Chapter One: Seeing Green

Hermione looked out the window at the rain pouring on London. It wasn't unlike London, even for the middle of June, but it was frustrating. The traffic crawled along, a drawling pace just like any other work day. Her office sat in a Muggle district, where she worked as a "Social Worker" for the people that paced in and out of her mundane, square cubical daily. In reality, she worked with the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures with the ministry, with the werewolves they'd written off as useless cases, too virile to control. She took them in, watched them turn into well standing citizens in the wizarding community, and it made her proud. Maybe all those years helping Lupin as a young girl weren't a waste after his death. She smiled at the thought that maybe she could've helped him too.

It was a tired Sunday, and Hermione was just about to pack up her case packs before heading down to her car in the parking lot. She enjoyed the act of driving, especially now the war was over and Muggles and Magic-Folk lived together in unbeknownst harmony. Her coworker Barb leaned around the frame of her door, a thick smile plastered to her pinched features.

"Headin' out, 'Mione?" She said, voice heavy with her northern accent. Hermione nodded, yawning as Barb giggled. The older woman nodded to herself before grinning brightly again at Hermione. "Wanna go out tonight? Me and some girls are getting some drinks down at the pub 'round the street."

"I have to get home," Hermione said in a soft voice. "My husband…" she trailed off, looking down at her left hand, where her rings still sat loosely on her ring finger.

"Right." Barb nodded again. "Well, see you then, 'Mione." She left quickly, face darker than it had been when she'd entered. Hermione finished gathering her work, eyes filling with tears.

It had been a hard few years since the war. Hermione had gone back to Hogwarts after everything, while Ron and Harry had joined the Auror's straight off. After a quick wedding and some time away from his family, Hermione and Ron had ended up settled in Tower Hamlets, close to Canary Wharf where Hermione worked. Ron made the early morning and late night commute no trouble until recently, when the accident had happened.

She parked her car in the large parking lot of their flat, sitting back for a moment with her hands over her face. It wasn't as if she wanted to turn down all of the nice and welcoming gestures her coworkers had offered her over the last few months, but Ron didn't have good days often enough anymore to be left alone. Sometime Harry or Ginny stopped by to help her, as if taking care of a child, but more often than not these days, she was alone. A light sob came from her; Hermione leaned her forehead against the top of her steering wheel, unsure how to escape her waking, living nightmare. The rain had stopped, she noticed. Hermione clambered out of the car, swearing slightly as she dropped one of her folders on the still damp ground. For all the good she was doing with these men and women, even a few children, she couldn't help her own husband.

She glanced up at their flat's large, blinded window, catching Ron peeking through the slats at her. A smile grew on her face - he was up and about today, a rare occurrence; maybe he was starting to feel a bit better.

Not but a few moments later, heaving deep breaths from the four flights of stairs, Hermione turned the latch to her apartment, opening the door slowly as she knew Ron would be right behind it. A light smile found his face when he saw her; good news. But it was quickly replaced by a look of discomfort as she entered the door, ladened down with a bag of groceries she'd stopped for on the way and her endless amount of paperwork.

"You didn't have to bring food home, 'Mione, there's tonnes here." He said quietly, taking the bag from her. A surprised look crossed her face at his easy tone and the use of the nickname he'd imparted to her long ago. "But thank you." He turned to her after setting the bag on the table next to the kitchen. "We should talk." It sounded serious, more serious than she'd heard him in a few weeks.

"What about, love?" she asked, setting down a few files as she made her way to the bedroom to change out of her work clothes. She shut the door between them, feeling too overwhelmed to have his carnal eyes watching her as she worked herself out of the nude tights and button up shirt. She shimmied her tightly fitting skirt down, letting it flop in a loose pile on the floor. "Ron?" He cleared his throat heavily, and she felt the weight of his next words before he even said them.

"You're working yourself too hard. I think I'm ready to go back to work." His words came out slightly mumbled through the wooden door between them. Ron coughed as he knocked on the door. "Can I please come in?" there was a whine in his voice. She felt confused.

"How are you so much better today?" she asked, opening the door to him. She had her robe wrapped around herself, and went about picking up the clothes she'd strewn over the ground and bed.

"Dunno. I just woke up and everything felt okay." he shrugged, noticing when she wouldn't look at him. "This isn't a fluke like last time, 'Mione, I promise. I won't leave you again." He took her up in his arms, blue eyes meeting deep brown. "I love you." Hermione blushed and looked away, tearing up from words she hadn't heard in so long. It was almost as if he was the same man he had been before the accident.

"We should go to the hospital," she said, pulling away. Her love for Ronald had never faded, but she still felt hollow and empty from the vacant looks and thinly veiled insults he'd thrown at her when he'd been really bad. "Make sure you're really okay." He nodded his consent, drawing himself through the bedroom door.

"I'll leave you to get dressed. We can go after supper." He murmured, disappointment haunting his voice. "If that's not too late."

"No," she replied, "that's fine." He pulled the door behind him, leaving it only slightly ajar to let the warm in from the livingroom. She changed into street clothes, jeans and a pull over jumper she usually only wore around the house. She pulled her thick hair up into an even thicker bun, regretting her decision not to chop it all off when she had to stay home and care for Ron. He stood in the kitchen, knife working quickly as she paced back to the table to get to work on a particularly tough case of a mother and child who'd both been attacked by the same werewolf years ago and were fighting to stay together. Hermione herself thought the union was unwise, but what was she to know? Children weren't an option for them anymore, not with Ron as unsure and violent as he had been.

"What's for dinner?" she asked, trying to force a touch of happiness into her voice - it came out sounding fake and pressed.

