Chapter Thirty

Under the Influence

~*~

A/N: We were joking when we said that we'd written a sexy scene, which B Bennett had called "crap".  We appreciate so many of you for standing up for us, but really, it was meant to be a joke.  And even if we did write "sexy" scenes, we wouldn't post them at the Sugar Quill.  This is a family site, folks!

Also sending a big thanks to the betas, who help us so, so, so much. Hug your beta today!

~*~

Bill Weasley usually liked Mondays.  It meant a new week, new things to learn, and new adventures.  But this Monday, when he woke up, he could see it was grey and rainy outside, which meant he was still in London, and not in Egypt. 

"Shut it," he growled to his alarm clock, which had just started to blast news from the WWN.  It stopped with a whine and Bill rolled over.  Too many days not working made Bill a lazy boy.  It was easy to get into the routine of doing nothing, which was why he usually tried to keep as busy as possible.

Pulling his blankets higher, Bill was about to roll over and wait for the alarm to go off again, when he remembered that Charlie had probably only just arrived home from his shift at Azkaban.  It was best not to wake him, especially since they had a Ministry meeting later that afternoon.

Shivering, but too bleary-eyed to find a dressing gown, Bill quickly tiptoed across his room and into the hallway towards the bathroom.  A moment later, he was hopping around the hallway on one foot, biting back a yelp.  Mick, who had essentially moved out of their flat and in with his wife over the holidays, had piled all of his remaining boxes in the corridor and Bill had forgotten to remember that they were there.  Bill was pretty sure that these boxes contained everything that Mick didn't want Rose to find out about, and he entertained himself for a moment trying to imagine the Secretary Privy and former Head Girl Rose Brown floating to the ceiling in her green and silver Slytherin school robes.  That amused him, and he excused the boxes and headed in to shower.

Over breakfast, Bill opened Empathy in Sorcery, A Complete History and Guide and began to read.  If his youngest sibling and only sister was really a Healer, then he wanted to refresh his memory.  He had to stop every few minutes, take a bite of toast, and shake his head.  He was having a hard enough time believing that Ginny was grown up, let alone that she was in possession of powers that might very well make her the most sought-after witch of her generation.   And he wasn't too sure about Harry, either.   Sure, he was Ron's best friend, and the hero who had defeated and destroyed Voldemort, but when the Charmed Life photograph flashed into his head, Bill felt a definite sense of dislike for the boy.  He still didn't know whether or not the snippet of conversation he'd overhead at Christmas dinner had anything to do with Ginny's Healing powers, or something else, but he did know that he'd be keeping an eye on Harry, and if he saw anything out of the ordinary, he couldn't be held responsible for a wayward hex or two.

Bill had been right not to want to wake up this morning.  Gringotts was even more boring than usual today.  Since the completion of the security spell reconstruction at Gringotts, Bill's position there had been tenuous.  He had only agreed to stay in London to help his father, who seemed to take comfort in going over the various news and concerns of the Minister of Magic with his son over lunch.  A few times they'd even ventured into Muggle London – Arthur Weasley's fascination with Muggles had not decreased in the slightest – and even in his current position, he had legitimate reasons for the interactions.  Arthur had spent a large portion of the meeting with the Muggle Prime Minister staring at the television set and waxing philosophical about how there was no difference, really, between Muggles and wizarding folk – the Muggles had developed their own magic, and it was quite amazing… The Prime Minister, equally as fascinated with them, had seemed quite disappointed when Bill had told him no, his earring did not ward off evil spirits, and yes, his boots were made of alligator skin (they may have had to keep relations with select Muggle officials, but there was still quite a lot that Muggles were better off not knowing).

Bill seemed to be spending more of his time assisting his father in an unofficial capacity, and less time doing anything of use at Gringotts.  The goblins were now using him to try to break the charms on vaults for new accounts.   It was boring, mind-numbing work, which consisted of one hour's worth of spell-breaking and then seven hour's worth of report writing, explaining why he was able to break the security charms, but others probably might find it more difficult. 

And it didn't help that for every ten minutes of boredom at work, he seemed to have a hundred thoughts of Fleur Delacour, who was, he knew, now working at Hogwarts.  He'd overheard Ron's classmate Neville Longbottom telling someone else on New Year's Eve that life at Hogwarts wasn't so lonely since Fleur had arrived to help.  She was helping to restore the wards and charms that had protected Hogwarts so well over the centuries.  Bill had felt a strong sense of relief at the news, and told himself that it was only because she was such a skilled charmer and that meant that Hogwarts would be safe again.  

Mick had been very helpful in explaining the biology and history of veela to Bill.  Of course, it had taken several days for them to actually have their talk, as Mick had been busy with work and, as it later turned out, Rose.  Bill had started to read the books he'd purchased at Flourish and Blotts anyway, but the contents had been so shocking that he'd tossed them aside several times, only to pick them up and try again.

"Most of those books were written by people who actually fell under a veela's spell," Mick had explained, trying to calm him down. "They're biased."

"This one," Bill said, holding up Veela ~ The Definitive Guide to the Undefinable Goddess, "was written by a woman."

Mick laughed. "Yeah, right.  That woman spent years trying to bottle veela sweat to turn it into love charms.  That's why she knows so much."

"So their sweat doesn't have the power to knock a man over?" Bill asked.  He'd noticed that Fleur always seemed to smell lovely, but maybe that was just part of the enchantment.

"Great Merlin, man!" Mick had found this very amusing.  "It depends on how often she bathes, of course.  Anyway, your bird is only a quarter-veela, right?"

"She's not my bir – woman, whatever," he'd started to protest, but he hadn't really been in the mood. 

Mick had ignored him anyway.  "Quarter-veela," he explained, "are three-quarters human.  Full veela can reproduce in two ways – by laying eggs, or by giving birth, like a human.  The babies that are born by the eggs are full veela and the babies that are born like us are half-veela.  Making any sense?"

Bill shook his head.  "None at all.  What determines how the baby is born?  Do they just wake up and say 'I don't feel quite like laying an egg today…'"

"No… it depends on how they mate…"

"How many ways are there?"

"Well…" Mick looked like he wanted to laugh.  "If they mate with a bird, then they lay an egg. If they mate with a human, then they give birth to a half-veela human."

"Mate with a what?"

"A bird.  Veela are essentially shape-shifters.  Oh, but don't worry though – they make sure everything fits before they, er, mate."

"So what does that mean?" None of this answered Bill's questions about the charm of a quarter-veela and whether she might be stronger than a love charm. "Can a quarter-veela shift shapes and all that stuff?"

"Why do you want to know?" asked Mick.  "You're a human."

Bill reached for his copy of Women with Wings (And Beaks and Claws, so Watch It) and started to flip through the pages.  Mick grabbed it away from him. 

"Rubbish," Mick muttered, under his breath. "Quarter-veela have some power," he explained "They can turn the charm on and off, and occasionally, when extremely angry or upset, can even sprout the wings – " He paused and winked. "Ever see that happen before?"

Impatient, Bill asked the question that none of the books had answered.  "Can a quarter-veela break through a Love Charm repellent?" he asked.  Mick looked surprised.

"Nah," he said, dismissively.  "They're not really that powerful.  Perhaps on young boys, but otherwise, their charm is short-lived.  A full veela will suck you in and bewitch you.  All a quarter-veela can do is make you stare for a few minutes. There are no lasting effects, and certainly not enough power to break through even a weak Love Charm repellent.  Don't tell me you…well I guess it couldn't do you a whole lot of harm, but… a bit paranoid, aren't we Bill?"

Bill hadn't answered.  There had been a sinking feeling in his stomach that had continued to plague him on a daily basis, especially while at Gringotts.  He'd been stupid and wrong and mistaken, and it had been killing him not to know Fleur's whereabouts.  Now that he knew she was at Hogwarts, he spent his time wondering if he should go there, and if he did, would she speak to him, and besides, hadn't he ruined everything?

"Weasley!"  There was a knock at his door, and Bill quickly charmed the three-dimensional floating puzzle he was trying to solve into his desk and headed for the door.

"Who is it?" he asked.

"You know who this is, Weasley," barked a familiar, gruff goblin voice.  "We are waiting for your report on vault 2877.  If the locks are secure, the owners would like to start filling the vault first thing tomorrow morning."

Bill opened the door and smiled down at Barknap.  "How do I know it's you?  ID, please."  After about the third month of Gringotts staff in London pretending not to know who he was, Bill had started to demand identification in return.  The goblins seemed annoyed, but it gave Bill a small amount of satisfaction.

"This looks in order," said Bill, handing the identification card back to Barknap.  However, just as the goblin opened his mouth to speak again, however, Bill brandished his wand and cast a Revealing Charm.

When the blue sparks and smoke had cleared, an irate goblin pushed past Bill into his office, and made a grab for the finished report on his desk.

"How long has this been complete?" Barknap asked, shaking the roll of parchment.

"Just rolled it and sealed it now," answered Bill.  "You'll see that there are still a few weak spots behind the hinges.  Someone will have to go back and work on that."

"You'll do it now, with Holgrip," said Barknap sternly. 

