Disclaimer: If it's any good, it's not mine.

Lost - part 2
by Veralidaine

"The Burrow"



Hermione woke up to sunlight streaming in from the windows, and her head resting on Ron's chest.
Remembering the previous day's events, she held back the tears that stung her eyes. She was content just
to listen to Ron's heartbeat forever and never get up and face the world again. But the time would come,
as it always did.

She started as his arms left her shoulders to stretch out. She sat up slowly, looking down at him. He
grinned lopsidedly up at her. "'Morning." She offered a half-smile, and he seemed to remember why he was
there, as he stopped grinning abruptly. "D'you feel any better at all? I mean, I know you won't ever...
But..." He shook his head. "Sorry."

She shrugged, frowning. "Don't worry about it. I feel awful, but that's to be expected, I guess."

He sat up next to her. "You want to get some breakfast?"

"Not really. Truthfully, I'd love to just stay in bed, asleep, forever."

That seemed to scare him. "Don't think like that...Come on. Mum makes really good chocolate chip
pancakes." He stood and pulled her up next to him.

"Thank you for staying last night," she muttered, looking at her feet.

He wrapped her in a tight hug, burying his face in her hair. "I'm here for you, okay?" he murmured into
her ear. "No matter what."

"Thank you."

He held her for a minute longer, then let go, seemingly embarrassed by this show of affection. "Well,
uhm...Let's go get some breakfast, shall we?"

She grabbed his hand and let him lead her down to breakfast. In the kitchen, Mrs. Weasley was stirring
pancake batter in a large bowl, while Ginny stared at the centerpiece. Hermione assumed that she'd
recently been told. The younger girl's eyes met hers, and Hermione knew she was silently apologizing,
but Ginny didn't say anything aloud. And Hermione was glad. She was on the verge of tears as it was.

Still disheveled from sleep, she slumped down on one side of the table, hugging the old, tattered blue
bathrobe Mrs. Weasley had loaned her tighter around her shoulders. It wasn't as though she was cold--
well, not physically--but more that she needed some kind of reassurance. Ron, seated next to her, kept
shooting worried glances at her when he thought she wasn't looking. She sighed. What was she going to
do?

Breakfast was almost a silent meal, except for the occasional "pass the syrup, please." Mr. and Mrs.
Weasley were quite tired-looking, and Hermione felt guilty for being such a burden on them. As if they
didn't have enough children to worry for and take care of...She was an imposition on them. And she was
putting them in danger. She cleared her throat and everyone looked up abruptly. Ignoring the
uncomfortable looks on their faces, she sighed. "I can't stay here," she managed; her voice hurt from
crying.

"Oh, dear, of course you can stay..." Mrs. Weasley was adamant. "I wouldn't dream of having you stay
anywhere else."

"Yes, quite," Mr. Weasley agreed. "You're staying here. At least until we find out who your parents
appointed to be your godparents. Then you can choose."

Hermione nodded. "That's very nice of you, but--"

"Don't worry yourself, dear," Molly said kindly. "You're not any trouble at all, and we want you to stay
with us. I daresay Ron will worry himself sick if you leave now."

Ron, who usually would blush at an awkward statement like that, did no such thing. He gave her a
pleading look and she nodded, resigned. "Will you at least let me help you around the house? I can't
just sit around forever while you all work to care for me..."

Ron opened his mouth to argue, but Ginny shot him a glare and said, "Of course, Hermione. When you're
through eating, d'you want to come help me feed the chickens?"

Hermione nodded mutely, taking Ron's hand under the table and giving it a reassuring squeeze. He sighed
loudly but nodded. "Right. Well, I've got to owl Harry."

Hermione sighed. "Yes. I suppose. Please tell him not to worry over me. I've got enough people worried.
He's got enough to worry about. I don't need to add another weight to his load."

Ron gave her a look that she'd not ever seen before on his face--was it pity? She wasn't sure--and
headed up to his room.


"Right," Ginny said, in an attempt to be cheery. "This speckled one here's named Spots."

"How very creative," Hermione muttered, fighting down a smile. She wouldn't ever smile, not after what
had happened to her parents.

"Hey, it was Percy's idea," Ginny said, offering a quiet smile. "Now, this one here, the black one, is
Mister Filibuster, Junior. That one was George's idea. Oh, and the white one, that's Mozzarella. Fred's
idea. I dunno. Just don't ask. That one there is..."

