Hello! Here is chapter 3. I'm hoping to get this story moving along a bit now. Thank you so much for all the reviews, follows, and favorites. You all are awesome and I hope you enjoy!

Gawain Robards' office had not at all changed in the months it had been since Ron left the Auror Department, and standing in it now, having been waved in by the secretary, even under the dreadful circumstances, the déjà vu was not quite lost on him. The Head of the Auror Department studied Ron from behind his desk, hands folded before him.

"Mr. Robards," Ron greeted his former boss with a nod.

"Weasley," Robards responded in kind, "What can I do for you?"

"No disrespect, sir, but I think you know why I'm here."

Robards huffed a sigh. "We're doing all we can to find him, Weasley. Potter's one of my best. I've got almost the whole department working on finding him. Every man I can spare."

"Well, you've got one more now."

The older wizard stared at him. "What are you on about?"

Ron lifted his chin a bit. Robards was an imposing man in any setting and Ron had always found him intimidating. But not today. Not with Harry missing and himself with an ability to do something about it. "I want you to send me over there," he said bravely.

Robards' eyebrows rose. "I'm sorry, Weasley, have you forgotten that you resigned from the Auror Department and are no longer in a position to be sent anywhere?"

"No, sir, I have not," Ron said plainly, "But you know all the hours I put in to tracking down Death Eaters. I worked on the Belarus case right up until the day I left, and, frankly, the only reason this situation exists at all is because I resigned and an untrained Auror was sent in my place."

"I suggest you don't go jumping to conclusions like that," Robards said firmly, "And regardless, you left the department, Weasley. You can't just come waltzing in here and expect to be allowed access to any case that strikes your fancy simply because civilian life bores you."

"All due respect, sir," Ron answered, struggling to keep his temper in check. "You and I both know this is not just some case that has 'struck my fancy.'" Getting angry would get him nowhere and he'd known before he'd even arrived that his former boss would require convincing. He went on now, "You said yourself that Harry is your best. With all the training required, the number of experienced Aurors here is still well below what it was before the war. I only left three months ago. Had I stayed here, I wouldn't even have needed recertification yet. So I'm asking you to take advantage of my help."

"Weasley, I can't just—"

"You've already spared every man you're able to. I'm not asking you to pay me or even to send me there with any real authority at all. But Harry's my best friend and my brother, and I can't just sit around here waiting to hear what happens when I'm trained and capable of going over and doing something about it." He paused to take a breath. "Please, Mr. Robards. Please let me help. Let me go get him."

The head of the Auror Department studied Ron as he finished, his face betraying nothing. Ron held his gaze, waiting as Robards considered him. The older wizard gave absolutely nothing away, but, somehow, Ron thought he might be making some progress. "You know how messy cases can get when Aurors make them personal," Robards said now, "You're as close to this as they come, Weasley. I don't need anything else happening over there if you take things too far."

"I worked with Harry here for nearly four years, sir. And that doesn't include all the rubbish we dealt with before joining the Aurors. It's always been personal. If anything, it made us better, made what we were doing that much more important. We always got it done." Ron paused for a short moment, gauging his former boss before going on. "So, using my relationship with Harry as grounds for denying me the right to help find him… well, frankly, sir, it's bloody stupid."

Robard's eyebrows shot up at that and another silent moment passed between them as he studied him. Ron did not look away, even as the Auror's stare made his skin crawl a bit. After a few seconds—or maybe it had been an hour, Robards leaned back in his chair. "You've got some nerve, Weasley," he said, crossing his arms across his chest. Ron's heart sank the slightest bit, but he stayed where he was, waiting for the dismissal. He couldn't help but blink at Robards' next words. "Thirty minutes," he said gruffly. "I've got another team heading out on a Portkey in thirty minutes. You go with them then or not at all. Goodwin's in charge of operations over there, and I swear, Weasley, if you so much as blink an eye out of line, I'll have you arrested just because I can. You are not an Auror. You have no authority. Act like it."

