Chapter Fourteen

Plans for Autumn

~*~

A/N: Thank you, JediB, for letting us borrow your Sunseed reference, which you use to such good effect in your awesome "Dreams of Yesterday".

A/N II: To the attendees of SQUKNY: Many a good time has been had in New York City; none, however, has been so good as ours. Thank you for being so completely awesome, for traveling such long ways, for wearing your Gryffindor scarves with pride, and for making it all seem just a little... realer.

A/N III: Much thanks to our patient beta-readers for catching mistakes and pointing out holes and making us think very, very hard.

Physical distance is nothing, between kindred spirits.

~*~

It was noon when Ginny blinked awake. She felt a surge of sickening anxiety and shut her eyes again, but remembered after a few groggy moments that everything was over. The Wolfsbane Potion had been a success, and there was nothing to feel guilty and worried over – at least not today.

Yawning happily, she managed to roll out of bed and trudge downstairs for breakfast. The house was warm, bright, and quiet, but she quickly discovered that she wasn't in it alone. Harry was asleep at the dining room table, his head on his arms.

She stopped in the doorway and let her eyes travel from his hair, which was sticking up all over, to his back, which rose and fell each time he breathed. Part of his profile was visible, allowing her a glimpse of glasses, nose, and open mouth. It was all she could do not to walk across the room and gently kiss him awake – she felt, as she had always felt, that she should have had the right. Instead, she quickly and quietly pulled her wand and made a cup of tea, then took the seat across from him without making a sound.

"Harry," she whispered, reaching a tentative hand across the table to softly touch his hair. "Harry, wake up."

He gasped and started, sitting up so fast that Ginny had to yank her hand away. His glasses fell to the table with a clatter. He fumbled for them violently with his left hand, putting his right hand to his wand at the same time. He finally managed to fix the glasses on his nose, panting. Not until his eyes focused on Ginny did he let out a heavy breath of relief and release his grip on his wand.

Ginny watched him without a word. She'd had her own nightmares for a long time, after everything that had happened with Tom Riddle, and she knew, mostly from stories she'd heard, that Harry suffered from nightmares as well. They were horrible things, and the worst ones felt too real – but the panic that had been coming off of Harry in waves was subsiding now, as he came awake. Whatever terrible dream he'd been having seemed to be ebbing away as he looked at her. Ginny could have sworn that she felt the change in the air itself.

"Hi," he said hoarsely, reaching his fingers under his glasses and rubbing his eyes. "Wh'time is it?"

"Noon," Ginny answered. "But I just woke up."

"I figured you'd sleep longer than that – aren't you still tired?"

"No," Ginny insisted, but immediately broke out in a wide yawn that made both of them laugh. "Looks like you are, though." She pointed to where he'd been sleeping on the table. "Were you up late?"

Harry shrugged. "I stayed up and watched the shed. I don't know what time it was."

At once, Ginny felt the rush of admiring love she'd had for him her entire life. It was so very Harry, really, to stay up and watch out for everything well beyond what was actually necessary. Full of a sudden, unstoppable affection, she reached her hand across the table and touched the top of his, coming wide awake at the brush of his Quidditch-weathered knuckles beneath her palm.

Harry took her hand in his at once. "Glad it's over?" he asked, gazing at her seriously.

Ginny caught a silent breath. His eyes were unreal. And the tone of his voice – well, if anyone knew about being glad that an awful thing was over, then it was Harry. "So relieved," she answered honestly. "I can't even tell you. I don't feel sick for the first time in weeks."

Harry nodded in understanding, and gave a half-smile. "Well, I wouldn't get too comfortable. Sirius'll probably make you brew that potion next month, now he knows you can do it. So you've got –" he rotated his wrist without letting go of her hand, and checked his watch unnecessarily "– two weeks off." He grinned.

"Oh, no," Ginny laughed, putting her chin in her free hand. "I'm never doing that again, are you mad? Once was bad enough, and I'm sure it was a fluke – Remus will want somebody who can brew it consistently so that Sirius doesn't worry like that again – "

"I'm fairly certain," came a very tired voice from the kitchen door, "that it was not a fluke."

Ginny and Harry snatched their hands away from the center of the table, and turned to see a very pale, haggard, and smiling Remus, leaning on the doorframe.

"Remus!" Ginny jumped to her feet and ran to throw her arms around him. He caught her and weakly patted her back.

"Yes, I lived to tell the tale and you won't have to go to prison."

"Don't joke," Ginny yelled, muffled, into his shoulder. She pulled back and looked at him. His skin seemed to sag from the fine bones of his face and his hair was perhaps a little more grey than it had been just yesterday. His eyes, usually grey flecked with gold, were still quite yellow. It was very strange. "Tea?" she offered quickly, to stop herself from staring.

"Thank you, yes." Remus sat down, shaking almost unnoticeably, stretching his neck from side to side.

Ginny made the tea quickly and, not sure why she was doing it, went to the pantry and retrieved a little vial of Sunseed oil. She had never used it in any recipe or potion before, but she tipped a teaspoonful into Remus's tea without a second thought.

He frowned at the tea's oily surface when she handed him the cup. "What's in this?"

"Oh." Ginny wasn't sure how she was going to explain. "It's... Sunseed oil. I'll make you another –"

"No, no." Remus looked up at her, and in his expression was the same curiosity she'd seen on the day in the garden, when she had separated the seeds. "How did you know to do that?" he asked gently.

"I..." She looked to Harry for help, only to find him looking at her with the same wondering expression. "I really don't know," she confessed, returning her eyes to Remus. "Why – is that what you're supposed to be drinking?"

Remus shrugged, wincing as he did so. "Well, it's not necessary. But it does act as a balm on the muscles after they've been rearranged twice in twenty-four hours." He smiled grimly. "A lucky discovery, made about twenty years ago."

"I must've read it somewhere then," Ginny said doubtfully, resuming her seat. "I guess we learned it in class."

Harry shook his head. "I never learned that at Hogwarts."

"I don't believe that it was a coincidence," Remus said lightly, fixing Ginny with an interested stare, "just as I don't believe that your ability to brew a perfect Wolfsbane Potion was a fluke. I was unsure at first, but the longer I know you, the more I doubt that these... impulses of yours... are merely educated guesses."

"Well, what are they?" Ginny demanded, her stomach twisting. She knew, the moment that he said it, that Remus was right. There had been something strange. She'd been feeling things. It wasn't an accident. "What is it? What am I doing that I don't know about?"

Remus shook his head. "First, I want to ask you – although perhaps I should speak to your mother –"

"No," Ginny nearly hollered. "We can tell Mum later."

"Well, it's going to require her permission." Remus smiled. "But I suppose I really ought to ask you first. After all, it's your education."

Ginny knitted her eyebrows together. "My education? What are you talking about?"

Remus clasped his hands on the table and looked at her steadily. "I'd like to teach your seventh year."

It was several moments before Ginny found her voice. Her head had just gone into full spin – she'd been assuming that, at the end of summer, she'd have to return to the Burrow for a home education. Her mother had written to her several times, anxiously inquiring how she wanted to set up her studies, and Ginny had all but ignored the topic in all of her replies. She didn't want to go home to the Burrow. She didn't want to go anywhere to school, except Hogwarts. And she certainly didn't want to leave Harry and Ron and Hermione, to live in her old room as if she were still a baby who'd never left home to begin with.

Never had she even considered the fact that Remus might tutor her. It seemed too wonderful an option to be real.

"Do you mean it?" she whispered, gripping her tea-mug in both hands. "You want to... to teach my whole year – all my subjects?"

