12.

THE YEAR OF THE WOMEN

August 2nd, 2012.

"'Your examination of Mr Darcy is over, I presume', said Miss Bingley, 'and pray what is the result?'

"'I am perfectly convinced by it that Mr Darcy has no defect. He owns it himself without disguise.'

"'No'-said Darcy, 'I have made no such pretension.' ... 'There is, I believe, in every disposition a tendency to some particular evil, a natural defect, which not even the best of education can overcome.'

"'And your defect is a propensity to hate everybody.'

"'And yours', he replied with a smile, 'is wilfully to misunderstand them.'

"'Do let us have a little music,' cried Miss Bingley, tired of a conversation in which she had no share."

Hermione looked sideways at her two children, both of whom, she was pleased to see, were fast asleep. As quietly and carefully as she could, she closed the book, set it on her bedside table, and climbed out of bed. She then pulled the covers up to Rose and Hugo's chins, smiling down at their sweetness in sleep, and left the room. She knew that she shouldn't have let them sleep in her bed every night but their pleas were too hard to resist and she couldn't deny that she missed the company of their warm little bodies beside her anytime they weren't around. Especially when they went to Ron's apartment in London every weekend.

She walked down the stairs that led from her bedroom to the second floor and made her way towards the study. She was tired, reading to Rose and Hugo always made her sleepy, the warmth of the bed, the smell of the fire, the heaviness in her stomach from their dinner equalled a dulling of her senses, but it was too early in the evening for her to even begin to think about sleep. There was still too much to do.

She was in the process of attempting to buy Flourish and Blotts from Graham, who was not getting any younger and wished for an early retirement. But Gringotts was making trouble for them both financially, wanting a criminal amount of paperwork done before they would release the sum of money Hermione required from her vault.

But no matter how difficult it was proving to be, Hermione would not let her dream to own and run the bookshop die. She'd found more happiness working there over the past nine months than she ever had as a lawyer. There was no moral ambiguity in selling books after all.

For over a year she had lived comfortably on the money she'd made in her previous employment, and though her savings were not exactly small even after that time, she was beginning to feel that nagging stress on her finances. At some point, she'd acknowledged, she would have to find a new way to support herself and her children. But there was no way she'd go back into law. It just wasn't an option.

There was less chaos in her life now, since she'd given up her job, she felt less fearful that someone was going to come along and make everything crash down around her because she wasn't bothering anyone anymore, wasn't causing trouble.

And it felt nice now that she was behaving like more of a mother too. Every morning she'd wake up, get Rose and Hugo dressed and fed before she'd take Rose to school, a special program run by witches and wizards in order to provide children with some education before they were sent off to Hogwarts, and Hugo either to the Burrow or to her mum and dad's house in Leeds. Then, she'd head off to Diagon Alley and spend the day surrounded by literature and the smell of parchment before closing the shop at five thirty, collecting her children, and going back home. They'd then cook and eat dinner together as they talked about their days, before heading upstairs to snuggle into Hermione's bed to read Pride and Prejudice.

And then, Hermione would drag herself down to her study, just as she had done that night, and try to keep a handle on all those things that seemed most tedious.

That night, just as she did every night, she really didn't feel like she had the energy to devote to all the paperwork strewn across her desk.

Aside from all of the forms sent to her by Gringotts, she also had to answer a letter from Narcissa, inquire about the cost of getting the fireplace in her bedroom connected to the floo network because she was sick of careening down the stairs every time she got a call, respond to a request from one of her old clients to be a witness at his appeals trial with a very firm no, read over Rose's bi-annual school report, and, finally, look through the information pack she'd asked Isobel to get for her that would tell her all she needed to know about getting a divorce in the wizarding world.

She didn't know that she felt the need to divorce Ron exactly, even after so long, even after everything that had happened, everything he'd done, their marriage still felt so up in the air, like nothing was one hundred percent decided on.

It was strange that she could be so angry at him, could despise him so much for his actions and yet still sort of half want him around.

He'd moved out of their house almost as soon as Hermione had confronted him about Susan, and relinquished his role as primary carer to their children as well. He seemed perfectly ready to pay the price for his indiscretion. That didn't stop the two months after Hermione had found out being like living in hell though. There had been a lot of screaming, a lot of tears and a lot of chaotic upheaval. And not just between the two of them but with the tovarasi too. It had seemed, for a while, that the whole group was going to disintegrate entirely because those that weren't angry with Hermione were furious at Ron and those that weren't furious with Ron were appalled with Susan and those that weren't appalled with Susan were angry at Hermione. No one seemed to be able to agree and everyone was involved more than they probably should have been.

But that had calmed eventually. Hermione had come to a place wherein she realised that she had to forgive Ron for what he did, because the problems in their marriage were about so much more than the fact that he'd slept with someone else. That was just a symptom of the disease that made their problems what they were. And she'd even forgiven Susan in time, as well, much to the other girl's relief. Because no matter what, the tovarasi was her family, and Susan was part of her family. Family was so much more important than anything she could have done to Hermione.

Besides, what was the ultimate revenge if not being the better person?

Both Susan and Ron had been riddled with guilt by their actions, as far as Hermione could see, which placated her somewhat, that they could both acknowledge that what they'd done together was wrong, very wrong, and that it couldn't continue. And when she'd actually gone ahead and offered her forgiveness, the surprise and guilt that had appeared on their faces had made it worthwhile.

