False Fates

By MD1016

Part III: Os Destinados

Chapter 14 – Growing Pains In The Cupboard

"At a very early age I found that books contained within them all the answers to every question my brain could think up – and a million, million that I'd never dreamed. Books were the key to understanding the Muggle world, a place that I knew even as a very young child was foreign to me. And, books held secret truths about the magical world that I was thrust so abruptly into, a world full of brilliant possibilities and endless wonder to my eleven year-old self. Books were a lifeline to my past and my future; they married the two into a place that I finally belonged.

"Garrett's Almanac of All Things Ethereal says that 'love is an intangible that is known when felt, and cannot be quantified.' That's a direct quote. It goes on for thirty more chapters about how wonderful love is, how satisfying, how beautiful, and describes it as the most brilliant feeling in the world, and that a person comes truly alive when they feel love for the first time. Love is all a person needs in the world, Garrett tells us. Love can conquer all.

"I have absolutely no recollection of either 'coming alive,' or 'feeling love' for the first time.

"I think the first time I realized I liked Ron more than anyone else was the end of the summer before second year, when my parents and I happened to run into the Weasleys in Diagon Alley while school shopping. The moment I laid eyes on him I thought my heart would burst. I didn't cover it well, I don't think. I remember my mother giving me a concerned, curious smile that made me blush. I was shocked about how much I had missed him, which was unusual for me. I was a practical child. Never prone to emotional frivolities. I never really had many friends.

"Ron and I ate ice creams outside in the shade that afternoon and talked about nothing in particular until Harry happened on us. And I was happy to see Harry, too. Thrilled, really. And still not quite as much as I had been with Ron. It was…disconcerting…odd, really, because Ron wouldn't haven been someone I would have pick for myself. He was silly and lazy and smelly. And he didn't like to read. I thought for certain that I was just imagining something that wasn't really there, but a month or so later Dra - another student at Hogwarts - called me…a horrible name. And Ron, without giving it a moment's thought tried to hex him. Of course, his wand was broken, and the hex backfired, and he vomited giant slugs for the rest of the night. And all the while I kept thinking: he's my idiot hero.

"And while I liked Ron above all others, even Harry (who didn't smell in the least), it was never love. The love came later. Sometime after I met Viktor and before we started fifth year. Or maybe after that, as well. As I said, there wasn't a moment where I was suddenly more alive than I was the moment before. My loving Ron has always been a process. A painful, tedious, laborious process. I think maybe it always will be.

"Of course, we were Fated all through this time and never knew it. One might think that to Love someone might help to love them as well. But I can tell you of many times when I didn't even like him. Ron can be cruel when he wants to be. Well, that's not very fair of me. He can be cruel when he doesn't even know it, as well.

"Harry can't. That's one of the many, many differences between them. And one of the reasons I tried to convince myself that Harry was the one I really wanted. I had to let that particular fantasy go, though, when I saw Harry and Ginny together and felt nothing but excitement and happiness for my two friends; and then, turned around and saw Ron trying to swallow Lavender Brown's face whole in a fit of snogging, and wanted to kill them both. And then die myself. You must understand that for a girl who prided herself on being sensible, that particular bit of emotional devastation was quite distressing. Yes, I'd been jealous before – I am a girl, after all – but this was different. This was the green-eyed monster within finding her voice, her claws, her rage, and she hurt. I hurt.

"In the end I had to accept it; the facts were too cut and dry. I loved Ron and not Harry. I should've loved Harry. Harry was the sensible choice.

"So, when I began having strong compulsions toward Harry last autumn, I thought at first I was finally coming to my senses. That lasted all of a day, when I then realized to my complete misery that I still had feelings for Ron. And strong feelings, too. And he seemed to finally recognize that he felt something for me. Finally. And while he was being very Ron in his backward way of doing things, he was also very sweet and very sad and it just tore me in two because I couldn't seem to fight the new romantic impulses toward Harry, and more importantly I didn't want to. But when Ron kissed me…I thought I was going to die, it felt so very right. I went mental. That was the only explanation I could come up with. I'd lost my mind. All the books said it wasn't possible to love two people at once, and yet I was absolutely certain that I did.

"When I lost Harry – or rather, when Harry became my best friend again – I thought things might go back to normal, both between Harry and me, and between Ron and myself. I was very wrong. My friendship with Harry was strengthened a hundred fold for having Loved him. We were better than ever. I could talk to him, trust him, more than ever before. I'm certain he felt the same. And all the while everything I had with Ron turned to rubbish. I Loved him again, and loved him, and none of that mattered. Love is not enough. When he doesn't want to love you back. I worry that, perhaps, for Ron and me it never will be enough.

"And still, I Love him. I can't not; the Fates have made certain of that. They've cursed us together. And I love him, too, though I find it very hard to love Ron. It's difficult to love a man that cannot be trusted not to break your heart.

"I do wish I had finished my last year at Hogwarts. Instead of Transfiguration and Runes and Potions, in the past year I've learned that books lie: love can hurt.

"And if books can lie, then what can I trust?"

-Hermione Granger, interview excerpt from Os Destinados, by Miguel Amoro

From the moment Ron heard Harry's patronus until he was standing outside her hospital room door, Ron didn't think or breathe. He was shaking when Harry stopped him with both his hands clutching Ron's shoulders. Harry looked him hard in the eye.

"Hermione…" Ron said. It was half a whisper, half a sob; a plea and a prayer all at once.

"She's here," Harry said. "She's alive."

This was meant as reassurance, but it wasn't much. "Alive?" Ron asked. "There was a question?"

"She's been hurt. There was a fight – Death Eaters found her. Viktor is dead."

"Dead?"

"Ron, listen to me. Look at me." He forced Ron to meet his eyes. "The healers feel she'll make it, most likely, but she's been badly hurt. She could barely walk when she made it to the manse…could barely talk. She doesn't look the same–"

"I don't care what she looks like!" Ron shouted at him. "Let me go!"

"Easy." This came from Lupin somewhere behind him, and a light hand was pressed against his back. "You need to be prepared, Ron."

"I need to see her." Ron said this with as much controlled and calm as he could manage, and still his voice shook. "Get out of my way."

Harry did step aside, and Ron opened the door. The room was dim and warm, and a slight figure lay on a white, linen-covered bed. Dark blankets pulled up to her chest. Her head lay turned to one side. She slept.

Ron had to take a few steps to see her properly, and still, he couldn't believe it was Hermione. All her beautiful fluffy brown hair was gone; cut away. Her ear and half of her cheek and neck were slimed with some sort of salve - a terrible black and red burn underneath. She was as white as the sheets she lay on, and thinner than Ron had every known her to be. Her eyes were sunk back into her skull, and lined with dark circles. She looked so completely foreign from the girl he'd known for so long. But it was her, he realized, because he recognized the cut through her left eye brow and over her lid, now a raised scar, as the one she'd gotten at Malfoy's hands in the Cave.

There were other cuts and bruises as well, but it was the burns that tickled in the inside of his belly, and made his knees feel as if they might fail. Ron sank into the cold, hard chair by her bed and took a deep breath.

