Chapter 4: Early Morning Breakfast

Melvin Granger glanced over his broadsheet to the mantle clock ticking persistently away. His upper lip twitched as the minute hand settled over the twelve. He snapped his news sheet, hiding his face from his wife. It took all his effort to keep his right foot lying still across his left knee. It was a nervous habit he had, bouncing his foot, one he knew if his wife spotted, she would instantly recognise.

Jane kept herself busy by pacing the length of floor in front of the sitting room window. Every few seconds she would twist her hands painfully together, her eyes never leaving the stretch of walk leading to their front stoop.

School had let out over four hours ago and Ron had not yet made an appearance. Nor had he made a phone call or contacted them in any way to let them know where he was or what he was doing. Neither Granger would admit it, but they were both getting worried.

"This is all my fault." Jane collapsed suddenly onto a plump, burgundy ottoman. "I should have met him after school, made sure he knew his way home. He said he could do it alone but… he could be anywhere. What if he got on the wrong train, Melvin? Or lost his tube pass? Oh God." She clapped a hand over her mouth. "What if he got mugged?" Her right hand clutched tightly at the cushion beneath her, her knuckles turning white with the effort. "What if he's lying in a gutter, bleeding? What if…"

"Jane." The paper crumbled between Mel's hands. "That's enough. I'm sure Ron is fine. There must be a perfectly logical explanation for why he's late."

"But Mel…" Jane stopped at the sound of the front door opening. Her eyes jerked toward the hallway and she jumped up at the sight of Ron walking past the sitting room.

"Ron." She was across the room in an instant pulling the bewildered redhead through the arch and into her arms, smothering his face against her shoulder. "Thank God you're all right." Her fingers stroked his fiery hair almost lovingly. "We were so worried. You could have been anywhere." She pushed him slightly from her and clamped her hands on his cheeks in a distinctly maternal gesture. "Are you all right?"

Ron nodded, struck momentarily dumb by her bizarre reaction. "I'm…I'm fine."

"Where have you been? When you didn't return after school we thought - well, no matter what we thought. I'm just so glad that you are here and that you're safe."

"I'm sorry." His apology was muffled from the tight grip Jane still had on his face. "I didn't mean to make you worry," he assured her. "I was at football practice."

"Football?" Jane's hands fell away. "I didn't know you had any interest in football."

"I didn't." Ron's face darkened under her close scrutiny. "But Lottie thought I should give it a try so I…"

"Lottie?" Jane's left brow arched. "Who's Lottie?"

Ron shrugged indifferently. "Girl at school. Anyway, Lottie thought I should give it a try, seeing as I was the Keeper for Gryffindor and all, so I did. Coach wants me to come back tomorrow but he said I had better have my own boots and gear. But… but I don't know what that is and I don't think I have any."

Melvin coughed in the back of his throat. "We'll discuss that later." He refolded his newspaper and set it slowly on the small table at his side. He braced his elbows on the arms of the chair, bridged his fingers together and pinned Ron with a pointed look. "Ronald, I understand that you're seventeen and no longer used to checking in and answering to adults, but this is my house. And I expect certain considerations while you are here."

"Sir?"

"One," he held up a single finger, "if for any reason you are detained after school we insist that you call us and let us know why. It will save us the stress of worrying about you. Two," another finger joined the first, "I did tell you we expect you to help with household chores, did I not?"

"Yes sir," Ron nodded. "You did."

"What day do we do chores on?"

"Monday."

"And today is?"

"Monday," Ron said guiltily. "I'm sorry sir." His shoulders sagged forward. "I forgot. But I promise, it won't happen again."

"It's all right, Ron." Mel pushed to his feet and crossed the small gap that separated him from the teenager. He clapped him warmly on the shoulder. "We'll let it pass this time."

"You will?" Ron's head jerked up with surprise, his blue eyes wide with disbelief. "Really?"

"Yes," Mel nodded at his wife who beamed appreciatively at him. "I imagine you forgot with the excitement of making the football team."

