Within a few moments of her leaving Ron, she broke into a sprint. She wanted to put as much distance as she could between them. She knew he couldn't be positive of her and Draco, but she was positive of the hurt he felt. She felt that same hurt sixth year, when she saw him eating Lavender Brown's face off. It'd made her feel sick. It'd made her feel like she wasn't up to standard. The only problem was that Ron probably felt ten times the pain that Hermione did. She was sure that it wasn't the fact she was with Draco; it was the fact that Hermione didn't feel the same way.

She ran as fast as she could, which was quite an accomplishment, given the shoes she wore. Her feet stung with every stride, but she kept going. She needed to clear her head; get away from everybody. She didn't want to see Draco, which surprised her. She just wanted silence; to be solitary and able to think for a change. Though she didn't want to think about the recent events that transpired, she'd be forced to. All she could see was the severity of Harry's voice and the look on Ron's face. The small paper cuts on his hand swum amongst her memories most potently.

When she'd finally stopped running, she was unsure of where she was. The familiar office area was long gone now, replaced by a frigid tiled floor and blinding light. She looked around, confused. She'd never been to this part of the Ministry before. Then again, who had the need to go anywhere else when they were stuck with hours' worth of paperwork? It was a dead end. Three doors were strategically placed at the end of the hall, the one in the middle bearing a nameplate with nothing engraved into it.

Hermione took a few hesitant steps forward. She didn't even know if she was allowed to be there, much less if she was allowed to find out where the doors led. She capitulated to the curiosity and determinedly thought that no one would mind if she snuck a peak. Just as she was about to open the door with the empty nameplate, it opened. She froze, a deer in headlights, the sudden movement petrifying her.

An antagonistically statuesque woman stood two feet before her, studying her with sharp eyes, which were a shade of lovely indigo. Hermione found herself wondering if they were contacts, but remembered that witches never dabbled in Muggle doctor practices. The woman raised a hand to brush back striking black hair with her fingertips. With the contrastingly dirty look on the woman's beautiful face, Hermione knew that her worry that she wasn't supposed to be there wasn't entirely misguided.

"What are you doing down here?" The woman asked, her attempt at a hateful tone having no effect when spoken in her light, melodic voice.

"Er, I was just leaving." Hermione replied, avoiding the girl's piercing gaze.

"Wait," She said, just as Hermione had turned to leave. "Were you … looking for something?"

Hermione smiled to herself.

"Yes, but I doubt I'd find it down here," She looked around. "What is this place, anyway? I've never really gotten a chance to see it. Do you work here?"

The woman's expression turned to stone.

"No. I don't work here. My fiancée went missing days ago, and the Ministry is investigating it. Some 'suspected 'sort of dark wizard activity - whatever the hell that means. I- I just got out of questioning."

She looked frustrated and angry, tears threatening to spill from her suddenly glistening eyes.

Hermione's friendly instinct kicked in, and she took a few steps closer until she was within arm's reach of the woman.

"I'm terribly sorry – I had no idea there were people going missing."

Even though she was attempting to comfort the woman, she couldn't help but let the panic slip into her voice. She was tired of having to mask her emotions; why not let go for once in front of someone she'd most likely never see again?

"How long has he been missing, exactly?" Hermione inquired curiously, trying to not come off as insensitive.

"Three days." She replied, her composed expression dissolving into one of fear and pain.

"What department is investigating it?"

"The Department of Magical Law Enforcement is. They haven't done a damn thing since he went missing but question me. They think I killed him, or something."

That sounded about right. Of course, Hermione had nothing to do with the actual cases, but she handled enough paperwork to know that the department lacked the necessary drive and skills to operate smoothly. She found herself wishing she'd get promoted just so some of the people were treated with respect and helped.

"I'm really sorry – I hope everything goes alright." She extended her hand. "I'm Hermione Granger – I work for the Department. If you need any specific type of help, or if it's not going the way you want it to, then you can talk to me and I'll try to see if I can get something done."

The woman hesitantly shook her hand.

"Vivian. Vivian LeReaux."

Hermione shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other and said, "It was nice to meet you. I'm sorry, once again. I didn't mean to interrupt anything, I was just curious."

Vivian nodded and gave a lukewarm smile.

:"I guess it's just nice to know that someone actually cares."

And with that, she dropped Hermione's hand and walked off, leaving a strong smell of flowery perfume behind. Hermione fixed her gaze upon the door with the nameplate. Her little detour had certainly removed Ron and Harry from her thoughts for a moment. The mere thought of disappearances did little to ease her panic.

She lingered for a moment, not looking away from the door. How long would it take for the questioner to come out? Would they mind that she was standing there, staring at the door?

