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Disclaimer:

The Characters and situations of Harry Potter depicted in this story are the legal property of J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury, and AOL Time Warner, and have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is being made off this site, and is for entertainment purposes only.

This chapter has been revised as of June, 2005 and contains new content. It has also been modified from the original NC-17 version is located at Cheackmated, and is rated R.

Of Hearts and Heroes

Chapter Ten

Ginevra Weasley sat perched on the back of her sofa at the Burrow, staring out the window at nothing in particular. It was a beautiful summer mid-morning, not too hot, not too humid, not even a cloud in the sky. Ginny had been sitting with her forehead against the glass since breakfast.

"Dear, why don't you go see if your brother wants to go flying?" her mother called from the kitchen, in a soft concerned voice.

Ginny knew that it would all too soon escalate to orders and bullying. It had been this way all summer. Mrs. Weasley kept her two youngest locked away at the Burrow, and then sweetly entreated them to 'go play.' Her daughter was having none of it. Until she was out of her cozy little prison she was on strike. As for her brother…

She gazed out at Ron, who stood by the pond throwing pebbles, most likely taking his latent aggression out on the poor frogs. He had been sullen and withdrawn all summer, grunting responses to questions and snapping far too easily. Their mother thought he was punishing her for her over protectiveness, she had grumbled about it often enough.

It made her daughter wonder if the woman knew her son at all. Ron didn't pout and sulk when he was angry. No, he yelled, he screamed, he argued. Even his silences radiated with a stiff fury. When Ron was heated at you everybody knew it. He didn't have a subtle bone in his body.

No, the Ron by the pond wasn't angry. He was confused, worried, scared…maybe, heartsick over a girl…definitely, lonely for his best friends…completely. Mostly though, he was a bloke who hadn't had a good night's sleep in over a month. So, why was it that Ginny was the only one who noticed?

"Ginevra Weasley," the portly mother called in a commanding voice. "Will you stop this incessant moping and do something?" She slapped her dishrag down for emphasis and put her hands on her hips.

"What do you suggest, mother?" Ginny replied without wavering her outward gaze.

"If you were listening, I suggested that you go flying with your brother." There was anger in Molly's voice now.

"Ron doesn't want to fly with me," the youngest Weasley said softy. He wanted Harry and Hermione.

"How do you know if you don't ask him?" Mrs. Weasley demanded, the volume of her voice steadily rising.

"I know."

"Well, do something else. Just get off the ruddy sofa!"

When Molly Weasley used that tone of voice, her children jumped. Usually. Ginny rolled her head along the pane of glass and looked into her mother's blazing eyes. She fought the ingrained urge to wither and turned to her own simmering rage.

Starting a row was easy. She just had to choose a subject and there were plenty to choose from. Being held hostage left one with plenty of time to nurse their anger. Ginny chose to start with the safest of grips, the one most easily justified and least likely to land her in tears.

"Fine, then," the teenager replied defiantly. "I'll just owl my friends and tell them I'll be meeting them at Diagon Alley."

Her mother scoffed. "Friends! Dean Thomas, you mean."

"And what's so wrong with that?" Ginny demanded. This had become a common argument in their household. It was pulled out whenever one wanted to avoid the real issues.

Not that this wasn't a real issue. Ginny had the right to have some happiness and fun in her life, something to take her mind off all the horror. At the moment, Dean was the only normal teenage thing in her life and even that was denied to her.

"Ginevra you are fourteen-years-old. You are not going on a date to Diagon Alley!"

"I'll be fifteen in nine days, " Ginny argued.

Molly shook her head, turning away from her daughter and the tired argument. "Fifteen is still too young to be meeting boys in Diagon Alley." She turned and walked back into the kitchen.

Ginny rolled her eyes. Silently, she cursed herself for ever letting Ron know about Dean. She never would have, if it hadn't been for her stupid pride. Stupid pride that made her lie about Michael and who broke up with whom. Then made her brag about Dean Thomas. All so she wouldn't look undesirable in front of her brother and stupid Harry Potter.