Remus nodded. "Though I imagine you may outwit me in the Defense Against the Dark Arts department." He smiled, but his eyes were very grave. "Don't feel you have to say yes, Ginny. This is selfish of me to ask, and you need to make the decision based on –"

"No! I mean, yes! Yes!" Ginny cried, more excited about school than she had ever been in her entire life. "You're the best teacher I ever had – does this mean I can stay here? What books do I need? When will we be starting? How is it selfish?" She stopped pelting him with questions when she realized that Harry was stifling laughter. "What's so funny?" she demanded. He shook his head quickly and held up his hands in self-defense.

Even Remus was grinning. "It's selfish because part of my reason for wanting to keep you here has nothing at all to do with your education. I thought that perhaps we could barter." He paused, looking unsure of his next words. "I want you to continue to make the Wolfsbane Potion for me. I... want the privilege of transforming in my home. Near my friends." He looked back into his tea mug. "It's been a very long time."

Ginny felt a thrill of honor at the idea of giving Remus such a gift – but it still remained that making the potion was a dangerous endeavor, a fact which she understood now better than ever. She barely shook her head, "But what if I –"

"You won't fail." Remus's eyes were strangely bright. "I trust that you have a gift that won't allow you to fail." Ginny opened her mouth to ask what it was, but Remus interrupted before she managed to speak. "I want to help you study your gift, as well – but please don't ask me to explain it yet. I realize how curious you must be, but I want to do some research and be sure of what I'm saying."

Ginny shut her mouth in consternation. She was desperate to know what her 'gift' was, and equally desperate to stay in Stagsden near her friends, with Remus for a teacher. She did not, however, know if she trusted herself quite as much as Remus seemed to trust her. "What does Sirius think of my trying it again?" she asked slowly.

Remus laughed through his nose. "I think you will find that his opinion on the matter has entirely changed since last night."

"And... would I stay here, with you?"

At this question, Harry sat up a bit straighter and looked attentively at Remus.

"I think that would be best, yes. Until you complete your studies."

Ginny thought a moment. "Well... if Lavender and Seamus are getting married September first," she said, making her decision as she spoke, "then I suppose... we'll have to wait and start our classes on the second."

Remus smiled – an open, youthful smile that made his eyes light up as the circles beneath them disappeared. Ginny thought she was seeing what he must have looked like in school. He was very handsome, and the wayward twist at one corner of his mouth gave her a sudden idea that he'd once been rather more prone to mischief than she ever would have guessed.

"You'll stay?" he asked quickly, sounding not at all tired.

"Yes, I will," Ginny affirmed, smiling back. And though her insides continued to thump with worry about the potion, her overwhelming feeling was one of excitement. She would get to study her seventh year with a great teacher. She would get to stay at Lupin Lodge. She'd get to stay with Harry. And maybe she was making too much of nothing, but Harry was definitely grinning right at her.

"This is going to be great!" she burst out, "I can't wait, we'll have to make sure it's all right with my parents – no, wait – don't tell my mum yet, I want to be here when you tell her. She's coming with Penelope before the wedding, and we can do it then, is that okay?"

Remus agreed that he would wait for Molly's visit, and together they began to discuss the best date to start classes, which lessons should go when, and what textbooks she would need to obtain. Halfway through the conversation, Ron and Hermione burst into the kitchen, both pink-faced and sweating a bit from "a long walk outside in the sun". Hermione positively flew into raptures when Ginny told her the news of Remus's offer.

"You can have all my books!" she exclaimed. "I kept them all. And I have my notes organized by date in folders, if you'd like to study from them, and I kept most of the major projects so when you get to those just let me –"

"Why is it," Ron interrupted loudly, "you never let me have one single page of your ruddy notes, and you're letting her have all of 'em?" He turned on Ginny. "And you get everybody's favorite teacher to yourself for a year. This is royally unfair." But he wasn't fooling anybody. He looked thrilled for her.

Red in the face, Remus insisted that he was nobody's favorite teacher, which caused all of them to chime in with reminders of Neville Longbottom's first Boggart, and Harry's first Patronus. They were all near to crying with mirth at the memory of Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle tottering onto the Quidditch pitch from beneath a hooded cloak when an official-looking owl swooped down in front of Harry, holding out its leg.

Harry untied the parchment and opened it, still looking to be in a wonderful mood. But as he read, his face began to lose color – so quickly that the happy chatter around the table trailed off, and Ginny grew frightened that the letter announced a death.

"What's happened?" she demanded quietly. "Who's it from?"

"Ministry owl," Ron muttered. "Classified Confidential tags – what's it, another Auror invite, or –"

"No. It's from Charlie." Harry held out the letter to Ron, and Ginny saw his shoulders slump, a little. "Read it if you want."

"'To Mr. Harry Potter,'" Ron began, aloud, and stopped. "Pretty formal, coming from Charlie!"

"Go on, Ron, let's hear it," Hermione urged, coming up behind him and peeking over his shoulder.

"Right. 'At this time, due to unforeseeable circumstances concerning the Dementors at Azkaban, the Ministry of Magic is organizing a Permanent Azkaban Patrol division. This new division will be responsible for insuring the Dementors remain contained on the island of Azkaban, thereby maintaining the safety of the civilian wizarding and Muggle population.'" Ron stopped reading again, and laughed shortly. "Well, doesn't that just sound like fun." He looked at Harry. "Didn't you already tell Moody you didn't want a part of this?"

Harry shrugged, his eyes on the table. "Moody's not in charge of this, I guess," he muttered. "Keep reading."

Ron did. " 'The P.A.P. will work from dragonback –' Damn, dragon back? Is he insane or what? '– to insure that the Dementors are fully corralled and imprisoned at all times. The Ministry of Magic, P.A.P. Division, invites you, as a professional flier and recognized wizard in your field, to join our ranks. A private informational session will be held on September seventh, and nine dragon riders will be selected at that time for further training. Reply immediately if you mean to attend. Sincerely, Charles Weasley,'" Ron and Ginny snorted, "'Chairman of the Permanent Azkaban Patrol. p.s. Hey, Harry, sorry about the form letter, hope you want to give this a try – give Ron and Ginny a hello, and Remus too. See you, Charlie.'"

Harry had put his head in his hands, and was steadily working his hair into worse shape than Ginny had ever seen it. "I have to say yes," he muttered.

Ron gave Harry a look to which he was totally oblivious. "Why's that?"

"It's your brother. What am I supposed to do, say no?"

"YES," said Ron and Ginny together.

Harry looked up, bewildered. "I can't do that."

"Harry." Ginny put her hand out for the letter and Ron handed it to her. She skimmed it once and shook her head. "How can you even consider it when you've got a shot at playing for the Cannons? Do you want to miss out on that?"

"Well, no," Harry admitted. "But –"

"There were two dozen dragon riders trained during the war," Hermione added, "weren't there?"

Ron nodded. "Yeah, something like that. Harry, they have plenty of people to do this. It definitely doesn't have to be you."

Harry hesitated, and glanced at Remus. "It doesn't?"

Remus sighed, and the light in his face went out again, revealing all the lines and hollows that the werewolf had carved into his features over the years. "That's for you to decide, Harry," he said. "But you'll excuse me while I step in for your godfather – if Sirius wasn't at trial, he would tell you in no uncertain terms that you've already done enough. There's no need for you to spend any further part of your life chasing after Dark creatures." He paused. "And I'm sure your parents would have said the same."

Harry didn't answer. He sat mutely, obviously finding it difficult to decide.