Bill shook his head and grabbed for his cloak.  "No can do," he answered, stepping through the doorway and motioning for Barknap to leave as well.  "Got a meeting with the Minister."

Thinking that he could actually finally understand why people abused power when they had it, Bill headed over to the Ministry complex, and hoped that this wasn't going to be a very long meeting.

*

When he arrived at his father's office, Bill could tell that his wishes had not been granted.  Rose Brown was already there, looking, Bill noted, very pretty, despite the fact that she kept running her fingers through her hair and pulling at large clumps of it, all the while talking in a business-like tone to Arthur.

"What's all this about hair?" Bill asked as his father waved him into the room.  "Yours looks very nice today, Dad."

Rose cracked a smile, but continued in a serious voice.  "We were discussing the hair charms for the orphans in Knockturn Alley and at St. Mungo's," she explained. "The Thinker in Cortona sent us a big package this morning, and it was full of wonderful advice."

Bill nodded at her to continue.

"She's written a spell for us to use to track them.  That way, we can quickly find the ones that leave the orphanage, and we should be able to discover where they're hiding out in Knockturn Alley soon enough."

"How are you going to do that?" asked Bill.  "Surround them with some sort of ward?"

Arthur patted his own bald head.  "Hair.  Something all children have, and homeless children have in abundance.  Charm their hair."

"Is it a difficult charm to carry out?" 

"It's written here," said Rose, handing him the letter.  "It will be simple for the M.L.E.S. officers to perform it, even from a considerable distance.  We've already tested the alert system.  As long as the children don't cut their hair by themselves, it should work beautifully."

Remembering his mother complaining the day before that all seven of her children combined had never been as much trouble as Max, Bill smiled at his father.

"Mind if I test this at the Burrow this evening?"

Erupting into laughter, Arthur nodded.  "We've already done Max, but you'd better go over there anyway," he said.  "Your mother decided that Max needed to start having lessons today.  Remus offered to help, but your mum told him he'd better spend all of his time with Ginny, so he sent books over with Hermione this morning." 

"Is Hermione going to teach him, then?" 

"No, I don't think she's got much patience for it, truth be told.  Max asked her first thing if she knew a good spell for 'staying awake during really boring lessons' and she looked properly shocked."

"Speaking of Ms. Granger," interrupted Rose, sounding impatient.  Bill knew she could barely stand it when Ministry meetings veered off topic.

"Ah yes," said Arthur, craning his neck to see the clock on the wall.  "Where is everyone else?  We're waiting on Sirius and Charlie. They're late."

Rose snorted. Bill grinned; she and Charlie still had a lot to work out.  Charlie hadn't quite forgiven Mick for falling in love so quickly and running off with a Slytherin.  Although Charlie was usually late, Bill wouldn't have been surprised if his brother was now showing up late on purpose.

"Sorry! Sorry…" Sirius and Charlie rushed into the room, both looking damp, yet energized.  Sirius' fingernails were extremely dirty.  "Just had to find a place to put the bike," explained Sirius.  "I told Charlie I'd give him a lift over here.  It's my fault we're late." 

"Working okay then, Sirius?" asked Arthur, looking at Sirius' grease-stained hands.  "Is something wrong with it?" 

"No, no… well, the Invisibility Booster you installed seems to be interfering with the braking mechanism, that's all.  I've got it all worked out now.  No problem."  Sirius looked about twelve.

Rose cleared her throat again.  This time Charlie snorted.  Rose ignored him. 

"We were just getting ready to talk about Ms. Granger," said Rose, reaching for Delia's letter and enlarging it.  "Wingardium Leviosa!" she said, and the parchment hung in the air in front of them.

"We received this letter from Delia Tsikarous, the Thinker at Cortona."

"Thanks, Rose," Arthur said.  "Let's look over this letter."

Dear Minister Weasley:

I take quill to parchment today to recommend to you my apprentice Hermione Granger.  I know that you are acquainted with her natural talents and abilities.  She has not completed an apprenticeship with me, and is not currently qualified as a "Thinker".  She is, however, an immensely talented and worthy young woman. 

During her time with me, I performed several tests to try to gauge Ms. Granger's abilities.   You are well-acquainted with my ineffectiveness in the arena of containment, or, imprisonment charms.  Ms. Granger, I believe, does not have such a problem, and may be of use to you with that particular work. 

I am always happy to be of assistance.

Regards,

Delia Tsikarous

Cortona

"Well," said Arthur, when they'd all finished reading, "I think that about settles it.  We'll draft a letter to Hermione and ask her to start working with Penelope immediately." 

"How soon do you think it will take them to come up with a solution?" asked Sirius.  "The situation at Culparrat is – "

Arthur waved his hand.  "Don't worry, Sirius," he said.  "It will all come together."

Rose spoke next, her voice trembling a bit.  "He's right to be impatient, Minister.  The situation at Azkaban is growing worse, not better.  That recent incident with the dragons – well, you've seen the letter that we received from Mr. Malfoy."

Bill knew that Malfoy wasn't the one that Rose was worried about.  To his surprise, Charlie jumped to Rose's defense.  "Something is wrong with the dragons," he said, simply.  "They act irrational like this when they've got colds, or a viral infection, but we can't seem to find anything wrong with them.  Mick has been working every day since Christmas with Viking, and he's flown fine, with no problem, or sign of illness.  I can't see anything wrong with them either.  But the way they acted on Christmas… the way Krum's dragon acted a few weeks ago.   My dragon's been fine so far, and so has Cho's, thank goodness, but…"

Charlie stopped speaking; he'd gone red in the face.

But Sirius was standing now, and began pacing the room.  "I'm not too happy about the way Norbert has been acting either.  And call it conditioning, but when things tend to go off near Harry, it always puts me on guard, and not just because he's my godson.  Voldemort may be gone, but we don't necessarily know that all of his supporters are in Culparrat."

"A person couldn't do that to the dragons," said Charlie.  "Dragons are amazing, powerful creatures.  The only real weakness, besides their eyes, is their long-term memory.  Training them to accept riders takes months and months of intense, one-on-one training along with a large team of keepers for backup.  You have to use them, or else they forget pretty quickly.  Someone couldn't just come along and command them to act jittery for a few hours."

"Maybe not someone," said Sirius, a suspicious glint in his eye. "What about something? Like a charm?"

"If we knew of a charm that powerful," said Charlie, sounding as if this was a silly question, "then we wouldn't need dragons at all. We'd just be able to destroy Azkaban altogether.  You do know it takes twenty keepers just to stun a dragon."

Sirius shrugged and continued to pace, muttering, "The real problem isn't the dragons – it's the Dementors.  Why don't we focus on finding a way to destroy them, rather than worrying about the health of something that's only a temporary solution."

Charlie looked like he wanted to say something, but then thought better of it.

It was one of those moments when Bill thought Sirius looked particularly frightening, but his father seemed unaffected and began to speak.

"I should report on this Peeping System that Penelope and Miss Chang were working on – it's taking longer than we thought.  It went up just after the incident at Christmas, and it works, but we 're not sure that the floor plans we have of Azkaban are complete.  Moody's got some of the Aurors at Culparrat scheduled to be at the new monitoring station at Azkaban twenty-four hours a day, but that's not keeping the Dementors inside the castle.  All we've learned is that they seem to skulk about and try to get outside the boundaries.  They're certainly not destroying each other, although they do seem -" Arthur shuffled through some pieces of parchment on his desk, and rubbed his eyes. "- to be 'depressed' and 'lacking in motivation' on some days, and, it says in this report, they seem to sleep most of the day, from about six in the morning until about four at night, although they tend to be more restless on weekends."

"It's possible to talk to Dementors, isn't it?" asked Bill.  "I mean, if you know their language?"

"We've tried," answered Arthur.  "They won't talk to us at all.  They're focused on getting out of that castle.  It's as though they've gone crazy."

"Gone crazy?" said Sirius, color rising in his face.  "They've always been crazy.  They eat souls.  They always have. If you want evidence, just stop by the PDST ward at St. Mungo's and try to talk to some of the soulless shells that are hanging about there. They must be stopped."

Rose was rocking back and forth on her feet, and looked very much like she had something to say. 

"What is it, Rose?" prompted Bill.  He smiled at her.  Maybe if he tried to be kind, Charlie would follow suit.  Besides, Mick had been extremely helpful to Bill in recent months. 

"I've had another letter," she blurted, but then seemed to regain her composure.  "It's about the dragons.  Someone has volunteered her services."

"Well, who is it?" asked Sirius, stopping his pacing, and leaning heavily against the wall by the fireplace.

Rose pulled a roll of parchment from her robes and cleared her throat:

Dear Secretary Privy Brown:

It has come to my attention that there have been several recent incidents regarding the dragons that are in place to keep the Dementors at Azkaban.  Aside from the fact that the dragon-riding schedule is very intense and taking its toll on the riders, the dragons themselves seem to be having unexplainable problems.

I think I might be able to help.  You might find this difficult to believe, but I have recently discovered that I am a Healer–"

Bill groaned loudly.  She'd done it.  Ginny had actually written the letter.  He should have known. 

