Daddy's Little Girl

by Noterwomann

Captain Ron Weasley and his team are the best Aurors the Ministry has. But when one of the missions goes wrong Ron finds himself straddled with the last thing he ever expected. AU Not Deathly Hallows Compliant.

27. Confessions

I want to thank everyone who's helped over the past month or so. When you all came together and helped me with my story being stolen, you have absolutely no idea what that meant to me. And still means to me. No one should ever have to go through that, and because of you I felt like I wasn't alone. Your support was absolutely vital to me. Understandably I'm still hurt by what happened, but I'm not devastated anymore. And I was there for a while. So my deepest and most sincere thank you to all of you who helped me. I will forever be in your debt.

Now if anyone can tell me why my brand new computer, yes I finally broke down and bought one, refuses to read the wireless driver, we could get all this moving so much faster. I mean honestly, I had it working for five minutes and then that was it. So I have Word on my computer but no internet and there is internet on the house computer, but no Word. It would be great if I could finally have a computer with both.

Hope you all enjoy this chapter. I think it's the longest chapter I've ever written.

Thank you and I love you all, Noterwomann

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Chapter Twenty-Seven: Confessions

"Would you get out of my way?" Samuel Paxman pushed his way past Ministry personal, shoving them into walls and knocking them onto the floor, too much in a hurry to bother attempting to be inconspicuous.

He was in trouble. More trouble then his frazzled mind could comprehend at the moment. Not only had Carbonell and Melantha got themselves arrested, they had gotten Erik Wells taken into custody as well. Idiots. Now it was only a matter of time before connections were made and trails started leading to him. Hell, for all he knew they already could be. On like the others he wasn't a fool. He knew he was safe only so long as Wells kept his fool mouth shut. Carbonell and Melantha knew to keep their mouths shut. The case Weasley and his men had built against them was weak at best. The only way they would be going to jail was if someone unearthed Grangers missing case file against them. As far as they knew he would be the one representing them in their hearing. If it were him handling their case they'd get off with only a few years in prison at most. That was nothing compared to the life time they'd get otherwise.

But Wells…now Wells was a different matter. He could be a problem. He had nothing to gain by keeping quiet and everything to lose. It wouldn't take long for the damn Aurors to convince him it was in his best interest to talk. A promise of a lesser sentence, or, Paxman hurried his step, they could have the whole thing dismissed completely. After all, creating a few illegal portkeys was nothing compared to what the rest of them had done. If Wells had an ounce of common sense he could easily seal the deal by throwing in a few destinations of other Portkeys he had made. No, there wasn't a doubt in his mind that he'd talk. Which meant he didn't have much, if any, time to make his escape. It wouldn't be long before the Alphas were beating down his door.

Lucky for him he'd planned for this eventuality. All the files he needed from his office were hidden in the same, secure location. He had a case packed in his front hall closet, stocked with everything he needed to disappear and start over somewhere new. Not to mention his own illegal portkey to get there. All he would need to do was destroy some of the more incriminating documents, least some of his more powerful clients were found out and came after him, a task that wouldn't take long, apparate home, grab his case, and go. Of course he couldn't remain in France long, the Aurors would undoubtedly quickly follow, but at least it would give him some needed time to escape as they processed the paper work.

He turned the corner and his office came into view up ahead. He quickened his pace, more anxious to be gone with the room in sight. His sense of dread was mounting the longer he remained in the Ministry. He half expected one of those damn Alphas to burst out of one of the office doors and arrest him, all in the name of defending their Captain. He unconsciously screwed up his face. It was sickening the way they banned together like that. It was no wonder there weren't many Slytherins foolish enough to join the Aurors. It was definitely more of a Gryffindor house occupation.

Paxman flung open the door to his office and hurried inside, slamming the door closed behind him. Completely distracted, going over his short list of things to do, it took him the time to cross half the length of the room to realize it was already illuminated with a light he had not cast.

"You know, I was just beginning to wonder if you were going to come to me or if I was going to have to come to you."

Paxman spun around, wand drawn, to find Parker Gale sitting in his chair, the picture of relaxed confidence.

Parker tipped his head to the side. "As much fun as it would have been to hunt you down, this is so much easier, don't you agree?"

"What are you doing in here?" Paxman's eyes flitted anxiously around the room, trying for inconspicuous as he took inventory. Nothing appeared to be out of place, but now was not the time to relax.

He returned his focus to Parker, squaring his shoulders. "Leave my office at once." He jabbed his finger adamantly towards the door. "You have no right to be here."

Parker leaned back in the seat, lifting one leg to cross his ankle over the opposite knee, a lazy smile on his lips. "Hmm…" his grin grew wider. "I would think you would be at least slightly interested in what I have to say." He folded his fingers together behind his neck, propping his head up. "Aren't you the least bit curious as to why I'm here?"

Paxman's face hardened. "No."

"Well, I'm going to tell you anyway. You see, something has been bothering me for the past few days." He used his foot on the floor to lightly rock the chair. "I've been racking my brains trying to figure out how it was exactly that Carbonell and Melantha Javed knew how to find an illegal portkey. What possessed them to seek help in the Ministry of all places? They have no known connections. No friends or former colleges… And then I thought, but wait…they've spent quite a few days here at the Ministry as of late." Parker let the chair snap back into its upright position. "Haven't they, Paxman?"

Paxman's fingers curled tighter around the wand. "What exactly are you suggesting?"

Parker looked at the wand pointedly. "I think you know exactly what I'm suggesting."

"Any one of thousands of people could have given them Wells' name."

"Huh?" Parker arched a brow. "Odd. I never said Wells was the one who sold it to them."

Without stopping to think Paxman pulled back his wand to fire a spell, but before he could bring it forward, the length of wood was flying out of his hand and into Parker's open palm. Paxman watched, mouth gaping, as Parker flicked his wand again and the door sealed itself. "You've stretched yourself a little thin Paxman. Gotten a little sloppy. Do you want to know what I found?" He leaned to his side, revealing a stack of files wedged between his thigh and the armrest. He leaned a little further so he could pull the papers free. Keeping the wand trained on Paxman he plopped the stack on his thigh and flipped open the first file. "Would you look at this." He glanced up at Paxman through lowered eyes. "Extortion?" He tisked his tongue as he closed the file and tossed it and a few others on the desk. He picked up the next few files. "Altering legal documents." He tossed them on the desk without looking at them. "Selling secure Ministry information." They joined the others as well. "And what's this." He held up a few stray folders. "Hermione Granger's missing case files?" He tisked again. "We have been naughty, haven't we?"

Paxman sneered at the files in Parker's hand. "Your case will never hold up in court."

Parker tossed the last of the files on the desk with the others. "How's that?" He stood slowly and moved to walk around the side of the desk.

"I'm surprised at you, Gale." Paxman said mockingly. "I would have thought even you would know you need a warrant to se…"

"Oh," Parker said cutting him off. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a folded piece of parchment. "You mean one of these?" He waved it back and forth tauntingly before slapping it against his hand. "I've already got one. Like you I've got friends in all different branches of the Ministry. Only mine help me keep things nice and legal."

The two men stared at each other, Paxman scrambling his brain for a means of escape, Parker watching for the futile attempt. When it came, Parker had him face down on the floor, hands spelled behind his back, before he could take two steps.

Parker tisked again as he took the few steps that separated them. He hunkered down near his head, elbows braced on his knees, wands suspended between both hands. "I'll never understand why you all try and run. You have to know you're not going to get very far. But still…every time. Why?" He tipped his head to the side, waiting for as answer. "What? No response?"

Paxman thrashed, trying to get free.

"Nothing to say for yourself?"

"What would you have me say?" Paxman bit out. He turned his head to glare up at Parker. "I'm sorry?"

"Don't be ridiculous." Parker used his wand to roll him over. "We both know you're not." He stuffed his wand in his pocket before he physically hefted Paxman off the floor and shoved him in an empty chair. He rubbed his hands on his robes as he stepped back, all traces of banter gone. His face contorted with disgust as he looked down at the man, head shaking slightly from side to side. "I always knew you were a mean bastard, but I wouldn't have pegged you for a criminal."

Paxman opened his mouth to answer but remembered himself in time and snapped it shut.

Control beginning to waver Parker swooped down until he was on level with Paxman, hands braced on the arms of the chair. "Do you have any idea," he seethed, "how many lives you've destroyed? How much damage you've caused? And for what? Money?" He spit the word out. "I'm sure the Weasleys and the Grangers and the Begleys and the Grosvenors and the Penns and how many countless others will find comfort in that."

"If you're going to arrest me, then get on with it." Paxman stared hollowly ahead. "Otherwise, shut it. I'm not interested in hearing how horrible of a person I am."

Parker's fingers tightened for a moment on the arms of the chair. He took several calming breaths before he straightened to his full height. "If you like." Parker hauled him to his feet and pushed him towards the door. "Might I suggest," he leaned in, so his face was next to Paxman's, hand gripping tight to the back of his robes, "you take one final look around? I expect this is the last room you're going to see on the outside for a long while."

---

Bored. That's what she was. Bored, plain and simple. She looked up at the nice lady in uniform sitting next to her. It wouldn't be so bad if the lady would let her read to herself. But for a reason Hermione did not understand, she insisted on reading Hermione's book aloud.

Hermione scrunched up her nose. The story would go much faster and be much more fun if she could only read for herself. It was her book after all. But the woman was determined and so Hermione said nothing.

Sighing heavily, she pulled her legs up onto the hard plastic seat and crossed them beneath her. She leaned forward, putting one elbow on each knee, holding her chin up with both of her fisted hands.

After several more minutes of the book not getting any more interesting, Hermione turned her head to look up at the woman again. All of her attention was focused on the story and reading it in her most pleasant voice. Satisfied that she was being properly ignored, Hermione slid off the seat and landed lightly on the tiled floor. Without looking back to see if she was caught, Hermione scampered to the door her parents had gone through.

