Here's the third chapter, for those who were asking for more! I'm very happy that you're liking it so far, really. I'm afraid here comes the part when I start writing over the canon story: please excuse me and try to forget about the book as much as possible. It might get confusing if you think in those terms, because some things I kept them and some things were changed for the sake of my own plot.

A million thanks for all the reviews, and the favourites, and people following me; it's a really wonderful and warm feeling ^-^

Enjoy!

Chapter 3: Last Dance, Then London

'Hang on, Harry— over here, Ron! '

Hermione had no idea what was on Harry's mind in that moment, but for once, she did not care much. Ron was looking for her through the crowded dance floor, holding two goblets with Butterbeer.

'Hey mate, having a nice time?' he asked when he reached Harry and Hermione. Ron slightly out of breath and visibly flustered.

'Interesting, yeah, ' Harry mumbled, making up his mind about telling him anything of what he had just heard. First, because Hermione was there, and he did not feel like bearing her contradicting everything he said. Second, because Hermione was there, and Ron happened to be paying a lot more of his attention to her than to Harry.

'D'you want me to get you a Butterbeer? ' Ron offered.

'No, it's okay. '

His sight wandered, and once again, he saw Ginny, now staring at him and leaning on a golden pole. Then he realised that Ron was staring at him too.

'I should probably go to sleep now—'

'Sleep, you say? ' a dreamy yet cheerful voice inquired, and Luna appeared from a cloud of dancing couples. 'Come, Harry, let's dance! '

After the other two's encouraging looks, he followed Luna.

'So where were we? ' Ron said to Hermione, handing her one of the goblets and smiling at his good luck.

'You were telling me about how your uncle Bilius accidentally saved you from choking, barely hours after you were born, ' she replied, taking a sip of the drink.

'Oh yeah... well, so that's why they named me after him, because they hadn't really picked my middle name, ' Ron finished.

'Please tell me the name is the only thing you've inherited from him.'

He roared with laughter but soon choked, when Muriel turned around in her seat to see who was making such a scandal.

'It's you, Ronald, who else! I didn't recognise you with all that hair; otherwise I would have talked to you before!'

Hermione gave a commitment smile when Muriel chose to look at her instead.

'Are you planning on introducing me to your friend? ' she barked at Ron.

'But I think you know her—'

'Of course we haven't been introduced, Ronald. Do as I say!'

'Auntie Muriel, this is Hermione Granger, from Hogwarts.'

'I know who she is, you dung head, you have been blabbering about her every time we met! I meant that you should tell her who I am!'

'Hermione, my aunt Muriel; Hermione, would you mind joining me so I can introduce you to... um, my cousin Barnaby?'

Ignoring the shouts of 'Barnaby, that gambler who almost wagered his own son?', Ron took Hermione by the wrist and pulled her away from Muriel.

'You are introducing me to who, now?'

'Nobody.'

They ran until they reached the opposite side of the canopy; Ron took a couple of glasses of champagne from a forgotten tray and offered one to her.

'For being free from Muriel,' he said, raising the glass in a toast.

Hermione raised hers and both drank them down.

'Do you tell many of your crazy relatives about me?' Hermione piped up, adding in a hurry, 'I mean, do you tell them how I nag you all the time so you pick up a book and study, or what?'

Ron's ears went red before he said, 'I must have mentioned you and Harry a couple of times in front of her; we don't see her that much.'

'A drink, sir, lady?' asked a waiter.

When Hermione took a rather large sip of the drink, she discovered it was not Butterbeer but Firewhiskey. She dropped the goblet, which disappeared rolling into the darkness.

'Disgusting!' she shrieked, feeling her throat burning.

'Come on, let's look for your goblet,' said Ron, chuckling; leaving his own goblet, they trotted down the slope that came out of the canopy.

'Mind that step!' Ron shouted, since he knew the orchard by hand.

Too late. Hermione staggered behind him in the uneven yard and fell in Ron's quick arms. Their weight together was too much for the unsteady position he was in after catching her. Ron's back was prevented from hitting the hard ground by a fortunate bed of shamrocks.

'Ron... I'm really sorry, Ron, are you all right?' she asked, lifting her head from his chest to check on his face.

'Yeah... You?' he replied, struggling to catch some air.

His arms were around her waist, and beneath the soft fabric he could feel her fast breathing.

Hermione found his eyes. Her head felt light and dizzy, but she knew she could not be drunk. She wondered what would happen if she kissed him right there. Why doesn't he kiss me? Neither of them said a word.

Sighing, Hermione rolled over to lie next to Ron on the soft shamrocks.

'It's too complicated, isn't it?' Ron mumbled, gloomily. 'Why? '

'Because we aren't sure. It could be a fleeting thing.'

'To me it's been coming for...'

'I know.'

Silence.

'Because we are going away with Harry. If we screw it, it would be harder than...'

'I don't want to screw it.'

'We already have, a little. What will happen tomorrow?'

'We're drunk. This night... this part of the night could have never happened.'

