Hey guys. Here is chapter 2.

So my plan for this story is to tell it mostly from Ginny's POV, however I will have a few other POVs included here and there too. This chapter has more of that than most others likely will, but we'll see what happens.

Thank you so much for all the support you all are already giving this fic. I am so excited to continue writing and I'm thrilled you all like the ideas for it already. Enjoy!

Hermione Granger drew in a deep breath, steeling herself before entering Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. There was a reason she'd opted to Apparate to Diagon Alley rather than Floo directly to the shop. She'd needed the short walk from the Apparition point to calm herself—and hoped the cool spring air on her face would help some in reducing the redness of her face, though surely there was nothing to be done about the swelling that was surely obvious around her eyes. Not that it would matter. Ron would know she'd recently been crying, and with the news she carried, it likely wouldn't be long before she'd begin doing so again. Frankly, under the circumstances, Hermione couldn't quite find it within herself to care.

The shop door opened before her now to emit a small cluster of teenaged wizards, each bearing numerous purchases from within and laughing jovially. The sound was like a slap across the face, such a stark contrast to the pain and worry that held her heart in a vice grip. Surely no one could be so joyful today. Hermione did not allow herself to dwell on it long as the last of the wizards exited the store and, before she could hesitate further, she reached for the open door and moved to step inside.

WWW was as bright and colorful inside as always. The sheer cheer emitted by the place nearly had tears welling up once more. Hermione fought them back and moved through the shop. George stood behind the counter, assisting a dark-haired mother and daughter with checkout. He offered her a smile and a wave and pointed to the back, but was thankfully too occupied to pay her very close attention. She was grateful.

The store, thank Merlin, was not overly crowded. Verity was busy restocking shelves near the back wall and did not notice Hermione as she slipped past and into the storage room beyond.

It had been a few months now since Ron had left working with the Auror Department and joined George as co-manager of the shop. He'd been happier with his work these past few months than she remembered him being since he'd first become an Auror. Leaving had been a difficult decision but Hermione was glad he'd made it; both for his happiness and the peace of mind it allowed her. Other than the occasional unsuccessful backfiring new addition to the product line, there was little danger associated with running the joke shop. She slept better at night knowing he was safe, that she'd never have to be in Ginny's shoes—

She stopped that thought before it could finish. She felt beyond awful for her soon-to-be sister-in-law and had cried nearly as many tears for her as she had for herself upon hearing the news, but she could not think about her right now. She needed to get through telling Ron first. That would be hard enough. She'd worry about Ginny—who was probably only now finding out herself—later. One thing at a time.

Hermione found Ron atop a ladder, rummaging through the boxes lining a high shelf along the room's rightmost wall. "Comb-a-Chameleons," he listed aloud, assessing the various items. "Sticky Trainers. Nose-Biting Teacups." A Quick Quotes Quill took diligent notes on a piece of parchment floating midair beside him. "Oh, and we need to make more Canary Creams!" he added, glancing toward the parchment to read over the information there. The movement placed her in his line of sight now and he smiled. "Hey, you're early!" He grabbed the inventory list from the air and moved to climb down to her, "I thought we were meeting at one." He reached the bottom and turned to her, "How was—" His grin morphed instantly into concern upon truly seeing her. "What's wrong?" he asked, stepping closer now, his arms outstretched in a promise of comfort. It had taken him but one good look at her to know something was very, very wrong. She doubted he'd be much better off once he heard what she had to say.

At once, she was fighting tears again. "'Mione," Ron said, "What's happened? Tell me."

Hermione attempted a steadying breath, biting down on her trembling bottom lip, and looked into the blue eyes of the man she loved, whose ring she proudly wore on her left hand, the man whose heart she'd shatter with her next words. She suddenly couldn't speak. "Hermione," Ron begged, reaching for her hand, "What is it? Please tell—"

"It's Harry," she managed in barely more than a whisper. He stiffened instantly. She forced herself to go on. "Something went wrong with the mission. He's—he's been captured by Death Eaters. The Aurors don't know where they've taken him. Kingsley's sent teams, but—" She was unable to go on with the sob building in her throat. Tears ran freely down her face now and she did not try to stop them.

Ron had gone pale and looked quite ill. It was a good few seconds before he appeared even to breathe. "What happened?" he managed eventually in a horrified whisper.

Hermione forced herself to answer, swallowing around the boulder currently resting atop her vocal chords. "There was a young Auror sent with the team. He was inexperienced and panicked during the fight. Harry…" She took a shuddering breath. "Harry was Stunned trying to protect him. The—the Death Eaters rallied and fled before the other Aurors could reach them, and they t-took Harry with them."

