A/N: All the characters belong to J.K. Rowling, et al. As always, let me know if you spot mistakes (you may be rewarded...)

May 13, 1998

1:45 p.m.

London, England

Ron exhaled as he popped in next to the red box. Swallowing his nausea, he took several deep breaths. He straightened, shifted Harry's broom to the other hand, and opened the…what was it? The tone box? A part of Ron longed to investigate the machinery, but he stooped to examine the floor.

"Is that it?"

Small, almost round. Emblazoned with "50 pence."

Ron's breath hitched. He extended one finger, barely brushing the coin. He felt an old, familiar tug in his gut as the world rushed away.

1:50 p.m.

Rabat, Morocco

The first thing Ron noticed was the heat. Oh, Merlin, the heat! From the corner of his eye, Ron spotted a bright blue flutter from across the street. His heart began to race. One step closer. One step closer to Hermione. One step closer to making her safe. Ignoring the midday traffic, Ron dashed across the street, reaching for the rug.

Another tug. Another rush.

7:25 p.m.

Mumbai, India

Ron adjusted his grip on the broom and fished Hermione's note out of his back pocket. Where to next? Golden statue. Elephant. Ron turned to his right.

He didn't know what he had been expecting, but the statue caught him by surprise. It lay next to a sack of rubbish, one of its little golden tusks broken off. He knelt to touch it.

May 14, 1998

1:30 a.m.

Sydney, Australia

"Almost there, almost there," Ron muttered, turning. His eyes quickly found the rubbish bin. Without bothering to inspect the impressive Australian ministry, he disappeared toward the final leg of his journey.

May 13, 1998

11:33 p.m.

At last, here he was. Here was the sad bus station in Perth. Single-mindedly, Ron pushed through the doors and began to look for the lockers. In moments, he found a sign with helpful arrows leading him toward short-term lockers 250-500. Rounding one last corner, he came face to face with a wall of tiny doors, each with its plaque denoting the locker number. Between 436 and 438, Ron noticed a small bit of paper taped up where the plaque ought to have been. Coming closer he read "Out of Order" in Hermione's neat script.

Ron peeled away the notice, then gingerly opened the tiny door. Inside, he found another note and an oddly-wrapped bundle. Sitting on one of the benches lined in front of the lockers, Ron opened Hermione's newest message.

Ron,

Thank you for coming so quickly. Inside the package is half a moon stone. I have the other half. There's a strap on yours so that you can attach it to the broom.

Your Hermione

That was his Hermione, after all; most assuredly the cleverest witch of her age. The broken moon stone would be compelled to reassemble itself, thus Ron's piece would be able to gently guide his broom toward Hermione and the other half.

With a small smile, Ron slipped the strap around the handle, letting the stone rest just above his hand. Immediately, he felt it tug toward the northeast. Ron retraced his steps until he had found the big doors of the station again. He wondered about the lack of Muggles—the only two he'd seen were sound asleep on some of the benches. The bright face of the station clock caught Ron's eye.

"Nearly midnight? Merlin's trousers!" No wonder it was so bloody empty. With renewed confidence, Ron strode out of the station.

"Bloody hell!" That had been a mistake. Perth's main thoroughfare was nothing like the deserted station. Cars whizzed by, honking and squealing. Ron realized that as a ginger holding a rather large broomstick, he was drawing far too much attention to himself. He eyed his surroundings frantically; after a moment he noticed an alley running between the station and a taller building beside it. As casually as he could, Ron walked toward the alley.

Once in the shadows and out of view of the street, Ron mounted the broom. Slowly, silently, he rose into the air. The moonstone continued to nudge him northeast, but Ron rose straight up, higher and higher. He needed to fly further up than usual to avoid notice. His teeth chattered as he rose; he hadn't thought he would need to stay so far in the atmosphere. At last, Ron felt that he was safely out of sight and pointed the broom northeast.

Harry's broom lapped up the distance. Only a few minutes out, the lights faded, and Ron felt safe enough to drop to a more reasonable altitude. All the while, the stone pulled him northeast. For a moment, Ron began to enjoy the flight. Harry's broom handled beautifully, so much more smoothly than his own. Now that he was out of the upper atmosphere, the wind blowing through his hair was warm. Below him, the land stretched from city into desert, so different from England. With his time in the air, Ron considered his sudden travels. Before tonight he had only ever been around the U.K. and once to Egypt with his family. Today, in the space of a few hours, he had visited three new countries—on three different continents, no less.

