Chapter 10: The Calm... Before It Rains.

'What?'

The question he gave back to her was simple enough but his tone of voice was laden with disbelief and pent-up fury in the long-drawn out vowels and the clipped, savage ending he gave to the letter t.

Hermione put her pen down and placed her hands in front of her, as if she was giving legal advice to a rather volatile client who needed to be handled with magical spell-arms from at least one hundred yards. However, Ron noticed she looked him straight in the eye and didn't falter.

'New evidence has been produced and new testimony taken: new witnesses have come forward. The new allegations against Piotrowski are considerably more serious than the first trial and, as a key witness to the closing stages of the Battle of Budapest, you are required to give another statement, at least, probably even testify and take the stand – ' She stopped. She'd noticed Ron's expression. His face had a slightly derisive look to it a few moments back when she'd started talking, despite the anger of his question's tone, but now it matched his voice.

'Bullshit!'

'Ron,' she began. 'You're expected to be in Paris as soon as practicable to give – '

'Utter bullshit! No! I gave a statement straight after the battle and then at the enquiry at headquarters in Zagreb before their military tribunal a month later. We all know what happened. Piotrowski was one of the best commanders the Coalition had but he continued the fight after the ceasefire signal had been up for five minutes; the whole bloody brigade saw it and that's when those Death Eaters died. Simple. He did a year in prison for deliberately disobeying orders and carrying the fight beyond the point of reasonable suffering as we call it. That's the end; that's all. Why the hell do they want this raked over again, for God' sake?' Ron's voice had not risen to its usual shout when he was angry, but he spoke vehemently nevertheless. Keep it together, Ron, he pleaded with himself.

'I know that, Ron, but the Commission Advocate says the case must be reopened – as I said, new evidence has come to light, new witnesses – and it needs to be reassessed.' She added, warily.

'So? What the hell's that to do with me? Tell them to stop wasting my time, I'm not changing my statement and I'm not going to Paris to exchange snide remarks with some twat of a lawyer when things are so crucial here.' His tiredness had gone and his combative nature was now fully awake. He'd noticed she'd cavilled slightly at his jibe about lawyers. Well, screw them. Screw them all. There was going to be a storm. And there was certainly going to be a row tonight. 'You're the lawyer, Mrs Undersecretary; tell them I'm busy and to read my original testimony. They'll find it all there.' He'd turned fully around now to face her and stood, arms crossed, chin slightly lifted, glaring at his wife – the love of my life, he thought – as if she was the entire Magical Court of Human Rights, rolled up into one person. Go on. Go on, then! His stance seemed to say this to her. Go on, he thought: piss on my feast, just like you've shafted the evening – and possibly my life. Before she replied, another voice in his mind told him to stop being such a bloody fool. But it was all too late now, even for warnings.

Hermione had stayed very still during his retort; she could tell it annoyed him she was staying so calm and not immediately agreeing with him. Why should she?

'It's more serious than that, Ron.' She said calmly though the import of her words was beginning to seep into his mind and reduce his confidence. He waited for her to continue.

'Lukasz Piotrowski has been recalled from duty, commanding in the Balkans. He's been arrested; bail has been refused. Four others are all expected to give evidence: Raeker, Kerrmann, Fischer and Andrews. They may even call Harry.'

Ron's expression hadn't changed but some colour seemed to drain away; there was a look now, in the set of his eyes – fear? Ron could tell she'd spotted this.

'Andrews!? He's retired, for God's sake! Working part-time for the Spanish and Portuguese overseeing their training; he wasn't even in that area of the battle! And Harry, for fuck's sake? He was here, in Britain, in command of the Home Reserve: he only gave basic testimony originally for the opening planning stages of the campaign: his job was to secure the home front. He wasn't at Budapest.' Keep your temper, Ron, a voice soothed, from somewhere. It's not her fault, it reasoned.

'I know, Ron!' Hermione was beginning to lose hers though. 'Nevertheless, Kingsley has agreed to him being released from duties to give statements at any time, if the Court need him to do so. So, logically, you'll be called – because you were right in the middle of the battle.'

'Why now?'

His question had surprised her. 'Why what now?'

'Why now? I've several major cases coming to fruition; one in particular could seal fifteen years of…' he paused for a moment to collect himself. This was unbelievable; someone was about it! Something was wrong. 'Who's been talking to who? Okay, you've spoken to the French today and they tried to phone me – but who else? Kingsley? What other departments? Who in the foreign services has spoken to them? This hasn't just come out of nowhere!'

Hermione was surprised. Why did he seem so paranoid? And was he actually saying there's a conspiracy against him? What on earth was giving him this idea? Her thoughts must have shown on her face because Ron carried straight on, relentless.

