A/N: Hey everyone! I've taken a few months away from this fic, so if this is your first time reading, welcome, and if you're returning after the hiatus, welcome back! Sorry for the pause, but I am ready now to finish what I started here. :)

As an added surprise, I've gone back through the first seven chapters and done some editing/ cleaning, so if you want to reread to remind yourself of what's happening, I think they're in much better shape. However, the story itself is unchanged, so it's not necessary to reread if you don't want to!

I want to thank you all for making it this far, and even if it's painfully slow, I promise I will finish this fic! It's not my most popular, but it's my personal favorite.

No trigger warnings necessary for this one.

Shout out to cheesyficwriter, who beta'd all eight of these chapters for me and calls me out when I overly, abundantly, and unnecessarily use too many adverbs.

Hermione sat cross-legged in her office chair, thankful that she'd chosen to wear trousers to work. She skimmed a report from her procurement team, circling every now and then with a quill that left red ink in its wake. The sun had disappeared from her window many hours ago, making the harsh, fluorescent lighting of her office a glaring, but necessary, evil. Thankfully, the hospital was quiet this time of night, even if she was stuffy and uncomfortably warm.

It'd been six months since she'd given her 30-day recommendations to the hospital's Board of Trustees. Six months of long days and hard work, of 70+ hour weeks and endless coffee runs, of sacrificing her personal time and digging deep to remember why she bothered with it all. Every day, bit by bit, she was seeing improvement at St Mungo's, and those miniscule wins were what kept her going. She was determined to follow through with the financial improvements that she'd promised her superiors, if not for her own career, than for the sake of the hospital itself.

If she were thinking only of her job, it would have been easy to say that for the most part, things were going well. Six months wasn't enough time to get out of the red, but the improvements in purchasing, inventory, and bookkeeping were trending undeniably in the right direction. She had enough data, at least, to present evidence that her plans were, in fact, working. She was cautiously optimistic that St Mungo's might even be able to operate without any debt within the next couple of years, an opinion of which the Board members had been pleased to hear.

Hermione chewed on her lip, eyeing the figures in the report before blowing out a sigh and leaning back in her seat. She fanned her neck with the file, relishing in the cool forced breeze as she stared at the ceiling.

The reality was, no matter how she spun it, the hospital was a long way from being able to fund the kind of research and development that Ron and Neville were proposing. Even if they cut the potential new programs and focused solely on current R&D spend, she doubted St Mungo's would be able to keep its head above water. She was beginning to consider that the right thing to do for the hospital might be to decrease R&D in general, though she didn't relish telling Ron that. She'd done everything she could to keep his dreams alive, but unfortunately, within the accounting confines of a nonprofit, there just wasn't enough cash. He was going to be so disappointed; the thought spurred an image of his expressive face into her mind's eye that brought a very different kind of heat to her neck.

Yes, it'd been six long months of hard work.

Of course, it'd also been six long months since the kiss.

She flushed, fanning herself with more vigor. What a kiss that had been, too. She was unable to force it from her memory, no matter how she tried. She saw him day in and day out, walking about the hospital, full of laughter and loyalty and brilliance and determination…in short, it was maddening. It took every ounce of Hermione's considerable willpower to keep things between them professional. No man was worth her career; she'd always been very confident in that fact. This hospital was a chance to show what she could do, but at some point in the last seven months, she'd also bought into its potential. She was invested in seeing it succeed, and was pretty sure that would be the case even if a certain redheaded Healer didn't work on the fourth floor.

She shouldn't be thinking about Ron anyway; she had work to do. She straightened in her chair and set the report in a file organizer to her left, then pulled open a thick binder. The forms required to apply for a patent were vigorous and thorough, and Hermione was determined to request no less than seven. The work that Ron and Neville had done over the past few years was impressive, even if the Board couldn't see its potential. She dipped her quill in a bottle of black ink and began to write.

"Good morning, Summer," Neville called, knocking on the glass of the Potioneering window.

"Morning," she replied, garnishing a bagel with cream cheese. "Breakfast on the go; hope you don't mind."

"Can't say that I do. Can I?" He gestured at the door.

"Oh yes," she agreed, setting the knife down and picking up her wand. She flicked it at the door, mouth already full of bagel.

The Potioneering office was kept locked and its entrance was strictly regulated during working hours, to ensure the integrity of anything that might be brewing. Potions that required more than a day of preparation were secured in containment units overnight, until the team followed the proper protocol to extract them the next morning. Neville had learned over the years, however, that if he got to work early enough, he could catch Summer before the process began.