Ron's mind wandered back to Hermione, and his heart flew into his throat. How close was she? Was she hurt? What had happened with the spell? If Hermione had been this worried—if she had lied about the danger—it must be connected to some truly dark magics. Ron had never known Hermione to really struggle with any spell; given enough time to study, she could master anything. Hell, her only trouble spot was Divination, and Ron was suspicious that the subject couldn't actually be taught. The years they'd spent with Madame Trelawney were probably just some elaborate screening process.

"What has she gotten us into?"

Ron tried to shake away his fear. Hermione would be all right. He would get there, and it would be scary, but she would be all right. After all they had been through, there was no way she wouldn't. Then Ron would take her home to the Burrow, winding back through Sydney, India, and Morocco. They would have a lovely holiday. They would come back as more than friends—more than friends who kissed once and hadn't yet dealt with it.

"I'll tell her I love her. Under the stars in Sydney. Or at some really old temple-thingy in India. Or I'll buy her a blue rug like the portkey in Morocco and tell her then."

From the north, Ron spotted a sickly green light. The moonstone pulled harder, and he corrected his path. He urged the broom faster, hoping to find the source of the light. It grew stronger, and the air cracked with energy. Ron began to feel uneasy. There was magic here: dark, powerful magic. As he drew closer, he spotted lighting striking within the glow. About twenty feet from the ground, he saw two figures suspended in a closed loop of light, lightening, and clearly dark magic.

"Hermione, what did you do?"

Suddenly, the moonstone tugged downward, and Ron began a rapid descent. As soon as his feet touched ground, he had ripped the stone from the broom and ran forward, following its pull. The stone had brought him to a sparsely wooded area that suddenly opened on a field. Here was the source of the light: Hermione.

She was sprawled on the ground, unmoving. Though separate from the lightning storm holding the figures, she glowed with the same green energy. Ron broke into a sprint, but a few feet from her body, a bolt of lightning knocked him to the ground. How had Hermione done that? And why? Hadn't she gone to great trouble to get his help? Ron's heart twisted in panic.

"Had she even done it?"

Ron stood again and drew his wand. This time he approached more slowly, but again, a few feet from Hermione, the lightning lashed out at him.

"Impedimenta," Ron cried, stepping to the side of the now-slowing bolt. He knealt beside Hermione.

She looked awful, and for a moment, Ron feared that she was dead. Her hair was streaked with blood, and one of her arms was twisted painfully beside her. One hand lay palm up, and Ron could see severe burns there. His breath caught until she coughed and opened one bloodshot eye.

"Ron?"

Her voice sounded painfully hoarse.

"I'm here," he soothed, pulling her carefully to sit up in his arms.

"Ron, I—" Her voice was cut off by a fit of coughing.

"You know what, don't worry," Ron said. "Just tell me what to do."

"Stop the spell. Keep them asleep and take them inside."

Ron looked behind Hermione and spotted the cozy home across the clearing. Beyond it was a long deserted road. He lay Hermione back down, then stood and raised his wand.

The lightning struck toward him, and he felt the power of it buzz through his hand. It was too strong, and for a second, he considered dropping the wand. Ron steeled himself and adjusted his stance.

"FINITE INCANTATUM!" he cried. At first, nothing happened. Then, in a rush, the green light faded into the dark of night. The figures began to fall. "Ruitardum!" Ron yelled as he ran to them. The figures slowed suddenly, then floated gently to the ground. Without another thought, he said, "Quiesco."

His first two tasks complete, Ron passed the sleeping bodies and continued to the house. The door was open, and he stepped inside, quickly getting his bearings. Front room. Small hall. Bathroom to the left, an office on the right. At the end of the hall, Ron found the bedroom. Leaving the doors open behind him, Ron hurried back to the sleeping figures. For the first time, he looked closely at them. As he thought, it was Hermione's parents; he sighed in relief, for they appeared to have escaped the botched spell unscathed.

Ron thought about how to get all three Grangers back into the house. If he levitated them all it once, it would be difficult to get them all through the door frame. Even two would be pushing it. He decided to levitate Mr. Granger and carry his wife inside. Once they were settled in the bedroom, he would take care of Hermione.