If she hadn't told Ron, Dean would be Ginny's boyfriend right now. All his letters hinted at a question that he was going to ask her in person. It was quite clear what that question was. Dean's letters were not subtle. Actually, they were warm and lovely, the one bright spot in this whole horrid summer. Quite unlike some other letters she had received.

Damn Ron and all her bloody brothers for that matter. Not only had Ron gleefully announced Dean as 'more than a friend,' to her parents, but he'd done it in front of twins as well. The twins, of course, had to steal one of Dean's letters, and Fred enthusiastically read it out-loud at the dinner table. Thus causing Ginny's banishment from Diagon Alley.

Ron had been right satisfied with himself. Muttering about how Dean wasn't good enough for her, the stupid git. Who the hell was he? How Hermione put up with him, Ginny would never know. With his sister, Ron was merely protective, with Hermione he was down right possessive. Poor girl.

Ginny really needed to get Ron back for that. Problem was the boy was so miserable she didn't have the heart. She had gotten Fred back, though, and good. Made sure Mum knew exactly what had he did with Angelina, alone in his room, while she was out doing 'her errands' for the Order.

Irate now, after her reverie, Ginny got up and followed her mother. Arguing was one of the only things there was to do around there. Molly was clanging through the kitchen, more to make noise than to get anything done.

"Fine, then," Ginny said, picking up the argument where it left of as she crossed her arms obstinately in the kitchen entranceway. "I want to see Harry. Surely, I'm old enough to see him." She held her breath as she waited for a reply, moving on to common-Weasley-row-topic-number-two was always a risk. It meant that tears and humiliation were just around the bend.

Mrs. Weasley turned and she met her daughter's gaze. She looked tired. "Ginny, we've had this argument before."

No kidding. They'd had this argument before and they'd keep having it until Harry was safe at the Burrow. "Mum, something's wrong. I know it. Really wrong." Her voice broke. Damn voice.

Molly came over and guided her daughter unto a chair, speaking in a tone designed to soothe. "Nothing's wrong. Someone checks with him nearly everyday. Your father saw him just two days ago."

Ginny huffed angrily, her voice rising with each sentence. "Yeah and Harry wouldn't let Dad through the doorway. Wouldn't even spare a moment to talk with him. It was his sixteenth birthday, Mum, and he wasn't interested, not in people, not in presents. I bet he hasn't even opened them. There hasn't been one letter thanking us. That's not Harry, Mum."

The older woman looked deeply distressed as she took a seat next to her daughter. "Your father said he seemed quite chipper, said the Dursleys were treating him well this year."

Ginny shook her head with pursed, angry lips. "He's furious. He's punishing us for abandoning him." She was disappointed in herself for the weepiness in her voice. She didn't need her mother to know how deeply she cared for Harry, but that was the risk she took by bringing the subject up. One day she would be able to do it without the tears.

Molly put her arm around her and squeezed her with her best motherly warmth. Even as Ginny felt comforted she resented her need for it. "He's not angry with us, dear."

"How do you know?" Ginny demanded. "You've seen his letters. One, two lines at the most. 'I'm fine, see you back at school.' Even when you wrote him and told him he could come to the Burrow, 'No, that's not a good idea. I'm safer here. See you soon.' That is not Harry, Mum. Something's really wrong." She was yelling by the end.

Molly smoothed her hair and kissed her crown. "He's in mourning, love. Everyone has to do that in his or her own way. He just needs time."

"He's drowning in time. He needs his friends."

"Tell you what, dear? I'll go with your father tomorrow and see him myself."

Ginny shook her head, trying not to blink and cause the tears to fall. "He needs..." He needs me. "Ron and Hermione. The rest of us aren't good enough."

"Codswallop, Ginny," her mother said, appalled. "Don't you ever say that about yourself!"

She had given too much away. She'd been too transparent. Carefully, Ginny put on a veil of false confidence and looked intently at her mother. "Let me go with you tomorrow. Maybe I can---"

Mrs. Weasley was shaking her head, standing, putting distance between them. "I'm not going over this again, Ginevra," she said sternly, going back to her chores.

"But, Mum---"

"I'm worried about him as well. We'll figure out a way to get him to come and stay with us, all right?"

