Part 1

Hermione Granger, brimming with happiness, looked around at her new rooms. "I can't believe I'm back at Hogwarts," she said excitedly, "after four long years!"

Ronald Weasley popped a bottle of Champagne and filled three tall flutes. "Not just that," he added with pride. "You're replacing Minerva McGonagall!"

"No one can replace her," Hermione asserted. She smiled at him over the rim of her glass.

"You know what I mean," Ron returned with a laugh. "You're taking her old transfiguration job now that Dumbledore's retired, and she's Headmistress." Taking a long sip, he asked. "Hey, where is she? I brought an extra glass for her."

"Oh, Minerva never drinks," Hermione told him as she sipped her Champagne.

"A Scotswoman who doesn't drink?" Ron scoffed. "You're putting me on!"

"Don't let her hear you say that!" Hermione laughed. "Severus said there was an epic staff Christmas party the year he was a 7th year, and -"

"Really?" Ron asked with widened eyes. "Details, 'Mione!"

"Well, Madam Pomfrey and Alastor Moody were a hot item," she told him, "and the whole staff got completely pissed and-"

"Oi! Enough!" he yelled. "That's disgusting!"

"Anyway, everyone involved was sworn to secrecy," she told him with a laugh, "and now it's only gillywater for her."

"Anyway," Hermione said, changing the subject, "I want to thank you for helping me move. Severus is still finishing up the upgrades on Spinner's End. He's nearly ready to put it on the market."

"There's no need to thank me, 'Mione," he replied with a grin. "You know I'd do anything for you." His grin changed to a frown. "I left you alone while you were off at university in Australia like you wanted, didn't I?"

"Oh, Ron," Hermione sighed heavily and turned to face him, "you're not still angry about that, are you?"

"No, not really, not anymore," he admitted. "It was just that you took off for the other side of the planet for four years and refused to let me visit."

"I didn't let Harry visit either," she countered.

"Yeah," he conceded, "but you let Snape visit."

"Professor Snape." Her words were clipped. "And you'd better get used to -"

"Okay, okay," he surrendered with a grin, "I know you guys fell in love while he was trying to restore your parents' memories."

"Severus worked tirelessly for four years," she insisted. "He even took a year's sabbatical to help me." She took a calming breath, and her mouth trembled slightly. "My parents still don't remember me, but Severus - he's still working on a cure."

"I know, 'Mione. And I'm so, so sorry." His face showed mild queasiness. "Just you and Snape -"

"Ron," she sighed as she interrupted him, "can't you just be happy for me?"

"I am happy for you. Me and Harry just want to protect you, you know?"

Hermione inhaled deeply and slowly released a breath. "Ron, you and Harry are my best friends, and I love you both dearly, but–"

"You're a grown woman, and we need to stop acting like over-protective prats," he recited her oft heard words with a smile.

"Exactly," she answered with relief.

"Well, I can only try." He clapped his hands together. "So, what do you want to unpack first?"

"You can start with that box," Hermione said. Pointing her wand, she muttered a quick charm to enlarge a tiny box. "Just take the books out. They'll shelve themselves."

With a chuckle of amusement, Ron opened the box, picked up each book one by one, and watched them sail right to their appropriate place on the shelves. "That's a really cool spell, Hermione," he told her. "Hey, where'd you get this?"

Reaching into the box, he pulled out a Muggle device and set it on the desk. "It's a TIE Fighter, right?" He removed the top from the old typewriter and set it aside, pushing at the keys.

"Typewriter," Hermione called back over her shoulder. "And it doesn't work that way. It's charmed to type as I speak, and it's much faster than a Quick-Quotes Quill and far more legible. It's been a great help with both my personal research and my correspondence." She paused to give him a pointed look. "Not that you ever answered my letters."

"Yeah, well," he mumbled, "you know I'm pants at letter writing."

"Anyway, just leave it alone, will you? I need the rest of those books put away first." She levitated a stack of suitcases. "I'm going to put away my clothes. I'll be back in a tick."

"Okay," he agreed as he tried unsuccessfully to reattach the top. "Huh? What's up with the top?" He broke off, the problem becoming apparent. "Hey, what's this?" he muttered to himself.

A single folded sheet of typewritten paper had slipped out of the lid's inner lining and into the edge of the lock, keeping the lid from closing. The paper was a buttery yellow color, much like the new teaching robe Hermione was wearing.

Ron grinned and shot a quick glance up at Hermione. The door had just closed. Perfect! She'd never know he'd read one of her letters. Quickly, he unfolded the paper.

My Love – my dearest friend, yes, but I must confess that I am in love with you. I have been ever since – But that's not important now.

There is no easy way to say this. Do you remember THAT night? That terribly lonely night? When we had both been drinking? When we took comfort in one another's arms?

Merlin, help me! I feel like such a dreadful person. I'm in love with you, but I'm promised to someone else! And now I'm carrying your child.

I don't know what to do. Should I tell him about you, about that night, about the baby, and pray he understands? But I know he won't. He's already terrible jealous of you.

I could sleep with him. Allow him to believe the child is his. It's really the easiest solution. But it's dishonest, and I couldn't do that.

And if I plucked up the courage to tell you? I know that we could make a life together, a family. But I don't know if you care for me the same way.

And with this damn war looming on the horizon? Would it even be fair to bring a babe into the middle of it all? Worse, though, is the thought of losing it.

Right now, I simply want to run away, without explanations, start a new life somewhere else but -

Ron frowned as he read the letter, his face turning redder and redder by the moment. "What the hell?" he growled under his breath. Quickly, he flipped it over, searching for more, but the letter ended there.

With shaking hands, he carefully refolded the paper and slid it into his shirt pocket. "So that's why she stayed in Australia," he muttered angrily. Grabbing blindly for the cover of the typing machine, Ron inspected it minutely for more pages of the letter but found nothing. "I should have known!" he hissed to himself.

"Still playing with the typewriter?" Hermione asked with a smile as she returned to the room. "Maybe Harry will let you borrow it."

"Harry?" Ron demanded. His voice was hard, his eyes chips of blue eyes.

"Well, yes," Hermione said uneasily, "Harry loaned it to me before I left for Australia. I'm returning it tomorrow –" She broke off. "Ron, is something wrong?"

"Nothing I can't fix!" Ron growled. "No need to worry about the typing machine. I'll give it to him alright." Swiftly he turned, snapped the lid on, and jerked the typewriter up by the handle. He left without another word, slamming the door to her new office behind him.