A/N: I love holiday weekends! I'm in the US right now (split my time between here and Germany) and am loving this little reading and writing retreat I'm on right now. Simply glorious.
Thank you for the follows and reviews! It's so encouraging to hear that people are intrigued by this story. Please continue to let me know your thoughts. Also, apologies for the typos in the first two chapters…I never write with a beta and these are the consequences.
With that…enjoy! xx
Ron half stumbled back towards his drab cubicle, a million thoughts swarming through his mind. The drone of activity in the office had picked up as witches and wizards filtered in on an ordinary Friday morning, greeting one another and discussing weekend plans as new assignments were skimmed over. But Ron heard only Keagan's echoing words contrasting with the unsteady rhythm of his anxiously increasing heartbeat.
Harry must have seen the glazed-over look in his friend's eyes or noticed the nervous sweat breaking out across his head, but had to ask what happened twice before Ron realized he was awaiting a response. There was a slight tremble in his voice as he recounted to Harry what their boss had just commissioned him to do, his voice rising a pitch higher than normal.
Of course, it wasn't the prospect of hunting down a deadly creature causing his palpitating heart. It was her.
"C'mon," Harry urged, standing to his feet and struggling to raise Ron by the elbow. "You've got to get moving! Lethifolds can –"
"It's not that!" Ron barked, yanking his arm free from Harry's grip. "It's…it's the…the person I might have to work with," he managed to utter bitterly, frustrated that Harry's perpetual saviour complex was interfering with his own personal crisis.
He watched as his best mate straightened his glasses, lips pursed together as he tried to comprehend what the redheaded wizard was implying. His green eyes were alert, swimming with curiosity and his expression suddenly flashed with realization. There was a momentary pause before he answered measuredly.
"Ron, she's brilliant. I don't have to tell you that. She might –"
"Shut it," Ron spat angrily. His heart was beating uncontrollably. The urge to apparate to his favorite pub around the corner was sounding incredibly appealing, even though it wasn't even nine o'clock yet. A bit of brandy would be nice.
Several tense seconds passed before the raven haired wizard leaning against his desk lost patience. With arms folded tightly across his chest, he narrowed his eyes at Ron and took an exasperated breath.
"That's it. If you're willing to let something this ridiculous keep you from rescuing innocent people, I'm asking Keagan for the case."
Another few seconds ticked by. Ron's stomach was twisted into a knot so tight he was having a hard time getting enough air into his lungs. He knew Harry wasn't bluffing, but also sensed his best mate was giving him ample time to process. It was only a matter of time before Keagan was going to poke his balding head out of his office and see the two wizards worriedly debriefing orders instead of addressing the catastrophe.
"Ron…" Harry started, his voice a bit gentler this time. The two men made eye contact and Ron finally gave up, sensing that Harry taking the heat for his lack of courage would likely be worse than whatever lay before him.
Both men grabbed their wands and hurried through the large oak doors, heading straight for the lifts. With each step forward, he felt his resolve strengthen. Visions of a horrid caped monster literally consuming muggles on the streets were beginning to shift his perspective. But only enough to allow him to put one foot in front of the other, following his best friend down the bustling corridor.
"Level Four," the elevator dinged in a cheery voice over the hum of flying notes. Ron gulped. The last time he had stepped foot on this floor was 517 days ago. One of the most awful days of his life.
Following Voldemort's downfall, the ministry was in absolute disarray. Open cases had been left abandoned, their statuses pending from when employees from all departments were channeled towards the success of the Muggle-Born Registration Commission. Even when Hermione started her job after a year of relative stability under Kingsley Shacklebolt, ample time was needed to sift through piles of neglected reports.
Reminiscent of days at Hogwarts, when a handful of her coworkers discovered that the ambitious witch worked much more efficiently than they, she became an easy target for absorbing supplementary work. For her, each suspected case of abuse or neglect of a magical creature could be a matter of life or death. The image of Dobby's white tombstone haunted her on days when she felt inundated with an impossible caseload, allowing the prickling sadness to give way to a sense of purpose.
Excessive chatter of idle officemates drove Hermione to approach her head of department one afternoon to request a private office after just a few months on the job. While recognizing it was a plucky move, her proposal was rewarded with a quiet (though rather minuscule) room just large enough to squeeze her desk and filing cabinet inside. She went to work transforming it into a war room of sorts, keeping everything immaculately organized in order to prevent any semblance of the former way her office operated. Each morning she tackled at least three new inquiries and resolved to finish one, attempting to keep her open cases pending for no more than a week. It was positively grueling.
