Floo number fourteen of the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic lit up, and out tumbled Ella Summers. She paused for a moment to take a deep breath and get her bearing again; Flooing was not her favourite mode of transportation, especially not on a Monday morning just after she'd emptied a cup of coffee in record time.

She marched past the visitor's booth, and past the oversized fountain in the shape of a Snitch. The past few months had not been pleasant for her, but the gigantic monument in honour of Harry Potter never failed to brighten up her mornings. Word went around her office – the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes – that Minister Castlereagh had tried – and failed – to get rid of the fountain. Clearly he was not happy with the enormous monument to the man he had an enormous grudge against, right in the most prominent spot of the Ministry.

She stepped into the lift and greeted the others that were there. She got a few groggy nods in return. Ah, Monday mornings. At least she worked in an office where the atmosphere was cordial. That was a remarkable thing these days, as the recent happenings in the Wizarding World had divided people in such a way that she hadn't seen since the days of You-Know-Who: people rowed over whether Harry Potter was a criminal or not; they rowed over the new decrees and measures of Lord Castlereagh, especially concerning the increasing severity of criminal sentences; they rowed over Kingsley Shacklebolt's sentencing to Azkaban; they rowed over the weekly protests at Diagon Alley and whether or not they were justified in their demonstrations, and so on and so forth.

She stepped out of the elevator at level three, ducked underneath a school of memos that flew by her and sought her usual place in the office of the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee. Before she got to work, her eyes sought out two pictures on the corner of her desk: one of her and her husband, Frank, arm in arm in their wedding clothes. The other was a picture of her son Charlie, on the day that he received his NEWTs. The indulgent pleasure that she felt at the sight of the fountain in the Atrium disappeared at the sight of him. He'd joined the Auror recruits during the summer, and was infinitely charmed by Gawain Robards, the old Head Auror. Every day he'd come home to tell them another tale of something the man had said, or something he'd done long ago, full of admiration for him and Lord Castlereagh. Attempts of her and Frank to talk to him and make him see that Robards had been on the wrong side of history during You-Know-Who's reign of terror had the opposite of the desired effect. Charlie would not see reason at all and kept repeating that the other Auror recruits all agreed with him.

Midway through the summer there came an evening where Charlie had come home after Auror training, announcing that he'd found a small flat in the outskirts of London. They had hardly heard from him since, apart from a few short letters in between where he informed them that he was doing okay. She sometimes saw him in passing through the corridors when he had another trial day with the Aurors, but he always seemed to look the other way.

"Bloody hell."

She shook herself out of her considerations and looked up. The curse had come from Jair, her boss. He stood behind his desk, his eyes roving over a memo that he'd just received.

"What's going on, Jair?" she asked. Others around her looked up as well.

"Grab your things, everyone," he said in a loud voice. "I'm afraid the unrest of the anti-Castlereagh movement has just spread to the Muggle World as well."

Ella adopted a shocked expression. And she was shocked, really, but it would not do to show the others that a thrill shot through her as she heard the news. If this was as bad as it sounded, then life for the Minister was about to get a lot harder, and she didn't feel sorry for him in the slightest.

"Right, two big things happened," Ron explained to Harry, Ginny and Lydia that evening. He'd come by with Hermione, and both of them looked utterly exhausted. "First, they've arrested Dean."

"What?!"

But Ron held up his hand to stop them. "He's been questioned and released again, as he swore under the effects of Veritaserum that he had nothing to do with the graffiti in the Muggle World today. Had to be careful not to mention that he had designed the logo in the first place, but all's well, and he's home safe again."

"Thank God for that," Ginny sighed.

"What's the second big thing?" Harry asked. He felt as if a heavy stone pressed down on his stomach.

"The Minister is not happy with this, of course," Ron said. "And you were right that he's starting to feel the heat under his feet now. By noon tomorrow, all Ministry employees have to hand in a signed document stating that they are not working together with Harry Potter. They handed one out to all of us."

"I've got mine with me," Hermione said softly, placing a small piece of paper on the dining table for the others to read.

"I solemnly swear that I, Hermione Jean Granger, am not working together with Harry James Potter to sabotage the Ministry for Magic or its Minister."

Underneath was the date, followed by Hermione's signature.

"You've signed it?" Ginny asked, looking up at her.