A part of Hermione could see, now, that it was to Ron's credit that he'd told her in the end. It would have been so much worse, would have felt so much worse, if she'd had to find out.

But what had resulted from all that drama, where she'd come to rest eventually, as all their lives had settled down back into some form of normality, was still a little uncomfortable.

For one, even though the tovarasi still appeared to acknowledge itself as a group, it had seemed to have split up into two separate sects that only occasionally interacted as a whole.

On one side was Ginny, Harry, Ron, Juliet, George, Susan, Padma and Eli, while on the other was Hermione, Astoria, Draco, Isobel, Bo, Ebony, Blaise, Luna and Dean. It hadn't been a conscious choice, nor was it about rivalries and resentments anymore, that was just the way the cards fell. She spent far more time with people on her side of the group, and barely any with those on the other side and she didn't entirely know why that was happening.

It had been an odd sort of journey for all of them. At first, there had been the reconciliations and the apologies, the collective ownership from everyone that they'd all behaved like asses, and for a few weeks, everyone really did try to spend time together and get along. But gradually Hermione stopped accepting Ginny's invitations to tovarasi dinners or Eli's suggestions that everyone get together to play Quidditch, that's when the two groups had formed, because only certain people would come to Hermione's house for drinks and those people that didn't tended to do the same for Ginny or Harry or Ron. It just sort of began like that, and stayed like that even though no one was angry anymore and everyone got along fine when they did, on the odd occasion, all see each other at once.

That was part of the reason that she was finding it hard to think about going ahead with an actual divorce with Ron. She didn't want to upset that precarious balance they'd all found.

But there was something else, something she was barely capable of acknowledging.

Draco.

He made everything complicated.

After their conversation the previous year, Hermione had felt surprisingly light hearted about it all, she'd felt ok with what they'd discussed and what they'd decided on. They weren't awkward or tense with each other, they hadn't brought up the subject again, nor had they told anyone else. She didn't feel any real need to run off with him, or urge him to divorce his wife at all. But the idea of divorcing Ron somehow tied into all that in a way that she couldn't properly identify. It was almost like choosing between the two of them. If she divorced Ron, she'd be choosing Draco, choosing to wait for him, that's what it felt like. And she didn't like that idea at all because, for one, she wasn't sure that she did want Draco over Ron anyway. After all, the later had been her husband for over a decade. She couldn't walk away from all that without thought or feeling, no matter what he'd done. And two, she didn't want to be looking at Draco in a grass-is-greener-on-the-other-side sort of way. She didn't want Draco to be her safe bet, her distraction. He'd already been that for her once, and it had been fucked for both of them.

She wanted to deal with it all properly. She wanted to be mature about it.

Hermione sighed into her hands as she thought about all of the underhanded drama that surrounded her marriage and decided, as she always did inevitably, to push it to the back of her mind. It was a problem for another day.

She dragged Narcissa's letter towards her as well as a clean sheet or parchment, quill, and bottle of ink, and began scribbling a reply.

The hours slunk by as she bent over that desk, the only sound to keep her company being the ticking of the clock on the wall that blended through the silence seamlessly.

By midnight, as Hermione sat back in her chair, massaging the back of her neck, she was finally finished. She'd replied to Narcissa, inquired about the fireplace and gone through a fairly large chunk of the Gringotts paper work. She hadn't touched the divorce papers.

With a slight groan, she got to her feet and moved over to the window of her study, pushing it open to let in the warm night air. She breathed deeply and reached for the little jewellery box she kept on the bookshelf beside the window. From it she pulled a cigarette and a lighter, sat down on the window seat with her back and her head resting against the frame and lit up as she stared out at the moon light soaked moor that surrounded her home.

As she sat there, her mind wandering aimlessly, and smoked her cigarette, her thoughts were suddenly, painfully interrupted by the unmistakeable sound that was a crack of apparition coming from the other side of the house. The noise made her start so badly that she dropped her lit cigarette into her lap where it burned her leg. She leapt to her feet and seized it off the window seat before it singed a hole in the fabric, hurled it out the window and turned towards the door of her study.

She couldn't imagine who would be apparating onto her property in the middle of the night. Hers was the only house for miles so there was no mistaking that it was someone heading in their direction.

Hermione launched herself out of the room and pounded up the stairs towards her bedroom where she seized her wand off the nightstand and careened out of the room again, ignoring Rose who had begun to stir sleepily at the sudden noise.

Just as she skidded to a halt at the far end of the long hallway on the ground floor of her home, someone pounded on the door loudly, the sound echoing ominously through the silence of the house. It wasn't a polite knocking, it was urgent banging, intended to rouse the house, intended to announce an emergency.

Hermione raised her wand as she strode down the hallway, her heart thudding against her diaphragm, before flinging open the front door.

Ron seemed rather surprised to be greeted by her wand tip in his face.

"Ron?" she said, shocked, dropping her arm.

There was a hard, frightened look on his face that she didn't like in the least as he pushed past her into the house.

"I haven't got much time," he told her.

"Much time for what? What's going on?"

He ran a hand through his hair, staring around himself blindly.

"We've got to go away."

"Who?"

"We. The Aurors. We're being sent on a mission. I've only got about fifteen minutes before I have to leave."

"Ok," said Hermione evenly, feeling thoroughly confused. "Where?"

"I can't say."

"Who are you trying to bring in?"

Ron grimaced. "I can't say. But… but we're not trying to bring anyone in. We're being sent to… to kill."

