Chapter 7: Fidelius Reversa
"I'm sorry, I — I've — I've said too much," Ron rasped past the burning lump high in his throat, blinking hard. Bugger. Bugger McBuggerson. Merlin effing dammit. He had to get out of there, and fast.
"Ron, wait." Hermione had risen to her feet. "Don't go—"
He paused, his hand on the door handle, and looked back at her, making the briefest eye contact possible. "'M'allright," he mumbled softly with a half nod and a small, watery grin, willing the tears not to fall, though he wasn't sure how long he could keep it up. The look on his face told her everything she needed to know. He was sorry. He needed time to collect himself. He'd be back. She nodded her understanding and he exited in a flash, striding purposefully into the hallway, though he had no bloody idea where he was really headed. All he knew was he needed a private space and he needed it immediately. He ignored the stares of Healers and orderlies shuffling past him and headed instinctively toward the lobby, remembering that he had spied a rather quiet-looking walled-in garden just beyond as they had entered the building earlier. If he was lucky, no one would be there.
Indeed, no one was.
Sinking down to sit along the rim of a giant stone fountain at the center of this small green oasis, Ron thanked the gods for the rushing water, which muffled the sound of the embarrassing sobs that soon racked his body. He knew, if circumstances were different, Hermione would be there with him at that moment, attempting to comfort him — but, in a weird way, he was glad she wasn't, that the conversation with her parents forced her to stay right where she was, in their hospital room. He needed to let this out, and her presence might only cause him to try to bottle it up.
Oh gods … bloody hell … Fred. *Fred.* Leaning forward and resting his palms on the wide marble wall of the fountain, Ron pressed his eyelids shut tightly, not knowing where the tears had come from exactly, and not knowing how long they would remain.
He hadn't seen it coming, this wave of grief. One minute, he was speaking — erm, rather loudly — to Hermione's Dad, and the next minute, he was choking, barely able to form words, as the full force of his feelings slammed into him, sending him silently reeling.
Mr. Granger's confusion, shock and anger had been quite understandable, of course, and Ron had been prepared for it. He'd been preparing himself for it, actually, from the moment he and Hermione boarded the aeroplane at Heathrow and took off toward Australia, Ron gripping his armrests nervously most of the way as the British Airways 747 lumbered down the runway and then — improbably to Ron's mind, at least — sailed into the air. He and Hermione had had a lot of time to talk, the two of them, during the flight — that is, when Ron wasn't distracted by the occasional jolt of turbulence — and Ron found that his main challenge was twofold: to convince Hermione that she, with the Healers' help, could set her parents' minds to right again and that, once she did so, they would forgive her, at least eventually.
He was right about the first part.
Ron didn't think he'd ever get used to the way people — complete strangers — tended to behave whenever he, Harry or Hermione showed up anywhere even so many weeks after the war. The gasps, the slack-jawed stares, the open-mouthed smiles … that seemed to be the pattern back home in Britain, but Ron wasn't expecting it here, in Australia. And yet, even the clinic staff wasn't immune. While none of them had gone so far as to ask for an autograph, their excitement over meeting two of The Golden Trio was evident, and when they arrived, Ron and Hermione had found themselves on the receiving end of the royal treatment, whisked into the building by a team of Aurors and escorted through hallways lined with awestruck clinic workers, to be brought into the private office of the Oenpelli Clinic's Senior Healer, a rather aristocratic, white-haired chap named Ponsonby Britt, who seemed only too eager to handle the mysterious case of the Wilkinses-cum-Grangers personally.
"I would like you to meet to the two specialists we have brought in to diagnose and treat your parents, Miss Granger," Britt had said with a small bow. "First, allow me to introduce Wilhelmina Ford. She is the Undersecretary for Magical Health within the administration of Fergus Quinlan, our Minister of Magic. As such, she is the highest-ranking Healer within Australia, and she has examined Mr. and Mrs. Wilkins — er, Granger — thoroughly and has been deeply involved in their treatment since they arrived here at the clinic."