No, it was not 'all right.' Nothing was all right. Not one bloody thing. But Ginny didn't have much choice. She nodded, slumping in her chair.

"Oh look, Hedwig's here," Molly said, causing Ginny to look up. "Letters from Harry." She detached the letter from the owl's leg. "And Hermione, as well. Hedwig must have gone to see her before coming here. That's why you didn't get a thank-you owl yesterday, dear." Molly stroked Hedwig and gave her a biscuit, before handing her daughter two letters.

Ginny hid the way her hand trembled by opening Harry's letter as hastily as she could.

Dear Ginny,

Thank you so much for your kind gift. Hope you're having a good summer.

Harry

Ginny threw down the letter with disgust. "Ruddy rubbish!" she bit out, because the words she wanted to use would get a silencing charm placed on her for a week.

Molly anxiously picked up the letter and read it. Frowning she said, "See there, he liked your gift. He's fine."

Her daughter gave her a skeptical look. "Mum, he hasn't even opened the gifts."

"Of course, he has. Look here," Molly pointed at the letter.

"It says nothing. Nothing at all."

Molly sighed and looked off into the distance. "He's fine," she said. Ginny suspected she was trying to convince herself more than anyone.

Scowling, Ginny grabbed Hermione's considerably more substantial letter and skimmed it. Hermione had finally gotten her own copy of The Legend and Legacy of the Empath from Dean. Unfortunately, the only copy he could get was in the original German and it was taking her forever to translate it. It was worth it, though, to be able to read a version that wasn't corrupted by that bitch.

Six bloody weeks Harry was stuck in that prison and not a word from Adrianna. It was her fault that Harry was acting like a goddamned zombie. She had stirred him up and abandoned him, pushing him right over the edge. God, how Ginny hated her.

She was going to find out what Adrianna wanted from them if it was the last thing Ginny did.

Ron stood out by the pond, trying to skip stones and failing miserably. His pebbles plunked into the water, scaring away the frogs. No doubt, if Ginny were there, she would accuse him of trying to murder the poor wretched creatures.

Feeling the effort to stand was no longer worth it, he slumped to the ground and threw the rest of the stones into the pond with one last frustrated toss. Ron felt like a caged animal.

The Burrow had been nothing but quiet and serene all summer, while Ron knew the outside world was on the brink of explosion. Just like him. On the brink. He felt himself changing, getting ready for something, and it wasn't just…His breath left him in a rush. Hermione.

Hermione. To be honest, that was a big part of it, the heart of a change from being obsessed with Quidditch and Chocolate Frog Cards to being obsessed with girls. Not girls. A girl.

Ron wished he had someone to talk to about it. That alone was new. Ron Weasley, wanting to talk. About his feelings. Bizarre. But this just couldn't be normal. Thinking about your best mate all day long.

What he really wanted was talk to Harry, really talk to him. None of this distracted bullshite. None of these terse, impersonal letters that were, frankly, an insult to their friendship.

Ron knew he was being selfish. He knew that Harry was dealing with some really huge shite right now. He knew he should be worried about his best mate, god knew the rest of his family was. Ginny moped about it morning, noon, and night. 'Poor Harry blah blah blah.'

Thing was, sometimes, Ron couldn't bloody care less. If Harry wanted to pout and ignore them, making Ginny and Mum and Hermione cry then he could just take a flying leap for all Ron cared.

Harry wasn't the only one with baggage. He wasn't the only one at the Department of Mysteries that night. Hermione had almost died for god's sake. Hermione had almost died and every night, in Ron's nightmares she did die. Every bloody night.

It had gotten so bad that Ron had almost asked his mum for her special tea, but then he would have had to tell her why he wanted it, and that was the last thing he needed.

Ron flopped back onto the grass and closed his eyes. Maybe he'd try for a nap. The sleep he got during the daytime was always much better than the sleep he got at night. Probably because his daytime dreams about Hermione were of a completely different nature, a more pleasurable nature.