Ginny shot Remus a grateful look, and pulled her wand, ready to burn Charlie's letter then and there. "Don't do it, Harry," she said simply.

"If Sirius was upset about one Dementor, imagine how he'd feel about you being around all of them at once," Hermione pressed.

"Remember how much you enjoyed going up against the Hungarian Horntail?" Ron added wryly.

"And think about telling Oliver Wood that you're not going to join his team," Ginny finished. "Just think about the telling-off you'd get. You'd go deaf in minutes."

Harry's stared at her blankly – then looked around at all of them and gave a very real and unexpected laugh. "Okay," he conceded. "Okay. Yeah. I'll write back and say no."

All those present at the table gave a breath of collective relief, and Ginny lit Charlie's Ministry invitation on fire with an explosive snap. In seconds it had flared and disappeared.

"You're getting good at that," Harry shot, smiling slightly.

Ginny tossed her head. Harry had unknowingly complimented the first spell she had ever learned. "I've been doing that since I was six," she told him, "so I ought to be good at it."

"Six!" Hermione exclaimed. "How were you making fire at six?"

"Self defense," Ron answered for her. "She used to trick her toy wands into it – Fred and George used to try and stick her up in trees, lock her in closets, drown her in ponds..."

"They didn't!" Hermione looked scandalized, but her eyebrows came down after a moment and she shook her head. "Oh, of course they did." She turned to Ginny and sighed. "By the way... did you want to stop by today and tell the twins hello?"

Ginny frowned, not sure what Hermione was talking about, until it dawned on her that they had made plans to go into Hogsmeade and look for suitable dress robes to wear at Lavender's wedding. "Oh, right," she said, getting up. "Yes, I wrote and told them we'd say hi. Why... don't you want to?" She grinned wickedly.

Hermione tried to compose her face into a neutral expression, and failed. "Of course I do," she said unconvincingly. "If they won't..."

Ron turned to her in mock sympathy. "Don't worry, they're not going to spray you with Homework Repellant again," he said, sniggering violently. "School's out, what fun would that be? But still – oh, priceless –" Ron was lost in a spasm of uncontrollable laughter.

Harry and Ginny exchanged a merry glance. When they'd all visited Weasley's Wizard Wheezes for its opening last Autumn, Fred and George had "accidentally tested" a new product on Hermione that had made it impossible for her to go near her homework for nearly three days. Books and papers had soared away from her when she'd come too close. Quills had fluttered out of her reach. The Hogwarts library itself had repelled her with a staggering force. She'd been in a fit the whole time, and Ron hadn't been able to pick himself up off the floor, he'd been laughing so hard.

"Come on, Hermione," Ginny said, still giggling. "I'm sure they'll behave."

"I'm sure they won't," Hermione said grumpily, casting glares at everyone who was laughing at her old misfortune. "And I hate dress shopping."

Ginny wrinkled her nose. She wasn't particularly fond of dress shopping either – especially without much of a budget. But it had to be done. "It'll only take a second, and while we're in town you can help me look for books that might help me with my seventh year studies," she offered.

Hermione's face brightened at this, and she nodded. "You go by Floo and I'll meet you in front of Dervish and Banges in half an hour?"

Ginny agreed to the plan and set off upstairs to get dressed, touching Remus on the shoulder as she went, and giving him a grin.

He smiled back, if a little wearily. "Yes," he said, answering her silent statement. He reached up and patted her hand. "Yes. It's certainly going to be an... interesting year."

~*~

Hermione hovered in the doorway of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, which she had been doing for most of their visit, and checked her watch again. It wasn't that she didn't like Fred and George, but she didn't need her hair to be any worse than it was, and Fred's casual mention of some new product called Barber's Bedazzler had done nothing to set her at ease. She wasn't in the mood for green hair. Or blue hair. Or no hair at all – there was nothing she'd put past the twins.

"What, no hug goodbye?" George called out from across the shop, grinning mischievously over Ginny's shoulder as he hugged her.

"See you next week," Hermione replied coolly. Fred rolled his eyes at her, but she only arched an eyebrow and shrugged, trying to tell him that if he were any sort of trustworthy person, then she wouldn't have to stand in the door.

"Bye, Gin," Fred said, and Ginny joined Hermione at the door, carrying the shopping bag that held her dress robes and books, and a small bag containing a new invention of the twins'. Hermione looked dubiously at the bag.

"No worries, Hermione dear," George sang after them cheerfully. "I'm sure our thoughtful little sister will never use them on you."

Fred nodded solemnly. "But I reckon she'll share them with Ron, and we can't vouch for his behavior."

Ginny pressed her mouth shut on a smile and bid her brothers goodbye, and Hermione left the shop beside her, letting her thoughts travel a well-worn path. She believed –in fact she was almost entirely certain – that she would spend the rest of her life with Ron. They'd never talked about it. It just seemed... part of them. It was a wonderful thing to know, but it made encounters with the twins twice as troublesome, because Fred and George seemed to know it, too, and they'd adopted her as a sort of second sister. Someone new to torture. Hermione knew she ought to have a better sense of humor about the whole thing, the way that Ginny did. But then, Ginny was a veteran of every variety of playful torment, while Hermione wasn't sure if she ever would be, not even if she did become a part of the Weasley family.

She did her best to put such official thoughts out of her mind, though it was hard to do with dress robes for a wedding swinging in the bag beside her. Getting married to Ron was a long way off. There were things she wanted to try first. Things she needed to try. Like going to the Thinker, which she was planning to do in just a week, and still hadn't told Ron about. At this point, it wasn't going to be pretty.

"Mind if I just pop into Honeydukes?" Ginny's voice broke into her thoughts. Hermione shook her head and perched on one of Hogsmeade's street-side benches to wait, absently tracing the head of a griffin, the claws of a manticore, and the widely spread wings of a dragon, which were carved expertly into the wooden arm.

She had to tell him today. There was simply no excuse for waiting any longer. The summer had been wonderfully free from tension – excepting the arrival of Draco Malfoy, which had proved, after all, to be little more than a nuisance – and she hated to walk right into a row, especially since, just this morning, everything had been so pleasant. She and Ron had gone on a really lovely walk... they'd discussed how uplifted Harry had seemed lately, and how wonderful it was that Ginny had managed the Wolfsbane Potion... and then Ron had maneuvered her into the woods behind the house and pinned her up against a tree, to kiss her until she could barely breathe. Or at least, he thought he had maneuvered her. Hermione smiled to herself. He wasn't the only one with strategies.

"Well, I'm done." Ginny was back, frowning at her receipt. "That's it for me, I can't spend another Knut until September." She shook her head. "And I still have to pay Harry back for those things we used in the potion."

Hermione forgot her own troubles for a second. "He'll never let you pay him back," she said, wishing it was her place to ask just exactly what was happening between Ginny and Harry these days. They'd seemed quite... together.

Ginny pocketed her receipt and shrugged. "It's not up to him, is it?" She smiled. "I'm going to go to the Three Broomsticks and use the fireplace – shall we have a butterbeer before going back?"

"No," Hermione said, growing pensive again. "I have to get back and talk to Ron before he goes to work." She glanced at Ginny guiltily. "I still haven't told him."

"About the Thinker?" Ginny didn't look surprised. "Well, he hasn't burnt the place down, so I sort of figured. It's all right, Hermione," she corrected quickly, and Hermione realized that her anxiety must be evident on her face. "He'll get over it. You just tell him. And if he acts like a prat, you tell me, and I'll use these on him." She held up the small bag of whatever horrid thing it was that Fred and George had given her, and Hermione tried to smile. "Spider eggs," Ginny giggled. "They hatch. The spiders disappear in a matter of seconds, of course, but all the same, they'll be nice to have handy."

