Dark Marls, Orders and Auror's chapter 2.

Accusations, History and Relationships.

By Chris "I'll think of a Harry Potter related alias later".

Summary: Ron, now working for the Ministry of Magic, brings Hermione some bad—or good!—news, and history between them is dug up in the process. Emotions run high, with accusations answered by counter-accusations... the usual Ron/Hermione relationship.

Chapter 2

Accusations, history, and relationships.

Ron Weasley arrived at Hogwarts, his freckled face looking particularly worn, as heavy bags reflected the long hours he'd been working. His ears were almost as fiery as his hair; he looked nothing short of furious, even more so reflected as he took long purposeful steps. This look of fury, mixed with another emotion that was etched on his face... a look of fury and sorrow. With clenched teeth, his eye's glittered with fresh tears that threatened to fall. Ron walked the route he knew oh-so-well, along the twisted, maze-like, corridors, and up a flight of stairs—careful to avoid the third from last step—past a picture of an old witch (who looked remarkably like a hag Ron had met earlier that day) who watched him suspiciously, with hawk-like-eyes, from her gold frame. He passed one last suit of arms, and stopped in front of a large stone gargoyle statue that glanced down at him fiercely.

Ron straightened his clothes, careful to check everything looked new an ironed. He even went so far as to straighten his hair; flattening it with his hand. 'Westminster,' he finally choked out, sure now he looked more presentable.

The password was taken from everyday, traditional Muggle language, and Ron was sure more Wizards were familiar with gobbledygook then they were with regular Muggle words; it was brilliant. No Wizard that didn't already know the password would ever be able to guess it. Only Hermione would choose such a password; only she would think to chose such a password. No sooner did the words leave his mouth, did the gargoyle opened up before him, and into view came a huge oak door so massive, he seriously doubted that even one of his brothers explosives could break it open. Below a heavy gold knocker, was the Hogwarts coat of arms with the four house animals inscribed, one in each corner. Representing Gryffindor, was a lion; Hufflepuff, a badger; Ravenclaw, a raven; and representing Slytherin, a snake.

Ron, for the briefest second, thought the Gryffindor lion looked slightly bigger then the rest. Bigger, or perhaps the had the slightest sliver of extra shine. He immediately dismissed the thought out of hand; this was Hermione he was talking (or rather thinking) about. Hermione may have been in Gryffindor whilst at Hogwarts herself, but she was most definitely not the kind to show favouritism despite this. There was no way she ever would, it just wasn't her... but still!

Ron made his way to the door, feeling slightly intimidated by it's sheer size; he wondered what it must have been like to go there whilst a students at Hogwarts, he knew Harry had. He paused just before he reached the oak mass to gather up enough courage to enter. He coughed lightly to clear his throat, checked his clothes one last time and with his eyes closed said to himself, 'Now or never!'

Ron pushed the door open nervously, noticing that it seemed almost weightless in his grip; how something so immense could move so freely, even with magic, he just didn't know (Perhaps the hinges were just well oiled). As the door opened wider, and wider, he could see more and more of room, the scene building slowly before him. Candles cast slivers of sunset-red light on his purple cloak, as shadows danced in tune to the flickering flames atop the burning wax. The circular room was surrounded by dozens of pictures of dosing past head teachers. One of the most noticeable of these pictures was of a balding man at the very back who was snoring loudly as a bead of drool hung from the side of his mouth. Another picture Ron saw was of a thin, stern-looking woman with grey hair, who was talking in her sleep to a dragon apparently named Alfy. The poor creature was receiving a fragmented lecture on why it shouldn't breath on fireworks during term time.

