A gray owl with gold-flecked eyes fluttered down to perch on the window of the Burrow kitchen. It tapped on the window with its beak and hooted in Hermione's direction. "Me?" she asked it, pointing at herself. The owl said nothing back, only looked back at her in what seemed a more pointed way than usual. She stood, reached over the sink, and took the letter from its beak.

Indeed, the back of the envelope had her name in typed print. The front was sealed with a large M in silver wax, the stationary heavy and creamy white. The Ministry had written to her.

Hermione,

So pleased to hear your studies are going well. Lots of red tape over here, as you can imagine. I can explain more in person, but I'm sure by now you've heard the United States are especially unhappy with us even though they viewed Voldemort as little more than a common domestic troublemaker. I have several old wizarding families who'd like nothing more than for everyone to be put away very quietly. The lot of them were conveniently nowhere to be found during the war, but I suppose that's how dynasties survive.

Of course we would be able to make space for you here if you're able to finish your studies early—do you think you can swing it? You'd be able to meet with our prosecutors who are working on the indictments beginning in the second week of May. At long last.

We need more young people like you to work on this effort (in particular, what you said about Sirius moved me) to hold Death Eaters accountable. I hope you know that you can always contact me if you need anything. Please let me know as soon as you're able.

Kind Regards,

Kingsley Shacklebolt

Minister for Magic

"Did I just see a Ministry owl? Did the post come for me?" Ron grabbed at the envelope she'd discarded on the counter.

"It's for me," Hermione said, folding up the letter quickly.

"An admirer?" he rubbed her shoulder.

She didn't want to lie to Ron. "Kingsley wrote to me."

"Not every day that a teenage witch gets a letter from the Minister now, is it?" he grinned.

"I asked him about work at the Ministry," she unfolded the letter carefully.

Ron raised his brows. "Anything good?"

"Sort of...yes. He wants me to work with the prosecutors in the Wizengamot's office."

"Oh," he said, his eyebrows raising.

"I've been meaning to tell you and I didn't expect to hear back so soon—"

"—This is brilliant!" he swept forward and hugged her. "I knew you had something lined up, you're too smart not to have figured something out!"

Now it was her turn to be surprised. "I didn't realize you would be so excited."

"Excited? I'd be bouncing off the walls if mum weren't in the other room," he whispered, grinning. "It's perfect."

"Perfect?" she squeaked.

"Yeah, Diagon Alley's so close to the Ministry, from George's shop it'll be an easy enough commute to get to the London entrance. Dad takes it all the time."

"Oh," Hermione said. She suddenly felt awful.

"What?"

"Well, I will be at the Ministry after Hogwarts, but I hadn't figured out where to live. Kingsley's got so many things planned, Ron, it could really—"

"That's why it's so perfect," he said. "And, I dunno, I was thinking, maybe we could settle down in London eventually since I've already spent my whole life in the countryside, what do you reckon?"

"Settle down?" Hermione said softly. "Do you mean like—"

"Well, yeah. You know what I mean," he smiled sheepishly. She tried to configure her expression into one of joy and not complete surprise. She thought back to the look on his face when Mrs. Weasley had taken out that jewelry box on a late summer afternoon. Had she utterly misread his expression? Perhaps their many months apart had been a bad idea.

"I don't know if I'd want to live together until after all of this is over," she said carefully. She folded up the letter from Kingsley.

"Alright," he frowned. "Then come stay with me whenever you're done."

"It's not so simple. There are...a lot of people. It could take years."

"Years? To try Umbridge? Her orderlies?" he asked, baffled. "How long is it going to take to throw them in Azkaban?"

"And the Malfoys, and the Carrows, and whatever other Death Eaters—"

"—But Hermione," Ron said quietly. "Alecto Carrow's dead."

"Right, but his sister—"

"—And you think Umbridge and the lot of them won't be found guilty?"

"Of course they will be!" she shook her head. "Don't you want that to happen?"

"Yes, but why wait around? Most of the Death Eaters are dead, and the few who aren't, well, maybe the world would be better off if they had stuffed it!"

"But they have to be tried. You know Sirius didn't even get a trial?"

"Sirius is dead too."

She bristled. "I know that! But his record still says that he was a murderer, don't you think we should fix that?"

"You don't have to be the one to do all this."

"But I want to."

"My parents were married by the time they were our age."

"So you do want to get married...soon?" she said.

"Well, not tomorrow, but…" Ron shrugged. "Don't you?"

"I haven't thought that far yet," she said in what she hoped was an honest tone, not a pessimistic one. "I didn't know you had."

"Life's so short, Hermione," he took her hand in his. "If there's anything I've learned in the last two years."

She stared at him, bewildered that he would say such a thing to her. Hadn't he come to Australia with her to bring her parents home? Hadn't he seen the way she had made sure to protect them in case she was killed?

"Fred wanted to get married, did you know that? They found the ring on him," he said quietly.

"It's not the same for us," she said softly, slipping her hand away from his. "Please, see it from my perspective. You're still in Auror training, surrounded by only a few people who at least see you as a person and not as some kind of untouchable celebrity—how often do people ask you about me?"

"I talk about you all the time!" Ron protested.

"Yes, I talk about you too! But for every person who asks me about my studies, there are ten more people who just want to know if I'm ready to get married—"

"You just said you've never thought about marriage," Ron said accusingly.

"That's right, but I have thought about all the things I'd rather do first. Girls my age, the ones I grew up with, and the ones we grew up with at Hogwarts, they aren't living with their boyfriends yet, they're working and going to school and moving into flats with their friends."

"You're not like them," he said, so plainly and earnestly that it was clear he meant it as a compliment.

"I am!" she protested. "I'd like to be."

His face twinged with hurt. "Alright. It sounds like you've already made your decision," he said finally, turning away from her. She wondered if Ron was with her or lost in his mind, elsewhere. They sat like that, motionless, before she settled her gaze on a piece of furniture that had always been in the kitchen. Together they both watched the odd, worn clock that Hermione had always admired, one hand of the nine stuck as though it were broken.