She was small, her muscles weak, so it took a lot of effort on her part to pull the door open. When she had managed enough room she released the handle and slipped through the gap before the door swung closed.

The door shut silently, leaving her presences unnoticed by the adults, giving her time to take in the unfamiliar room. She had never been to a hospital before and so did not recognize the room for what it was. Some of the things here were like at her parents work, but not the same. They didn't have beds where they worked.

Feeling bold she took a few more steps. Her mother's back was to her. She was standing behind her father, her hands on his shoulders. Her father sat on the side of the bed, holding the hand of the person lying in it. Loud wet coughs filled the room.

Curious, Hermione turned to see who was in the bed. Her eyes widened when she recognized Grandpapa. The old man sat up, leaning over a basin, coughing, something dark as liquid chocolate coming out of his mouth.

Hermione's breath quickened. "Grandpapa?"

"Hermione!" Her mother spun around. She came at her, arms open, ready to scoop her up.

"Grandpapa!" Panic rising, Hermione darted around her mother and to the bed. More of the dark liquid was coming out of his mouth.

"Helen," Her father snapped, holding Hermione back with a hand, stopping her from climbing on the bed. "Get her out of here."

"Come on sweetheart." Her mother's arms were around her, lifting her up.

"Grandpapa." Hermione cried, reaching frantically over her mother's shoulders for the old man she loved. "Grandpapa!" She screamed as the door closed, cutting off the vision of him puking more dark red blood into the metal basin.

There was an explosion somewhere over head. She screamed as she threw herself to the side. Heavy stone tumbled down around her, the heavier pieces miraculously missing her, the smaller bits pelting her painfully on her back and neck. There was a sickening thud to her side, followed by the heavy thump of a body hitting the ground. She looked over to see the cold empty eyes of Michael Corner looking at her, one half of his head collapsed and bleeding where the bit of castle wall had hit him.

Tears ran down her face. Hot, humiliated tears. Tears of despair. How could she have been so stupid as to think things would be different here? It wasn't. She still didn't have any friends. Everyone hated her. Everyone avoided her.

Hermione Granger, the teacher's pet. Hermione Granger, the know it all. Hermione Granger, the girl who would never have any friends.

A sob chocked her as she hurried on, desperate to find somewhere where she could be along and cry.

She couldn't understand. All she had done was try and help a classmate with his work. Didn't he want to know how to perform magic correctly? Didn't he want to succeed? There was no possible way he was going to, whipping his wand about like that; pronouncing the words wrong. Magical spells were very precise after all. Didn't he know that?

Sniffing heavily she whipped at her cheeks with the scratchy sleeve of her school robe. Maybe Ron Weasley was right. Maybe she was a nightmare. Maybe she would never fit in. Never have any friends. Hermione sobbed harder as she pushed open the door to the girl's toilet and ran inside.

She couldn't find them. "Harry!" Her head flew from side to side. "Ron!" She couldn't find a single person she cared for in the crowd of fighting people. A spell whipped past her ear, slicing off a chunk of her hair with its heat. She turned and threw a spell back, hitting the Death Eater in the face. The spell threw the man back, putting him in the way of a powerful slicing spell. His upper half fell to the ground a good distance away from his lower.

Hermione watched in horror, unable to move, unable to do anything to stop it, as a massive white arm as hard as granite came down on Ron's head. She was screaming before she realized she'd opened her lips. Ron lay crumpled on the floor, his body limp and unmoving. He was dead, she knew it. He couldn't be so still and not be dead. She wanted to scream at the queen. Blow her up with her wand. Stop her from dragging Ron away. Her eyes never left Ron as somewhere to the side of her Harry moved. She heard the metallic ring of the king's crown as it landed on Harry's feet. She looked back at Ron as she and Harry raced ahead. She tried to remain logical. She knew Ron couldn't be dead, McGonagall would never transfigure pieces that would actually kill someone…would she?

She went down, her ankle giving on the unexpected softness beneath her. Her hand landed in something hot and slick.

Unthinking she lifted her hand to eye level.

Her stomach lurched.

Red, hot blood covered her hand, running in tiny rivers past her wrist and down her arm.

Fighting back the bile at the same time trying not to scream, she scrambled away, scraping up her hands and knees in her hurry. Finally she made her feet and ran, not looking back. She didn't want to know who it was. Terrified it was someone she knew.

She was on her feet screaming, her voice hoarse from exertion. Harry was close. He and Cedric were neck and neck. They had stopped running. The roar dulled for a minute. No one knew why the two had stopped running. It didn't take long for Hermione to understand. They were arguing over who would be the champion. She rolled her eyes. How like Harry. Honorable to a fault. The two boys were standing near the cup now, readying to touch it at the same time. Realizing what she had the crowd began to grumble. But this was good. Harry and Cerdic would share the victory. It would still be a Hogwarts win. It simply wouldn't belong to any one house.

Hermione screamed her approval as the two boys took hold of the cup. There was a moment where nothing happened…and then they were gone. The crowd went deadly quiet. No one understood what was happening? Was this a part of the task. Had they started over because only one win was allowed?

Like the rest of the crowd, Hermione look around. That's when she saw the teachers. The varying looks of confusion and worry told her everything.

Ignoring the way her heart momentarily stopped, she pushed her way to the end of the isle. Ron must have seen what she had because he was there right behind her, following her.

She didn't get very far. The other students were trying to move forward to get a better look as well.

"Let me through!" Hermione pushed against the crowd, trying to force her way between strong shoulders. "Get out of my way!" She didn't know what she was going to do if she did manage to reach the pitch, but she had to do something. Harry was missing. Her mind raced with possibilities. Thousands of horrible scenarios flashing through her mind in a matter of seconds. One thing was abundantly clear though, someone had gotten their hands on Harry and there was no way for any of them to find him.

There was a momentary separating of bodies, just enough for her to catch a glimpse of flaming red hair.

Heart picking up a notch she fought her way through, desperate to get to Ron.

Her wand work was quick, precise. She was throwing hexes and curses now, something a younger, more naive Hermione thought she would never be able to bring herself to do. But if it was them or her, or them or Ron, or them or Harry…well she wouldn't hesitate.

She couldn't get past this one. He seemed to realize she wouldn't do anything deadly if she could help it and was taking advantage of the knowledge.

She hesitated for a moment, and cast a slicing hex. She turned away, not needing to see to know the hex had done its job. She felt another lurch in her stomach. She fought it back down. The decision was getting easier for her. The realization sickened her as much as the deed.

Hermione didn't feel like celebrating. It was a hollow victory. How could she celebrate when everything was so wrong? How could Harry play them like that? And how could Ron believe she didn't have faith in him? After all these years? All they'd been through? But really, how was she to know that everything had gone right out of sheer dumb luck and not Harry's bottle of Felix Felicious.

Hermione sighed as another elbow jabbed her in her side. She rubbed at it angrily as she tried to move towards a less crowded spot. The truth was though, that Ron had been angry with her long before today. And why? No one could be bothered to tell her. Well she'd had enough.

She squared her shoulders and threw her head back. She would go and find Ron, drag him away from his adoring fans, find a secluded spot, and demand to know what exactly she had done. And she would not let him leave until he gave her a proper answer.

Decision made, Hermione began weaving her way through the crowd, using all her might to muscle aside her fellow Gryffindors. Ron shouldn't be too difficult to find. Not only did he have flaming red hair, but he stood a head taller than most everyone else.

As if finally sensing her need to pass, the crowd separated momentarily in front of her. That split second the crowd had parted was all it took for her heart to come to a screaming halt in her chest. When it started beating again it felt like something tight was gripping it, forcing it to beat faster while trying to stop it beating all together.

She stood rooted, unable to move. She closed her eyes, as if doing so could erase the image. But she could still see it, them, over and over again like a video in her head. The crowd pressed in around her, elbows jabbing painfully into her back and sides, adding insult to her humiliation.

Feeling the prickle of tears gathering in her eyes, she spun around, trying to force her way back the way she had come. She needed to get out of here. Now. Before anyone saw her.

How dare he? She slammed into the back of the portrait guarding the common room. How dare he do this to her? After all these years of tension and fighting and flirting? After she had finally managed to summon up enough courage and risked everything to ask him to accompany her to Slughorn's party? To which he agreed! And now…now he goes off and kisses Lavender-Bloody-Brown. In front of all of Gryffindor.

She slammed through another door into an empty class room.

Clearly she had read the situation all wrong. Clearly she had misinterpreted all the signs. Clearly Ron didn't want someone like her.

Hermione closed her eyes, straining away from the wand at her throat. She could feel the hot breath against her throat, the putrid smell of unkempt male filled her nose. His hand latched onto her breast painfully, twisting. She bit back a scream.

"Go on filth." He growled biting at her neck as he twisted again. "Scream. No one will hear you."

She flailed her body desperately. Not like this. Please God, not like this.

His hand left her breast, a momentary, blessed relief. He gripped the tops of her robes and pulled. The fabric gave, revealing her upper body to his eyes.

He nipped painfully at her ear. "Beg."

Hermione couldn't look at him. He was still sitting in the bed; blanket pulled up to his waist, hair disheveled, a blatant and tempting reminder of what they had done.

"Ron," Her voice cracked. Her throat felt rough and abused. She licked her painfully dry lips, wincing. If she looked in a mirror she was certain she would see blatant evidence of their night together. "Say something." She croaked.

He was quite for a minute longer, the silence grating excruciatingly on her nerves.

"I…" She hazard a glance towards him. His face was blank, void of any discernable emotion. "What do you want me to say?" There was another long pause. He looked up at her, his eyes seeming to search her face for something. "You've said enough for the both of us."

Hermione clutched the blanket tighter to her chest. This was killing her. She wanted to run across the room and throw herself at Ron. She wanted to tell him how she felt. Desperately. She wanted him to want her. She wanted to beg him to open his eyes and see her. Really see her. To let her prove that she was what he wanted. To see her as someone just as beautiful as Lavender or Fleur. To see her as someone he could love.