A strikingly tall, auburn haired woman in a white lab coat and horn-rimmed glasses stepped forward and nodded serenely at Hermione, then at Ron. "Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley, it is an honor to meet you and to be of assistance," she said warmly.
"And this," Britt added, gesturing toward a petite woman with luminous skin the color of polished mahogany and a blindingly white smile, "is Adina Dalabon, our Auror Division's top code-breaker. She has been consulting on the case since Day One. We called her in because of her unparalleled skill in reading auras and decoding complex psychic charms and spellwork — talents that come in right handy in wizarding diagnostics."
The small woman — even shorter than Hermione — stepped forward and clasped Hermione's hands in both of her own, grinning brilliantly. "We will set your parents right, Miss Granger," she said in a voice with the slightly sing-song lilt to it that Ron was beginning to notice was typical of the Australians he'd met thus far, and he liked it very much. "They're very strong and very healthy and I know, now that you are with us to guide our work, that we will have their memories restored in very short order."
Hermione had sniffled at that, and Ron wrapped an arm reassuringly around her shoulders. "We've got the very best people on the case, love," he murmured soft and low in her ear. She nodded swiftly, attempting to stifle the tears that threatened to flow. Ron clasped her elbow with his free hand in response and stroked it gently. "It'll be all right, Mione."
Hermione gave him a tight smile then turned her eyes toward Adina, squeezed her hands gently. "Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you so much for helping me. For helping us."
"It is our privilege to do so," Healer Ford chimed in softly, moving closer to stand beside Adina. "After everything you and Mr. Weasley and Mr. Potter have done … well, we are all more grateful than we can say, Miss Granger. Words are inadequate to convey just how much."
Ron looked up to find, to his surprise, that Wilhelmina was sincerely choked up, blinking back tears of her own. Blimey.
Britt cleared his throat. "Perhaps we should all sit down and we can familiarize Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley with what we have observed and determined thus far," he said, taking a step toward a sofa and a cluster of chairs at the far end of his office, arranged in the light of a bank of floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the green and scenic grounds outside the clinic. Everyone followed his lead. Ron and Hermione settled closely together on the sofa, while the others arranged themselves on the remaining armchairs.
Wilhelmina Accioed a large file folder from Britt's desk and flipped it open on her lap, adjusting her glasses as she shuffled through several sheafs of parchment. Ron cast a sideways glance at Hermione and saw that her face had grown pale. He draped his arm about her shoulders and pulled her closer to him, and was gratified to feel her lean against his side, taking comfort in his closeness despite the onlookers.
"When the British Ministry made contact with us and informed us that the Wilkinses were indeed your parents, Miss Granger, I joined the treatment team and immediately reviewed their case file," Wilhelmina continued. "Your parents were fairly disoriented when they arrived here at the clinic, I"m sorry to say," she added as she settled on the parchment she was looking for. "They were quite confused about their identities. The Healers on duty at the time reported that they thought their name was Wilkins, but they seemed to have a memory of a daughter — a daughter who was in some sort of trouble, though they didn't understand quite what sort it was."
Wilhelmina straightened the papers in her lap a bit as she sought a way to explain further.
"The Wilkinses didn't know their daughter's name, but they each had a mental picture of her," she said. "That is apparently what prompted their co-workers at the dental practice to seek medical care for them. One day they were quite themselves — the next, they were unable to function, confused, quite distressed, and insisting on finding a daughter that no one was aware even existed."
Hermione shuddered and reached for Ron's hand, pulling it into her lap.
Adina leaned forward and placed a comforting hand on Hermione's knee. "It would seem, Miss Granger, that your spellwork held quite beautifully for many, many months. I have done thorough corporeal scans on your parents, and I must say I am duly impressed by the complexity of the magic you performed. The confusion they recently experienced … well, our theory is that it was brought about by a profound disruption in the magic — the kind you couldn't possibly have foreseen."