"You can touch her, pimple," said a voice from the corner. He was in the shadows, but Ron knew Moody's voice. It was good that he was there, Ron thought. Someone to protect her, to watch over her.

Her hand was bandaged and blood has seeped through the first couple of layers. Her fingers poked out the end - each small and thin. Dark, narrow lines of dirt still lay under her jagged fingernails. He reached out and brushed his fingertip across hers, half certain she would evaporate or he would wake up. Part of him wanted to wake up, to know she was whole, even if with Viktor.

"She's cold," he said, to no one in particular. He looked around but there weren't any other blankets. In fact, it was just the bed, and the two chairs in the small room; no windows, and only the one door. "She needs another blanket."

Moody pulled out his wand and conjured one up. He handed it to Ron and then put a Warming Charm on it. Carefully, not wanting to wake her – not even knowing if he could – Ron covered her up to her chin. He was close to her then, and he couldn't help but run his hand ever-so lightly over what was left of her hair. It had been hacked off, with scissors most likely, and in great bunches.

"Oh, Hermione. What have you done?"

"That's how she got out of Eastern Europe," Moody told him. "Disguise and deception, and a good, honest dose of luck." Moody then pointed to her throat, and Ron saw she was still wearing the charm he'd given her. It was black now, and it looked disfigured, as if it had melted a little around the edges. "She said it saved her life."

"She did?"

"Well," said Moody with a shrug. "I assume that's what she was on about. The poor chit was babbling mostly nonsense by the time I made it to Headquarters. Was adamant that she didn't want to see you, though. That surprise you, pimple?"

"Uh…no, I suppose not." It did, however, make him miserable all over again.

She moaned a little, stirred in her sleep, and Ron held his breath. She pushed at the blanket covering her arms, and then gave a little high-pitched groan of frustration as she kicked against the covers tucked around her legs. Something must've hurt, because she yelped, and that woke her. For a moment she lay perfectly still, just catching her breath and blinking. Her head lolled to one side and she saw Moody. He wiggled his fingers at her, and she half-heartedly returned the gesture.

Then, she turned her head the other way and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she was staring at Ron. She didn't react, and neither did he. It felt like his heart stopped in his chest, when her eyes locked on to his. A lump formed in his throat. Ron knew the second she registered who she was looking at, though, because her eyes went wide, and she screamed. Not a normal girly scream, mind you, but a gut-wrenching, soul-clenching scream. Harry, Lupin, and half a dozen others were through the door before she stopped.

She curled away from him, cowered, just as she'd done when Draco's chair appeared next to hers during the hearing. It twisted his heart.

"Hermione…" Ron said, but this only seemed to upset her more.

Harry pushed in front of Ron and tried to comfort her. He leaned over her bed, and whispered reassurances to her.

Lupin tried to pull Ron back and out of the room.

"I can't leave her," Ron told him, meeting his eyes. "Not now. Not like this."

"You're not doing her any good," Lupin said. "She's not ready for you."

"No," Ron agreed. "And I suppose I'm not quite ready for her, either, but I won't leave her. I can't. Don't you see? If I leave her now that's it for us?"

"Ron," Lupin said, leaning close to him and placing a fatherly hand on his shoulder. "It will never be over between the two of you." And of course, he was right.

Hermione was still crying, though fatigue was creeping in. She wasn't well, that was plain, and everything in Ron ached for her. He touched Harry's shoulder, and then gently pushed his mate out of the way. He knelt so that his face was close to hers, and slowly he pulled her chin toward him. She blinked tearfully at him. Her eyes were dark and wide and frightened, and Ron thought she looked like a caged animal.

"Hey," he whispered to her. "Missed you."

She blinked and a tear tracked across the bridge of her nose and into the other eye. She sniffled. He gave her a small smile, a little bit of encouragement. He'd never known Hermione to be wary before. She looked away, and her brows rose together as if to cry some more, but she closed her eyes on the emotion, and Ron watched as she let out a long sigh that hitched at the end.

"I didn't want to come back," she whispered to him, only him. "But I had no way to protect myself…and I couldn't allow them to capture me…because of what I know…about the Order and Harry. And I was too afraid to jump, and I couldn't protect myself…my parents are Muggles, they'd be easy targets…and I can't get anyone else killed. I just can't…" Tears flowed freely, her eyes still closed. "I didn't want to come back…I tried not to…but I've no where else…I have no place…"

"You came home," Ron whispered back. "This is your place."

"Not any more…"

"Always."

When he said this, she opened her eyes, and ventured to look at him again. She was so very beautiful, even all sad and blotchy and wet from crying. And with all her hair gone. He couldn't resist touching her, and so he reached with his finger and tapped her lightly on the side of her wrist. Barely a touch, and still it reminded him that she was real, and alive, and looking at him.

"I didn't want to come back," she repeated. "I swore I never would."

"I'm glad you did," Ron told her, quietly.

"Are you?" she asked.

"More than you can possibly imagine."

"You told me never to come back."

"I was wrong and stupid. Often am, aren't I?"

"Yes," she quietly agreed. She studied him, and then seemed to really see him for the first time. "Oh, Ron. What have you done? Your hair…" She reached up with a shaking hand, and ran her palm over his bald head, down across his cheek.

"Yeah, well," he said with a depreciating grin. "You'll get the whole story in stunning detail from any number of people once you're feeling better, I'm sure. But, for now, rest. You're safe. I'll be here. And Moody, of course." He glanced behind him at the man in the shadows, and when he turned back her hand rested on his.

"I tried not to come back," she reminded him as she drifted off. "I didn't want to come back…I'm sorry…"

"Don't be. I'm not. I'm glad you're home."

***

He didn't leave her bedside all that night, and when morning came Ron only knew because Harry came in with coffee. Moody was relieved by Shacklebolt, and told Ron to get some sleep on his way out. Harry pulled Ron aside and asked how Hermione was doing.

Ron shrugged. "Fitful sleep. Pretty intense nightmares. The healers gave her some draughts, but they just made it more difficult to wake her when she started screaming."

"You looked exhausted."

"Doesn't matter." Ron wasn't about to leave. Though, he thought he could take a coffee.

Harry seemed to understand this. "Any idea when they might release her?"

He shook his head. "Most of her injuries are a week old. The magic's too ingrained, and the healers don't think they'll be able to do much."

"The burns?" Harry asked.

"And the cuts. She was hit by a Cutting Curse a couple of times, I guess. They said that someone did try to heal her, but they did a botched job. Probably the same people who smuggled her back into England. They managed to get the cuts sealed, and the wounds will, of course, heal on their own. Eventually. They'll scar over." Ron hung his head. "She cried when they told her."

"What matters is that she's safe. And we've got to keep her that way."

"Agreed," Ron said.

"And we've got to make sure this kind of thing never happens to her again," Harry said.

Ron shook his head. "I won't, mate. I'll never drive her away again–"

"I'm not talking about you," Harry said, impatiently. "She was defenseless, Ron. The Death Eaters attacked her unarmed. They knew she was wandless. She made too easy a target."

"But what do we-?"

"Come on," Harry said, and turned to leave.

"What? No. I'm not going anywhere. She's still–"

"Asleep," Harry told him, irritation in his voice. "And we've got work to do. We'll be back before she even knows you're gone."