In the very middle of the room stood a large desk. It was magnificent, as large as he'd ever seen before and Ron knew immediately that, if he were the remotest part interested in desks, this would be his most prized possession. It was crafted in solid oak, with trimmings of gold-leaf rose designs running up the edges and sides. Small gems and jewels were immaculately, and tastefully, woven into the design, and the curve of the wood was so as to match perfectly the curve of the room. Stacks of papers sat in neatly next to bundles of quills and jars of ink bottles of ink on it's top, but other then these objects, it was completely bare. Ron could imagine Hermione too afraid of scratching it to actually use it. He could imagine, fifty years from now, the desk still sitting in mint condition, perfectly preserved and unused.

Upon the wall, just above the desk, a magnificent silver mirror hung, along the glimmering frame were etched tiny pictures of wizards, and witches, and dragons. In each the four corners perched a large statue of a grinning cherub: one of which was flattening it's featured wings; whilst another (In the bottom right hand corner) was talking quietly to a wizard about dragon slaying—the small figure was nodding enthusiastically as he crouched behind a rock, hiding from the Chinese fireball dragon that prowled the frame.

Next to the mirror, a circle of shelves that ran the room seated countless books (which were no doubt arranged in alphabetical order). So many titles were placed around the room, it could quite possibly function as a library as well as an office. At the very end of one shelf, when—miraculously—there were no more books left to fill the space (Though there was a large chest of draws, which no doubt hid yet more titles), was a picture of Hermione, Harry, Ginny and himself that had been taken years before, when Harry, Hermione and himself were in their seventh and final year at Hogwarts and Ginny in her sixth.

'What time do you call this?' came an amused voice from behind him. A chuckle escaped Hermione's lips as Ron nearly jumped out of his skin. 'Your owl said you'd be here ten-minutes ago,' she added sternly.

Ron turned, and saw the warm face of his best friend, Hermione. Her bushy brown hair was still most prominent (and always would be)—though Ron guessed, next to his own vivid red hair, it couldn't look quite so evident—and her face was as warm and happy, yet almost paradoxically strict as ever. Ron stood for a moment in silence, attempting to gain control of his heart. He wasn't sure whether it was the shock of Hermione sneaking up behind him, or just the sight of her beautiful face that set it of, and he didn't have time to debate it; the brunette was waiting for a reply. 'Hermione,' he greeted. 'You shouldn't sneak up on people like that.'

'Then people should perhaps arrive when they say they're going to arrive. Then I wouldn't have to go looking for them, wondering whether they've got lost somewhere within the castle.'

'It was five minutes,' Ron argued, sounding indignant. 'And as if I would get lost here. I spent seven years of my life here.'

'Well, it has been quite a while since you've been here,' said Hermione, thoughtfully.

Without thinking, Ron flung his arms around Hermione, pulling her into a hug that he didn't really want ever to end. He spoke into her shoulder, 'Good to see you again, Herm.'

'You too,' said Hermione warmly, cautiously hugging Ron back. Soon enough she was hugging Ron as hard as he hugged her, which by then resembled two hugging trolls; in mating season no less. Each pulled the other closer, afraid this would be the last time they would ever see each other. 'It's been too long,' said the brunette.

Ron could still remember the last time he'd seen her; it was forever etched in his memory. 'Six months,' he recited offhand as they finally pulled away. He shook his head at the length and said, 'Too damn long.' Then, with a grin, he forced himself to push the current events to the back of his mind, and asked, 'So, how you been?'

Hermione walked over to her desk and tapped it with her wand. 'Oh fine,' she said briskly. Immediately after she'd tapped the desk with a wand, a small silver machine popped up from inside a hidden trap-door (Whose seams must have been invisible) on the top of the desk, and beside it was perched two cups: one a plane red cup that looked bare and void of magic... almost like a Muggles cup; the other was most defiantly magic, almost making up for the lack of enchantment the other showed. A tiny picture of a dragon was currently breathing fire onto words which read "Ever - Warm - Cup", and evidently from the smoking desk, the cup stayed very warm indeed.

'Drink!' said Hermione. It was more of an order then a question, she had already poured Ron a cup of Hundred Herb Tea in the Ever - Warm - Cup, and nigh on thrust it into his outstretched palm, asking, 'How had he been?'

