creases in the cloth. He thought he should probably say something; tell his father's corpse that he'd been a good dad, that Ron loved him, that he was sorry. So very, very sorry. But there were no words. 

***

They gathered at Headquarters. The mood was somber. Ron passed various members of the Order, and he was given repeated supportive cuffs on the shoulder. Everyone wore their black robes and talked in hushed tones. Ron walked with his head down, not wanting to make deliberate eye contact with anyone. He was herded to the kitchen where a drink was placed in his hands. Then he just wandered, not wanting to stand still long enough for someone to mistake his stillness of an invitation to come visit. Everything seemed very dream-like to Ron, as if the world might simply dissolve at the sound of an alarm.
 
He found his way upstairs, and then into the parlor without even meaning to. Ron looked up when the room went completely silent. Everyone was staring at him, and at Hermione, he realized, who stood in a jumper and jeans near the blazing fireplace. Harry was beside her. She was frozen, just as he was, her face a mixture of misery and relief. He'd seen her in the orbs. He knew it had been much longer for her.
 
Her voice cracked around his name. "Oh, Ron."
 
He dropped his drink, and she handed hers off to Harry, and the two of them met in the middle of the room. She seemed to fly at him, and he caught her, crushed her to him, with her arms tight around his neck. He couldn't believe it was really her – that he was holding her, and she was squeezing him tight. He could hardly breathe around the hammering of his heart. His nose instantly filled with snot and his eyes with tears. Her hair was soft and fluffy, and he pressed his face into it, let it smooth over his lips.
 
People began talking again, quietly, respectfully, but Ron wasn't ready to release her yet. The emotional swell inside him was more than he could've even imagined. He didn't know how he could feel so much at once. 
 
And when Hermione finally pulled away, he was unable to cope. He turned and left. 

***

Harry found him hours later, up in his old room, drapes drawn, staring at nothing. Ron's mind had gone numb. There was a courtesy knock, but Harry let himself in when Ron didn't answer. "Things are breaking up downstairs. Fred and George are going to stay with your mum tonight at the Burrow. Hermione's here. So is Moody. He thinks there might be an…an attempt made on Hermione, so he's going to be around for a while."
 
This got Ron's attention. He sat up on one elbow. "She alright?"
 
"Yeah. Distant, though. Quiet. This has all been rather rough on her. And you," Harry added quietly.
 
"Yeah," Ron echoed.
 
"Er…I'm sorry about your dad, mate. Really sorry."
 
"Yeah. I know. Thanks." Ron lay back, his head found the warm dent in the pillow again. He closed his eyes, but didn't sleep at all that night. 

***

When the meager sun finally found its way through the crack in the drapes, Ron pushed himself out of bed and went down to the kitchen for coffee. Bill and Ginny were there already, both red-eyed and puffy-faced. Ginny ran to him, hugged him, and then poured him a fat mug of tea from the kettle on the table.
 
"I need to get back to Fleur," Bill said once Ron had collapsed on the table bench. "Are we, do you know, are we going to have Christmas this year?" 
 
Ron blinked at him, but Ginny said confidently, "Of course." It was the same voice, the same tone that Ron had heard come out of his mum all these years.
 
"Right, then," said Bill, "we'll be over for Christmas supper, then." 
 
"Christmas?" asked Ron when Bill had gone.
 
"Tomorrow is Christmas Eve," Ginny clarified. 
 
"Is it, now? It doesn't feel very Christmasy, does it?"
 
"No," Ginny agreed. "But you know dad. Christmas was his favorite. And he would expect us to celebrate, even without him."
 
Ron shook his head. "How can you know that?"
 
"I know my father," she said matter-of-factly. "And Ron," she added, reaching out to touch his hand. "So do you."
 
His brows lowered. Yeah. He supposed she was right. He imagined his father setting up the family Christmas tree, smiling all the while, and saying directly to Ron, "We got her back, son! Time for celebration!" 
 
"It's too soon," Ron said.
 
"It could be months from now," Ginny said with a sincere sigh, "and it would still be too soon. I miss him already."
 
Harry came down a short time later and started a breakfast of eggs on toast and bacon. He also started the coffee, for which Ron was grateful. The smells brought Hermione down in borrowed pajamas that looked suspiciously like Harry's. Ginny rushed to her and the two embraced, and then dissolved into tears with the next breath. Ron sighed heavily. He'd had just about as much crying as he could stand, and if Harry hadn't at that exact moment put a plate of food in front of him, he might've gotten up and left.
 