Hermione blanched as understanding hit her. "You're being sent into a battle."

"We think so, yeah. And… Hermione, I don't want to put this on you but," suddenly his face crumpled, "I'm not sure if I'll come back from this one."

She felt her heart thudding against her diaphragm, pounding in pain. Ron had never said that before, no matter how dangerous the mission was, no matter how scared she'd been for him, he'd never told her that he thought he might die.

She flew forward and hugged him tightly, because she didn't know what else to do for herself or for him. She didn't care about what had happened in the past in that moment, didn't care that their marriage was crumbling around them, didn't care that she was more often angry with him than not, she just needed to feel his still beating heart against her chest. She needed to feel that he was still there. She didn't want him to die and the only way she could think to communicate that too him was by hugging him. But Ron did not allow the hug to last long before he pried her arms away from around his neck.

"Listen to me," he said with serious intensity, "I need to say this to you. If I make it out of this, I want us to talk, alright? About us. I know I fucked it, I know a part of you hates me and I know that you'll probably never trust me again. But fuck it, Hermione, I'd rather live like that, live with you hating me and torturing me for what I did every fucking day of my life than live without you. I'd do that happily. I love you. I love you, do you understand? You're more precious to me than you could ever possibly know and I never showed you that before, I never treated you the way you deserved to be treated. I love you because you're the only person on this whole fucking planet strong enough to make me every bit the man that I want to be," he said fiercely, staring hard into her eyes.

"Please," he finished, "Please just tell me you'll talk to me if I come back. Please."

Hermione felt herself nodding. "Yes. We'll talk. I promise."

Ron nodded and closed his eyes in relief before he pulled her towards him again and kissed her. Hermione allowed it.

When he released her again, the hard look in his eye was gone to be replaced by open fear.

"I need to say goodbye to… to Rose and Hugo," he told her in a broken voice.

There was no way in hell that Hermione was going to stop him. Together they ran up the stairs and into the bedroom.

Hermione approached the bed and shook her children awake.

"Rose? Sweetie? Daddy's here. Come on, Hugo. He wants to talk to you," she said softly.

Hugo rubbed at his eyes and said sleepily, "Daddy?"

"I'm right here, little man," said Ron, sitting down on the bed at their feet, the tears now cascading down his face.

Hermione moved back against the head board to give them space, her hands shaking uncontrollably.

"Daddy?" said Rose, looking at Ron, "Why are you sad?"

"Come here," he said before he scooped them both up into his arms and pressed his head into their necks.

Rose and Hugo both began to cry, only because Ron was crying. They hugged him desperately even though they didn't understand and Hermione loved them for that. She loved that they adored their father with so much ferocity that they were driven to tears only by his show of sadness. But it was only a second before Ron lifted his head and looked at Hermione.

"I have to go."

"Why?!" screeched Rose as he started to pull away.

"I just do, sweetie, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"No!" cried Hugo, trying to hold onto his father's large hand.

Hermione moved forward, wrapping her arms around their little waists as they tried to stop Ron from getting up. He held onto both their hands.

"I love you so much. I love all three of you. I love you. I'm sorry," he said, then he let go.

"NO!" screamed Rose as Hugo began to wail, "No! Daddy! Come back!"

Ron was sobbing as he left the room and took to the stairs at a run.

Hermione held onto her struggling children, unable to stifle her own cries. The three of them became a confusing mass of writhing, keening, limbs as she tried to stop them running after him.

She heard the front door open and close and seconds later, the crack of his disapparition.

For a few minutes, the three of them could only hug each other and cry. Hermione felt like a hole was tearing in her chest, like her whole world was crumbling into dust. How could she live her life after that? How was the whole planet not burning with the force of her fear and the sounds of her children's sadness?

She wasn't left much time to contemplate the answers to any of these question however, when, suddenly, all three of them fell silent as sounds began to echo up the stairs as if someone was moving around in the lounge room.

Hermione really couldn't hold onto Rose then as fierce hope flared on the little girl's face and it was obvious she thought Ron was back. Hermione couldn't help but hope too. Rose flew out of her arms and sprinted for the bedroom door. Hermione hoisted Hugo onto her hip and followed her daughter. They pounded down the stairs together and burst into the living room.

Hermione's heart broke as she saw Isobel stumbling towards her with a face that was a mess of red blotches and tears, with Nikki, her daughter, slumped on the floor behind her shaking and crying in her own terror.

Rose flew towards Nikki just as Hermione put Hugo down and flew towards Isobel. The two women crashed together in a fierce embrace, so tight they were unable to breathe. The sounds of weeping filled the room.

When they finally broke apart, they went to their children who were holding each other in much the same way.

But conversation wasn't given a chance.

The fireplace blazed green and out fell Ginny, her usual calm visage totally broken. She looked unsure through all her grief as to what sort of reception she'd receive once she saw Isobel and Hermione there. She was crossing over to the other side of the tovarasi. But the two women opened their arms for Ginny and the younger witch moved towards them, trancelike in her sadness, into the hug.

"Hermione," Ginny choked after a moment, "Do you know anything?!"

Hermione could only shake her head. It was the first time since she'd left her job that she wished she hadn't. If she was still occupying her old position, there was no doubt that she'd know exactly what was going on, what had taken their partner's from them that night. She wished she could give Ginny an answer, but she couldn't.