Ron forced himself to nod. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." He turned to leave then, already running down the mental list of things he needed to do in the next twenty-five minutes. He'd expected to have enough time to pack and perhaps let Hermione know in person what he planned to do, but there'd be no time for that now. She wouldn't be out of her meeting for another hour at least.

Just as well, Ron supposed, she couldn't hex him through a letter.

Hours later, Ginny was still at the Burrow. It wasn't that she was avoiding going home to her too-empty house, though she had to admit, if only to herself, that the idea of stepping back through the front door with the possibility that Harry might never again walk through it with her gave her pause. She'd go back though, she told herself. She would, just not quite yet. Reality could wait a few more hours.

She currently stood beside the sink, peeling potatoes by hand—her contribution toward preparation of the stew her mother planned to make for dinner. A spell would have been far quicker, but Ginny, though she was slowly improving, was still not completely comfortable with many of the more domestic spells her mother so often employed without a second thought. Part of her wished her classes at Hogwarts had focused a bit more on mundane spellwork and less on the things she'd likely never use again. However, much of what she learned, excluding Defense Against the Dark Arts her fourth year and nearly everything her sixth year, had allowed her to survive a war so she supposed she couldn't criticize the curriculum too much. And she did appreciate the repetitiveness of the work now. It gave her something to do with herself at least.

She had never considered herself all that masterful a cook, even with all the years she'd spent doing exactly what she was now, helping her mother prepare meal after meal for their large family. Despite her efforts, Ginny's attempts at the same recipes always came out different somehow; her gravies always looked too lumpy and her tarts always just missed that perfect golden brown her mother's achieved. Harry was never anything less than complementary, but he did do most of the cooking himself when he was home. He claimed he was used to it after growing up with the task and didn't mind cooking for someone who actually appreciated it. Ginny never complained—he was a rather good cook, second only to her mother and maybe the house elves in the Hogwarts kitchens.

Her mother had conveniently stepped out minutes earlier, supposedly under the guise of putting fresh linens on the bed in Ginny's old room in case she decided to spend the night. Ginny hadn't suggested anything of the sort herself, though she couldn't deny the idea was tempting if only so she wouldn't have to sleep alone in a bed that was far too empty and big without its other occupant, but Molly had insisted nonetheless. Ginny wondered now if her mother hadn't just taken the opportunity to disappear for a few minutes to shed the tears for Harry she'd been so valiantly holding back all day—for her sake, undoubtedly. And while she did not object to the sudden silence and solitude of the kitchen now, she found it difficult to keep from dwelling on the horrible truth of the situation—had it really only been early this afternoon that Kingsley's face had appeared in her fireplace? It seemed an eternity had passed with no news. Even if there was nothing to report, she needed to see for herself that every possible effort was being made to find her husband, and a full day seemed more than generous on her part. She decided to go back to the Ministry at first light and demand answers; there was no chance of her sleeping tonight anyway.

The sound of nearby Apparition drew her attention to the window, where, across the paddock, a familiar witch now wasted no time in crossing to the Burrow's back door. Ginny stayed where she was, stripping the second to last potato of its skins, and wondered if Hermione was looking for her specifically. She'd find out soon enough.

The door opened a moment later to reveal her soon-to-be sister-in-law, looking as strained as she had seen her in a long while, and also surprisingly angry. She came up slightly short at the sight of Ginny by the worktop—maybe she hadn't been looking for her then. Hermione half-breathed her name and began moving toward her.

"Please don't," Ginny begged before she could get within touching range. Hermione hesitated, watching her. "I've done more than enough crying today as it is," she explained evenly. It wasn't a lie and regardless of the composure she had managed over the past hour, she knew she'd likely just as easily break down again if Hermione embraced her.

Her sister-in-law took a shaky breath now. "Sorry, of course you have. How, er… how are you?" Ginny half-shrugged a shoulder. Hermione watched her. "Is anyone else here?"

"Mum's around somewhere." She gestured vaguely toward the stairs. "I think she needed a few minutes alone."

Hermione's expression turned pained. The older witch continued watching her. "They'll find him," she said gently.

Ginny focused on peeling the last of the potatoes and did not look up as she replied, "I'm really more worried about the state he'll be in when they do."

