They had a simple solution, which was to take a few magically altered anywhere-but-France paparazzi-style snaps of Harry, Ron, and Hermione, and feed them to the papers over the next few weeks… but only if something happened. Everyone agreed, more or less, after careful consideration, that the risk was fairly low.

As far as the magical community were concerned, Hermione, Harry, and the Weasleys were all still hiding out at the Burrow, which had been decked out with a range of very showy protections before they'd left. Any sightings of Harry and Hermione in muggle Paris were likely to be assumed to be rumours, and if anything triggered the complicated enchantments set up all over the apartment block where Ethel Grimble's family was staying, well, then, they'd be ready. After the initial panic, it seemed prudent to sit tight and wait to see if their cover had been blown, rather than blow it themselves by panicking prematurely.

Harry found he was noticing Percy more, after Charlie's little rant. Percy wasn't the same. He barely said anything. He was crushed. Harry noticed he kept propping his glasses up on his head… like maybe it was easier than being able to see everything clearly.

When everything had been decided, and everyone was going their separate ways, to bung on disguises and go sightseeing, or out to see if they could pick up any rumours, or back to bed for a lie in, Harry managed to catch Mrs Weasley after Ron went to look for Hermione, and before she'd packed up her knitting.

"I- wanted to say thank you," he said awkwardly, "For everything."

Mrs Weasley swamped him in a hug.

"Of course, dear, glad you're feeling better,"

"A-about that," said Harry, suddenly wondering if he was about to make everything worse, "Is Percy ok?"

Mrs Weasley smiled sadly.

"Not really, dear, no."

Harry felt her warm eyes on his face, and felt a slight prickle at the feeling that she was seeing things he didn't want her to see.

"He thinks it's all his fault, you see," she said gently, "That Fred-" she pressed her lips together tightly to stop the wobble in her voice. "He thinks- it should've been-"

"Oh," said Harry, trying to save her the trouble of spelling it out. "Everyone's blaming themselves for everything." He paused. "I'd kind of like to blame Voldemort and the Death Eaters for once,"

Mrs Weasley chuckled, and blinked back a threatening tear.

"Quite right, dear. I've half a mind to join the Aurors myself and hunt the rest of them personally."

Harry grinned.

"That would be brilliant,"

She regarded him thoughtfully.

"Percy speaks quite good French. I'm going to take him to the markets. Would you be a dear and come along? I don't know how muggles do it, lugging baskets and baskets of groceries," she shook her head.

"I think they have cars," said Harry amused by her transparent tactics, "If Hermione is ok, then yeah, I'll come."

HERMIONE'S APARTMENT

Ron sat on the edge of the bed.

She seemed quite calm now, looking at him over the edge of the exercise book on her knees, waiting for him to say something.

Was she who he thought she was?

What could he do or say or… how was he supposed to feel?

He stared at her, trying to collect his thoughts.

If she wasn't real, then she was probably someone hostile in disguise, or someone innocent, trapped accidentally. If she was hostile, then he should probably proceed with caution, but try not to reveal his suspicions. If she was someone innocent, she might not know she wasn't Hermione… and in fact, the memories she had were consistent with Hermione, so unless some of Hermione's memories had been implanted in some poor obliviated soul… No. He dismissed this as nonsense, but made a mental note of it as a possibility all the same.

So hostile or innocent, there was nothing to be gained from sharing his suspicions.

And if she was Hermione, really, truly, Hermione, and she loved him whether as a friend or in the way he hoped she did… well, then… He thought about how he would feel if Hermione, the real Hermione, accused him of being an imposter.

Treat her like she's real. It's what you want to believe anyway. Just. Be careful.

He gave her an awkward lopsided smile. Don't kiss her. Don't kiss her until you know for sure…

He ran a hand through his hair and shook it out.

"Ok," he said, hitching up his endless legs and crossing them to sit facing her, "Hit me,"

She blinked at him.

"Go on, I know you've got a new list of questions."

She bit her lip.

"What if I've somehow been programmed to sabotage everything? I really didn't think- I just- I mean, I even apparated down into the street, anyone could have seen. What if I'm not the one making decisions here, everyone says I'm so different now, what if I'm not me at all?"

He gave a crack of laughter, slapped his knee, and then froze. Legilimency? I didn't feel anything, but…

"Lemme see that,"

He whisked the exercise book out of her hands and skimmed it.

What if I only think I'm Hermione Granger; what if I'm some kind of magical sleeper agent? What if I've been planted to drag them out of hiding and get them all killed? I should just walk into traffic and make sure I can't be used like that. But what if I am Hermione, and I've been programmed to remove myself from the group?

He grinned. This was as close to proof that she was Hermione as anything right now.

"I'm about ninety-seven percent certain that you are Hermione Granger," he said, handing the book back, "And the other three percent is paranoia because you like me and I find that hard to believe,"

She frowned at him.

"Don't do that. I hate that you do that."

"What?"

"Talk yourself down. It's really annoying. I don't understand why you're holding on to this outdated notion that you're inadequate."

He gaped at her.

"Uh…"

"Sorry." She said abruptly, "I want you to be able to tell me things. I… I just wish that you didn't feel that way about yourself."

Hundreds of self-immolating thoughts flooded his brain. Probably don't say any of that. Say something else. How do you know people are who they say they are?

"Pity we're not at Hogwarts with the Marauder's Map, that'd let us know if you weren't yourself,"

She frowned again.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it's got a Homonculous charm on it, doesn't it; you look at the map, and it shows you the true name of everyone, and where they are. Really nifty bit of magic, that."

She wrote something down in the exercise book.

"Hermione?"

"I've never heard of it. But if it's a charm, why can't we just do that?"

Ron pulled a face.

"We'd have to steal three massive books from the restricted section at Hogwarts to even start working on it? It's a crazy complicated piece of magic. Not saying you couldn't pull it off, just, it'd take months to even do the prep work, and then you have to have a place with strong enough boundaries to hold the charm in the first place. I read up on it at the end of sixth year; it seemed like a really simple solution to keeping us all safe, but was way too hard and way to time consuming and way too limited for what we were going to be doing."

Hermione made some more notes.

"And we can't go to Hogwarts until it reopens,"

"Right. So we'll just work on the assumption that you might be a threat to yourself and everyone else until then."

"Great," said Hermione dryly, "That sounds like a lot of fun,"

"It sounds like you'll be needing constant supervision," Ron waggled his eyebrows at her.

He loved that she couldn't keep a straight face and sought refuge in throwing muggle highlighters at him.

He knew that expression.

Now he was thinking about it properly, he'd seen it a lot over the years…