"Yeah," a timid grin spread across his lips, "I did. I never knew Muggle sports could be so much fun. But sir," the smile began to fade, "I don't know how to play football."

"You don't know how to play football?" Melvin repeated.

"No sir. I don't. Logan asked me to try out and Lottie told him I would and there wasn't time for her to explain how it's played, and now I don't think she'll talk to me and…"

"But you still made the team?"

Ron nodded, mouth left agape. "Yes sir."

"What position?"

"Keep… I mean, goalie."

"Hmmm…" Melvin's pose relaxed as the familiar flicker of interest Ron had seen so many times on Hermione's face appeared on his. "Hermione explained Quidditch to me once. It was that summer she joined your family for the World Cup. If I understand your Quidditch correctly, Keeper is very similar to goalie."

"It is, sir. That is why I can do it."

Melvin nodded agreeably. "I see. Well, as far as I'm concerned there's only one thing for it. Jane," he turned to his wife, "if it's all right with you, I think Ron and I need a night out, just the two of us. We can get you some boots, trackies, shirts, the whole lot. Then over dinner I can tell you what I know about the beautiful game. How does that sound?"

Ron stared dumbly at Mr Granger. That was it? No yelling? No lecture? No punishment for being late and missing chores? If this was how it was going to be every time he messed up he might not mind it here. "Yeah," he said, the uncertain smile returning to his lips. "Yeah, all right."

"Go upstairs and change out of your uniform. I want you back down here in ten minutes."

"Yes sir," Ron said excitedly, already making his way toward the steps.

"And Ron," the tall redhead stopped halfway up the staircase, "don't expect to sleep in on Saturday."

"Sorry?"

"I'm assuming now that you're on the football team you'll have practice every Monday after school. Am I right?"

"Yes."

"As I thought." Mel nodded. "Which is why we'll be moving Monday chores to Saturday morning."

It seemed for a moment that Ron would protest but he clamped his lips together instead. He nodded his head to show that he understood before turning to continue his journey. "Mr Granger." He turned back around.

"Yes Ron?" Both the Grangers joined him in the hall.

"I can't be here Saturday morning to do chores."

"I beg your pardon?" Mel's eyes widened with surprise.

"I can't be here," Ron repeated. "I have detention on Saturday morning."

"Oh Ron," Jane shook her head, covering her eyes with her hand. "You got detention on the first day of school?"

"It wasn't my fault." Ron protested indignantly. "Even Ms Masterson said so, and she gave it to me. Lottie was there, she can tell you. I was minding my own business when Nigel Kelly started in on me. I was doing all right until he asked me how "the Beaver" was and that's when I lost my temper. I just – I couldn't help myself."

"Nigel Kelly?" Mel's back straightened. "Don't tell me that emaciated idiot is still terrorising the other children."

"Ye-yes, sir," Ron stammered, not quite sure what emaciated meant, "he is."

"Did you let him have it?"

"Jane." Melvin rounded on his wife in surprise.

"Oh please, Mel. As if you weren't thinking the same thing. It's high time that degenerate got what was coming to him. And if Ron is the one that gave it we should be rewarding him, not punishing him."

"Jane, we should not be encouraging bad behaviour."

"Who's encouraging bad behaviour? Now Ronald," she turned her attention on the gap-mouthed teenager, "I have no qualms with you playing football. Melvin here," she patted her husband's chest affectionately, "used to be a fine player in his youth. It was one of the first things that attracted me to him. Skrade women have always had a soft spot for intelligent athletes. However, grades come first in this household. If playing football interferes with your schoolwork you'll have to drop the team. Understood?"

"Yes ma'am." Ron nodded agreeably.

"All right then," she waved him up the steps. "Go change your clothes. You and Mel have a lot of shopping to do."

Jane sighed contentedly and settled farther into her pillow, knees drawn up and a thick orthodontic journal across her thighs. She glanced up from the periodical at the sound of the door opening and greeted Mel with a smile when his face appeared in the doorway.

"Hello, love." She folded down the corner of her page and snapped it closed before setting it on her nightstand. "How'd it go?"