By the time he was through half his breakfast Ginny and Hermione had made it back to the table. Harry had taken the seat beside Ginny, and Hermione sat too close to Ron. He felt like he couldn't breathe properly. She didn't eat much. When she finished she rested her fist on the table top. It shook a little. Ron smoothed his hand over hers.
 
"You're freezing," he whispered to her. She shivered. When he glanced up from her hand he caught her staring at him. Her eyes lowered to his mouth, and a basic, primal panic shot through him. Heart pounding, Ron muttered something about needing to see to the shop and he was out the door and in Hogsmeade long before his pulse began to slow.

***

Christmas was a quiet affair that year, but not without its own share of subdued laughter. Harry and Ron had moved into the Burrow for a while, along with Ginny and Fred and George, so the house felt full to the brim with bodies and activity, even when they did nothing more than lounge by the old wood stove and listened to music. Hermione arrived just after afternoon tea, having spent a day and a half with her parents. She didn't say much about her visit home when asked, except that her parents were relieved and happy to see her. 
 
Bill and Fleur came for Christmas supper, as did Tonks and Lupin, and Moody, so the meal was informally eaten in the kitchen, den and wherever a seat could be found. Afterwards, they relaxed with tea and eggnog. Tonks sat on the smaller couch, leaning against her man, sleepily rubbing the side of her rounding belly.
 
Hermione smiled at her. "That reminds me," she said. "Which one of you idiots told Mr. Weasley that I was carrying Harry's Love child?"
 
Eggnog shot from Harry's nose. Fred and George cheered, and gave Hermione a thumbs-up.
 
"I…uh…that was me," Ron eked out. He sat on the floor in front of her chair, his back against one of her legs. Her other leg bent, and a socked foot cuffed him in the back of the head.
 
"He went all red and purple trying to ask me without actually asking me if I was pregnant. It took me forever to decipher his vacuum and toaster metaphor. I think he felt I should relate because my parents are Muggles or something, but I don't think he quite understood the purpose of a toaster."
 
This brought additional laughter from the Wealsey children who were quite familiar with their father's veiled attempts at explaining the sexual ways of the world to his children. It felt good to think about his dad this way, even when the ache of losing him was so fresh. Everyone there knew him and missed him, and somehow that knowledge – while not lessening the hurt - made it bearable.
 
A knock on the door sobered the room instantly, and both Moody and Bill jumped up with their wands already in their hands. Ron saw Lupin whip his wand out as well, but he remained next to Tonks while Bill and Moody slowly crept toward the door ready to blow it to bits. Bill was the first to peer through the kitchen window, and therefore the first to relax his wand.
 
"Who are you?" he demanded.
 
"Uh…" It was a male voice, deep but young. "Terry Boot. Ginny Weasley gave me this address–"
 
"Terry?" Ginny jumped up and bolted for the door. Not even a second later Harry jumped up as well, though his feet remained firmly planted on the old, braided rag rug. "What are you doing here?"
 
"Uh…me mum, she read about your da in the paper, and I thought, well, I'm sorry…" A mittened arm thrust a fist full of sickly-looking, snow-covered flowers at her. "I didn't know there'd be armed guards or I would've sent an owl ahead."
 
"You should've sent an owl instead!" she snapped, though Ron could tell she was trying to keep her voice hushed. "I told you to write–"
 
"But…I was worried…and, well, you're my girl-" 
 
Before he could get another syllable out she shoved him hard out the door, grabbed her coat from the peg tree, and followed him. Harry took a step like he meant to follow, then remembered himself, and simply stood in place fisting and unfisting his hands.
 
"You all right, Harry, dear?" asked Ron's mum. She wore a smirk, but hid it behind her tea cup.
 
He spun around to Ron. "Terry Boot? She's dating Terry? He's the bloke?"
 
Ron shrugged. The last thing he wanted to do was get involved in Harry making an ass of himself over his little sister. Moody and Bill returned, and Tonks went back to her plate of Yule cake. Ron rather thought she had the right idea.
 
"But…but he's in Ravenclaw!" Harry said, exasperated.
 
Hermione chimed in with, "That wasn't a problem when you were interested in Cho."
 