Ron glanced back at the door, divided. He knew that if there was a way to help keep Hermione safe he needed to act, and he did trust Harry implicitly in that department. But leaving felt wrong somehow. What if she had another nightmare? Who would wake her and help her through it? What if she wasn't there when he returned? He found it a very real fear him.

"I need you as back-up," Harry told him. "We need a united front. For Hermione."

"For Hermione," Ron acquiesced. "Let's just do this fast."

***

When Ron agreed, he'd no idea that twenty minutes later he'd be standing outside the Minister of Magic's office door next to Harry who was refusing to budge an inch until he got to see Scrimgeor. And Harry had called him Scrimgeor, too. Not the Minister. Not even Mister. The undersecretary had disappeared inside the door both nervous and offended.

"What are you doing?" Ron asked, a little nervous himself.

"Just follow my lead," Harry muttered. And instant later the door swung wide open, and then two of them went in un-ushered.

The current Minister of Magic was a formidably large man, with more hair than his head could reasonably hold, and it seemed to radiate from his face like a great flower, all reds and oranges, with a streak of grey shooting out from his temples. Ron was a bit jealous when he first saw him.

"Potter!" Scrimgeor called out. "Damn it, Potter! I don't have time to cater to the whim of teenagers. There are protocols, boy! Appointments!"

"I'm hardly any teenager. But you know that, which is why I'm standing in your office," Harry said firmly, confidently. Ron did a double-take just to make sure Harry wasn't being Imperiused. Never had he heard his friend speak to an adult in such a manner, let alone the Minister himself.

"Quite," Scrimgeor allowed. "And still…"

"This won't take long. I've come to ask for a favor."

"Favor? I don't do favors! I'm the Minister of Magic!"

"You'll do this favor," Harry said, again with such certainly, and without so much as a hint arrogance. There was something of Dumbledore in his demeanor.

"And why would I do any such thing? Are you going to blackmail me, Potter? Hold a wand to my head? What blasted thing do you want from me?"

"It's not what I want," Harry told him. "It's what I need. Let's agree, for the sake of this particular argument, that even if I'm not the Chosen One as the prophecy insists, then at the very least Voldemort believes me to be him, and in this particular war that amounts to the same thing. You need me to get Voldemort, and I need Hermione Granger. Wanded."

Each time Harry said Voldemort's name Scrimgeor gave an involuntary shudder, but when he Hermione's name the Minister stood bolt-straight. "No. Can't be done."

"It has to be. She's one of my inner circle. She knows too much about me and my army. Recently she was attacked by a group of Death Eaters bent of getting that information from her, one way or the other, and I can't have that. I need her able to, at the very least, defend herself."

"She cast an Unforgivable!" Scrimgeor shouted. "There are some who believe she should be in Azkaban for the rest of her life!"

"And," Harry reminded him. "There are some who believe that she's a hero. Draco Malfoy, an admitted Death Eater, is after all, in custody. It's hardly political suicide."

"And what would you know about political suicide," the Minister demanded.

"I know that if I go to the Daily Prophet now, as their Chosen One, and tell them that an essential tool in my efforts to defeat the most evil and powerful wizard of all time was being withheld from me by the Minister of Magic, that it could make life very, very difficult for you."

For a moment Scrimgeor stared at him, mouth opened in surprise. Then he said: "You're bluffing. You don't need Miss Granger – she's unstable!"

"So's Ron, here," Harry said, and jabbed his thumb at Ron. "And he's my Smisurato."

This had Scrimgeor almost speechless. "You're never!"

"Sorry," Ron said, "but I am."

The Minister collapsed in his chair behind his desk, staring at Ron. "You're a Smisurato? Is that even possible?"

"Yes," Ron said, this time more confident.

"Impossible," the Minister insisted, though he didn't sound as if he thought it so. "And…the others…Miss Granger…?"

"Everyone in my army has a role to play. You don't think defeating the most powerful wizard of all time is easy, do you? It's not a one-man job. I need Hermione wanded," Harry repeated, his voice pointed enough to get the Minister's attention. "And I need you to do it. Only you can overturn a judge's decision, in the interest of the whole magical world. I need it done today."

"I won't do it."

"We're you're last great hope of defeating Voldemort," Harry reminded him. "No one is playing around here. It's him or me, the prophecy says so, and I rather think you want me over him."

"Prophecy, prophecy!" Scrimgeor said in frustration. He slammed his fist on his desk. "Damn prophecies. Cause more trouble than they're worth!"

Ron agreed.

"Two more things," Harry said, as he headed back to the door. Was he leaving? Ron was confused – Scrimgeor hadn't agreed to give Hermione back her wand, had he? "The first is that I'd rather Ron's unique abilities remain a secret between us. The last thing we need is Voldemort getting a bit of intel like that."

Again Scrimgeor flinched at Voldemort's name. "And what's the second?"

"Just a thank you," Harry told him. "I know to you we seem very young and inexperienced. But the Fates have set things up this way for a reason, I think, and I have every intention of coming out the other end of this war the victor, for the sake of the wizarding world as well as my own. Hermione Granger is an integral part of that." He left, then, without giving the Minister a chance to respond. Ron hurried after him.

Once they were away from the Minister's office, Ron watched his friend from the corner of his eye. Harry was still determined as they walked along the corridors, but he seemed older than his seventeen years.

"You were brilliant back there," Ron told him. "But do you think he'll do it?"

"He will," Harry said. "He doesn't want to, but he will."

"I don't know where you get your nerve, but it was brilliant, I say." This brought a faint smile to Harry's face.

"Get back to hospital," Harry told him. "Give my love to Hermione."

"What?" Ron asked. "Where are you off to?"

"Just a little research. I've got a couple of leads to check out before lessons tonight. You're coming to lessons, aren't you?"

"Uh…of course." Ron hadn't really thought about it. Hermione was his top priority. "As long as everything is all right at St. Mungo's."

"Right, then," Harry said, and took an unexpected turn down a fork in the corridor. "See you then."

***

The healers finished with Hermione's wounds later that afternoon, and it was decided that Tonks, Shacklebolt and Moody would escort her to the manse, where she would stay during her convalescence. The protections on number 12 would keep her hidden, and there she would be in the heart of the Order, where people would come and go at all hours to keep a supportive eye on her. Ron's mum had made a fuss, wanting Hermione at the Burrow with her, but in the end she agreed, admitting that Headquarters was probably a safer environment.

Ron helped Hermione move back in, though it didn't take much more than escorting her back to the manse and walking with her up to her room. All of what she'd taken with her to Bulgaria had been lost. She surveyed the room silently, and then sat on the side of the bed looking unsure and nervous. "Doesn't quite feel right, does it?" she asked in a small voice.

"Crookshanks is still at the Burrow. Mum'll care for him until you're up to it again. He sleeps in the garden, mostly. Chases the gnomes."

"It's cold in here."

Ron pulled out his wand and lit the fireplace. "Maybe we should…you know…talk?"

She ran a hand over her face, and when her fingers found the burn on her cheek, she sat a little straighter; like she'd forgotten it was there. That was good, Ron decided. It meant they didn't hurt too much. She wiped the salve on her jeans. "I'd rather we didn't," she said. "At least, not tonight. I don't think I could bear fighting with you tonight."