Hermione sniffled and shook her head. "But I *should* have considered … I thought I had planned for every possible contingency," she said breathlessly. "I'll never forgive myself if…if…
"Shhh," Ron said as reached for his wand and Conjured a handkerchief for her. "Hermione, love, I've said it before and I'll say it again. You did what you had to do to save—"
"No, Ron! I can't let myself off the hook that easily," Hermione snapped, squeezing the handkerchief in her fist. "My parents are incapacitated and it's *my fault,*" she wailed, pounding her chest with her fist for emphasis.
"Miss Granger," said Britt, who had risen from his seat and, much to Ron's surprise, had lowered himself on one knee before Hermione, taking her hands in his and speaking to her a gentle voice. "Miss Granger, it won't do to blame yourself. I suspect that Mr. Weasley was going to say that your actions saved your parents' lives, and I have little doubt that much is true."
Hermione, by this time, was struggling to rein in her tears, and failing miserably. She nodded through her sobs, though, and Britt continued. "Now, now. Adina here has been able to detect the broad outlines of your spellwork, Miss Granger. She tells us that you used a highly modified Memoria Falsus charm, and that you set up a third party — yourself, I presume — as Secret Keeper. Is she right about that?"
Hermione nodded, feeling calmer now that the conversation had turned to the mechanics of her sorcery.
"Very good," Britt continued. "That will help us tremendously. What would be even more helpful is to know what could possibly have happened to disrupt the connection between you, as Secret Keeper, and your parents. If we could decipher that aspect of the problem, we could reverse engineer the spell and lift the charms without damage."
Ron, who had been listening intently while rubbing Hermione's back soothingly, gasped with a sudden realization. "Hang on," he said slowly, brow furrowed. "When exactly were the Wilkinses — erm, the *Grangers* — brought to the asylum again?"
Wilhelmina shuffled the papers in her lap again, seeking the date. "It should be right here," she muttered to herself. "Oh yes — the 22nd of March," she answered. "Is that date significant?"
Ron gulped and turned to Hermione, who was looking up at him wide-eyed. "Do you think?" she whispered.
Ron took a deep breath and tried the idea on for size. He wasn't sure — at least not in his head — but something deeper than that told him his hunch was correct. Yes. The more he thought about it, the more right it seemed.
He nodded slightly to her. "Do you want to tell them, or should I?"
She tilted her head and looked down at her hands, still clutched in Healer Britt's.
Ron cleared his throat and turned to Britt. "Perhaps you'd better sit back down, sir."
Britt gave Hermione's hands a gentle squeeze before rising and returning to his seat. Ron, meanwhile, picked up where Britt left off, taking Hermione's hand in his while wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She leaned in toward him again, happy to know she could rely on him to give voice to things she still could not.
Ron took a moment to collect himself, gulping past the tightness in his throat. He leveled his gaze first at Britt, then at Wilhelmina, and finally settled on Adina, who looked back at him with a small, sympathetic smile. At her nod, he began.
"Hermione was," he croaked, then swallowed hard. "Hermione was tortured," he continued in a stronger, clearer tone, sitting up a bit straighter. He willed himself to take another deep, steadying breath. "She was Crucioed. Not once. Not twice. Over and over again. And in between Crucios, she was beaten," he added, stifling a sob. He took another breath and continued. "It happened in late March. I didn't know what day it was at the time it happened — I was there, but we'd been on the road for so long. Tracking down Voldemort wasn't the sort of activity that required you to look at the calendar much. But since the war ended, Harry Potter and I have been meeting with a bunch of blokes in the British Ministry's Justice Department, piecing together the sequence of events … sort of a working timeline … so they can prosecute the Death Eaters that they've caught and hopefully the ones who are still at large. And based on all that, I reckon what happened to Hermione … the Crucios … 22 March fits the timeframe."
Adina's eyes were watering at this point. A stunned silence had fallen over the room, broken only by the distant, muffled sound of Britt's staff going about their business in the anteroom just outside his office doors.