A perverted nature, true, but pleasant all the same. He smiled, giving himself over to his new favorite pastime. Ron imagined Hermione walking toward him, across the yard wearing only a small sundress…

No. He remembered that his last owl from her was from the beach where she was on holiday. Mmm, Hermione in a bikini. He imagined her sprawled out on the sand, lying on her stomach. She'd be reading, of course, so intently that she wouldn't hear him approach. She'd have her hair pulled up in a knot, but it wouldn't be tamed. Sweaty curls would be escaping everywhere.

Hermione wouldn't notice him until he'd leaned over her and pressed his lips against her moist, sun-kissed back. She'd gasp and turn over. She'd be breathing heavily, so her breasts would be heaving, spilling out of her bathing suit. Ron wouldn't be able to stand it. He'd have to touch them. He'd run his fingertips over the soft, smooth skin and she'd let him. Encouraged, he'd cup her breasts in his hands. She'd moan and….

Shite. Whose bright idea was it to do this out here? Now, he was painfully aroused and could do nothing about it. Ron opened his eyes, blinking at the sun. He willed himself to calm down enough to go up to his room and finish the fantasy properly.

As Ron sat up, he caught sight of Hedwig flying in the kitchen window. Groaning, he wondered if he even wanted another depressing letter from Harry. He dragged himself to his feet. No use putting it off. Maybe if the letter was bad enough he'd have a good excuse to go to his room and have his mum leave him alone.

He made his way across the garden and into the house. Ginny sat at the kitchen table reading a long letter. When she looked up at him, Ron raised his eyebrows in question. That couldn't be from Harry?

Ginny shook her head in answer to his silent question. "This one's from Hermione. That's from Harry." She flicked a letter at him.

Ron picked it up the single piece of parchment and read the few lines. He threw it down in disgust and picked up the two unopened letters on the table. He tore open Harry's first. It was almost exactly the same as Ginny's, his fist tightened around the parchment. Ron made it into a ball and tossed it angrily across the room.

His mother's eyes flashed and she opened her mouth to reprimand him, but then she looked him over and sighed, going back to her housework. Ron sullenly threw himself into a chair and opened Hermione's letter.

Dear Ron,

I received my letter from Harry today. He didn't even mention the treats and such I sent him for his birthday. It was terribly discourteous of him and not at all like Harry. We need to find a way to get him out of there. He's clearly horribly depressed…

Ron scoffed, how could she tell he's depressed? No one could tell anything from those bloody letters.

As soon as I get back from holiday, I'll try to convince my parents to let me come to the Burrow.

Ron's heartbeat quickened. It was about bloody time.

Once we put our head's together, I'm sure we'll think of something. My parents are a worry though. They've begun complaining that I'm never home, which, I suppose, is true.

He groaned.

Torquay is beautiful and the weather is brilliant, though I'm finding the beach rather dull…

Images of her in a bathing suit came back. And ideas of how to soothe her doldrums.

The cottage we're staying at once belonged to a witch 200 years ago by the name of Bess Butterflower. I'm really enjoying researching the history of this place.

My Parents wouldn't let me bring The Legend and Legacy of The Empath. They said that I shouldn't be translating on holiday, but it's left me rather restless. It would be much more fun if you were here, and Harry and Ginny, of course.

Ron wanted nothing more. Though, he could leave out the Harry and Ginny part. It would kinda put a damper on the whole fantasy…

If we could just be together again, I know everything would be all right again.

I miss you.

Love,

Hermione

I miss you. Love, Hermione.

The words repeated themselves over and over in Ron's head, his heart beating erratically. It didn't mean anything, did it? She probably wrote that to everyone. He turned to Ginny and tried to sneak a peak at her letter to see how Hermione had signed it. Ron's eyes narrowed as he saw her flip through page after page of letter.

"Hey, how come your letter is longer?" Ron demanded accusingly, trying to push down the hurt and disappointment he felt.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Probably because Hermione knew you couldn't deal with four pages detailing the fascinating cabin she's staying at, as well as the life and times of one Bess Butterflower. Don't know why she thinks I care?" Ginny scanned the pages. "Oh, look, gasp, it's even attached to the Floo Network."