Mel closed the door and crossed the room in four broad steps, taking a seat at her hip. "Fine." He leaned in and captured her lips in an affectionate kiss.

Jane sighed into his mouth as her husbands weight pushed her further into the pillows, his arms wrapping around her waist. When he pulled away he brushed her hair gently off her face and stole another kiss. "We bought everything he could possibly need for football. He should be set for the season."

"That's good." She smoothed Mel's hair back into place and smiled sadly at the look in his eyes. "You like having another male in the house, don't you."

"I like having anyone in the house."

"Mel," she scolded softly, "you know what I meant. I know it bothers you that Hermione never showed any interest in sports."

"No, it doesn't. I'm glad Hermione cared more about her education than sports."

"Yes, but I know you always wanted a son you could talk sports with."

"I wouldn't trade Hermione for a hundred sons."

"And I never said you would."

Mel released his wife and rose to his feet. He turned toward the dresser and began the long process of unbuttoning his shirt. When the last button slid free of its hole he pulled the soft fabric off his frame and crumpled it in a ball before tossing it in the laundry hamper. "I like him, Jane." He unclasped his watch as he moved toward his dresser. "He's a good boy. Quiet. Respectful. Very different from the way Hermione described him."

"That was over five years ago. He was bound to change."

Mel sighed as he sank onto the foot of their bed. "It's not that, Jane." Mel shook his head. "He's not just quiet. He's guarded, unwilling to open himself. Tonight at dinner it took half an hour for me to get Ron comfortable enough to open up and have a real conversation with me."

"He's a teenage boy," Jane said with humour as she crawled across the bed, "and your daughter's best friend." She stopped directly behind him and settled her arms around him. She rested her chin on his shoulder and pressed a kiss to his neck. "Please don't tell me you expected it to be easy."

"No," he sighed, leaning his head back so his cheek rested against hers. "But it didn't stop me from hoping." His fingers twined with hers, securely holding her to him. "He didn't eat anything tonight. I doubt he took more then four mouthfuls at dinner."

"He didn't bring any lunch with him to school either."

Melvin shook his head completely mystified. "I'm worried about him. Hermione warned us he wasn't eating much lately, but this is ridiculous. It's not healthy for a boy his age not to eat."

"Hmmm…Perhaps his appetite will improve now that he's playing football."

"I hope you're right." Mel ran his finger back and forth the length of her arm from wrist to elbow. "It wasn't until we started talking about football that he finally began to open up. He was so eager to learn all I could teach him about the game."

"Well, that's good, isn't it? Maybe it will help him forget."

"Football isn't going to make him forget. It's not just going to magi…magically fix things."

"I know that." Jane whispered, uncomfortable with the silence that had fallen. "But maybe football will help make the transition easier. Maybe it will help him feel more at home, more like one of us."

"Maybe." He patted her hand affectionately.

"Mel," Jane let her lips graze the rim of his ear, "did Ron say anything about Lottie during dinner?"

Melvin turned his head to look at his wife, "No." He pressed a kiss to her cheek before removing her arms from around his neck. "And I didn't ask him about her either."

"Well, why not?"

"Because it's none of my business. Nor is it any or yours? Why do you want to know anyway?"

"He mentioned her so dismissively I felt she had to have made an impression on him."

Mel snorted with incredulity. "That doesn't make any sense."

"Of course it does. He mentioned her, didn't he?"

"Very, very briefly."

"But he took care to make it sound like it was no big deal which is a clear sign that it was a big deal. See?"

"No." He shook his head. "I don't see. That makes absolutely no sense."

"Of course it does. You just don't remember what it's like to be a teenager."

"Maybe, but at least I went through it as a boy."

Jane huffed with annoyance. "Would you stop being difficult?" She moved back on the bed where she pulled down the covers and plumped her pillow before climbing in.

"I'm not being difficult, I'm being right." He rose sharply to his feet and undid the front of his trousers.