"Crucio," Wilhelmina finally breathed with a slight shake of her head. "Do you recall … can you … estimate how many?"
Ron tipped his head down to look at Hermione, who had been staring intently at his hand, which was pressed tightly between hers in her lap. "I lost count at eleven," Ron said softly, wincing at their companions' audible gasps.
Hermione straightened up at this and faced the group. "The Healers at St. Mungo's say they found scarring consistent with 17 Crucios," she said firmly, her chin raised at a defiant angle. Ron's heart warmed at the sight.
"Seventeen Crucios," Britt said, his brow furrowed as he ran through the possibilities in his head. "Dear lord. And yet, Merlin bless me, Miss Granger, but you seem … you are …"
"Fully, functionally intact. No mental impairment whatsoever," Hermione replied firmly. "That was the finding of the chief neuromedicus specialist at St. Mungo's."
"Forgive my astonishment, my dear," Britt said. "It's just that, I daresay none of us have known anyone who has withstood so many Crucios and lived to tell the tale." Wilhelmina and Adina nodded and murmured their agreement.
"You've never known Hermione Jean Granger," said Ron. Hermione tilted her face up to him and her previous, mutinous look melted into a wan smile. Ron smiled back, thanking the universe once again — as he seemed to do many times a day — that she was still alive, was still Hermione, and was his. "So," he said, sobering up after a moment's pause, "the point is, you said something must have seriously disrupted Hermione's magic. I reckon being Crucioed … well, seems to me that might have done it."
Adina touched her finger to her lips, thinking over Ron's idea. "Hmm," she said, turning to Wilhelmina. "It's uncharted territory, to an extent, but I have certainly read of cases where the Fidelius was disrupted."
"Indeed. It's been known to happen," Wilhelmina replied.
"The electrical currents summoned by the Crucio might explain the short-circuiting, if you will, of the Grangers' memories," Britt added. "Yes. It does stand to reason."
Hermione leaned forward, as if struck by a fresh insight. Her eyes shone with the same excitement of discovery that had lit her face so many times before at Hogwarts and on the Horcrux hunt. Ron marveled at how long it had been since he'd seen that light in her eyes, and his heart thumped in his chest at the sight of it. "That's precisely what happened," Hermione said breathlessly. "The person who … who tortured me, she told me that my parents were dead. She and some of her comrades had seen to it personally — or so she claimed. She said they'd tracked them down and killed them. Obviously, that was a lie, but she was so convincing. I believed it. Under other circumstances, I might not have, but I was in such pain … I can't explain it, but her lie rang true to me. My belief that they were dead — combined with the electro-neuronic effects of the Crucio itself — could have eroded the Intentional sequence of the Fidelius, could it not?"
Britt rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "It very well could. It very well could have done, my dear."
"So if I reverse engineer the Fidelius," Hermione continued, "in other words, if I reinstall it, as it were, and then undo it using the standard Fidelius Reversa—"
"Yes," said Wilhelmina, her face warming with a smile to match Hermione's. "Yes, that just might work."
As Hermione and the specialists discussed the possibilities, a theory emerged — that the Fidelius bond between Hermione and her parents frayed, as it were, under the stress of the repeated Crucio exposure, thus opening Hermione's parents' minds at least partially to the memory of their former life. Adina went so far as to speculate that the Grangers may have experienced a small share of the Crucio themselves, given the blood connection between the three of them. "It wouldn't be unprecedented," she mused.
"So, my parents would have felt the pain of the Crucio?" Hermione asked, her voice wobbling.
"Oh no, I very much doubt they would have felt the full force of it, Miss Granger," Adina said reassuringly. "It might have been a bit of discomfort, if at all, merely a faint trace of what you went through yourself."
Hermione let out a breath. "Thank goodness."
"Would you care to see them?" Britt asked.
Hermione nodded before she had a moment to think — but then, she seemed to hesitate.
"Are they — do you think it would be jarring for them to see me?"
"We have them under several layers of Calming spells at the moment," Wilhelmina said, rising to her feet. "Come."
