Disclaimer: I don't own HP :(

A/N: Hey guys - I think I'm going to start updating on Wednesdays now. It works easier for me and hopefully for you. :)

Anyway, THANKS to all of you who left a review -- they were all so great!!

For this chapter, I went in a different direction. I figured if I wrote one more Ron-and-Hermione-bicker-the-entire-chapter chapter, then everyone would get sick of it. So, I'm introducing the appearence of different characters. Adding Ginny, Seamus, etc. every here and there. Also, you have to go into this reading knowing that Heather McDowell IS NOT a Mary Sue, I PROMISE. I just want to make this story as realistic as possible. :)

Enjoy!!

There was a short rap on the door. At first, Ron didn't think anything of it. His flat had a lot of creaks and groans that sounded at all times of day. The noise disturbed him again, this time drawing him from his business at his desk.

"What is that?" he asked no one particular, looking to Gus.

The dog's eyebrows raised and he clambered to his feet. Drawing close to his master, Gus sniffed at Ron's pocket. The knock coming from the front hall grew louder and more insistent. Frantically, Gus poked and prodded his gray snout into the side of his master's denim jeans.

"Get away," Ron slapped Gus' nose hesitantly. When the dog persisted – almost paranoid – Ron touched his pocket. It was full.

The knocking continued.

Utterly frustrated, Ron stood and delved into his pocket with grasping fingers. Producing a letter, he started towards the door. "Gus!" he exclaimed, his brow furrowing, "why do you do this to me?"

For an answer, Gus whined and skittered into the hallway to sniff at the bottom of the door. He could see the shadows of shoes interrupting the light that usually beamed through the gap between ground and door. He knew who was coming.

"Just a bloody second!" Ron roared as he reached the main hall. His hands ripped the note open and he leaned against the doorframe to read.

Dated Sunday, May 16, from the Head Desk of Senior Healer H. McDowell:

Dear Mr. Ronald Weasley,

If I may make a formal introduction, my name is Heather McDowell of St. Mungos' Rehabilitation Ward. I specialize in injuries and illnesses like Ms. Hermione Granger's – my official heading is under the Prolonged Unidentified Symptoms and Experimental Treatments. A lot of scientific words and useless titles, I know, but I wish you to know my qualifications before I delve into the subject at hand.

I am requesting a visit with the aforementioned Ms. Granger on Tuesday, specifically around eleven. I am the overseer on her case, as requested by an organization I hesitate to mention in a letter, but one I'm sure you are well aware of and affiliated with. I have read the submitted paperwork, but I have some follow-up questions that I would prefer to hear from the patient herself. I also have a few more forms that I am trusting you will fill out upon my arrival.

Please contact me in the correct department at St. Mungos if a problem arises, but expect me promptly by eleven. I have already cleared the time with the aforementioned organization. I apologize for any inconvenience this visit may cause.

Sincerely,

Snr. Hlr. H. McDowell

Ron threw the letter down and looked at his wrist. There was no watch to be found. He glanced around quickly and found a clock resting haphazardly on the edge of the mantelpiece in the sitting room. It read exactly eleven.

There was another knock. "Hello?" a decidedly female voice called tersely. "Is this the Weasley residence?"

"Merlin," Ron muttered, as he launched himself at the door. He fumbled with the latch and eventually threw it open. "Tell England where I live, why don't you?" he hissed.

"There's a silencing bubble on the front doorstep," the female voice replied. "Even I know that." The visitor brushed past his shoulder as she made her way into the main hall, uninvited. She was older, with a hunch in her shoulders and what seemed like arthritis-plagued knees. She was wearing sunglasses and a light fleece, a flowered scarf tied neatly about her white hair.

Ron slammed the door shut, glaring at his dog who was noticeably restraining himself from jumping on the new guest. Gus whined again and withdrew to a corner.

"Come right in," he growled at the back of her head.

The woman took off her coat languidly, looking at her surroundings. "Nice enough place," was her offhanded remark.

"Why, thank you," Ron retorted with clenched teeth. "May I take your coat?"

"Oh yes," the woman answered in a much more amiable voice. She turned and handed him the jacket.

Ron stopped with his hand only halfway outstretched. The woman standing before him looked nothing like the old woman she had walked in as. Though still tiny in stature, her hair had grown sleek black and shoulder length. The hunch in her shoulders disappeared to reveal a slender, conservatively-dressed frame. Her eyes flashed from behind bangs that had come unpinned.