"Um…" Ron sounded slightly concerned, a laugh in his voice. "I'm not sure. Just kinda throwing stuff together."

"Sounds good." Hermione went back to the task at hand, not wanting to bother him, though she knew she should be keeping an eye on him, especially with a knife in his hand. She smiled secretly to herself, hoping he really was better and that there wouldn't be any problems at the hospital later this evening.

"How was work?" Ron asked, leaning around the kitchen door as a pan sizzled and popped on the stove. Hermione shrugged, brow furrowing at the sight of a clerical error she'd have to chastise Barb for the next day. She made a note with her pen, scratching out the number to replace with the correct one.

"You know I'm not allowed to talk about it." This much was true - all Ministry duties were strictly private, especially those of such a sensitive nature as hers. But she'd always let him in on some of the more excruciating cases, such as this case with the family. "Well…" She felt guilty, keeping so much from him after all of this mess.

"No, if you're not allowed, then don't." his voice was hard suddenly.

"Ron." her voice has a slight whine in it, and she got up to pull a bottle of Muggle beer out of the fridge, popping the top with her wand lazily.

"What? Sorry I can't be trusted with your prized secrets, 'Mione. Not back to myself until I go see the Healer right? Can't be trusted 'til I'm fully appraised by those we trusted with me in the first place!" He throws his arms up, growing angrier by the minute. "Why can't you just trust me, Hermione?"

"Because, Ronald, it's not a matter of trusting or distrusting you. It's about your safety." She decided it was best not to add that she was scared shitless to go to bed with him and wake up with hands crushing her trachea again.

"And what? You don't wanna sleep in the same bed as me unless you know rightly that it's safe?" he scoffed, practically reading her mind.

"Is that unreasonable?!" she trembled slightly, anger bringing out the worst in her.

"Is it unreasonable that my feelings are hurt?" he countered, glaring daggers at her. She took a long swig from her beer, face curling at the unusual taste.

"No." she walked away from him, eyes filling with tears that refused to fall. He heaved a deep sigh, turning back to the task at hand. He didn't know what he was doing, simply throwing shit in a pan and watching it cook, hoping for the best. This brought a chuckle to his throat, reminding him of how Hermione seemed to be acting the past few months. Throwing things at him, hoping he'd figure it out eventually. Everything had seemed to click into place this morning when he woke, and he wasn't quite sure why it'd taken him so long to finally figure everything out.

"'Mione…" he said, leaning around the corner. "I'm sorry." She shrugged in response, not looking up. "C'mon, look at me please?" She looked up without lifting her head, a dark and oppressive look he'd received many times in the past. "I love you, 'Mione. You did good. And you're right. Should get checked out, 'specially if I wanna go back to work."

"You're not going back to work." she muttered.

"What?" he asked, head cocking slightly to the side. "Why not?"

"Because I said so." she replied, getting up and walking away from him again. She didn't want to have the work talk right now, not in his still fragile state and the head space she was in.

"That's not a reason, Hermione."

"Look, Ron, I don't want to fight right now. I want to finish working on this stupid case about this stupid woman and her stupid child. And then I want to eat dinner and then I want to go to St. Mungo's and make sure you're okay. I don't want to talk about work. But you're not going back there. No. I won't allow it." She looked down at her feet, slightly embarrassed by her suddenly intense feeling of protection.

"Okay. Food's 'bout ready." he walked sullenly back into the kitchen, pulling down plates and glasses before laying them out on the table full of food. They'd agreed early on, before his lucid states started getting less and less frequent that it might be best to take his wand, just in case. She still had it locked away in her sock drawer, unsure of what to do with it. They ate in silence, not looking at each other. When they'd finished, they each in turn got up and washed their plate, as was usual for them now. Ron changed out of his lounging clothes quickly and within minutes they were in the car and on their way to St. Mungo's.

The ride wasn't long, with it being late and Hermione knowing the way by heart. Ron carefully climbed out of the passengers seat once they were parked outside the unusual looking store front. Hermione, however, stayed in the car for an extra moment, waiting until he was on the sidewalk to exit. After a few calming breaths, he appeared in front of her door, gesturing for her to get out. She could see his anxiety building.

"Are you sure this is a good idea, Hermione?" he glances around through his words, eyes casting as always back to her.

"This is the best idea." nodding, they climb through the window, unseen by passing Muggles. He laughs once they're inside, feeling a wave of relief wash over him. She smiles at the sound, having been so long since he had.

"Ronald Weasley here to see Doctor Agora." says Hermione to the receptionist.

"Oh, yeah, she's out now." said the receptionist. "Be back in the morning." Hermione cursed. "If you want, her assistant is in, you can probably talk to him."

"Yes, let's talk to him." said Ron, bouncing rapidly on the balls of his feet. The receptionist nodded and paged Doctor Whelms as Hermione shot Ron a look. "I've met the guy. He's good. He knows what he's doing." Hermione rolled her eyes, planning on judging his ability for herself. A young man, not much older than she was, rounded the corner, a smile bursting onto his face as he saw Ron and Hermione.

"Ron! You're back! I didn't expect to see you so soon. Are you doing okay? Did something happen?" Doctor Whelms turned suddenly pale, and then turned to Hermione. "Are you okay?"

"Oh," said Hermione, laughing nervously and shaking her head. "No- Er, I mean... everyone is okay. It's just... Ronald, he… Is there a private place we can all sit down?" Doctor Whelms gave a quick nod and smiled again, motioning towards the stairs. They followed, and, for the first time in months, found their fingers winding together once more.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed the beginning of this story. It's been a really long time since I've written a HP ff, almost four years I suspect. I really appreciate any support. Please review/favorite/follow if you enjoyed. 3 have a good day lovies. ~B