Ron flinched as the cup he took burnt his hands. 'Thanks,' he muttered. The drink was so hot, Ron had to juggle it, passing it from hand to hand in order to keep it from scalding him. Perceiving it as a challenge, the dragon blew ever more fire onto the words, and the cup became increasingly hotter. 'I've seen better day's,' he said, sounding as worn as he looked. Ron glanced at the Muggle cup from which Hermione was sipping from, and now very much wished he'd been given that cup (At least he'd be able to drink from it). 'Been shopping in Muggle London again?' he asked.

'Oh this?' said Hermione, her eye's falling to her cup. 'No, I got this ages ago. I haven't had time for much shopping lately, not even for every day things, as I'm sure neither have you.'

'Really, That bad?' said Ron, sympathetically. Ron gave a nod of agreement, and attempter to take a sip from his drink, but, sure enough, a fresh wave of steam came roaring from the cup. 'Yeah, I know how that feels, working twenty-four hours a day. Things are especially bad at the Ministry now that... You-Know-Who's gaining power again.'

Hermione nodded solemnly, and, in a quite, regretful tone said, 'The day we all stopped working together was the day we gave him free reign.'

Ron placed his cup (Which was still scalding hot)—feeling quite relieved about doing so—atop the table, and gave a nod of agreement, replying, thoughtfully, 'Cornelius was naive, foolish even, to think the Ministry could stop You-Know-Who without Dumbledore and his supporters; without the resistance.'

Hermione immediately glanced at the cup on the desk; she looked almost nervous about it. 'So, what news do you bring from the ministry?' she said as she moved Ron's cup onto a cosy. 'You've come about the Dark Mark that was sighted over Hogsmead!' she said matter-of-fact.

Hermione flinched slightly as she mentioned the Dark Mark, and, not bothering to wait for an answer from Ron (She really would rather not know), she busied herself rearranging her desk (despite it's already immaculate appearance). She somehow managed to find that the papers were not all exactly three inches from the edge.

'Yes! It's the second one this week,' said Ron, slightly flustered—his ear tips going noticeably red—as Hermione continued to move things about busily, doing anything that would distract her from the harsh truth.

'Indeed,' said Hermione. She was angrily flicking through a book entitled 'The 10 uses of toad skin' (Which didn't look a good read in the least, even for Hermione.) in a futile attempt to forget the memory of the earlier weeks loss; Death Eaters had killed someone Hermione had known, be it not very well. The victim had been more of a friend—team-mate would be a better word—of Harry's, at Hogwarts: Alicia Spinnet.

'Hermione! Please, this is important,' said Ron harshly; harsher then he would have liked. Nonetheless, it had the desired effect. The brunette looked up to make eye contact with Ron, who, seeing the tears in her eyes that mirrored his own, suddenly found his shoes extra interesting. Interesting enough to warrant a second glance and then a third and a fourth until....

'Who was it this time?' said Hermione standing the other side of her desk. She was still flicking through her book, even if she was no longer reading the pages.

'You might want to sit down,' said Ron. His act of care went unnoticed; Hermione stood defiant.

'Just tell me who it was,' snapped Hermione.

'It was... It was the Longbottom's,' Ron stuttered sadly; his voice wavering as he spoke. 'They-They never stood a chance... Retaliation for us catching Mark Blake and Andrew Thompson last week.'

Hermione immediately collapsed into her chair, choking down a strangled sob; the loss of their, Ron and hers, childhood friend nearly too much. Ron found the desire to go over and comfort her, to hug her, almost too much. 'Poor Neville,' she sobbed from behind glazed eye's. It took a moment for her to regain her composure, and then, with a reflective disbelieving tone she said, 'I would never have though Mark Blake.' A sudden thought hit her as she wiped away the tears from her eyes, still struggling to keep more replacing those she wiped away. 'Didn't Mark Blake go to the Ministry Headquarters last month?'