But she couldn't do that. Ron was too honorable. She wouldn't trap him. She wouldn't make him feel guilty…she wouldn't… "Th-then it's decided." Her voice was stronger than it had any right to be. She turned her body so she wasn't looking at him. "We'll pretend like this never happened."

There was a long, excruciatingly awkward pause. "Right." His voice was even and cold.

She took an unsteady breath. "So we agree. It was a mistake. Easily forgotten." She had to swallow. "We can go back to being friends and it'll be like none of this ever happened."

There was no response, only the rustling of fabric behind her and the groan of the bed being relieved of its weight. When she turned around Ron was already gone, leaving behind most of his clothing and a tousled bed.

It was over. The most of the fighting had ended some time ago now. There was still the odd dual. Death Eaters who refused to give in even now.

Hermione looked around, cold inside. So many lives gone. So many friends, lost forever.

Bodies, so many of them, lay around her. Bloody. Brocken. Dismembered.

She remembered seeing the pictures of the battlefields from the Great War in her history books before coming to Hogwarts. She thought she was prepared to see it in real life.

She wasn't.

She closed her eyes to block out the sight. She felt alone, utterly alone in the sea of dead bodies. How would they ever recover from this?

It was almost painful for her not to react. Ron glared at her, mouth pressed tight, a cold gleam in his eyes. Her every instinct screamed at her to stop him. To throw herself at him, beg him to forgive her, and confess what she had done.

But she couldn't. It was too dangerous. For the both of them now.

"Fred." He said when the door still hadn't opened. "He warned me this was going to happen. I didn't want to believe him, but…" He turned, giving her his back.

Hermione swallowed, struggling to force down the lump in her throat. She needed to sound normal or this would all fall apart. "Fred has always had an uncanny ability to know more then he should and not realize it. I suppose it comes from his resourcefulness."

"Well, bully for Fred." Ron growled nastily.

Hermione shook her head, silently reminding herself to stay strong. "Don't take this out on him." She warned. He needed to talk to Fred. It was vital to her plan. If he didn't…

"Don't tell me what to do." A wand tapped on the door, warning Hermione that in a moment Ron would be gone. Something inside her warned that if he left with things the way they were he would be gone forever. The latch shifted. Her heart stopped. Ron turned to give her one more disdainful glare. She could feel the hate pouring off him like ice. "Enjoy your stay." He left, back rammed straight, shoulders squared.

He was gone. The door slammed, and he was gone. She'd lost her chance. He hadn't seen…

He wouldn't be coming back.

Not now.

Not ever. Which was what she wan…what she needed.

Hermione screwed up her eyes, forcing the tears back into her head. It wasn't over yet. She couldn't let them see her cry. She couldn't show any emotion. She couldn't allow them to see how much this was killing her inside. Or all that she had done, all that she had said and caused and fought for…would be for not.

But was it worth it? Was the sacrifice worth losing Ron? He hated her so much? She could feel it. Like the lingering effects of a curse.

Hermione curled into a tighter ball, the images in her head starting themselves over. The blood pouring from her Grandpapa's mouth. Harry disappearing. Ron leaving her. The final battle. Screams of pain filled her head. It took her minutes, hours, to realize they were coming from her mouth as well.

She curled into a tighter protective ball. She could feel herself coming back. Her senses were picking up on the world of despair that surrounded her; leaving the blackness behind her and allowing her her most painful memories. She shivered against the cold stone floor beneath her. The chill seeping off the high damp walls penetrated to the bone. And with that awareness came the certainty, the agony, that she had ruined everything.

Ron wasn't coming for her. It didn't matter how many times she called for him. He wasn't coming. And she didn't blame him. She wouldn't come either. Not after the things she had said.

It was as she'd wanted.

She sucked in a deep breath. The air caught in her throat, chocking her. The pain forcing her to cough the more. "Ron." She couldn't help but gasp his name.

"How very pathetic."

Hermione fought to control the hacking coughs.

Jillian Oldham tisked her tongue disdainfully. "Calling for a man to save you?" There was a trace of amusement in her voice. "Before our little venture together I never would have imagined you the type."

Hermione squeezed her eyes tighter, trying to block out the voice along with the face.

"Of course, you could always save yourself."

Hermione relaxed her eyes enough to see through the lashes. As she feared, Jillian Oldham sat in a conjured chair in the middle of her cell, her reptilian Patronus curled tight around her neck.

"That is more your style. Isn't it? Relying on yourself and no one else? And yet," she bounced her foot playfully, "here you are, putting your faith in a man who cares nothing for you. Waiting for him to come to your rescue. This is a happy day, isn't it?"

Hermione tucked her face into her chest, refusing to rise to the bait.

"Not very talkative today, are we? Well," she amended, "Not now the Dementors have gone. Not that we have much of anything to say anymore, do we. Just incoherent ramblings and pathetic calls for a man who'll never come."

"If all you've come to do," Hermione rasped, her throat coarse and dry from strain, "is torment…rest assured…you've done. You can go…leave me be."

Jillian scowled unattractively at Hermione. "I'm the one in control here, Granger. Remember that."

"As if you…ever…me forget."

Jillian sat back in her chair, satisfied. Spinning her wand lazily between her fingers. "I wanted to update you on our investigation. I thought you'd be interested."

Hermione swallowed painfully. "Why…why would you think…?" Her voice was stronger, but still cracked with strain.

"Well to be honest," Jillian leaned forward. "I didn't really. I just thought it would be lucrative to give you more to obsess about while you're in here."

Hermione said nothing but waited silently for Jillian to continue.

"I've decided," she said cheerfully, as if they were two friends sharing a confidence, "that my team needs to monitor your friend Harry a little more closely."

Hermione felt her heart stutter in her chest, dropping a beat, before it picked up again. "Why?"

"Because," Jillian flicked her hair over her shoulder flippantly. "We have reason to believe he's involved in this kidnapping."

A harsh, gravely laugh escaped Hermione's lips. "You…must…be joking." She waited vainly for a response. She swallowed again, trying to force moisture down her throat. "Harry was with the…the Weasleys the night…Blake disa…disappeared."

"We have reason to believe he helped in the kidnapping…"

"You're mad." Hermione croaked.

"Or that he knows where she is now and is hiding her location from the Ministry."

"That's…ridiculous." Hermione tried to force a note of absurdity into her voice.

"Is it?" Jillian leaned forward. "It's very suspicious, don't you think, for Captain Potter to have gone missing for a week with no one more the ware of his whereabouts. It's a very peculiar thing, don't you think, to disappear so thoroughly when one of your closest friends is falling apart and the other is imprisoned? It doesn't take a genius, such as yourself," she said snidely, "to hazard an accurate guess as to where he was and what he was doing."

Jillian stood and began pacing.

"As far as I can tell one of two things has happened. Either he's known where the child was all along and went to check on her, or he's finally put together the clues you were…Why are you laughing?" Jillian spun abruptly to look down at Hermione.

Hermione struggled to stop the brittle snorts. "You're a fool," she managed to choke, "if you think for one moment…Harry would hide Blake…from Ron if he found her."

"Are you trying to tell me he hasn't spent the last week searching for the Blythe child?"

"I wouldn't presume…to try and tell you anything." Hermione winced at the pain in her throat. "But I hope he is…looking for her. Clearly," she glanced up at the other woman, "you are not up for the job." She broke down again into hacking coughs.

Jillian's nostrils flared. She stomped forward until her toes were inches away from Hermione's face. "You and Potter both think you're so smart. That no one could possibly figure out what it is you're doing. But I'm on to you. I know Harry took one of those Muggle flying brooms to Spain. It won't take long to get confirmation of the fact.

Joy washed over Hermione in crushing waves. Harry'd figured it out. He had to 've. He'd figured out what she had been trying to tell them. She glanced up at Jillian. And the Auror knew it. She was on to them. She was on to them and if she wasn't careful it she wouldn't be the only one in Azkaban's cells. Harry and Beila would join her as well. She couldn't let them take the fall for her.

Desperately she searched for an answer. For some reasonable explanation as to why Harry had been in Spain, but she could think of none. Her brain was working to slowly, her thoughts muddled from the Dementors.

She wet her lips, tasting blood where they had cracked. "You think Harry went to Spain to find Blake?" She turned onto her back so she wouldn't have to struggle looking up at Jillian looming over her. "How would I have gotten her there? There wasn't time… Not by plane. There would be record if I took Portkey... All International Portkeys are registered…How would I have done it? How would I get to Spain and back before you came for me in my office?"

"You had somebody else transport her."

Hermione laughed derisively. "And who would I have trusted? One of the Weasleys?"

"You know Granger," Jillian crossed her arms over her breast, "this is sounding an awful lot like a confession."

Hermione laughed manically. Now? After all this time fighting, she would get her way now? It didn't seem right. "I don't care." She closed her eyes as she turned back onto her side. "I don't care anymore." She was startled to realize it was the truth. She didn't care anymore. Not about her. It wasn't about her.

She closed her eyes and a tear escaped, sliding down her face. She cried more for the fact. She hadn't known she was able to cry anymore. "Nothing matters."

"Everything matters." Jillian snapped, bending over the sobbing woman. "A child is missing."

"And you've got what you wanted." Hermione wept. "You've got your confession. I'm in prison. Harry and Ron are both suffering. What more do you want?"

Jillian glared at Hermione for a long, tense moment. "I want to bring that child home." Biting her lip she turned her head slightly. "No child should ever be taken from their family. Under any circumstances."

Hermione turned her head, just enough so she could see the other woman's face. For the first time in their acquaintance Hermione saw something akin to sincerity in the woman's eyes. "I agree completely."

Jillian's eyes hardened again as she turned back to Hermione. "Then help me bring her home. Tell me where you put her."

Hermione stared back at her a moment before turning away. "No." She licked at her lips again, wincing at the stinging pain. "Not so long as... Not until I know it's safe."

