A/N: I know I suck at getting things published consistently, but life has been weird and overwhelming lately. School is a lot, life is a lot, work is a lot (although I don't have to do much of that now). I'll try to publish as often as possible, but no promises and I'm so sorry.

Please remember to favorite, follow and review. I'll update when I can, and when you follow you'll always know when that happens.

*Disclaimer: I don't own anything belonging to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros, or other such companies charged with the ownership or part ownership of the Harry Potter Franchise. The ideas are all, or mostly, mine, more or less cannon, and try to remain faithful to the series itself.*

Another note: I changed the dream bit in the second chapter to mesh a little better with this one, since it wasn't exactly congruent and I had an idea that made it a little more visceral. I hope you enjoy this story as much as I enjoy writing it.

Chapter Four: Unforgivable

[Ten Months Ago]

In a dark alley, made darker by the eerie quality of the streetlights flickering just off the lane, Ronald Weasley slunk down it, though he was unseen by anyone in the near area. The disillusionment charm he'd set upon himself was sufficient enough to camouflage him against the tattooed and graffitied wall he'd pressed himself against. For one sinking moment, he wished he'd had the foresight to borrow Harry's invisibility cloak. He shrugged off his fear, then, skirting around the corner, gripped his wand tighter. There he was - Avery, hooded and speaking rapidly to another hooded man. Ron had his suspicions to whom it was, but he couldn't be sure without proof. Proof, he'd been shown, was the strongest indicator of undoubtable guilt. The proof of Avery's treachery, trickery, and fall back into the old ways was right in front of his eyes. He pressed up against the wall and aimed his wand, stunning spell formed on his lips.

A fog absorbed him, and something like a whisper etched itself into the inside of Ron's skull, telling him to do awful things. Was he going crazy? His heart hammered, the fog did not resolve. He could feel his body moving. Listen.There was the voice again. Do as I say.Ron shook his head; he couldn't tell if he was real anymore. You're an Auror at the ministry. Go to the ministry and kill the Minister, Kingsley Shacklebolt.Ron shook his head harder. DO IT.His hands shook, his whole body shook. He could feel hard ground beneath his feet, then beneath his knees and the heels of his hands. He pounded it with his fists. You worthless pain like Ron had never felt shot through him piece of and his ribs felt like they would split open garbage, you and he could feel something pushing his skull into the ground fucking blood-traitor how dare you call yourself a wizard DO AS I SAYbut Ron's skull was going to explode. It was going to burst like a blister and his brains would go everywhere and he couldn't care because at least it would end the pain that threatened to completely overtake him.

The Ministry's great golden gates were looming through the fog, but he didn't know how he got there. Ron couldn't control his body, couldn't control the thrashing that was going on inside him. He felt like he was being watched, eyes all over him, sweat pooling in his palms and running down the back of his head. He fell to the ground again, but something pulled him up, some invisible hand. His brain was almost certainly on fire. He could hear a voice - his own voice? - inside his head. It was screaming. He was screaming, sound pressed out from his chest and echoing through the open atrium, disappearing down the lifts and bouncing off the dark, marble walls. Running footsteps. The fog vanished but the struggling, the writhing didn't stop. Ron could feel his body moving, like a cavalcade of anger and hoarse voices; those footsteps from earlier had stopped. He could feel the eyes and he screamed louder. Hands reached out to touch him, and he grabbed them. Eyes, bright green, met his and they were all he could see.

"Kill me."

The uproar of the atrium burned in Hermione's ears. She sprinted down the hall which separated the fireplaces from the airy, high-ceilinged room where people clamored and shouted for attention and words were spoken but not addressed. Harry stood central, screaming in the face of the minister, Kingsley Shacklebolt.

"Why the HELL did you send him alone?!" said Harry. Hermione's hands shook as she pressed through the crowd - it didn't try to stop her, just opened up for her like a parting sea and even though she could barely breathe, she clutched at her sister-in-law desperately, hungrily, hoping for some sort of explanation, a justification for her clenched stomach and weak knees. But there was not. She knew that even as she stood with a heaving chest, watching Harry lose his temper more forcefully than perhaps in years.

"Weasley was perfectly capable of handling this on his own," replied Kingsley in his same, low voice.

"THE HELL HE WAS!" replied Harry in a bellow. He made a noise Hermione had never heard, somewhere between a groan and an agonized cry. She could hear his tears but couldn't see them. Some part of her didn't want to.

"He will be okay. He's at St. Mungo's right now." Kingsley spoke softly, despite Harry's yells.

"You didn't see him. You didn't hear his voice. You don't know, do you? He asked me to kill him. He screamed and thrashed and sent curses everywhere. He's locked up. YOU. DIDN'T SEE. HIM." Hermione had fallen to the ground now, hands shaking. She quaked and rocked and sobbed ruthlessly. Ginny tried to comfort her, rubbed slow circles into her back and shushed her softly. But there was no comfort in the touches Hermione received. They felt like pity, tore into her with anguish. She pounded the ground, she screamed, but her voice was not heard over the sounds of the others in the great and crowded hall. Ginny stood, reached out to Harry, but he yanked his arm away. "You don't get it, Minister. You don't get to throw people into things they're not ready for. Send people out there to catch the bastard who did this, send yourself, see if I fucking care."