"What!" Ron roared, snatching the letter out of her hand. "She's been in a cabin with a Floo for a week and she didn't tell me!" He frantically looked over the page, not really seeing anything. "Hermione could be here tomorrow, even if it's just for the afternoon. Right, Mum?"

"Mmm? Oh, yes. Of course, dear. Of course."

"Hedwig still here?" Ron asked, grabbing parchment and a quill. Ginny nodded looking at him as if he were a loon. Ron started scribbling:

Hermione,

I can't believe you didn't tell me you were attached to the Floo Network. You have to visit tomorrow. Tell your parents I… we need you. You can be back at the cabin before dinner, if they insist.

Ron paused, not sure how to sign the letter. 'Love' was too out of character for him, but what… He was wasting too much time. He scribbled a simple 'Ron' and folded the letter, addressing the envelope. Then he reconsidered and opened the letter back up, scribbling at the bottom:

P.S. I miss you, as well.

He shoved the letter into the envelope. "Hedwig, come here." He placated the bird by giving her a biscuit as he attached the letter. "Take this straight to Hermione."

"Ron!" Ginny admonished. "You have your own ruddy owl. You can't send Hedwig back without a letter for Harry."

Yeah, like Ron was going to trust Pig with this. He needed it to get there today. "Fine." He grabbed another piece of parchment.

Harry,

You're not bloody fine! Stop being such a bloody idiot and get your arse to the Burrow.

Ron

"Happy?" he asked his sister.

Ginny glanced at the letter as he folded it, exclaiming, "Ron." She slapped him on the arm. "I can't believe you." But she was laughing and Ron knew that a part of her wanted to say the same thing.

He attached the second letter to Hedwig's scaly leg. "Now remember, straight to Hermione first."

Hermione sat in a beach chair, next to her parents, on the sandy coastline of Torquay. She stretched out her legs so that the lower half of her body was out of the shadows of their large beach umbrella and could be warmed by the sun.

She was leaning back with her eyes closed, but she cracked her left eye open to peer at her mother who, as predicted, was glaring at her bare legs with disapproval. Hermione waited to see if she would comment, but her mother merely tutted and shook her head as she went back to her book.

Hermione bit her lip to keep from smiling. She had heard the long diatribes about the dangers of the sun since before she could talk. She had endured the copious amounts of suntan lotion and the series of ugly hats. So, why her parents had decided to drag her to the beach for a two-week holiday was beyond her comprehension.

The Doctors Granger's parenting choices this summer had been odd, to say the least. They had decided to forgo their usual family holiday to a historic cultural site for sunny Torquay so Hermione could 'relax' and 'be a normal teenager.'

After a lifetime of encouraging her to avoid any 'frivolous activities' in favor of 'enrichment,' now her parents expected her to lie on the beach and flirt with strange boys? Yet, she was to remain completely out of the sun while doing so, of course. Maybe she was also supposed to flirt with boys in an enriching, non-frivolous way.

Well, Hermione was bored out of her mind. Thank heavens for the German Language CDs now in her Discman. Just because her parents wouldn't let her do any actually translating didn't mean she couldn't prepare.

Though Hermione did feel a tad guilty for listening to the CD. She knew her parents thought it was classical music. In a way, she was being too hard on her mother and father. None of this was their fault. They were just trying to reconnect with her as best they knew how.

The Grangers were quiet, unassuming people. They enjoyed books and culture and solitude. They had a few friends who were just like them, but otherwise they kept to themselves and very much fancied it that way. They weren't very good at connecting with people in general, not the mention a daughter with magical powers who was growing up quickly in a place they could never visit.

Her parents had no idea that Hermione came close to dying six weeks ago. They thought she had been relaxing after exams, not embroiled in battle next to the people who meant more to her then life itself. They didn't know that one of their number had been murdered that night. They didn't even know that her best friend was in a self-imposed exile, where he was withering away, probably punishing his friends for last summer when he felt they had abandoned him.

Her parents couldn't understand that there was no point in flirting with boys on the beach, as Hermione was already completely in love with her other best friend.