And there they had been, the Grangers, laid out in semi-darkness on one large hospital-style bed, side by side, in a spacious and immaculate room. To Ron's eyes, the Grangers looked as they always had seemed to him — Eleanor, graced with the same creamy complexion and delicate features as Hermione's, wearing a kindly expression, and Hugh with a shock of curly dark hair, his face somehow radiating intelligence and wit even in sleep — and they also appeared to be rather comfortable, as if merely napping. Hermione's hand tensed in his, however, at the sight of them. Ron could see her thoughts written plainly on her pale, tense face: shock, guilt, worry but, most of all, love and longing. She hadn't seen her parents for roughly a year, and what a year it had been. He knew all she wanted was to throw herself into their arms and never let go. He hoped that would be possible soon.
He and Hermione both were surprised, however, at how speedily things progressed once Hermione, as Secret Keeper, was present and the Healers had a working theory about what had undone her parents' minds. Within a quarter of an hour, Wilhelmina, Adina and Britt had worked through a blaze of incantations, spells and counterjinxes, and then, the three of them were poised beside the Grangers' bed, wandtips joined, waiting for Hermione to do her bit. With Ron standing close by her side, Hermione raised her wand to theirs and, with a shaky but clear voice, uttered the modified incantation Britt had instructed her to use: "Fidelius Replenisho Reversa." Within moments, Eleanor's eyelids fluttered, then Hugh's. They may have fallen asleep as some strange blend of Wilkins and Granger, but when they awoke, they were the Grangers once more.
At first, there had been amazement, followed by tears as Hermione collapsed into her parents' arms. The elation of reconnection was soon replaced, however, by confusion and then displeasure as Eleanor and then Hugh slowly took in their surroundings and started asking questions about where they were and what had happened.
"Wait, what?" Hugh had bellowed, "we're in sodding Australia? What in blazes—"
"Hugh, please," Eleanor pleaded. "There must be an explanation—"
"Oh, there'd better be a damned good explanation," Hugh boomed.
Hermione, at this point, was curled up at her mother's side, weeping on her shoulder, as Hugh, with surprising vigor for a man just emerged from a Calming spell, paced the room hurriedly in his pyjamas. Ron attempted to stay out of Hugh's way while remaining as close by Hermione's side as he could possibly be — finally choosing to stand just next to the bedside in the far corner of the room.
Wilhelmina took it upon herself to explain the clinical side of the situation — that Hermione, seeking to protect Hugh and Eleanor from the danger of the coming war, had placed them under a powerful memory charm and sent them out of harm's way to Australia. And that the charm Hermione placed had come partially undone, resulting in their hospitalization. Britt supplied the political context, explaining that Hermione's actions were necessary as the British wizarding world had come under the grip of Voldemort — and that Harry, Ron and Hermione were tasked with bringing him down. They'd succeeded, and now were regarded as heroes throughout the global wizarding community.
Eleanor had been able to listen to most of this fabulous tale with only occasional expressions of alarm, holding Hermione tight to her side and running her hand protectively over her hair. Hugh had taken in as much information as he could, though he erupted with full-blown wrath at certain portions of the story — most especially the idea that three teenagers would be expected to do something as mad as defying a wizard universally regarded as the most dangerous who ever lived.
"And I'm sorry," he boomed, turning to face Hermione and Eleanor on the bed, as Britt, Wilhelmina and Adina looked on from nearer the doorway, "but I still can't understand how my own daughter, my own flesh and blood, could possibly have turned her magic on her parents! She tampered with our minds. Our minds! Our very identities! It's … it's …"
"Stop now, Hugh — don't! Don't say something you'll only regret later," Eleanor said.
"It's unforgivable is what it is!" Hugh shrieked. "Absolutely unforgivable. I don't care *what* the circumstances were. After everything we've done for our daughter, for her to betray our trust like that—"
"Now hold it right there," Ron shouted, his hands balled into fists at his side, his face reddened with fury. "That's enough."
