Chapter 25: Tales of a Confession

"Ron, are you coming?" asked Hermione.

"Yeah, 'Mione. I don't know why you need me to come with you to the owlery anyway, it's not like you don't know where it is."

"That's not the point, Ron, you'll see why when we get there."

Ron's disposition immediately perked up. "Did you order me an early birthday present? My birthday's not 'til next month."

Hermione shook her head. "No. Remember how I sent an owl to the Ministry over Christmas Holiday about the Department of Mysteries?"

Ron groaned, albeit inwardly. "Yes, I remember," he said politely. "What did they say?"

'Hopefully nothing,' Ron thought. 'Merlin, she's been on this brain issue for months now. If it's not bothering me—well, I try not to think about it, any way—then why is it bothering her so much?'

"They actually took me seriously. A complete and utter shock, if you ask me. I think Fudge is personally doing anything he can to help Harry—even if indirectly—so it will make it look like he's doing a good job as Minister."

Ron snorted, "It's way too late to save his sorry career, not to mention his sorry fat—"

"RON!" chastised Hermione, holding open the owlery door for him. "Either way, it's quite kind of him. And it helps us—YOU, specifically—so why complain? I don't mind that Fudge is eating out of Harry's cauldron if it's going to benefit us."

"Wow, Hermione," said Ron, "I had no idea you could be so…"

"Vindictive?" she supplied. "Well, when it comes to important matters, like your health, you'd be surprised how far I'd go."

"Oh really? And how far would that be, Miss Granger?" and Ron, eyebrows waggling.

Hermione snorted, and replied nonchalantly, "Oh, I don't know. If it helped, I suppose I would go as far as to snog the Ferret."

"HERMIONE!"

"Yes, Ronald?"

"That's just—just—WRONG!"

"Oh? Is it? Well, I'm glad you told me, although it's already too late…" Hermione grinned at the look of horror on her boyfriend's face. "What?"

"Hermione. Seriously. Please tell me that you would NOT 'snog the Ferret' unless I were DEAD."

"Ron," cried Hermione, "I was just kidd—"

"I'm not!" cried Ron, reddening. "Promise me that you'll never snog the Ferret, no matter how bad it gets, unless I am dead and gone and he has done a complete personality one-eighty."

"Merlin, Ron, I was just joking, but, if it means that much to you…"

"It does."

"Okay. I promise never to snog, or do anything else intimately related, with Draco Lucius Malfoy unless my current boyfriend and love of my life, Ronald Bilius Weasley is deceased and the aforementioned Malfoy heir has turned into a completely normal, courteous wizard that worships the ground I walk on just as devotedly (if not more so) than the aforementioned boyfriend." She paused and drew a deep breath, "Is that good enough?"

"Better than I was hoping for. Now come here and snog ME!"

Hermione grinned and stepped into Ron's waiting arms. She spent the next quarter of an hour in relative hormonal bliss, until an owl hooted from a perch near her shoulder. Pulling away, she smiled.

"Excellent. They sent the search results," she checked her watch, "and right on time, too!"

"Um, 'Mione," asked Ron tentatively, "what was it exactly that you were researching?"

"I was trying to find out exactly whose brain it was that attached itself to you, and, by doing so, possibly finding out why you're suddenly so high strung and emotionally conscious."

Ron gaped at her, trying to figure out what to say to her comment. The best he came up with finally stuttered out of his mouth in the form of "I am NOT high strung!"

"Tosh, Ron, that's exactly what I'm talking about. Last year you would have simply made a joke about how someone like Professor McGonnagal is high strung."

"Well, I—but—"

"Do you mind, I'm trying to read this," Hermione huffed.

Ron huffed right back at her and stomped over to the perch where Hedwig and Pigwidgeon had taken to roosting. "Hey guys, how's it going?"

Several moments passed, and Ron was beginning to get frustrated. He didn't understand why this was so important to Hermione. So what, big deal, a brain attacked him and he had consequently become as emotional as a postpartum witch. He didn't see what the problem was- it had, in fact, improved his instinct as to what girls were feeling and even helped him work out whatever Harry was currently pissing and moaning over. Sure, it made him especially more sensitive to sappy stories and female flights of fancy, but what was the big deal? It had certainly improved his marks in his classes- potions specifically- and he was even helping some of the younger students with their divination problems (even though he had dropped the subject out of disgust). IF the brain attacking him had made him smarter, albeit, a little more effeminate than a teenage wizard should be then Ron personally thought that the benefits outweighed the drawbacks.

As Ron was mentally listing all the benefits of the brain attack (not mentioning the rather intricate system of scars that traced his arms and torso which had caused Hermione to pay quite soft, extensive detail to them every time he had his robes off), Hermione wordlessly passed the parchment to him, indicating that he should read it himself. He had just reached the ending salutation when Harry came traipsing into the owlery, Remus Lupin's birthday package in hand.

"Oh! Hi! I didn't know you two were up here," he said. "This isn't your new favorite snogging spot is it? A bit dirty, don't you—what's going on?"