"I heard your parents are doing better," Summer said as Neville shut the door behind him. Six months ago, after his parents had been forced by an unknown person to ingest an unknown potion, Neville had made the difficult decision to use a magical IV to flush their systems. Though the process cleansed their bodies of the harmful potion, it also undid some of the positive treatments they'd received.

He suppressed a shudder and nodded. "Yes, they are. They're returning to their previous levels of cognizance much more quickly than the first time."

"That's wonderful."

"That's actually why I'm here," Neville said as she took another bite of her breakfast. He pulled his bag off his shoulder and dug around in it, finally extracting a large glass jar that held a curved green sprig. He held it out for Summer, admiring its perfect state of preservation.

"Is that?" Her eyes grew wide, and Neville nodded, grinning. She threw her half-eaten breakfast on a napkin and brushed the crumbs from her fingers. "May I?"

"Of course."

She accepted the specimen from his hands gingerly, her breath fogging the glass as she peered at its leaves. "Siberian Sage," she whispered. "The veins are exquisite. I've never seen them so purple."

Neville raised an eyebrow. "Have you ever seen them at all?"

Summer grinned, though she didn't take her eyes from the jar. "Honestly? No." She tucked the bottle into her chest, gazing at Neville. "How did you get it?"

"I've been in contact with a Herbologist in Russia," Neville explained. "For years, actually. He's a brilliant man. We've co-authored a few papers. When I ran this theory by him, he was happy to make a trip to get a sample for me. It was a huge effort to get it across the borders, but it's here."

"Hmm." She cocked her head to the side, examining him. "I assume he wants you to return the favor by updating him on the results?"

Neville rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, yes, now that you mention it. He was very curious to see how the application would turn out. It's only natural."

"You academic types, you're all the same."

"There was a time in my life when calling me an academic type would have been an insult to the title." Neville returned her smile as he swung his bag across his shoulder. "I'll let you enjoy your breakfast. Keep me updated."

"You know it could take a few months, right?" When he glanced at her, she was again holding the jar to the light, studying the delicate sprig within. She met his eyes from behind the glass.

He nodded, clenching his jaw as he turned the doorknob.

Ron set the pen down and shook his hand, massaging the palm. He was seated in his office on a Friday afternoon, finishing some paperwork before the weekend. Ballpoint pens were one of his favorite Muggle inventions. He kept a stash in his office, though he didn't attempt to use them on the floor, not wanting to have to explain their function to curious wizards on a regular basis. When he'd first started his job, he hadn't realized how much administration was required to keep a hospital running, though in hindsight, that seemed naive.

One of Hermione's initiatives over the past six months had been to streamline much of the paperwork by eliminating double entry, an idea which he'd, at first, thought was ridiculous. However, he had to admit that the time saved across all departments translated into cost savings. She really was one smart witch.

He looked up to a knock at his door. Speak of the devil.

"Hey, Ron," Hermione smiled, leaning her hip against the doorframe. Ron couldn't help it, he grinned. After maneuvering past the initial awkwardness of the kiss, the past six months working together had been...well, it was possible that they were six of the best months of his life.

Ron had long since admitted to himself that he wished he could have more with Hermione than their strictly platonic friendship allowed. While there were some days where not being able to pull her into his arms ate him alive, overall, he wouldn't trade what they did have. Being able to speak with her every day, to have her in his life at all...she made everything better. Besides, he wasn't sure that she returned his feelings, and even if she did, there wasn't anything they could do about it so long as she was his boss, so it was safer and simpler to admire from afar.

She took a seat across from him. "You had a request for me?"

"Yeah." He dug through a stack of files to extract a large one from the bottom. "As you know, Dennis has been helping us test out Muggle psychiatrists." He passed the folder to Hermione, who opened it and flipped through its contents. "And we have some promising leads on therapists he's reviewed."

"That's a good start."

"Yes." He watched her read through the notes, holding his breath as he fidgeted with one of his beloved pens.

The noise made her look at him, the corners of her mouth tugging up. "Yes, Ron?"

"It's just that," he ran his fingers through his hair, trying to buy time as he decided how to word his appeal.

"Out with it!" She reached across the desk and grabbed his hand, silencing the tapping of the pen against the wooden surface. He hadn't realized he'd been doing that, though he didn't mind the way her fingers looked, curved around his own, much larger ones. When he met her eye he thought he saw a flash of something within them, before she pulled her hand away as though burned.

He averted his gaze and cleared his throat. "Fine, fine. Just hear me out." He willed himself to stay focused. "It's just that, it'll be very hard to recommend non-Muggle borns, who've been traumatized by a wizarding war, mind you, to see a Muggle therapist without infringing on the International Statute of Secrecy unless..." He steeled his courage. "Unless we're able to make an exception to it."