The three of them turned as one as, again, the fire turned green, announcing the arrival of Astoria, gaunt, shaking and pale, with Scorpius on her hip. Hermione's heart broke when she saw the young boy, the very image of Draco, with a face as wise and old as his father's and just as broken as Hermione had seen Draco so many times.

Again, there was no time for greetings or conversation, not even time for Astoria to fall into the arms of her friends. The fire remained green as Ebony followed Astoria into the house, both her children, twin two year old boys Zachariah and Balthazar on her hips.

It was only then that Hermione finally spoke, breaking through the sound of sobbing and sniffling women and children that was filling her living room to the brim.

"The Minister sent all of them?!" she demanded in a cracked voice.

Astoria, Ginny, Isobel and Ebony all looked at her with open agony.

That was Ron, Harry, Blaise, Draco and Bo all sent off on a mission that might kill them. The injustice of it was too much to bare. The idea of losing just one of them was hard enough, but what would it be to lose all five of them? It would be beyond devastating, even though the loss of five people in the grand scheme of the world was something miniscule, it still felt apocalyptic. The lives and families it would shatter, the worlds and futures it would destroy, how could the Minister even contemplate risking that? What could be so important?

"Where are your children?" Ebony asked Ginny, her voice thick and nasally with pain and exhaustion.

"At home," Ginny answered numbly, "The house elf is looking after them. I didn't mean to stay, I just… I just wanted to find out if Hermione knew anything."

"Well you are staying," said Hermione suddenly, "You're all staying. I can't be on my own tonight and neither can any of you. We'll set up beds for the children in Rose and Hugo's room and… and we'll wait for news together."

No one seemed about to argue with this plan and Hermione felt relieved. She'd meant what she'd said. She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she wouldn't sleep that night and she didn't want to be alone. She would rather have died.

"I'll have to go and get the kids," said Ginny after a moment.

"I'll help you," said Astoria before bending down to speak to Scorpius, "You stay with Hermione for a moment and I'll be back very soon, ok?"

Scorpius looked absolutely terrified in response to this though he didn't speak and he didn't cry, he simply widened his eyes at his mother and shook his head minutely, his small hands landing on her thin shoulders. Hermione could see his fingertips digging into her skin.

"It's alright darling!" Astoria assured him shakily, "I promise you, I'm just going to Ginny's house to get James and Albus and Lilly. I won't even be ten minutes, baby. Really."

The little boy stared into her eyes for a moment before his hands dropped from her shoulders and she stood up. A second later she'd disappeared into the fireplace with Ginny.

Hermione watched him as the rooms inhabitants moved around each other. Isobel and Ebony were doing their best to simultaneously keep their calm and comfort the children around them. Nikki and Rose seemed the most upset, asking question after question about the whereabouts of Bo and Ron. Zach, Bal and Hugo were grumbling tiredly around them.

But Scorpius stood apart from them all, as if he'd rather watch than participate. He was so like Draco.

Without thinking, Hermione walked across the room towards him. He looked up at her and she held out her arms. Scorpius studied her for a moment before he raised his hands to her. She picked him up and immediately his little blonde head disappeared into the curls of her hair as he pressed his forehead into the curve of her neck.

Hermione had had very little to do with Draco's son over the years as Draco had visited her and Ron more than she'd visited Westgate Hall where he and Astoria lived. From what she knew of Scorpius he was a very shy, very quiet, studious kind of boy. Whenever she'd seen him interact with other children, namely Rose, he'd just sit and listen to her as she babbled at him. He seemed to find other people fascinating almost in the same way as a new born baby did. But Scorpius was Rose's age, five, and she would have assumed he'd perked up a little bit. But he remained quiet, he remained calm. Hermione wondered what made him like that.

Isobel and Ebony began discussing taking the little ones upstairs to sleep.

"Are you tired?" Hermione asked Scorpius quietly. She felt him nod into her neck. "Would you like to go to bed and I'll read to you?"

Scorpius shook his head firmly.

"Wait for mum," he mumbled.

"Alright, we'll wait for mum," Hermione told him.

When Isobel and Ebony started gathering up the children to take them upstairs, Hermione assured them she and Scorpius would be up once Astoria and Ginny were back.

Soon, she and Draco's son were alone in the room and Hermione took a seat on the couch, Scorpius snuggling into her lap as they waited.

For a few minutes, she remained silent, listening to her two friends upstairs trying to quieten the children into sleep. But eventually, it got to her and she felt like she should offer the little boy in her arms some sort of comfort.

"He'll be ok, you know, your dad," Hermione told him, "He's one of the best wizards I've ever met. He's almost as smart as me, and I promise you, that's saying something."

"My dad's smarter than you," Scorpius mumbled.

Hermione chuckled. "Yeah, you're probably right. Who am I kidding? He's the smartest man in the whole world, isn't he?"

"In the universe," he responded.

She stroked the top of Scorpius's head soothingly. "What do you think he'd say if he were here right now?" she asked him quietly.

He sniffed and answered, to Hermione's surprise, "Real men cry when they're sad."

And then, he began to cry. All she could do was hold him and rock him in her arms until the fire blazed green again and Astoria returned with James holding onto her hand and Albus on her hip, followed closely by Ginny and Lily. The three kids looked as tired and upset as the rest.

"The others are already upstairs, Gin," Hermione said softly as she continued to run soothing circles around Scorpius's back.

Ginny took Albus off Astoria and moved immediately towards the hallway with her children, leaving Astoria alone with her son and Hermione.