Hermione just shook her head and guestured to Ron who, in turn, simply handed the letter to Harry. Harry took it gingerly, half of him expecting it to be a death warrant from Voldemort and the other half expecting it to be a notice from Firebolt Broomline Co. telling Ron that his stock value had tripled and he was currently one of the wealthiest school-age wizards in Britain. What he actually read was neither as bad, nor as good as what he had originally thought.

Dear Miss Granger,

In response to your inquiry of last summer's unpleasant incident regarding He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and the Department of Mysteries, the staff (on behalf of a request made by the Minister of Magic) has made a full investigation and report of the confrontation involving Mr. Ronald B. Weasley and Wizarding-Intelligence Brain Test Subject #11658193.

We are pleased to inform you that our inquiry was both fruitful and thought provoking to our department staff. WIBTS #11658193 was delivered to our testing facility in early November of 1981 and had originally resided in the body of witch Miranda Goshawk. Our team of experts has come to the consensus that the prolonged contact between Mr. Weasley and WIBTS #11658193 caused certain attributes of the brain test subject in question to be transferred to the wizard in question. Rest assured, Miss Granger, that all of our testing subjects are honored and notable witches, including the historical likes of Cliodna, Circe and Ptolemy, as well as the more recently noted Lilian Potter and Cassandra Trelawney. There is no need to worry that any of our brains ever bore any hostile intent toward any witch, wizard, or muggle.

Although our only original intent of the inquiry (that concerning the effects of WIBTS #11658193 and Mr. Weasley) has been considered closed, our panel is now discussing the possible aspects of brain and stem cell research in combination with creating new intelligence and theories for learning. One can only hope that there will be a possibility of good to come from this incident. With the permission of Mr. Weasley, the Ministry of Magic would like to perform paid testing on the damage and side effects (positive and negative) that WIBTS #11658193 has had on Mr. Weasley's mental and physical health and personal well being.

While the necessity of rehabilitation and physical therapy on Mr. Weasley's behalf is unprecedentedly regrettable, the Ministry of Magic has decided to make an attempt to compensate Mr. Weasley for his injuries. A separate document will be sent along to Mr. Ronald Weasley with more intricate details of how the Ministry plans on trying to make amends for this grievous incident. I, Benjamin B. Ripley (head of the Department of Intelligence Studies, Department of Mysteries, Ministry of Magic, London) would like to personally inform you that the sum of compensatory fees being negotiated on Mr. Weasley's behalf currently stands at Five Hundred Thousand galleons personal maintenance funds (in addition to a full refund of all hospital and therapeutic costs from said incident) and is expected to rise should it be deemed necessary. I also would like to extend my sincerest personal apologies.

Sincerely Yours,

Benjamin B. Ripley

Head of Department of Intelligence Studies

Department of Mysteries

Ministry of Magic

London

Harry carefully folded the letter and handed it back to Ron.

"So this is why you've been acting so off your broomstick lately? The brain that attacked you was the witch's that wrote half our textbooks?

Ron shrugged. "I guess so. I didn't even think there was such a department. You know, one that analyzes really great witches and wizards to try and find out how they can teach us all to be as great as them. They want to figure out what other benefits I got from being molested by that crazy woman's brain. I bet they're just itching to get their hands on Dumbledore's. And MINE after I die so they can analyze it after they're done with their tests while I'm alive."

"But they want to pay you for it!" cried Harry. "Ron, that's great! You could get a lot of money for that."

"I don't know about that whole 'brain and stem cell research' thing though," said Hermione, shaking her head at the letter. "Sounds awfully wooly to me."

Harry and Ron shivered.

"I wouldn't want anyone to have to go through being attacked by a brain! And as for stemp sell research or whatever, I'm just not even going to go there." Ron said.

"It's stem cell, Ron, and I wouldn't either," agreed Hermione.

"Yeah," added Harry. "But seriously, I knew my mum was supposedly brilliant, but I didn't think she was smart enough to have her brain donated to magical science."

"Hmmmm…" pondered Hermione. "Someone must have given it to the department to try and figure out what she did that kept you alive from Voldemort's killing curse… Maybe to see if there is really a counter-curse or something that we don't know about."

Ron nodded. "That would make sense."

Harry frowned. "I don't know… I don't like it, either. I mean, this is my MUM! They didn't even tell me!"

"How would they have, mate?" asked Ron. "I wouldn't fancy having to have that conversation with you- 'Oh, by the way, Harry, after You-Know-Who snuffed your parents we decided to donate their brains to science to see if we could squeeze any other useful information out of them about the crazy murdering git'."

"My poor mum. She can't even rest in peace! Now they're just sitting there, probing her brain day after day. I don't like the thought of Voldemort being able to get his hands on any form of a counter-killing curse, or other complex spells that could have been formulating in any of the other brains" said Harry.

Now it was Hermione that shivered. "I agree. The best we can do is hope that by the time they find anything we have a Ministry that's not full of corrupt politicians."

Harry and Ron stared at her and Hermione groaned.

"We're doomed, aren't we?"

Harry and Ron nodded, and the golden trio snorted with laughter all the way back to the Gryffindor Common Room.