The silence that met this statement was deafening. Hermione's nose crinkled as she considered it, shock evident. "You're recommending that we...I mean, you want to ask the Ministry if we can break the Statute and tell Muggles about magic?"

"Well, when you say it like that." She glared at him, and his laugh died in his throat. "Look," he said. "I know it sounds crazy, and I know it won't be easy, but it's very hard for non-Muggle borns to talk about an all magical war that changed their lives so instrumentally without violating the Statute." Hermione's brow furrowed, a telltale sign of her serious consideration. Ron pushed on. "If we could vet and onboard even one Muggle therapist, we could send patients to get the help they need without risking the exposure of magic every time."

"Breaking the Statute on purpose, Ron. It's not very common."

"I know! But it has been done before. I did some research." He flipped through the pages of his notebook- another useful Muggle invention he'd adopted during school- to find what he was looking for. "See, here's one: there's a standing exception for whoever is the Muggle Prime Minister at the current time."

"That's true," Hermione agreed. "I think at the end of the Muggle Prime Minister's term, we usually try to wipe their memories. Perhaps we could propose something similar here?" Ron was unable to hide his flinch at the suggestion. "What's wrong?"

"Erm." He rubbed his nose. "I have mixed feelings about modifying memories these days. I've seen countless examples of how it can go wrong, and most often these spells are performed without the patient's consent."

"I-" She looked taken aback, the familiar wrinkles forming on her forehead. "I guess I'd never thought of it like that."

"I know, it's not a small matter." He ran his hand down his beard, trying to ignore the mesmerizing way she chewed on her lip. "And honestly, I don't want to start a big ethical debate about it, but as a Healer...well, I can say practically that we wouldn't be able to wipe a therapist's memory with any kind of regularity. They would need to know all the details of the war in order to provide comprehensive treatment, and I don't foresee our need for more therapists going away any time soon."

A long stretch of silence passed, broken only by the sounds of pages flipping as Hermione continued to read through the file. "You've really put some thought into this, haven't you? I have to admit, I'm impressed."

"Hermione Granger, impressed by me?" He feigned amazement, though a part deep within him preened at the praise. "Mark the day."

She glanced at him in surprise. "I'm always impressed by you, Ron." He felt his ears heat, sure they were glowing crimson. She averted her gaze and snapped the file shut, placing it on his desk. "It's a big ask, though."

"I know." He did know, and was sure this was another uphill battle that he needed to be prepared to take on.

"I can't make any promises," she warned him.

"I know," he repeated. "If anyone can do it, it's you."

She frowned. "Your confidence in me is misguided, at best."

"So you won't even try?"

"I will…" She sighed. "I'm just very aware of how precarious our position with the Board of Trustees is, at present."

He grinned. "I'll take it. Thank you for hearing me out, Hermione."

"Anything else?" She asked, making to stand. "While you're in the business of crazy requests?"

"Yes."

She did a double take. "Seriously?"

"Well," he tapped his fingers on the desk. "Yes. I was thinking about a back-up plan. On the off chance that the ministry won't approve an unprecedented exception to the Statute of Secrecy."

She blinked, settling into the chair again. "Ok, and?"

"What if we send someone from St Mungo's to a Muggle school to become a psychiatrist?"

"Hmm, that's not a bad idea," she mused. "Did you have someone in mind?"

"Not yet," Ron admitted. "Though I do have a list of Healers and nurses who I would start with. It's a big commitment; at least two more years of full time school. I personally don't want to do it, and neither does Neville. There's a few obstacles to get around, as well. We'd probably have to fudge the applications for the schools, for starters."

"I suppose," Hermione said, crossing her legs and leaning on her arms, "I suppose we could try to cover at least part of their tuition and board on the understanding that they'll remain employed by St Mungo's for a certain minimum of time after graduation, or else have to repay us. Sort of a guarantee against our investment."

"Seems reasonable," Ron agreed. "S'not like they'd have anywhere else to work anyway."

"You never know," Hermione pointed out. "Two years is a long time. A lot can change."

Given that even a year ago, Ron never would have anticipated how different his life would be after she waltzed into it, he nodded his head. "True."

"I'll give it some thought." Hermione tapped her pointer finger on the file. "Though it'd be helpful if you drafted the proposal, for both this and the Muggle therapist idea."

Ron wrinkled his nose in distaste. "You do know I'm an atrocious speller, right?"

"Yes, I recall." Her smile, though small, made his heart skip. "But I'm quite busy at the moment."