"I…I didn't mean fight," he said. "Just talk. But if you're not up to it, maybe…do you want me to leave?"

"No," she said quickly. "If you would stay, that would be…please…"

He went over to the other side of her bed, and crawled up on to the mattress. "Come here."

He relaxed against the pillow and the headboard, and she lay down beside him. Her eyes closed when her head hit the pillow. It was still a shock to see her with so little hair – a feature Ron hadn't really considered on Hermione before, but now with its absence he found he thought about it a lot. He wanted to touch her head again, to run his fingers through the short, dark crop that was left. He didn't dare touch her, though. To him she seemed a stray pup, in desperate need of care and attention and fearful of all attempts to capture her. He'd wait, he decided, and let her come to him. If she ever would.

Twice she opened her eyes to blink at him before her lids finally became too heavy and she drifted to sleep. The healers said she might sleep a lot for the first couple of days. Ron had asked, not knowing what to expect. His mother had stood beside him, wide-eyed when he'd spoken to the healers, but she hadn't said a word. She'd assumed, he guessed, that she would be the one to care for Hermione. She had been wrong.

***

That night Harry didn't make it back for the lessons, and while Lupin didn't seem concerned, Ron was. "Did he take anyone with him?" he asked Lupin as they went into the converted dining room. "Shacklebolt?"

"I don't know where he is or who he's with," Lupin said breezily. "Welcome back, Hermione." Lupin smiled and offered her a hug, which she accepted somewhat belatedly. Hermione wore a tracksuit and trainers, and she still looked incredibly thin. The awkward moment was over nearly as soon as it had begun, though, as Lupin produced that day's Daily Prophet.

"Last page," he said as he handed the paper to Hermione. Harry, of course, was on the front.

She opened the paper, while Lupin contained his excitement, and scanned halfway down the page. Her eyes went wide as she read: "A full pardon has been issued to one Miss Hermione Granger, who, earlier this month underwent a challenging hearing for her use of an Unforgivable on the admitted Death Eater Draco Malfoy. Do to compelling information as yet unreleased by the Ministry (which this paper speculates contains details concerning the abduction, imprisonment and subsequent torture of Miss Granger) the Minister himself has decreed that Miss Granger can once again carry an Apparition license and a wand. As the time of this printing Miss Granger could not be located for comment."

"We'll want to start your lessons again right away," Lupin said as he took the paper back and tossed it near the door. "You've missed quite a bit, but I'm sure you'll be back up to snuff in no time at all. We've been working on a few advanced Shielding and Reversal Spells. We don't want to have to wait to find a Counterjinx in the heat of battle, now do we? There are a few Reversal Spells that can cover a wide variety of curses and hexes, with at least some positive effects–" Lupin stopped short when he realized Hermione wasn't nearly as thrilled with the news as he was. Ron had watched her the whole time, and while he didn't understand her reaction, he knew she was terribly upset by what she'd read.

"What is it?"

Hermione shook her head, and turned away from the both of them. Ron hoped she wasn't crying again. Once she started these days, it seemed difficult for her to stop.

Lupin gave Ron a little shrug, and then waved him toward her. Ron didn't know if it was such a good idea for him to approach her, but Lupin seemed to think it was. When he came up beside her, he stared at the dark fireplace with her. He waited a moment before asking: "You OK?"

She nodded a little. "I cast an Unforgivable, and I was forgiven."

"You gave Draco only a very, very little of what he did to you."

"That doesn't make it right."

"No," Ron agreed. "But you've paid in other ways. You've paid enough."

Her hand rose to the burn on her neck. It still looked painful, but she touched it, so Ron reckoned the salve had healed it enough. "I did this," she told him. "I took Viktor's wand out of his dead hand and I tried to Burn Peter Pettigrew. The wand was broken, and I didn't realize. He thought it was funny. He hit me with the same spell a couple of more times. But this one…I did this one."

Wormtail was there? This was certainly something Harry should know. Ron wished he was there, because if nothing else Harry seemed to know how to help Hermione when she was upset.

"I shouldn't have a wand, Ron," she continued, now looked up into his face. "I'm dangerous."

"The wand was broken."

"Why did you do this?" she asked, shaking her head. "I know it was you, Ron. You and Harry. The whole thing smacks of the both of you."

"We need you," he said simply. "And you need a wand."

She considered him for a minute or so, and then sighed and shook her head again before turning back to Lupin. "I suppose you want me to get my Apparation license back, as well?"

"Welcome home, Hermione," Lupin said, grinning.

"Yes, yes! Welcome home!" Tonks rushed into the room, and went straight for Lupin, kissed him on the cheek, turned, handed the bundle of baby in her arms to Ron, kissed Ron on the cheek, and then left again without another word. Lupin watched her go, a little troubled by her terse appearance, but then turned to Hermione with a grin.

"Have you met my son?" he asked.

Ron turned and twisted to give her a better view of Jack, who was blinking up at her with his tiny, dark blue eyes. He was swaddled quite tightly, and Ron figured she'd brought him on her broom. Jack gurgled a little, and then spit up, and Ron used a corner of his blanket to wipe his face clean. When he looked up Hermione was staring at him.

"Wha'?" he asked. "He's cute, isn't he?"

"He's lovely." She glanced between Lupin and Ron, and then back down at the baby. "And she gave him to you?"

"Well, you see…" But Ron didn't even know how to begin. So much had happened between him and Tonks and Lupin and, of course, Jack in the past few weeks. Helping to deliver Jack had made Ron an honorary member of their family with all the benefits and, strangely, responsibilities there in. Lupin treated him more like a friend or a brother than a pupil, and Tonks – well, Ron would say she thought of him like a brother, but he had a feeling that Tonks liked him more than his real siblings did. Ginny never kissed him on the cheek or called him handsome or smiled at him just because he entered the room. She even made him cookies – very bad, impossible to eat, hard as rocks cookies, but cookies, nonetheless. And she trusted him with Jack – they both did – which was both disconcerting and astonishing at the same time. And Jack, for all his two weeks of life, seemed to like Ron just fine.

Ron looked over to Lupin, who was smiling at his son.

"I thought you didn't like babies," Hermione said, somewhat bluntly.

"Well, Jack, he's all right, isn't he?" Jack yawned, and Ron gave a chuckle. Then he realized Hermione was thinking of that fight they'd had the night before she ran off. "Oh. Well. I never said I didn't like babies," he reminded her, and he tried to do it gently. He didn't want to rehash old issues, especially now that she was newly back. And Lupin was in the room.

"My mistake," she muttered, or at least that's what he thought she said, because she turned away from him. "Congratulations," she said to Lupin, and managed to sound reasonably sincere, so Ron thought, perhaps, she was going to be all right. But then she walked out of the room without acknowledging him again. He was sunk.

"It's never going to work. She hates me now."

"She Loves you," Lupin insisted.

"Yes, but she hates me. Too much has happened. Too much was said."

"Hate is a very strong emotion, Ron, and while I don't doubt she feels strongly about you, my sense is that she's terribly angry at the world right now."

