A/N: Thanks for your kind reviews for Chapter 1. I appreciated seeing them, even if there were only two of them so far.

Let me take this opportunity to explain this story a bit further. Because of the failed marriage between Harry and Hermione, this story is decidedly A/U when compared to Book 7 and the epilogue. Consider this story canon through Book 6, but splitting off thereafter.

The only event that happened in Book 7 that definitely happened in this universe was Harry's defeat of Voldemort. Other than that, things are different; you may even see some characters who died in Book 7 pop up in this story. We'll just have to see.

Anyway, this story will be updated every Tuesday evening, and I hope to see some more reviews. Chapter 1 had 219 hits, but only two reviews. I would like to receive five reviews per chapter; it's a modest goal, but an attainable one in my opinion. So if you could just take a couple minutes and let me know what you think, I'd be grateful. If you loved or hated something or someone, please let me know. If you have any suggestions/questions/comments/criticism, I'd be glad to take them into account.

Whew. That's enough speechifying for now. Here's Chapter 2. I hope you enjoy!

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Don't Stay

Chapter 2: Guess Who's Coming to Dinner

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As the star keeper for the Chudley Cannons and the English National Quidditch team, Ron Weasley had met his share of over-the-top fans.

Because of this, he'd had anti-Apparation wards installed in the flat he shared with Luna Lovegood, his girlfriend of two years.

"Can't be too careful, you know?" he'd said to Luna when he suggested the idea.

Luna had been keen on the idea as well, but instead of unruly Puddlemere United or Bulgarian Quidditch fans, she was worried about keeping out Scottish Sharpsnouts and Long-fanged lemurs.

Ron had shrugged. Whatever works for her works for me, he thought.

But Ron wasn't thinking about the anti-Apparation wards as he dragged his tired body into the flat on this Tuesday evening. His mind was centered more on taking a shower and getting something to eat for the first time that day.

Ron considered himself a hungry person in general, but his usual hunger was magnified thanks to the Cannons' extra-long practice that day. Because the Cannons were one win away from the National Quidditch League championship game, coach Norm Banks had been flying his team ragged for the past 10 days.

This day had been more brutal than the previous nine combined. With the semifinal match against Wimbourne just four days away, Banks had ramped up the intensity to a fever pitch. Ron had spent the entirety of his afternoon blocking Quaffles hurled by the Cannons' scout team, which was emulating Wimbourne's talented and experienced chaser line. He'd seen so many feints that he feared his eyes would become permanently crossed.

Of course, Ron didn't care if Banks performed Unforgiveable Curses on the team if it meant they would win a championship. He'd battled his entire career for this chance, and he wasn't about to let it slip away now. This was the best chance he'd had for a championship in his career.

His championship hunger aside, Ron was sore as he let himself into the empty flat. Luna was away on official Quibbler business. After taking over the magazine from her father three years ago, she had built it into the most respected investigative magazine in the wizarding world. Tonight, she was investigating alleged misdeeds by the Department of Mysteries, leaving Ron to fend for himself.

Ron hated being alone. He wasn't used to it, having grown up in such a large family. He especially hated eating alone because with nobody around to supervise, he tended to overeat. He hoped that wouldn't be the case tonight.

Standing in his empty living room, Ron pondered his next move: shower or food? He was hungry, but he also knew he smelled and could certainly use a shower.

He asked himself again, this time out loud. "Shower or food?"

His stomach growled in response.

Ron smiled. "There's my answer, I guess."

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Ron was halfway through his third sandwich when he heard it.

Crack.

He froze, his half-eaten sandwich inches from his mouth. The sound was unmistakable: Someone had just Apparated into the flat, breaking through the strongest wards the Ministry of Magic had to offer.

Ron put down his sandwich, instantly alarmed. It would take an extraordinarily powerful witch or wizard to break the wards -- even he couldn't do it, and he liked to consider himself above-average in terms of power. The only people he knew who could break through were Harry and Hermione, and they would call first.

So who was it? Ron didn't know, but he did know he had to be careful finding out.

Leaning forward in his chair, Ron strained to hear what was going on in the living room. He heard muffled footsteps moving toward the back end of the flat, as his visitor was apparently heading toward Ron and Luna's bedroom. He heard the door open, then close again as the footsteps began to get louder. Whoever the footsteps belonged to was now heading this way.

Ron looked around the kitchen frantically, searching for something he could use to defend himself. His wand was lying in the living room, on the coffee table where he'd tossed it before he went into the kitchen. He mentally flogged himself: Idiot. Didn't you learn anything from Moody? Constant vigilance, remember?