Due to her unintentional lie-in, Hermione was running quite behind schedule. She was due to present that afternoon before the Wizengamot Committee on Lesser Offenses to fight the barbaric attempt the British and Irish Quidditch League was making to restore snitches with Golden Snidgets again. On top of that, she needed to pay a visit to St. Mungo's and interview the enraged witch pressing charges against the giant who unintentionally crushed her cottage. Hermione knew the poor creature was being harshly detained until she made headway.
She pinched the bridge of her nose, sensing a headache coming on already. Merlin, how was it already nine o'clock? While she felt confident about her afternoon case, a trip St. Mungo's would need to be swift. Sadly, she'd need to skip lunch again today.
Just as Hermione was standing to leave, the door to her office was flown open, causing her to drop her papers in surprise. One of her best investigators, Mathilda Grimblehawk, burst inside and quickly shut the door behind her.
"Granger, do I have news for you!" she exclaimed, her face flushed in excitement. Hermione liked and trusted Mathilda, but her adventurous nature at times felt a bit reckless. Her reluctant admittance to tasting the Draught of Living Death didn't help her reputation. Before giving the witch time to answer, Mathilda clapped her hands and leaned across Hermione's desk.
"A Living Shroud. Here in London!" She squealed, delighting in being the first to share the news with the dumbstruck witch. Hermione's hand flew to her mouth in complete disbelief, flabbergasted that a creature of that rarity was even in Britain.
"But that can't be –"
"It's true! Pruce told me Shacklebolt's new assistant found a nasty message sent on a cape in his office –"
"A lethifold in the Ministry of Magic?!"
"No, just a cape. With the dark mark drawn on it., though The creature is still out there. Eaten two muggles already, though I reckon probably more once night falls." Hermione was stunned into silence as the witch continued. "If it normally preys on sleeping villagers in the middle of nowhere, imagine what it can do with a whole city of naive muggles. On a Friday night, too, there'll be loads of people out till the wee hours who won't stand a chance."
Hermione felt her blood run cold. While she didn't know too terribly much about creatures outside of those native to Europe, the lethifold's reputed violence made it a viable threat to anyone traveling to the tropics.
Smoothing her hair back with both hands, Hermione reminded herself of the mission she was on. Distractions, no matter how intriguing, could derail justice for those who were depending on her. Mathilda's scandal was not pertinent to her right now.
"Dreadful news, really, but I actually must be going," Hermione began, but a booming announcement requesting everyone in the division to gather immediately for an update interrupted her departure. Rolling her eyes, Hermione inwardly berated her colleague for stalling her. Now she had to likely go hear the more accurate version of what Mathilda shared and remain until her gossipy coworkers had their fill of morbid details.
The two brunette witches hastily made their way to where the rest of their curious colleagues were congregating. Hermione had her head buried in her bag as she walked, ensuring she had all the paperwork needed to go straight to the trial after her appointment. It wasn't until she registered the decreasing babble and burning stares of her colleagues that she felt the need to look up.
And her world completely stopped spinning on its axis.
Standing there, looking anywhere in the room except at her, was Ronald Weasley. Hands shoved into his pockets, a bit more stubble to his face than she was used to seeing, nervous energy radiating off him in waves. While Hermione knew his hair would be short, it was completely different seeing it in person. Seeing him in person at all. She couldn't help herself – she stood gaping at him until someone loudly cleared their throat.
"H-Harry, what are you doing here?" she asked, her voice catching. Hermione felt as though she were two feet above her body, watching the awkward exchange at a distance. She felt incredibly rude not acknowledging Ron's presence, but he was doing a damn good job ignoring her, too. Besides, what could she possible greet him with?
Harry Potter remained her constant. He was the same man that she had grown up alongside – always kind, frustratingly insecure at times, hasty with making decisions, and unwaveringly loyal. He provided an undercurrent of steadiness she depended on. His eyebrows lifted towards her, acknowledging that yes…this was weird. And she sensed he was sorry about that.