"But that was…she was…Cho." Slowly some memory filtered through Harry's jealous haze that widened his eyes and he turned back to the door. "Mrs. Weasley, are you sure you're comfortable with her out there? Alone with him? Alone?"
 
"Well, she is sixteen now, and I suppose if she's already dating him than they've probably done a bit of snogging." She seemed to be seriously weighing Harry's question. "But, it's snowing out there, and my Ginny is a smart girl. So, I doubt she'd drop her drawers - even for Terry Boot - in the middle of a snowstorm," she ribbed.
 
Harry went a little green to the delight of George and Fred, and if he was completely honest, Ron a little as well. "Yes, well," said Harry. "He is her boyfriend, I suppose…isn't he?" He looked to Hermione now and gave her a questioning look.
 
"The last I heard they were thick and thieves," Hermione said. "But then, that was months ago. I'm sure they've had plenty of time to get even closer. He's the new Ravenclaw Keeper. I'm told he's spectacular."
 
Ron craned his neck around to see Hermione's expression. Yes, the smirk he heard in her voice was most certainly hanging on the edge of her mouth. She was enjoying her torture.
 
"All right, Harry, don't get your knickers in a twist," Ron said. Someone had to rescue Harry before he lost his head entirely. "She didn't invite him in to meet the family, did she? She didn't even look too happy to see him, if you ask me. I'm sure he's nothing too serious to her."
 
"Right," said Harry. He continued to stare at the door.
 
"Boys," Hermione grumbled under her breath. She took a big swallow if her mulled wine.
 
Tonks gave a little gasp of discomfort and rubbed the side of her belly. 
 
"Oh, kicking again, is it?" said Ron's mum. "That one will be a Beater for sure! Bill kicked my liver black and blue–"
 
"Mum, I was never a Beater," Bill said, rolling his eyes and smirking to his wife. Fleur, for the most part, seemed content to sip her wine and play absently with Bill's ginger ponytail. Ron loved the way her fingers moved.
 
"Well, no, but you would've made a lovely Beater. I always said that." 
 
"Yes, you did always say that," he agreed.
 
"Could never get you on the Quidditch pitch, though. You father and I thought for sure you were afraid to fly, but when you turned out to be a zip on the broom, we had to accept that you just weren't interested in Quidditch."
 
"Really? I don't recall either of you coming to that kind of acceptance when I dropped the Gryffindor team my seventh year. And for two people who didn't play Quidditch yourselves-"
 
"Oh, Bill!" she said to hush him. "You know very well your father played at school until he hurt his back."
 
"How did he do that again?" George asked. 
 
"Well, he'd bewitched a Muggle floor cleaner, thinking it would fly the same as a good, old-fashioned wizard's broom. Fell thirty feet. Sprites abound! I thought that was the end of him there, but Madame Lickswitch managed to fix him up. She was never as good as Madame Pomphrey, but when your father and I were at Hogwarts Pomphrey hadn't come on yet. Lickswitch was, well now, near a hundred, had to be. Blind as a bat, too."
 
"What year were you when dad took the dive?" Ron asked.
 
"Seventh year. It was just before your father and I took our N.E.W.T.s. Gave us plenty of time to study, though, with him laid up in the infirmary." Her gentle smile fell, as did fresh tears. "'Sorry," she mumbled through a handkerchief, and hurried out of the room, and up the stairs.
 
Tears prickled Ron's own eyes. He took a few swallows of his eggnog, and tried to think of anything but his father. It was difficult.
 
"Diz baby," Fleur said, with a graceful hand gesture toward Tonks' stomach. "It ez a boy? Oui? A girl?" Ron got lost for a moment in that swish of her hand. He'd forgotten how pretty Fleur was, how graceful. How wonderful…
 
Tonks' voice brought him out of it. "We don't know yet." She smiled and rubbed the side of her belly. 
 
"Of course you do." It was Hermione's voice, but hard and sharp as flint. It shocked Ron, and he looked bug-eyed to Harry, who had found his seat again on the sofa. Harry, too, was surprised and gave Hermione a concerned look. Tonks, to whom the comment was directed, just lifted her brows. 
 
Hermione sighed. "Your hair. It's blue."
 
Lupin leaned back a little from Tonks and examined her hair. "It's been blue for a while now," he said.
 
Tonks screwed up her eyes, and for a moment it went the shade of bubblegum. But only for a moment. "It doesn't want to stay," she said with a shrug. "But I like it blue."
 