Hermione drew in a quick, shuddering breath and she felt a bit bad, even if it was the truth. She hated it even more than Hermione did. "You can't think like that, Ginny," the older witch said now, "It will only make things worse for you."

"He's been taken by Death Eaters, Hermione. He's Harry Potter. He killed Voldemort himself. Even without the dozens of others he's personally taken out or sent to Azkaban, do you honestly believe they aren't going to punish him severely for that?"

"Listen to yourself," Hermione said in little more than a whisper, "Ginny, you know how good he is. If anyone can hold his own out there, it's Harry. You have to believe that." She reached out a tentative hand and laid it on Ginny's arm. "It's only been one day. You can't lose hope. Not yet."

"I'm not," she responded with a sigh, "I just hate not knowing what's happening. I wish I could go over there and get him myself." She bit down on her bottom lip, which had again started trembling against her will.

Hermione's reply was slightly clipped. "I understand, believe me." After the slightest pause, she added, "However, Ron's already one-upped us all there."

Ginny looked at her now. "What do you mean?"

The anger she'd noticed earlier returned now as Hermione reached into the pocket of her robes and pulled out a folded sheet of parchment. "My meeting ran long this afternoon," she said, "A Ministry owl was waiting for me when I got home." She held out the parchment—a letter—for her to take. Curiosity gnawing at her, Ginny wiped her hands on her jeans and took it from her to read. A familiar, messy scrawl stared back at her:

Hermione—

I'm sorry to tell you this over a letter but I don't have time to find you in person. I've convinced Robards to let me help and I'm leaving on a Portkey to Belarus in a few minutes. I know I left the Aurors and you're happy that I did—I know you hate me leaving you at home to worry, but this is Harry we're talking about. I can't just stay behind and wait. I have to do something. I know you don't think I should, but I feel responsible, okay? I should have been over there with him—if I had, he wouldn't be in this situation. So, I need to do this. Please don't be mad.

Apologize to George for me—he knows about Harry, but nothing else, and tell Mum not to worry. You can show this to Ginny if you want, let her know I'm going to find him. Tell her I'll bring him home.

I love you, Hermione. And I'm sorry. You know how important this is. I'll make it back, I promise. Here's hoping you let me live long enough when we do to marry you.

All my love,

Ron

Ginny read through the letter once. Twice. And then she simply stared down at the parchment, not quite believing the words her bother had written there. I have to do something… this is Harry we're talking about… Tell her I'll bring him home…

"He's… he's gone to Belarus?" she asked at last, even with the proof right in front of her.

Hermione exhaled in reply. "If he does manage to not get himself killed, I might just finish the job when he gets home."

"You didn't know?" She shook her head. Ginny glanced between Hermione and the parchment she still held. When her eyes fell on the older witch once more, she allowed herself to study her, taking in the hard set of her mouth, the worry in her brown eyes. "Are you okay?" she asked quietly.

Hermione sighed. "I suppose. I mean, I want to flay him for not telling me what he was planning, but, well…" She blinked hard before continuing, her voice slightly thick. "If anyone stands a chance of finding Harry, it's Ron. I know he won't rest until he does, and if I can't go myself…" she trailed off, but she didn't need to speak for Ginny to hear the rest of her thought.

If I can't go myself, I'm glad he is.

Ginny nodded and breathed a slow sigh of her own. Hermione watched her. "You think he's still alive?" she found herself asking before she'd really thought about it.

Hermione's reply was almost immediate. "Yes. Until I have a reason to believe otherwise." Ginny took a deep breath and then nodded again. That sounded as good a strategy as any, and she couldn't deny her husband's skill with a wand. If anyone would survive being captured like that, it was Harry.

She met her soon-to-be sister-in-law's eyes again and before she really knew what was happening, Hermione had closed the remaining distance between them and her arms were around her. Ginny hugged her back now, her chest tightening. But she thought it wasn't as bad as it could have been. For the first time that day, the tears did not immediately come and Ginny found, even if only a little, that she had more hope than before.

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