Hermione scattered chicken feed, letting Ginny's sweet little voice sort of wash over her ears. Hermione
knew that Ginny wasn't all that fascinated with chickens, and was only doing this to prevent the
situation from becoming awkward. Sighing, she watched as a yellow one named Eckeltricity pushed all of
the others out of her way and gobbled up most of the feed. While Ginny scolded the chicken, Hermione
dipped her hand in the bowl of corn and scattered another handful of feed out for the others, watching
them peck it all up quickly to avoid losing it to the large yellow hen.



The days dragged by. One morning, Hermione climbed down the rickety staircase and found everyone huddled
around a letter, while Mrs. Weasley tried to keep it out of everyone's reach. As Ron was much taller, it
was useless.

"What's going on?" Hermione said softly, and the squabbling ceased the moment her voice was heard.

"Well, dear, this letter came for me--by Muggle post, oddly enough--and I think you ought to read it."
Mrs. Weasley handed her the letter, and Hermione took it, curious:



Dear Mr. and Mrs. Weasley,

I would like to personally thank you for taking such good care of my niece, Hermione. When I found out
her parents had died, I was most distraught. My brother was a good man, and a wonderful father, I'm
sure.

The late Grangers have named no one as Hermione's legal guardians. I, however, would be glad to take
Hermione in. I understand her current situation, can offer help with dealing with her parents' death,
and I can offer a good home and proper care.

Even though I can offer a good home and a good female role model, I will understand perfectly if
Hermione wishes to stay with your family. Please send your answer back as soon as possible.


Sincerely,

Margaret Granger



Hermione folded the letter up, her insides writhing nervously. She'd only met Margaret once or twice,
since, after her grandparents had died, she was the oldest person in the family. If her calculations
were correct--and they usually were--Margaret was about sixty-three years old. That meant that she was
probably retired. It made her very nervous, to say the least. How could she choose to live with someone
she'd only met twice? But then, could she really stay as a burden on the Weasleys? She looked quickly up
at them all. "I..."

She stopped at the look on Ron's face. He'd not taken his eyes off of her since she'd taken the letter
from his mother, and now he looked somewhat like he was expecting her to drop dead any second. He was
obviously still worried sick about her. While this sort of thing would normally get on her nerves, she
was somewhat touched by it now.

Ginny also seemed a bit worried. She kept glancing from Ron to Hermione nervously, almost like she used
to when they would fight. Apparently (and it warmed Hermione's heart even to GUESS this...) Ginny had
liked having another girl around the house, depressed and parentless or not.

Hermione sighed. "I'm going to have to think about this. I've never met Aunt Margaret but a few times,
and she's really old...I dunno if she could handle having a kid, even if I WAS gone for half the year...
She's also a Muggle." Hermione sighed loudly. "But then, I can't stay here--" she ignored the various
loud arguments issuing from every other person in the room "--with you; I can't just expect you all to
care for me like this." She shook her head. "I'm not sure what I'm going to do..."

"Well, dear," Mrs. Weasley sounded a tad teary. "It's your choice. Take as long as you need to think it
over."

Hermione nodded. "Thanks, I think I'll...go sit outside for awhile and think, okay?"

Everyone nodded silently and dispersed to whatever activities they were working on. Hermione watched
until Ron left the room, glancing at her worriedly, before she went outside, walked across the lawn,
scattering chickens, and entered the small patch of woods in back of their house. Granted, it wasn't
even CLOSE to the size or density of the Forbidden Forest, but then, what was?

She breathed in deeply and sat down on a fallen tree, resting her elbows on her knees and her chin in
her hands. Before she'd even had time to register why, tears were coursing down her cheeks and she was
sobbing quietly. Normally, the cool shade and sound of birds would calm her, but for now the emotion was
too much. Where was she going to go? She didn't want to stay with Margaret...She didn't know her. Even
though the practical side of her was telling her that maybe Margaret was nice, and that maybe it would
be good for her to live there, the other part of her mind was wishing that letter hadn't ever arrived.

She knew she couldn't stay with the Weasleys forever, but she didn't want to think about what would
happen when she DID leave. Or where she would go...She really needed people who understood her right
now. People who knew her; cared for her. And the Weasleys were a better choice than her own Aunt. But
still...She couldn't stay with them forever...They couldn't afford it. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley would NEVER
tell her no if she asked to stay, she knew that. They were too proud. But she would be a problem for
them, and that was the last thing she wanted to do to these people who had always been so nice to her.