Ron had grown dangerously calm as she'd spoken. "How many teams were sent out?" he asked now, "And what are the search parameters? Does Robards know—"

"I don't know, Ron," Hermione said quietly, "Kingsley, I'm sure, could tell you. Or Robards. But I…" She only shook her head and didn't bother finishing. "I think they're still trying to figure it out themselves." Ron released a heavy breath and nodded. She eyed him, squeezing the hand still held in his. "Are you alright?"

His eyes snapped to hers. "Of course not," he said evenly. "Not even close." He studied the place just above her left shoulder. "My best friend went off to fight Death Eaters and got himself captured because he's a bloody idiot, and where was I?" His voice broke on the last word and he looked down, studying their clasped hands, "Where was I, Hermione?" he added quietly.

Hermione hadn't thought her heart could break any more than it already had done, but Ron's words, the brokenness and pain within them, the love—that did it. "This isn't your fault, Ron," she said, stepping closer now and drawing his eyes to hers, "You can't blame yourself."

He was already shaking his head. "Harry got taken because of an inexperienced Auror, an Auror who never would have been there with him if I hadn't left. If I was still his partner—if I—if I was…" he couldn't go on and Hermione closed the distance between them, pulling him to her. Ron buried his face in her shoulder and he shook in her arms with the force of his restrained emotion. "I should have been there," he said weakly into the fabric of the Ministry robes she wore. The fabric grew warm under his breath as he spoke into it, allowing her to hold him. "I should have gone too." His voice broke on the last word.

Ginny wasn't sure exactly how long after returning home from the Ministry she got up from Harry's side of the bed and suddenly needed out, out of their room and out of the house—and preferably out of the whole situation.

It was a wonder she hadn't splinched herself Apparating to the Burrow. She wasn't sure what drew her here exactly, except the comfort her mother's presence promised and the fact that she suddenly did not want to be alone.

The sound of her Apparation drew Molly to the back door, a puzzled expression on her face. She held her wand loosely at her side, but did not look particularly concerned. The wards around the house were well placed, but they'd all learned to err on the side of caution. Even with the war over, the habits had largely remained just that.

Her mother's puzzlement quickly vanished upon seeing her daughter crossing the paddock toward her, but she did not smile as she normally would and it wasn't very hard to guess why. Ginny was not sure what she looked like, but she was fairly certain it was not pretty. Her hair alone was likely a right mess; unbound as it still was from the shower she'd taken—an hour ago? Two? Her mother was able to sniff out negative emotions in her children better than any Kneazle, and even with the distance still between them, Ginny was not at all surprised to see the hint of worry beginning to cross Molly's face.

Normally, she went to great lengths to avoid her mother's characteristic fussing, but right now she found she was oddly grateful for it. She wasn't sure she had any more tears left to cry at the moment, but she was not ready to be strong for everyone else and her mother was one person around whom that wouldn't matter—considering her first choice was currently unaccounted for.

Ginny didn't allow that thought to get very far.

"Ginny?" her mother asked as she drew nearer, "What's wrong?"

Ginny only shook her head, slowing to a stop before the door. "I just… Can I come in?"

Molly blinked. "Of course, dear. You know you don't have to ask." She stepped aside for her to lead the way, "Come on, I'll make us some tea." Ginny allowed her to guide her into the kitchen without a word and took a seat in her customary chair at the table while Molly went to magically warm the kettle. Ginny watched her silently.

"Here we are," she said a moment later, setting a steaming cuppa before her.

"Thanks, Mum," she said, wrapping her hands around the warm cup.

"I made chocolate biscuits for Teddy this morning. Want some?"

Teddy. Ginny hadn't even thought about him. Harry was probably the little boy's favorite person on earth. What was she supposed to tell him? He was far too young to understand and he'd already lost so much. He couldn't lose his godfather too.

Ginny thought she'd depleted her supply of tears for the time being, but she was suddenly choking up again. She managed a quick shake of her head in answer, biting down on her trembling lip. Her mother just studied her with her mouth set in a worried line. Silently, she pulled out the chair beside Ginny and sat down. "What's the matter, dear?" When Ginny did not look up from a scratch in the tabletop, Molly laid a hand atop her wrist. "Please talk to me."

Ginny met her mother's eyes but couldn't form the words. She hadn't given much thought to the fact that she would have to tell her about Harry, and that once she did, her mother would be heartbroken. She had not considered that she'd have to be the bearer of such news. She wasn't sure she could do it, had no idea where to start, but her mother was not one to let something like this go without answer. Ginny took a deep breath. "I…"

She was saved the task of continuing by the sound of the Floo in the living room, followed by her father's voice as it called, "Molly?" She knew by the tone of his voice that he already knew.