'Good.' Hermione turned to face him and put a hand on his chest. 'Because first I'd like to know how harder this will be.'

Ron gave no reply. He already had the answer; they both had it. Way too hard.

He looked at the starry summer sky. The canopy was barely visible from their spot.

'Is that Europa, the one covered in mice?'

'Ice. No, it's not.'

They forgot about the missing goblet.

The attic room looked nothing like it had for the past years. For once, Ron thought it did not belong to him anymore. All the empty candy wrappers that usually littered the floor were vanished; his text books were neatly piled on his desk; his wardrobe was tidy, with few clothing items in it. The only things that were Ron's bed and the camp bed Harry usually slept on.

Harry was already getting dressed when Ron opened his eyes.

'We have to leave as soon as possible, we've delayed it for too long,' Harry said, throwing Ron's clothes to him.

'Mhm. I've got a terrible head ache, though.'

'A hang over?' asked Harry, surprised. 'That's what you were doing last night, drinking?'

'Dunno, I don't wanna talk about it now, mind you?' grumbled Ron, pulling on a pair of jeans.

Harry smirked to himself and turned his back to him before asking, 'Why, anything happened between you and—?'

'It's too complicated'

'I'd like to know how harder this will be.'

'No, Potter, nothing happened between me and nobody,' he replied, trying not to show any sign of bitterness.

He wished he would not run into her for at least a couple of hours, that he would not have to look her in the eye as if nothing had happened, or that they had been truly drunk, so they would not remember, like he did. However, it was an unfortunate day to ask for those things to happen.

Hermione knocked at the door and entered while they were taking a sweeping look around the bedroom.

'Are you ready yet?' she asked nervously, avoiding looking at Ron. 'Your dad is waiting for us downstairs. He's been really careful to avoid waking up your mother, so we must hurry up.'

Mr. Weasley looked at them with a concerned visage as the three climbed down the crooked staircase.

'Kids... I guess I should not call you kids anymore, should I?' He gave them a gloomy smile. 'It seems I cannot stop you. But I will plead you to take care and to look after each other.'

He stepped closer to Ron, looking him in the eye, blue with blue.

'I'm very proud of you. Please come back and...'

Ron simply hugged him, feeling a big knot in his throat. He could not say he would come back; he had no way of knowing.

'Remember to get the Ghoul down—'

'Yes, and tell your mother. She will probably yell at me for a couple of days,' he said, now smiling to himself. 'Grimmauld Place should be safe. Don't fear the jinxes yourselves. You know the location, so you'll be the next Guardians. If anything is wrong—'

'We'll manage, Mr. Weasley, don't worry,' Harry told him. 'Thank you... for everything.'

He, as Ron, and Hermione, did not want to realise that that could be the last time they stood at the Burrow, a place he had grown to love as his home, after Hogwarts.

Since Ron was not able to say another word, Harry murmured, 'Goodbye,' and the three of them left the house, a promisingly warm summer day already beating in the dark yard.

After an extensive revision of the grimy house of the Blacks, which revealed them it had been previously revised, they were lounging on the sofas of the first floor, their stomachs full of Mrs Weasley's delicious food, when a silver weasel became solid in front of their eyes. Speaking with Arthur Weasley's rushed voice, it said, 'The Ministry has fallen. Family's safe, but we're being watched. Do not reply.'

Hermione, who had gasped, was now approaching Ron, who looked bewildered.

'Ron...'

'Mate, I'm sorry,' Harry told him, still trying to understand what Mr Weasley had said. The Ministry has fallen... But how? When?

'We... we need to find those Horcruxes,' Ron replied, a couple of seconds later, his voice a little hoarse. 'Let's find out what happened to the Ministry so we can make a...'

'A plan, right,' Hermione agreed.

Nevertheless, they thought it was wiser to wait for the next day. Then there might be more information about what had happened, and also because they were probably being frantically searched for. Because of that, they went to sleep early; none of them felt like eating.

Hermione had a terrible night. She finally sat up on the bed, in that dark, damp-smelling room, and made her way downstairs.

She found Ron in the basement kitchen, having a glass of water.

'How are you?'

'Good. Just having...' He raised the glass. 'You, all right?'

'Yes... Ron...' She sat at the table and beckoned at him. 'I wasn't drunk last night.'

Ron merely looked at her, not knowing what to say.

'Me neither.'

Hermione looked expectant at him and snapped her tongue at last, frustrated.

'What? What do you want me to say, Hermione?' Ron replied, exasperating. 'That I didn't mean anything of what almost happened?'

'No. That you did mean it.'

Ron turned to her rather startled; but she was not looking at him, she was instead playing with her wand.

'Will that change anything?' he mumbled.

'It will make me feel less...' Less what? Less stupid? Less hopeless? Less lonely? All of that together, Hermione thought. She let out an angry sigh. 'It will make a difference.'

'How?' Ron's tone was of tired.

Hermione had thought this through, trying to convince herself, since before the wedding. A relationship could never survive under those circumstances, and they could not take the liberty to break up in a bad way and end up shattered or ruining their mission. It was too late for a real chance. She pressed the palms of her hands against her eyes so she would avoid crying and looking at him.