But then, that wasn't all. She was still having nightmares, even during the day, about that night last
week. Everything had been so perfect, only to be ripped to shreds, sending her here. She shuddered
violently, thinking about it, and kicked herself for not being able to protect her parents from what she
herself had brought upon them...

She jumped about three feet in the air as a twig broke behind her. With some difficulty, she quieted her
sobs and turned around. Ron was standing, frozen, probably in the position he'd been in when he'd
stepped on that twig and startled her. He dropped all caution and walked over to her as she turned back
around again, hastily wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "H-hi, Ron, I was just--"

"Don't," he muttered, sitting down next to her.

She nodded. He knew her too well to be fooled. Mind, it was pretty obvious, as she had red puffy eyes
and her face was still soaked from her tears. She noticed him looking at her expectantly. It annoyed her
greatly, but she knew he was right as her eyes started stinging again. In a rather feeble attempt to
hide the tears, she brought a hand up to her eyes, but he just leaned over and pulled her into his arms.
Appreciatively, she put her arms around his neck and allowed herself to sob again. It was so much better
to be held while she cried than to sit by herself.

"Well," he murmured in her ear, "d'you want to tell me about it?"

She tightened her arms around his neck and sobbed a bit harder. "I--d-don't--know--" she managed, in
between the sobs racking her lungs.

"You don't have to," he said. "I'll drop it, if you like. Mum always says it helps, though." He let out
a sort of sad, quiet laugh. "Mind, she also said I'm not supposed to be out here now. She wanted me to
leave you alone for a bit to work out your feelings."

"I hate working out my feelings," she muttered. She was too tired to sob anymore.

"Well that's what I figured," Ron said, stroking her hair.

She sighed raggedly. "Ron, the other night, I called my friend Auriela over to the house. Mum and Dad--"
her voice caught in her throat and she swallowed roughly "--Mum and Dad and I had just gotten back from
Spain. I wanted to say hi to Auriela before school started. So, anyway...I hung up the phone, and all of
a sudden, from the next room, I heard Mum scream. Dad started yelling for me to run, but I was worried
and scared. I thought it was a burglar or murderer or something, and I didn't want to leave them--what
if they got hurt? So I ran into the next room only to find--Death Eaters--pushing something heavy out
the front door.

"I got sick to my stomach then. I obviously could guess what it was they were getting rid of. So I ran
out the back door. But they'd seen me, of course. A few of them came after me, and I got hit by some
sort of burning spell. Then, the one that came after me, he took this dagger out of his robes. I don't
know why in the world he needed it; after all, he could have just used..." she paused, wiping her tears
on Ron's sweater as he tightened his arms around her.

"He could have killed me much easier," she muttered. "But instead he cut my cheek open." She shuddered,
feeling the gash along her cheek. Though Mrs. Weasley had managed to heal it, she'd always have a scar
there, she knew. "I don't know why. And I'm not sure, but I think he had a silver hand." She felt Ron
tense. "Anyway," she continued in a hoarse whisper, "I just muttered the only spell I could think of,
and he just backed away. After a few moments, I heard Auriela coming. And then I sort of blacked out."

"What spell was it?" Ron asked quietly.

"I learned it from...Well, a gypsy girl. Don't ask; it's a long story. Anyway, she said it was a sort of
protection spell. She also said it was extremely difficult to do, but I guess when you're that scared
you can do all sorts of things. I still don't understand why I'm alive, though. Nothing can block the
Unforgiveables. Anyway, the spell's called Pongor Incantatem."

He sighed. "Never heard of it, of course."

"Well, if you'd read Hogwarts--" she stopped, as he said, "Hogwarts, A History," along with her. She
couldn't help herself and giggled a bit, before mentally kicking herself for it. What was she doing,
laughing about something like this? Ugh...How horrid...

After about five minutes of silence, save for the leaves blowing in the breeze and the occasional bird
chirp, Ron muttered, "Have you decided what you're going to do yet?"

She sighed again, fighting back the tears that were threatening to make yet another appearance. "No."
How was she supposed to talk with him about this? He would tell her, no matter what, that she could--and
should, for that matter--stay with his family. And God knows she wanted to...

"Well," he muttered, "don't worry about it. You've got time to figure it all out. D'you want to go in
for lunch now?"

She nodded, pulling away and wiping her eyes again. Ron stood up and offered her a hand. She took it,
allowing him to pull her up next to him, and they walked back to the house.