"Yes, dear. Of course you are." She took up her journal once again and found the article she had been reading about a new cement created by an American orthodontist.

Mel silently replaced his trousers with pyjama bottoms before disappearing into the master bath. Five minutes later he returned, cheeks shiny and flushed from a gentle scrubbing and with his breath smelling like the mint toothpaste he used.

He tossed the throw pillows off the bed into a neat pile in the corner before climbing under the covers. He rolled over onto his side so that his back was facing Jane. After several minutes of lying there quietly, eyes closed, his breath purposefully regulated, he turned his head slightly so that he could just see Jane over his right shoulder. "You don't have to worry about him."

"What are you talking about, Melvin?" She slowly turned to the next article but Mel knew he had her full attention.

"I didn't ask Ron about Lottie, that's none of my business. But I did ask him about that detention he got today."

"He already told us he got into an argument with Nigel Kelly."

"Yes, he did, over Hermione more specifically. Apparently Nigel Kelly asked him what he had done that got him stuck living with "Beaver's" family. It sounded like the only thing that stopped Ron from pummelling him was Lottie jumping in the middle. The way Ron made it sound, Lottie is the little sister to one of the students he and Hermione went to school with."

"You mean she's a…a…a squid or…what does Hermione call people with no magic born from witches and wizards?"

"I don't know. Squid sounds about right. But that's not what she is. From what Ron said it sounded like Katie, the girl he went to school with, is like our Hermione. A witch born to Muggles."

"Well, that's nice for Ron." She slowly closed the cover of her journal. "I'm glad he found someone his own age he can talk to." She leaned over and flicked the switch that cast the room into darkness before dropping the journal on her nightstand. She turned over and nestled her body against Mel's back. She tucked her chin into his shoulder and inhaled his sent. It was a smell that normally soothed her, but tonight it didn't hold the same affect. She was worried. Mel's assurance had done very little to alleviate her fears. In fact, it might have made them worse.

Jane knew how her daughter felt about her red-haired friend. She hadn't moped around the house during all of the Christmas holidays because she suspected Harry fancied Ginny Weasley. No, her daughter had moped because of another Weasley entirely. A Weasley who had agreed to go to a teacher named Slug's party with her before ditching her for another girl. A girl he proceeded to snog in public every chance he could, simultaneously throwing Hermione's emotions into a state of permanent upheaval.

Last school year had been a very difficult one for Jane. She had come to the realisation that her daughter had come of age without her ever even realising that so much time had passed. And suddenly everything had become so complicated. Legally, in the wizarding world, which her daughter was now so deeply imbedded in, she was an adult and Jane no longer had any say in the events of her life. And yet, for most of the past year she had still been a seventeen-year-old girl. A girl who was lost and confused and hurt because of the callous actions of a boy she couldn't seem to get over, a boy whom she had now invited to stay in her very own home. Sometimes Jane couldn't help but feel that her daughter was very peculiar. Maybe it had something to do with being a witch. She didn't know.

When Hermione's letter had arrived asking if they would be willing to let Ron into their home and teach him the ins and outs of being a Muggle, she and Mel had discussed the situation at length. Mel and Hermione were very close, closer in some ways then she and Hermione had ever been. She knew first hand how strong the bond was between a father and his only daughter. But Jane knew that Hermione hadn't shared much of the past year with her father either.

Mel agreed immediately to let the boy stay but Jane hadn't. Ron had hurt Hermione and what was worse, he didn't even realise how many times and in how many ways he had. But in the end Jane had to give permission, no matter how reluctantly, because she couldn't betray her daughter's confidence and it was Hermione after all who had asked if he could stay. If her daughter was comfortable with Ron in the house, then she would try to be too.

Before he arrived Jane had feared she wouldn't be able to get over her ill feelings toward the boy, but the moment they picked him up at platform Nine and Three-Quarters her heart had melted and she had forgiven him his every fault. No wonder her daughter couldn't rent him from her life. He was too utterly adorable, endearing, and charming for his own good. And what was worse, the poor boy didn't even know it.

