Chapter One

Author's Note: Many thanks go to Kat, my wonderful beta reader! :)

"Hermione, will you please pass the juice?" Hermione Granger continued reading her newspaper, not noticing that anyone was speaking her. She furrowed her brow and held her paper closer, reading, by the look on her face, what seemed to be a particularly interesting passage when all of a sudden her paper was yanked away and replaced by a head of red hair and a pair of blue eyes.

"What did you do that for Ron? I was reading," Hermione said, a bit peeved. She read the Daily Prophet over breakfast every day at Hogwarts, and it appeared she would have to make some adjustments while staying at the Burrow, which was always full of interruptions.

"Well Hermione, in case you haven't noticed, I have asked you to pass the juice about six times already." He drummed his fingers on the table impatiently but smiled and thanked her when she passed him the pitcher. "What is it you're reading about, anyway?"

"Nothing, just the report on yesterday's attack" Ron's face turned solemn at the mention of the previous day's attack on Michael Corner's house. After hearing about the news last night he had been feeling a bit uneasy. After all, Michael was in his year at Hogwarts, which struck pretty close to home. He immediately felt bad for being so hard on Ginny for going out with him. He knew it must have been hard for Ginny, having that happen must be as hard for her as it would be for him if anything ever happened to…

Hermione continued to read the article with a very interested look plastered on her face. Ron sighed. He assumed it was even more bad news on the previous day's attack, and he wasn't quite sure he wanted to know about it. He'd already had a nightmare about it the night before, though it had felt oddly real.

"What does the article say, Hermione? Anything we don't already know?" Ron asked. At this time, Mr. Weasley entered the room, hat in hand. He sat down at the table and hurriedly starting spooning some scrambled eggs onto his plate.

"I've got to be going to the Ministry, but Molly would kill me if she knew I didn't eat breakfast," Mr. Weasley said. Ron rolled his eyes at this, but Hermione smiled.

"Dad, do you know anything new about yesterday's attack?" Ron questioned. Mr. Weasley swallowed the bit of food in his mouth, and then averted his eyes. Ron threw him a questioning glance, and his father cleared his throat.

"There is good news and bad news, I'm afraid," Mr. Weasley began. Hermione abandoned her paper and looked at him, waiting for him to continue. "The good news is that they have changed the death count from three to two." Ron and Hermione looked thoroughly intrigued by this, so Mr. Weasley pressed on. "As of yesterday, it was released that Mr. Frank Corner, Mrs. Elizabeth Corner, and Michael Corner were the deatheater's victims, as told to officials by Rebecca Corner. However, only two bodies were found, those of the mother and father. Rebecca later told the authorities that she hadn't actually seen the deatheaters kill Michael. This, however, brings us to the bad news. Michael is missing, and from what Rebecca told us the deatheaters told her that she wouldn't be seeing her brother anytime soon. This gives us reason to believe that as of now Michael is either dead or being tortured."

Hermione gasped, and Ron laid a comforting hand on her forearm. It was difficult for both of them to believe what could be happening to someone in their very own year at Hogwarts at this very moment.

"Is the little girl alright?" Hermione asked. "It said in the Daily Prophet she had been raped by one of the deatheaters. It also says that a memory charm was put on her so they can't identify who did it."

At this Ron was seething. The nerve of those sick bastards, raping a little girl, he thought. Images of he and Ginny as younger children filled his mind. Luckily his sister was old enough to handle herself, and knew quite a few charms that would really send a deatheater on his way.

"Other than that," said Mr. Weasley, "the girl is fine. She is staying with muggle relatives, who have been told the Corners died in a car accident, until further notice. Because of the memory charms placed on her, she has no recollection of the incident." Mr. Weasley glanced at the clock, which had his arrow pointing to 'Time to go to work', and got up, pushing in his chair. "I best be off, don't want to be late. Have a nice day, you two," and with that he apparated out of the kitchen.