Hermione did laugh, at that, and shook her head. "Don't, he'll lose his mind."

"Oh, and look who's talking," Ginny retorted, snickering.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Hermione, if anybody's been doing a bang up job of making Ron lose his mind for the past seven years, it isn't me." She smiled. "I'll see you at home. Good luck, and by the way –" Ginny set down her bags and hugged Hermione tight "– I'm so happy for you. I think you're making a great decision."

Hermione watched Ginny leave, wishing very much that she could have her hand to hold while she broke the news of her departure to Ron. Though, she reflected briefly, if he was any kind of boyfriend at all, she should be able to hold his hand for comfort, when she was through telling him her plans and goals. A pang in her stomach told her she was setting her hopes rather high, but she ignored it. Ron was an adult. They were out of school. He'd manage to see reason... eventually. Hermione screwed up her courage, shut her eyes, and Disapparated.

Once home, she set down her bags, and spent more than a necessary amount of time unpacking her new dress robes. She performed an ironing trick on them, then stood back and admired their color – she hoped that scarlet wasn't too daring, after all, it had been the color of Gryffindor Quidditch robes – then smoothed them with her hands several times before finally hanging them on the hook inside the closet door.

Tapping her fingers on her hips, Hermione looked around her room for something else to do. But the beds were made. The bookshelf was organized in alphabetical order. The clothes were all hung up, Crookshanks had been fed, and even the shoes in the closets were in straight lines. Hermione made a move to organize Ginny's desk for her, but stopped with a sigh, knowing that she was only cleaning in order to avoid talking to Ron, and that it was stupid to wait. Stupid, and not very brave.

Taking a deep breath, she left the girls' room and strode purposefully downstairs and into the sunroom at Lupin Lodge, where Ron liked to relax before leaving for his shifts at pub. Sure enough, he was sitting in Remus's father's old armchair, his long legs stretched out and his feet crossed, reading one of his old comic books and nursing a glass of cold pumpkin juice.

Hermione had entered the room quietly, and he didn't notice her until she was standing directly in front of him, blocking the light coming in through the window. He looked up with a grin and turned the comic book around to show her the page he was reading. "Tell me," he joked, "is this how Muggle women typically dress? No wonder Dad encouraged us all to take Muggle Studies."

Hermione pulled up a chair next to him and leaned in to look more closely at the woman that Martin Miggs seemed to be rescuing from a supermarket. She laughed and answered truthfully, "I'm sure that some Muggle women do dress that way - but no one in my family."

He laughed as well and turned the comic book back around to give the page another appraising look. "Pity," he said wryly. Then he threw it on the table, punched her lightly on the arm and asked, "So, what are you doing now?"

It was an invitation. Ron was smiling at her, and looking at her in that way he had. It was smiling and serious, and entirely focused on her, and it made her feel warm all over. Hermione wanted nothing more than to climb into his lap and tell him that she wasn't really doing anything and did he have any good ideas?

But she couldn't. For a moment, she thought she might be sick and she opened and closed her mouth several times before speaking. Finally, she summoned her Gryffindor courage, took one of his large hands in both of hers, and said evenly; "Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something."

She could see him tense a bit, but held onto his hand, stroking the top of it lightly with her fingers. Speaking one sentence didn't make it any easier for her to begin a second one. Still, she attempted a joke. "It's all right," she said lightly. "I'm not running off with Martin Miggs or anything like that. It's just – well – I've decided on a career. I know what I want to do."

"Really?" Ron sat up in the chair and looked eagerly at her. "You've chosen something? So what is it? Department of International Magical Cooperation? That one sounded perfect for you, and Dad'll be thrilled - he's been hoping you'd join the Ministry."

Hermione laughed shortly and shook her head. "Your Dad's really nice to me," she said and held onto Ron's hand a bit more tightly. "But I'm not going to be working for the Ministry - at least not yet." She stared at Ron, trying to communicate with her eyes, and he stared back blankly, as though purposely not getting what she was on about. He was going to make her spell it out.

Knowing that she was moments away from an argument, Hermione was surprised to discover that the knot in her stomach had disappeared and instead she was nearly trembling with anger. He wasn't going to support her decision – she just knew it – and it was selfish of him. Somehow, the anger gave her much more confidence than the fear had. She straightened and smiled brightly. "I'm going to apprentice with the Thinker."

The hand that Hermione was holding slid away from her grip and Ron used it to run his fingers through his hair. After a long moment, during which Hermione sat breathless with anticipation, Ron said, "So you've heard from her, then?"

Taking this to be a sign of encouragement, Hermione shook her head and explained, "No, I haven't. I mean, I'm not even sure that I'll be allowed to do it. I'm just going to show up and see if she'll take me."

"Really? So there's a chance that she won't take you?" The hope in his voice was about as subtle as a Howler. Hermione felt her face grow warm and even her legs were shaking. He didn't want to know about the Thinker. He didn't want to know why she wanted to do it. He didn't care what was involved in the training or what she might be able to accomplish for her parents when she returned to England. He wanted her to stay in England so that she could come home every day from some boring Ministry job and snog on the sofa. Deep down, she told herself that she should be flattered that he didn't want her to go away, but that wasn't helping her mood.

Hermione crossed her arms and answered in a voice that she knew sounded snippy, "There's always a chance, but I think it's very unlikely that I'll be turned away."

The hopeful look on Ron's face faded away and was replaced with an expression that Hermione had never seen before. It was neither angry nor sad – just blank. Hermione wasn't sure how to react. They sat in silence for what seemed like forever; she could handle Ron-in-a-rage, Ron-visibly-sulking, Ron-cracking-jokes, and Ron-hurling-insults, but this new, silent version was difficult to interpret. She thought carefully about what she wanted to say, and tried to figure out a way to word it that wouldn't sound as though she were being entirely self-centered and annoyed.

"Ron, you realize that this is something that I have to do – "

He turned to face her, and she felt a surge of relief to see anger in his expression. "Must be nice," he said coldly.

"What must be nice?"

"Knowing what you want to do with your life."

So that was what was bothering him. Hermione snorted derisively – he was the one who was self-centered, not she.

"Ron, I don't know what I want to do with my entire life, but this is an opportunity that is presenting itself now and I'll never forgive myself if I don't give it a try. I'm doing this because it is the only way that I see fit to try to help my parents. I can't very well help them if I'm off trying to improve relations between Bulgaria and Morocco, can I? I understand how you feel –"

"You have no bloody idea how I feel!" Ron erupted, jumping out of the chair and looking down at her furiously. Hermione stood as well, but he continued to boil over, pointing at her. "You've always been in control, all the time! You've always had drive, and ambition, and ability. You have NO idea what it feels like to work in a pub and not know where you're heading. NONE." Lines of anger appeared on Ron's forehead and his fists were clenched at his side.

Hermione was so stunned by his outburst that for a moment, she couldn't say anything at all. He was jealous of her? "Maybe..." she finally managed, her throat very dry "...maybe it's a good thing that I'm going away." She shook her head and moved to the door, knowing exactly what jealousy brought out in Ron, and wanting nothing to do with it. If he wanted to act like a little boy, then fine. She didn't need him, she thought angrily. She didn't need anyone but herself, and her parents. She knew it was an unfair way to think - Ron had been by her side through everything, but Hermione felt trapped by his reaction, and motivated to fight back.