'Don't look like that. You know how these things work; nothing happens without a reason – and somebody perhaps has waited to embarrass me, just when I'm thinking of running for…' He stopped. He'd run on. He knew it as soon as he'd said it. Well, too late now. He knew she was going to ask.

'Running for what?' She looked keenly at him. Why did he suddenly look like he'd been caught thinking something he shouldn't? Before she could decide on that idea, he seemed to come to a decision, signalling he had with a deep sigh.

'I'm now considering running for Minister next year, if Kingsley retires.'

The pause between them was so pregnant, it could have given birth to umpteen magical sets of triplets. The moment pulsated with possibilities – one of which was certainly the surprise on Hermione's part.

'Oh.' Interesting, he thought. For once, she's completely stumped. Yes, interesting response. And not necessarily positive. 'But on what platform and policies?'

'Law and order would be an obvious one!' He retorted sarcastically. If she was going to pull that 'You've never had a political idea' one, the conversation may be ended very quickly with him going to bed and getting on with the rest of his life.

'Oh. I see. Well, if you're serious, then –'

He interrupted her very quickly and clearly. 'Don't! Don't pretend you're not interested in running yourself, because I know you are and you've been canvassing already.' He laughed, a loud bark, when the look on her face tried to show she didn't know what he was talking about. 'I know you have! And I'm thinking of throwing my cloak in the ol'duelling ring, too.' He waited. 'Problem? This is why I've waited to mention this: politics is so often in the timings.'

'Well, no; I think we can manage any issues between the two of us in a professional fashion but the Wizengamot will ask one of us to withdraw because of an obvious clash of interests – they surely will not allow a possible choice of candidates from the same family.' She'd not moved from behind her desk where she sat but since he'd admitted his ambition, he noticed she was sat up even more and now really attending to his every reaction. Now. This is it. I've admitted this to her, he thought. I might as well get my full galleon's worth from her, tonight.

'You're the lawyer, beautiful lady; I'm sure you can write as good a withdrawal letter for your candidacy as anyone in the world, eh?' Her face was now a perfect picture of incredulity, fury and … was that lust? He wasn't sure but he could feel his own feelings for her growing by the moment. They always did this to each other. How long since they'd…? He was thinking of this momentarily when he realised she'd stood slowly up from her chair, come from behind the desk and was walking towards him, her eyes having seemingly never left his face, her expression still certainly mixed and still, most certainly, furious.

'Perhaps I can do it for you,' he decided to quip. 'What about: she ain't doing it – now piss off! Right, if the bleeding inquisition is over and we've dropped enough surprises on one another, then I'll make you that cuppa?' He decided, as serious as all this was, that he just wanted to retreat somewhere, just say enough and leave it for the night. She'd reached him however.

Standing in front of him, her hands went to her hips and she looked up into his face. He'd paused and looked down into her eyes, her beautiful hazel eyes.

'I'm going to withdraw?' her voice was a whisper as if her fury could barely manage its own coordination to get out of the throat. 'You're joking, of course?'

He shook his head. 'No, I'm not, actually. You know I'd support you till the sun died, if you really – and I mean really want it – and you'd be superb, simply brilliant.' He hadn't looked away. He felt hot, awkward – somehow unfair in what he was saying, but he needed to be honest with her. 'What if I want it more than you? Eh? Or if I think I could do a better job?' Their eyes were locked with each other. God! He loved her. I struggle so much to feel anything at the moment, he thought, and here I am, face-to-face with her and it's as if we're back at school and I'm seeing her properly for the first time – and it's a glorious sight.

'Don't talk crap!' she spat. 'I know you'd be excellent but don't presume to tell me that as an Auror you'd outrank me in experience as a lawyer because –'

He tore across her retort and argument like a knife on thin paper. 'Fudge was a lawyer and Kingsley was an Auror: I've won, I think – and I rest my case.'

He could see her mind already flying through several brilliant ripostes to that but again, he was suddenly swept with a tiredness and exhaustion with the argument – he just wanted her: that's all her wanted. Time to beat her if he could.

'Listen, Hermione. Please. I'm thinking about running; that's all. I'm serious but there's time to think about it and that's all. I admire the French and I respect the international courts but I've nothing to add to the statement. They'll just have to bloody wait. And I'm going to complete all the cases, in particular, the smuggling case, this week and –'he added emphatically, 'even if it kills me, it will all be done. That's that, okay? We'll discuss the election another time, it's late, we're tired, there's so much going on and –'Their eyes hadn't left each other's the whole time. Her next question surprised him as much as his earlier one to her had.