Hugh turned to face Ron from across the room, incredulity and wrath written on his features. He looked almost amused, almost pleased to have a fresh target for his outrage — and one that Eleanor wasn't as likely to protect as Hermione. "I beg your pardon, but what are you even doing here, Ron Weasley?" Hugh spat. "How is this any of your business?"
"Hermione is my business," Ron answered in a lower, calmer tone. "You have a right to be angry. You have a right to be confused. You have a right to demand answers. I've let you go on and on, but when you say what Hermione has done is unforgivable, then you've gone too far. She's worried herself sick over that very idea — that you'd never forgive her. Merlin's beard, when I think how many times I told her she was bloody mental, that her parents loved her so much, they would forgive her no matter what … I didn't realize how wrong I was. I thought you were better than this."
"How dare you—"
"Hermione did what she did to protect you," Ron said, his voice rising, stepping forward. "And even if you never forgive her for it, I'll spend the rest of my life trying to convince her that what she did was right. You'd be dead if she hadn't sent you away — and there was no way you'd leave if you'd known the danger she was in."
He stopped to press the heels of his hands to his eyes, taking in a deep breath through his nostrils.
"Ron," Hermione whispered.
He shook his head and lowered his hands to his hips. "Actually, despite everything Hermione did to protect you, she eventually thought the two of you were dead," he said evenly, speaking directly into Hugh's face. "The person who tortured her — yes, *tortured* her — told her you'd been killed. Killed. Hermione has mourned you for weeks — no, months — now. *Mourned* you. We were all convinced you were gone, that the magic she tried had failed. But now I know how wrong I was to doubt Hermione's magic. Of course it worked. Of course you lived."
Hermione, by then, had shifted away from her mother and had risen to stand next to Ron, though he wouldn't look at her — he was still focused on Hugh.
"The war's over, and I'm bloody glad of it, don't get me wrong," Ron continued. "But we took our losses along the way, and we've had to bear a shit ton of grief, not only over losing you. Friends died. My brother died. And they're never coming back." He gulped and blinked hard. "Now you're here, and it's a bloody miracle. A bloody effing miracle. You don't realize how lucky you are. You should be celebrating. But no, you'd rather throw your tantrums and make your accusations, Hermione's feelings be damned. And while you've been raving away, I keep thinking of my brother, and … what I wouldn't give—"
Hermione had placed her hand on Ron's shoulder then, and her touch snapped him out of his thoughts and reminded him where he was — and whom he was speaking to.
"I'm sorry, I — I've — I've said too much," he sputtered, and that was when he had beat his retreat to the shelter of the garden. It was there, by the fountain, that Ron finally allowed himself to acknowledge how deeply he envied Hermione and her parents, as ridiculous as he knew it was to feel that way. She had believed her parents were lost — and, thank Merlin, she had been wrong. If only ... if only ... well, damn it, he could hardly even let himself think it. It was impossible, he knew. There would be no miraculous reunion with Fred. Fred was gone. Ron had seen him die, witnessed it with his own eyes. Still ... watching Hermione reunite with her parents ... and watching Hugh eff it up with his rants ... it was hard for Ron not to wish for things to be different, not to wish that he could somehow have Fred back again. Though he knew that the very idea was mental in the extreme.
The sound of throat-clearing over the whoosh of the fountain lifted him from his musings, and he straightened up to see Adina poised by the garden entrance. "Would you mind a bit of company?" she asked tentatively.
Ron shook his head and wiped his face with his sleeve, sniffing a few times and straightening up further, though the heat in his ears told him that his face was likely still aflame from embarrassment.
Adina seated herself on the fountain's ledge next to him, a small smile gracing her lips. "You are hurting," she said softly.
Ron nodded and couldn't help but chuckle at the simplicity of her statement. He ran his hand through his hair and looked into the waters of the fountain.
"I know your pain over your brother is very sharp right now. But the hurt I speak of runs deeper than just the loss of your brother, deeper than the sympathy you feel for Miss Granger, and even deeper than the pain of the war itself," Adina continued.