Jack began to fuss a bit, and Ron swayed the way he liked and patted his little bottom. "It's more than that. I'm so…I don't want to lose her again. I know I'll say something stupid – Merlin's beard! I say stupid things all the time! But I never know what's going to set her off – and well, she's…a girl. They don't think normal."

Lupin chuckled. "No, no they don't. Why don't we have some tea and take our lesson in the kitchen. I think our time might be better spent on non-magical things this evening."

***

Three hours later Ron and Lupin were still in the thick of it, leaning back in their chairs sipping butter beers, burping, and pondering the female sex. Lupin had taken him through the ins and outs of the female psyche, while his son slumbered boneless across his narrow chest. Ron did ask a few clarifying questions, but on the whole he sat back and let Lupin talk.

"Understanding them is all well, and fine, but at the end of the day, after all is said and done, women are essentially simple creatures. No, they are, Ron, I swear it. All women, no matter how old or young, big or little, strong or weak – all women want one thing. And that one thing is really so very easy."

"Well, what the bloody hell is it? 'Cause I could use a bit of easy at the moment."

Lupin grinned at him like he was about to divulge the secret to life, and Ron leaned forward. "Women want to be adored."

Ron blinked. "That's it? That's your big revelation? Hours of nonsense about women's feelings, and nurturer verses hunter, and delicate balance, and you boil it down to women want to be adored? Of course they want to be adored! Everybody bloody wants to be adored! But women also want clothes and gossip and to be right all the time! Women want the world, and they want it on their terms! Yes, and books, if they're Hermione!"

Lupin shook his head. "All that other stuff is set dressing. Women simply want to be adored. You adore your woman, and you'll have her for life."

Ron was skeptical. "Hermione's more complicated that that."

"Yes, well, she's always been a complicated young witch, made all the more so by the events of this past year, I do admit that. But if you're patient, and you adore her – which I know you secretly do anyhow – then everything will be fine."

This struck a nerve with Ron. Moody had said much the same thing to him a month ago. "Is Loving the same as adoring? I was told that I have only one purpose in this life, and that's to Love her."

"Hmm. Sounds like Mad-Eye. He's very big on our great Cosmic Purpose. But no, it's not the same at all. Love is something that you do for yourself. Adoration is something you do for someone else. Let me see if I can say this properly…you Love her because the Fates demand it, that's Mad Eye's point, I believe. You love her because, well, because your heart feels good when you do; you look forward to seeing her because of the way she makes you feel – you miss her when she's not there because of the way she makes you feel…that sort of thing. But you adore her so that she knows she's Loved and loved. Yes, that sounds right," Lupin said, somewhat proud of himself. He swallowed down the last of his beer and gave the noblest belch Ron had ever heard.

"So, I write her love poetry and give her flowers and that nonsense, do I? I think I'd rather fall on my wand."

"No, no," Lupin assured with a chuckle. "That's not you, and it's certainly not Hermione. I mean, yes, every girl likes to get flowers from time to time. But if I showed up with a dozen sunblazes every time I saw Tonks I think she'd have my liver for breakfast. She's not really that sort of witch, either."

"Then…well," Ron said, and then swallowed. "What do you do? To adore her, I mean?"

"I just do, Ron. In fact, I adored her even before I knew it. I think that's why she was so keen on me, even when I tried to push her away – for her own good, mind. She could do a lot better than an old, haggard, beast like me. Thank the stars she didn't want to, I say. And you will, too, once you get the hang of it."

"Yes, but how?"

"That, my friend, is something you're going to have to discover on your own."

"You can't be serious," Ron scoffed. "What are the odds that I'm going to discover anything on my own? You've got to give me something."

With an exaggerated sigh and a roll of the eyes, Lupin gave in. "You might try, well, not correcting her. Even when she's mistaken. And you might try doing something that you know she enjoys, even if you don't."

"What do you mean? What does she enjoy?"

"She likes books well enough," Lupin suggested. "You might try reading with her."

This left Ron speechless. Read with Hermione? For fun? "But…what?"

Lupin waved him down. "Don't let your brain explode. It was just an idea. But the key to adoration is to think about the other person as if, well, you want to actively do something to make them happy. You want her to be happy, don't you?"

"Well, sure. But do I have to read? Why would that make her happy? Is that what she wants?"

"Don't lose focus. She wants to be adored. So, just adore her."

"By reading a book? Do I have to read the whole book? What if it's just a chapter? Or a page? What kind of book? Something of Quidditch might be all right - we're not talking about Hogwarts: A History, are we?"

"Forget the books, Ron. Think of something else. Actually, don't. Don't plan it. With Hermione, I'd imagine the spontaneous might work better. And for you, as well. Just…when you see her next, think about making her happy and see where that takes you."

"It's not going to take me to a book, that's for bloody sure!"

"Yes," said Lupin. "I think we both can agree on that now."

***

The next morning Harry showed up just as Ron, Hermione, and Ron's mum were finishing up a breakfast of kippers and toast. He looked tired but happy, and as he slid down into one of the arm chairs at the table, Ron got the impression that he seemed a lot more relaxed than he'd been in a very long time. Hermione, who'd been gone for a very long time and therefore didn't know if he looked more relaxed or not, watched him with a suspicious expression. Apparently something seemed out of place to her, as well.

"Bacon?" Ron's mum asked Harry.

"Bacon?" Ron asked. "We didn't get any bacon."

She ignored Ron. "I can fry some up lickety-split."

"Coffee's fine," Harry told her pleasantly.

"Nonsense," said she, and waved a dismissive hand. "I'll make some bacon. And more kippers. And you'll want some porridge with honey and..." She wandered back to the stove still mumbling to herself a list of foods to make. Ron watched as she pulled out a couple of heavy pans, and worried that her coddling seemed a little manic. She wasn't enjoying it as much as she usually did.

Beside him, Hermione made an odd sniffing sound, and Ron turned to find her smiling at Harry, and Harry going very red in the face as he buttoned the top most button on his shirt. The collar didn't quite go up high enough, though, and two thumb-sized bruises peeked out. Harry dropped his elbow to the table and rested his neck against his hand in an attempt to cover the marks.

So much for research, Ron thought. And he'd been worried about Harry getting into trouble. "You missed lessons last night," Ron reminded him with a little edge to his voice. If Harry was going to run around with his sister, the least he could do was tell Ron so he wouldn't have to worry about him being in mortal peril.

"Yes, well, time got away, and…well…"

"Here are some kippers, dear, to start you off." Ron's mum dropped a plate of smoked fish and buttered bread in front of him.

"Uh, thanks, Mrs. Wealsey, but honestly, I'm not that hungry."

"Of course you are," she said with a staunch certainty.

Ron reached across the table and stole a slice of bread for himself, while Hermione just rolled her eyes.

"I think I've to thank you," she said after a moment, when the two boys had their mouths full. "I officially received my full pardon by owl this morning. Though it went to my parent's house in Kent, first. The Ministry doesn't seem to know how to find me, it seems."

"That's how we want it, at least for now," Harry said around a cheek full of fish and butter. "Keep everyone in the dark."

"Yes, well, thank you," she said to Harry. "And you, Ron. I should've said it last night. I supposed I was overwhelmed."