"Baby blue," Hermione said. 
 
"What?" Tonks whispered. Her face went stony, and for a moment hard to read.
 
Hermione didn't need to repeat herself; Lupin did it for her. "Baby blue?" he whispered. "A boy?" He looked down at the mound of baby, and placed his hand over Tonks'.
 
"You know, I reckon she might be right," Tonks said, a grin beginning to spread across her face. "I've had this feeling…"
 
"A BOY!" George and Fred yelled in unison. "That's a lucky break," George continued to Lupin. "Congrats, mate!"
 
Bill and Fleur offered their congratulations as well, but Lupin didn't seem to hear them. He and Tonks stared, stunned, into each other's eyes, and Ron looked away when the sappy moment became too much for him. He found himself staring at Fleur. Hermione footed him in the back of the head again. 
 
Harry strained his neck to see through the curtains and snow. "I thought the two of you made up," Hermione said to him. "You seem to be getting on now."
 
Harry glanced from the window to Hermione, and then back again. "We're getting on," he muttered, somewhat defensively.
 
"Did you talk?" Hermione asked, pointedly. "Work things out? Did you explain?"
 
Harry made a face and sat back again. "Never mind," he said. "It doesn't matter."
 
"Of course it matters!" There was real irritation in Hermione's voice now, and she sat forward, poised for attack. "If you don't want her dating Terry, then you bloody well better do something about it!"
 
Harry shook his head. "The reason I stopped seeing her…nothing's changed. She's better off with that git – safer – than with me."
 
"Oh for the love of magic, Harry!" This time it was Tonks' exasperation. "Let her make that decision for herself, why don't you? You wizards always try to decide what's best for us, when we're perfectly capable of making that choice ourselves! And why, I ask you? Why? Eh? Can you tell me that?" She shot a glare at Lupin before turning back to Harry. "If you don't want to see her, that's one thing, Harry. But if you do – and you know she wants to see you – then you can't lock her out of a relationship just because it's uncomfortable for you!"
 
Lupin put a hand on her arm, and whispered, "He's not me, sweet. Ease up a little."
 
"But he's doing just what you did – don't call me sweet! And aren't you glad you came to listen to reason?"
 
"Outrageously," Lupin said. "But Harry is his own man, luv. Let him find his way–"
 
"Here, here," seconded Ron.
 
"Don't be silly," snapped Hermione. "Without a little prodding Harry will wait until the very last second to act, and then it will be too late!"
 
"Too late? For what? She's not getting married, is she?" Harry asked, sarcastically.
 
"Well, she is sixteen, don't forget, and they've been going together for months now," said Hermione suggestively.
 
"And?" said Harry.
 
"And? How long did it take you and me?" she bluntly asked.
 
Harry blushed and looked at the ground; Fleur hid a smirk behind a slender hand. Pursed his lips and refused to look at Hermione.
 
"Never mind," Harry snapped. He thrust his fists into his jeans, and muttered to Ron, "I'm going to see to your mum."
 
"The window in Ginny's room has a great view of the garden swing!" Hermione called after him.
 
"You're horrible," Tonks told her laughing once Harry was up the stairs.
 
"Teasing him isn't going to help," said Bill with a shake of his head.  "That poor bloke doesn't know whether he's coming or going when it comes to Ginny."
 
"I wasn't teasing," Hermione said. "I was giving him fair notice. There's no reason for Ginny to sit around moping when he's not made the least effort with her. And I tell you, she's a smart girl. She knows her worth and she's not going to wait forever. If Harry won't have her there are plenty of blokes out there who will. And good blokes, too! Terry Boot is smart and athletic and handsome, and I'm told he treats her very well indeed."
 
"He's not that handsome," Ron grumbled, not liking how she's said that: smart, athletic and handsome, like he was every girl's fantasy date or something. 
 
Hermione sighed. "But you're right. Harry probably does think I was taking the mickey. I should go up and apologize. It's Christmas, after all." She shifted, and Ron felt her slip past him. She wore a red dress-thing that showed her knees, and Ron's gaze followed them as she went up the stairs. 
 
Just before she was out of sight completely, she added, "And you know, I'm a smart girl, too."
 
All eyes in the room turned to Ron. What had he missed? "Wha'?" he asked, and when no one answered him he finished off his eggnog.

End of chapter 11