A/N Since I left the last chapter end on a cliff-hanger, I better update today. Do not fret: there's no cliff-hanger at the end of this one. But we do get to see Hermione's letter to Ron. See for yourself.

Thank you to everyone who reads, alerts, or adds this story to their favorite. And as always, I am sending a super thank you to all the lovely reviewers. You have no idea how much reviews make my day.

Without further ado:

Disclaimer: I must not tell lies… I don't own Harry Potter.

Chapter 11: St. Mungo's

Hermione re-read Ron's letter for the fifth time in two days. She lightly touched the inky fingerprint he had inadvertently left between two paragraphs, longing for the connection with his fingers. How she loved his fingers gently caressing her skin or driving her into oblivious madness. She still had two weeks before she would see him again for the Christmas holidays. He had written of what he intended to do with her during that time and she was fully on board with this plan and could even add a few items of her own to the agenda.

She sighed deeply, out of longing and frustration, and smoothed the parchment that sat on the desk. She dipped her quill in the ink well and started writing:

Ron,

I was elated to receive your letter. I am so glad to hear that things are looking more positive on the home front and that your mother was cheered up by the news of Percy having a new girlfriend. And by the way, you should cut Percy some slack. Yes, he may drone on a bit when it comes to the subject of cauldrons, but he's also an accomplished young man, ambitious, and intelligent. And whilst he may not seem like an interesting prospect to you, I am sure they are numerous witches within the ministry who think otherwise. And before you even go in this direction, be assured that I can't even see Percy in a room if you're in it too.

And please, be kind to Harry. It's funny actually, as Harry didn't mention being stunned by both you and Neville but he did say he managed to silently disarm the pair of you. Maybe I should write to Neville to get the full story.

As for me, I am well. I'm afraid I'm falling a little bit behind on my NEWT's as I've only read 34 of the 80 books I've assigned to myself. I'm hoping I can make up for it soon. And don't worry, I do take time to eat and sleep. At least, Ginny makes sure of that. She's actually saying hello right now but doesn't want to come anywhere close to the letter I'm writing to you. Speaking of Ginny, she had a fantastic match against Hufflepuff last week as I've told you, and it seems that Gwenog Jones was in the audience and invited her for tryouts for the Harpies. Ginny is, as you can think, ecstatic as this prospect.

And that brings me to you and your naughty letter. I am sorry to be responsible for the current state of your wrist but sympathise with the feeling behind. My fingers do get tired sometimes too. Thankfully, I am a witch and can use my wand when need be. I have found this perfect vibrating charm. Though it still doesn't compare to your amazing fingers and doesn't leave me nearly as, let's see, fulfilled.

I do long to see you again to get reacquainted with every of your freckles, your hair and the way it feels: silky under my fingers but tickling on my stomach as your head rests between my thighs. Oh the things you do to me! I want to feel your tongue against mine, tasting of chocolate and you. I want to feel it slither down my torso, tease my breasts, and dip lower so you can taste me down there. You know, it's funny, I've always wondered why you enjoyed eating so much but now that I've fully benefited from it, I'm delighted by your enthusiasm and appetite.

And now, let me tell you about the things I want to do to you. I want to let my lips kiss every inch of your skin, tease you, lick you, everywhere, including that very erect part of you. I think you enjoyed that during our visit in Hogsmeade last month, although I hope nobody saw how long it took me to retrieve my glove from under the table. I have other plans for you as well, plans that involve my hands, my mouth, and everything to drive you completely mad. Isn't that what you complain I've been doing for years, anyway?

Oh well, Ginny is looking at me with an overly annoyed look. I think I need to stop here.

Love, always,

Hermione

She neatly folded the letter and wrote the address on it. She opened the cage where Pig was flying in endless circles, where she had put the owl to safely keep it from Crookshanks, and the little owl zoomed past her excitedly. She gave Pig a treat and attached the letter to its leg before opening the window and letting the little owl fly away toward Ron.

When she turned back to the room, a giddy smile plastered on her face, Hermione found Ginny looking at her a look of sheer incredulity on her face.

"I can't take that look on your face when you think of Ron," Ginny told her quite bluntly. "It's disgusting."

"Why? You have to admit Ron's a great man, isn't he?"

"Fine, he's a bloody hero. But the look of, how shall I put that, want that you have on your face is just plain disgusting."