"Alright everyone, listen! We've received orders from the Aurors that a Living Shroud is loose!" Hermione's boss began dramatically, stirring the small crowd of witches and wizards who had moved in closer to hear. Mathilda smirked and elbowed Hermone in the ribs, whispering a pleased told you so into her ear. Hermione couldn't focus anymore – she felt stares practically burning lasers at the back of her head. Did any of her colleagues know of her history with Ron? Why exactly was he here? Was it his gaze she felt so strongly on her?
"…and so, Mr. Potter needs help assisting him with tracking down –"
"Er, actually, I'm just here to…um…provide clarity," Harry interrupted, gesturing awkwardly to Ron. Dozens of eyes shifted to the redheaded wizard beside him, looking as nervous as a first year about to face the Sorting Hat.
She saw him finally look up, eyes fixed on a spot on the wall above all of their heads.
A steady lump was growing in Hermione's throat as she let her eyes wander across the man she once knew so well. Was it grief she felt? Anger? A combination of the two? The feeling grew so intense she had to look away, feeling as though she might burst into flames at any moment.
"I need help," he began, his voice deeper than she was expecting. "A dark witch or wizard pulled this off, but I need someone on this with me who knows about lethifolds. Someone who isn't afraid of them, but more importantly, the person responsible for it." There was a steely edge in his voice, as if challenging the nerve of the entire department.
Silence. For the first time since beginning this job nearly two years ago, Hermione didn't hear a peep from her normally boisterous officemates. She made eye contact with Harry, wordlessly willing him to diffuse the uncomfortable air in the room.
"Alright, you all heard 'im. Who's got room to take this? Goes without saying, one of us has to." Hermione cringed inwardly at her boss's display of terrible of leadership. A few people coughed or shifted uneasily, but none volunteered.
She dared a glance back at Ron. His jaw was tightened, adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. Brilliant blue eyes still burning a hole in that same spot on the wall behind them. Hermione knew him well enough to sense his repugnance as time stretched on without a single person stepping up.
Responsibility began to battle with survival mode. The longer we wait, the worse the carnage may be. All it takes is a patronus, right? They'd have to destroy it, of course – there was no safe way to transport it back to its proper climate. Merlin, this was quite the debacle. The sensible part of her brain reminded her of the gigantic stack of creatures who needed help. It was only a matter of time before the healers would release Mrs. Hayhurst and her opportunity to poke holes in her statement would vanish. And there was no way she could let the Golden Snidget case fall apart - it would be ages before postponed hearings were rescheduled, especially with those pompous quidditch officials. London had enough Aurors, investigators, and brave civilian witches and wizards to take this on. Not much was even known of lethifolds – how much help could she really be? You do enough work around here! Let someone else pull their weight for once.
Survival mode got her voice, too. Get. Out. Of. Here.
Chest pounding, Hermione began to feel the cramped room spin around her. Her lungs couldn't seem to fill with enough air from the crowded, emotionally charged space. She was suffocating – that familiar dreaded sensation she had felt in this very office quite some time ago. It all came rushing back in a torrent of anguish.
His angry fist colliding with a box of files, papers scattered all over the floor. The fuming roar of frustration, sending her backed against the wall. Her shrill rebuke, mingling with sobs. Her begging, pleading with him to stay with her. To forget what she had said earlier when she suspected he was too drunk to comprehend, to remain by her side and disregard those words she so sorely regretted. How she longed to take back that stinging accusation.
"Just leave, Ron! Might as well storm off for good this time. I'm better off without you." Merlin. What wretched untruth had set off such a destructive bomb. She had been walking around with a six-foot hole in her heart ever since. Hermione recalled how his wild eyes instantly brimmed over, the childhood insecurity overtaking his expression. The locket's condemnation. The person who meant the most to him echoing the same sentiment.
Better without you, happier without you. Least loved. Least loved.
Maybe this was it – the time to rectify what she said in anger and help him remember the truth. But would he even let her? Could she handle a third abandonment from this man?
Harry's perceptive eyes pierced hers, relaying a message with no words at all. Do it. Show him. Now.
Nearly everyone, including Hermione, jumped in surprise when a small voice piped up and banished the awkward silence.
"I'll go! I'll help find the beast!" came the triumphant cry.
Relief washed over everyone in the room. Everyone, that is, except the brown-eyed witch, her famous best friend, and (though he'd never dare admit) the man she loved.
A/N: Ah! Who could it be?! Follow or favorite to see what happens next.