Ron shook his head, clearing it. Such thoughts would do him no good now. He continued to look for a weapon, his eyes finally lighting on a spatula lying on the counter. He snatched it quickly, thinking, Yeah, that'll do you a lot of good against someone powerful enough to break these wards. He shook his head again to remove this also-unhelpful thought.

The footsteps had paused again in the living room, and Ron heard something rustle as his visitor picked it up. He closed his eyes, realizing it was his cloak. His visitor now knew he was here, and there was only one place left he could be.

Sure enough, the footsteps started again, this time heading toward the kitchen.

Ron looked around quickly, searching for someplace to hide. In his mind, his only advantage was the element of surprise, and popping out from somewhere unexpected would increase that advantage.

Unfortunately, there were no good hiding spots in the small kitchen.

"Bloody hell," Ron said as he heard the footsteps getting ever-closer. He sprinted across the kitchen, pressing himself against the wall next to the entrance. He thought he could jump out at the last moment and wrestle the intruder's wand away from him.

The footsteps grew even louder. Ron guessed the intruder was now only a couple steps away from the kitchen. It's now or never, he thought.

He made his move. Spatula raised and ready to strike, he leapt to block the doorway.

Then he froze.

Standing a few feet away from him was his best friend, Harry Potter, whom he hadn't seen in more than a year. And Harry looked angry -- no, strike that, Harry looked pissed. And his wand was raised as if to strike.

"Bloody hell," Ron said, chuckling in relief. "Harry, you scared me!"

Harry didn't say anything, still glaring at Ron. His wand stayed where it was.

Ron's relieved chuckles turned into nervous laughter. "Harry, you can lower your wand now."

He didn't.

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Ron looked across the kitchen table at his best friend, who looked stonily back at him. Harry still hadn't spoken since he'd encountered his best friend a half-hour before. It had taken a great deal of convincing on Ron's part just to get him to lower his wand and sit down at the table. That had been 15 minutes ago, and right now it looked like the silence would stretch on infinitely.

Hearing his stomach rumble, Ron looked forlornly at his forgotten sandwich from earlier. It was just sitting there, teasing him, tempting him. He cast a dubious glance at Harry, still sitting there glaring at him, then looked back at the sandwich. Oh, what the hell, he thought, reaching out and picking it up.

Ron was just about to bite into the sandwich when Harry waved his hand, making it vanish. Unfortunately, Ron didn't notice in time to stop his mouth in mid-bite. Instead of tasting bread and corned beef, Ron got a bite out of his fingers. And Ron didn't take small bites.

"Ouch!" Ron said, shaking his right hand, the hand he would need later that week to stop Quaffles. "What the hell did you do that for?"

Harry shrugged.

"Oh, come off it, Harry," Ron said, getting irritated. "You're obviously pissed at me for something. I sure as hell don't know what it's about, so why don't you tell me instead of sitting there glaring at me?"

"Oh, I think you know what it's about," Harry said. Ron was half-thankful his friend had finally spoken and half-wishing he hadn't, given his tone.

"No," Ron said again. "I don't know what it's about. What I do know is that you broke through my anti-Apparation wards into my flat and scared the living daylights out of me. I also know that you are now glaring at me for no reason, because I haven't done anything!"

"That's exactly right," Harry said. "You haven't done anything."

Ron blinked at him, nonplussed. "Care to explain that statement?"

"Oh, sure," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "So my partner and I were assigned a new case today – some tosser from the U.K. who has decided to spread his particular brand of evilness to the United States. Our boss tells us the Ministry is sending over the Auror who worked the case in England. And guess who shows up? My sodding ex-wife."

"Hermione?" Ron asked, frowning.

"No, my other ex-wife," Harry said sarcastically. "Yes, Hermione. My ex-wife traveled thousands of miles to work a case at my detective agency, and somehow my best mate neglected to inform me!"

"Whoa, wait a second," Ron said. "What exactly are you blaming me for here?"

"What does it sound like?" Harry asked, getting, if possible, even angrier. "Ron, you're my best mate! Didn't the fact that Hermione was coming to my detective agency seem like information you should share with me?"

"Did you ever stop to think that maybe I didn't know?" Ron asked. Harry didn't say anything in response, and Ron sighed. "No, of course not," the redhead continued. "You just had to find someone to blame, and you chose me."

"That's not – " Harry began, but Ron cut him off.

"Oh, come off it, Harry," he said. "I'm not an idiot. But I'm also not Hermione's keeper. She doesn't give me her itinerary before she goes on a trip, and quite frankly, I don't ask for one. She told me she was going to the U.S., but I thought it was because she was finally taking a vacation. God knows she needs one."

Harry sighed, chastened. "I'm sorry, Ron. I guess I just was so shocked by her showing up that I wasn't really thinking. I figured she probably told you she was going – she tells you everything, after all."