"Maybe I'm stifling you by being here," she stopped and turned to face him, not bothering to disguise a bitter tone in her voice and unable to believe the direction that this conversation was heading.

"Oh, so what are you saying?" asked Ron sarcastically, crossing his arms in front of him.

She said the first words that came to her. "I knew you wouldn't want me to leave, I knew you were going to make this hard on me – I didn't know you were angry with me just for having opportunities. If I misunderstand you so much, and you can't be happy for me, or at least just support me, and if you don't want me around, then I'll make it easy. I don't have to wait until September – I can go back to the Burrow tonight." Hermione winced, realizing how silly she sounded. The threat was a bit weak; returning to the Burrow was hardly escaping from Ron's life, but what option did she have at the moment? She didn't have anyplace else to go, unless she wanted to set up permanent residence in her parents' room at St. Mungo's. Or at her old house. Where the walls still had scorch marks.

Ron's face was so pale that every freckle stood out like a tiny pinprick. He opened his mouth. Thinking that he was going to yell, Hermione took a step back and waited, but he did not speak. He only stared, then turned and walked steadily out of the room without another word. He slammed the door so hard upon leaving that several of Remus's books toppled from their shelves.

Left alone, Hermione let out a sob. She ran to the window, pushed the curtain aside with trembling fingers, and peered out. It took all of her willpower not to race after Ron; she could see him heading into the forest behind Remus's house, along the well-trodden path. He had a large stick in his hand and was mercilessly banging on trees as he passed them. Anger and compassion fought for the strongest hold on her emotions. Why couldn't he be happy for her? Why couldn't he just embrace her, and tell her that she was doing the right thing, and write her letters while she was gone? It was so silly. She'd be back by Christmas. It was just like being apart over the summer holidays.

Hermione watched Ron disappear into the trees without looking back once, and she felt her anger return. It wasn't her fault if he didn't like working at the pub. She would go to the Thinker. She would leave the day after Lavender's wedding, she would do whatever it took to become the next apprentice at Cortona, and she would find out everything that she could, in order to help her parents. No one was going to stand in her way, not even a tall, lanky redhead who happened to make her head spin.

Giving another sob, she leaned her forehead on the glass and closed her eyes.

~*~

Ron didn't think he'd ever been so angry in his entire life. He hit another tree with his stick and kicked at a large rock as he walked. He was wearing his summer shoes, and it hurt a bit when he did it, so he kicked it again, harder, and winced.

He knew that there was nothing he could do. There was nothing he could say to persuade Hermione not to go to Cortona. He also knew that her reasons for going were good ones. It still hurt, however, that not two months after the defeat of Voldemort – two months that had been pretty much wonderful for them – she was already planning to leave him.

"Every ruddy time it starts working out, it all goes to hell again," he muttered, stumbling into the clearing by the lake and leaning against the trunk of a large tree on the perimeter.

There had always been tension where he and Hermione were concerned, he thought, wondering briefly if it was really worth it. A fleeting image of her face in his mind, however, and he knew the answer. She meant everything to him, and always had, ever since he'd met her. Ron bent over and searched the soft ground for a smooth stone, and then, finding one to his liking, hurled it out into the lake, where it skipped three times before finally sinking into the water. That was about where he and Hermione had been standing the day before. Standing, gripping onto each other for dear life – Ron had hardly been able to hold back from everything that he wanted to try. But he had held back. She'd wanted him to. And he'd always been willing to do anything for her.

He didn't even mind their silly rows – in fact, he started many of them on purpose. What had it been yesterday? Something to do with how they might rebuild the protective wards that had surrounded Hogwarts. Hermione had told him that it would require several months of precise Arithmancy calculations and perhaps the employment of several mathemagicians to make sure that everything would work together and Ron had said that it wasn't really necessary – now that Voldemort was gone, who needed protective wards? Hermione's eyebrows had shot up accordingly, and she had launched herself into a totally unnecessary History of Magic lecture; Ron knew what the wards were there for. But he had let her rant along for a good ten minutes before finally silencing her with a kiss. She always looked so good when she was fighting him.

But today was different. This was a real fight and they hadn't had one of those since Ron had accused Crookshanks of eating Scabbers in their third year.

He hurled another rock, enjoying the burn in his shoulder. It took his mind off the thought of Hermione taking off for Greece. Ron stooped and grabbed a third rock, but he couldn't really distract himself. Couldn't she learn from somebody closer to home? Did she really need to be so far away? Didn't she remember what it had been like for seven years? Evil and war had continuously interrupted their romance since before it had even begun. And now that there was relative peace in the wizarding world, now that they could be normal, and happy, and together – she wanted to leave?

Ron sat heavily against the tree trunk, suddenly exhausted, and began to pick at the weeds and sparse grass around him. Loss and disaster had marked everything good that had happened with Hermione, since the very first time they'd kissed. Ron shut his eyes, trying to remember.

He had waited until the end of their fifth year. The tension between them had been almost unbearable, but both of them had been so worried about Harry and Voldemort that there had been no time to deal with their feelings for each other. Ron had mustered the courage to hold her hand a few times, usually perfectly timed with the arrival of bad news so that it had seemed somewhat innocent. He'd even feigned a sudden interest in doing really well on his O.W.L.s so that he could spend as much time as possible studying with Hermione. Ron let out a short laugh, remembering how he'd used to try to get to the library first for study sessions, in order to choose the smallest table – that way his knees might bump 'accidentally' against hers. He remembered how flushed she had used to get about it, and how every once in awhile, she'd even forgotten the answers to simple study questions. Her lost expressions had always made his heart beat faster.

The evening after their last O.W.L. exam, they had been sitting up late in the common room, engrossed in a particularly fierce game of chess. Everyone, including Harry, had gone upstairs. Hermione had been sitting across from him, hair wild over her shoulders, pursing her lips and contemplating her next move. She'd been concentrating on the board for so long that her chess pieces had begun to taunt her. Ron had rearranged himself in his chair and reached out a foot under the table to kick her softly. She had looked up at once, forehead wrinkled, but he hadn't moved his foot from where he had positioned it on top of hers.

"Why'd you do that?"

"To make you hurry up."

"Oh, and kicking me will make me hurry up? That's excellent logic Ron." But though her tone of voice had been cutting, she had bitten her lip and fidgeted.

He had held up his hands in mock protest. "Fine! Take your time. I'm not worried about me - I'm worried about your pawns, that's all."

Hermione had finally made a move, and it hadn't been a good one. She'd known it too; her face had been quite red and she'd averted her eyes from him and the board as soon as she'd made it. He'd noticed, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe, that she hadn't moved her foot either. He could have sworn that he'd been able to feel heat rising up through the soles of his shoes. Ron remembered looking down at the chessboard and, for the first time in his life, not being able to figure out anything that was going on. Several of his pieces were vying for his attention, and Hermione's pretty queen was blowing kisses at him – he'd looked away from it, only to find Hermione's own brown eyes watching him intently. Ron had quickly returned his gaze to the game. Hermione had done the same, making a soft tutting noise as her queen lifted her skirt to reveal a shapely pewter ankle.

After a moment, Ron had all but gasped to feel the pressure of Hermione's toes nudging at his other foot.

"Are you going to make a move?" she'd asked, her voice half-joking, and slightly nervous.

Ron had felt a delicious chill shoot up his spine at the meaning behind her question, and he'd looked up to see an expression on Hermione's face that had never been there before. She hadn't been looking at the chessboard. His heart had skipped a beat. He'd nodded slowly and then, in what he still counted as one of his braver moments in life, he had placed his hands on either side of the table. He'd pulled himself slightly out of his chair and leaned over the chessboard towards her. Hermione had blushed, but she'd looked at him with such an open, trusting expression that despite the fact that he'd been able to feel his heart pounding in his chest, it really hadn't been too difficult to press his lips to hers. And to his utter shock, she'd pressed right back...