How could they know any of this? She spent an absurd amount of time trying to shield them from it. It was no wonder that Hermione felt so isolated from her parents. Home didn't even feel like home anymore. She wished she were at Hogwarts, or Grimmauld Place, or the Burrow…

Hermione took a deep breath and pulled out a batch of letters from her beach bag. Flipping through Harry's cold letters, she felt a familiar rage. She had long since directed all her frustration and anger at Harry's predicament at one person, Harry's betraying cousin. This gave her not only an outlet for her rage, but a place to focus her mental energy.

She reread Ginny's letters. They had been detailing everything that they could remember about Adrianna and the Empath texts that they had read at Hogwarts. The letters were filled with speculation and theories about why that woman came into Harry's life in the first place, and what kind of threat she could be in the future.

So far, they had come up with very little. Yet, Hermione had faith that they'd figure it out, eventually.

"Dear," Mrs. Granger whispered to her. Hermione started, looking up and pulling off her headphones. It wasn't until then that she realized that she hadn't really been listening to the disk and hit 'stop'.

"Dear, is that your owl?" Her mother asked with obvious embarrassment. As supportive as her parents tried to be, obvious displays of Hermione's 'differentness' flustered them. The Grangers didn't enjoy attention. Different always brought attention.

Hermione looked over to see Hedwig land and perch on the arm of her deck chair. She frowned, stroking the beautiful bird. Uneasily, she removed the letters from Hedwig's outstretched limb. This was strange. She had already received a letter from Harry this morning.

She recognized Ron's messy scrawl and her heart rate increased. Noticing one letter was for Harry she gave it back to Hedwig, who took flight before Hermione had a chance to thank her, obviously anxious to get back to her master. At least Hedwig had access to Harry.

Hermione turned Ron's letter over in her hands, looking anxiously at her parents. "I'm going for a walk," she said absently as she stood.

"Oh…um, all right then," her mother sputtered as Hermione walked toward the water. "Hermione, dear!"

The girl looked back to see her mother holding out Hermione's large floppy hat and her bathing suit cover-up. She suppressed the urge to resist and went back, jamming the ugly hat on her head and wrapping the shawl around her waist. Clearly, her modest one-piece bathing suit was not modest enough.

Hermione walked some distance down the waters edge before she found a quiet place near a rock formation where she could read her letter and not have to cautiously temper her reactions.

She opened the letter with care and scanned the messy words. An almost hysterical laugh erupted from of her. The letter was almost as short as one of Harry's, but it was anything but cold.

Heavens, Ron made her so confused. She had been trying to figure out where she stood with him since he told her she was beautiful at the train station. It wasn't easy when all she had was letters. It wasn't as though he was open about his feelings.

But then there were letters like this. Letters demanding her presence, showing her he missed her better than a hundred 'I miss you's ever could. And it all led to dangerous expectations. After all, Hermione could be seeing just what she wanted to see. Ron was never perfectly explicit about anything. She could just be setting herself up for heartbreak.

It didn't matter, not really. Her decision from the last night in the hospital wing stood. Whatever Ron needed from her, she'd give. Whatever he was willing to give her, she'd take. She loved him. Hermione might not ever feel just this way about anyone again and she wasn't going to waste the opportunity. She'd just have to start storing up the memories now.

Hermione looked down at Ron's letter. She wanted to go to the Burrow so badly it hurt, but it was more than a matter of convincing her parents. She was in the middle of a Muggle beach village, Floo or no Floo. She didn't have any Floo powder, and without that, the connection to the Network was useless. What's more, she didn't have any idea how to get some. She didn't even know where to find an owl to send Ron a letter.

She was completely stranded from the wizarding world. Hermione would just have to wait until someone else wrote her again. Imagining Ron's reaction when she didn't show up tomorrow with no reply to his letter, made her restless and agitated.

Damn it, she hated being in the Muggle world. She hated it. She hated it. Hermione didn't belong here. Maybe when she didn't show up, Ron would just Floo to her, just to tell her off. Ron, with her, on the beach…

Hermione walked over to the water and stood with her feet in the ocean, being lapped by the tide. She wrapped her arms around herself and imagined that they were his arms around her, holding her tightly against him, his breath against her cheek, like it had been at the train station. His lips against her cheek, her neck, her…

Maybe then, the beach wouldn't be so bad.