"NO way," Bill said. 

"Why not?" asked Rose.

"Look," said Bill, trying to think of a good reason.  'She's my little sister and I can remember when she was a baby' didn't seem like one he wanted to speak out loud.

"The thing is," he faltered.  "You see, I mean, she's not even out of school!  She can't even Apparate yet.  What if a dragon lunges at her and she can't defend herself?  Can't you just, I don't know, hire more riders?"

"We have," said Charlie and Rose together. Both looked a bit disconcerted, and Rose motioned for Charlie to continue.

"There are three riders in training.  But the dragons that they're training with are still in need of a lot of conditioning, and frankly, the riders aren't very good.  I don't know how many of them will even make it through the training.   And we've always said that this is a temporary solution. Sirius is right, we need to be working on a way to destroy the Dementors."

Bill looked over to his father, who still hadn't spoken.  He looked torn.  He was muttering under his breath and shaking his head, and appeared to be doodling on the Azkaban report.   

"Charlie," said Arthur, finally, not looking up.  "If we decide to let your sister help to try and work out what's wrong with the dragons, how might you be able to protect her?"

Bill gaped at his father, surprised.

"Well I'm not going to let her fly up to Norbert and look up his nose or anything like that!" said Charlie, as if this were obvious.  Bill felt a small amount of relief.  Charlie was mad when it came to his dragons, and Bill didn't feel comfortable assuming anything.  "She'll be on the ground, outside the enclosure.  Dragons have very powerful auras – isn't that what Healers do? Read auras and things like that? She should be able to do whatever she needs to do with her feet on the ground.  It seems a perfect solution to me."

"And you would accompany her at all times?"  Arthur lifted his head and looked at Charlie.  His eyes were very shiny, and he seemed lost. 

Before Charlie could answer, Bill turned to address Sirius.  "You're probably the only one here who's seen Ginny working on a daily basis.  How does she do it?  How is she when she makes the Wolfsbane Potion every month? Does she get tired?  Healers are supposed to be ultra-sensitive to any pain or illness around them.  How does she manage to be around you –" he pointed at Sirius, "- without passing out every day? Has she ever passed out? In the beginning, it's very common for a Healer to have very severe and physically dangerous reactions to people in pain – "

"Been reading much, Bill?" teased Charlie.

"No, he's right to be concerned," said Sirius.  "She's not allowed to open up around myself or Remus.  He's been working with her since the beginning to try to get her to learn how and when to turn her powers off and on.  She's fairly good at managing it around everyone except for Harry."

Bill felt instantly ashamed for thinking badly about Harry. 

"Sir," said Rose, addressing Arthur.  "I've heard wonderful things about your daughter.  I know she's young, and if these were normal times, then I would say that there would be no need for a seventeen-year-old girl to be hanging around Azkaban, but these are not normal times.  The war is over, yes, but things won't ever really return to normal until people feel safe again."  She paused, and Arthur put down his quill and spread his hands out on his desk. 

"I suppose it's the right thing to do, Rose," he said, slowly.  "Of course the Ministry wants to do what's best."

"If it's any consolation, sir," said Rose, blushing, "I can tell you that I had the opportunity to ride on Viking during my last inspection.  Accompanied, of course.   It's frightening, yes, but in truth, I wasn't afraid.  The dragon riders and keepers at Azkaban really are the best, and I know that if your daughter is supervised constantly by Mr. Weasley or Mr. O'Malley, no harm can come to her."

Charlie looked stunned.  Bill was about to point out that Ginny wouldn't be so safe with Mick if Viking threw his entire harness again, but his father spoke first.

"All right, then.  I'll draft a letter."

Bill let out a sound of exasperation.  "Is this meeting over?" he asked.  Arthur nodded, and Bill headed for the door.  It was a wonder that any of them had made it to adulthood in one piece, he thought, as he Disapparated.

When Bill arrived at the Burrow, it was oddly quiet.  There were several books and some parchment spread out across the large kitchen table.  Bill leaned in closer to see what Max had been studying and was surprised to see that the writing was advanced for a twelve-year-old boy.

Bill could hear no movement throughout the house, although something simmered in a small cauldron over the fire.  He peered in, expecting to see a Weasley stew, but instead, the contents were orange and appeared to have something brown floating along the top.   Recoiling in disgust, he headed towards the front room to see if he could find his mother. 

She was sitting in his dad's big chair, feet propped up, eyes closed.  Bill cleared his throat, but she didn't open her eyes.  "Arthur," she said.  "There's some corned beef in the kitchen, if you'd like a sandwich – "

"It's me, Mum," said Bill, wondering if his mother had been hexed.  He'd never seen her so sedate.  "Dad's still at the Ministry."  Perhaps now would be the best time to tell his mother about Ginny. 

Molly Weasley opened her eyes.  "Bill, dear," she said.  "You can have some of the corned beef, too.  Just save some for your father."

"Mum, are you okay? Where is everyone?"

"Penelope is still at work," said Molly, counting on her fingers.  "Leo is upstairs, sleeping, finally. Your father is at the Ministry.  And Max is out in the garden, cooling off."

"Cooling off?" asked Bill, wondering if his mother had lost her mind.  "How long has he been out there? Freezing is more like it.  It's January, Mum!"

"Max," said Molly, looking fierce, "cannot be trusted with a wand.  That is going to make it a bit difficult to give him lessons in practical magic, but until he learns how to respect his elders, he's going to have limited lessons."

"What happened?" asked Bill, wondering how his mother could look so tired.  He'd never been any trouble, but she'd raised Fred and George, hadn't she?  How bad could Max be?

"He's already mastered Levitation charms, so I thought I'd try to teach him some basic Transfiguration.  He was very well behaved all morning, and I thought he was actually interested in turning those buttons into beetles, when all of a sudden, he pointed his wand at me and tried to freeze me!  Luckily, he's only twelve – and he only managed to make my leg fall asleep – "

"Mum!" said Bill, shocked.  "That's terrible."

Molly just nodded, and continued talking.  "So I took away his wand and decided to try Potions instead.  I think he thought that he'd be done for the day after that little stunt, but I'm not going to let him off the hook that easy.  I needed some heat fertilizer for some of the plants in the garden, and since that's easy, I made him start with that."

"Was that the disgusting stuff in the cauldron?"

"Yes, and he did it all perfectly – "

"It's supposed to look like that?"

His mother gave him a look that told him he'd better stop interrupting. 

"Yes, it's supposed to look like that.  It looks repulsive, which should discourage willful young boys from drinking it."

"He drank that?"

His mother sighed.  "Yes.  And he's fine, except that it's too warm for him inside at the moment.  I gave him an antidote, but it's going to take another hour to finish working.  In the meantime, he's sitting still, thinking about horrible things to do next, no doubt."

"Mum," began Bill, gently.  "You know, he can go back to St. Mungo's if this is all too much – "

"Not on your life, Bill Weasley!"  Molly's cheeks were red.  She wagged a finger at him.  "That boy must have had a horrible life to make him that way.   I can't imagine what his parents were like – but he's learned that behavior.  He's a rotten, obviously spoiled, willful boy."  She laughed.  "But I've definitely enjoyed having someone young in the house again.  He's not going anywhere. "

"You sure, Mum?"

"I'm sure," she said.  "Now, why don't you let me rest a bit more – go outside and get acquainted with Max.  Try to find out more about him.  Don't let him inside before seven."

Bill headed out to the garden.  Max was sitting on a stone bench near the house.  He didn't move when Bill sat down next to him.

"Hi," said Bill.

"Could you move?" asked Max, not looking at him.  "I'm hot."

"You move," said Bill, trying not to get annoyed. 

"Can't.  The dragon lady sealed my bum to this bench."

Stifling a laugh, Bill moved down just a bit.  "Watch it," he warned.  "She's my mum, and a bloody good one, too.  She wouldn't have done that if you hadn't given her a good reason."

It was very nearly dark outside, and the torch by the kitchen door lit up, causing Max to start.   Bill shivered and pulled his cloak tighter.   He didn't have the benefit of some disgusting potion coursing through his veins.  The bench was cold.   He watched as several garden gnomes climbed out of their mounds and began to creep towards the Weasleys' winter vegetables. 

"Ever throw a gnome?" asked Bill, standing and drawing his wand.

Max looked up at him and threw back his head.  "Where I come from, we didn't have garden gnomes."

Was the kid going to tell him where he was from?  Bill knew that Ron had done some research and had been unable to find evidence of anyone named Max at the orphanage.  They all had a strong suspicion that Max was lying about his first name and the whole family had been tasked to try to coax it out of him.

"Where's that, then?" asked Bill, making no move to undo the spell that bound Max to the bench. 

"France," said Max, with confidence.  "I'm from France."

"Oui?" said Bill.  "Et ou en France?"

Narrowing his eyes, Max shrugged and said, "I don't like to talk about it.  It's too awful.  Show some sensitivity, why don't you?"

Bill might have believed him, if not for the last line.  Instead, he said, "Your English is very good – there's no trace of an accent."

"Yeah, well," Max seemed not to have considered this little problem.  "We came on a lot of holidays here.  We were here when they had… the accident."