Hermione laughed lightly, taking with good humour Ginny's tease. Ron's letter and the fact she would see him soon again had put her in an excellent mood, one that even being behind on her reading didn't alter. She picked up book number thirty-five and started to read, sitting in one of the comfortable armchairs by the fire. Ginny was across from her, reading an issue of the Quibbler, an amused smile on her pretty face. They were five minutes in their reading when both saw a silvery Patronus appear in the room. Hermione didn't recognise the coyote but Ginny did.

"George," Ginny muttered, quite surprised. George hadn't been able to conjure a Patronus since the battle.

Indeed, the silvery coyote started speaking in George's voice:

"Ginny, there has been an attack in Diagon Alley in front of the shop. Ron is at St Mungo's. I've contacted McGonagall and she should have a Portkey ready for you and Hermione to come here."

Ginny slowly digested the news. George had the way she did about being blunt and to the point but that was a lot to take in, she thought before she heard a loud thudding noise. She looked at Hermione and saw that the heavy tome she had been reading had escaped her friend's hands. Hermione stood in the middle of the room, seemingly frozen in place, her face a pale shade of white. She looked as if she was either going to throw up or pass out or both.

"Saint... Saint Mungo's," she stuttered. "Ron? Is… Is he hurt?"

"I don't know, Hermione," Ginny replied earnestly and with a calm she didn't feel. "What about we go and find McGonagall?"

However, they didn't have to go far to find the Headmistress as McGonagall appeared through the portrait hole of the Gryffindor common room. She approached them and started speaking:

"Miss Weasley, Miss Granger, I'm afraid I..." McGonagall stopped mid-sentence taking in the look of shock on both girls' faces. "You obviously know, so let's cut to the essential, shall we? I have a portkey waiting for you in my office. It will take you to St. Mungo's where your father," she pointed at Ginny, "will be waiting for you."

"Professor," Hermione asked her timidly. "Do you... do you know how bad?"

"I am afraid no," McGonagall replied, genuinely saddened while gently patting Hermione's shoulder. "Come on, let's go."

Hermione felt Ginny wrap an arm around her shoulder, a reassuring gesture. Tending to Hermione helped her keep at bay the panic and fear that were rising in her at the thought that she might lose another brother. She never let go of Hermione, not when they walked through Hogwarts, nor when they used the Portkey that took them to St. Mungo's.

Narcissa looked at the delicate gold band diamond watch that was adorning her slender wrist. Where was Draco? He should have been meeting her thirty minutes ago and had not shown up. While her son was not a model of punctuality, she found it odd that he hadn't been there to meet her. Unless, like his faher, he had decided to let her handle the entire thing on her own, not wanting to bother with the matter.

Draco wasn't the only one she was waiting for. She knew Acario Meads stood behind the massive oak door to her right and resented greatly to be made to wait. She considered it a mark of ill-breeding and disrespect but wasn't surprised by the treatment. She had known Acario since their days at Hogwarts. A fellow Slytherin, a year ahead of her, he had made a career of brewing and then selling potions, usually for a handsome profit. She also knew that he had a fascination with poisons and was rumoured to have an underground business selling lethal potions to whoever paid him enough gold. He had never been a Death Eater and while she believed him to share her views about blood purity in private, he made abstraction of his preferences in public, vowing allegiance only to gold. That had allowed him to maintain a coveted seat on the St Mungo's board of governors.

She had tried to make an offer to the entire board of governors but they had refused her donation unless it was made privately and without fanfare. So she had decided to go and sway some influential members to get to what she wanted. She expected to be able to persuade Meads to link the donation to a prominent public relation feast. If she did so, Lucius would see her idea to accept the deal from Granger hadn't been frivolous after all. She didn't know how she would accomplish this but she wasn't unintelligent and was convinced she could outwit Meads.

But Meads made her wait, in the anteroom of his well-appointed office at St Mungo's and she felt her patience dwindle with every ticking minute and that was aggravated by Draco not being here. The door finally opened and she saw the man standing in front of her. He was tall, nearly bald, a bit portly and rather well dressed. He also carried like a proud man, which she knew him to be to a fault. He wasn't handsome and his eyes and face were steely. His tone oozed insincerity as he greeted her:

"Narcissa, my dear, such a delight to see you. Looking beautiful, as always."

She knew how to play this game:

"The pleasure is mine, Acario," she replied in a honey-laced voice.

