Thank you SO much for the few reviews I have already received for my first chapter - much appreciated! I was kind of nervous to post my writing again. And, sorry for the delay in getting this chapter posted, was going to do it a couple of days ago, but...life happens!

Hope you like this one...explains a bit more of what is going on.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all her characters belong to JK Rowling. I am just borrowing them for a little while and will return them safely when I'm done. Thank you.

Chapter Two

I'll never forget that day Harry turned up on my doorstep, pounding on my front door at 2.30 in the morning and waking me from sleep. Ron had been out the past few days on a mission with the Auror department, and, as always when he was away, I wasn't sleeping very well. A knock on the door in the middle of night when your husband was off fighting evil crime can never be good news. And it was with dread that I made my way to the front door.

"Harry," I yawned, and let him in. "Where's Ron?" I demanded when he didn't follow behind him. Harry just looked at me and I knew. "I'll get dressed," I told him, heading for the stairs. "And grab the kids, we can be at the hospital in a few moments." I added.

"No, Hermione…he's, erm...I…"

"Unca Hawwy!" Rosie had been woken too from the knocking and dashed down the stairs, clinging onto the banister and hurrying her steps as she dragged her fluffy bunny behind her. As she reached the bottom step, she jumped off it and into her Uncle's arms.

"Hey there Rosie Posie," he whispered, using her dad's pet name for her that was now used by the whole family.

"Where James and Alby and…baby Lily?" she asked, grinning up at her Uncle.

"They're all asleep honey. Just like you should be, it's late for little girls." Harry glanced back at me and seeing the faraway look on my face, he carried her upstairs. "Come on, let's take you back to bed."

I remained standing in the middle of the lounge in a stunned silence, barely moving, barely even breathing. Trying not to think on Harry's words too much, but failing dismally. What had he meant when he said No? Was Ron not in the hospital? Did this have nothing to do with Ron? Maybe I just wasn't able to visit him yet, probably still being healed. Or maybe Ron had just sent him with a message or…oh God no….what if…no, no… I couldn't, I wouldn't even contemplate that.

Harry returned downstairs a few minutes later. "Got her back into bed, she's fast asleep already," he offered me a weak smile.

"Huh?"I looked up, not having a clue what he was talking about.

"Hermione…" he began gently. "You…you should probably sit down." He took a seat himself.

I shook my head defiantly and bit my lip. If I didn't do as he said, he couldn't tell me anything bad.

He took a deep breath then and wrung his hands, with his head bent, not able to meet my eye. "I can't believe I have to tell you this," he muttered.

"Then don't," I whispered.

"Hermione," he looked up at me. And that look was so full of sorrow and regret and guilt that I just knew. And before he'd even told me, I crumbled to the floor and someone somewhere was screaming the word 'no' repeatedly between heavy sobs.

I barely noticed him move and sit on the floor beside me and wrap his arm around me. I turned and wept into his shoulder as he gently patted my back. "He's missing." He mumbled the words, almost as though to himself, as if he couldn't believe them either. "He's missing in combat. There's just…there's no sign on him, nothing. There was a big battle, a lot of wand duelling and everyone lost sight of him. Last anyone saw, he was fighting two guys at once, but no one saw what happened after that. He's just…vanished." He shrugged helplessly.

"What do you mean?" I looked up at him. "How…how can he just vanish?" I frowned, glaring at Harry as though this was his fault. They were supposed to look out for one another, keep each other safe. They'd promised!

He slowly shook his head, slowly. "I don't know what else to tell you Hermione. We can't find him. There," he swallowed, "there were a lot of bodies once the fighting stopped. Mostly there side, but we lost two guys, novices out on their first mission. But, Ron…there's simply no sign of him. We looked for hours, but…" he faded off.

I sat back and wiped my eyes on my sleeve, understanding there was still hope. "Do you think he's been taken? I mean, by these guys you were after? What if he was taken as leverage?" I became panic stricken again at the idea.