"I dunno, Hermione." He frowned; the idea of his writing being presented to the Board was overwhelming.

His feelings must have been visible on his face, because she sighed. "If you take a shot at a first draft, organizing it with your thoughts and ideas, then I can do the finished version."

He broke into a relieved grin. "Hermione, you are honestly the most wonderful person I've ever met."

A smile played on her features as she busied herself with straightening a pile of papers sitting on his desk near her. "Are you meeting McGonagall tomorrow?"

"Yeah," he said. "Going to Floo to Hogwarts in the afternoon."

"Let me know what she thinks about expanding the phonics program," Hermione said. "I have to believe there are a number of undiagnosed learning disorders running around that school."

"I'll try, but she never lets me talk business until we play chess."

Not for the first time of the day, Ron found himself the recipient of Hermione's shock. "Come again?"

"Chess?" Ron repeated. "It's a strategy game where two players each control sixteen pieces-"

"Oh, hush," she slapped his arm with a file. He laughed. "You and McGonagall…play chess?"

"At least once a year since my first year."

He could practically see the cogs turning in her head. "Wait, are you saying...the Sorcerer's Stone?" He nodded. "You actually beat a giant, transfigured chess board? I always thought that was a crazy rumor someone made up at school."

"I did," Ron said. "To be fair, most of the crazy rumors about Harry or I during our days at Hogwarts were true. It's the mild ones that were lies."

She shook her head, deep brown eyes full of mirth. "So…chess."

"Yup," he nodded.

"With McGonagall."

"Every year."

She cocked her head to the side. "You surprise me, Ron Weasley."

He leaned back in his seat, putting his hands behind his head and not minding the way her eyes raked over his arms. "I take it you don't feel surprised very often."

"Not really," she murmured. "But I rather like it."

"That's rather brilliant." He beamed. "I do, too."

"Mallory."

Mallory Crowder, a broad statured woman with high, protruding cheek bones, looked up from her work. Her dark brown eyes, deep set in her wrinkled face, surveyed the intruder before she spoke in a severe, nasally tone.

"Neris. Have a seat." A tall, thin woman with wispy black hair stepped into the office. With practiced indifference, she dragged a chair closer to the desk, ignoring the other woman's glower as the legs of the chair screeched along the polished floor. Once satisfied with the new location, she brushed her hands along her pencil skirt and sat. "How did the review with Granger go?"

"Decently." Mallory waved her wand to shut the office door. "Though how she's actually managing to improve the finances of that sinkhole, I'll never understand. I figured that in hiring someone so young, I'd be setting them up for easy failure."

Neris squinted her blue eyes. "Then why do you look pleased?"

"I think I can beat her down." A smirk played on her lips. "Granger is intelligent, she might even be proficient, but she's still able to be intimidated. No matter how well she does at reforming that putrid hospital," she shuddered, "I'll still be here, suppressing her progress."

"That's all good and well, but what about them?" Fear flashed across the younger woman's face. "What will we do if we can't stop them from incriminating us?"

Mallory sucked in a deep breath, nostrils flaring. "I intend to stop Granger in such a…conclusive manner, that it will necessitate that all the Muggle medicine being used in the hospital also cease. It's almost a shame, destroying her career, but..." She shrugged a shoulder.

"Muggle medicine. Imagine a world where they can do something better than we can?" Neris's face crinkled, her repulsion obvious. "Absolutely disgusting, the whole herd."

"That's exactly your problem." Mallory pointed a bony finger. "I agree that Muggles are scum, but these techniques that the young Healers are inventing; they're alarmingly effective. We'd be fools to ignore that reality. No." She pushed from the desk and stood by the window, watching the morning drizzle run down the glass in slow beads. "No, Neris, something else must be done, and soon. Before they can make a full recovery."

"Why don't you just kill them then, and be done with it?" Neris picked at her nail, sounding bored. "You should have done it years ago, I've been saying it all along."

"It'd be too suspicious now," Mallory growled, her grey hair swinging about her ears as she shook her head. "They have Auror connections, these young men. After the last attempt, the whole department would be breathing down my neck, demanding more security. I must be subtle." She spoke as though talking to herself. "I must block them from further action through bureaucracy, if I can."

"And if you cannot?"

Mallory turned to survey the younger woman, gazing down imperiously. "Then I will do what is required to protect us, Neris. You know that."

"Fine." Neris jumped to her feet. "But if they show even one ounce of improvement, I will be back in this office faster than you can say Garotting Gas." She spun on her heel and wrenched the door open. Mallory didn't move as she listened to the footsteps fade down the fall.