'You have nothing to add to the Zagreb statement?' He shook his head tiredly but firmly and continued to gaze at her. 'And if they say some of the original details have been compromised, you'll still stand by it?' He nodded, keeping his eyes locked to her the whole time. 'I've nothing to worry about in your Zagreb statement, Ron?' He frowned harder. 'I'm a lawyer – in fact, I'm the Government's Lawyer, remember. I'm your wife first – but I will be pulled into this as the first law officer in the land. No lawyer enjoys a kicking in court, Ron. So, I repeat: is there anything you need to tell me?'

His expression had become even stonier. 'Why are you pushing this, Hermione?'

'Because the Advocate let slip that your testimony will be reviewed. Definitely. There are – inconsistencies – his word, not mine. You'll be called. I'm sure.' Ron didn't move. He felt again that moment of time slowing down. This was a key moment when he was being given a choice by life: choose – either or. Come on, you cowardly bastard. Choose. And hope.

'No. There's nothing more to add.' He said quietly.

'Thank you.' She whispered.

His eyes slowly dropped from hers, to settle on her lips. She seemed to sense where his attention had moved to, because her head slightly tilted to one side and she moved ever-so-slightly closer to him, her own eyes dropping to his lips…

'If I'd made that tea before, God, it would be so bloody cold now!' he rasped to her, as his head slowly lowered to hers. To capture her, to brush those lips with his, to feel her beautiful, loving touch on his; to feel the magic of this woman, this unique, wonderful … so close, so close…

A noise. A movement behind them – someone trying not to be noticed – in the hall. One of the kids. No? Could only be one of them… Rosie, as always. She couldn't help it, their clever, opinionated, clumsy daughter, trying to be quiet and still making a bloody annoying noise…

The moment was lost. Shit! They were so close; neither moved - but the moment was gone. His eyes closed. Shit! Shit! Shit! Rosie sheepishly stuck her head around the door frame.

'God, Rosie!' said Hermione with hugely drawn-out exasperation. 'God! You really pick your bloody moment. Eavesdropping is not necessarily a good virtue for a young news reporter, especially if you get caught and it's your own family! What are you doing anyway?' Rosie's head pulled her whole body around the door frame and came into the study.

'Couldn't sleep. Could hear you two, from upstairs, so decided to see if you wanted a drink, as I was getting one myself. What was all the shouting about anyway?'

'Never you bloody mind!' laughed Ron. 'Go on; bugger off to the kitchen and make your mum a cuppa. I'm to bed.' He stopped Rosie with his next words. 'And if you did hear anything, not a bloody word, alright? Or I'll pull you out of that damn job.' Rosie nodded, too tired to argue it seemed and went off to the kitchen.

Ron turned back to Hermione. He smiled down at her. 'Sorry for shouting, if I did. I'll go now so you can get on. Don't be up too late, please?' he pleaded. He paused just a little, even as he moved to go: drink her in, look at her and keep that vision in your mind. Think of her lips… think of her.

Her hands reached out and stayed him as he made to leave. 'You'd always tell me, Ron, if… if you need my help, my support… if you're in trouble? You'd never cover up or hide it away? Never?'

He'd smiled a mere moment ago but now the frown was back. He didn't speak. He found again he couldn't. He merely shook his head. He realised she would take that either way: he was refusing to answer – or he was giving her some kind of answer. However, he just left it at that. His right hand fingers found a mind of their own and he discovered them reaching up and brushing her lips and tracing her left cheek. Say it! Tell her you love her - say it. He stayed silent. He felt his fingers were showing that. Why need more?

He turned away and left the study. He could feel her. Her presence. Her eyes, even as he ascended the stairs to bed, boring into his back. Even when he'd be out of sight. He could feel their sight – claiming him. He could hear Rosie making tea the Muggle way in the kitchen. Hugo's door was open at the top of the landing and he could hear his gentle but persistent snores from his darkened room. He could sense other things - but he could still feel her eyes, above all, diminishing other sensations; she'd latched on to him somehow – holding him, touching him in some way – saying with her look, you're lying and I don't know why – and you're hurting me, my love: you're hurting me.

And are you lying to me, my love? He thought back.

Words of Henry Vaughan's crashed into his mind as he thought of their row. Yes, they fitted him perfectly: The darksome states-man hung with weights and woes … condemning thoughts… scowl upon his soul … clouds of crying witnesses without pursued him with one shout.

The storm was breaking. He looked at one of the landing windows as he passed it; it was spattered with rain. Yes, he was the darksome states-man and she would pursue him. He'd lied again to her and to be sure it would find him out.

How hurt was she going to be?

He lay long in bed, waiting for her to come to bed. She had not arrived before he'd slipped into a fitful and disturbed sleep.