"Safe?" Jillian latched onto the word. "Safe from what?"

Hermione shook her head.

"From who then?" She tilted Hermione's face up. "The Javeds?"

The sharpening of Hermione's chin was all the confirmation she needed.

There was a long pause as Jillian thought. She dropped Hermione's chin, rose to her full height, and took several steps in one direction before turning and walking back. "Is…" she straightened her robes uncomfortably, tugging almost violently at the cuffs of her sleeves. "Is the child safe?"

Hermione's response was slow in coming. "I would never hurt her." She caught Jillian's eyes. "Ever. I love her."

Another pause. "What if I were to tell you the Javeds were already in custody?"

Hermione turned away. "I wouldn't believe you."

Jillian shook her head, exasperated. "I don't understand you, Granger. Why do you confess now? You've been nothing but a pain in my arse…" Her eyes narrowed into slits. "Is it because I'm on to something?"

"No." Hermione shook her head, body curling back into a tight ball. "You'd be wasting your time if you went looking outside the country."

"Then why?"

Hermione shrugged indifferently. "You're never going to let me out of here. There's no one waiting for me on the outside. You're never going to find her anyway." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "Take your pick."

Jillian crouched down so she was closer to Hermione's level. "Yes. I will. With this confession, I'll have you under Veritaserum in no time."

"That will never hold up…"

"So long as I find that child, it won't matter where I get my information."

When Hermione didn't respond but continued to stare distantly ahead, Jillian pushed back to her feet. She stared down at Hermione for a moment longer before she turned and marched from the room. She used her wand to fling open the door and slam it closed behind her.

Hermione listened to the lock grate as it slid into place. She closed her eyes with the last clunk. It was a sound she had grown very use to. So was the sound of feet walking away, down the corridor, away from her. It wouldn't be long now and the Dementors would be back.

Hermione closed her eyes and curled her body tighter to protect against the cold she knew was coming. Any moment, when the Dementros realized Oldham's Patronus was no longer protecting her, they would come. They would come and she would lose herself. She didn't want to go there again. Panic rose in her chest.

It was suddenly hard to breath. Her panic was chocking her. Terrifying her. She couldn't go back there. Worse than the dreams was the emptiness. The realization that she had lost hours, days of her life. There was no way to tell how much time she had spent in the blackness. The emptiness that she succumbed to eventually. The meaninglessness where she no longer existed.

Startled, Hermione cried out when a nose as warm and comforting as sun light nudged her shoulder. She turned over to find the familiar tongue of the Great Dane Patronus dangling right above her face.

She reached for him, wanting to draw in the golden protection that he offered. It was hard to remember now, when he was comforting her, why she had asked that the dog be kept away. But she remembered. She remembered how much worse it would be when the dog was taken from her again.

Mustering all the will she had left in her she turned her hand and used it to nudge the dog away while turning back onto her side. Away from him, struggling to resist his addictive comfort.

"I thought I asked you to stay away."

The lock shifted again. Hinges screamed in protest as the door was forced open again. Hermione listened to the soft fall of feet as they moved into her cell.

Thomas came to a stop several paces away. His stomach clenched at the sight of her. She was looking worse. Her hair was dull, the ends harsh and bridle. Her skin looked pasty and lose, and her robes were beginning to hang off her.

He felt bile rise in his throat. It was unbearable to see one of his heroes reduced to this. It was an outrage. It was…it was…he couldn't find the words to describe it. No one should see their hero reduced to this. It was worse by far then realizing your hero wasn't who you thought they were.

He turned his face away from the sight of her and his eyes landed on the untouched tray of food sitting just inside the door.

"You haven't been eating."

The silver dog moved closer and Hermione strained away. "I'm not hungry."

"Hermione," Thomas picked up the tray and brought it to her. "You have to eat something." He sat on the ground beside her, the tray across his lap. He took up the bread and tore a small chunk from the end. "Have a bite." He held it out to her. "Please."

Hermione quickly looked away from the offered food, stomach churning. "No thank you."

"Hermione," he said firmly. "You have to keep up your strength."

"For what purpose?" She whispered furtively. "I'm never getting out of here."

Thomas dropped the bread. It landed with a dull thunk on the tray. "That's not true." His voice was a little higher as he reached for her. She pulled away. He looked at his empty hand and then at her. "You have friends…" he began.

"…who are leaving me here to rot." She finished for him. True Harry had gone to Spain to look for Blake, but where was he now? He hadn't come to see her in…well, time had no meaning in a place like this. But he hadn't done anything to help her directly. She was still here. She was still losing her mind. Once again Harry had chosen Ron over her.

But what did she expect. It had always been that way and would always be that way.

"No." He brushed the crumbs from her hands before setting the tray aside. "Friends who've arranged for you to be removed to a different cell."

For an endless moment Hermione didn't react. Finally she moved, turning her face towards him. "Moved?"

Thomas nodded, an encouraging smile on his face. "I got a personal message from Minister Shakelbolt late last night. He's ordered me to move you to the lowest security ward." The hope that had risen instantly inside of her plummeted. It hadn't been Harry or Ron after all. It had been Kingsley Shaklebolt. "I would have moved you straight off this morning but I knew Oldham was scheduled to come and see you today and I thought it best for the both of us if you were where she expected you to be."

Hermione forced herself not to longer on her disappointment. Instead she tried to focus on what the guard was saying. "You're moving me?" It was hard to get the words out her jaw was trembling so hard.

His smile returned. "Yes, Ms Granger, I am."

Within seconds Hermione's eyes were shimmering. "This isn't…" she had to swallow in order to continue, uncertainty lingering. "This isn't some sick joke…"

"No." He reached for her hand again. He held it comfortingly between both of his hands. "Someone's preparing your cell as we speak."

Hermione chocked back a sob of relief. "No more Dementors?"

Some of the happiness faded from his eyes. "Less." He spoke tentatively. "Far less." He looked away from her as his hand tightened around her fingers. "There isn't a cell in the prison that isn't patrolled by Dementors. But were moving you to the lowest security level." He assured her when her face fell. "One Dementor on patrol. That's nothing compared to…to now."

Hermione was silent for several long minutes. Thomas stared at her intently, trying to discern what exactly was going on in her head. He winced himself when she absently mindedly caught her bottom lip between her teeth, abusing the dry flesh unintentionally, causing it to crack further and bleed.

Parker pulled his wand, tilted her face towards him, and tapped the tip against her lip.

"I don't think…" she began but paused when a warm tingly sensation shot through her lips. "That it would be any easier." She finished when the sensation ended. Her tongue darted out to test the wound.

"What wouldn't?" He held her face a moment longer before he released it, placing it gently back on the floor. He stuffed his wand back in his pocket.

"One Dementor. In fact," She wrapped her arms around herself again. "I think it would be worse." She tucked into herself. "Perhaps you should just…"

"If you say leave you here…" he held his finger threateningly towards her. "You're going to that cell if I have to carry you myself."

A flicker of Hermione's former defiance flashed across her eyes. Her jaw set firmly. "Then that's what you're going to have to do."

"Fine."

Cursing Granger and her stubbornness, Thomas climbed to his feet. Without warning he bent down and scooped her up.

Hermione squealed at the sudden lurch. "What are you… Put me down."

Thomas ignored her, shifting her in his arms until he held her securely. He turned and strode from the cell, the Great Dane trotting happily at his side.

Hermione struggled feebly, "Bring me back to my cell." She gripped uselessly at his arm. "What are you doing?"

"What I should have done long ago."

"Bring me back." Hermione continued to fight, digging her nails into his arm.

"Damn it." Thomas stopped walking to look down at her. "Would you listen to yourself?" He barked harshly. "Do you even know what you're asking me to do? You're asking me to bring you back to the Dementors. Think about that Hermione. You're asking me to let them destroy what little of you is left. I won't let that happen. I can't."

"It's not your choice!"

Thomas ignored her outburst and resumed walking. "I'm sorry to have to tell you this, Ms Granger, but it's not yours either."

Somewhere deep inside her defiance began to rile, demanding she fight back and argue the point, but the truth of the words immediately squelched the instinct. He of course was right. Where she went and what she wanted no longer mattered. What she did was no longer her decision. She had bartered all her rights and privileges for Ron, to keep the promised she had made him.

Hermione's heart clenched at the thought of Ron, the picture in her head instantly going to the way she had last seen him. She could see the hate in his eyes and it made her shutter. She tried to force the image away, to replace it with one of happier times, but it kept coming back to the last. Watching his face morph in her mind's eye from one of love and devotion to one of loathing made her wither inside. And still she tried to force it to stay, wanting to believe he would look at her like that again someday. But it became harder and harder until she stopped trying all together. She had better get use to the idea. Ron wasn't coming back to her…ever. It was a direct result of the plan… Something she had implemented, knowing this could be a possible result. She thought she had prepared herself, gone in with eyes wide open. She had been a fool. She hadn't expected the reality to hurt this much.

She turned her face into the guard's chest and let lose the flood of tears she'd been holding. She should have known she couldn't survive like this. Without him. Not after she'd finally had him.

"Here we are." Thomas said, pushing open the door to her new cell with his foot. "Everything will be just fine." He said soothingly, moving towards the bed. "It won't be long now and this will all be a bad memory."

He lowered her gently from his arms, placing her carefully on the bed, terrified at how small and frail she felt in his arms.

Hermione instantly curled onto her side, simultaneously moving away from him. She buried her face in the clean linen. It was rough and scratchy under her cheek. The cell was just as damp and cold as the last.

"Is there anything else I can…"

"Just go." She cut him off. "Just leave me be."

Thomas watched her for a minute longer. Sighed. And left.

Finally alone, Hermione gave in to the full force of her tears. It didn't matter what the guard believed. This, being aware of everything. Conscious of what she had all lost. Knowing her friends and family were in trouble and she was helpless to help them… Knowing it was her fault, was worse. Much worse.