'I don't know... What if we... we take it slowly? Perhaps, if this means nothing, if it doesn't work... we can stop it before we ruin everything.'

I don't want to screw it, Ron recalled himself saying. He did not want to. A nod was all he gave as response.

Hermione gave him a little smile, trying to hide any sadness. He was probably too concerned about his family, too imbibed with some many other things, that this might seem trivial now, almost unimportant. Too late for a real chance.

She reached for his hand to give it a little squeeze, then stood up and started making breakfast. He wished he had said something else.

After the two of them and Harry ate, Ron insisted to be the one who went out to search for a newspaper and have a look at the Ministry workers' reactions to the downfall, since he knew where the official entrance was.

He came back with that day's Daily Prophet, which he stole from a nervous wizard. Harry and Hermione seemed eager to talk to him, but they let him speak first.

'Scrimgeour is dead,' he said, catching his breath and throwing the newspaper on the table. 'They must've tortured him; I don't think they'd spare him just like that, but I reckon he didn't give you away. It says they've raided every house connected to the Order for you, though...'

Ron sat at the table and caught Hermione widening her eyes in horror when they reached the middle of the page.

'Oh yeah, and you're the most wanted person now, officially,' he added, with a gloomy grin.

'"...for questioning about the death of Albus Dumbledore"?' Harry read, outrage trembling in his voice. 'What is that supposed to mean?'

'Well, of course, Harry! They need an excuse for the rest of the wizarding world. They can't openly say that You-Know-Who is after you!' Hermione replied, angry as well. 'But who is this Pius Thicknesse?'

'Auror. He's the one who wanted to connect my uncle's house with the Floo Network. Mad-Eye said he was actually trapping me in.'

'This looks bad.'

'And... we're being watched,' Ron said. 'Snape probably told them about the house—'

'We know, we saw them. They didn't see you, did they?'

'No, they don't seem to know we're actually in here, they're just keeping an eye out.'

They said nothing for a moment, taking in the news, until Ron spoke again.

'Did you two find anything here?'

'Yes!' Harry exclaimed of a sudden, his evaporated excitement returning. 'We've found R.A.B.'

And they filled him in with the little they knew about Regulus Arcturus Black, Sirius' brother.

'We should ask Kreacher,' Hermione suggested. They did. What the elf told them left them cold and shocked. In the end, Ron finally understood what Hermione meant about oppression. They also found that Mundungus Fletcher had nicked the real locket, and Harry, presenting the elf with his master's locket, sent a totally changed Kreacher to find the old thief.

With their hopes renewed, they ate discussing what the Daily Prophet said, and when they finished, Harry set on pacing up and down the house, while Hermione and Ron cleaned the table.

'I didn't want you to go this morning,' Hermione let out, as she washed the dishes.

'Somebody had to,' he replied quietly.

'What if you were caught?'

'You don't think I'm capable of—' started Ron, already frowning. He hated when she showed surprise at what he could do; it made his blood boil. But before he could get upset, she retorted, as if she was reading his mind.

'I'm just saying it was too dangerous.'

'Dangerous is something we've got to get used to, Hermione. We're on a mission to bring You-Know-Who down.'

'I know that!' she snapped.

'Well, then?'

'Nothing.'

Ron examined her as he handed her the goblets.

'Are you insinuating you should have gone instead?'

'Well, that would have made much more sense.'

'Are you mental?' Ron asked, raising his eyebrows. 'How on earth would that make sense at all?'

Hermione looked back at him with her eyes full of reproach. If he could not see it, she would not tell him. It was not part of their agreement that morning.

'Never mind, I am mental,' she replied, picking up The Tales of Beedle the Bard.

That afternoon, the number of watchers outside Grimmauld Place increased. There were six cloaked wizards by the time shadows covered the small square.

'For goodness' sake, Ron, will you stop it?' Hermione cried when the lights went out for the fifth time: Ron, with nothing to do, was examining the Deluminator Dumbledore had left him.

'Sorry! I don't realize!'

'Pay attention, then!'

Harry, sensing a new row, left the room. Ron looked puzzled at the doorway.

'What?'

'We pissed him off, you fool!' Hermione hissed. 'And also... he thought Kreacher would be back by now...'

Hermione was no longer in the mood for a row.

'Come on... do you want me to read out loud?'

'I know all of those stories by heart, Hermione,' Ron replied, although he didn't want to start a row either. He sat beside her on the sofa. 'Which one are you reading?'

'The Fountain of Fair Fortune,' Hermione answered, and smiling to herself, she began reading. When she finished and looked up, Ron was fast asleep. Slightly amused, she prodded him on the shoulder, causing him to fall on her lap with a soft snore. Making up her mind against waking him up, Hermione stared at him; his ears red from the heat of the room; his hair, a messy mop of red; the freckles of his arms standing against the pale skin.

She leant over him, resting her head somewhere close to his waist, and closed her eyes.

The path to our fountain, she thought with sarcasm.