She seemed to be shocked by something. She was staring down at Hermione with an expression of total disbelief.

"How are you getting him to do that?" she whispered.

Hermione gave her a confused shrug and Astoria moved forwards to take Scorpius out of her arms. Together, they all went upstairs.

Hermione gave both her children long, tight hugs, telling them she loved them and that they'd work everything out in the morning. Then, followed by Isobel, Ebony, Astoria and Ginny, she went down to the kitchen and put the kettle on.

They all arranged themselves around the table, sitting in total silence. Now that they had done what needed to be done for the children, it almost seemed like too much to speak.

The kettle boiled but they all ignored it. Eventually, Hermione stood up, moved over to the pantry, pulled down from its highest shelf a bottle of firewhisky before she returned to the table, opened it, took a long swig, and then slid it towards Ginny who did the same.

Once all of them had taken a pull from the bottle, it finally seemed like the appropriate time to talk.

"So what happened?" asked Hermione, the first to break the silence as she stared around at all their gaunt, pale faces. "Ron just showed up here out of the blue, did any of you know about this?"

Astoria shook her head. "No. There was… there was a floo call at about midnight, from the Minister. Told Draco he had to go to the Ministry. So Draco went. Ten minutes later he comes back and says he's got to go away. Tells me that the mission might be dangerous. That it might be fatal. Then he woke Scorpius up and said good bye. And then he left. And I came here."

"It was the same with us," said Isobel.

"Us too," said Ebony.

"Harry had an inkling," said Ginny morosely, "He'd been saying for a while that he thought something big might be coming… But I didn't expect this."

"I don't understand why they didn't just say no," Hermione sighed.

"I asked Blaise that," Ebony answered, "He told me that if the mission failed we'd be thrown into a 'war-like scenario'."

"Did you hear about Russia?" asked Isobel suddenly, staring hard at the table.

Ginny, Hermione and Ebony looked confused but Astoria nodded, an attentive look on her face.

"Bo mentioned something a few weeks ago," Isobel continued, "About some sect of wizards in Russia. She said that it was getting pretty bad but it wasn't likely to touch Britain for a while. Maybe… maybe that's it. Maybe it touched home sooner than they thought it would."

"That'd explain the sudden departure," Hermione acknowledged.

"Do we know how long they'll be gone?" asked Ginny.

None of the women seemed to be able to answer that. Hermione was mentally kicking herself for all the questions she'd neglected to ask Ron when he'd been there. But, she knew there wasn't much chance he'd have been able to answer any of them even if she did think to ask.

"I'll speak to Kingsley in the morning," she told them determinedly, "We should be offered more information than this. It's not ok for him to just… just send them away like that without letting them tell us anything… And if he won't tell me, well, I suppose I could try getting onto a few old contacts. But I doubt they'll want to relinquish any information to me anymore."

"It's better than nothing," said Astoria with a sigh.

After that, the five women were plunged, again, into silence aside from the sound of the bottle of firewhisky sliding across the table between them.

The night dragged on into dawn but not one of them moved. They could do nothing, nothing at all, but sit resilient, through the longest night of their lives.

August 3rd, 2012.

The Minister always managed to affect the exact same look every single time Hermione walked into his office. It was a look of frustration and resignation. And that morning, it was no different.

But Hermione hadn't gone there to be petulant or demanding as she once had, she gone there in pure desperation.

"I realise you can't tell me anything, Minister," she told him, in an effort to stop him looking at her as if she were about to blow up any second, "But I'm begging you to at least give me something. I've got four other women at my house, desperate for information. It was cruel to tear them away from their partners like that with no idea whether or not they'd see them again."

Kingsley rubbed at his eyes wearily and Hermione was suddenly struck by how exhausted he looked. As if he, like her, had not slept either.

"Bearing in mind that I'm technically not allowed to discuss this mission with you at all," he said after a moment, "What is it you would like to know?"

"Well, for one, Ron seemed to believe that this mission would be significantly more dangerous than any he'd been on in the past. Is this true?"

"I can confirm that, yes. The risk of fatality is higher."

Hermione felt bile rise in her throat as her stomach twisted inside her at the Minister's answer.

"Are they still in the country?" she asked next in a slightly cracked voice.

Kingsley gave her a narrow eyed look. "No."

"Can you bring them home? Can you pull them out of the mission?"

"It… would not be possible."

Hermione gave him a long look, attempting to read what he was trying to say behind his answers. After a moment, she gritted her teeth and growled, "Do you even have contact with them?"

The Minister sighed. "No."

She exercised all her will power to remain calm.

"When do you expect to hear from them?"

"They are scheduled to report back to me on Thursday."

Hermione nodded, wondering how she and the rest of the grief stricken group back at her house were going to get through three more nights of this. "Can I rely on you to inform me of their progress after you receive this report?" she almost snarled.

Kingsley ground his jaw for a moment, looking her over as if sizing her up, eventually, lucky for him, he gave in and nodded. "You can."

"And when do you expect them back?"

"If all goes to plan, within about five days. But that is not definite."

Hermione nodded and stood.

"Thank you," she said stiffly.

Kingsley looked pained.

"Hermione, please trust that I am trying to look after them. Their mission is… it is far more important than you know. Our future relies on their success. On their survival. And not just the survival of Ron, Bo, Draco, Blaise and Harry but of the entire team we've sent over there. I will, and have done, my best to ensure their safety."