A movement in the lake jolted Ron back into reality and he opened his eyes, squinting against the sunlight. That first kiss had seemed to last forever. If he could go back and repeat it, he wouldn't have let Hermione go upstairs that evening. He would have kept her on the common room sofa all night long, enjoying the feeling of holding her close and the sensation of her lips moving against his. He would have prolonged the euphoria for as long as he could.

Because it hadn't lasted. Life had stepped in and interrupted. Death, rather. Hermione had gone upstairs that night, looking backward over her shoulder at him the whole way, and Ron had run up to the boys' dorm and thrown himself into his own four-poster to dream the most fantastic things he'd ever dreamt.

And the next morning, Dumbledore had died.

Ron tried to shake off the memory. He stood and paced to the sandy bank of the lake, attempting to stay focused on Hermione, and the problems at hand – but as he looked out across the lake's smooth, glassy surface, it was impossible not to remember what had happened at the end of fifth year.

He'd woken up with that kiss on his lips. He and Hermione had grinned stupidly at each other all through breakfast, making Harry roll his eyes, and then all three of them had gone down to the lake and stretched out on the grass to relax in the sun. Lazily, Ron had commented that the past year had been relatively uneventful, despite their extra Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons. "I've got my wand though, just in case," he'd joked. But he hadn't been thinking about magic. He'd been holding Hermione's hand, playing with her fingers until she'd given up trying to read the massive book that she had dragged outside. Together, the three of them had started discussing plans for summer and ways to make Harry's stay with the Dursleys as short as possible. Ron had been thinking about asking Hermione to come and stay for the whole summer. Everything had been perfect.

And then a scream had disrupted the warm silence of the day. All three of them had been on their feet in an instant. Wands out, they had stood rooted to the spot as other students had run past them in the direction of the castle. Something – or things – had risen up out of the lake and towards the banks where Harry, Ron and Hermione were standing. There had seemed to be hundreds of them. Tall, and dark, and seeming to glide rather than walk.

Dementors. At Hogwarts. Ron had glanced anxiously over to Harry and noted that though his friend's face was tense, his body was poised for fighting. A handful of Gryffindors who had been enjoying the afternoon sun – Angelina, Lavender, Fred and George, Ginny – and one or two students from each of the other houses had hovered nearby, clutching their wands out in front of them.

"Expecto Patronum!" Harry had been the first to act.

Ron had watched with amazement as the silver form of a large stag had shot out of Harry's wand and charged towards the lake, making several Dementors recoil. Some first and second year students, who had earlier been too frightened to move, had fallen to the ground just feet from the terrible creatures, whimpering. Ron hadn't had time to think twice - he'd only tried the Patronus spell twice before in class, and both times, his wand had produced little more than a fine mist. But he'd caught a glimpse of Hermione's hair out of the corner of his eye, taken a deep breath, and summoned the happiest thought that he could.

"Expecto Patronum!" he had cried, pointing his wand in the direction of a group of Dementors. They were closing in on a small boy who had been swimming and was now curled up very close to the edge of the lake.

Something had shot out of Ron's wand. He had squinted in astonishment, trying to understand what he was seeing. It had appeared to be ... some sort of man ... Ron had not been able to discern who or what exactly. Even more astonishing – his Patronus had worked. The Dementors had backed away from the boy.

Hermione had run around to attempt to drive off others from another angle. Several other students had been shouting and sending an array of silver mirages out of their wands, some fully formed, and others, light, white clouds. The Dementors had fled from the counter-attack to congregate in the center of the lake. The boy who had crawled out of the water sat up on the bank, rubbing his head – Ron had recognized him as Colin Creevey's little brother, Dennis.

"Here comes Dumbledore!" someone had shouted. Ron had swiveled to see the Headmaster, flanked by Professors McGonagall and Figg, hurrying across the grounds. He had exhaled with relief, certain that if Dumbledore were present, no further evil could befall the school.

Most of the other students had seemed to agree – they'd stopped in their efforts to drive off the Dementors, and had retreated to the castle. Hermione had crept up behind Ron and taken his hand. Everything had gone still again, and warm, and calm. Colin Creevey had hurried toward the lake, reaching for his brother.

Then the ground had begun to shake.

It had been slight at first, just a tremor, but enough to force Ron and Hermione apart – enough to cause Colin to tumble backwards and fall. The Dementors had slowly begun to glide back out towards the edges of the lake, though this time, they had attacked no one. This time, they had seemed content to sit and wait.

"Why would they wait like that...?" Hermione had barely whispered, looking at Harry.

"I don't know." Harry's voice had gone hard. Grim. He'd held out his wand and advanced slightly, as if already certain of what he was about to see.

Ron had just noticed that his own hand was shaking when a loud, terrible, shattering noise had permeated the silence. He and Hermione had barely kept their feet as the earth had begun to tremble more violently. Harry had been standing next to Dumbledore, who had advanced ahead of McGonagall and Figg.

Meanwhile, Dennis Creevey had begun to disappear into the lake, as the earth around the water had crumbled beneath him. Dumbledore had raised his wand with a powerful cry, but the ground vibrations had suddenly increased tenfold and thrown him sideways – the Headmaster had stumbled. Dennis Creevey had slipped beneath the lake's surface. Ron had raised his wand to do something, as had Hermione and Harry, but none of them had been powerful enough to Summon a living person from such a distance. Colin had screamed, scrambled to his feet and run helplessly to the water's edge, dodging Dementors and shouting his brother's name, and the trio had followed him, trying to stay on their feet, ready to jump in, if they had to.

And then had come the explosion. If it were possible for water to burn, Ron would have sworn that the lake water had turned into fire and rolled towards them. To his horror, Ron had seen the bodies of several Merpeople rise, lifeless, to the lake's surface, where they bobbed among grimy stone chunks that must have belonged to mer-village huts. Something in the water itself must have been exploding, knocking other, smaller life forms clear out of the lake. A Grindylow had hit Harry on the shoulder. Ron had seen a shiny, pink and grey mass break apart and drift towards them, until he'd recognized with disgust one of the tentacles of the giant squid.

The lake had then appeared to be drying up, although Ron could not have said how the water was disappearing. Dumbledore had fought his way to his feet and taken aim at the evaporating water, no doubt attempting to rescue Dennis, wherever he was. His fellow professors had assisted him; Harry, Ron and Hermione had followed at his heels.

But before any spell could succeed, something tall and terrible had emerged from the pit of the lake, soared forward, and landed on its feet in front of the headmaster.

At once, the vanished water had rushed back into its place, and Ron had heard Hermione give a fearful cry next to him as Dennis Creevey's body had surfaced among those of the merpeople. Colin had given a strangled shout – Ron had seen Professor Figg step forward and drive the Dementors away from Colin with her large, catlike Patronus. Keeping one hand on Colin's shoulder, she had sent a cord shooting from the end of her wand, which had wrapped itself around Dennis's waist and then retracted, bringing Dennis's body to shore.

Ron had looked on, shaking and stricken, never having seen a person killed. He had seen Cedric's body, already dead. But just moments ago, he had seen Dennis Creevey slip below the waves. And he had been unable to stop it. A feeling of guilt unlike any he'd ever experienced had overtaken him, as he'd watched Colin struggle with his sobs.

"It's him."