Harry stormed down the corridor that faced the atrium and disappeared into one of the fireplaces, green flames swallowing him whole.

It was three full weeks before Hermione was allowed to see her husband face-to-face. She'd seen him through the window in his room - a room that looked a lot more like a cell. She'd seen him in her dreams, his smiling, happy face. As she walked into that room, she thought she would like nothing more than to never see him again. Her heart sank further than it had in the last three weeks when she sat across from him and he screamed at her the inadequacies he faced daily with her as his wife. She wanted to run away.

It was four months before she was allowed to bring him home without aides. Molly and Arthur had been by every day for the first three weeks, but once Ron started throwing things at them as they'd walked through their front door, Hermione had insisted it was safer for them to stay at home. Ginny came to check on him while Hermione was at work, just to say hello and try to keep him away from the windows. Harry could barely look at him. Hermione still wanted nothing more than to run away.

After about six months, Hermione thought they were in the clear. Ron had gone from bad to worse then began to smile and went to St Mungo's without much coercion. He had began to sleep in the same bed as her, Hermione only waking up once or twice in a night instead of hourly. The feeling of hopelessness was slipping away. She wanted less and less every day to escape.

Suddenly, as if waking from one nightmare into another, Hermione couldn't breathe. She could feel her lungs fighting to expand, lips spluttering and eyes bulging. She opened her eyes after a moment of panic, realizing she was no longer asleep, this was real, and the hands pressing into her throat were her husband's. Hermione groped desperately for her wand, which lay on her nightstand. Ron muttered with dark eyes boring into hers. A terrified look of comprehension overtook him as she groaned as loudly as she could, reaching farther than her arm could really stretch, and Ron rolled off of her. Hermione gulped in great, heaving breaths, and she staggered off the bed, sobbing and clutching her neck.

"Hermione," said Ron quietly. She shook her head and sobbed harder, the motion of it raking her throat painfully. She groaned again, falling to the floor as she grabbed her wand off her nightstand. "Hermione," said Ron again as he came around the other side of the bed, kneeling down next to her.

"N-no!" she moaned, scrabbling away from him. The door was slightly ajar and she slid through it, the feeling of the short shag carpet scraping against her legs as she went. "N-no."

"Please, I-" he reached out for her again.

"D-" Hermione sobbed harder, still moving as quickly away from him as she could. "Don't t-touch me." She stood, staring at him as he looked at her from the doorway of the bedroom with tears streaming down his face, shoulders curled into his chest as if he was wilting. "Stay in there. Don't come near me anymore." He nodded and moved back into the bedroom. Hermione flicked her wand and the door swung closed and the latch locked.

[Present]

Ron looked at his wife, who laid with her head in his lap, eyes closed. He could feel her tense energy, her jumpiness. He placed a hand in her hair to test his theory and was not surprised when he found her to start suddenly under his touch. She relaxed after a moment, opening her dark brown eyes and looking at him. They were alight with something mischievous he hadn't seen in so long.

"What?" he murmured. He looked around the empty living room of his parent's house, the light outside growing more orange as the sun rose. He couldn't remember what had convinced him to pull his wife out of their bed only to sit them in the living room. Perhaps the idea of being in a room which would fill with light from one side as the sun rose had piqued his interest. She shook her head but continued to look at him.

"I love you," she said softly. Ron's face broke into a grin so wide he could feel it in his scalp. He scratched her head and closed his eyes. A yelp came from upstairs and Ron could feel his heart thundering suddenly in his chest as footsteps came pounding down the stairs. Hermione gripped his arm as she turned sideways and sat up. Her nails in his skin grounded him and his breathing evened. Ginny was laughing as she came sprinting down the last set of stairs, her socked feet sliding a little as she hit the floor and rocketed into the kitchen, Harry chasing her.

"Harry Potter, if you're going to propose to me you can't-" yelled Ginny as she came to stop in front of Ron and Hermione, a smile spread wide over her soft features. "do it by ourselves, in my old bedroom in my parent's house." She shook a small black box at him and laughed with mirth as he lunged across to get it and she took some steps back, just out of his reach.

Other movements could be heard in the house as Ron relaxed back into his reclined position. "Why not?" asked Ron. "That's how I proposed to Hermione."

"Exactly!" said Ginny. "Lame." He stuck his tongue out at his sister, and she back at him. Mr and Mrs Weasley came down the stairs, both wrapped in dressing gowns. Ginny instinctively pulled down the hem of the long nightshirt she wore.

"It wasn't, it was sweet," said Hermione, laughing. She tucked her feet up and curled into Ron's side as Harry leapt over the couch and caught Ginny around the waist, yanking the box from her fingers.

"What-" said Mr Weasley through a yawn. "in Merlin's name is going on down here?"

"Nearly broke the stairs with that ruckus," said Mrs Weasley as she made her slow way towards the kitchen.

"I was trying-" panted Harry, holding Ginny in one arm as he attempted to shove the ring box back into his pocket, "to propose to your daughter in private." The two Weasley parents froze in their tracks and stared at Harry. "No luck," he said, shrugging. Ginny yanked away, red hair flying.

"Fine, Mr Potter, I will marry you." said Ginny defiantly. There was a stunned silence for a moment, then Mrs Weasley started sobbing incoherently and ran towards her daughter and Harry while Ron clapped and wolf-whistled from the couch.