"Please have a seat. May I offer you something? Tea? Wine?"

"No thank you," she replied sweetly.

She would rather not try a drink from a man who was supposedly an expert in poisons.

"Very well, do you mind if I have one?"

"Not at all."

Meads poured himself a generous portion of wine and sat down facing her, across from his desk.

"So, Narcissa. To what do I owe your visit?"

To the point. There was a reason he was known as a ruthless business man.

"I would like to make a generous donation to St. Mungo's," she announced straight-faced, "and have the Malfoy name displayed with this donation. I know how powerful you are and that you can make it happen."

She was pleased to see that the flattery went straight to his ego as a smug smile graced his face as she said the words.

"Certainly, Narcissa, I could arrange this for an old friend," he told her as his hand went to rest on hers.

She had to suppress her knee-jerk reaction which was to swiftly subtract her hand from under his.

"I am very grateful that you can and count myself lucky to be among your friends," she replied, continuing the stroking of his ego.

"Narcissa, dear, you know how I made my fortune, don't you?"

She didn't want to respond, lest she threw in his face how she had a pretty good idea as the underground market for illegal poisons had been booming for the last three years. The war might be over but rancour and needs for revenge, from one side or the other, was not. She remained silent, inviting him to go on.

"It's all about negotiation, quid pro quo I believe the stupid Muggles call it. I clearly see what I can do for you, and Merlin knows you and Lucius need some good press, but what are you doing for me?"

He rose from his chair and she felt temporary relief as he lifted his hand from hers. She quickly folded her hands on her lap as she sat rod-straight in the comfortable chair. He came to sit on the one next to her and bored into her:

"Narcissa, you more than anyone should know everything has its price," he said in a soft voice as his hands went back to seize hers from her lap. She quickly withdrew them and rose to her full height to prevent another hand holding. She had to get to the point too:

"I have some relations within the Romanian ministry of magic and they are bidding for a new potion provider as their previous one was caught dealing in illegal poisons on the black market," she started and had the satisfaction of seeing a shadow pass across Meads's eyes. "They have a rather large market and it would be profitable. I certainly could help you get a meeting with a higher up in the ministry and I believe you'd be able to conclude the deal from there."

"The Romanian market? That would be lucrative indeed," he mused. "But Narcissa, dear," he said as he rose too and moved close to her, invading her personal space, "I already have an in on this deal."

She ignored whether it was true or not but knew she didn't like him so close to her. Her hand went to the pocket of her dress where she kept her wand and her fingers tightened around the wooden stick. She had to find another way or just leave.

"And I must admit I'm surprised you still have connections, Narcissa. Aren't Lucius and you prompt to get your friends (he said the word with emphasis) sent in tight little spaces in Azkaban?"

She took a step away from him, trying to maintain distance between the two of them.

"People send themselves to Azkaban, Acario," she replied sweetly.

"True, and Lucius has been such a good man that even Harry Potter thought he should be free," Meads replied in a voice dripping with sarcasm.

Maybe she had underestimated him.

"Narcissa, there's something you can do if you want this to happen," he told her coaxingly.

She decided to drop any pretence and end this charade as soon as she could.

"If you mean any type of situation where you and me have more than a friendly conversation, you're gravely delusional, Acario."

The rejection stung him. He had tried the same during their Hogwarts years and had received the same answer. She knew of other women who would have accepted his offer without hesitation. Yet, as high as her need to restore her name was, it was not worth sinking that low.

"Very well, Narcissa," he replied icily. "I then think there's not much I can do for you. You see, associating with the name Malfoy is not something very wise these days. And I already have enough with Shacklebolt and his Aurors breathing down my neck," he added the last part more for himself but as he took a look at her, he realised he had made a mistake.

"I'm afraid we must then part ways," Narcissa answered in a tone that conveyed absolutely no regret.

She barely nodded to him and saw herself out.

The minute she was out in the corridor of St. Mungo's, she let out a breath. While her plan to vow Meads into helping her get some publicity had failed, she had managed to glean information she could use later. Shacklebolt was suspicious of Meads. Maybe after all, helping the Aurors was not the unique purview of Lucius. Thinking of Lucius made her think of Draco and she felt anger rise in her again. Draco had sworn he would accompany her. He had said he would help her with this and show his father that he could represent the Malfoy name just as well or even better than him. And yet, just like his father, he was failing her.