He leaned in close, pressing his nose up tight to the small book, rereading the final instructions for what must have been the hundredth time. The room was hot and steamy around him, hampering his vision with the white vapour. With his free hand he reached up and drew his sleeve across his brow, mopping up the sweat that had gathered there.

He watched his body move as though he was separate from it. He could see his hands reaching for bottles and dishes, roots and leaves. No, no, no. He screamed loudly but the words seemed to be trapped in his head. He watched helplessly as his hand stirred the mixture: three times clockwise, five times counter, three times clockwise, five times counter. The potion bubbled and fizzed in front of him. Large bubbles formed and burst on the surface, splattering his face with the hot liquid and singeing it. His right hand reached for one last bottle on the work surface. The final ingredient.

Slowly, his hand turned and the small black objects shifted closer to the mouth. Don't do it! he heard his voice scream in his head, pleading with himself to no avail. The bottle tipped further and the mass of black slid to the lip. A tremble of the hand and the first few specks fell into the cauldron. To his horror he watched his wrist turn all the way and the rest of the dots plunged into the foaming brew. His hand held the bottle for a moment longer then indifferently released it, letting it fall into the mist.

There was an almighty boom and Ron could feel the warmth of the explosion wisp past his face. This wasn't right. There wasn't supposed to be an explosion. Scrap it, Ron! Scrap it before it's too late!

His hand took up the ladle from the tabletop and dipped it beneath the surface of the magenta liquid. He watched the putrid fluid draw closer and closer to his lips and tried to turn his head away but he had no more control over his body's movements now than he had before.

The bowl of the ladle was resting on his bottom lip, waiting patiently for his lips to part and draw in the hot liquid.

'Ron, stop!' He could barely hear Hermione's voice shouting over his own. 'Don't drink it!'

'Put it down, mate! It's not worth it!' Harry's voice joined Hermione's. 'Just put it down!'

Ron struggled to pull the spoon away from his mouth but there was a sudden uncontrollable surge inside him that forced his lips open, his head back and the ladle to tip.

The hot liquid slid down his throat and into his belly, settling and cooling like a heavy river of lava. The sound of the ladle hitting the floor drew his eyes down. He couldn't remember releasing the handle. He looked uncertainly at his right hand and let out a scream of terror when he saw the table top through his translucent arm. The image faded further until there was nothing left, just a stump where his right hand had been.

Ron jerked into consciousness with a great gasp of air. He immediately patted his right arm from elbow to finger tip making certain that everything was there, down to the last fingernail. With a sigh of relief he collapsed back onto his pillow, his breath shaky and shallow. It was just a dream. A vivid, horrible dream, but a dream just the same.

He closed his eyes and took several calming breaths. This was ridiculous. Why was he so worked up about a dream? It was not as though he had deliberately sabotaged himself. He had been careful. He didn't know how he could have been more careful.

After several minutes of steady breathing his heartbeat returned to a normal. He rolled onto his side and reached for the digital clock that sat on his beside table. 3:48. He fell back on his pillow. This was going to be a long night.

Jane rolled over in her sleep and inhaled the sweet aroma of smoked sausage, the heavy sent of porridge and the musk of sliced melons. She sighed at the satisfying sent and buried her face further into her pillow. Three seconds later her eyes blinked open and scrunched with confusion. She hoisted herself up on her elbow and looked over her husband's body at the red glow that was her bedside clock.

"Mel." She nudged her sleeping husband in his chest with her elbow. "Mel, wake up."

"What?" He grunted, rubbing his ribs where she had jabbed him.

"Do you smell that?"

Melvin turned his head to look at his wife with an incredulous look. "Do I smell what?"

"Mel."

Knowing he would get no sleep until his wife got what she wanted, he inhaled deeply. "It smells like sausage," he took another deep breath "and something sweet."

"Is Ron making breakfast?"

"Smells like it." He yawned heavily as he turned over and snuggled his face back into his pillow.

"Mel." She shook his shoulder persistently. "Get up."

"Why?" he murmured, flipping over to look at his wife.