"Really, it was Harry–"

"It was both of us," Harry assured her.

"Yes, well, there are some things you both should know. Things I learned while I was…away." She played with her thumb nail as she spoke. "I know the curses the Death Eaters are using – at least the ones they used on us. And I know what Defensive Spells they've got lined up. And it was pretty clear how they attacked – their strategy, I mean. And, of course, I recognized a couple of them. But I saw them all, so if there were photos I could identify–"

"How many?" Harry asked, leaning forward.

"Well, initially there were at least ten or twelve. They swarmed into the fairy grove from all sides, so they must've been tipped off–"

"Fairy grove?" Ron asked.

"All sides sounds like an ambush," Harry said.

"Viktor's family wasn't exactly thrilled with my arrival," Hermione admitted, "but I can't think that they would've told the Death Eaters about the ceremony. Or if they did, I'm sure they didn't know the Death Eaters would drag Viktor away and force him to join them."

"Wait," said Ron, "what ceremony?"

"Viktor became a Death Eater? I didn't know they could compel someone to do that. Isn't there an oath or something?" Harry asked.

Hermione's eyes dropped. "There are many ways to make someone do something they don't want to do. They threatened him with my death, which was stupid as that was their intention all along, anyway."

"You were at a ceremony in a fairy grove?" As far as Ron knew there was only one ceremony performed in a fairy grove, and that was a wedding. "Hermione?"

"So they took him and turned him before you were married?" Harry asked, working through the timeline in his head.

"Yes, knowing that if I willingly married him after he was a Death Eater I would automatically become one, too. Dark Mark and all. But if they waited until after we were married, then they wouldn't be able to get to me. Or rather, I should say, get to what I know about you, Harry. And the Order."

"You were getting married?" Ron asked, completely gobsmacked. He'd spent many a night wondering if she was doing just that, but to know that she was – Ron shook his head. "You were really going to marry him?"

Hermione huffed. "Well, his parents were very old fashioned, and they insisted on a wedding if I was going to be staying. The way they went on, you'd think I was a spinster or something–"

"Hermione," Harry said. "You didn't marry him, though. You don't have the Dark Mark."

"No. When he was returned…he refused to marry me. He didn't want what had happened to him to happen to me. But even more than that, I couldn't let them get to you through me. And I knew that's what it would've meant to marry Viktor. Oh, Harry. They did that to him because of me!"

"Not because of you," Harry insisted.

"When they returned him and we refused to go through with the ceremony, the Death Eaters attacked." Her lips trembled. "Viktor threw me to the side and I managed to find cover. The Death Eaters were prepared for battle, and the rest, well, they were there for a wedding. It was a slaughter." Her eyes went unfocused as she got lost in the memory. Her face wore a pained expression, made all the more terrible with her short hair and scars and burns. "Avada Kedavra is over too quickly. Viktor was dead before he hit the ground. They killed him because of me. Just like your father." She said this to Ron, of course, but she didn't look at him. She stared down at the table, and tears filled her eyes, but didn't fall.

Ron looked up at his mother, and at the mention of his father she froze in her stirring, looked stricken. They couldn't talk about him any longer. Just after the funeral it had been almost a comfort to share memories of Ron's dad, to think aloud what he might be doing if… Now, the entire subject had grown too painful for his mum. Tonks had explained that Ron's dad's death was finally sinking in, and Ron's mum was learning to deal with the "finality of what had happened." To Ron, it seemed more like she was cracking up.

When Ron's mum turned, Hermione met her watery gaze, held it for a moment or two, and then ran from the room.

"Well?" Ron's mum said expectantly to him. "Go after her!"

"I think maybe I'll give her a minute," Ron said, and shoved another piece of bread in his mouth.

"Coward," she muttered under her breath. She turned, hesitated as he eyes swept over Harry and the bruises that peaked over the collar on his green shirt. She smirked, rolled her eyes, muttered something about teenagers, and then turned back to the stove. Three steps later she froze.

"Harry, dear," she said without turning to look at him. Her voice was overly sugared, and Ron thought she might be fighting a fit of panic. "Tell me that's not Hermione's work." Hermione's name came out like sandpaper.

Harry looked blankly at Ron, clueless. "Uh…"

"Not Hermione," Ron said, not really wanting to be in this conversation.

She whipped around and demanded: "You're sure?"

Ron nodded.

"Then, Harry. Dear. Tell me that's never my Ginny. My baby girl who is supposed to be safe at Hogwarts. My sweet innocent little girl – tell me she didn't make those marks on your neck."

Harry's eyes went wide as he finally understood. His hand jumped to his neck again. "Er…"

Now Ron's mum turned to Harry, and she had the furies in her eyes. "What did you do to her?"

Harry bolted up from the chair and backed a couple of paces away. "Er…"

"It's seven in the bleeding morning, Harry James Potter! Just what were you doing with my daughter?"

"Not – not what you're thinking," he said quickly. "We just…we-we were snogging and things got a little carried away – but we didn't…we weren't…" His face flushed a deep, dark red, and he began to sweat a little. "I should've told you, Mrs. Weasley – we both should've told you that we're back together. It just happened so soon after…well, after Mr. Weasley…and then Hermione..." Harry glanced in Ron's direction for help. There wasn't any to offer.

"Did you…did you…with her?"

"No! No, last night we just talked and snogged–"

"Have you ever? With my Ginny? Have you shagged her?" The word was vulgar coming out of his mum's mouth, and even Ron winced on Harry's behalf when she spit it out at him. The decision to lie or not to lie didn't seem to come easy to Harry, and Ron watched him struggle with it.

"Yes," Harry said, hanging his head. "We did once. Afterwards, we knew it was too soon for us, which is why last night we didn't let things get that far. But I can't regret it, Mrs. Weasley. And I don't think Ginny does, either. I love her–"

"Love? You're seventeen! What do you know about love?"

Ron knew this cut Harry deeper than anything else she could've said, and Harry, the boy with the loveless childhood, physically recoiled. "I've known Love," he told her. "So, I know what I feel for Ginny is true. It's…mature, even if I'm seventeen. I know that I could look my whole life and never find in anyone else what I have with her. She's the strongest, bravest, sweetest, most honest person I've ever known, and every day that I don't get to see her or talk to her is a day wasted. I know I want to spend the rest of my life making her happy. Just as happy as she makes me."

Tears rolled down Ron's mum's round cheeks, and her chin quivered with emotion. "Harry, dear, but what happens when you finally face You-Know-Who? When you don't come home to her? How is she supposed to pick up the pieces and go on with life? You're going to do battle with the most deadly wizard in the world! If she loves you, Harry, her grief will be…" She shook her head over the unspoken finish to that sentence. Her grief will be mine, he knew she'd wanted to say.

"I had thought you understood that. We had thought – Arthur and I – that you broke up with her last summer because you understood that Ginny can't be allowed to get too close to you. That you shouldn't let her fall in love with you."

"I can't control that, Mrs. Weasley. Ginny will love who she loves. And I'm the luckiest sod in the world that she's chosen to love me. I will survive, if only for her. Because now that I know love, I've no intension of leaving it behind."