"I don't know…believe me, I have called in every available Auror and got them all out looking for him, searching every known residence and hiding place of there's. And breaking through curses to find more. If he's been taken, we'll find him." He promised me.

I barely listened to what he said, my mind was running away on it's own – thinking up one terrible scenario after another. "Or, maybe…maybe he disapparated suddenly, in the chaos of the battle and got splinched. Harry, he could be hurt somewhere!" I looked at him urgently and grabbed a hold of his arm, shaking him. "He needs us Harry, we have to find him!"

"I know," he took my hand in his. "And I promise we won't stop looking. We've already been searching for hours, we have loads of trained guys out there. But…I'm so sorry Hermione, maybe you should prepare yourself… it, it doesn't look good." He hung his head sorrowfully.

I shook my head fiercely. "No…" I whispered harshly. "He's, he's okay. I know he is. If…if he was…" I swallowed the lump in my throat as I stumbled over the word. "If he was…gone. I'd feel it, here," I placed my hand on my chest and gave Harry a watery smile. "He's okay," I repeated, trying to convince myself.

Harry stayed with me that night. And a multitude of various people came to be with me through those following torturous days as they continued searching for him. Living in limbo like this, not knowing what had happened to my husband was one of the worst experiences I had ever had – far worse than our year on the run hunting for horcuxes, more terrible than our conflict in the Department of Mysteries, more terrifying than fighting in the battle of Hogwarts, and even more excruciating than being tortured by Bellatrix.

I don't know how I got through those few weeks, I was barely functioning and I can't remember much about it to be honest – just that the hope I clung to dimmed a little more each day that he wasn't found. The whole time was a painful blur. I think my Mum stayed over to take care of the children, I could hardly look after myself I was that much of a nervous wreck. Every time I heard the crack of an apparation or the whoosh of the floo, I jumped, expecting it to be Ron, home safe and sound. And every time it wasn't, I was a little more disappointed and upset every time. That light of hope was slowly fading. Night after night I prayed he'd come back to me as I lay in our bed, hugging his pillow tight before eventually crying myself to sleep with it in my arms.

And yet, I was about to be hit with the worst blow of my life. They say that not knowing is worse than realising the truth, but I beg to differ. At least not knowing you can still hold out some hope, no matter how unreasonable that may be. But, being told they're gone, that they're dead…well that's it: game over. The day Harry turned up, tearful himself, to tell me they'd had to call off the search, that officially Ron was reported as missing, presumed killed, was the single very worst moment of my entire life. Harry spoke with such remorse and guilt as he explained they'd exhausted every magical and physical means to find him and there was nothing more they could do. He was so angry, already he'd kept his team looking longer than they usually would for a fallen colleague, until finally his boss had told him it was useless, they were just wasting time now and risking losing more Aurors.

I didn't know it at the time, too distraught with my own grief, but Harry felt he had let Ron down, that they were giving up on him. They'd promised to look after one another and had always had each others back since they were 11 year old kids. And now, he'd betrayed him in the worst way.

I didn't want to believe a word of what I was being told. I insisted to everyone he was still okay, that he would come home. We'd find him and he'd be just fine. And for awhile I believed myself, or I think I wanted to. But, although I still sometimes saw the faintest glimmer of a spark of hope, I had to accept I was deluding myself when Harry handed me Ron's deluminator, the one and only thing they had found in their thorough search.

"I'm so sorry," he hugged me as we cried together. "I love him too, you know."

I nodded sadly, tears pouring in silent streams down my face, understanding what he meant, Ron and Harry were like brothers – had been from the moment they met. My Mum had taken the children out for a walk when Harry turned up, something she was doing a lot lately to distract them and so they didn't have to see their Mum so hysterical with grief. I held the deluminator in my hands with reverence. That strange item had been bequeathed to Ron in Dumbledore's will, an item that had magical properties to turn on and off lights. And, as he later discovered, the power to guide him home, to bring him back to me.

