Auriela Corrin strolled down the sidewalk of Rhododendron Avenue, taking in the sweet, warm summer air

Lost

By Veralidaine

Chapter 1

Auriela Corrin strolled down the sidewalk of Rhododendron Avenue, taking in the sweet, warm summer air. Crickets chirruped in the grass, the skies were clear enough to make out every single star, and the breeze played gently about her long, straight, blonde hair. About fifteen minutes earlier, her best friend from primary school, Hermione Granger, had just given her a call to come over for a visit. Apparently, she'd just gotten home from vacation in Spain with her parents.

Auriela hadn't seen Hermione since the previous autumn, when she had left for her sixth year at some school in the North—Auriela didn't know what the school was called, or precisely where it was, but Hermione seemed content, so it must have been a good one. As it was, Auriela was keen to see her bushy-haired, brown-eyed friend again. It had been so long...A small part of her mind registered the faint scent of smoke as she turned onto Hermione's block.

She stopped short, all thought wiped from her brain so fast it hurt. Well, it would have, if she hadn't gone numb at the sight before her eyes.

What had been the Grangers' pretty white suburban house was now nothing but smoking framework. All of the grass near to the house had been burned away; a few flames still licked what had been rosebushes lining the path to the door. But that wasn't the worst of it-lying along the garden path were two bodies, both burned black, that looked sickeningly like Mr. and Mrs. Granger.

Frantic, and numbly wondering what on earth could have done this awful thing, Auriela ran around the blackened remains of the house, trying to find Hermione, but almost hoping she didn't. How could a fire have burned the house down in less than fifteen minutes? Hermione had been perfectly calm and content when she'd called Auriela, and now...

The girl abruptly stopped. Hermione was lying on her back, burned and bleeding, but mumbling something. Auriela vaguely noticed that tears were sliding down her own cheeks, and that the frantically pleading voice was issuing from her own throat. "Hermione! Oh, Hermione, what's happened?"

She leaned down next to the other girl, noticing a long, deep gash across her right cheek. Hermione was still murmuring something in a monotonous voice, eyes clenched shut. Auriela leaned in closer. "...Pongor Incantatem...Pongor Incantatem..."

"What?" Auriela asked wildly. Then it hit her—she was in shock. Hermione had lost it.

Suddenly, Hermione stopped mumbling to herself and slowly opened her eyes. Upon seeing Auriela, the large brown eyes got rounder. "Oh! Auriela, what do you think you're doing? Get away! They'll come back once he finds out that I'm still alive! Run!"

"Hermione, what—?"

"Go!"

"Shhh..." Auriela wasn't sure what to do. She hadn't ever dealt with an insane person before. And what was Hermione talking about, anyway? She acted like someone (or maybe even a group of people) had done this purposely to her house...

"Auriela!"

"I'm not leaving! We have to get you to a doctor..."

Hermione sighed impatiently, seeming to calm down a bit. But only a bit. "I suppose...Wh-what of Mum and Dad?"

Auriela bit her lip, and Hermione closed her eyes, an intense look of pain coming over her face. The sound of sirens filled the air as the police and fire station arrived on the scene. Auriela looked up as a tall, balding, redheaded man walked up to her. He seemed to recognize Hermione, as he gave a quiet gasp when he saw her. He glanced at Auriela, a worried expression on his face. "Did you see what happened?"

"No, but she was mumbling something when I got here, and told me to leave before someone-or-other found out she was alive and came back...I don't know. She was rambling..."

"Mmm-hmm..." He was fiddling with something in his pocket. He pulled out a nine-inch-long polished stick and looked at her. "D'you know what she was muttering?"

"Emm..." Auriela racked her brains, trying to remember as she watched several more men dressed much like the red-headed man put Hermione on a stretcher and float (FLOAT?!?) her away. They'd come up with that stretcher awfully fast...And maybe it was just too dark, but Auriela didn't see any wheels...

"D'you know what it sounded like, at all?" the man pressed.

"Like, 'Pongy Incantation' or something. I don't really know; I was too worried about that horrid gash on her face..."

"Right," the man muttered. "Well, Miss, is that all?"

"I think so..."

He waved the wand, muttering under his breath, and Auriela blacked out.

***

Ron yawned loudly and stretched out, glancing at the clock on his bedside cabinet. The single hand was pointed between You Should Still Be Asleep and Nope—Still Too Early. He agreed, rubbing his eyes and yawning. Why had he woken up? It couldn't be any later than five or six o'clock...Then he heard voices downstairs in the kitchen. What was going on? It was too early for all this action...

Resigned to both curiosity and the fact that he was now fully awake, he swung his long legs over the side of the bed and padded over to the door. Opening it as silently as he possibly could, he stuck his head out. Yep, there were definitely voices. That sounded like his Dad...What could possibly have happened?

"...Hermione, dear, why don't you have a seat. You're not well at all."