This was going to be a good story.  Part of Bill wondered if it wasn't a bit unkind to let the boy carry on like this, but any information might be useful, so Bill sat back down again. 

"Accident?" Bill asked, trying to sound very shocked.  "I'm sorry.  What happened?"

Max looked annoyed.  "I said I don't want to talk about it."  He made a motion to kick Bill, but couldn't reach.

"Alright, alright," said Bill, holding up his hands.  "I was only asking.  Why'd you try to freeze up Mum this morning, anyway?  This is a great house.  I can't imagine that living on the streets of Diagon Alley would be a better situation."

"My friends are there," said Max.  "There's nothing to do here."

"You have friends?" joked Bill.  "You're a prat."

"Not around them, I'm not.  Only when I'm around old men with girly earrings."

"Girls like the earring," answered Bill, tugging at it.  "Except for Mum.  You should get one."

"I bet Ella would think it's disgusting," answered Max.  "Besides, where's your girl, then?  Ron's got a pretty one, and he's years younger than you are."

Bill knew he was treading a thin line.  He desperately wanted to know more about Max's friends, but wasn't sure how far to push.  Looking at Max's hunched form on the bench, Bill felt an overwhelming urge to protect the boy.  He was only a kid, and he'd lost his parents, and now, impoverished as it was, the life he'd started to build for himself.   He thought of Fleur, and her younger sister who would never have any chance at a decent life.   He couldn't do anything for Fleur's sister, but he knew he could do something for Max.

"Perhaps," he said, slowly, hoping his mother wouldn't kill him.  "Perhaps you'd be happier if some of your friends came to stay here as well."

At that moment, Molly's voice called to them from the door.  "You can probably come in, now, boys.  Arthur's home, and we can all have supper together."

Remembering that his father had yet to tell his mother about the decision to let Ginny work with the dragons, Bill wondered if it wouldn't be better to stay outside.  "It might be better if we didn't go in just yet," he said to Max.  "My dad's got some news for my mum.  How about we throw a few of these gnomes and work up an appetite?  Then we can talk a bit more about our options."

Max nodded, and Bill turned to address his mother.

"I think he needs another half an hour, Mum.  I still can't get too close to him.  You go ahead, and we'll eat later."

"All right, dear." There was concern in Molly's voice.  "But don't stay out too long, or both of you will catch your death."   The kitchen door creaked shut. 

"Finite Incantatum," said Bill, pointing his wand at Max so that he was free to leave the bench.  Max stood and stamped his feet on the ground a few times. 

"Thanks," he said.  Then, as they headed towards the nearest gnome hole, he said, "Do you really think – "

"Max," said Bill, reaching down to grab two gnomes by their ankles.  He handed one to Max, who took hold of it expertly.  "Mum would never turn down an opportunity to have more help in the garden."  He hurled his gnome over the hedge, and Max followed suit with an impressive toss.

"Not bad for a Frenchman," said Bill.

~*~

Hermione was silent.  It was the first time - Ron was almost positive - that a visit to St. Mungo's hadn't left her in tears.  Her eyes had stayed dry at the hospital while she'd tucked her parents into their beds and touched their hair and told them a little bit more about Cortona.  She had even whispered something to her mother before leaving the room for the corridor, where she had turned to Ron with a bit of a grin on her face. "If Mum can hear me," she'd said, "then she knows all about us.  But I don't think I'll tell Dad just yet…" 

Her amusement hadn't lasted, though.  They had Apparated home for dinner and she hadn't wanted any; now they sat in the cold, on the steps of the Notch.  Ron kept an arm around her while she stared at the sky.  The sun was gone now, and Ron was freezing, but he worked not to shiver.  She didn't want to go inside.  She didn't feel good, she'd said, and she needed air. 

She rubbed his knee.  "You're really cold, aren't you?"  

"Nah."  He ran his hand briskly up and down her arm.  "Bet you are, though."

She shrugged.  "I can't feel it." 

Ron winced.  He hated hearing her like this; she sounded helpless and flat.  Like she'd given up hope.  "I know," he said, and gave her hair a kiss.  "I know."

She didn't turn to him, but she shivered hard, and Ron knew it had nothing to do with him, or with the weather. "Thanks for leaving work early.  I don't know why I had to see them right then, but I did, and I couldn't have gone by myself."  She paused.  "They're wasting away," she said faintly.

"No they're not."  Ron stroked her arm and kissed her hair again.  "They won't."

"They are." 

And they were.  It had been two years this Christmas, and there was only so much that magic could do to keep them in shape and healthy, apart from their madness.  The Grangers looked all right to him, but he had visited them several times while Hermione had been away, and their decline had been more gradual in his eyes.  To Hermione the difference was harsh and horrible.  They look like strangers, she'd sobbed on their Christmas visit.  I don't even know them.

Hermione leaned on Ron's knee with her hand and stood up.  She walked through the garden and into the road. 

"Where're you going?"

"I need a walk.  I know you're cold, you don't have to come."

"Would you rather be alone?"

She stopped and looked at him, and, for the first time all day, her chin trembled.  "No," she said.

Ron was at her side in a heartbeat with his arm around her again.  "Want to walk to the village?  The fairy lights are all still up.  Looks a bit like Hogsmeade, and I like it - and I think the bookshop's open until eight or nine, so we can warm up in there if we need to."

"Okay."

They walked in silence for awhile.

"It really is cold," Hermione pointed out as they reached the village square.  "I missed England, but I bet I lose my tan in two weeks."  She snorted and shook her head.  "What a shallow thing to think about."

"No it isn't," Ron said honestly.  "Don't laugh, but I spent most of Percy's memorial service staring at the back of Dad's head and thinking about what I'm going to look like bald."

Hermione laughed, freely and clearly, and the sound made Ron's heart beat faster.  "Did you really?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Well then I feel better."  She laid her head against his shoulder.  "And you know, I've always heard baldness is a trait carried on the mother's side."

"Good."

They approached the bookshop and Hermione made a little noise of disappointment.  "It's closed."

"Family on holiday until 15th January," Ron read aloud from the sign in the door.  "Well… the Snout's Fair's right around the corner.  We could say hi to Goldie and have a Butterbeer before we go back - unless you'd rather not be in a crowd."

Hermione smiled up at him.  "You're sweet," she said quietly, and Ron beamed.  He loved getting it right.  "And actually I'd really like a Butterbeer."  Her teeth chattered.  "I missed Butterbeer."

He steered her around the snowy corner at once, and into the pub.  It was wonderfully warm and cheerfully lit, and full of the usual rowdy patrons.

"Red!" yelled Lipsett from the corner.  "Two more Extras over here!"

Ron rolled his eyes. 

"Hey, Ron!" called Jimmy MacMillan, from the far end of the bar, where he was hard at work.  "Good to see you - and hey, Hermione!"  Jimmy gave her a glance that was a little friendlier than it should have been, but Ron didn't have to worry about it.  The blonde girl that Jimmy had used to come in with was sitting at the end of the bar; she smacked him with the bar towel and Jimmy turned back to her at once. 

"Vell!"  Goldie Becker grinned widely, his gold tooth flashing.  He hurried to the end of the bar that was closest to the door.  "Dis is a nice surprise!  Sit down, sit down, let me pour you a drink."

"Hi, Goldie," Ron returned, grinning back.  He led Hermione to the bar and the two of them settled on stools.  "It's been awhile."

"Yes."  Goldie crossed his arms.  "I haff been vonderink if you perhaps live somevere else now."  His voice was gruff, but he smiled warmly at them both.  "And hello, my dear girl.  Vot vould you like?"

"Oh, just a Butterbeer.  Hi, Goldie."  Hermione smiled at him.  "Ron practically is living somewhere else, you know," she said, a touch of unconcealed pride in her voice as she took her Butterbeer.  "He's always in London."

Ron went warm with pleasure and put his hand on Hermione's leg, under the bar.

"Dis is vot I am hearing on de vireless, yes.  Young Ron Veesley, reforming de justice department and taking over Diagon Alley."

Ron ducked his head.  "I'm just helping Sirius Black – he's doing all the reforms with my dad."

"You are being too modest," Goldie said lightly, replacing two glasses on the shelf below the bar.  "Isn't he?"  He nodded to Hermione.

She flashed Ron a smile that made his heart knock, placed her hand on his own and beamed at Goldie.  "Yes he is," she said simply.

Since Hermione had come back, Ron had been having the time of his life.  He watched her as she chatted with Goldie and pointed to a bottle further down the bar.  She unfastened her cloak and placed it on the stool beside her, allowing her hair to fall all over her shoulders.  She was home.  She was still his – though he understood less than ever how that was possible – and she had returned with a calm in her face that Ron had never seen there before.  Every day that they were together, even though their time was short, she grew more and more relaxed with him.  He almost didn't know her, and yet she was still Hermione, all the way down to her bones.  In everything she did, she was more than he expected - and that was really saying something.  It was totally intoxicating.

"I'd love to," she was saying easily.  "Which ones are rare, though?"

"Take your pick, my dear."  Goldie flourished a hand at the myriad bottles that shone against the mirror right behind him - the import section.