"He…he's really gone, hasn't he?" I looked up at Harry, the concept only just dawning on me that he wasn't coming back.

He nodded silently. "I think so, yeah." he mumbled.

"I kept telling myself, that as long as he had this," I hugged the deluminator to my chest, "that he'd always find a way to come back to me, just like he came back to us before. I just always assumed he'd have it with him. Deep down, I know that if he was injured, he'd have got help by now. He'd have apparated home or managed to let someone know…sent a patronus or something. But, he hasn't…and maybe…" I sniffed at my running nose and dashed my forearm across my face, swiping tears away. "Maybe I have to accept…that…he….he's really… gone. Oh Harry!" I sobbed and clung to my surviving best friend, trying to gain comfort from one another.

I hadn't a clue how I was supposed to live through this. How did you wake up each morning and go on when the bottom fell out of your world? How did you remember to breathe?

How was I supposed to carry on without him by my side? I'd already lived and survived through some pretty horrific things that someone of my age should never even have to witness, but I wasn't sure I'd survive this. He'd always been there, right by my side. We'd barely been apart in the last 17 years – that was more than half of my lifetime and I didn't know how to live without him. And how the hell was I supposed to tell my children that their daddy was never coming home? I'd have gladly lived through the war again than have to break my kids' hearts.

And yet, I couldn't lie to them, especially not when Rose started crying for her daddy at bedtime and constantly asking me when he was coming home. She was almost three, she knew something was wrong and I had to tell her. Hugo was too young, he didn't understand – although he could pick up on the sadness and tension in the house and reacted to it as babies did.

"Rose, sweetheart," I stepped outside of my bedroom for the first time in days after hearing the commotion as my mum was trying to convince her it was bedtime. She was stubbornly refusing to get into bed until daddy read her a story, standing with her arms folded and ignoring her nana defiantly.

"I want daddy, mummy!" she demanded of me, running to me and clinging onto my legs.

"I know darling, I know," I picked her up and held her tight, burying my face in her hair. "Come with mummy," I made my way back to our room with her.

"Hermione," Mum tried to stop me.

I shook my head. "It's okay…I, I have to tell her."

Mum offered me a pained smile and squeezed my shoulder, letting me know she was here if I needed her. In our room, my room now I realised sadly, I set Rose on the bed and climbed in beside her.

"Rose, my sweet girl. Mummy has to tell you something," I began seriously, brushing her hair back from her face and encouraging her to look up at me.

"I want daddy!" she repeated.

"I know my sweet girl. I want him too." Already tears were rolling down my face again. "But…daddy was hurt…fighting the bad men. He was so brave, but…they, they hurt him too. They hurt him bad. And…well, daddy can't come home now baby. He's not going to be coming home," I choked on my own words. The more I had to say it out loud, the more it hurt, the more it hit home that it was true.

"Ever?" She looked up at me, her eyes wide and fearful.

"Not ever," I shook my head. "Daddy…he's in heaven now, with Uncle Fred and Teddy's mummy and daddy." She started to cry and it broke my heart as the dam opened and my tears fell thick and fast. "But, I want you to know that daddy will always, always love you sweetheart," I spoke thickly through my own tears, my voice cracking on sobs. "You're his little princess and you'll always be special to him," I rubbed her back as she buried her face in the pillow and cried softly. I wasn't sure she understood everything, she wasn't quite three yet after all, but she understood enough that daddy wasn't coming home. "And, we'll always love him too and never, ever forget him," I picked her up and pulled her into my lap. She flung her little arms tight around my neck and held on tight, her breath coming in little sobs against me.

"I want my daddy," she cried.

"Oh darling," I couldn't help it, I broke down and couldn't speak anymore. For quite some time we just held one another and cried. "Daddy will always be with you," I pulled her back and tilted her tear stained face up towards me. "He'll always be in here, in your heart," I placed my hand on her chest. "And…he'll be in our minds forever. I promise we'll never forget him and you can talk about him with me and everyone who loves him."