"Because it's 5:30 in the morning."

"And?"

"What is Ron doing up and cooking breakfast at 5:30 in the morning?"

"I don't know. Maybe he couldn't sleep."

"Melvin Herman Granger…"

"All right, all right." He groaned, bringing up his hand to cover the yawn that escaped his lips. "I'll go and talk to him."

"Thank you, sweetheart."

Mel grunted unhappily as he pushed the light sheet off his body and thrust his arms through the sleeves of his robes. Half an hour more of sleep, that's all he asked, just half an hour more.

His feet landed noiselessly on the carpeted steps as he descended to the main floor. He made his way down the hall, listening to the sound of cupboards and drawers opening. He pushed open the door to the kitchen, the soft swish it made on the floor announcing his presence to the young man.

"Hello, Mr Granger." Without looking up Ron continued to work the spoon through the gooey mixture contained in a large plastic bowl.

"Good morning, Ron." Mel moved farther into the room, scratching his sleep dishevelled hair. "How did you know it was me?"

Ron finally looked up. "You step heavier than Mrs Granger. Plus, she's more of a morning person then you. I heard you grumbling all the way down the hall."

"Fair enough. What are you doing?" He moved toward one of the chairs tucked neatly under the table, his gaze never leaving the pale boy with the bloodshot eyes.

"Making biscuits. It's my mum's recipe." He stopped a moment in his mixing to stare at the bowl. "I'm not sure I've got it right though…Maybe I should scratch it all together. Better safe then sorry." He took up the bowl and made for the bin.

"I'm sure the biscuits will be fine Ron. There's no need to bin the whole batch."

"Are you sure?" He looked uncertainly at the older man. "I wouldn't want to make anyone sick."

"Yes Ron, I'm sure. Even if they don't turn out all right this time you can always try them again. That's how we learn, through trial and error." Ron still looked uncertain. "If you don't at least bake one batch you'll never know if you have got it right."

Ron paused a moment longer before returning the bowl to the counter and taking up his spoon. "I reckon you're right."

"Ron." The young man looked up at the sound of his name. "What's the matter?"

The redhead shrugged uncommitted and tapped the spoon on the lip of the bowl. "It's time to knead the dough."

"Ronald, that's not what I meant. What are you doing up?"

"I thought you and Mrs Granger would like some breakfast," he said evasively.

"How long have you been awake?"

"I don't know." His shoulders popped up a moment covering his ears in a shrug. "Maybe two hours."

Mel nodded with understanding. "Bad dream?"

Ron rolled his eyes and snorted softly. "Mr Granger, I'm almost eighteen years old."

"You're never too old to have bad dreams? I myself still suffer from the occasional night terror." Ron frowned at Mel with disbelief. "No, it's true. The nine months Jane was pregnant with Hermione I couldn't sleep a wink."

"Really?" Ron looked almost hopefully at the older man. "Why not?"

"Because I was terrified we were going to lose her, too." Mel sighed sadly as he settled further down in his chair, crossing his hands softly over his slightly rounded stomach. "Jane and I," he explained, "have always wanted a large family. We were both only children and never wanted to subject our own child to that loneliness. Jane got pregnant three times before Hermione, and each one ended in a miscarriage."

"What's a miscarriage?"

"There are many kinds. For some the baby isn't forming right and the body rejects the foetus. In others something goes wrong. The baby might choke on its umbilical cord. In our case Jane went into labour too soon and the babies were all too young to survive."

"But can't your Muggle Doctors stop that?"

"Yes. Sometimes they can, but not always. That's why when we conceived Hermione we took no chances. Jane was monitored heavily by the best specialists. We took every precaution and preventive measure and in the end we had a perfect baby girl." Mel smiled warmly at the memory. "But for the entirety of Jane's pregnancy I would have dreams that she would go into premature labour and I would sleep right through losing the baby. It was my greatest fear. And now that this war has started in the wizarding world my nightmares have returned; only this time they're very different."

"You know about the war?"