Hermione pointed, and Goldie raised his eyebrows at her.  "What, why not?" she asked.  "Is that a bad one?"

Goldie laughed.  "Votch and see."  He put two small glasses on the bar and handed Ron a very familiar bottle.

"Liquid Curse?" Ron said doubtfully.  He looked at Hermione.  "Are you sure you want to drink this?  It's really strong stuff."

Hermione shrugged.  "Have you had it?"

Ron shrugged.  "Well, yes, but–"

"Then I'll try it."  Hermione took the bottle out of his hands and poured herself a perfect shot of the light green liquor.

"Very good hand," Goldie praised.  He gestured to Ron.  "De first time young Veesley tried to pour at dis bar, he spilled a little bit."

Hermione smirked.  "Well there, you see, Ron?  I'll be fine."

Ron shook his head, unconvinced.  "You've only ever had Butterbeer."

"I've had wine."

"When have you?"

"In France."

"When you were twelve."

Hermione let out an impatient breath and Ron suppressed a grin.  She was looking like Hermione again.  The hopeless weight had gone out of her eyes; they flashed warningly at him.  He liked her this way, he liked to break her calm and make her fight him.  He didn't know why – he'd never know why.  He didn't care. 

"Ron, I've drunk enough strange potions by now, I'm sure this won't be anything at all."

Now Ron grinned.  He knew that it most certainly would be something.  "Go on then," he said.  "Let's see it."

Hermione tossed her head, picked up the shot glass, and, to Ron's great amusement, took a sip from it as though it was a teacup.  She sputtered and her eyes began to water - putting down the shot glass as if it were on fire, she began to flutter her fingers by her mouth. 

Ron shouted with laughter.  "Is that how it's done?  Should I be taking notes?"  He poured himself a shot and threw it back as though it were nothing but water.  "Of course, there's always that way of doing it," he pointed out, after he had swallowed and exhaled.  "But I'm sure your way is better."

Hermione looked daggers at him and Ron was excited to see what she'd do next.  He knew from long experience that she wouldn't be able to let it sit.  It was really something to see Hermione throw back her shoulders, pick up the shot glass again, and toss its contents down her throat.  She must have been exercising some of the self-control she had learned with the Thinker, because she neither shuddered nor grimaced.  Calmly, she lifted the bottle again.

"Well," she said mildly, with a shrug of indifference, "that was all right, I suppose."  She poured herself another shot.  "Just an acquired taste."

Goldie nodded and his eyes twinkled at both of them.  "Vell, Ron, I see dat you are nicely taken care of," he said. 

Hermione grinned, and lifted her glass again.  "Yes, he is," she said, and swallowed the second shot without a moment's hesitation.  She slapped the glass on the bar and lifted the bottle a third time.

"All right, all right," Ron said, half-admiring and half-embarrassed at Goldie's commentary.  "You've shown me.  That's enough, Hermione – give me the bottle."

It was the wrong thing to say, and Ron knew it at once from the way Hermione stiffened.  Goldie certainly seemed to know it; he whistled low under his breath and took two steps down the bar, to work with another customer.

"Excuse me," Hermione said, cocking her head as though she hadn't quite heard him correctly.  "That's enough?"

Ron paused a moment, contemplating the situation.  Why was there always a point, in every exciting contest, where he took a wrong turn?  He had never been able to see when his false step was coming and he hadn't seen it this time – there would have to be a fight before this was over.  And at all costs, especially when things had been going so well lately, Ron wanted to avoid a real fight.  After a long moment of thought, he took a deep breath, hunched down, and looked Hermione in the eye. 

"You said you were only going to drink two, so I just thought –"

"That you'd be in charge of cutting me off?" she asked, her tone deceptively light.

"Now wait, you're the one who said –"

"Ron, I know what I said, I haven't lost my memory.  I can't even feel this –" she looked at the bottle disdainfully – "whatever it is."  She poured herself another shot with a perfectly steady hand, lifted the glass and stopped.  "Goldie?" she called out suddenly. 

Ron knew this voice.  There was a challenge coming.

"Yes, my dear," Goldie said, eyeing Ron with amusement as he approached Hermione.  "Vot is it you are needing?"

"Tell me something."  She pushed her hair back with one hand, put her chin in her hand, and shot Goldie a smile that was white and lovely in her tanned face.  Goldie's wrinkles seemed to soften as he looked at her.

"But of course."

"How many of these –" she raised her glass slightly – "did Ron manage before he started spilling things on the bar?"

Ron mouthed "No," to Goldie, trying to communicate to him that if he answered honestly, then Hermione would be in for it. 

Goldie seemed unconcerned – he ignored Ron and appeared to be considering Hermione's question quite thoughtfully.  "Four…" he said, and then cocked his head to the side.  "Or vos it five?"  

Ron groaned.  Hermione looked at her glass.  "Probably five," she mused.  "I remember how he behaved afterwards."  She took her chin out of her hand and lifted her glass slightly to Goldie.  "Five."

"Hermione..."

But she had downed the third shot, and was expertly pouring a fourth.  "I don't know why you and Harry acted like such idiots.  I honestly can't feel anything."

"You're not giving it enough time!  Believe me, you're going to feel it."

Hermione scoffed at him and took her fourth drink.

Ron watched, no longer sure whether to be amused or worried as Hermione made for the fifth shot.  He put out a hand to stop her, but Goldie's voice was suddenly in his ear.  "A lesson," he said quietly.  "Ven you are dealing vit a stubborn voman, you must let her find out for herself."  Goldie laughed.  "She is reminding me too much of a girl I knew.  Let her do what she is doing; you know all de Sobering Charms by now."

Ron nodded.  That was true – he did know every Sobering Charm in the book.   

"Also," Goldie continued wisely, "after drinking so much, you never know vot she might say."

Ron's eyebrows shot up.  That was definitely true.  He grinned, realizing that this might be a rather advantageous situation.  He crossed his arms on the bar and watched Hermione drink her fifth shot.  Her cheeks were flushed pink and her eyes were unnaturally bright as she set down the glass and picked up the bottle.

"Now," she said dramatically, "watch as I spill nothing."

She poured a shot.  Goldie applauded.

Ron sighed, picked up the little glass, and downed the contents himself before Hermione could attempt it.  "You win," he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and feigning disappointment.  "Five shots, and no spilling."

Hermione shone at him.  "I win," she repeated.  "I win, I win. Well finally."

"And you still don't feel a thing, do you?" Ron encouraged, watching her intently as the alcohol began to take effect.

Hermione looked at him blankly.  "Feel what?  Where?  Oh."  She looked down at her shot glass as though it were a foreign object.  "No, I – well, just the tiniest bit in my head, but I'm certain there's nothing really… except my mouth is dry."  She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth.  "And it's all sticky."

Ron gripped his arms to stop himself from laughing.  "Have some water, then."

"Right, that's a very good – do you know something, Ron?"  She was staring at him, her mouth open slightly.

He shook his head, pressing his lips shut on the smile that was struggling to get out.  "No," he said.  "What is it?"

"You've got the loveliest hair."  She put her chin in her hand again, and sighed.  "And seven freckles right on your nose.  Did you know there were seven?  I've counted," she said seriously.

Goldie gave Ron a knowing smile over Hermione's shoulder, and moved away down the bar again. 

Ron leaned close to Hermione so that the tips of their noses touched.  She tried to kiss him but he pulled back slightly.  "I want to let you do that," he murmured, "but you'd kill me if you remembered it tomorrow."

"Why would I?" she asked, sounding put out.

"You don't like public displays of affection," he reminded her.

Hermione's eyes widened, and then she nodded.  "That's right.  I don't.  Can we go outside?"

Ron nodded back, unable to stop himself from laughing a little bit now.  "Have a glass of water first, and then we can go wherever you want."

Hermione did have a glass of water, and then another, at Goldie's suggestion.  And then, looking very pink, she held onto the bar with both hands and slid from her stool to her feet, somehow managing not to wobble.

"Goodnight, Goldie," she said solemnly.

"Goodnight, dear girl.  Goodnight, Ron - visit more often."

Ron looked at him with a quick smile.  "'I will.  Night."  He couldn't concentrate on Goldie at the moment; Hermione had let go of the bar and was about to lose her balance.  Ron grabbed her around the waist with his right arm while he fitted her cloak around her, then took her left hand in his and guided her out into the frozen January air.

When they were through the door and it had swung shut behind them, Hermione turned to Ron, pulled down his face with both her hands and asked abruptly, "This isn't public, is it?"

Then she kissed him.  It was a kiss unlike any Hermione had ever given him.  Ron found himself contemplating getting her lit more often; she was on the edge of herself and obviously unafraid of what she might do.

"And I don't need help," she said, pulling away from him and gasping for air. "You don't have to hold me up."

Ron tightened his arms around her.  "Would you rather fall?"

"I won't!"

"I know."  He wasn't going to let her.  It was nice having the strongest woman he knew in his arms, and having her depend on him for a minute. 

"Ron -" She threw back her head.  "Ron, take me home."