She nodded sadly and clung on again. "I'm sad mummy," she whispered.

"I know darling. Mummy is very sad too. But, that's because we love him very, very much and we'll always miss him." I kissed the top of her head and held her tight, wishing I could protect her from this pain – no three year old should have to go through this. "I'm going to need you to be a really big girl for mummy. Hugo doesn't understand, he's too young, and I'll need you to tell him all about his daddy. How wonderful and kind and funny and brave he was, and how very much he loved you both. Can you do that?" I whispered to her, holding tight to my little girl. She nodded against me. That's my sweet girl," I kissed her head again and lay us both down on the bed, still cuddled together.

Eventually we cried ourselves to sleep that night and she was never quite the same little girl again, never quite as innocent. She had a look far too wise for someone of her age. Shortly after that night, the nightmares began, the screaming in the middle of the night and needing comfort, reassurance that I, at least, was still here for her. Sometimes she pushed me away, wanting only her daddy. It was understandable after what she'd been through, normal even. But, it was a rough time for us all – especially when Hugo became unsettled and stopped sleeping through the night again. In the end, against better judgement, I allowed them to sleep in bed with me – the damn bed was too big to sleep in alone anyway. And slowly, over some weeks and months, the nightmares became less frequent and Hugo began sleeping well again.

Even now, whenever Rose gets really upset and scared or throws a tantrum, she still demands for her daddy – as though he should come to her when she really needs him. She's upset and disappointed each time that he doesn't. But, just lately, I have heard her talking about him with Hugo a lot, showing him photos and telling him that's our daddy, that he was brave and he loved us. Every time it almost kills me to realise Hugo will never really remember him. His father will always just be a person in a photograph to him.

Sometime after his disappearance, I could never call it his death. A tiny part of me still wouldn't admit it and still had this insane hope he'd come back to us. But, shortly after, there was a memorial service for him. I think his parents arranged it, I don't remember a moment of it, although I sat there the entire time. I think it helped Molly, it brought her some comfort and she needed some kind of closure, a chance to say goodbye. Poor Molly, she'd lost two sons now through the evils in our world, no mother should have to go through that. No mother should have to bury two of her own children in her lifetime. She was utterly devastated, as you'd expect – her baby boy, gone.

It hit the rest of the family hard too. I don't think anyone could believe that life could be as cruel as to take another family member from us after all we'd lived through already. Ginny, who'd always been closest to Ron, felt his loss immensely. They'd grown up together, being so close in age, they spent the most time together. And though they also teased and fought mercilessly, she loved him. It was a difficult time for her, with a tiny new baby to deal with, as well as two toddlers and I don't think she coped very well. Harry was having a hard time of it himself and found it difficult to support his wife as much as he wanted, whilst dealing with his own grief. And George took it particularly hard. Losing another brother stirred up the still very raw pain of losing his twin in the war. It set him back a few years in his healing and his nightmares returned, Angelina confided in me once.

And yet it was George who offered me the best advice, the only advice I ever followed.

"Hermione…walk with me," George requested, pulling me away from the crowd after the service. We walked along in silence for some time, both deep in our own thoughts. I hadn't realised where we were heading until we stopped, beside the little plot of land far off within the property boundary of The Burrow where his twin, Fred, was laid to rest. "I just...I wanted to say, if you need to talk, or…vent, or well, anything. I reckon I understand better than most, and, well, you can always talk to me," he offered, touching my arm gently, a little embarrassed. "You know, if you want." He shrugged one shoulder.

I nodded. "Thanks," I whispered through my tears.

"I know you feel like part of yourself has been ripped away, like you'll never be whole again." He commented.

"Yes," I whispered. That was exactly how I felt. There was a huge gaping hole in my life now and I knew nothing could ever fill it, no matter how long I lived.