---

Kingsley Shaklebolt leaned back in his chair, one ankle crossed over the other knee and sighed. He should be annoyed. Be should be angry and disappointed, and a whole host of other things, but he wasn't. He sank further into his seat. He had set aside a few hours for this meeting so had no where pressing to be. It was nice, for once, to have nothing to do and nowhere to be. He didn't get to relax nearly enough anymore.

Shaking back the cuff of his shirt he checked the time. Ten minutes late. He couldn't help but be surprised. It wasn't like Harry to be late. They were both extremely busy men and so understood the worth of time. Neither of them liked to keep people waiting if at all possible. He checked his watch once more before glancing toward the door. Harry still hadn't appeared. Whatever was keeping Harry it had to be very important.

Turning his head he motioned the server over and ordered a refill of his tea. By the time the young lady moved away Harry was weaving his way through the crowded café towards the small table.

"Minister," he said holding out his hand. "I'm so sorry to have kept you waiting. I had an errand I needed to make and it took me longer than I expected."

"That's alright Harry," Kingsley took his hand as he waved off the apology. "It was nice to have a minute to sit and relax without having one of my assistants hounding me to get something done. Why don't you take a seat, Harry? Relax a minute yourself."

"Thank you Minister." Harry pulled out the chair and sat quickly. "Thank you for taking the time to meet with me. I…"

Kingsley held a hand up to quiet him. "Will think nothing of it. It's the least I can do." The server was back with his tea. "Would you like something?"

Harry looked to the young woman. "No thank you. I really haven't the time."

Kingsley reached for the milk pitcher and added a dollop to his tea before spooning in a mound of sugar. "So Harry," he stirred the tea slowly, waiting until the server was out of ear shot and he was certain they were alone. "What is it I can do for you?" he took a sip and nodded, satisfied with the balance of flavors. He leaned back in his seat, folding his hands over his stomach and noticing the added girth that was settling there. He made a mental note to do something about it as Harry took a moment to collect his thoughts. "You do have something to ask me, don't you?" He pressed when Harry still hadn't said anything. "I haven't misjudged the occasion have I?"

"Sir?" Harry met his gaze.

"Come now Harry," he leaned forward. "I might be Minister now, but I'm still an Auror." He used his eyes to pointedly look around before refocusing on Harry. "You asked to meet me in private," he began to tick off his list on his fingers, "you chose a Muggle café, you haven't time for a single cup of tea." He lowered his hand back onto the table. "I'm going to hazard a guess that this isn't a mere social call."

"No, sir." Harry lowered his head. "It's not."

Kingsley nodded. "Then let's not waste anymore of our time." He leaned forward, folding his arms and bracing them on the table. "What can I do for you?"

Harry took a breath. He shifted uncomfortably, obvious in his discomfort. "I need the trial of Carbonell and Melantha Javed moved forward."

Kingsley didn't even blink. "Would you mind telling me why?"

Harry arched a brow. "Haven't you been reading the Prophet?"

"No." Kingsley snorted with laughter. "I'm afraid I haven't the time for such luxuries. I have staff who read the papers for me and keep me abreast with what they think I need to know."

Harry's eyes bugged with shock. "Minister…" Harry stammered. "I really don't…"

"And then I read the stack of articles they don't want me to see." He leaned forward even further while lowering his voice. "Sent to me by a select group of "bird lovers" I worked closely with for quite a few years."

The look of relief was so pronounced on Harry's face that it made Kingsley laugh. "Come now Harry." He continued to laugh. "You don't really think I would be so lax in my responsibilities that I would let people with a political agenda dictate what I do and do not read?"

"Well, I didn't think so, but…"

"You can rest assured, Harry. I promise you I'm on top of things."

Harry nodded slightly. "That is a relief to hear."

"I'm sure it is. But why don't we talk about what brought you hear today, Harry. I'm assuming it's not my reading habits."

"No Sir," Harry admitted. "It's not."

"Well," Kingsley prompted when Harry didn't continue. "Out with it."

Harry twisted his hands together a moment in an anxious matter before releasing them, setting them firmly and pointedly against the table. "I want to make it clear. I'm coming to you as a last resort. I don't want it brandished about the Ministry that I'm…I'm…"

"Using your name to ask for favors."

Harry nodded.

"I don't think anyone things that of you, Harry."

"They might. I just don't know what else to do, Minister."

"This is about Ron, isn't it? Or Hermione? As I understand it they're both in desperate need of your help, aren't they?"

Harry's hand curled into a tight fist. He slammed it against the table with one solid thrust. "It's not fair." He pounded his fist again. "I was expected to save the entire wizarding world and I can't even save…"

"Your best friends." Kingsley pushed aside his half empty cup. "Life is rarely fair, is it?"

"I don't know what to do anymore. I've been trying to get Hermione released through the proper legal channels, but I'm being blacked at every avenue. Jillian Oldham has made a real mess of her paper work and no one seems to be able to make heads or tales of it. And as for Ron, I don't even know what he's going on with him. I haven't been able to reach him in days."

Kingsley's focus sharpened shrewdly on Harry. "That surprises me."

Harry rubbed wearily at his face. "From what I've been able to gather, he's looking for Blake. Of course. And I know that's what Parker and the rest of the Alphas are doing. But…"

"So Greene's finally allowed them to take over the investigation?"

The corner of Harry's lip twitched, a quirk halfway through amusement and disgust. "Not exactly."

"What do you mean, not exactly?"

A bit more humor snuck onto Harry's face. "From what I've heard, mind you I wasn't there, Ron told Greene he wouldn't take any new assignments until Blake was found. If the Ministry wasn't going to make it top priority, he was. Of course Greene told Ron he'd do what he was told and Ron…"

"Told him to shove it." Kingsley offered.

Harry let himself smile, if only briefly. "Told him he'd quit. Said he'd walk right out of the Ministry and never come back. Not only that, he said he'd go to the Profit and offer them an exclusive, tell all, interview with him. Starting with the death of Blake's parents and how he was ordered to cover it up for as long as possible."

Kingsley's lips twitched at the corners. "As Minister of Magic, I am appalled by Ron's disregard for authority, let alone his lack of loyalty to the Ministry. As his friend… I would have loved to have seen Greene's face. He didn't take Ron's threat very well, did he?"

"No." Harry's eyes sparkled. "He's been storming around the Ministry for days."

"Well, good on Ron." Kingsley slapped his hand against the table, laughing heartily.

Harry smirked as a comical image of his superior spluttering and turning purple flashed in front of his eyes. It had always been a somewhat volatile relationship between Ron and Roland Greene. While at times their mentor mentee relationship seemed more like that between father and son, there were also times when their strong personalities and stubbornness had them butting heads. It had to be galling, Harry thought, for the older man to know that Ron was better at his job than Greene had been while he was Alpha Captain. And that it was only a matter of time before Ron was taking over his job, or perhaps, if things changed, being the one he answered to instead. Greene might be higher ranking, for the time being, but there was no doubt which of the two of them had more power.

"It's about time he did something about this." Harry blinked, coming back to the conversation. It took him a moment before he remembered what he and Kingsley had been talking about. "I've been wondering when he'd finally snap out of this mood he's been in."

The smile fell from Harry's lips. He shifted awkwardly in his seat, pushing his dark hair back out of his eyes.

Kingsley stopped laughing when he realized Harry was no longer laughing with him. "What is it?" He asked, sitting straighter.

Harry shook his head. "He's not snapped out of it. At least I don't think he has." He lifted his gaze to meet Kingsley's. "That's why I came to see you. I don't know what to do anymore. Ron's obsessed. Not that I blame him, but still. Fern, his secretary, informed me he's come into the office only a handful of times since his…confrontation, with Greene. Only long enough to file the necessary paperwork to try the Javed's. The rest of the time he's spent pushing himself, trying to find her. He hasn't been home in days. He doesn't answer letters. If he keeps this up he's going to kill himself or…he's going to find her." Harry's eyes drifted past the Minster. He bit at his bottom lip, gnawing it absently. "It's only a matter of time."

"I don't understand." Kingsley's brow furrowed. He held up a hand before him. "Don't you want Blake to be found?"

"Of course I do." Harry snapped, straightening in his seat. "Why would you ask that?"

"Because that's how you made it sound."

"Well I didn't mean it the way it sounded."

"Then how did you mean it?"

"I only meant…"

"Yes?" Kingsley prompted.

"It's complicated."

Kingsley's eyes narrowed shrewdly. "I'm sure I'm more then capable of following."

Harry turned his head. "The Javeds retain legal custody of Blake. I've been working with Winifred Edgecomb to try and get the ruling overturned but with all this other crap that's swamping the Ministry right now. A custody hearing seems rather trifle compared to the murder convictions that are being retried. To be perfectly honest the judicial branch of the Ministry is in such turmoil and confusion right now I doubt most of the officials remember how to wipe their own arses.

"It feels just like it did right after the war. No one knows what to do with themselves and how to go on from where they are. We got complacent. And now that we all know everything wasn't fixed the first time, that there's still corruption in the Ministry, no one knows what to do. Meanwhile Ron and Blake are slipping through the cracks and the Javeds are getting off with what they did because no one seems to know what to do with them. If Blake were to be found and brought home who's to say she won't get lost in the system as well. Not to mention what it would do to Ron if he had to watch someone else walk off with his daughter."

Kingsley's mouth opened slightly as he tilted his head back. "Ahhh…I see." He nodded once as he folded his hands, pressing the clasped knuckles to his lips a moment as he thought. "Well, that sounds easy enough to take care of. I'll have it all squared away before he finds her. That shouldn't be too difficult. She already bears his name and we all know the Javeds should never have gained legal custody in the first place. I never would have believed it of Ceemist."

"Don't judge him too harshly." Harry said compassionately. "His wife's all he has left."

Kingsley's frown deepened, amending nothing. "It's a horrible this had to happen in the first place. That child is such a sweet little thing." He ran his thumb over the gold hoop that hung from his ear. He dropped his hand suddenly. "I want her found and returned to Ron as soon as possible."