Ron looked at her carefully.  Hermione gazed up at him with her wide brown eyes, and a dangerous thrill ran up his center.  "To Lupin Lodge?" he asked, a little hoarsely.

"To your house."  She was leaning far back in his arms now, trusting him to hold her, her chin tilted all the way up so that she could look at the stars.  "I want to go to your house, I'm not going home tonight."  She laughed into the sky and shut her eyes.  "This feels brilliant," she announced, and relaxed entirely, bending back in his arms. 

Ron stared down at her and his body pulsed; he wanted exactly what she wanted.  She was perfect.

"We can go to my house," he conceded gallantly, when he found his voice.  Hermione righted herself and gave Ron a smile that did things to his blood; he put an arm around her back to keep her steady and they began to walk up the road from the village, back toward the outskirts of town. 

"It's lovely out here."  Hermione tilted back her head again as they walked.  Ron kept his arm around her, guiding her so that she didn't have to look where she was going. "I missed England.  I love nighttime.  I don't know why, but I think I like it better than daytime and perhaps it's because of the Astronomy tower – do you know, sometimes on Wednesdays at midnight I feel I must be running late for something and then I realize it's because I know we're supposed to be going to Astronomy!  And then I remember that it's all over and oh, Ron, I miss class so much, I miss Hogwarts all the time, don't you?  I miss it the most at night although I don't know why because just look at all the times that we were out doing mad things in the middle of the night.  You and Harry used to be terrible!" 

She stopped and stamped her foot, drew a deep breath, and continued to walk and talk.  Ron kept guiding her down the road, marveling at the rate at which she was speaking.  He was determined to remember every word.

"Always getting us into trouble and it was never my fault.  But I could never stay mad, I could never stay mad, because it was you and because it was usually for Harry... oh, Ron."  Hermione sighed deeply.  "What are we going to do about Harry?"

She looked up at him for an answer, but Ron didn't have one.  He wasn't entirely sure what she meant by the question.  "Why?  What's wrong with Harry?"

"He's so unhappy.  Those Dementors are hurting him, and Ginny can't do anything about it yet, and it's almost worse than watching him during the war.  Because it should be over, and it's not, and it's not fair.  It's not fair, you remember what Eloise Midgen put in the paper about Harry leaving his childhood behind all the time and it's true and it's horrible.  I keep thinking about what he must see in his head every day, and you know what it's like with Dementors, it's like going through it all over again and how can he bear it - those things were so -" She was beginning to choke herself up.  "I'd rather die than remember some of those things, I never want to remember the day they found my parents, I never want to remember how I felt when you were taken -"

Ron stopped walking.  He turned her by the shoulders and pulled her close to him.  "Hermione.  Don't."

"We should remember the good things," she went on, and her voice was muffled against Ron's cloak.  "We've all been together for so long and we've had such interesting adventures –" she looked up swiftly and grabbed Ron by his collar.  "They were adventures, weren't they?"  Her tone was urgent.  "And we had fun together – and it was good, wasn't it – and lucky, in a way?  Not just tragic."

Ron nodded, his chest burning.  He hadn't expected her to talk about any of this, but perhaps it was time.  "It was good," he managed huskily, his throat closing up.

"But I want my parents and I want Harry to have his parents, and I want you to have Percy, and we can't have any of those things."

Ron didn't know what to say.  "Your parents aren't dead," he managed.  "You don't know what'll happen."

"I used to think that," Hermione said bitterly.  "I used to think I could bring them back, and that the people at St. Mungo's just weren't as smart as I am, but I can't help my parents.  I haven't been able to think of anything.  Nothing.  I'm not a Thinker at all."

Ron looked at her in surprise.  He had never heard Hermione admit defeat.  Not really.  "Hey."  He squeezed her waist.  "It's only been four months, you have to give yourself a chance."

She ignored him.  "But things will get better," she said.  "Other things will.  The Ministry is getting better and the wizarding world is coming together – look what you're doing with Sirius, I'm so proud of you for that, and what you've done for Max – and Ginny's amazing, isn't she?"

Ron nodded. 

Hermione's eyes flashed with tears.  "Yes, and perhaps she can - but I don't want to think about it.  And Hogwarts – Hogwarts will be like it was before," she continued fiercely, "like it was at first, when we were little.  It'll be perfect.  Won't it?"

"Yes."

"Because our children have to go there – I don't want them going anywhere else."

Ron started violently.  Their children. 

They had never said anything like that out loud to each other; however, the way it had tumbled effortlessly from Hermione's mouth told Ron that this was not a new thought for her.  She must have thought about it without saying anything to him, and he was quite certain that she was only saying it aloud now because she was too intoxicated to censor herself.  But in the back of Ron's mind the idea was scarily familiar, so much so that Hermione's words struck him with physical force.  For a minute, he was the one in danger of losing his balance. 

A sharp wind blew along the street, and Hermione let go of Ron.  She pulled her cloak tighter and buried herself against him.  "It's cold," she said, her teeth chattering.

"Come on."  Ron took her around the waist and led her quickly up the road to the front door of the Notch.  Hermione was quiet until he pulled his wand to unlock the door, when she gave a little moan and slumped against him.  He turned to find that her face was slack and her eyes were falling shut. 

"Are you sure you still want to come over?" he asked.  "You're feeling all right?  Let me take you home."

Hermione shook her head, her eyes still shut.  "I want to stay with you," she said at once.  And then she suddenly came to life again and began to giggle uncontrollably. 

"What's so funny?"

"Harry charms his walls."

Ron lowered his wand.  "What for?"

"What for?" Hermione repeated, looking up at him in surprise.  "Well I expect we're very loud."  She snickered.  "Ginny taught him how at the Burrow, that's where they tested it, it's the Silent Bedchamber Charm."

Ron gaped at her.  "They tested a Silent Bedchamber-"

"Hi there."

Ron's head snapped back to the doorway.  Harry stood in it, his face expressionless, his clothes rumpled, and his hair a mess.  He looked as though he'd just rolled out of bed.

"Did you forget how to get inside?" Harry asked. 

"No."  Ron narrowed his eyes.  "Did we wake you, Harry?" he asked suspiciously, trying to peer past Harry and into the house.  "Anyone else here?" he demanded.

Harry blinked at him.  "No, I've just been lying around since I got home.  Where've you been?"

"Pub," Ron answered.  He jerked his head toward Hermione.  "She's graduated from Butterbeer," he said, grinning.  "Should have seen her throw back the shots, Harry –"

"Oh, honestly, Ron, I did not.  Harry, hi!"  She grabbed him in a hug.  Over her shoulder, Harry looked at Ron, surprised.  "Now move," Hermione said briskly, pushing him out of the way, "it's freezing, Harry, my goodness.  Let us in, would you?  I need to use the loo."  Gripping the doorframe for balance, Hermione pushed past Harry into the warmth of the Notch, and disappeared down the hall on unsteady legs, discarding her cloak on the floor as she went. 

Harry followed her with his eyes, which were open wide. "She's not really drunk?"

"Oh, but she is.  Just wait till she gets going again, I'm sure it hasn't worn off."

"How much did she have?"

"Five shots.  And not even an hour ago."  Ron was pleased to see a grin spread across Harry's face. 

"She'll never live this down."

"Absolutely not."

"Oooh, you've got a fire going, thank goodness, it's desperate outside."  Hermione had returned to the room.  She flopped on the sofa and spread out entirely, kicking her legs up over the arm of it and pushing off her shoes with her toes.  They dropped to the wooden floor with two loud thumps.   "What shall we do?  Let's do something.  Let's play something.  We could play chess and I'll win – I feel marvelous – but I'm starving.  Have you got anything to eat?"

"Look at her go," Ron muttered happily to Harry.  "It's amazing how long she can talk without breathing, isn't it?"

Harry looked at him, and Ron saw, for the first time in a long time, the beginnings of active mischief glimmering in his friend's eyes.  He bent toward it on instinct.  "What are you thinking, Harry?"

Harry's mouth twisted into a half-smile, but he didn't answer directly.  Instead, he pulled his wand and muttered "Perscribus."

Ron's mouth dropped open in appreciation.  "Yeah," he whispered.  "Wish I'd thought of that half-an-hour ago.  Come on."

Harry went to the sofa, lifted Hermione's feet, and sat under them.  Ron did the same with her head – she looked up into his face and smiled.

"Hi." 

"Hi.  Hermione, can I ask you something?"  Ron shot Harry a glance.  Harry stretched his arm out along the back of the sofa, dangling his wand behind it in his fingers unobtrusively, so that only the tip of it stuck up over the cushions, a foot from Hermione's face.  The Recording Charm was in effect.

She shut her eyes and exhaled loudly.  "Yes, yes, yes," was her singsong answer. 

Ron and Harry caught eyes and both suppressed their laughter.

Ron cleared his throat.  "Excellent.  First off, I just want you to acknowledge that we're not catching you off guard – you haven't been drinking too much, have you?"

"No!  Honestly!"

"Because I wouldn't want you getting upset later on, about anything you might say."

Hermione huffed.  "Ron, stop it.  I'm fine, I've told you and told you, I'm perfectly all right – Harry, I really am hungry, is there anything?"