"Everyone will try to give you advice, the sage of their wisdom. And I know their hearts in the right place. But…you have to listen to yourself, do things in your own time. There's no timetable and no right or wrong way to grieve. So, just do what you want to and need to do. Don't listen too much to what everyone is saying you should be doing or feeling or what's healthy or not. I know people try to help, but sometimes it just feels like they're interfering and making things worse. Though, I don't think there can be any right words to say to someone grieving," he sighed wistfully and gazed off into the evening sky. "Anyway…I just wanted you to know that I understand and if you need to talk, or yell…or even punch something. I'm available." He smirked.

"Thank you," I smiled up at him weakly.

"You just do whatever you need to make any of this at all bearable…that's what you need to do right now. Though I can tell you from experience, drinking four bottles of firewhisky in 24 hours really doesn't help anything," he grimaced.

"I'll keep that in mind," I nodded.

"You know, Fred and I were horrid to him when we were kids. But, I loved my little brother," he sniffed. "I suspect they're together up there now, plotting to get me back," he laughed once and then gazed at his brother's grave pensively.

"Thank you George," I whispered after some time and then I turned and gave him a brief hug. I reckon George was wrong…there was something right someone could say at a time like this, and he'd just said it. He gave me the only piece of advice I ever followed through on, to do what I wanted and what I needed.

For a long time I barely functioned as a human being. I went through routine tasks without really knowing what I was doing. I ate food, but didn't taste anything. I'd spend time with the children, but didn't really notice them. And I'd lay awake night after night, unable to sleep and sobbing into his pillow instead. In all my grief and depression, I'd replay that last morning together over and over with regret. Wishing things had been different.

On that last morning, we barely had time to talk as we each rushed about, both late. He had to head off on this mission and, as usual, he was still packing his bag at the last minute, darting here and there to find things. I had an interview at The Ministry for my new job, returning to work after the birth of Hugo. I had decided to change career paths and I was worried how it was going to go. I was running late and I still had to drop the kids off with Molly. And so it was that I left, without ever telling him that I loved him, without a kiss or a hug goodbye, just a harassed wave as I flooed to his parents with the kids. And now I was going to regret that for the rest of my life. I was never going to get another chance to tell him I loved him or hold him in my arms. Why had I not just taken a few seconds to kiss him goodbye, to let him know how much he meant to me? What would a few more seconds have hurt anything? Now, at least, I knew some things were more important.

The Weasley family were a constant source of support in those difficult months following. I'd always felt included by them, even before I married Ron, but…this was more than that – I was a Weasley, no questions asked. They couldn't do enough to help me or include me, and they all fought over spending time with my children and doing things for them. I think they felt a connection to Ron through them, and they became quite spoilt by all their aunts and uncles, all offering to take them out and make them smile. My own parents were wonderful too, I couldn't have coped without my Mum's help in those first few months. But, it was in the bosom of the Weasley family where I wanted to be most. My parents hadn't loved nor known Ron the way they had and I felt comforted being with them.

It was a few months before I surfaced enough to function on any kind of level. Rose's third birthday had passed – I think my Mum had arranged something, but I didn't remember it and Christmas was rather a blur that year. Every second of every day hurt without him, but I knew I had to go on alone, somehow. That I had to continue with my life no matter how hard it was going to be. Because to just curl into a ball and give up, well it was disrespectful to his memory, it made a mockery of his life and I had to go on living, if not for myself, then for our children and for him. My children, our children, were my saving grace. They became my entire life, my link to Ron and the love we shared. I got out of bed each morning and put one foot in front of the other for them. I had to live for them.

In the new year, out of necessity, I returned to work. Although we received some financial support from the Ministry with the Aurors widow programme, I still had a mortgage to pay, food to buy and two children to raise – I simply had to work for the money. Except I knew my children needed me now more than ever. Rose became terrified of me leaving her for any amount of time – as though she was afraid I wouldn't come home either. And Hugo, reacting to his sisters fears, cried more than he used to and became a clingy baby. So, I compromised and I only worked part time now.