"Of course I have," Hermione said, a hint of impatience in her voice. "There are no spells attached to the paper, I've checked it. The entire point of this is that you are now obliged by a binding contract to hold yourself to these terms. It's just an excuse to fire people if they feel like it. In fact, anyone who hasn't signed it and handed it in by noon tomorrow is fired on the spot."

"Wow," Harry said. "It's going to be a shitshow tomorrow, then."

"It will be," Hermione said, her pose tense in obvious irritation. "I know plenty of people who said they'd refuse to cooperate. I don't know how many will actually go through with it in the end, but we could see an immense amount of people lose their jobs just like that tomorrow."

"But you're staying?" Ginny asked.

"Of course," Hermione said. "I've still got those archives to look through, haven't I? And if I leave, who is going to be in charge of my department? It's not hard to imagine what Castlereagh's adherents would do to the House Elves and other magical beings if they've got the final say."

Ron dropped a kiss on her cheek and put an arm around her. "I don't know what this world would do without you, love," he said. "But at the first sign that they're going to interrogate you with Veritaserum, you get out of there immediately, okay?"

"Of course, Ron. I'm not stupid," she mumbled, but Harry saw her eyes dance merrily at her fiance's affection.

Their predictions proved to be true. The Ministry that day became the setting of unbridled mayhem. All forms had to be delivered to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, but during the design of the department they did not consider the possibility of the entire Ministry congregating there in the hallways, and so there were enormous queues in the department itself, in the elevators, in front of the elevators and quite far into the Atrium as well. Attempts by Ministry workers to make the queue run smoothly failed spectacularly, and they were forced to save people from being stuck in the elevator doors no less than 27 times.

That was all before the lunch break.

Of course, the chaos made the deadline of noon quite impossible, as the queues were still just as large as every halfway through the afternoon. All those people had to be assured that they would not lose their job because they missed the deadline, but that did little to quell the heated atmosphere. The first impromptu duel, fuelled by irritation and stress, happened around two o'clock.

Luna and some journalists from the Daily Prophet were there, gleefully taking notes and pictures of the entire event, making sure that they had everything they needed to write a colourful description of it all.

It was also unclear what would happen if you did not show up at all, or if you handed in an unsigned note. Either way, some used the form to get creative. Some painted Dean's logo of Castlereagh getting struck by lightning on it, others simply wrote colourful insults on it. The people who did this had not heard back yet from their department heads by the time that the working day drew to a close. Still, despite the chaos, it was doubtful that Greg Peters of the Broom Control department would have his job for long after writing "eat shit and die, Castlereagh" on his form.

Luna visited Grimmauld Place that evening to share her favourite incidents of the day, and the evening filled with joyful laughter at the chaos at the Ministry proved a hearty distraction for Harry, who was feeling more restless by the day as his imprisonment in his own house dragged on and on. The bottles of wine they'd gone through certainly helped in this aspect.

"But that's not the biggest story of the day," Luna said after telling them about a duel in the hallway between two impatient Hit Wizards, which had resulted in Auror Fletcher getting hit on the nose by a stray Engorgement Charm. Harry breathed out shakily as his laughter subsided.

"Biggest!" Ginny cried out, setting off Harry and Lydia again. "Bigger than his nose?"

Luna showed remarkable patience as she waited for the three of them to get themselves back under control.

"Yes, bigger," she said serenely. "Apparently Amelia Bones has also decided not to hand in her form."

"Oh," Harry said, the corners of his mouth twitching despite his attempts to stop it. He closed his eyes for a moment to quell the urge to laugh. "That's… Wait, so the members of the Wizengamot had to hand in a form as well?"

"They did, and they were not too pleased with it, I've heard," Luna said.

"Can Castlereagh strip people of their seat in the Wizengamot?" Lydia asked.

"He can, but it's hard and incredibly unwise to do so. Fudge tried to do so to Dumbledore in that year where he had that feud with him and Harry, but he failed. You have to have two thirds approval in the Wizengamot itself before someone can be kicked out, and Fudge didn't have that. Even Dumbledore's opponents voted against Fudge, because they hated the Minister's interference with the council even more than Dumbledore."

"And Amelia is well respected by nearly everyone," Harry added. "She's untouchable."

"Castlereagh's not going to like that," Ginny said, grinning. "She's going to get away with this without a worry."

"Maybe she'll be able to convince some other members of the Wizengamot as well," Lydia mused.

"I won't hold out much hope with that bunch," Harry commented.