Ron didn't see where this was heading, or what this had to with Neville, but it was Hermione, so he nodded and said quietly, 'Yeah, he did!'

'Then surely, if he was a Death Eater, he would have been caught by the sensors! The sensors are everywhere in the ministry. The place the Dark Mark was scribed should have hurt like crazy the moment he entered the building... He shouldn't have been able to use his arm at all!'

Ron shook his head slowly; this was much to like Hermione to figure things out by herself. It was just one of the many things Ron had come to explain, but as always, it was her that lead the conversation. 'He didn't have a Dark Mark,' he explained. 'You-Know-Who must have realised we have ways of detecting it now. We've caught one too many Death Eaters for his liking, it was only a matter of time before he caught on.'

'Just goes to show you, you really can't trust anyone anymore. No one you don't know well,' said Hermione, with a hint of sadness in her voice. It was a grave day in the world the day that you couldn't trust a fellow wizard.

Ron's face contorted with anger, he looked as though he had eaten poison. 'And even those you do know well. Even those you call friends,' he spat, angrily.

Seeing his disdain at the line of conversation, Hermione asked hopefully, in an attempt to steer Ron away from talks about Harry, 'Did you catch who...' Her voice failed her, only in her head could she finish the sentence, 'killed Neville?'

Ron seemed to know what she was talking about though. Sure, it was easy enough to guess, but even if it weren't, Ron would probable know; he and Hermione were on the same wavelength in that way of speaking. 'Gone before we got there,' he said, suddenly looking ashamed. Truth be told, he had never felt more ashamed in his life. The Ministry had failed to find those responsible for killing a friend of his; he had failed. Ron had let Neville die in vain. Ron picked up a book in an attempt to clear his mind; the book had stood on a shelf to the left of him.

Ron grinned slightly at the sight of it as he read the title out loud ('A complete biography of the Dark Arts book 1' by Hermione Granger). He couldn't help but feel somewhat happier as Hermione watched him from the books cover, her eyes narrowed in a look of concentration with her wand firmly grasped in her right hand; a worse-for-wear looking Ogre lay unconscious on the floor. 'Finished the next one?' said Ron, gripping the book possessively.

'Not yet,' said Hermione, grateful that Ron had finally steered the conversation away from the dark, depressive and gloomy topic of Voldemort. 'There are a few things I need to do before book twelve is finished, but I'm getting there.'

Ron waved the book in the air, drawing Hermione's attention to it. 'I lost my copy of this,' he said with a poker face.

'Liar,' challenged Hermione. 'You threw it out.'

Ron appeared as a deer caught in headlights, spluttering wildly he tried to justify himself. 'I didn't... Well, I did, but... and then... but... and I was angry, and, the break up and everything....'

Hermione let him sweat a while, enjoying it immensely whilst he spat out fragments of justifications with a look of horror on his face as his "justifications" only served to dig him deeper. As Ron began on the topic of "Muggle national book throwing day" Hermione finally let him off the hook. 'Don't worry, I threw some stuff of yours out as well,' she said, holding her hands up ready to count down each item with fingers. 'That red dress-robe you bought me for one. You know, the one you spent two weeks trying to find because you couldn't remember which shop we saw it in. That mood-mirror you got because it perfectly matched the decor for another. Oh, and don't get me started on how many pictures of you I threw away, burnt, or cut up.'

'Curse anything?' said Ron, with a grin.

'I think I cursed that colour-change bear you gave me for our anniversary. It's now the nicest shade of green, with two horns and countless purple spots dotted across it's face... I've renamed him Ron. And you?' said Hermione, nonchalantly. It was as if they were discussing what to buy for dinner that night, or what to do at the weekend, rather then their unpleasant break-up.

'Oh... only everything of yours that I didn't throw out, break, or otherwise destroy,' said Ron with a tone matching Hermione's. 'I was just as childish as you about the matter.'