She knew she had to be at the Burrow that night, so skipping it wasn't an option. She tore her eyes off of the door and walked quickly in the direction she came, trying to banish any feelings of unease. That night would be hard enough to endure without all the added stress. For the first time ever in her life, she hoped that Harry wouldn't be there.

An hour later, Hermione stood in front of her foggy bathroom mirror, dripping wet from the shower she'd just taken. She studied her face, paying special notice to the puffiness of her eyes. She sighed, grabbed a brush from her bathroom counter, and yanked it through the gnarled tangles in her hair. It was painful, but she didn't notice it. She was too busy worrying about what would transpire at the Burrow once she arrived. She hated being on bad terms with her friends. She was especially dejected from her fight with Harry. The more she thought about it, the more she knew that SHE was being the irrational one; not him.

She wondered if Ron told anyone what happened. Though Molly's kindness shown through every time she saw Hermione, she couldn't help but think back to her fourth year when everyone got an Easter egg but her because of lies about her and Harry. Harry was already mad at her, but she doubted it would anger him any further if Ron told him. From Hermione's point of view, Harry wasn't the only one keen on keeping their relationship strictly friendly.

Once her hair was brushed, she padded off to her room, in search of something to wear. Almost immediately, she located her most comfortable pair of jeans and a simple green button down blouse. She changed quickly, hoping that her hair was dry enough so that it wouldn't fling droplets everywhere. She touched the ends of it, her fingertips meeting slightly damp patches. She secured a ponytail holder around it, keeping it out of her face, at least.

The sunlight lingered behind longer than usual, giving Hermione some sense of cheerfulness. The weather was forgiving, no trace of rain in the sky; Just thick, white clouds. She figured she'd be a little earlier than usual, but it couldn't hurt to help Molly with the cooking. Not that she'd need to, of course, but so she could occupy herself with someone whom she was on good terms with.

She exited her flat, greeted by a frigid gust of wind. She hadn't even thought of getting a coat, but she didn't want to prolong the inevitable. She disapparated, the unpleasant sensation allowing her mind to drift elsewhere for a split second. The Burrow came whirling into view, and as always, Hermione was put off balance. She dizzily walked to the front door, trying to steady herself. Before she could knock, Ginny had opened it for her and was ushering her in. She was expressionless. Hermione walked into the kitchen to find a rather frazzled Mrs. Weasley occupied with a frying pan.

"Hermione! Dear, it's lovely to see you. Ron and Harry are in the sitting room if you'd care to join them." Molly said her face lighting up when she saw Hermione.

Hermione gave a nervous chuckle and said, "Actually, I was wondering you needed any help."

She expected the answer before it even came, but was altogether disappointed.

"No, dear, I think I've just about finished. Go relax – you've probably overworked yourself." She smiled fondly at her, and pointed in the direction of the sitting room.

"Well, let me know if you change your mind." Hermione said, hoping that she would, but knowing she wouldn't.

She took longer than necessary to make the ten second trip to the sitting room, looking at a few crooked pictures adorning the wall. She dragged her feet as she walked, prolonging it for as long as she could. When she got there, she saw the backs of Harry and Ron's heads on the same sofa. Neither was talking, but it wasn't the usual comfortable silence when they just wanted to unwind without conversation. No – this was tense silence.

Without looking at either one of them, she plopped down in an overstuffed armchair and played with her hair absentmindedly. She tried not to take notice of her shaking fingers. Neither Ron nor Harry acknowledged her. She knew that they hadn't forgiven her yet. She also knew that Harry had every right to still be angry, but found herself fixating on how childish Ron was being.

"Wouldn't be the first time." She thought harshly, but remembered how it was hard for him. She hated that it was all her fault.

"Hermione," Harry's voice broke through the silence.

She snapped her head up to find him looking at her, his expression unreadable.

"Yes?" She asked timidly.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to lose control earlier. I just want you to know I care about you." He looked away after this, his cheeks turning a bit pink.

"No, Harry – It's all my fault. I'm sorry, I was just frustrated." She insisted, her voice climbing in pitch.

He waved his hand.

"Just leave it. Okay?"

She thought he was still angry with her at these words, but he smiled slightly a second after. She returned it with interest.

"Dinner!" Mrs. Weasley called.

She was almost put at ease until she saw the look of disgust Ron gave her as she walked past him.

I actually wasn't planning on writing anything today, but I guess the inspiration bug bit me. Aha, tell me if you want me to make the updates sparse and long or short and sweet. I'm trying for about 2,000 words a chapter – that'll be short and sweet from now on. I know that the previous ones weren't very long, but I had to do that for where I'm planning on going with the story. I hope you guys don't hate it!