Although, for the first time, I hated being at work, at least at first. I avoided venturing into the Wizarding World at all if I could help it. For almost a year I barely left home, but to go to work. Everywhere I went I saw people staring at me, and this time it wasn't because I was a war hero and had been part of the trio who helped to bring Voldemort to his demise. This time it was pity stares and I often caught snatches of whispered conversations, "her husband recently died on her," "Wasn't he an Auror?" "Only been married five years." "They had two little children as well." "Poor love, I don't know how she copes." On and on it went, and I couldn't stand it. I wanted to snap at them all to shut up and mind their own business. But I just walked on by as quickly as possible, with my head down. But far worse than that was all the well meaning, sympathetic comments. People stopping me to tell me how sorry they were for my loss. I wanted to yell at them that they never even knew him. But, I stopped myself.

Instead, for the last 22 months, almost two years since he'd been…gone, I simply spent my time at work or filled my hours with my children to avoid meeting people and those encounters as much as possible. Though when I was forced to venture out into our world or I needed supplies in Diagon Alley, I did it as efficiently and quickly as possible before returning home and locking myself away from the world.

This morning, after I'd dropped the children off still in their pyjamas, with Molly and Arthur for the weekend, I couldn't concentrate at work. The Minister had asked me a question three times before I heard him and answered. He'd merely given me a brief sympathetic smile full of sorrow before leaving me alone in the library of the Ministers chamber to attend a meeting.

This weekend would have been our seventh wedding anniversary and that was all I could think about. I should have been excited, wondering what he had in store for me, whether he'd like his gift and hoping he'd even remember whilst planning to send the kids off somewhere so we'd have a few hours alone. Instead, I was dreading it. I knew it was going to be a difficult weekend full of pain and heart ache. That empty hole that had been punched through my chest when he'd first gone had barely began to heal, the wound was still raw and bleeding, this weekend was going to be like someone poking the rawness constantly. I missed him now, just as much as I had then, almost two years ago, how was it already two years?

I missed everything about our life together. Apparently, seemingly annoying little traits became endearing qualities when there was no one to argue with about them anymore. I missed the socks he'd leave lying on the bedroom floor, no matter how many times I asked him to pick them up. The damp towel he'd always, always toss onto the bed after a bath or a shower. And the dirty clothes that never quite made it to the laundry basket – just dumped on the bathroom floor. Or the way he'd never clean the bathroom after himself.

The house always seemed too quiet without him. I missed his loud, jovial laughter. The way he always giggled to himself over cartoons in the newspaper. His stupid, crude jokes and rather rude references about things that usually did nothing but embarrass me. I missed listening to him read bedtime stories to the children, with the inventive, and, often adorable, voices he used and how it made them both giggle with him. Somehow I never got it right and Rose told me as much. To my amazement, I realised I missed his fondness for swearing too much, a trait that was just so typically Ron. Although his foul language had gotten a little better after we had children – especially when one of Rose's first words had been 'shit'! He'd felt suitably ashamed for that. I even found that I missed his grumpiness when he woke in the morning and his damn snoring beside me at night.

And then there was how I never found him more attractive than when he was playing with our children. Be it having tea parties with Rosie that he would readily sit through, or running around with Hugo in the air, flying him on make believe brooms to catch the snitch. Even if their games often became rather boisterous and raucous and he got them all hyped up before bedtime. They missed that probably more than I did…unfortunately, mummy didn't play properly.

I missed his love of pudding and his sweet tooth – something his children had inherited. The way he almost went into mourning when The Cannons lost at Quidditch – again! And his constant grumbling about the damn team that made it hard for me to understand why he still bothered to support them. I missed how he'd willingly help out with household chores and cook dinner for us – though perhaps not quite so much the mess he left behind in the kitchen. That infuriating way he still had of leaving everything to the last minute and then panicking about it – be it a report he needed for work, packing his bag or flooing somewhere.