Now Ron sighed. "No, she doesn't tell me everything. Not anymore, anyway." Harry looked surprised, so he continued. "This divorce didn't just affect you, you know. Because of it, I've lost two best friends, including one who moved thousands of miles away because he couldn't stand being here anymore."

Harry blinked. "It's not as though I've been ignoring you, Ron. We still talk."

"Sure, we talk," Ron said. "But not the way we used to. There's this awkwardness because the divorce changed you. The same goes for Hermione; she's different too. It's understandable, but that doesn't make it any easier."

"You've been wanting to say this for a while, I take it," Harry said. Ron nodded, and he continued. "I guess I haven't been as … aware … of how the divorce affected other people, especially you. It certainly puts you in an awkward position. But I hope you do understand why I had to leave. I couldn't be around her every day – it was just too hard."

"I do understand, but it's still hard sometimes not to have my best mate here," Ron said. He sighed, then grinned. "By the way, speaking of being around Hermione, what did you do when you ran into her?"

Harry chuckled. "What do you think I did? I said hello, then got the hell out of there."

Ron raised an eyebrow. "And I'm sure that didn't make things awkward at all."

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Hermione Granger had been in awkward situations before, but those had paled to the one she had just experienced.

She had come to America to track a suspect she had been following for the past 13 months. Regis Daniels was quite unlike any person she had investigated before. She'd encountered slippery suspects before, but those men and women paled in comparison to Daniels. He was beyond slippery; it seemed he was permanently coated in vegetable oil. He was nearly impossible to track because nobody knew what he would do next. His jaunt to America had come completely out of left field.

But wherever Daniels went, Hermione followed. It had been that way since she first took on the case. By now, it had become a personal vendetta. When Daniels got taken down – and he would – Hermione wanted to be the one to do it. So she had followed him to America, and she had encountered her ex-husband for the first time since he fled to the country a year and a half ago.

And the meeting had not gone well. After saying hello, Harry had stammered an excuse to his lieutenant, something about an illness, and left the building without a second glance. Joe Brooks had apologized for his behavior, but she shrugged it off. If Harry still wanted to run, that was fine with her. But she wouldn't let his attitude affect her persistence to solve this case.

Right now, she was sitting at Harry's vacated desk, gazing around the squad room. It looked … different than what she had pictured. It was smaller than the London Ministry for sure, but there was more energy here. People seemed to be going about their tasks with more enthusiasm than she was used to.

Her eyes fell on Harry's partner. Charlie was studying what appeared to be Daniels' case file, absentmindedly drumming his fingers on the surface of his desk as he did so.

Hermione had read up on Charlie before she arrived, but she still didn't know much. She knew he was a fast-riser who was excellent at his job, but that was about it. Sometimes I wonder how much a person's biography really says about him or her, she thought. In Charlie's case, his biography told her a lot about his accomplishments, but not much about him as a person. So she decided to find out for herself. Can't hurt to get to know him, she thought. After all, I will be working with him for the foreseeable future.

After pondering how to engage Charlie in conversation, Hermione decided to go with the direct approach. Reaching across Harry's cluttered desk (she'd had to stop herself from organizing it for him), she placed her hand on top of Charlie's, stopping his drumming fingers.

Charlie looked up, surprised. "Sorry," she said. "Just … do you mind?"

"Oh!" Charlie said. "No, that's all right. I didn't even realize I was doing that."

"It's no problem," she said. "It's just something that bothers me. I can't even explain it." Catching his glance, she shrugged with an embarrassed smile. "Weird, I know."

"It's not weird," Charlie said, smiling crookedly. "Everyone has those little pet peeves. For example, I hate listening to other people eat. I always have to leave the room."

"Really?" Hermione asked, surprised.

"Yeah," Charlie said, warming to the topic. "If I'm eating too, I don't have a problem with it; I'm too busy concentrating on my own food. But when I'm not doing anything and somebody else is munching and crunching away, it drives me insane."

"No kidding," Hermione said. "Hm … that's a new one."

He shrugged. "Just the way I am, I suppose." A moment of silence passed before he cleared his throat and spoke again. "So … that was pretty awkward earlier."

Hermione smiled grimly. "So you noticed."

"Oh, yes. One of the perks of being a detective is that it gives you some awesome observational skills. It's especially helped me in my dating life."

Hermione frowned, confused. "What?"

"Never mind," he said with a laugh. "So you're Harry's ex-wife. I must admit, I don't know much about you."

"Yes, he probably doesn't mention me too much," Hermione said.

"No, I wouldn't say that," Charlie said.

"Pardon?"

"Well, he mentions you every once in a while. Brief mentions, nothing too specific. But he always catches himself before he says too much."