She nodded again before she strode into his fireplace and returned home.

Isobel, Ginny, Ebony and Astoria were all waiting eagerly for any news she might bring. When she shared with them all that the Minister had told her they did not look in any way cheered or comforted by the update.

"Well, this report on Thursday, at least we have that to look forward to," said Ebony dejectedly.

"But what do we do until then?" asked Ginny.

"Well I'd really appreciated it if you all stayed here," Hermione told them.

"Yeah," said Isobel, "I think we should. I don't think we should be alone. We need to help each other."

August 5th, 2012.

Hermione's mind was devoted to the task of managing the chaos around her, making sure that her children were coping, that the other children were ok, that they were all being taken care of while she also watched over her friends.

The most constructive advantage that the five women had by staying together was that when it all became too much for any one of them, the other four could swoop in and pick up the slack. Like when Ebony had broken down while cooking dinner that first night and she and Astoria had gone for a walk across the moor in the warm, August air to calm her down. Hermione, Ginny and Isobel had finished dinner and fed the young ones without complaint. Or when Hermione had had to climb, fully clothed, into the shower to hold Isobel while she sobbed on the second morning. Ginny, Astoria and Ebony had taken Nikki, James, Scorpius and Rose to school, had gotten the rest of the kids fed and clothed. They were there for each other. And Hermione didn't know how she could have coped without their presence, without the task of watching over them all.

But was Hermione coping? She hadn't broken down in the shower, hadn't had to step out while making dinner. In fact, she had not succumbed to tears at all since she'd first found out, unlike the other women. She'd felt like it was her duty to be strong, to be a pillar of resilience. But also, she almost felt like she didn't have a right to cry. Because the feeling most prevalent in her, aside from the fear, aside from the sadness and grief, was the guilt. Her guilt was huge, astronomical.

Ron might die. And she'd left him.

That was the only thing she could think of, those same words running on repeat through her head. It tortured her, the idea that if he died on this mission, he'd have spent the last year of his life being heartbroken, away from his children, in some flat in London. Alone. Not knowing that he was loved, not knowing that he was appreciated.

If he died, Hermione would feel guilty for the rest of her life.

On the morning of the third day, the day that they were expecting to hear from Kingsley, the women went about their tasks in relative silence, feeding the children, getting them dressed before they took Rose, Scorpius, James and Nikki to school. As an added precaution, they dropped Bal, Zach, Albus, Hugo and Lily off at the Burrow to be taken care of by George, Juliet, Molly and Arthur. It simply would have been far too much to have them exposed to that day with their mothers.

Once the kids were out of the house, Astoria, Hermione, Isobel, Ginny and Ebony gathered in the living room. And they stayed there all day, in total silence that was only occasionally broken by one of them getting up to use the bathroom or to make tea.

The air was tense, strained, and volatile. One wrong move and the atmosphere would blow up.

When they still hadn't heard from the Minister by three, they decided it was best that the older children not be brought back to the house like that. It would have been far too much. And so the rest of the tovarasi were finally involved and called upon. Ginny organised for Padma and Susan to pick up the kids from school and take them back to the Burrow, giving the rest of them the space to be as tense and frightened and anxious as they needed to be.

It wasn't until the sun was just beginning to set, just when Hermione had begun to think she'd have to break her way into Kingsley's office, that the fire finally glowed green.

She'd been sitting on the window seat of the living room, next to the open window with a cigarette in her hand when his head had popped into the fire and said, "Hermione?"

She started and leapt to her feet, flicking the butt out the window and skidding onto her knees in front of the fire as the other four gathered behind her with shaking hands and twisting stomachs.

"You've heard from them?!" Hermione cried frantically.

The Minister nodded. "I have."

He didn't seem capable of looking at her, his eyes trained at the space of carpet just in front of the grate. There was something in his eyes. Hermione felt her blood burn.

"What?!" she demanded, "What is it, Kingsley?!"

He shook his head, looking as if he himself might lose his composure. "I… I can't say anything."

"Yes you fucking can!" she screeched, wishing she could reach out and grab a hold of his bald head and shake it, "What is it?! Please!"

He closed his eyes as they suddenly became moist, and when he looked back up at her, they were rimmed red.

"There's… there's been a fatality," he said quietly.

Hermione felt the floor spin underneath her.

"Who?" she managed to choke out.

He shook his head again, looking at her with a face full of apology. "I don't know. I'm sorry. They couldn't tell me."

"Well then who did you speak to?!" she asked desperately, thinking that one of the other women could at least have some comfort.

"One of the other Aurors, I'm sorry Hermione."

That was enough.

Hermione stood up, both her hands clasping the sides of her head. She was unaware of what the others were doing. She could only see one of five futures. Because one of them was dead. Harry. Ron. Draco. Bo. Blaise. One of them was gone and with them, the world cracked. Because there was no preferable answer.

That's when the tears came for her, as her grief poured out of her every pore, out of her fingertips and the soles of her feet and the small of her back. She felt her pain everywhere with everything she had.

Because there was a preferable answer.

Hermione abandoned the women in the living room and ran up the stairs. She pounded into the study, slamming the door behind her.

Her lungs weren't working properly, every breath was fire, was laboured. Her hands shook, that age old blackness clawed at the edge of her vision.

Her guilt was running agony through her bloodstream. Her shame was so potent it was paralysing, suffocating.