Dolohov's wand was pointed at Hermione. Ron yelled to her, but she didn't move, didn't raise her wand. He heard the Death Eater say the words clearly, slowly, distinctly, "Avada Kadavra."

Ron couldn't move. He yelled, "Hermione, no!" He struggled to run to her, but a dozen hands restrained him, held him back from her. He screamed and screamed, but to no avail. Ron watched her fall, slowly, to the floor. All the while Dolohov laughed.

He turned to his captors, sobbing, begging them to let him go to her. Ron found all five of his brothers holding him back, with blank emotionless expressions. He turned back to Hermione, but the scene had changed. They were in a funeral home and a casket stood where Hermione had fallen.

"No! No, she is not dead! Let me go!" he bellowed at his brothers, but the restraining arms wouldn't budge.

Harry and Ginny were up by the casket and he called to them for help, but they didn't answer. They looked down into the casket. They seemed bored. Harry yawned and whispered something into Ginny's ear. She shrugged carelessly and wove her arm through his. She leaned up and kissed his cheek. Harry turned and pushed her up against the casket, crushing his lips to hers in a disgusting open-mouthed kiss that Ron's sister returned enthusiastically.

He pulled harder at his brothers' arms, roaring every obscenity he could think of at Harry, hollering Hermione's name. Finally, Ron broke away and began running and running and running…

Then he was running through a cemetery on a bright summer's day. He saw a cluster of redheads in the distance where a casket was being levitated into the ground. Ron was out of breath and his lungs burned, but still he ran, screaming. "It's not true. She's not dead. Don't do it…"

When he finally arrived, his family was walking away and the grave was covered. Harry turned to him and shrugged casually. "Too late, mate. She's gone for good." He pivoted and walked away.

Ron fell to his knees sobbing, digging at the soil with his bare hands. He knew Hermione was down there. She was trapped…

When he finally awoke from his nightmare he jumped from his bed, needing to get as far away from his dream as possible. Running a hand over his face, he found it drenched with tears. Crap! He hated it when he cried. Weak, that's what he was.

Ron paced his small bedroom feeling trapped and desperate. He could hear his own heart thundering in his ears and found himself tugging at his hair until it hurt. He needed to see Hermione. He needed to see her now.

He considered using magic and to hell with the consequences, but how? Ron didn't know how to Apparate, he'd splinch himself for sure… Then he remembered. Hermione was attached to the Floo Network. He could Floo over to her cottage, make sure she was all right, and be back before anyone was the wiser.

Ron grabbed a t-shirt and headed for the door.

Ginny wasn't sure exactly what woke her up, but judging from the moonlight filtering in her window it was not the sounds of the household waking for the morning. She flipped over and snuggled back into her pillow, determined to go back to sleep.

She heard a soft thud above her and then footsteps. Her heart accelerated and she sat up, listening warily. The twins had the room above her, but they had moved into their own flat a month ago, after the whole 'Angelina's knickers' incident. Ron was two floors up and her parents, two floors down. They were supposed to be the only people in the house.

A floorboard creaked on the stairs and Ginny leapt out of bed, rummaging for her wand. If this was Ron's idea of a joke, she was going to annihilate him. She placed her ear on the door. Hearing nothing, she slowly opened it.

She'd just creep down and wake her parents. If it was just Ron, then he deserved her mother's wrath for scaring her like this.

As Ginny slipped out the door, a sound drew her eyes to the stairs leading to the fourth floor. A black robed figure raised a wand and pointed it at her. That was the last thing she remembered.

Author's Note:

Torquay is a real place. They called it the "British Riviera" and it sounded like a place that might have a 200 year-old cottage. If someone has been there and it's not what I imagine, I apologize. The only place I've been to in Britain is London. I've been to the real Rivera, but didn't seem logical that that would be attached to the Floo network. Thanks for reading.

Special thanks to kjcp and Texasmagic at CM for betaing this story