That was his Mum...Hermione?! Why was Hermione here? And what did she mean, "not well at all?" Ron quietly made his way down the stairs, avoiding the step at the bottom that always squeaked, and turned off into the kitchen. His Dad was leaning against the counter, looking tired and worried, while his Mum was sitting, in her dressing gown, across from—

"Hermione!"

She looked up and Ron gasped. There was a long, deep cut across her cheek, and her face was red from crying. She was wearing simple white robes—from a hospital, he assumed—and her hair was disheveled. There were slight burn marks on her arms, like Charlie's, and the moment she saw him, she burst into tears and ran to him.

Ron caught her in his arms; hers went around his neck; and she sobbed unrestrainedly into his shoulder. He looked over her hair at his father, who shook his head sadly. Still confused, Ron turned his attention back to the girl in his arms. "'Mione, it's okay. Shhhh..."

Usually, Ron never displayed emotion. Yes, he and Hermione were, as Lavender put it, "a couple." Both Ron and Hermione knew, though, that it was really much deeper than that. Though Ron could be quite relaxed when he and Hermione were alone, in public he was still a little too easily embarrassed to hold hands or anything. Well, that and the matter of Harry, who seemed to find great amusement in teasing him about it. Now, however, no thought of the embarrassment he might face later even crossed his mind as he put his arms around the frightened girl he had come to care so much about in the past six years.

She pulled away, still looking anguished, and he brushed her hair carefully out of her tear-streaked face. She shook her head wildly, biting her lip to keep from crying. "No, no it's not, Ron...It won't ever be okay again..." She broke down crying again and he pulled her close to him again, laying his head on hers and ignoring the hot tears soaking his pajama top.

He lifted his head from hers and looked at his Mum. "Is she going to stay in Perce's old room?" She nodded. "Well, then. I'll just take her up to bed, shall I?"

His Mum nodded somewhat numbly, still looking very concerned for Hermione. His Dad, however, caught his shoulder. "Ron, don't you go pestering her about what's happened. I'll discuss it with you later."

Ron nodded. "Right. C'mon, Hermione."

Hermione allowed herself to be led to the top of the stairs, but broke down in the hallway and sank to her knees, crying. Ron sank down next to her and brushed her hair out of her face, careful not to touch the large gash on her cheek. "Hermione, I—"

"R-Ron, I c-can't stay here! I can't! He-he'll come after me, and if he f-finds you, he'll—" She broke off, shoulders shaking, her hands hiding her face.

"Hermione, I don't know—"

"Voldemort, Ron!" She had taken her hands down and was now almost glaring at him. "This mob of Death Eaters came to my house, a-and—"

Realization dawned on Ron with the force of a rampaging hippogriff. "Oh, 'Mione, I'm sorry..."

She leaned over and buried her face in his shoulder again. He slid an arm around her shoulders and one below her knees and picked her up.

Carrying her down the hallway, Ron noticed that Ginny's door was open, and she was peeking out, looking scared. "Ron, what—?"

He shook his head violently to shut her up and kicked open the door to Percy's old room. He laid Hermione on the bed and pulled the blankets up over her shoulders. "Shhh...You need to sleep."

"No..." She shook her head, silent tears streaming down her face, and gave a rather feeble attempt at sitting up. He pushed her back down gently, and she didn't object but to cry harder. "Ron, I can't stay here..."

"Of course you can." He leaned over and kissed her forehead. "Get some rest." He stood up and walked towards the door.

"Ron?"

He turned around to face her, one hand on the doorframe. "Yes?"

"Please don't leave."

He walked quietly back over and sat down on the bed next to her. "You're safe here; it's okay now." Well. There was an exaggeration. Her parents are dead, you twit! Of COURSE it's not okay! he thought bitterly.

"I know. But...could you at least wait until I'm asleep?"

She looked so scared...What, was he supposed to refuse? "Of course. Now try to get some rest. Seriously, Hermione, you've gotta get some sleep."

Her lips turned up in a half-hearted smile. "Since when have you become so caring?"

Ron smiled gently. "It's all your fault. I feel like I have this obligation to let you know how I feel about you. Or make you miserable. Either one."

"You've not made me miserable in ages. And apparently, I'm the only one who knows you're capable of being this sweet."

"Well, yes, and let's keep it that way." He muttered jokingly, brushing her hair out of her face for what must have been the seventeenth time that evening. "Seriously, though, I'm not that sweet to just anybody, you know."

"I know," she whispered. "I'll take it as a compliment." She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

"You really ought to be less of a tough-guy. I know you're really a marshmallow."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah..." At least he'd taken her mind off of her parents, if only for a little while.

She snuggled down under the covers, sighing raggedly. "Just until I'm asleep, Ron. You don't have to stay longer than that."

"No," he murmured, leaning back next to her, "but I will."