"Oh, Harry was always like that," Hermione said. "He guards his emotions pretty well. The same goes with his secrets." She paused, deep in thought. "He only really revealed them to me and our other friend, Ron. I think that's part of the reason I fell in love with him: because he trusted me enough to share things like that with me."

Suddenly, Hermione realized what she was saying and stopped herself. She looked across the desk at Charlie, who was leaning forward in interest. She hadn't meant to get so personal with a relative stranger. "Sorry," she said. "Sometimes I ramble."

"No worries," Charlie said. "Sometimes I do too."

Charlie held her gaze for a second, then cast his eyes downward. When he looked back up, he seemed to be steeling himself for something. "There is something I've always wanted to ask Harry," he asked.

"What's that?" she asked.

"What happened?" he asked. "I mean, why did you two …"

"Get divorced?" she asked, finishing the question for him.

He nodded, and she sighed. "It's a long story," she said.

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"So, not to change the subject, but it is great to see you again, mate," Ron said. "We haven't done this in over a year."

"I know," Harry said. "I kept meaning to come back for a visit, but …"

"It was too hard," Ron said. Harry nodded, and the redhead continued. "I understand."

"You know, it goes both ways, Ron," Harry said, smiling. "You could come out to the States sometime."

"What, and have to see your pale arse at the beach or something?" Ron asked. "No thanks; it's better if we meet up somewhere nice and overcast."

"Oh, come on now," Harry said. "I'll have you know I have a nice tan."

"Did it decide to call off sick today, then?" Ron asked.

"Touche," Harry said. "Git," he threw in for good measure."

Ron raised an eyebrow. "Tosser."

"Wanker."

"Arse."

"Jackass."

"All right, all right," Ron said, throwing his hands up in surrender. "I give." Harry raised his arms in victory. "So," Ron asked, broaching the subject carefully. "Are you coming to the match on Saturday?"

Harry just looked at him, so Ron continued. "I mean, I understand if you're busy. You have a hard job, and I get that. I just thought that maybe if you had the afternoon free –"

Harry smiled. "Ron," he said, interrupting the redhead. His friend stopped talking, and Harry drew a ticket out of his pocket in response. "I wouldn't miss it," he said.

Ron looked down, the tips of his ears turning red. "Thanks, mate," he said. "I just wanted you to be there."

"Don't worry," Harry said. "How could I not be? I know how hard you've worked for it."

And it was true. After Hogwarts, Ron had signed with the Cannons as reserve keeper, eventually earning a starting position after the incumbent starter struggled. From there, Ron had become a star, routinely taking the previously moribund Cannons to the playoffs. Until this year, however, the Cannons' run had always ended in the first round of the playoffs. While Ron had been a star, he was the Cannons' lone star.

But following the previous season, new management had taken over. The new owners went on a spending spree right away, trading for Viktor Krum to fill the seeker position and signing star chasers Katie Bell and Edward Kelly. Those moves had been enough to take the team further than it been in more than 100 years.

The Cannons weren't done yet, though. Their match Saturday with Wimbourne would decide who moved on to the championship match and a likely meeting with powerful Puddlemere, the three-time defending champion. Simply put, Saturday's match was huge.

"I'm glad you'll be there, mate," Ron said. "I'll need all the support I can get."

"Oh, piffle," Harry said. "You'll destroy them."

"I hope so," Ron said.

"Well," Harry said, standing up. "I should probably get going; it's getting to be pretty late, and I imagine you'll have practice tomorrow. But I'm glad I stopped by tonight, even if I did scare you."

Ron scoffed. "You didn't scare me."

"Well, mate, you were going to come after me with a spatula," Harry said.

"That was for protection."

"And why did you need protection?" Harry asked, a grin creeping onto his face.

"Yeah, yeah," Ron grumbled, shaking his head. "Oh, and Harry," he said, stopping his friend before he could Disapparate. "One more thing."

"What's up?" Harry asked.

"Can you try to work things out with Hermione while she's in the States?" Seeing his friend's frown, Ron pressed on. "I'm not saying to get back together with her, but you could at least try to work out some of your issues. That way, everyone won't be so miserable all the time."

"I'll try," Harry said, "but I can't make any promises. Things are just … awkward with her since the divorce."

"As you've told me," Ron said. "But you guys loved each other more than anything once."

"Love was never the problem," Harry said, deep in thought. "That's not what broke this marriage apart."

Ron caught what Harry didn't say in that sentence. "Harry, are you still in love with her?"

Harry frowned. "I don't know Ron," he said. "I just don't know."

And with that unsatisfying answer, Harry Disapparated, leaving his puzzled best friend alone, deep in thought.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Please just take a couple of minutes and review, even if it's a negative review. I just want to hear some of your feedback.