I especially missed our private moments, our times together. Sweet and innocent hours of curling up on the sofa in front of the fire after a day at work and the children were asleep. Sharing a bed with him and fighting over the duvet. The way we bickered about totally inane things that really didn't matter and would lead into arguments more than they should because we were both so stubborn and neither would back down. But then I missed the making up even more. I missed making love with him terribly. He was the first and only man I had ever slept with, ever really seen naked and whom had ever seen me naked. And, I suspected he always would be – I could never imagine being with anyone else, ever again.

But mostly, I just missed him. Missed his presence in my life – the knowledge that he was there for me, that he'd got my back no matter what. I felt loved and safe with him. Now I just felt so terribly empty and alone.

"Hermione?"

"Huh?" I jumped at the sound of the voice. "Oh, Mr Shacklebolt. I'm sorry, I didn't hear you come in."

"I've been here for five minutes trying to get your attention." he smiled kindly.

"I'm sorry," I muttered and looked down at the role of parchment in front of me – it was covered in nonsense doodles I hadn't even been aware I'd been drawing. I hadn't done anything all morning.

"Listen, why don't you go home?" he suggested. "It's obvious you're distracted and…well, I do know what weekend it is. I understand." he added, his deep voice sincere.

I shook my head and pulled the book towards me. "I'm fine, really."

"Go on. Go home," he insisted. "I know it's hard for you."

"Well, okay," I gave in quietly and bit my lip to prevent any tears as I began to put my things back into my bag. "But, I'll take this book home with me, and get some reading done there." I added the book to my bag, before getting up.

"That's fine. I'll see you on Tuesday morning. And…" He paused and hugged me as I headed for the door. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

I merely nodded, my throat too thick to speak, as I left his chambers and headed home, quickly before the tears let loose.

"Morning Hermione," Harry wandered into my office late on Tuesday morning. Wanting to be alone after a difficult weekend, I'd chosen to take books back to the privacy of my own office, rather than sit in the library of the Ministers chambers this morning.

"Hey Harry," I smiled as I briefly glanced up from the book I was studying, then I did a double take and snapped my head up again. "Are the kids okay?" I asked, abruptly.

"What? Yeah…they're fine. I mean, I assume they are, not heard anything from Ginny anyway."

"Oh, good," I breathed and returned to the book. I had dropped the kids off with Ginny this morning whilst I was at work, as per our normal routine. Ginny worked mostly from home these days, writing a Quidditch column for the Daily Prophet, apart from when she was actually attending the matches to write about. So, she'd offered to look after my two one day a week when I went back to work. And now we had a routine perfected – the children stayed with Ginny Tuesday morning. They spent all day Wednesday with Molly. My Mum came to my house on Thursday afternoon to watch them, and they were back with Molly on Friday morning.

I spent a couple of minutes copying down more laws that I thought needed looking at to either change or eradicate before I realised Harry was still sat in my office. "Did you actually want something Harry?" I looked up at him, pausing with my quill, twiddling it between my fingers. Sometimes he just wandered over to say hello of grab a cup of tea together.

"Erm, yeah," he mumbled and shuffled his feet. "Can you take a break?" he wondered.

I sighed and shook my head. "I wanted to get these finished and given to Kingsley today. I was hoping to get them done over the weekend, but I erm…didn't." I muttered the last line quietly. Truth was I had spent most of the weekend hiding out in bed, either sleeping to block the painful memories or eating comfort food and making a pig of myself.

"It is kind of, important," he persisted.

"So is this," I nodded down to the roll of parchment full of ridiculous laws. "Do you realise there are still some Muggle-borns paying for ridiculous crimes they shouldn't? It's been years since the war ended, and these things need sorting out."

"I know, but…"

"Merlin's pants!" I suddenly gasped, my finger poised on one particular law. "That's…that's barbaric!" I hissed. "Sorry Harry, I need to take this one to Kingsley straight away." I grabbed the book and darted out of my seat. "I'll have to talk to you later."

"Hermione…" he stopped me before I ran out of the room. "It's about Ron. He's…he's been found!"

"Ron?" I asked, dropping the book and falling back into my seat with a thump.