"Never give up hope," Lydia said, giving Harry a meaningful look. "Being pessimistic is not something that I'm prepared to do at this point. We've come this far already, and that's more than I ever thought would happen, so who could tell where this will lead to in the end?"

Harry's eyes fitted between Lydia's penetrating gaze and Luna, who looked at the former with an admiration that he'd never seen before from her.

Ginny cleared her throat, and the moment was broken. "So, Luna," she said. "You've been to Hogwarts today, haven't you?"

"Oh yes," she replied, and the twinkle in her eyes dimmed. "Yes, I've been speaking to Hagrid lately, because there seems to be something going on inside the Forbidden Forest."

"Oh?" Harry asked. "Did he mention any specifics?"

"Well, he hasn't seen a Thestral for a few weeks now," Luna said. "Hagrid thinks they've gone deeper into the forest, which is unusual, because they normally stay near Hogwarts. He hasn't seen any Unicorns either. He thinks the Centaurs know what's going on, but they won't tell him anything more specific than their prediction: "Aries is unusually red these days." But neither he nor I know what that means."

There was a short pause.

"Strange," Ginny commented.

"Yeah," Luna said. "I've written down what Hagrid told me and sent it to Aimé Bonpland, my correspondent in Paraguay, but it'll take a while for me to get a reply from him. He's quite isolated, you see. Letters take a long time to reach him."

Harry grew distracted as the conversation went on. The mention of Hogwarts and Hagrid made him realise that he missed it. He'd visited the castle from time to time before all this had happened, and he wanted to go there again to see Hagrid, Neville (who was teaching Herbology there), but most of all he missed his Godson. He wanted to see him again, or at least write him and tell him that he was alright, yet he could do neither of those things.

Ginny's inquisitive stare brought him back to the present. He looked at her, then at Lydia and Luna, who were deep in conversation about Bonpland and how he happened to end up living in rural Paraguay. He looked back at Ginny and nodded at the corridor.

"What's on your mind?" she asked him as they entered the corridor and he closed the door behind them. "You looked a million miles away back there."

"I miss Teddy," he said without preamble. He ran his hands through his hair. "I still feel so bad for dragging him into the Forbidden Forest that night, and I want to talk about it with him, but I can't, and it's so incredibly frustrating to be a Floo call away from him." He sighed and looked away. "I know I can't write him either, because any hint of me being in contact with him will only draw the Ministry's attention to him, and the last thing I want now is to bring him into the fold as well."

Ginny opened her arms and pulled him into a hug.

"It doesn't solve anything if I tell you he's doing very well, does it?" she asked, as Harry leaned his chin on her shoulder.

"Not really," he sighed. "I still don't know how to thank you for what you've done for him while I was gone, though."

"I do appreciate your attempts to thank me, though." They drew back and shared a knowing smile.

"But how about this, then?" she continued in a more energetic tone. "As soon as we've dealt with Castlereagh, we'll go to Hogwarts and get you to talk with Teddy. It'll be the very first thing we do. Damn the rest."

"Agreed," he said. She smiled despite himself. "That's really the only thing we can do about this at the moment, I suppose."

"It is," she said. "Teddy will understand that it's impossible right now."

Harry nodded. There really was nothing more to be done about it.

The next day brought more news on the forms, and Lord Castlereagh proved to be without mercy. Everyone who had failed to correctly sign their form, was fired. People who had used the form to draw on it or let loose their frustration against the administration, were fired. Even the people who had simply forgotten it, people who were ill yesterday, and people who had any other good reason to be unable to meet the deadline, were fired, despite their pleas and protests. And the entire front page of the Daily Prophet (Harry's hands shook with barely restrained fury as he read through it) consisted of a list of all the Ministry employees who had been laid off. "THE TRAITORS" was the headline. The accompanied picture showed Amelia Bones, who looked irritated at being photographed. Her refusal to step down as a member of the Wizengamot seemed only to attract more ire from Lord Castlereagh's administration.

"This can't go on for much longer," Harry said to Ginny, his voice shaking, his breakfast in front of him forgotten in the anger. "One-hundred and seventy-eight people lost their jobs in one fell swoop! Who's going to replace them? What will happen to them and their families now that they've lost their income?"

"With any hope, they'll take to the streets as well," Ginny said.