"Of course I do. Jane and I have been getting the Daily Prophet for years. As informative as Hermione's letters are, we know when information is being kept from us." Mel looked knowingly at his daughter's friend. "I'm going to share something with you Ron. There is nothing more terrifying as a parent then realising that your daughter… that your child, is deliberately putting him or herself in danger and that there is nothing you can do to stop it. Right now the only comfort I have is that she is safely tucked away at school, but even that isn't much comfort anymore. My greatest fear now is that some morning we will receive a knock at the front door and it'll be some Ministry or School Official coming to tell us that our baby girl is dead."

Ron stood quietly for a moment. "Then how can you let her go?"

"It's hard." Mel swallowed past the hard lump in his throat. "But I let her go because she's an adult, in both of our worlds now. There is very little I can do. And…it's hard to say no when she's acting the way you raised her to." Mel swallowed again, trying to wet his tongue which had gone dry in his mouth. "I'm sorry to tell you this Ron, but bad dreams are just something you don't grow out of. They're a part of life and you have to learn to deal with them. So," he used his foot to push out the chair to his right, "why don't you tell me what yours was about?"

Ron looked at the proffered seat a moment before he turned back to his work and sprinkled flour on the counter before slamming the white mound of dough in the centre of it, throwing a cloud of powder into the air. "It was so stupid. Ridiculous. Whoever heard of a potion that could dissolve your arm?"

"You dreamt you took a potion that dissolved your arm?"

Ron pounded his fist into the soft mound. "First I made it, than I took it." He curled and unfurled the fingers of his right hand several times. "It was so…strange, watching my right hand disappear."

"I can see how that would be disturbing…What do you suppose it means?"

"What? Losing my arm? Hell if I know. It was just a dream."

"Maybe…but I'm not so sure. I read in a book once that dreams were our subconscious way of relaying something we are suppressing in our daily lives. Maybe your arm represents the loss of magic…"

"Or my wand." He whispered.

"Your wand?"

Ron nodded. "I don't like not having my wand. It's been a part of me since I was eleven years old. I don't feel whole without it."

"They took it away from you?"

"I don't know." Ron pounded his fists into the dough. "All I know is I had it with me before…but I never saw it after I woke up. Professor McGonagall seemed to think someone had removed it from the room but she has no idea what happened to it."

"Is that why you're here? Because you lost your wand?"

"No." He shook his head. "If that's all it was I would be back at school." Ron slowly rubbed the excess paste and powder from his fingers. "I would give anything to be back there."

Mel hummed thoughtfully. "And that explains why you're still awake."

"Yeah," Ron shrugged. "I reckon that's it."

"Is there more?"

"No…well, maybe… It's just…it's weird not having Harry to talk to, all right. We've been sharing a room, more or less, since we were eleven years old. I'm used to him being there to talk me down when I get worked up. I'm just used to being able to tell him things whenever I want and he wasn't there tonight. And…and I couldn't send Pig with a note because the stupid git was out hunting and… I had no one to talk to and…and I…I couldn't sleep."

"Do you think you could sleep now?"

"No. I've been up to long." Ron looked around the kitchen he had spent the last two hours tearing apart. "My mum always baked when she couldn't sleep. We always knew when something was bothering her because there were loads of sweets waiting for us in the morning. I thought maybe if it worked for Mum it would work for me. I suppose it didn't."

"It was a good thought, even if it didn't work. And look on the bright side, now Jane and I don't have to cook breakfast." Melvin rose to his feet and pushed his chair back under the table. "Look, Ron, I know I'm not Harry or Hermione, but I hope that you feel comfortable enough to come and talk to me when things are bothering you. That's why I'm here, to make your life easier. And I promise I won't say anything to Jane. What we've talked about will just be between you and me."

He gave Ron's shoulder a firm squeeze before moving toward the door. "Well, I reckon it's time to go get ready for work."

"Mr Granger,"

"Yes, Ron?" Mel turned in the doorway.

"Thank you." His cheeks dulled a dark red. "You know, for listening."

"Any time, son, any time."