Harry let out a low whistle. "Easier said than done."

"How's that?"

Harry shook his head with exasperation. "Ron's got this idea in his head that he doesn't want her anymore."

"Doesn't want her?" Kingsley asked, clearly not comprehending.

Harry collapsed, his head landing in his hands. "It's the same story all over again. When Ron's been hurt he pushes away the thing that's hurt him. Instead of putting the blame on the Javeds and Amadeus where it belongs, he's pushing Blake away, convinced that if she's not a part of his life anymore she can't hurt him. It's the same thing that he did to Hermione five years ago." Harry lifted his head from his hand for just a moment. "And now."

"Harry," Kingsley held out a hand as if he could make Harry understand with the gesture. "I can't make him take her back. Even if we find her…"

"We will find her." Harry cut in confidently.

"Okay," Kingsley held up a hand like he needed to hold Harry back. "When we find her, it won't do any good if Ron has relinquished his rights."

"He hasn't."

"How do you know? You haven't been able to reach him."

"He hasn't." Harry repeated with more conviction.

"He could."

Harry shook his adamantly. "He won't."

"You can't know that."

Harry shook his head. "I know Ron."

"As well as you know Hermione?"

Harry stiffened in his seat. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Did you foresee her kidnapping that child?"

Harry's fingers curled into tight fists on the table top. "Hermione didn't kidnap anyone."

"Jillian Oldham seems to think she did. I've read the evidence, Harry. It's not in Hermione's favor."

"And so what if she did?" Harry slammed his hand down on the table. "Let's say Hermione did take the law into her own hands and kidnapped Blake. Are we really going to punish her for protecting that sweet, innocent little child from people like Melantha and Carboneel Javed? For Merlin's sake, they threatened to kill the Official's wife if he didn't grant them custody."

"Two wrongs don't make a right."

"Oh that's rich," Harry scowled, "coming from a man who broke how many laws in the fight against Voldmeort?"

"That's not the same…"

"The hell it isn't?" Harry's hand landed on the table with a loud smack. "It's always the right thing to protect the innocent. Melantha and Carbonell Javed are Death Eaters. Who knows what they would have done to her."

"And who knows what harm Hermione's actions have done Blake. She could be sick or…or dead. Hermione's been in custody for a month. She's obviously not caring for the child. So where did she stash her."

Harry took a deep breath, trying to calm the rage that was warring inside him. "Hermione would never hurt her. She'd never hurt anyone." He bit through his teeth.

"Not intentionally, perhaps. But we can't know no harms come to her."

"She's fine."

"And how would you know?" Kingsley's eyes narrowed suspiciously on the younger man. "Are you keeping something from me, Harry?"

Harry stared at Kingsley coldly. "I've just come from the Hogwarts register." He rose to his feet. "That's why I was late. Blake's name is still down. Set to begin school in ten years."

Kingsley sat forward in his seat, grabbing Harry's wrist to keep him from walking away. "You know where she is?"

Harry gently pulled his arm free. "Her directions won't appear until it's time to send her her Hogwart's letter. So unless you intend to wait ten years to find her, you might want to explore different avenues."

Kingsley's face darkened with ill-humored. "There's no need for you to be angry with me Harry."

"I'm not angry." Harry looked down at the Minister. "I'm disappointed. Being Minister's changed you. You're not the man I thought you were. I came to you for help and you offer me lectures." Harry shook his head as he turned away. "I'll find someone else to help me."

"Harry!" Kingsley was on his feet, not caring that the Muggles were watching. "What more would you have me do?" He demanded. "I've already done what I can for Hermione and I'll do what I can for Ron. I'll press the courts to push ahead the Javed's court date. I'm not the bad guy here, Harry. I haven't done anything wrong. I want to help Ron and Hermione to, but there's only so much I can do."

Harry turned his face away, feeling the first wave of shame for his outburst.

"What more do you want?" Kingsley pressed when Harry said nothing.

Harry turned back to Kingsley. "I'm sorry, Minister. I just…I'm tired. I'm tired and I'm worried. I…" he bowed his head. "I just don't know what to do anymore. I'm sorry for implying…" Harry forced himself to face Kingsley. "You've been there for me, Kingsley. I'm sorry that I haven't thanked you before."

Kingsley crossed his arms over his chest. "Technically you haven't thanked me now."

There was a twinkle in the dark man's eyes and Harry knew he was forgiven his outburst. He ran his tongue over the front edge of his teeth as if tasting the flavor of the apology before he spoke it. "Thanks Kingsley. For everything."

Kingsley nodded. "I don't want to know what you know, Harry. I'm Minister now." He offered as explanation. "But I want you to be careful and get this all figured out. As it happens, my opinion on the matter is similar to most of the Wizarding Community. Most of us would like to let Hermione go with a slap to the wrist and a covert pat to the back. But unfortunately we are bound by the law. It's going to take a miracle to get her released, but I believe you can do it. As for Ron, I'll trust your opinion." He bowed his head slightly. "You, after all, know him much better than I do."

Harry lowered his head, nodding. His shame mounting. "Minister,"

"Kingsley." He threw some money down on the table before leading Harry towards the door.

"Kingsley," Harry amended. "Do you mind…you said you'd been helping Hermione…What exactly have you done?"

Anger flashed across Kingsley's face as he pushed open the door to the small shop. "I wanted to release her, of course." He stopped walking to turn and face Harry, anger once again evident on his face. "Did you know they had her in Top Security? Top Security? Hermione Granger? Like she was a mass murderer or something."

Harry's eyes bugged.

"Don't worry." He put a hand on Harry's shoulder, calming him as much as calming himself. "I sent word to have her moved as soon as I found out. I only wish it had been sooner. As it is, I saw the evidence Oldham is bringing against her." He shook his head slowly. "It's not good Harry. I couldn't let her go free under the circumstances."

"She was under full Dementor Security?" Harry asked, fixated with anger.

Kingsley nodded. "But I've had her moved."

Harry's face had grown pale with the news but was quickly darkening to scarlet with fury. "That is it." He seethed under his breath. "I've had more than enough. I've tried to do the right thing. I've tried to be patient and to excuse her because she's old school Auror, but this has gone too far."

"Harry?" Kingsley called toward the young man's retreating back. "Where are you going?"

"To do something I should have done a long time ago."

---

He was drained. Exhausted. He could feel it every bone. Every muscle. Every movement felt slow and sluggish. He was struggling, futilely, to keep his eyes open. They felt heavy and weak. His vision blurred. The orbs burned. He blinked twice to clear his vision before he could read the time off his watch. He screwed up his eyes, trying to estimate how much sleep he would need in order to be functional tomorrow. He decided as he trudged toward his front door three or four. That was the most he would allow himself.

He stumbled, his toe caught on an uneven paving stone, and managed to catch himself. Okay, he decided as he looked up at the house. Maybe five. He turned his face away from the dark, empty windows of his home. He rolled his shoulders. He would need to eat something as well. He paused a moment. Unsure if there was anything in the house to eat. He tried to remember the last time he had gone shopping. It had been a while.

When he reached his front door he struggled to slide the key into the lock. He'd thought it would be easier, less taxing, then pulling out his wand and conjuring a spell to unlock it. He missed the lock again. Perhaps he had underestimated how tired he was.

Ron leaned forward until he was more even with the key hole, squinted his eyes as he attempted to focused on the lock. He jabbed it towards the lock again. After two more tries the key eased into the lock and he turned it open. He followed close behind the door as it swung open causing him to bump into it when it stopped only half open.

"What the hell?" Ron looked around the side of the door, giving it anther shove, jamming it further. There was a pile of unopened letters sitting on the floor directly in front of the door.

Cursing silently to himself, Ron bent to scoop them up. He used his foot to close the door as he shuffled the missives into a neat stack. He immediately began flipping through, discarding some in a growing pile on the boxes stacked next to his door. He knew he needed to write back to his mother soon or she would come here looking for him…

He stared at the unopened letter. He didn't know what to say to her. How could he tell his own mother that he didn't want to see her? That it was too painful? Too humiliating? That nothing, even her, mattered until he knew that Bla…he stopped himself. Until he knew the Blythe child was safe. How was he supposed to tell her that and not hurt her in the process? He shook his head, tossing her letters and several more on the growing pile next to the door. Hesitating a moment he tossed the messages from Ginny on the pile as well. Harry's he debated over longer. Eventually he stuffed them into his pocket. He would read them later. There might be something important in them.

With only a few missives left in his hand he moved towards his office. He would have to take care of these ones before he thought about eating. There was a ruffling of wings as he strode into the room. Five owls vied for purchase on the stand near the window.

Not knowing how long some of them had been waiting he summoned them water and owl treats. "Help yourself." He grumbled as he took their missives one by one. Three of them were from Roland Greene, demanding to know where the hell he and his team were and what the hell they were doing. One was a news reporter asking for an exclusive interview. The last was an official notice letting him know when he was being called to testify against Carbonell and Melantha Javed. It took him a few minutes to check the date on the paper with the one in his head. Realizing that he had no clue what day it was he went in search of his watch and the little calendar that churned away in the bottom of the face. His eyes bulged when he made out the date in the dimming light.

The first surprise came with the realization that so many days had passed since he has last come home. He had been scouring the country looking for any sign of Blake, not daring to come home in fear of losing time or the trail of a lead. It was gutting to realize that so many days had passed without him finding anything.

The second surprise came with the realization that the trial was set for tomorrow. He had expected it to take more time to press charges and set a court date, especially in the current climate. He cursed as he sank into his desk chair. He thought he'd have more time to prepare.