"And who even believes this nonsense?" he raged on. "Look at that headline! It's absolutely ridiculous! Whatever does that man have against me that makes him so zealous?"

"I don't know, Harry," she said softly, squeezing his shoulder. "Don't forget your breakfast, love."

But Harry was no longer hungry. He shook off her comforting hand, veered up, and marched out of the room. He wanted to get out, go for a walk, a run, anything that would shake off this frustration. But he couldn't. There was a stupid guard outside their front door, and their fireplace was being monitored. He was trapped. Locked inside. For too long already.

He marched past the master bedroom, past Lydia's room, all the way upstairs to the attic. He wanted to rage, to let loose his anger through his magic and take it out on the piles of old rubbish that were dusting away here. A small rational part of him told him it would not be wise to do that inside his own house. But he was past that restraint.

He lashed out and kicked at a nearby box. It turned out to be filled with books and was a lot heavier than he expected, and he jumped around on one leg, cursing loudly as he clutched his sore toe.

The pain had the opposite effect of calming him down and in his rage he whipped out his wand and sent a curse at the damned box. Gone was the fear, the trauma of using his wand to cast spells. The anger burned that away. There was a loud crack and all that was left of the box was a pile of ash. He looked around and saw more books, and the thin vestiges of control in him snapped. He sent curse after curse at the bookshelves, blowing book after book to smithereens. Pages billowed up in the incessant waves of magic and twirled down around him. There was only a brief spark, a memory flashing by of that fateful evening in the Forbidden Forest, but he sent those white-hot emotions out through his wand, and a tendril of fire hot enough to singe his fingertips blasted several more books to ash.

He was sick of it all. Sick of what was done to him for something he was not to blame for.

He spat out an explosive spell. The child's doll he'd practiced on with the Elder Wand, was blown to bits, its head rolling over the wooden floor in a grotesque manner, its eyes roving around madly as it spun away to a dark corner.

He and Kingsley had done so much to root out the toxic waste of past Ministry administrations, only to be blamed and punished for the mess that they were trying to clean up. Kingsley was rotting in Azkaban, and Harry was rotting here, in his own home, after being exiled for a year and a half.

Another curse, and a wooden doll house was wiped away in a most satisfying way, with wooden walls, small chairs, tables and dolls flying everywhere.

A reckless part of him wanted to Floo into the Ministry right now to march up to the Minister's office to personally escort the man to Azkaban, but he knew that was impossible. But it would happen soon, he was sure of it. Castlereagh's time was up, and it was time to plan how they were going to dispose of him in detail. And then… And what then?

He was so focused on the maelstrom of thoughts inside his head and making things around him explode, that he never noticed Ginny walk up the stairs behind him. Not until she snaked her arms around him from behind and laid her head against his back.

He froze, wand loosely held in his hand.

"It'll be okay, love," she murmured.

And all of a sudden, at that simple statement, all the anger left him. It rushed from him at every pore and left him with no strength left in his body. The wand clattered to the floor, and he sank down with it. Ginny sat down next to him and guided his head to her chest.

"I just want us to be together," he whispered. He began shaking, and tears pooled up in his closed eyes. "Just you and me, in a nice, quiet home, somewhere peaceful. And no one would harm us there. No meddling Ministry, no ghosts from the past trying to harm us again, and no Elder Wand to toy with us. I don't want this anymore. It's too much. I've had enough, I want it to be over so badly."

He drew a shuddering breath and threw his arms around her, clinging to her as he shook in sobs.

"It'll be over soon, love," she whispered. He felt her lips press down on the top of his head. "We're nearly there, you and I. And after we kick out Castlereagh, we will live that dream. I promise. You and me, in that peaceful house that you described."

He squeezed her tighter. Tears still streamed down his heated cheeks, but something had changed. His mind replayed the promise they'd made to each other over and over again, the realisation finally setting in that the dream that he dreamt would soon no longer be a distant, yearning fantasy.

He sniffed and drew himself up, wiping the last few tears from his eyes as he looked at Ginny, a smile spreading across his face.

"I want a cat," she whispered, her smile mirroring his. "And he has to be cuddly."

"We'll get a cat," he said with a watery grin, drawing her into a hug. "And a Quidditch pitch."

"Definitely," she murmured. "I wouldn't want our kids to grow up without a Quidditch pitch next to the house."

Harry froze as her words sunk down into him. And a glow, a delicious glow, spread through him, from the centre of his chest to the tips of his fingers.