"Sure, there's lots of stuff," Harry said easily, a smile twitching at his lips.  "You've got your wand, haven't you?  Why don't you just Summon something?"

Hermione pulled her wand at once and pointed it into the air.  She flicked her wrist much too hard, losing her grip and flinging the wand over Harry's head.  Harry reached up and caught it.

"Damn!" she exclaimed, reaching out her hands.  "Can I have that back and try it again?"

Ron nearly convulsed – getting Hermione to curse on record was too good to be true, and capturing her messing up a Charm was even better.  He gripped Harry's wrist briefly.

"One down," Harry said under his breath.  

"Nice," Ron agreed, distracting Hermione by Summoning a packet of Cauldron cakes from the kitchen and giving them to her.  "Now," he muttered to Harry, "I've got one more thing I need for posterity, and then we can just ask whatever we want."

"What is it?"

"Lockhart."

Harry grinned.  "Right – go for it."  

"Hermione?"

"Mmmm?"  Her mouth was quite full of Cauldron Cake, and she couldn't answer.  She merely raised her eyebrows up at Ron, in response. 

"When you've swallowed there – I was wondering if you still wrote Valentines to Gilderoy Lockhart every year?  Or did you stop?"

Hermione sputtered.  "Ron!  I never!"

"You never?  You can look me in the eye and say that?"

Hermione broke eye contact and turned her pink face to the fire. 

"Aha!  I knew you were one of the forty, or fifty-five, or whatever it was.  I knew it.  I knew you were all over him –"

"So what!  I was a little girl and he was handsome!  I know better now, I wouldn't go near him and of course I don't send him cards!  Honestly!  I can't make one tiny mistake?  What was I supposed to think of him – he wrote all those books, and I didn't realize people just lied like that–"

"Bet you still have his signature stored away someplace."

"I do not!"

"Look me in the eye and say that."

Hermione looked him dead in the eye.  "Ron, I most certainly do not have any such thing.  I know what you think of me, but I was wrong about him and it's years since all that, so just leave me alone."

Ron sighed happily.  "You were wrong, were you?" he repeated, for good measure.  Harry moved his wand a bit closer.

"Yes," Hermione replied crossly.  "Now go away."  She unwrapped the second Cauldron Cake, put it to her mouth and took a very big bite.

Harry looked at Ron.  "That good?  Want me to cut it off?"

"No – are you cracked?  Leave it going."

Hermione swallowed.  "What are you both talking about?"

"Nothing," said Harry at once, lowering his wand again slightly.

She pouted up at Ron.  "Are you having secret conversations?"

"Well.... yeah," said Ron, seeing his chance.  "It's just that Harry's been wondering something."  Ron nodded at Harry over the back of the couch.  "He's too shy to ask you, of course, but I'm sure you know the answer – which of the girls in school had mad crushes on him?"

"You absolute prat," Harry muttered, yanking a cushion from behind him and pelting Ron with it at once.  But Ron didn't mind – he could see that Harry was smiling, and that was what mattered.  Also, Harry was looking rather interested in Hermione's response to the question.  He was trying not to show it, but he'd definitely leaned in a bit, in order to listen. 

For her part, Hermione sighed.  "Well of course I know the answer to that," she said, importantly.  She raised her hands a little and began to tick off on her fingers.  "There was Parvati, of course."

"That's not true – " Harry began.  But Hermione waved her hand at him impatiently.

"And what would you know about it?  She did, for a little while.  And then there was that Gryffindor a year ahead of us, Eleni Roil.  But you don't want her, Harry.  She snores.  And then there was that girl from the other house, oh, which one was she – she was very nice.  Sally-Anne Perks.  Yes, she used to secretly cheer for Gryffindor during the Quidditch matches, that's what Lisa Turpin told Lavender."

"Hermione..." Harry said slowly, now looking a bit stunned, "I didn't know you ever even talked to Lavender."

"I hardly ever did about things like that, but you couldn't live in a room with Lavender and Parvati for seven years, without hearing about a few things.  So that's what, three so far?  And then there were two –"

"There were more?"

"If you'd kindly stop talking?  There were at least two other ones – and one was three years behind us."

Harry's mouth fell open.  "A fourth year?  Oh shut up, you're joking."

"I'm not."  Hermione giggled.  "Anyway, what's wrong with that?  I was in fourth year when I went to the ball with Viktor Krum, and he was your age."  She shut her eyes and sighed.

"Well that's just sick," Ron muttered resentfully.  He had never fully forgiven Viktor Krum.

Hermione's eyes snapped open and she looked up at him. 

"Well maybe if you hadn't been such a git, I'd have gone with you, and not gone off with Viktor to try and make you jealous!" she cried, making an effort to stamp her foot and kicking Harry in the process. 

"Ow, Hermione –"

But Ron didn't care who she kicked. "Shut your eyes a second, mate," he said to Harry.  And when Harry had done so, Ron bent down and kissed Hermione fully on the mouth.  A few moments passed in silence. 

"All right.  You can open 'em."

Harry did so, hiking his wand up behind the couch in order to catch what Hermione said next.

"Oh... Ron."  Her eyes were still shut.  "You know, there were girls who had crushes on you, too," she breathed.  "Three that I knew of, but I was never going to tell you."

Harry sniggered a little, but Ron ignored him.  "Why wouldn't you tell me?" he asked in surprise.  He'd had no idea any girls had harbored crushes on him.

"You'd get a horrible, great big head."

Now Harry snorted openly.  Ron glared at him.

"Well, now that school's finished, you can tell me.  Who were they, then?" he demanded.

Hermione smiled deliciously.  "Padma."

Ron gaped.  "No she didn't!" 

"Yes she did, for a bit.  You two –" she pointed up at Ron with one hand and over at Harry with the other – "had twins after you.  I used to think it was so fitting, because you were a couple of matching idiots and I thought it really ought to show."

"Well thanks," said Harry dryly. 

"Ginny and I thought it was so funny."

"Ginny knew?" Ron and Harry asked at once.

Hermione snorted.  "Tuh.  She knew all this stuff.  Oh, right!  Harry -"  Hermione tapped Harry's chest with her foot.

He caught her foot and pushed it away.  "Would you stop kicking me?  What?"

"I forgot to put Ginny on your list.  But then that wasn't a crush."  Hermione sighed.  "She always loved you to pieces."

Harry turned his face so that Ron couldn't see it, but the back of Harry's neck turned bright red, and Ron wondered briefly just how far it had gone between those two.  He'd never ask.  But really, Silent Bedchamber Charms... Ron narrowed his eyes at Harry's glowing neck and a very clear mental image leapt into his brain.  He shuddered.  Sick.  But his best friend wouldn't - not with his sister - he knew they fancied each other and all but Ginny hadn't even left school yet and surely they weren't - because it just wasn't natural -

"And then there was the Ravenclaw girl who liked you, Ron," Hermione went on, snapping Ron out of it.  "The one who used to tell Lavender everything about everyone – Lisa Turpin.  She used to ask Lavender to find things out about you, and then Lavender used to ask me for information, and I'd pass things along to Lisa the way I saw fit."

"Like what?!"  Ron was truly astonished.

Hermione considered.  "Like... 'Oh, Hermione, what's Ron's favorite color, by the way?'  Because Lisa would want to try and wear it, you see." 

"What did you say?"

Hermione snickered.  "I said it was maroon." 

She and Harry went into gales of laughter together, and Ron had to admit it was pretty funny.  Hermione, tricking out other girls.  Rather flattering, really.  "And who was the other one – the third one?"

"Well, I shouldn't really tell you that," said Hermione, sounding a little worried.

"No?"

"You'll run off and find her."

Ron laughed, gently this time.   "No."

"Well, then it was Eloise Midgen.  But too late now, Ron, she's hardly a troll and she's got a boyfriend!"  Hermione found this extremely amusing, and caught a serious fit of the giggles.  Ron had no idea what she was on about, but it must've been very funny because Hermione could barely breathe for several minutes.  She hung on to Ron's arm, shaking with laughter.  

"Right," Ron finally said, trying to rein her back in.  "You still with us, or do we have to cart you off to the loony bin?"

"I'm here," she gasped.  But her giggles were rapidly dwindling.  "Oh," she groaned suddenly.  "Oh my goodness, it's terrible, when I shut my eyes everything keeps on moving..." Hermione made a horrible face, and contracted into a ball.  She turned on her side and buried her face in Ron's shirt. 

"Are you okay?" he asked worriedly.  "Hermione?"

"I'm going to be sick.  Help me."

"Finite Incantatem," Harry muttered, quitting their recording, and putting his wand in his belt.  "Can't you do a Sobering Charm?"

"No – it would make her sober, but she'd still be sick, and then she'd be angry as well.  She's better off like this."

"I'll get water."

"Thanks."

"No, I'll get -" Harry jumped up.  "I'll get Ginny."  He Disapparated. 

Ron hardly had time to sort out what Harry was doing before Harry reappeared.  Ginny tumbled out of their fireplace a second later, wearing a nightdress and looking very sleepy.  "Ron, what did you do?" she demanded groggily, coming to the sofa and holding out her hands.  "Oh, Hermione - poor thing!  Harry, water."