"Hermione, what do you-" Ron began, but trailed off when he saw her face. Her brown eyes were filled with unshed tears, as she stared vacantly out the window. "Hermione, I know this is going to sound like a stupid question, but what's the matter?"

"Everything's the matter, Ron." She stood, pushing in her chair. "We haven't even been on holiday for a week and look what's happened!" She grabbed her paper, glancing at the front-page headline, which read 'Death Eater Attack: One child left Orphaned, Other Gone Missing!' "This makes me sick," she said, tearing the paper to shreds. She hurled the ripped up pieces into the dustbin and stormed out through the kitchen door. Ron, a little taken aback, reluctantly followed her out of the doors.

The sight that greeted him was not at all what he expected. He expected to see Hermione poised on the garden bench, thinking up some clever way to solve the horrible predicament they were in. He expected to see Hermione extract some large volume from her bag and scan through its pages searching for some possible solutions. He half-expected to see her infuriated, and taking the wrath out on the remains of her poor Daily Prophet. He did not, however, expect to see Hermione leaning against a large Weeping Willow, bawling. He had seen her cry when being teased, he had seen her cry while giving an apology, and he had seen her cry when she was overjoyed, but never had he seen her wailing, all because of You-Know-Who and his band of bloody deatheaters. That certainly wouldn't do.

"Hermione," he said, as he approached her, kneeling down next to her. "Do you, er, want to talk about this?" All he heard was muffled sobs coming from the mass of thick curls that hid her face unceremoniously. Unsure of what to do next, he put a hand on her shoulder and whispered, "I am here if you want to talk, I thought you should know". At this, she looked up and gazed at him, her face tear-streaked and wearing a somber expression.

As odd as it sounded, Ron never thought she had looked more beautiful. Her hair was a mess, wild and crazy, with little curls springing out at random. Her cheeks were flushed; her expression serious, but what really got to him was her eyes. The beautiful brown orbs were glistening with unshed tears, but they were as bright and inquisitive as ever. "Ron, that could just as easily of been any of us," she replied, gravely. "Michael Corner was our age. He was only sixteen, and now he is probably being tortured by deatheaters, or actually, he is probably dead. What if it had been Harry? What if it had been you?" her voice rose in panic.

"Hermione, you know Harry is very well protected. And me, well I suppose I…er…"

"Ron?"

"Yes, Hermione?"

"Just stay safe. Promise me you won't leave?"

"I promise." And with that, she broke down again. Heavy sobs that wracked her small frame, so that all she could do was bury her head in his chest and cry until some of the pain had subsided. Ron, somewhat awkwardly, put his arms around her and held her to him, running his hand soothingly up and down her back. However unexpected and awkward the situation, he thought that it felt right, having her in his arms, knowing that she wasn't as strong as she let on, and that maybe she actually did need him, too.

Miles away, Harry Potter awoke from his sleep. It was a very peaceful sleep, which was quite odd for him. Most would find Harry's sleeping habits normal for a teenage boy on summer holiday; he was sleeping until around noon every day. But for a boy like Harry Potter, this was not necessarily a good thing. There were no sweet dreams being clouded by evil laughter, visions of death, and the menacing sneer of a man no better than the devil. In his mind, no news was not necessarily good news, because this usually meant the worst. He had to be up to something.

As Harry sat up and stretched, his snowy owl flew over to him, landing on his shoulder. He gave her an owl treat after she dropped a letter on his lap. It appeared to have his name on the front, written in a feminine scrawl. Without his glasses on he couldn't read it, but he assumed it was from Hermione. He put the letter on his bedside table and lay back down on his bed. Although he did miss his friends, his bitterness had once again gotten the best of him. It wasn't fair for him to be locked up with the Dursleys all summer while Ron and Hermione got to be together at the Burrow, the one place aside from Hogwarts that he truly loved. Yes, Hermione's letter could wait. After all, he was the one who would be doing the most waiting this summer.