Harry's voice was barely audible, his breathing was ragged, and his eyes had fixed on something other than the sickening sight of Colin, weeping at the water's edge. Harry had stared for a moment, then started toward Dumbledore, his wand out.

Professor McGonagall had leapt forward and grabbed Harry. With a move that proved her much stronger than she looked, she had forced him behind her.

High, cruel, unnatural laughter had filled the air.

Ron had turned to see what Harry was watching, and for the first time in his life, he had seen Lord Voldemort. His blood had run cold and he'd shivered violently, unable to believe it. Harry had never described Voldemort to him – not really – but it had seemed to Ron that Voldemort was exactly as he had pictured him. Pale skin stretched flat over a snake-like skull, slitted eyes as red as blood, and long, narrow, frightening fingers, playing idly on a wand that had indeed looked identical to Harry's. When he had spoken, his voice had been a hiss.

"Dumbledore. Esteemed Headmaster..." Voldemort had bowed. "It seems that you were unable to secure your domain as well as you would have wished..."

Ron had instinctively moved beside Harry, who had continued struggling to be let loose from Professor McGonagall's grasp. Hermione had moved to his other side. Harry's teeth had been clenched, and he'd only been fighting McGonagall with one hand, because the other had been clutching at the red scar on his forehead.

For the first time, Ron had remembered that Ginny was still outside with them. He saw her in his peripheral vision, standing a little ways behind Harry, a look of terrified determination on her face.

Voldemort, however, had for once not seemed interested in Harry. A sinister smile had flitted across his face, and he had concentrated totally on Dumbledore.

Ron had not been able to see Dumbledore's face. But he had been able to envision the Headmaster's expression when he'd heard him say in a calm, clear tone; "Welcome back, Tom."

The Dark Lord had grimaced. "Tom does not exist – he has been dead for many years. But I thank you for the greeting." His eyes had flickered briefly to Harry, and he had given his wand a lazy flick. "Crucio!"

Harry had fallen to the ground between Hermione and Ron, curling up into a ball, his face contorted with pain. Professor McGonagall had dropped to her knees to repel the curse, and Ginny had rushed forward, all while Voldemort had lifted his wand once more and let out a chilling laugh.

"Harry Potter," he had hissed. "How like your father's screams yours sound..."

Dumbledore had raised his wand and Voldemort had done the same.

"...but I will spare you. Yes... You may live until I have dealt with your protector."

"I see you have finally found your way in?" Dumbledore had asked, his voice deadly calm. He had seemed unaware that anyone was present except for himself and Voldemort.

"It was surprisingly simple to extract the basic information from Igor Karkaroff. Foolish man. He thought if he told me then I would welcome him back - just as you thought that sealing your lake after Durmstrang's departure would keep your school safe. Had you forgotten how much more potent my power is than your simple *magic* tricks? Your nobility - your refusal of true power - has been your downfall."

Ron had taken that to mean that Karkaroff was now dead. He couldn't say that he had been sorry to hear it.

Dumbledore had gestured slightly with his wand. "Has it indeed, Tom? Are you here to challenge me to a duel?"

Ron had been amazed at Dumbledore's even tone. There had been no trace of fear or anger. The headmaster had sounded as though he had been starting up another Sorting Feast, instructing them all not to wander around the hallways in between lessons. His voice had been almost... amused.

"Do you think," Voldemort had spat, "that I stopped studying and paying attention when I left Hogwarts? I remember with utmost clarity the day that you defeated Grindelwald. A sad day indeed. I had just joined his followers. In a way, I suppose that you did me a favor – his death left a convenient gap for me to fill. I have become greater than he ever was. I have found the entrance to Hogwarts." His eyes had gleamed with a terrible power. "And I have not come alone."

As if summoned by his words, the army of Dementors, hundreds-strong, had glided from their places around the lake's shore, gathering hungrily behind Voldemort in a dark mass, focusing their hooded, faceless bodies toward the Hogwarts castle.

"They'll storm it," Hermione had whispered, beside him. "They'll Kiss everyone."

Ron had known she was right. If they had been able to bypass Dumbledore, then the Dementors would have infested the castle in seconds, to feed on the joy of every student there. To feast on all their souls. The students and teachers would never have been able to drive back so many.

Voldemort had held up a long, white hand, stopping the Dementors just behind him. His shining red eyes had fallen on Dumbledore again, and narrowed. "I remember the duel. I remember how you defeated Grindelwald. I will not make myself vulnerable, as he was. Fight me, old man, and my army will have your school. Your pupils." He had laughed softly. Horribly.

"Then why don't you just kill me now, Tom?" Dumbledore had asked quietly, tucking his wand away into his belt and waiting.

Professor McGonagall had drawn a sharp breath and got to her feet. Ron's own breathing had gone harsh and ragged. Harry had crawled to his knees, and stood up unsteadily.

The smile that had crossed Voldemort's lips had been perhaps the most awful thing that Ron had witnessed all day.

"I shall," Voldemort had breathed. A moment later, he had pointed his wand directly at Dumbledore's heart. "Avada Kedavra!"

There had been the flash of terrible green light that Ron had always heard about. A pang of sick dread had thudded in his gut. Hermione had cried out, and a loud yell of disbelief had erupted from Harry. In an instant that had seemed to encompass hours, Dumbledore had fallen, blank-eyed, onto the grassy slope that lined the lake, the corners of his mouth upturned, slightly. Ron remembered thinking that he had looked victorious, even in death.

But victory had been Voldemort's. He had followed the collapse of the Headmaster's body with gleeful eyes, before looking up at Professor McGonagall and smiling coldly. "Stand aside ..." he had whispered, shifting his gaze behind her, to Harry, who had been staring with fixed horror at Dumbledore's dead body. "Come forward, Potter."

Harry had stood dumbly for a moment, seemingly unable to process what had happened. But he had finally raised his head and stepped forward, wand out, ducking away from Ron and Hermione – from Ginny and Professor McGonagall – as if determined to take the blow alone.

Voldemort had raised his wand.

And he and his Dementors had disappeared as if the ground itself had been a Portkey.

Ron had blinked, confused, and looked to Hermione, who was looking hopefully from side to side. "Is it a trick?" she had whispered.

"WHERE ARE YOU?" Harry had demanded, shouting into thin air as if convinced that Voldemort still stood there, before him. "SHOW YOURSELF!"

"He... Mr. Potter...." Professor McGonagall had been unable to speak clearly, at first. Slowly, she had walked the few necessary steps to Dumbledore's body, where she had dropped to her knees, placing both hands on the sleeve of his purple and silver robes. "You-Know-Who is gone."

"How do you know he is?" Harry had whirled. "Where has he gone?"

"Your Headmaster...had anticipated an attack. We had no idea of knowing how, but he prepared the school for... the eventuality..." Professor McGonagall's voice had been thick and uneven. She'd continued to choke out an explanation, her fingers tightening on Dumbledore's sleeve until that her knuckles went white. "In the event of his... death..."

Beside Ron, Hermione gave a small sob.

"...Professor Dumbledore had cast a very powerful spell... on himself."

"Himself." Hermione had grabbed Ron's hand. "Expuli Inimicus," she'd murmured. "The Expulsion Curse... A person can cast it on himself and a specific area so that if he comes to harm, all his enemies will be driven instantly to the other end of the earth. Wizards and witches used to use it on themselves and their homes during the great persecutions, to prevent harm to the rest of their families, should they have been killed in their beds. It's very dangerous and generally backfires, but I suppose..." She had drawn breath and gripped Ron's hand tighter. "I suppose Dumbledore could have used it on himself and Hogwarts, in case something like this..."