'Good!' finished Hermione. An evil grin played across her face. 'Oh, and don't worry about throwing away the book, Ron. I'll send you the complete series... Hardback version.'

'Marvellous,' said Ron sarcastically, though under his breath. 'Just what I wanted.'

With matching awkward grins, the two friends set about catching up with everything that had happened over the past six months; since the last time they had seen each other. Hermione explained exactly how she'd had time to write her eleventh book, whilst working as a go between for Ministry to the Resistance, and all the while acting as the headmistress of Hogwarts. She then told Ron everything important that had happened to or at the school recently, and, as Ron very well knew, a lot can happen at Hogwarts in the six months since they'd seen each other. Bu the time Hermione finished, it was well past lunch time, and both made a trip to the kitchen; Ron hopped to catch a glimpse of Dobby but Hermione informed him it was one of the House-Elves day's off. Ron, over lunch, talked Hermione, step by step, through his trip across Europe to some of the many other Ministry's headquarters. His tale included the attack by a group of hungry vampires in Transylvania—which Hermione made a mental note to write about; vampires being one of the few Dark Creatures she hadn't devoted chapters of her time to. The conversations began to grow dry as each avoided the main topics and issues that caused the conversations to grow awkward every few minutes whenever their names were mentioned in the same sentence, together.

'I miss you,' said Ron out of the blue. He hastily swallowed his sandwich, and glanced at his three quarter empty cup of Hundred Herb Tea (Though he still hadn't drunk one sip, it was nearly almost empty through evaporation). If he blushed in the least, it went unnoticed; perhaps his red hair swamped any blushing.

Hermione on the other hand almost glowed with colour. She clumsily knocked over her cup in a way much similar to how Ginny used to react to Harry. The china smashed into a hundred pieces with a loud crash, and Hundred Herb Tea was spilt all over the desk. Still glowing with colour, Hermione leapt up to clear the mess, and, still looking away, coughed out what sounded like, 'I miss you too!'

Both stood rooted to the spot for a moment, each unsure of what to do, until Ron opened his mouth

to say something. The words it seemed just wouldn't come out, and instead, he just gapped like a fish out of water. Trying again, he finally coughed out some words, though Hermione suspected these weren't the original words he'd intended but struggled to get out beforehand; which Hermione would much rather have heard.

'When are you seeing Dumbledore next?' said Ron darkly, having backed out of asking Hermione out; something else played across his mind.

'Tomorrow afternoon,' said Hermione, calmly. She could feel how grave the situation must be, just by Ron's voice and the look on his face. 'What is it?'

'We think someone in the Ministry is going to contact the Order,' said Ron, turning pale. Then seemingly reading Hermione's thoughts, he said, 'It doesn't matter how I know, I just do.'

Hermione shook her head, then walked across the room to a cabinet and back again, at slow pace. 'Dumbledore won't like it, and neither do I,' she said darkly. 'Contacting the order of Auror! We want to limit the number of deaths, not double them. Haven't you tried to stop whoever it is summoning them?'

'So your plan is to let Voldemort keep gaining power then, is it?' said Ron, with more then an edge of sarcasm. His resolve seemed to fade though as soon as he had said the words. 'I don't like it either, Hermione. Desperate times call for desperate measures. Harry's the only person that may be able to stop this on his own. If we had the time, then yeah, I would say let Dumbledore had it, but we don't. Casualties are building, Hermione, we need to finish You-Know-Who.'

'Harry's already wanted by Voldemort and I take it, Cornelius still wants him?' Receiving a nod from Ron, Hermione continued, 'If the Dementors got him—from either side—he'd be killed on the spot.'

An amused chuckle, that still spoke volumes of his anger, escaped Ron's lips. His current thoughts grew darker, with suppressed rage, he said, 'As if the Dementors would slow Harry down. If he can walk into a building full of good wizards, on my information, and kill three of them, and then get out without a scratch, I don't think a few Dementors will do anything. It's only the rest of us that are affected by it.'