Hermione scrambled for the jewellery box on her book shelf and pulled out a cigarette. With quaking hands, she tried to light it but no matter how many times her thumb clicked on the lighter, the flame wouldn't come.

She threw both the cigarette and the lighter into the empty fire place.

Hermione fell to her knees, her hands clasped in front of her without even realising it. She sobbed and keened her prayer.

"Please. Please. Don't take him away from me! Please! I'll do anything! Please don't make me the woman who let him die with a broken heart! I can't handle that! I can't look at my children knowing that I did that! Please, god, please!"

Hermione begged and begged and begged until the words became like a chant and her pleas rang ceaselessly through her study.

She wasn't ready for him to go. His taste was barely gone from her tongue, she hadn't forgotten his scent or the feel of his arms around her body, his skin on her skin. She hadn't forgotten how he'd made her laugh, how he'd made her feel worth something before she'd gotten too depressed to be worth anything anymore.

Ronald Weasley was a great man. And Draco was wrong, her greatness didn't outshine his, her greatness was his. And his was hers. Because they were Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. There was more power in their love than the rest of the world realised. Their love had grown in a war, had survived it. Their love had spanned almost twenty years. She loved him first.

But, said a traitorous voice in the very back of her mind, what about the big love? What about Draco? If Ron were gone, there would be nothing stopping her anymore, from giving herself to the man who'd always lived in the deepest recesses of her very soul, who was intertwined there so tightly it had pained her for ten years…

Hermione howled with rage and slammed her fists against the wooden floor painfully because she deserved every single kind of pain just for thinking that, even for a second.

In her insanity, Hermione jumped to her feet and reached for her wand.

Just for thinking that… she'd never give in to it. Just for thinking it, she'd fight it. She'd never give in to the pull of her soul, just for that thought.

Her wand aimed, the divorce papers on her desk trained in her vision.

"INCENDIO!" she screamed and the desk was engulfed in a pillar of flames.

There would be no divorce. Never. She belonged to Ronald Weasley. Just for thinking that.

August 6th, 2012.

"Hermione, please, east something."

"No."

"You're not doing him any good by trying to kill yourself."

"I deserve it."

"Don't give me that. You walking out of your marriage has nothing to do with this situation."

"You wouldn't understand."

They hadn't heard that thought, they didn't know what had gone through Hermione's mind when she'd thought that her husband and the father of her children might be dead. They didn't know.

August 7th, 2012.

Still nothing. Every hour, the fireplace was still empty, still cold. Still no news.

Hermione had given up staring at it with the other women. She'd rather stay in bed. She'd rather be away from all that anxiety. She didn't want to know about anyone's anxiety but her own.

"Hermione, come downstairs."

"No."

"Just for half an hour."

"No."

Isobel looked down at Hermione in her bed with an expression that told her she was too tired to be doing what she was doing but that she cared too much to walk away.

It only made Hermione feel more shame. As if there could have been more. As if she'd ever have felt more guilt than she felt right then.

"You're not the only one who might be about to find out you've lost your partner, Hermione," Isobel snarled suddenly, shocking Hermione into looking up into the younger woman's red rimmed eyes. "Now get up."

Hermione shook her head, her gaze returning to the blank stretch of wall in front of her.

Isobel gave a cold, sarcastic laugh. "You act as if I'm giving you a choice. Get. Up."

Hermione didn't move, knowing that Isobel would get the message eventually and walk away.

But Isobel didn't get the message.

Suddenly, the covers were wrenched off Hermione's body.

"I'm sick of this shit!" cried Isobel, "I'm sick of you being such a fucking martyr all the time! You don't get to do this! You don't get to just fall apart and expect all of us to look after your kids and make sure you eat! You think it isn't hard for us too?! You think we've got it so fucking easy?! Do you want to know the last words I spoke to Bo before we went to bed that night?! I told her that I was having thoughts about someone else! That I had actually been thinking about fucking someone else! And I got to see how hurt she was! I could read it all over her fucking face! But she was so loving and accepting, she didn't get angry, she didn't fucking leave me! Because that's just how fucking fantastic she is! And then, hours later, after I'd done that incredibly, incomprehensively shitty thing, she's just gone! And now she might be dead! So don't act like you're the only fucking one who feels guilty!"

Hermione had risen into a sitting position as her friend spoke but with her last word Isobel suddenly catapulted forwards and pushed Hermione back onto the bed in her anger. Hermione rolled sideways, attempting to get out of the firing line but Isobel seemed determined to land at least one blow to Hermione's face.

What followed was a confused, angry battle of flying limbs and twisted sheets. Hermione didn't really think either of them knew why they were both so intent upon hurting one another, but that didn't stop her kicking, punching and slapping Isobel back.

After ten minutes of fierce fighting, rolling around on Hermione's bed. The two of them fell back, side by side, as all the fight seemed to fly out of both of them at exactly the same time. They lay in silence aside from their panting.

"I'm sorry," said Hermione finally, her voice hoarse.

"Me too," Isobel responded sadly.

Their hands found each other and their fingers intertwined.

"Is my face bleeding?" asked Hermione after a moment.

They turned to look at each other, mouths falling open in shock upon seeing the other's face, before, shockingly, they both began to laugh. Sure, there was a touch of hysteria to it as they both bent double, clutching at their stomachs, tears dripping down the sides of their faces as they cackled madly, but it felt nice. It felt freeing in the way that crying felt freeing. It was an outlet.