Her mother straightened in her chair, her eyes still on Ginny, and called, "In here, Arthur." Ginny's father appeared in the doorway a moment later, his sad eyes instantly falling on her.

"Ah," he said quietly, looking to Molly now, "She's told you then?"

"Ginny has told me absolutely nothing at all," she informed him with a frantic edge to her voice now, "And for goodness sake, someone had better start talking."

Ginny met her father's eyes, both an invitation and a plea. He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and then looked at Molly, pain and trepidation flashing once more in his blue eyes. But he told her what had happened in Belarus, that Harry was missing and no one had a clue as to where he'd been taken; no one knew if he was still alive.

Molly went pale, a hand covering her mouth, which had fallen open as she listened. Ginny only studied the table again, struggling once more to hold back the tears filling her eyes. Arthur tightened his grip on her shoulder, squeezing consolingly.

"Oh, poor Harry," Molly breathed, tears pooling in her own eyes. She looked from her husband to Ginny then, understanding clear beneath the tears. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart," she said, already moving toward where she sat. Ginny found she welcomed her mother's arms wrapping around her and pulling her into her chest. It was, after all, why she'd come. Some part of her, larger than both the part that wanted to lock herself away from the world and wallow alone, and the larger part that wanted to head straight to Belarus herself and tear the country apart until she found her husband, unrealistic and illegal as she knew that might be; larger than both of those was the desire for this, the comfort from her mother. She was a twenty-one year old married woman, yes, but she was also scared and helpless, and for some reason, if only temporarily, her mother's embrace made the overwhelming weight a little more bearable.

Her father's hand had remained on her shoulder as Molly hugged her. It slid to her back now and rubbed up and down in another silent offer of comfort. Ginny didn't think she'd ever been so grateful for her parents. She didn't deserve them.

She was far from okay, but for the moment, the prospect of facing the rest of this terrible day seemed a slightly—very slightly— less daunting task.

Hermione had an afternoon meeting that could not be rescheduled and left Ron shortly after two to prepare for it. Their lunch plans had all but disintegrated under the weight of the news about Harry and they'd spent a quiet hour in the apartment above the store, forcing down fish finger sandwiches from the Leaky Cauldron and trying valiantly to pretend the world was not falling out from beneath them with the loss of their best friend.

Needless to say, Ron had enjoyed far nicer lunch dates.

He watched his fiancée disappear now in the cloud of green flame and remained staring at the spot for another few seconds before he looked away. The prospect of going back downstairs and finishing his shift seemed an impossible task. He spent another minute or two staring at the door that opened to the stairs, fighting with himself. He had responsibilities as co-manager of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, but he had a far greater responsibility as Harry's best friend and he was having a hard time fighting off the feeling that he could be doing more.

It was a thought that had first struck him moments after Hermione had told him what happened, and the idea had regularly crossed his mind every few minutes since. He found little reason to fight the plan forming in his mind. With each step down to the store below, Ron grew more convinced and when he reached the bottom, he crossed to George, the latter busy straightening products on a nearby shelf. Thankfully, the shop was momentarily empty.

His older brother grinned at his approach. "How was lunch?"

"It could have been better," Ron answered him, not bothering to feign positive emotion.

George did not seem particularly concerned. "Trouble in paradise?"

"No." He hesitated. "I—er, I'm going to need to take the rest of today off."

George grew serious now. "Is everything okay?"

Ron took a deep breath. "No."

His brother's brown eyes held his own. "Tell me what's wrong and you can have as long as you want," he said.

Ron wasn't happy about it—he didn't want to be the one to break this news, not to anyone, but he did. He told George about Harry, and he let him think that was the sole reason for his request for time off. As it was, his brother looked like he'd been hit in the face with a rather large brick. Ron was not ignorant of the fact that George loved Harry too, that his whole family did. Harry had become such an integral part of all their lives over the years. But he did not tell him more.

"Merlin," George breathed now, "I'm sorry, Ron. And Ginny—" he broke off with a shake of his head, like he couldn't quite handle thinking about what their sister was surely going through. "Go," he said then, lifting a hand to Ron's shoulder, "Take the rest of the day. Verity and I can handle it."

Ron nodded. He couldn't speak suddenly, but he hoped George could read the thanks in his expression. He turned away then, shedding his magenta robes and hanging them on the hook in the back. He felt his brother's eyes on his back as he made for the door, but he did not look at him again. He wasn't sure what expression he wore on his face.

Ron stepped out into the cool spring afternoon and turned for the Apparition point, already picturing his destination in his mind. Harry had been captured and no one knew where he was. Ron felt infinitely responsible despite Hermione's repeated reassurances. He should have been there; he should have stopped it. He blamed himself. Harry had to be alive; he had to make it home.

Ron knew what he had to do.

Thank you for reading!