"Is everyone comfortable?" The room gave a general murmuring of consent. Ron scanned the aisles of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, where the members of his support group were spread out, each laying flat on a yoga mat. He was particularly aware of the mat where Hermione's curls laid spread in a wave, though he tried to ignore her presence, which amplified his already shot nerves. It was her first time attending the support group, and he was rather embarrassed that this was the session in which she decided to show up.

He didn't mind speaking in front of people or leading difficult conversations about the war, both of which were required in his role in the support group, but meditation was a different story altogether. It was one of his crazy ideas, a brain blast he'd had several months ago during a conversation with Neville. He'd read a study about the benefits that meditation can have for people with anxiety and stress, and he thought that a voluntary class with the support group might be an interesting and helpful experiment. They'd done it twice before, always after the regular discussions so that members who didn't want to participate could opt to leave.

He'd done the research, and tried to explain the concepts of meditation as he talked the group through the breathing exercises. He wanted them to be able to take some of these techniques to deploy in their regular lives, if they found it beneficial. He'd received good feedback, and the number of people who opted to stay for meditation hadn't dropped off, which he found encouraging.

It was just unfortunate that Hermione was here, tonight of all nights, when he was already predisposed to worry about sounding like a fool.

"Now, please remember that this is not my area of expertise." He fidgeted with his shirt, unable to help himself from glancing at her mat again. She laid with her eyes closed, the soft profile of her face nearly unrecognizable without the trademark furrow of her brow. She looked peaceful, less worried. Clearing his throat, he snapped his attention back to the room at large. "Ok, let's start with a breath in…"

Hermione enjoyed the sound of Ron's voice rolling over her in a deep rumble. She wasn't sure what'd made her come to the support group tonight. She'd been trying to keep her distance from him outside of work, in an effort to keep her sanity in check, but perhaps she was more of a glutton for punishment than she thought.

The meditation surprised her. She'd have to ask Ron to see the study he referred to that listed scientific benefits to meditation. She would not normally be interested in something like that, but she had to admit, laying on the floor of the shop and breathing out with the rest of the group, that she was feeling more relaxed than she had in weeks.

The time passed quickly, and before she knew it, they were clearing up the yoga mats and passing around butterbeer. She stood to the side, sipping on her drink as she watched the crowd mingle, talking and laughing. It was a nice little community; Ron and Neville had done an impressive job of building a sense of camaraderie. It was no wonder that people returned to this environment, week after week.

"Hermione." She started, surprised to be addressed, and turned to see Ginny smiling at her. "Fancy meeting you here."

"Hi Ginny," Hermione said, remembering, with some shame, their previous encounter. "Erm, how are you?"

"Great," Ginny beamed. "Season just ended, but now I have several months off before training begins again."

"Oh, it's probably great to have some time," Hermione said. "Did you have a good season?"

Ginny giggled, and upon seeing Hermione's expression, nearly choked on her butterbeer. "Oh, I'm sorry, I thought you were kidding. Well, we won the league, so I suppose you could say it was a good season."

Hermione didn't like not knowing things, and was a touch indignant at Ginny's tone. She did try to keep up on current events, even including major titles in the Quidditch world, but she supposed that this new role had her working so hard she hadn't devoted her usual time to reading the Daily Prophet. Still, she shoved her pride aside and forced a smile on her face. "That's wonderful!"

"Not a Quidditch fan, huh?" Ginny said. "I suppose that doesn't bother Ron so much."

Hermione felt her heart skip at this non sequitur. "What do you mean?"

Ginny shot her an incredulous look. "Don't tell me you two are still pretending that you're just friends?"

"We are friends." Hermione ignored the implication of more. More for her own sake than Ginny's, she forced herself to say her next words. "He's also my employee."

"Ah, is that the problem then? That explains a lot."

"Who says there's a problem?" Hermione demanded. This conversation already had her on edge, and it was a short jump to feeling defensive.

Ginny's expression was a bit too understanding. "Alright, I'll mind my own business." Hermione clutched her butterbeer bottle tightly, turning away from the other woman. Her gaze unconsciously sought out Ron, following his movements throughout the room, watching him socialize and laugh with the support group members. In the middle of his conversation with Seamus, his eyes met hers and he grinned. His lopsided smile made her stomach flip as Ginny spoke in a soft voice. "For what it's worth, I haven't seen him this happy in a long time."

"I doubt that's because of me," she murmured, unable to extract her gaze from Ron's. His grin had turned into something of a smirk, and his blue eyes had yet to leave her face.

Ginny threw back her head and laughed.