He groaned as he spun the chair around so that he was facing the work space. There went those five hours of sleep he was counting on. He'd be lucky if he got two. Using his foot he spun his chair to the side until he faced the drawer of his desk. He used his wand to illuminate the room before he unwarded the drawer, pulled it open and flipped through the files until he found what he was looking for. He plopped the stack of folders on his desk, flipped open the top folder, and bent over the desk, chin braced on his curled hands. With a sigh he started reading. Before he could get very far there was the familiar screech of an owl approaching.

He turned in his chair to face the open window. A large, black bird swooped through the window and landed on his extended arm, it's wings dropping with exhaustion. The owl's claws dug into his arm as it fought to remain upright. The talons of one claw dug deep as it extended the other leg towards Ron, trying valiantly to keep its purchase.

"You've been looking for me a while, haven't you." Ron crooned softly to the bird. "Why don't you rest here a while." He nodded towards the vacant chair. "Get you strength back before you head out?"

The owl hooted gratefully as Ron brought his arm close to the perch, allowing the bird to step off his arm instead of flying.

When the bird was settled Ron spun back around, flipping over the letter, ready to open it. He paused. He moved up in his seat, sitting straighter when he saw the seal emblazoned on the back. This was a letter he'd actually been waiting for. He slipped his finger under the seal and prized it up.

His eyes scanned the missive quickly. The message was short and to the point, he liked that. And the news it brought was even better.

Satisfied, Ron crumpled up the missive in a tight ball, tossed it in the air, and used his wand to send it into the fireplace where he set it ablaze. Ron watched the few seconds it took for the magical fire to completely disintegrate it, feeling the weight of his obligation leave him as the paper burned.

That taken care of he turned back to his desk and took up the file. Before he could read one sentence there was a knock at his front door. He turned towards the sound, eyes narrowing as if he could see through the walls to who was standing at the front door.

He pushed his chair back from the desk. He would have thought it a family member. His mother, or his sister, possibly even Harry, but quickly dismissed the idea. The knock was too timid to be any of them. Nor would they have bothered using the front door. They would have opted to use the floo instead. Better to catch him before he had a chance to escape.

There was another knock, a little more forceful then the last, but still timid at the same time. Ron pushed back his chair and tossed the file back on his desk. He quickened his step as he left the room and moved toward the front door. He had a lot of work to do tonight, no time to waste. He slid over the knob releasing the lock and pulled open the door.

Ron's eyes widened with surprise. "What are you doing here?" He blurted out. Realizing immediately how rude he had sounded he smiled apologetically. "Sorry. Ahhh…" he rubbed the back of his neck, " I, er…"

The young girl's skin heated, darkening to a dull red. She shifted her weight awkwardly, ducking her eyes as she tucked a stray auburn curl behind her ear. "I'm sorry to be bothering you like this, Mr Weasley." She hazard a glance up at his face but quickly looked away when she met his eyes. "I know it isn't my place to come here, I don't even know you after all. Well, I do know you, who doesn't? I mean to say I know a great deal about you. What from the papers and my father going on and on and…" Her skin grew even darker. "Not that I believe half of what I hear…I mean, that's not the point. What I mean to say is… I shouldn't be here. I'll just leave now before I embarrass myself any further."

Bernie Hamlin turned hastily on her heal, ready to flee down the walk and into the night.

"Ms Hamlin," Ron called before she had the chance to get far.

She came to a stop, her shoulders going up around her ears. Hesitantly she turned her head to look back at him over her shoulder.

"Why did you come here, exactly?"

Her skin returned to what he was beginning to believe was her usual shade of red. The corners of her lips turned up in a tentative smile. "I thought," she hesitated, biting her lip. "I thought you could use the company." She flung up a hand as if to stop his thoughts, her eyes widening with what he assumed was horror. "Not that you need the company of a stranger. I just thought, well my father speaks very highly of you, you see. And, and, and I know, because of when my ma died, for myself at the least, that it was easier being around people who weren't involved." She was fully facing him now and took a few steps back up the path towards the house. "I brought you something to eat." She offered, holding up a ceramic dish with a lid. "It's my da's favorite." She offered lamely when he didn't respond, lowering the dish to carrying height. "I thought you might…" She cut off uncomfortably.

Bernie squirmed awkwardly under Ron's steady gaze. She had just decided to flee after all, with as much of her dignity as she still had intact, when he stepped to the side, clearing the doorway for her. "That's very kind of you." He offered when she made no move to enter.

Visibly relaxing, Bernie squared her shoulder and climbed the few short steps and stepped lightly into the house.

Once through the door Bernie paused, taking a moment to observe the foyer as Ron closed and bolted the door. "Are you moving?" She asked, nodding towards the stack of boxes.

"No." Ron said moving past her, his eyes determinedly facing forward. "Just…cleaning house." He glanced over at her as she fell into step beside him. "You wouldn't happen to know anyone in need of a nursery?"

"No. Sorry." She shook her head, once again biting her bottom lip. "I can't say that I do."

Hoping to change the subject Ron pushed forward. "You have perfect timing." He lied. "I was just thinking I should stop and eat. Unfortunately I don't think I have anything in the house. I hope you brought enough for two." He said lightly.

Bernie's cheeks flamed again. Ron had the fleeting thought that the poor girl was cursed worse than any Weasley he'd yet to meet.

"That's not…" she stammered. "I only meant to bring you…I wasn't looking for an invitation." She finally managed. "It isn't necessary…"

"Of course it is." Ron said cutting her off. He glanced down at the dish she carried. "You don't expect me to eat all of that by myself, do you?"

Bernie's lips twitched. "I have heard rumors."

Ron's own lips twitched the slightest. "Which is why I'm sure you're father had you make more than enough for two." Ron tilted his head towards her. "That is a part of his plan, after all." He said as if they were a part of some hidden conspiracy.

Bernie smiled sheepishly. "You aren't angry, are you?"

"No." Ron assured her, turning away. "I've been expecting this for some time. Your father's a persistent man."

"I must confess," she said after a few more steps. "I'm not only here because of my da." She stopped walking, forcing Ron to stop as well and turn and face her. She lowered her face. "I know how this is going to sound, but…" She took a large breath. "I've heard so many stories about you over the years, both from my da and from others, that in a way I feel like I know you. And I just…I just couldn't bear the thought of you…suffering on your own. No one should go through something like this alone."

Ron stared at her for a silent minute. He seemed to be coming to a decision. "I don't want to talk about her." He finally said.

"Who?" She looked up at him knowingly. "Exactly?"

Another heavy pause. "Both."

Bernie nodded that she understood.

"Alright then." Ron turned. "Do I need to start the oven or…"

"No." Bern picked up her step to follow him. "It's still warm. I put a heating charm on it before I left the house. I've become quite good at them."

"Oh?" Ron glanced back at her. "Why's that?"

Bernie's cheeks flamed again. "This…" she lowered her face, "this isn't the first time I've stopped." She mumbled just loud enough for him. "I hardly expected you to answer."

Ron ignored the implications of her confession. "I haven't been home as of much lately. I've been rather busy."

"So I've noticed."

He could hear the embarrassment in her voice. "The dining room's through there." He nodded at a door to his left as he drew even with it. "You can wait inside while I get some plates."

"I can help you." She offered.

"That's not necessary." He opened the door for her. "You provided the food, I can provide the rest."

"If you're sure?"

"Sit." He nodded towards one of the empty chairs. "I'll be right back." Not allowing her another chance to protest he turned and walked quickly down the remaining length of hallway to the kitchen.

Feeling more than a little awkward Bernie stepped into the dining room. Not sure what to do with herself she put the dish in the middle of the table.

Hands planted on her hips she turned in a slow, tight circle, taking in the room and its furnishings. A soft smile touched her lips. It didn't take a great leap of the imagination to guess as to what had inspired the color pallet.

The walls were painted a deep, almost blood red. The wood that made the furniture, the trim, the moldings and the floor were all stained a darker shade of brown that looked black in the dim light. And to leave no doubt where his allegiance lay, the room was accented with touches of gold.

"My sister picked that." Ron said as he came back into the room, magicing a tray in front of him.

Bernie was holding one of a handsome pair of gold candlesticks. "I'm sorry." She flushed, quickly setting it back in its place.

"It's all right." Ron dismissed her apology as he directed the heaving plate of dishes to the table. "Ginny has good taste. Even I can recognize that." He used his wand to direct the dinnerware off the tray and to set themselves on the table. "She did this entire room, actually."

"And Ginny's your sister?" She asked to clarify.

Ron nodded.

"And she's the one married to Harry Potter?"

Ron smiled as he nodded this time. "Seeing as I have only one sister, she would be the one."

Bernie's face heated again, which only made Ron's smile grow. He didn't know why, but he liked that she blushed even more readily than him.

"What would you like?" He asked, giving her his back, allowing her a moment to compose herself. "I have wine. Firewhiskey. An assortment of Muggledrinks…"

"Actually," she stepped closer to the table. "Do you have pumpkin juice? Only, I have the late shift tonight and it wouldn't be appropriate."

"Of course." Ron summoned the drink from the kitchen and poured a glass for both her and himself when it arrived. He handed her a glass then saluted her with his own before they both took a drink.

"So," he motioned for her to take a seat. "How much longer until you finish your training?"

Bernie hesitated a moment then sat. "Well," She took another sip before placing the glass in front of her. "I've a little more than a year left of this part of the program." She watched his hands as he filled his plate with her own heavier version of Shepherd's Pie. He started to lean forward to pick up her plate but stopped halfway through the act and instead handed her the spoon he had used to scoop up the meal. She smiled as she took the handle. "After that," she continued as if she hadn't noticed, but secretly wondered what that had been about, "I choose a specialty and spend the next two years studying under a Master, after which point I will be fully qualified."

Ron whistled low as he leaned back in his seat. "That's insane."

"What?" She put down the spoon and took up her fork, jabbing it into the mound of food.

"That's a lot of extra school. Personally, I couldn't wait to be out."

"I liked school." Bernie said, blowing on the fork full of hot carrot. "I wasn't ready for it to be over when I graduated."

"Is that why you chose to become a Healer?"