Behind her the bacon was burning. Ron pulled out his wand and called it to the table, along with the skillet of eggs. Both hovered centimeters over the wood table, waiting patiently to be served up.

His mother watched this, and him, and dropped down in a seat at the table as if exhausted. "I suppose you're shagging Hermione, too," she said in a sad, almost forlorn voice to Ron, who froze, spoon in hand, shocked that his mother would ask him so blunt a question. Was she looking for an answer?

"Ugh," he said. Harry smirked, sat down opposite him, but didn't offer any help.

"Yes, well, you're Fated, so I suppose that's inevitable," she muttered more to herself than to Ron. "No sense trying to keep the two of you apart, is there? And, I suppose she is eighteen. But that's still so very young. Where has your childhood gone? When I was your age…yes, well…those were different times, I suppose."

"When you were my age, what?" Ron prompted. "You were married at eighteen, weren't you? Dad was just nineteen?"

"Well, it was the '60's! We were wild then, and we didn't have You-Know-Who gallivanting around terrorizing the wizarding world, now did we? And, yes, we were young. Too young. Things would've gone so much smoother for your father and I if we had waited. Those first couple of years were difficult. Of course, the first couple of years always are, I suppose. And if we had waited we probably wouldn't have had Ginny." Her eyes shot to Harry's.

"You know I love you, Harry, don't you? Thought of you as a son for ages now. And I'm not really all together unhappy that you and Ginny are dating again. But you'll take good care of her, won't you? You'll treat her right? She's my only daughter, Harry, my baby. She's grown up too fast."

"I'll be as good to Ginny as I know how. But, Mrs. Weasley, we're not going anywhere. You'll know that I'm doing right by her, and I expect you'll take me aside if I don't."

"You boys know the Birth Control Charms, don't you? Now, don't look at me like that! Either of you! Certainly you'll agree that a surprise of that nature would be terrible right now. Trying to protect a baby while this war is waging – it's inconceivable! No pun intended, of course. And Ginny still has another year at Hogwarts, Harry. I will see that girl graduated! You know the Speciallus Charm, don't you? Or the Night Palm Charm – that you can cast on her, I think it's good for a couple of hours at least-"

"Er…eh, Mum," said Ron. "I think I'd rather have this conversation with someone who didn't have seven children. I'll go check on Hermione now," Ron said quickly, and escaped despite his mother's repeated calls for him to come back.

***

Lucas, Stein, and Karouwacky's Fine Sticks and Poking Sundries certainly wasn't Ollivander's, but as Hermione needed a wand and Ollivander and his store contents had disappeared over a year before, Karouwacky's was as good as any other wand store around. They were located in the small, leaning shop directly next to Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop, and from the front door Ron could smell the sugary candies at Honeydukes just down the street.

Winter was still very much with Hogsmeade, and Hermione and Ron trudged through the white, crunchy snow in their new boots – Ron's because he'd once again out-grown his old boots and Hermione because, like the rest of her clothes, she'd had to leave the old pair behind when she'd fled Bulgaria. Karouwacky's was pleasantly warm inside. They were greeted at the door by a short, sprightly fellow who introduced himself as Stein.

After explaining that Hermione was in need of a new wand, and that her last one was an eleven inch vine wood with a dragon heartstring, Stein went to one of the lower shelves and began pulling out possible candidates for her to try. A green box on the top shelf bounced off, and landed on the floor next to Stein, which must've seemed as odd to the storekeep as it did Ron, because he stood there and stared at it for a moment.

"Well, now," he said with a chuckle. "Back on the shelf with you, little fellow."

He stooped grabbed the box, and pushed it back into its place, then turned and deposited the other wands he'd chosen on the counter for Hermione to go through. Five blue boxes all lined up. Hermione looked a little nervous, Ron thought, as she reached for the first. The green box jumped off the shelf, and this time propelled itself right on to the counter next to the others. Stein looked a little disconcerted, and he quickly snatched up the box and stuffed it back in its place on the top shelf. He stared at it a moment, but it looked as if it would stay put this time.

Hermione pulled out the first wand. It was longer than last one, and it was darker, almost to the point of being black. She held it firmly, aimed at a bunch of small potted flowers at the other end of the counter, and shouted: "Accio begonias!"

The green box shot out and hit her in the face.

"Oh, my," gasped Stein, and he rushed around the counter to pick up the box. Hermione held her cheek and assured the store keep she was fine. Ron rather thought she was more upset that the begonias had only moved an inch.

"I don't think this quite fits," she said, as she replaced the wand and moved on to the next.

"Er…Hermione," Ron said, hesitant to interfere in what was amounting to a stressful process for her. "What about the green one?"

Hermione eyed the box. Stein opened the lid and held it up for her perusal. "Willow," he said. "Ten and a half inches, with a single kneazle whisker at its center."

"Willow?" Hermione asked. "I'm not a willow, surely." She picked up the wand anyway, and gave it a try. "Accio begonias!" The flowers whipped across the room and she caught them easily with her off hand. Skeptically, she waved the wand around a little. "Too swishy," she complained. "It feels wrong."

She put it back in the box, but it jumped out and she screeched as it planted itself firmly in the seat pocket of her jeans. Ron grabbed the flowers from her just as she was about to drop them. She yanked the wand out and glared at it. "I've been violated!"

"Well, it seems we have a match!" Stein said happily. "That'll be eight galleons, if you please?"

"I don't please!" Hermione snapped. "I don't want this one. I want a vine wood!" She put the wand down on the counter, but it jumped back up and forced itself back into her pocket, even though she twisted around to get away from it and covered her bottom with her hands.

"Yes, well," said Stein. "That'll be the kneazle in it. They're very particular about their masters – er, mistresses, I should say. Good at detecting trustworthiness in a person, too. I'm told there's a warm sensation when the mistress should be warned, but I've never actually felt it for myself. I specialize in the more traditional centers – unicorn tales, dragon heartstrings and the like."

"I don't want a willow!" she insisted, struggling with the wand.

"Mine's a willow, you know? Unicorn tail hair."

"Yes, I'm aware of what your wand is made of, Ron!" she said testily, still fighting the wand. It was rather comical, actually, to see her wrestle with a piece of wood, but Ron didn't dare laugh. At the moment it looked as if the wand might win.

"Eight galleons," Stein said again, this time gave an expectant look to Ron. With Hermione occupied, Ron huffed and dug into his pocket. He knew they'd be shopping, and so he got some gold out of Gringotts, but when he glanced at the coins in his fist it was obvious he was short. Three galleons, three sickles, and seven knuts, enough for any reasonable shopping spree, but wands were expensive.

"No!" shouted Hermione, having wrestled the wand to the ground. "Don't pay him, Ron! I don't like this wand!" It shot up at this, Hermione still attached, and bolted out the front doors. The last Ron saw of her were the dark soles of her boots as they flew through the air and out the door.

Stein coughed and held out his hand. She'd left the store with the merchandise, so payment would be expected. "Suppose I could write you a magi-cheque. Do you have a quill?"