"They'll be fantastic fliers," he whispered, drawing her back to kiss her on the lips. "With my talent, it's impossible for them not to be."

"Definitely," she laughed. "Your talent, yes."

The laughter died on her lips as their eyes met.

"I love it when you look at me like that," Harry growled, and that was all the invitation she needed to push him on his back and press her lips to his.

The chaos at the Ministry was still in full swing when Hermione went to work that Thursday. Many departments suddenly found themselves without several staff members (the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee was entirely without staff) and it caused a general mood that ranged from confusion to outright panic. Especially the absence of the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee proved to be troublesome, as more and more anti-Castlereagh graffiti appeared all over London. Worse still, people seemed less bothered to uphold the Statute of Secrecy, and Hermione had a strong suspicion that it was a form of open defiance to the Minister. In the end the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes had to call in the help of Aurors and Hit Wizards when someone had set off an extra-large box of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes Fireworks in a DIY store somewhere in North-London. It was a good thing that George had won a court case a few years back where the Ministry tried to hold him responsible for the damage that his products caused. It was settled then that it was not his responsibility what people did with his products, and that sentence would certainly come in handy now.

In the pandemonium of people aimlessly milling around in the Ministry halls, she thought that no one would notice if she slipped off to the archives again. She was proven correct when she arrived at the Department of Mysteries without any questions asked, and the corridors here were, as per usual, abandoned. Again she opened the inconspicuous black door halfway down the corridor. And she froze in the doorway when she saw that the lights were on. There was movement to her right, and she slowly turned, her heart pounding in her throat.

Fabian Fletcher was there, leaning against the desk.

"Back again, Granger?"

"Auror Fletcher," she said in a constrained voice. She stepped inside with stiff legs. "What a coincidence!"

"Is it?" he asked softly, pushing himself back on two feet. "There's no point in trying to hide it, Granger. We've seen you, sneaking off during work, snooping around in these archives." He took a step towards her, but Hermione stood her ground. She glanced back briefly to make sure she was still near the door opening.

"What have you been looking for, Granger?" Fletcher asked, narrowing his eyes at her. She noticed then how tall he was, taller than Ron even.

"Would that be of pertinence to you, Auror Fletcher?" she asked. Her hands shook, but she kept her voice even.

"Your behaviour suggests that it is," he said. "Why didn't you ask for permission to search around the archives? Some of these documents here are fragile, and others… confidential."

"Auror Fletcher," Hermione replied, standing up straighter. She pointed at the unmanned desk that was littered with papers and boxes. "There's not really anyone to send that request to, despite my repeated insistence that we need a new staff member here."

"What is so urgent, then, that it could not wait for that new staff member to arrive?"

"Knowing the general competence of this Ministry, that would take at least two more years before that would happen," she said.

Fletcher's jaw tightened. She had to keep talking. "But to answer your question: it was just something to do with a House Elf case a while back. After that unfortunate murder of Binky at Hogwarts, I wanted to gather more cases of murdered House Elves. So that's what I've been doing here."

"I see," Fletcher said. "And what do the Auror records of Belfast in the late seventies have to do with that?"

"I…" Hermione began, but she stopped. It was as if her stomach had dropped through a trapdoor.

"You know, you really should be more careful to place everything you read back where it belongs," he continued in his soft voice. "You left a box on the floor. Sloppy, Granger, especially after your thorough attempts at hiding your research from us."

Hermione closed her eyes and breathed out before opening them again. "You've been spying on me, then?"

"We've kept a close eye on you, yes," he replied. "And I did really expect you to realise that we would keep tabs on everyone associated with Harry Potter."

"Of course you would," she said.

"I'm going to be very clear with you, Granger," he said, taking another step towards her. She swallowed and looked up to meet his dark eyes. "There is nothing in these archives that will help you in your search for… whatever it is that you're trying to unmask. The behaviour of Aurors during the first tyranny of You-Know-Who, regretful as it was, has already been dealt with, and you can read it in the Excess Notes. So unless you have anything else to do in here…?"

"No, there's plenty of other work to be done," she said, trembling more than she ever had done before. "Have a good day, Auror Fletcher." She heard him wish the same to her, but by that time she'd already turned around and walked out the door. The cold, deserted hallway felt a lot more threatening than it did just a minute ago. Just before turning the corner she looked back. Auror Fletcher closed the door to the archive, and then turned towards her, his cold, dark eyes meeting her gaze. She looked away and set off again, her heels clacking loudly in the black hallway as she sped towards the elevators, still feeling her neck itch at the memory of the Auror's gaze on her.