Startled, Ron shifted his eyes to Adina and felt strangely calmed by her sympathetic smile. "It is a very old, very deep hurt, one you have been carrying with you since you were quite small. I read auras, Mr. Weasley, and I see it there."
Ron shrugged.
"You are a much more powerful wizard than you realize, Mr. Weasley," she said. "It is written in your aura. Your power is innate, intuitive. You fail only when you doubt it. When you trust it, however, you are formidable. Overcoming that doubt — this is your challenge."
Ron pondered her words, and had to acknowledge that they made a certain sense. He'd thought about it off and on ever since he'd tripped upon the real purpose of the Deluminator. Something — he wasn't sure what — had told him what to do when that ball of light presented itself to him, and he noticed that there were many times since then when his gut was all the guidance he ever seemed to need. He smiled inwardly at the thought of it, but Adina had more to say.
"I was born with the ability to read auras, Mr. Weasley. It's a trait that runs in my family. Yours is a very deep, wonderfully rich indigo. Miss Granger's is a brilliant, clear, golden orange."
"Mmm," Ron hummed, trying to picture what Adina seemed to see.
"When the two of you were sitting next to one another on the sofa earlier, I couldn't help but admire the combination of colors, side-by-side," she said. "But then, something unusual happened. I've seen it before, but not very often."
Ron sat more fully upright, curious to know more.
"When the events of March 22nd came up, and as you described what happened on that horrible day, Mr. Weasley, your aura, well … it wrapped itself around Miss Granger, so that it enveloped both you and her. It's called an Aural Shield. Highly uncommon."
Ron shook his head slowly. He remembered wishing Hermione didn't have to relive the events of Malfoy Manor for this roomful of relative strangers. He remembered the feelings that stirred in him even just in the retelling — his horror over what Hermione had endured, his deep frustration that he had been powerless to protect her. "So … an Aural Shield … what does that mean?"
Adina laughed softly. "Only that you love Miss Granger very deeply, and that you'd be willing to die for her, though I suspect you already knew that," she added with a grin, and Ron felt his ears heat up uncomfortably. "It also happens to mean that she loves you that deeply as well, or her aura would never allow itself to be blanketed by yours. Auras normally remain adjacent to one another, rather than overlapping in such a way."
Ron couldn't help but smile at this. "I do love her, you know. Loved her for years." He would normally feel like a ponce for saying such a thing out loud, but Adina had a way of making him feel that such admissions were entirely all right with her.
"Hang on to that," Adina said.
"How is she — now, I mean," Ron asked. "I feel like a tit for stirring things up and then leaving her to clean it all up."
"You shouldn't," Adina said. "I do believe you said exactly the right thing. You acknowledged your own loss, and thereby put everything that the Grangers have gained into proper perspective. Miss Granger's father is much calmer now. They're talking. I think it will be all right. And that is very much thanks to you."
oooOOOooo
A/N — Readers of my first fic, "All In," will recognize Adina Dalabon from that story. I couldn't resist bringing her back for this one. I just sort of love her.
Here's something I wanted to share with you, dear readers, while I have your attention: The other day, I craved a good Romione read and started sifting through my gigantic archive of FFN favorites. I dug deep — way back to fics that were posted years before I had ever heard of FFN. And, in the process, I rediscovered a wonderful tale called "I Can't Talk About It" by a writer named Penny-in-the-sky. Penny's profile indicates that she is Swedish, and she joined FFN in 2002, though her account seems, sadly, to have been inactive for many, many years. Still, what she left behind for us Romione lovers is a real treasure — several awesome stories written with such skill that you would never guess she was writing in anything other than her native tongue. "I Can't Talk About It" is my favorite, hands-down, but all of her fics are worth checking out. So find Penny-in-the-sky and get busy, people!
But first, please review and, if you are so inclined, please share this story with your fellow Romione fans!
More soon …
Holly.