Harry had looked at Professor McGonagall, his face pale, his mouth set. "So his death expelled his enemies, and he knew that it was going to. He asked to die so that the Dementors wouldn't have the school. So that Voldemort wouldn't have me. That's why he died, and that's where they've gone. Isn't it."

It hadn't been a question.

Professor McGonagall's breath had caught – so sharply that, this time, Ron had expected her to burst into tears. But instead she had turned and given the three of them a sober look. "Yes, Miss Granger. Expuli Inimicus. In death, he has protected this school more fully than he could have done, alive. He has sacrificed himself, Mr. Potter. You... are quite right." The professor had shut her mouth tightly, clearly struggling with her emotions, and then had somehow managed to speak in her usual, authoritative tone. "Prefects, please take your students to their houses."

Ron and Hermione had turned numbly, but immediately, to begin doing whatever they could, to help. Harry had stood stock-still.

"Miss Johnson, please attend to Mr. Creevey. Take him to the hospital wing. Be respectful of his brother's body."

Angelina had gone to Colin at once. Colin's chin had trembled violently, but he had risen to his feet, and together they had begun the work of floating Dennis's body toward the school.

"Arabella, if you would... help me." Professor McGonagall's steady voice had begun to fail. "I must... get him inside. I must seal the entrance, in the lake and this time we will use whatever means necessary. Please find Severus...ask him to come here..."

But before taking her instructions, Professor Figg had gone to Professor McGonagall and put a hand on her comrade's shoulder, tears shining in her eyes. "We have lost him, Minerva," she had said softly. "We have lost him."

Professor McGonagall had crumpled.

It had been unreal. Unbelievable. Dumbledore had seemed invincible. Ron could hardly remember anything about the rest of that night. There were flashes of Colin Creevey, returning to the dormitories to pack his things and leave Hogwarts forever. Hazy memories of Ginny, sitting in the chair beside Harry's, both of them staring dully into the fire.

Ron came to his senses and looked at his feet, away from the lake. He felt unpleasantly warm, and extremely dizzy – the mere memory of that day was still a trauma for him. So much death in one place. They'd gone home for the summer, and it had been months before he'd had another normal moment with Hermione, and that was just before her parents had been attacked. And then, the following Christmas, he himself had been kidnapped. And now she was going to run off and study where he couldn't follow. It never ended. He bent down, grabbed another stone, and hurled it angrily into the water.

"You need to stay here with me," he muttered fiercely, saying to the empty air what he had wanted to say, earlier. "All that shit is over, Hermione. We've been through enough. I want it over, and I want you here, and you don't have to leave, so you ought to stay."

"I'm not staying."

Ron wheeled around, heart hammering. Hermione stood right behind him, her eyes bloodshot but her expression calm. Ron's first instinct was to take her into his arms and comfort her, then destroy whatever had made her cry. Just as quickly, he remembered that she had most likely been crying because of him. Or rather, because of her own decision. She was the one who wanted to leave. If she was crying, she only had herself to blame for it.

"I'm not staying," she repeated, taking another step towards him, "but I'll be back. It's only for four months. It's just like summer holidays."

"We haven't been apart for the last two summer holidays."

"Even more reason why this shouldn't be a problem."

Ron didn't care if that was true. They had done almost everything together for years, along with Harry. Ron thought it might help to mention that.

"What about Harry?"

Hermione looked taken aback. "What about him?"

"He's not doing too well right now, if you haven't noticed. It's not exactly the best time for you to go gallivanting all over the world!" Ron cringed inwardly as the words came out of his mouth. His mother had said the same thing to Bill, he remembered, when Bill had left for Egypt.

The look on Hermione's face was a good indication to Ron that he'd probably said the wrong thing. She threw up her arms in exasperation. "Harry is doing just fine. Maybe you haven't noticed. Anyway, he already knows that I want to do this, and he's glad for me."

"You told Harry before you told me?" Ron felt an irrational stab of jealousy. "Brilliant. Bloody brilliant. Why don't you make him your boyfriend instead, since he's so understanding?"

Hermione covered her mouth with her hand and let out a small laugh. This infuriated Ron even more – he couldn't find anything funny about this situation.

"It's not like I'm leaving forever, Ron," she finally managed. "It's not even a very long time."

"Four months isn't a long time? Well thanks a lot. Now I know what you think of me."

They stared at each other intensely for a few moments, and then Hermione whispered in a voice that sounded unusually high-pitched and quiet; "Ron - you do know how I feel about you, don't you?"

He shrugged.

Hermione took a step forward so that she was standing a foot away from him. She reached up and uncrossed his arms, grabbing one of his hands in each of hers. He didn't resist, but he looked stubbornly off to the right, trying to appear very interested in the foliage of a nearby oak.

"Ron, look at me."

He turned his head slowly until their eyes locked, and his breath caught in his throat as her eyes connected with his. This was all he wanted – her, standing here with him, looking up at him like this, her hands in his. And he wasn't going to have it.

"I love you," she blurted out. Several tears escaped her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. "Why can't that be enough? Why can't you just let me do this? I'm here until the day after Lavender's wedding, so we have a week together, and then I'll be back in December. I'll come back, and we'll be fine."

Ron felt his ears turn red at her words. They didn't say they loved each other very often – although it was understood every time they looked at each other. He wanted to say that he loved her too, but that wasn't what came out of his mouth. "I'm sure that's what Percy thought when he decided to come home and it didn't exactly turn out fine for him, did it?"

Hermione glared at him through her tears. "I can't change who I am, or what I want, or what my parents are going through. You know me. You know I'd be miserable if I didn't do this. Don't you care about any of that?"

"Yeah," said Ron vaguely.

"Listen," said Hermione, firmly, "Do you want to spend this last week fighting? I'm going to go, but I'm going to feel terrible the whole time if I know that you're unhappy. Is that what you want for me?"

Ron shrugged again. Part of him did want her to spend those four months being miserable. A corner of his mind, however, was already filling with admiration for Hermione and what she wanted to do. It was pretty brave, really, leaving England in search of some woman hidden away on an island. Hermione was very determined, and, he realized, very loyal. She hadn't given up hope of curing her parents, even when the staff at St. Mungo's told her that it was hopeless. He was already starting to feel like a prat for not being more supportive. Still, he wasn't quite finished.

"You should have told me first. You should have told me more than a week before you're leaving," he said in a rush. She opened her mouth to reply. "No – I've got to go get ready for work," he finished, cutting off whatever she'd been about to say.

Hermione swallowed, and her bottom lip disappeared into her mouth as if she would start to cry again. But she didn't. "Fine," she whispered. "Go on."

Ron walked past her, back toward the house, but he couldn't bring himself to leave without another, kinder word. "Stop by later?" he asked hopefully, turning back. "I'm closing up early tonight."

Hermione remained with her back to him, looking out at the lake. "I don't think so," she answered quietly. "I've got some reading to do and some maps to study."

"Right." Ron knew that he was supposed to say something here, something warm and encouraging. He couldn't think of anything. Briefly, he wondered if Hermione knew where to find that Time-Turner that she'd used in her third year. Then again, he didn't know what he'd change if he could go back a few hours.

"Coming back to the house, at least?" he asked, holding out his hand.

Hermione didn't turn. "No," she said. "I'll be up a bit later. I think I want to be alone."

Ron stood watching her for a few more moments. She wanted to be alone and she wanted to go away. In a week. Feeling entirely helpless, Ron finally turned and began to slowly walk toward Lupin Lodge.