Ron and Rose were right there in the living room when she Flooed back home. She knew this, and that was why she schooled her expression and smiled brightly at the pair of them. Seeing her daughter's face light up as she noticed her made that feat much easier than she'd feared. Even when she noticed Rose had food all over her face and hands.

"Hello there, gorgeous!" she cried, crossing the living room to bend down and place a kiss on the top of Rose's head.

"And here I was, thinking that you were talking to me," Ron grumbled good-naturedly. He had been in the process of feeding Rose a mixture of peas and carrots. Much of the contents of the small bowl were spread out over the table of the high chair, and many of the peas had been squashed, presumably by Rose's swinging fists.

"Of course you're gorgeous as well," she mumbled. Ron looked up and she pressed her lips to his. "Is she eating well?"

Ron's smile slid off his face and he slowly gazed from Hermione to the mess of carrot and pea, and then back to her again.

"Well, don't let me interrupt you two, then," she said. "I'm going to put on something more comfortable." Just before exiting the living room, she turned back. Ron met her eye and she grimaced, finally showing to him how she really felt. He smiled back in sympathy and nodded. They would talk about this after Rose went to bed.

At eight o'clock, Rose had finally run out of steam. She'd played with Albert, then with her toy wand, and then she solved a cube puzzle (Hermione strongly suspected that in her frustration, she magically decreased the size of the blocks that she had to fit in the correct holes), until finally she started yawning and her eyes started drooping. Ron and Hermione carried her to bed, wished her goodnight, and then they retreated back downstairs.

Hermione sank down onto her favourite sofa, sighing deeply as she closed her eyes.

"What did you want to talk about, love?" Ron asked. "Did something happen at work?"

"It was absolute pandemonium, first of all," she mumbled, her eyes still closed. "Everything is in shambles, Ron. People don't know what to do because their colleagues have been fired, meanwhile the Statute of Secrecy is under serious risk of being breached with all the graffiti that's being painted all over the place. So I thought that I could sneak off in that chaos and look around in the archives again."

"And? Did you find anything?"

She opened her eyes and regaled what had happened there to Ron. His fists tightened during the story, and his ears reddened.

"Bastards," he said (Hermione admired how quickly he had learnt to swear more quietly now that they had Rose). "Of course I expected them to keep an eye out on us, but this… They've been full-on spying on you this whole time!"

"I don't want to go back to those archives," she said, her voice trembling. Ron stood up from his sofa and sat down next to her. She allowed his hand to snake around him, and she laid her head on his shoulder. "I was so afraid that he'd do something to me… I've been searching for anything, anything that would even hint at something that happened to the family of Lord Castlereagh. But I've only come to realise that all the records of crimes committed by Aurors have all been erased from the archives. There's nothing there, and Fletcher told me as much as well. It's no use, and I'm only putting myself more at risk by continuing this search."

"Shh." Ron put a stop to her talking by laying a finger on her mouth. "I understand, and I'm sure that Harry and Ginny do as well."

"I hope so," she said, and with that she gave voice to a nagging thought that she had carried with her all this time, a thought that grew in strength as her search through the archives grew more and more futile. "I was afraid that they'd be angry with me for not finding anything. Especially Harry…"

"What do you mean?"

"He's been… intense, ever since he came back. There's something not right about him, Ron." She drew a deep breath, but she couldn't continue, she couldn't give word to the idea that lay there on the edge of her conscious thought.

"You're afraid he'll attack you again," Ron said softly. She stiffened, and he tightened his grip around her.

"I… I don't want to. I know he wasn't himself when he did it, and that I scared him… But I still remember that day so clearly. Every detail of it, and…"

"But you still let him see Rosie," he said.

"If I didn't let him, he would never be able to forgive himself. If I denied him that, I would prove all his insecurities right, and he would never again be able to be himself around me… around us." Tears began to pool in her eyes. "I had my wand ready, when he was here," she whispered. "I don't think he saw it, but I didn't feel comfortable just introducing Rose to him like that without at least making sure that… That he wouldn't…"

Ron could say no more. She turned in his grasp and slid into his lap, clinging to him as more tears slid down her cheeks.