As she walked through the main hall toward the St Mungo's exit, she noticed the agitation around her. She discreetly eavesdropped on the conversation between two receptionists at the front desk:

"The Weasley shop on Diagon Alley had its window completely blown up. One of the Weasley brothers was brought here. He looked bad. I don't know which one it was though. You know, they all look alike with the red hair."

"I hope it's not Ron," the other one replied. "You know, the one who helped Harry Potter."

"I also heard that the Malfoy son was injured. No idea what that scum was doing there but he seems he was injured too."

Narcissa's world started spinning as she heard the two witches.

She dropped all pretence and just approached the receptionists. There was an air of recognition in one of the receptionists and an automatic frown but Narcissa didn't care:

"I'm Narcissa Malfoy. Did you say that my son Draco was injured and brought here?"

"You may want to talk with the gentleman over there," the receptionist replied, quite rudely, while pointing out in the direction of a young man that Narcissa recognised as Neville Longbottom.

Longbottom recognised her and met her halfway as she walked rapidly toward him. He looked at her with ill-disguised loathe and finally spoke:

"Mrs Malfoy. I was looking for you."

She bit her lip and the swallowed the comment that he hadn't been looking very hard but she was taken aback when she saw his face soften as he announced to her:

"Your son has been injured during an explosion in Diagon Alley. We're still trying to piece what happened exactly. Mal...Your son is in the hands of the healers right now. You have clearance to go there," he added as he summoned a small piece of parchment that indicated the location where Draco was tended to.

"How is he?" she asked in a cracked voice.

"Our assessment in the field was some internal injuries, a broken arm and some cuts but since he was brought here quickly, his odds are good."

She exhaled with relief. How could she have been furious with Draco? She might have lost him and she had been preoccupied with him not showing up for their appointment. Longbottom drew her out of her thoughts by telling her:

"Same can't be said of Ron Weasley, though."

Narcissa looked at the Longbottom boy, now a man, and found herself surprised by thinking of how she had seen Molly Weasley during the audience, how the woman had looked despondent after losing one of her children. The same pang of sympathy she had felt then returned, to her surprise.

"I hope he recovers too," she told him sincerely and saw shock on Longbottom's face. "How come both were injured together?"

"We're still working that out," Longbottom replied, his Auror face back on.

"Naturally," she replied and swiftly made her way to the lift to go and see Draco.

The travel by Portkey had been disorientating as always. When Hermione felt her feet touch the ground, she felt some relief and a strong wave of nausea, brought on both by her travel and her fear for Ron's state. She felt Ginny's hand squeeze hers, reminding her she had someone to lean on. She was grateful for Ginny as she was very much on the verge of losing it and completely breaking down.

They saw Arthur Weasley a few feet away, looking grim. He quickly enveloped his daughter in a tight hug and repeated the process with Hermione. He finally spoke:

"The healers are still working on him. He got some broken bones, cuts, and was hit in the head by some rubble from the explosion."

"What happened?" Hermione asked anxiously.

"George and Harry can fill you in. George got injured a bit himself but refused treatment. Follow me," he told them leading them to the lift.

They rode the lift and finally stopped on the fourth floor. Arthur led them to a small room filled with many red heads. But it was Harry who came out first and greeted them in a tight hug. Hermione could see the worry plainly etched on Harry's face and knew he needed the hug for his own solace as much as to reassure his girlfriend and best friend.

"Harry, what happened?" Hermione asked before even taking the time to properly greet the other occupants of the room.

"It looks like Draco Malfoy was attacked in front of the shop. Before he was attacked, Ron saw his attacker and went out to protect Draco."

"He tried to protect the ferret?" Ginny asked incredulously.

"He's an Auror in training," Harry replied. "We're supposed to catch dark wizards and prevent them from harming others."

"You mean Draco was attacked by a dark wizard?" Hermione asked.

"Witch," Harry corrected.

"Serves him right," Ginny muttered under her breath, obviously feeling no sympathy for Malfoy.

"From what George says, Malfoy saw Ron with his wand raised and the idiot thought Ron was going to attack him so it looks like he tried to stun him. That's when the witch cast an Expulso curse and both Ron and Malfoy were caught in the rubble."