"No." Bernie shook her head sadly. A long, red curl fell over her eye. She tossed her head slightly to move it back. "I've always wanted to be a Healer. Ever since I was a little girl. We were always bringing my brother Michael in to heal or fix something. And I would watch them work…it was fascinating." She bowed her head. "And then when my ma died…" She lifted her eyes to meet Ron's. "I know there was nothing we could do to save her. I know…But if I," she held a hand to her chest, "If I could heal only one person's mother. Stop that one person from having to go through what I had to…then becoming a Healer would be well worth it." She stared at Ron a moment longer before she bowed her head once again towards her food. "I'm sorry." The curl had fallen across her face again and she tucked it behind her ear. "I'm talking too much again. I always do that."

"That's all right." Ron assured her. "I don't mind."

Trying to hide her embarrassment, Bernie picked up her glass and drank deep. "How about you?" She asked, setting the glass down. "Did you always want to be an Auror?"

Ron stopped chewing for a moment as he thought back. "No." He swallowed. A baleful grin spread across his lips. "I wanted to play Quidditch for the Cannons."

"Why didn't you?" She scooped some pie into her mouth to keep from laughing.

Ron sat still for a moment as he thought. "I recon," he said slowly, "it all comes down to being friends with Harry."

"What?" She teased, "He wouldn't let you?"

"No," Ron leaned forward, willing to be candid after she had been with him. "Harry would have thought it brilliant. No," he shook his head, trying to find the right words. "Harry has this way of…making you want to be a better person." Ron nodded with satisfaction. "Yeah. That's it. That's exactly it. Even when we were children, with him, it was never a question. If someone was in trouble, you did what you could to save them. No matter what. Even if it meant putting yourself in danger."

Ron fell quiet, his brow furrowing slightly from his thoughts. His mouth twitched slightly on one side seconds before he shook his head as if to clear it. "It was never difficult to do the right thing when you were spending time with Harry. His selflessness was so innate… I recon it was Harry who showed me that I had that need to help people, to protect them, inside me all along. So once the idea of being an Auror was inside my head," he shrugged, "there was no going back."

"And yet," she paused, uncertain, "you're going to give it all up."

Ron started, his fork colliding noisily with his plate. "Where did you hear that?"

Bernie shrugged a shoulder. "My da is privy to all sorts of Minsitry gossip."

Ron's eyes rolled in his head. "I should have guessed."

"But even if my da wasn't an incorrigible gossip, I would have heard rumor of it." Her voice lowered an octave. "The whole of the Minsitrty is talking about it."

Ron's head bowed forward, eyes closed. "I'm going to kill Parker." He mumbled under his breath.

"So it's true?" Her eyes widened with surprise.

Ron opened his eyes to look at the girl with mild curiosity and surprise. Not many people outside his close circle of friends had the audacity to demand answers from him, especially on a subject so personal. "I can neither confirm nor deny these rumors at such time."

Bernie frowned at him clearly annoyed. "Which is Ministry speech for yes."

Ron kept his mouth tightly shut.

Bernie turned her focus to her mostly untouched meal. She absently pushed the vegetables around the plate, her mind processing what she had leaned. Finally she set down her fork and lifted her hands to act as a brace for her chin. "I must confess," She tipped her head slightly to the side. "I hadn't expected the rumors to be true."

"No?"

"Of course not?" She laughed derisively. "The last rumors to go about the Ministry about you had you getting some Muggle girl pregnant and her abandoning your magical baby on your Ministry doorstep."

Ron wasn't smiling. "And you didn't believe that one either?"

Needing something to do with her hands, Bernie picked up her fork and speared a piece of meat. "I might have," she lifted the meat to her lips, "if da didn't talk about you all the time."

"And what's so hard to believe about me impregnating a Muggle girl?"

Bernie remained quiet for several minutes, weather it was from not knowing how to answer or simply not having one, Ron didn't know. "Did you know," she began, "that you're quite frequently the topic of conversation? I don't know many people who are unaware of your every move. Gossips…they're like elephants." Ron's face contorted with confusion. "They remember everything." She clarified. "My da…well… let's just say he has some very strong opinions about you. And I can't, for one moment believe, that he would have pushed so hard for us to meet if he thought you were a womanizer."

"Ollie doesn't know everything."

"He's a good judge of a man's character. I trust him."

Not knowing what to say to that Ron filled his mouth full with Shepherd's Pie, chewing the mouthful slowly before he swallowed.

"So why are you leaving the Aurors?" She pressed.

Ron lowered his fork, at the same time fighting a yawn. "You're not afraid to ask personal questions, are you?"

"No," she said simply. "I recon I'm not. But why should I be? If a person doesn't want to answer they won't. Besides, I have to ask people personal questions of a personal nature everyday with my job."

"About their bodies," he argued, "not their personal lives."

"Sometimes both." She reasoned. "There are situations where I need to ask a patient questions about their personal life because it pertains to a diagnosis."

"You're not treating me."

"No." She conceded with a bow. "I'm not."

Nodding with satisfaction Ron returned to his food while Bernie lifted the glass to her lips.

She stared at him several minutes before taking another. "So, what will you do instead?" She set her drink down. "Seek a position with the Cannons?"

Ron couldn't help but grin at the thought, his annoyance all but forgotten. "No." He shook his head. "I'm too old for that."

"Oh yes." She laughed. "Positively ancient. What are you now? Twenty-one? Twenty-two?"

"Twenty-three."

"I see what you mean." She nodded solemnly. "Another few years and you'd have to retire all together."

"Precisely." Ron struggled to hide the smile in his voice. "But beside all that, I haven't played competitively since…Hogwarts."

"So," she brought the question back around. "What will you do?"

"I haven't decided." All traces of humor were gone. He turned his head to stare out the darkened window. "I think I'll go. Somewhere where no one knows who I am. Where no one knows my name or my face." He turned back to her, his face hardening. "Where the intimate details of my life haven't been splashed across the front page of every newspaper."

Bernie's eyes softened with sadness. "Is it really that terrible for you here?"

Ron leaned suddenly forward, his arms folded one over the other, braced steadily on the table. "How many times have we met?"

Bernie arched a brow, uncertain where this question was leading. "Twice." She offered tentatively.

"Twice." Ron repeated for emphasis. "And how much do you know about me and what's going on in my life right now?"

She paused to think for a moment. "I see what you mean."

Ron looked down at his hand lying curled against the table top. "It didn't really bother me before. I would be lying if I didn't say that a part of me welcomed the attention. It feels good to be recognized…when it's something you're proud of. But when it's your own personal misery…"

"It's different." She concluded.

"I can't escape." He sat back. He had no idea why he was telling her all of this. He hardly knew her after all. But he couldn't make himself stop. Something about her had him wanting to tell her everything. It felt like she had managed to blow open the floodgates and there was nothing he could do to stop the flow until all the pressure was released. It was like he was purging his mind and body of some of the pain he had been carrying with him, and he couldn't stop. He didn't want to. Not just yet. "I can't even leave my house," he continued, "without being reminded of what happened. No one will let me forget."

Bernie reached forward to place her hand gently over his. "No one would blame you for wanting to get away."

"But they do." He said scornfully. "And because of that I can't go."

"Why not?"

"Because," he raised his eyes to hers. "I'll let everyone down."

"I don't believe that?"

"Really?" He pulled his hand free as he leaned back in his chair. "My sister assures me that if I leave I'll be letting my family down. Parker, my partner and second in command, tells me if I resign I'll be letting my team down. And I'm sure if we asked someone else I'd be letting down the rest of the Wizarding Community. I'm a public figure you know." He said snidely. "People rely on me."

"Hmm," she frowned unhappily. "I see what you mean." She scooped up several bites of the pie, chewing them slowly, thoughtfully. "How do Harry and Hermione cope with all of this? It has to be just as bad for them."

Ron's jaw stiffened under her gaze. "Harry's use to it, I suppose. He's been under the public eye, or at least aware of it, ever since he rejoined the Wizarding world."

"And Hermione?" she persisted.

Ron took a few strong pulls from him pumpkin juice, wishing fervently at the moment that it was something stronger. He lowered the cup briefly. "Hermione runs away." He said unemotionally.

Bernie tilted her head thoughtfully to the side. "I take it you don't approve of her method?"

Ron put the glass down with a little more power than he had intended. "Running away is the cowardly thing to do. A true Gryffindor would stay and face whatever was coming, no matter how much it pained them."

She arched a brow. "I see. And, a…where was it you were planning on running to?"

"I was thinking Amer-" He cut off halfway as the full meaning of her question registered.

Immediate shame washed over him. Finally he understood. That's what Ginny and Parker and how many others had been trying to tell him. To show him. He had been so focused on escaping his pain, on being free of it all, that he hadn't let himself understand that he was in fact trying to run away.

He shook his head slowly, trying to deny the realization. But he couldn't do it. Not anymore. He couldn't be one of those people. He wasn't going anywhere. He wouldn't be like Hermione, running away from her problems when things got too hard. He would stay and he would fight. He would face them head on.

The silence stretched on a few minutes longer. "America." He met her gaze, jaw firmly set. "I was thinking of running," he choked on the word, "to America."

"But not anymore?"

He gave his head a curt shake. "I'm not going anywhere."

She smiled at him softly. "I did'na think you would."

"I'll see this through." He clarified. "But then…"

"You'll do what you think is right." Once again she reached across the space that separated them and rested her hand on top of his. "You know," she said softly. "I read once that there are cases where the thing's a person hates most in others is in fact what they hate most in themselves."

Ron nodded. "I think," he had to pause as he fought back another yawn, "I think you'll be a great Healer someday."

She smiled softly. "Thank you. That means a lot coming from you."

His eyes narrowed curiously. "Really?"

She nodded impishly, tossing her hair back over her shoulder. "I hear you have a great deal of experience with Healers."

Ron chuckled, nodding. "That I do. Not so much as Harry though."

"Now that," she laughed, "I believe."