Hurrying back to Hermione, he bent and covered her with his jacket. She groaned, but seemed to be asleep.

"I'll be right back," he promised.

Returning to Hermione's parents, Ron eased her mother into his arms. Audrey Granger was a slight woman of average height, so Ron found no problem using his wand in one hand as he carried her. With a quick spell, Dennis rose a few feet from the ground, and Ron was able to direct him into the house. He lay Audrey on the bed before releasing Dennis and covering the couple with a light coverlet from the end of the bed.

Turning, Ron tried to find a place to put Hermione. She needed somewhere to rest, but first he needed space to clean her up and heal her wounds. Inside the little office, he discovered a low bed done up with pillows to look like a sofa. He pulled the pillows from the bed, leaving one at the head. Ron realized that he would need towels for the blood, so he crossed the hall and began investigating the bathroom. In a little closet, he found a neat pile of dark towels. Beneath it, he spotted a small tin labeled "First Aid." Considering his limited healing skills, Ron grabbed it as well. In the kitchen, he found a large bowl and filled it with warm water from the tap. The kitchen especially was full of fascinating Muggle appliances, but Ron had no time to inspect them. He returned his supplies to the office, then ran back to Hermione.

She was still asleep, though she twitched and writhed as he lifted her. Ron was amazed by how light she was. Had she been eating? Though the coppery scent of blood permeated her hair, it still smelled of her shampoo. Ron couldn't help but smile at the familiar scent—a warm, nutty raspberry. Hermione turned her face toward his chest as he walked. She winced, but left it there. Her gashed forehead rested directly above his heart. As he brought her over the threshold, Ron kicked the door shut behind him.

Hermione had done most of the healing during their quest, so Ron tried to follow her model as he began to care for her. After laying her one the bed, Ron removed her trainers and socks and covered her lower body with a blanket. Next, he carefully peeled her dirty, blood-spattered cardigan from her body. Beneath it she wore a sleeveless shirt. With relief, Ron noticed that her arms seemed unharmed. Dipping a washcloth into the bowl, Ron wiped the grime away from Hermione's burned hands. With his wand, he tried to heal the burns. Most of the angry red marks faded to pink, but Ron wasn't sure that it was enough. Rummaging through the first aid kit, he found a packet of burn ointment and spread it over her palms. He wrapped her hands in bandages he found in the kit, leaving her fingers free.

Looking at the dirt and blood caked around her head, Ron realized that it might be best to wash Hermione's hair. Again, he picked her up, this time bringing her into the bathroom. He placed a towel along the edge of the tub, then positioned the base of Hermione's head against it, letting her hair cascade into the tub behind her. Ron turned the faucet and, as the water warmed, found a larger bowl in the kitchen. When the water was warm enough, he filled the bowl and gently poured it over Hermione's hair.

Her eyes flew open, but she didn't move. Ron tried to smile confidently.

"Be brave, be brave, be brave. She needs you!"

"Hi," he a tried.

"Hi yourself," she mumbled.

"I'm just trying to wash the dirt out of your hair," he explained.

"There's a gash…back of my head," Hermione replied. Ron nodded and refilled the bowl. As he poured the water over her hair, he watched it run brown and red into the drain. After the fourth bowlful, though, the water seemed clear. Ron turned off the tap.

"I'm going to go get some bandages from the other room. Then, I'm going to turn you around so that I can see the cut," he explained to Hermione. Eyes closed once more, she merely nodded.

Once he returned, bandages in hand, Ron helped Hermione kneel facing the tub. He parted her wet hair, looking for the gash. When he found it, he was relieved to see that it had mostly scabbed.

"I won't even need the bandages," he told Hermione happily. She did not respond. "Hermione?"

She had passed out again. Working quickly, Ron used his wand to speed up the scabbing and healing. Then he picked her up once more and returned her to the office daybed. Once she was again under the covers, Ron wiped the dirt from her face and repeated the healing spell on her forehead. Since her hair was still wet, he wrapped the towel loosely around her head and pulled the blanket up to her chin.

Then, at last, Ron rocked onto his heels and began to cry.

A/N 2: As expected, my real life has robbed me of my writing time-at least fun writing. So, I pose to you a question: shorter chapters more frequently, or longer chapters when I can manage them? Thanks, as always, for the amazing feedback!