'I'll tell Dumbledore then,' Hermione said stiffly, watching Ron clenched and unclenched his fist with fiery rage. As far as Hermione was concerned, steam might as well be coming from Ron's ears.

With a sneer Ron said, 'Oh just one more thing, Hermione. Lucius Malfoy's one of the three. You might want to tell Draco not to expect his dad to be walking much longer... Then again, best not go telling him anything, he is a Death Eater after all.' Almost as soon as he'd said it, Ron regretted the words. But like so often with Hermione, he spoke before he thought, and couldn't back down now.

Hermione stood up abruptly, visibly shaking with anger. 'You really should cut him some slack, Ron,' she snapped. 'He's risking his neck acting as an inside man!'

'Whatever,' said Ron flippantly, turning to leave.

'No, not "whatever,"' Hermione shouted furiously. 'It's bad enough that you accused me of being a Death Eater....'

'Accused him,' Ron cut in, angrily. He, like Hermione, shook with anger. 'I accused him of being a Death Eater, because he IS! There is no denying it, HE - IS - A - DEATH - EATER. I never once accused you. But every time, you have to twist it around, don't you Herm?'

'Then you accused me of conspiring with Death Eaters,' retorted Hermione. 'Nice to know you trusted me when we were dating, Ron.'

With each word said, the situation flew further out of hand. The tones became more vicious, more angry, more passionate. More emotion portrayed by both, more venom. Each answer became more of an insult then the previous. Both could feel it, but neither one could stop it. They were too much alike; both too stubborn, to stop it.

'It's not that I don't trust you. I don't trust Death Eaters,' said Ron in justification of his actions. 'Like Draco Malfoy.'

'You went to the Ministry, the moment you saw me talking with Draco,' said Hermione venomously, almost shouting. She glanced at the door, just to see it was closed—after all it wouldn't do to have the headmistress arguing like this—and then raised her voice another notch. 'You didn't trust my judgement in the matter. You just went right off with your Ministry stature, and told everyone how you saw poor, easily mislead Hermione Granger—teacher at Hogwarts—talking with a known Death Eater.'

'I DIDN'T TELL THE REPORTERS,' shouted Ron, through gritted teeth. 'I wouldn't do that. Besides, it's not Ministry policy to talk to them concerning anything to do with Voldemort.'

'Oh, and of course, you'd never break the Ministry's policy's' said Hermione viciously. Something inside screamed out not to carry on, screamed out to stop, just to leave it there. A voice told her that it wasn't worth it, but she wasn't listening. She was too carried away in the heat of the argument to stop. 'Because I'm sure telling someone how to get into the Ministry headquarters, and where everyone would be, isn't against Ministry policy.'

'You,' said Ron, waving a threatening finger at Hermione. His voice slowed, becoming ragged as he stifled down his anger that bordered on rage. 'I can't believe you would bring that up. I can't believe you would throw that in my face.'

'What, like bringing Draco up,' said Hermione, harshly. 'No, that's all right! It's all right for you to do it, isn't it Ron? Because you're never to blame are you Ron, with your smug, sarcastic jibs.'

'Yeah, well... can I keep this?' Ron shouted.

'Why?' shouted Hermione, suspiciously.

'Because I want to throw it out my window.'

'Fine!'

And with that, both turned their backs, and Ron, with strides as long and purposeful as when he came in, left. Not once did he look back. If he had, he would have seen Hermione wipe away the tears left by the confrontation. His anger took him all the way from the school building, onto the flowing lawns, until his own tears threatened to escape. Walking dazed and confused, he didn't see Hagrid (as almost impossible as that is) until he bumped into him.

End Chapter 2—Accusations, History and Relationships.

Coming up in chapter 3: Hermione announces to the school of Hogwarts of the possible arrival of the Order of Auror, with a mixed response. A conversation with Hagrid gives her something to think about regarding Ron.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.