But when they finally hiccoughed themselves back to silence and began pushing themselves off the bed, the sadness was back. They'd only gotten a brief window in which to feel something like laughter. And that was all. It couldn't last.

Though, Hermione did feel a little lighter.

Her and Isobel trooped into the bathroom to observe their injuries. Isobel had a nasty looking black eye and a graze under her jaw whereas Hermione had a split lip and something that looked suspiciously like a bite mark on her cheek.

They hugged.

They went downstairs.

Hermione felt so beyond messy, so beyond insane. There was no order to her thoughts. It was all just disjointed words and images. And it felt as if time was behaving strangely around her in that state of mind. She felt as if she was skipping from one play to another as if someone was pressing fast forward every few minutes. So she felt confused when she suddenly found herself downstairs, back amongst her friends and she found herself wondering how Isobel had managed to get her there.

August 8th, 2012.

Hermione took a long shower that morning after the kids had been sent off to school. She took that shower because she knew it was time to be resilient, to be strong, to be better. Because she was better than a mess. She could do better than that.

They'd just hit the five day mark. Kingsley had said that the Aurors were expected back within five days.

She knew she should be excited, that she should be happy that the awful week was almost over, drawing to a close. But Hermione felt more like it was judgment day.

Again, they'd organised for the kids to be at the Burrow for the day, and for the older ones to go there once school had finished. The atmosphere had been too tense, too overwrought when they'd all woken up that morning. And their children didn't deserve that.

It made a change from gathering in the living room to watch the fire when they all collected on the front porch that afternoon, staring out onto the moor, waiting for the sound of apparition. Hermione had given a message to Kingsley, asking him to pass it on to the Aurors that Isobel, Astoria, Ginny and Ebony were all at Hermione's.

The dread that they all felt was tangible in the air as the five of them sat there, hoping that they would see five bodies materialize on the moor, not four or three or two or one.

All Hermione could do was pray and smoke as Astoria sat beside her, lighting her own cigarettes off Hermione's butt ends.

It happened just as the sun was beginning to set. The crack rent the air and with that sound, all five women jumped to their feet, eyes scanning the moors in front of them feverishly.

"There!" cried Ginny, pointing slightly to the left of the house.

Hermione's head snapped around and there they were, walking down the hill, cloaks billowing in the breeze.

Four.

All five of the women launched off the porch and sprinted up the hill. It was too hard to make out faces from so far away in the dull light of dusk, but as they got closer, Hermione began to see clearly.

Harry's black hair and glasses, the left side of his face coated in blood.

Blaise's dark skin, limping slightly, favouring his right leg.

Bo's long, black dread locks whipping about in the wind, her arm cradled to her chest in a makeshift sling.

And Draco, pale and gaunt, shining through the darkness.

But no red hair, none of the loping stride that was Ron.

Hermione stopped short as the other women ran towards their partners. She fell to her knees on the grass, watching blindly as Bo and Isobel crashed into each other, as Astoria ran into Draco's arms, as Ebony threw herself bodily onto Blaise, as Ginny fretted over the blood pouring down Harry's face. For a moment, they were all entirely lost in each other, lost in the relief and happiness of their reunion.

Then, as one, their heads turned to Hermione, clutching at her chest with one hand as the other clawed into the grass.

It was too much, it was all too much and the sound that came out of Hermione's mouth, that burnt its way up her throat in that moment was almost inhuman.

Every living person on the planet has their own way of voicing their terror. For some people it's a sort of howl, something guttural and feral. Some can't manage anything audible at all, for them it's entirely silent, the screaming is all in their eyes and face. Others can do nothing but shriek until all their shriek has run out, until their throats are so raw, they're coughing blood.

The voice of Hermione's terror was none of those things. Hers was keening like the wind, broken like a crackling flame, and as loud and horrible as a storm at sea. It echoed through the moors around the group, carried by the summer breeze.

How so much pain could possibly be contained in one person was beyond comprehension.

Their hands were on her, their voices around her, trying to feed her information. And Hermione looked up at them desperately, trying to listen, trying to hear what it was they were attempting to tell her, but for some reason it wasn't connecting. None of their words were working in her mind, as if they weren't speaking English.

Her pleading, desperate, despairing eyes found Harry's and locked on. She held his gaze as she watched his mouth move, determined to hear him speak. Slowly, ever so slowly, his words became real, became closer and closer.

"… didn't know… Kingsley… sudden… and then… St Mungos… he's in a bad way… not dead. They think he'll be alright," Harry was saying urgently.

"What?" Hermione responded in a quavering, feeble voice.

"He's not dead," Harry repeated, "He's in St Mungos. His injuries were pretty extensive but… they think he'll live. I mean… they're pretty sure."

Hermione used the shoulders of Blaise and Draco, whom were both beside her, to push herself to her feet. She stumbled slightly.

"St Mungos?" she repeated to Harry, feeling for her wand in her jeans pocket.

Harry nodded.

Hermione turned on the spot.

He had to live. Even if she had to drag him back from the very brink of death herself. Ron Weasley, her husband, would live.

A/N - I went away again didn't I? I've been traveling, which has been amazing! But I'm back now. For a bit anyway. Missed you guys!

xx

Desdemona

P.s. Please don't hate me for this chapter. Know that I love you and I am not trying to torture you.

p.p.s. Sorry guys, I uploaded the chapter to the doc manager but forgot to post it lol. Silly me.