***

Lessons that week consisted of Tonks and Hermione in the kitchen working on her Apparition (her test was to be the following week), while Moody worked with Harry and Ron in the dining room on non-verbal Offensive Spells. Harry was quite good, and proved a true aim as well. Ron, on the other hand, had only managed to get a Cutting Curse out once (and even then he had to move his lips) and he ripped a hole in the ceiling so wide Ron could see Crookshanks peering down disgustedly at him from atop Hermione's bed one floor up. He'd missed the target by a good three meters in all three directions.

Moody cuffed him, and raised his wand as if to hex him again, but then decided against it. He grabbed Ron by the back of the neck and practically pushed him down the stairs and into the kitchen where Hermione promptly disappeared with a deafening CRACK! Tonks looked from the circle Hermione had been standing in, to the other chalk circle drawn on the slate floor to her left. Hermione didn't reappear. They waited for a minute, but she didn't return.

"Well, she can't have Apparated out of the manse," Tonks said with a sigh. "Your wards have seen to that."

"This one's about as worthless," Moody grumbled. "Couldn't hit the side of a mountain with a sneeze! It's pathetic!"

Hermione wandered in at this point, looking a little dazed. "I think I ended up on the ceiling again. I came to on the floor next to Harry's bed. Wish I'd landed on it, instead." She rubbed at the back of her head.

"I've been more than patient," Moody said, with a great deal of impatience in his voice. "Nymphadora, they've had a week–"

"No, Alastor, it's far too soon for them!"

"There's no time to waste. Every day they don't improve is another day closer to Harry going into battle on his own. He needs pimple here to do his part, and he can't with his head up his arse! Now, I say I've been patient enough! It's time for the cupboard!"

Ron gave Hermione a questioning look, but she seemed just as lost as he was.

"And I say it's too soon! As bad as they are right now, things could get worse if we rush them–"

Moody ignored her and conjured a tall, narrow cupboard right there in the middle of the room. It had all the breadth and depth of a grandfather clock. "All right, the both of you! Inside!"

Hermione peered into the cramped space and then back at Moody. "You're joking, surely."

"You first, pimple! And keep those hands up! Now you, missy. Help her, pimple! Criminy, that sod has all the manners of a toad! I said hands up, Weasley! No getting fresh. Right, then, elbows in. In farther, Granger!"

The two of them stood body crammed against body, Ron's arms folded up above her head, and Hermione's down at her side – which was causing the problem. The cupboard was so very small that they both had to fold themselves in order for the doors to close.

"Figure it out, Granger! You're the bright one in the bunch."

She jutted out her jaw, stared past Ron, and wrapped her arms around his neck. Thus folded, Moody slammed the doors, gave them a tap, and even though Ron didn't think it was possible, the cupboard got even smaller.

It was warm in there. And every inch of Hermione was touching every inch of Ron, and he closed his eyes and tried to think about Quidditch.

"Um…Ron?"

"Hm?"

"Why are we in a cupboard?"

"Well…" It was a good question, Ron thought. "I don't really know. But I reckon it has something to do with how badly our lessons have gone."

"And this is supposed to help, how exactly?"

"Well…" These really were questions she should've asked Moody before she got in, Ron decided. "Again, I'm just guessing, but it's probably because our magic is tied to our emotions – well, mine is, at least. And they have decided that, because our lessons are still going so poorly that there must be some emotional problem that needs to be worked through between us. I think they sorta assumed that once you got back my spells work would improve."

"And my face in your neck is supposed to improve your spell work?"

"This wasn't my idea."

"Oh, all right. So, how long are we in for?"

"I haven't the foggiest. Knowing Moody, though, it could be a while. That wizard is twisted."

"Hmph." She was blissfully quiet for a while then, and Ron went back to thinking about anything but the fact that he could feel her breathing with his belly.

"Uh, Ron?" she whispered.

"Hmm?"

"Do you think…could you find a way to lower your arms?"

"Uh…" The only way to maneuver was to press against her, and Ron was thankful for the dark of the closet because he felt his face go even hotter. He managed to slide one arm sort of down her back while the other found an awkward perch on her shoulder. When she jumped, she slammed them both into the wall behind him.

"Sorry," he said quickly, and tried to pull his arms away from her as much as he could.

"It's fine. It's just a little tender there still. Don't worry about it."

"There? On your…lower back?"

He felt her nod against his chest. His heart constricted. Her perfect, smooth, flawless lower back was now scarred. "Is this better?" he whispered, wrapping his arm, instead around her ribs. She nodded again, and her arms around his neck squeezed tighter. As she exhaled he was able to maneuver the other arm down, and hug her to him. She felt just a little too wonderful and he tried to think about roast beef with pudding, and cooked carrots, and baked apples. The closet got even smaller.

"You suppose there's enough air in here for the both of us, don't you? I mean, there's no light to speak of…"

"Hmm," he said. Treacle tarts with marmalade. Stuffed goose. Fish and chips. His stomach grumbled. So did another part of him.

"Uh…Ron…" He felt her pull away as far as their confines would allow.

Mortified, Ron whispered. "Stop moving. You're making it worse." Rotting corpses, he told himself, dead kittens. Puss. Blood. Spiders. It was no use. Hermione had gone stone still and his body continued to react. He tried to tilt his hips a little to find some space between that part of their anatomy, but the movement made her gasp. She must've thought he was enjoying himself. This was worse than losing all his hair. Moody was a bloody bugger, and Ron was going to double bogey hex him when they got out of there!

"Sorry," he whispered, and froze when he felt her hot breath on his cheek.

"This is what they wanted to happen. It must've been what they planned all along."

"What?" Ron asked. Surely she didn't mean…

She kissed him. Her lips on his. Soft and moist and strong. He growled in surprise at the tingles in his stomach, at the bolts of electricity sizzling through his legs and nether-parts. His heart began to pound as if he were running for his life. As soon as the kiss ended another tiny one followed, and then another and another. Kiss after glorious kiss her lips moved against his, teasing and caressing. Her fingers played at the top of his neck, and a shiver skidded down his spine. Ron groaned again.

The cupboard fell away, and Ron lost his balance. Hermione's arms around him, her body against him were the only things that kept him upright. He opened his eyes to find Moody and Tonks standing and staring, and Harry with an embarrassed grin and his arms crossed. Hermione disentangled herself from him, a smirk of satisfaction on her face. Ron had to turn away, and tried to rearrange his jeans without being too obvious about it.

"As you can see, Nymphadora," Moody said with a pompous laugh, "it was not at all too soon for the cupboard. They didn't even last ten minutes in there!"

"All right, all right," she said, waving a dismissive hand at him. She commanded Hermione back into the chalk circle, and they all watched as Hermione Disapparated, and then half a second later Apparated with one foot inside the second circle. "Much better!" Tonks praised.

"Right! You!" Moody yelled, jamming a blunt finger at Ron. "Upstairs. Let's see if you can't hit that bloody target now!"

Ron imagined the target with Moody's face at the center, and silently blew the whole thing to bits on his very first try.

***

They didn't talk about what had happened in the cupboard, but that night just before Ron headed back to the Burrow after his first successful lesson in months, he was feeling good, and a little reckless. Without thinking it through, he hooked an arm around Hermione's waist and kissed her again. She was surprised, but she melted into him right away, and when they parted she wore a silly grin he knew mirrored his own.

End of chapter 14