Harry blanched a bit as he recalled receiving a visit from a silvery coyote talking in George's voice and asking him to come over as soon as possible and bring some Aurors along. He had arrived with Neville and two Aurors and had been met by a scene of desolation, the front of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes completely blown out, reminding him eerily of a similar scene during the battle. He had seen George kneeling down by Ron's unconscious body, working frenetically on staunching the blood that seemed to ooze from his head. Verity had been using her wand to remove rubble and glass to let Malfoy's body emerge. Angelina had been holding another witch as wand's end, although the other witch was unconscious, having been hit by a strong stunning spell that Harry later learnt had been cast by George.

He had heard George mutter curses under his breath, almost chiding Ron:

"Why, Ron? Why do you have to go and be a bloody hero? Do you know what will happen if you die? Mum will kill me, and then Hermione and Harry, and then Ginny. Why did you have to save the fucking ferret's life?"

"Harry?" Hermione's voice drew him back to the present

"Sorry," he apologised. "We have the witch in custody."

"Who's she?" Ginny asked wanting to get answers and not to think about another brother possibly dying.

"Travers's daughter. Her father was sentenced to life in Azkaban because of Lucius Malfoy's information. She wanted to take revenge against the Malfoys and what better place to do it than in front of the Weasley shop?" Harry asked with sarcasm.

Hermione could hear the undertone of guilt in his voice. George must have heard it too as he came to join their little group and cut Harry off:

"Yes, Harry, it's all your fault. Always is. Never mind that any of us might have made our own choice about what side to fight on or that Travers and company could've chosen another path in life. Will you bloody stop your hero complex, Potter? Or I will really have to hex your bollocks off because you won't be worth going out with my baby sister."

There was humour in the tone but the George's meaning was more of a warning. Hermione decided to diffuse the tension:

"Hi George."

George hugged both Ginny and Hermione and seemed to forget about his rant with Harry. Ginny and Hermione then went to the other Weasleys. Molly was now crying uncontrollably, not wanting to fathom what losing another son would do to her, while Arthur was sitting next to her, holding her hand and looking like an old man all of a sudden. Bill, Fleur, and Percy werethere too, looking like they were reliving the worst time of their life. And Hermione noticed Angelina Johnson was there too and she came to stand next to George and took his hand. Ginny noticed too and just smiled at George to confer her approval.

They waited for what felt like hours but were only thirty minutes. Some of them were sitting, some of them were pacing, until the door finally opened and the healer came in. He didn't waste time and got to the point:

"His injuries were all physical, not the direct result of a curse, so we were able to heal most of them. He has a broken wrist and three cracked ribs, numerous lacerations from the glass and bruises from the falling rubble. This will all heal with a course of potions. He did receive a serious blow to the head. I have healed the physical injury but there may be some additional damage to his brain. We'll know more when he wakes up. The good news is that he will definitely survive."

There was a collective sigh of relief in the room until Molly asked:

"When can we see him?"

"You can go there now. As I say, he's still sleeping."

There was a mass exodus toward the room the healer had indicated. Hermione was the first to reach his bed. She saw him lying there, as white as the sheets, bruises and cuts mingled with freckles on his face. She knew it would heal, the rational part of her did, but she couldn't help the sob that escaped her. She couldn't help the following ones that came after and racked her body as she bent over the bed. And she didn't care that the Weasleys were watching, many of their eyes misty too. She heard Arthur tell the others:

"Maybe we should give some time to the two of them."

"Yeah, Dad is right," George chimed in. "He's asleep and will soon start moaning about Hermione anyway, so we'd better get out."

Hermione appreciated the kindness and the fact the Weasleys put their own need to be with Ron so she could have some time to compose herself. But she was crying too hard to be able to form any word reflecting her gratitude. Once again, Ron Weasley had made incapable of coherent speech.

She took his large hand in her smaller one and was happy to feel his fingers gently flex around hers. She heard him murmur her name, just like George had said he would, and just lay her head down on the bed, next to his. He would be all right, she repeated in her head like a mantra. He would be all right.

A/N Of course, Ron will be all right. I'm not going to kill the hero of the story, am I?

Sorry we didn't get any Draco in this chapter but we will next one. Also, I couldn't find what Patronus George had from the books but I read somewhere on the Harry Potter wiki that it was a coyote. It also seems that Rowling said that George wasn't able to produce a Patronus after Fred's death but I think under the circumstances, seeing Ron almost die, it would make the effort possible.

Thank you for reading and, as always, reviews are appreciated.