Harry Summoned a glassful.  Ron pulled Hermione up and cradled her so that she could drink, but she didn't take much before curling into a ball again.  She shook her head fiercely.  "Oooh, no, I can't, I can't... I just want to go to sleep but if I shut my eyes..." she shut her eyes and her forehead creased.  "It goes round and round..." She whimpered.

"Yeah, it's the spins, Hermione."  Ron Summoned Hermione's cloak from the floor and tucked it around her.  "You'll be okay, it happens to everybody.  Just hang on –" He hefted her into his arms and staggered to his feet.

"You could just float her," Harry suggested.  "Want me to make a stretcher?"

"Don't you dare take her up the street!" Ginny snapped. She pointed to their hallway.  "Take her to the toilet right now, she's going to be sick, there's nothing I can do about that and I shouldn't.  Whatever she drank, it needs to come up."

"Oh, that's really nice," Ron muttered, but he carried Hermione into the toilet with Ginny at his back.  "Should I put her -"

"Just help her kneel."

"Hermione?  I'm going to put you down," Ron warned. 

Hermione didn't answer, her face still pressed against Ron's chest and she gripped his shirtfront with both hands.  Ron began to lower her, but Hermione shrieked loudly and refused to let go of him. 

"Don't put me down, I'll be sick – don't put me down – "

"For God's sake, Ron."  Ginny pushed her way around them in the tiny toilet and put one hand on Hermione's stomach and one on her head.  Ron had no idea what she was doing, but it seemed to work, Hermione went slack. 

"I can't believe you," Ginny muttered furiously at him, and Ron was struck anew by how much Ginny reminded him of their mum.  "She never would have drunk this much on her own.  Put her down and get out, I'll look after her."

Ron helped Hermione to her knees by the toilet, but lingered in the doorway, not wanting to leave her.

Hermione gasped suddenly and retched. 

"Shh, it's all right."  Ginny held her hair and rubbed her back.  "Get out, Ron!" she hissed.  "You did this, the least you can do is let her have some privacy!"

"It was her decision!" Ron retorted hotly, for once not seeing the joke.  "I've got witnesses on that – go down and ask Goldie – I tried to stop her."

 "Witnesses," Ginny said angrily.  "Like it's one of your cases. Go away."  She raised a hand and, without her wand, made the door fly shut in Ron's face.

Ron returned to the living room, chagrined, and dropped onto the sofa.  Harry sat at the other end, looking almost amused.  "It's not funny," Ron pointed out.

Harry glanced at him.  "All right.  Chess?"

"While she's chundering?  Oh yeah, that'd be really sensitive."

Harry's mouth twitched violently.  "Erm, okay… Cannons?"

"What?"

"Cannons match is on, they're playing Puddlemere.  I was listening to it when you got here.  Turned it off when I heard people on the porch."

Ron had completely forgotten that there was a game.  He had intended to go, but Hermione had shown up in Diagon Alley and he hadn't thought about it since.  Obsession and guilt now fought for first place in his heart.  "What was the score?"

"A hundred to a hundred and ten, Puddlemere in the lead."

"Christ!"

"Yeah."

"Well turn it on!  But low," Ron added quickly.  "Keep it low."

*

An hour later, the Cannons had beat Puddlemere by ten beautiful points, and Hermione lay passed out in Ron's bed.  Ginny flopped between him and Harry on the sofa and shut her eyes.  "I'm so tired," she yawned.  "Thanks a lot, Ron."

"I'm telling you it was her idea," Ron insisted.  "I told her to stop."

"Right."  She sighed.  "Well, there's not much Empathic magic can do for alcohol poisoning, apparently."

"Poisoning?" Ron repeated anxiously.  "Does she need the hospital?"

"No."  Ginny sighed.  "She's fine now - how could you let her drink beer before shots?  Beer before liquor, never sicker," she recited, and rubbed her temples.  Ron watched Harry's hand move towards her back, but Ginny shook her head.  "No don't, I'm all open."

Harry withdrew his hand and looked away.  His neck was red again.

"Beer before liquor," Ron said curiously.  "What's that?  Where'd you learn that?"

Ginny looked at him in obvious surprise.  "From Charlie," she said.  "Didn't he teach you?"

Ron shook his head.

"And you never learned it at the Snout's Fair?"  She shook her head as though she couldn't believe such incompetence.  "Beer before liquor, never sicker.  Liquor before beer, never fear."

"When did Charlie teach you that?"

Ginny laughed.  "Oh you know. I was six, and he told me it was a poem he'd learned at school and that I should recite it for Dad once he and Bill had gone back to Hogwarts."  She snickered.  "I did it, too.  I had no idea what I was talking about, but I'll never forget Dad's face."  She yawned again.  "I really needed my sleep tonight," she said, and shut her eyes.  "Tomorrow's going to be…" she trailed off.  "I need to go home."

"D'you have exams tomorrow or something?" Harry asked, looking concerned.  "Need help studying?" 

Ron rolled his eyes.  Harry was whipped.

"No…" Ginny paused and opened her eyes.  She glanced first at Harry, then at Ron, and then fixed her gaze on the fire.  "Actually I might as well tell you both now, so that you're not surprised tomorrow."

Harry straightened up and Ron tensed.  He didn't like the warning in her tone.

"What?" Harry asked.

Ginny pursed her lips.  "I wrote to the Secretary Privy," she said slowly.  "And I've had a letter back today."

Ron and Harry exchanged worried glances.  This was about Azkaban and the dragons - Ginny hadn't mentioned it since Christmas, and Ron had assumed that their dad had made it impossible for her to pursue anything like that.  He knew that Harry had counted on her not being allowed.

"And?" Harry demanded.

Ginny shot him an annoyed look.  "And I've been invited to go up and have a look at the dragons tomorrow," she said.  "So I'll see you at work."

"What?"  Harry stared at her.

"I said," Ginny repeated in a clipped voice, looking back at the fire, "that I'll see you at work tomorrow, Harry."

Harry gaped.

"Dad'll never let you," Ron said flatly.  "No matter what Privy Brown says.  You'll go up there and he'll send you right back down."

Harry nodded violently.

"Actually, the letter came from Dad."  Ginny smiled.  "From the Office of the Minister of Magic.  So it's official."

"Don't do it," Harry said.  Ginny turned and glared at him, but Harry repeated himself.  "Please don't, Ginny."

"You thought of me right away to help Hermione," Ginny said.  "You didn't have any problems dragging me out of bed for that one."

"Hermione's not about to breathe fire at you and take your head off," Harry shot back.

Ron opened his mouth to suggest that that wasn't necessarily true, but Ginny was speaking again.

"You just don't want me hurt," she said.  "I know that, and that's why I'm not really, really angry right now."  But she sounded angry.  She clenched her fists and her color rose. 

"Look, you don't understand what it's like," Harry began.

"Well, I will tomorrow, won't I?"   Ginny stood.  "I'm going to go and get some sleep."  She grabbed powder from the little clay pot on the mantelpiece and walked into the fireplace.  "Thanks so much for the support, Harry - oh, and you're welcome for the help, Ron.  Hope you both enjoyed your Quidditch."

"Ginny -" they both said at once.

"Lupin Lodge!" she interrupted.  In a flash of green fire, she was gone.  There was a short silence.

"You're in trouble," Ron said helpfully.

Harry glowered at him.  "Yes, I noticed."  He looked back at the fireplace.  "Ginny wrote a Howler when I took this job," he nearly snarled.  "She's allowed to worry.  She's allowed to say 'No Harry, that's too dangerous, you can't do that!'" Harry's voice returned to its regular octave.  "But when I say the same thing, I'm unsupportive.  What's that about?"

Ron nodded.  He knew exactly how Harry felt.  "Oh, they're always allowed to do whatever they like," he said, reaching out to clap Harry on the shoulder.  "They're always right, as well."

Harry breathed hard through his nose.  "I'm just trying to tell her it's suicide."

"And I was just trying to tell Hermione that the Liquid Curse was too strong for her.  Look where it got me."

"It got Hermione sick," Harry said.  "And now Ginny wants to go and get herself torched alive, those dragons are mad, she's being really stupid -" he stopped and glanced at Ron.  "Not that she's stupid," he said quickly.

Ron waved a dismissive hand.  "Sure she is.  So's Hermione.  All those N.E.W.T.s and not a brain in her bloody head, I swear."

"It's ridiculous."

"It's pathetic."

"They're - she's -" Harry fell back onto the cushions. 

"They're mental, Harry.  Lunatics.  And they can't help it, poor things."  Ron sighed.  "That was a brilliant match though, wasn't it?"

"I know, we should have been there for that one."

"Oliver must be coming out of his skin, playing his old team and winning."

"And they're still undefeated."  Harry shook his head.  "It's really something - you know, I bet they're still doing post match commentary and replays.  Turn it back on."

Ron flicked his wand at the wireless.  The two of them sat up half the night hashing through Quidditch plays and shouting about fouls - and reminding each other every so often that they had to keep it down or suffer, because Hermione was still asleep.