"Mr. Weasley?" she questioned, her voice thick with a distinctive Irish accent. "Mr. Weasley, are you alright?"

She was addressing him as though he were a man of fifty. She looked young, but not naïve enough to mistake his age. Perhaps the strict formality that he had read in her letter carried into her speech.

"Yes," Ron managed to mumble, closing his fingers around the soft fabric. "Yes, I'm fine."

"Good," she smiled softly. She was watching him closely, unabashedly.

There was an awkward silence as Ron went to hang up the woman's jacket. He felt his pulse become irregular. It had been years since he had been around strangers – especially women. It had been hard enough making conversation with Ginny. How would he make do with Heather McDowell, Healer Extraordinaire?

When he returned, his guest was petting Gus and whispering things Ron guessed were praises. She straitened upon seeing him and smoothed her collared blouse. She was a smartly-dressed woman, attractive in a sharp sense. It made him feel dizzy.

"I haven't had the pleasure of meeting you directly, Mr. Weasley," she said, walking toward him. She held out an open hand, her fingernails painted a crisp red.

Ron grasped it uncertainly. "Call me Ron," his voice seemed foreign in his ears.

"Heather," she answered warmly. "I apologize if my letter arrived late. I just wrote it Sunday night. I simply forgot to do it earlier – been dealing with a nasty case of a cocktail curse all weekend." Her accent curled all of her 'r's, making them sound smooth.

"It's alright," the odd sensation of not belonging to his body overtook Ron. He was going through the motions of greeting that he had forgotten about long ago.

She let go of his hand first and brushed hers off against her leg. "Well," she sighed, obviously not letting the awkwardness of the situation seize her, "let's get this started, shall we?"

"Yes," Ron answered lamely. He stood to the side and gestured to the stairs. "Let me show you to her."

"Perfect," Heather said, starting up them. "Thank you."

In a few minutes, Heather had found Hermione's room and gracefully entered without so much as knocking. It didn't matter, as her patient was still deep in slumber. Hermione always rested after breakfast. Ron stood in the doorframe and explained all of this.

Heather nodded as she took a pair of heavy, black glasses out of her slacks and placed them gently on her nose. They engulfed half of her face, making her look slightly comical. Her eyebrows rose at his grin. Ron continued – albeit red-faced – and elucidated his personal treatments. Heather searched for her wand and then conjured up a briefcase filled with documents and sample kits, all the while mumbling messages of understanding.

At the end of Ron's discourse, Heather rocked back and forth on her heels. Her gaze flickered from him to Hermione and back again. She had an expensive looking quill in-between her teeth. "Alright," she drew out, "it sounds like you've been doing a thorough job, if I may comment."

"Sure," Ron responded, a bit surprised. He had found it easier to speak since his lecture on treatment. "Any recommendations?" The words flowed painlessly from his lips as long as he considered Heather McDowell and Healer and not a woman.

Her mouth screwed up in thought and finally she replied, "After my examination. I'll be able to have a more rounded view on Ms. Granger's condition and it will be less of a guess, better for the both of you."

It was Ron's turn to nod.

"Alright, well," Heather turned to her briefcase and extracted a thick, manila folder, "if you'll take these and fill them out, it'd be of great service to me."

Ron took them quietly.

"Please don't take this as a sign of rudeness, Mr. Weasley," Heather began, folding her hands in front of her.

Ron stiffened considerably at her reverse of formality.

Heather smiled and continued, "But I need you to step out of the room now. This is a strictly confidential procedure and I don't want to risk a liability."

He jerked his head and slid away from the door, feeling the pull of the brandy downstairs.

"I hope you understand!" her feminine voice called after him.

Ron made no move to respond. Instead, his feet carried him down the stairs drudgingly. They took him to the kitchen, to the booze cabinet, to a glass of warm ale. He took it to the living room and glared on the work he had been finishing. Instead of completing the files on time, he would have to postpone in order to finalize his new work.

Ron took a great sip and lowered himself on the sofa. Gus soon joined him, but Ron was not in a giving mood. He glowered at the dog, simmering in his discontent. Gus lowered his head and settled near the fireplace, facing away. Ron finished the ale and began work on the new papers.

They were simple forms, asking him who he was, who his patient was, what their history was, her physical state, her mental state, her 'recovery timeline' and her place on it, his medical opinion of her progress, et cetera. His handwriting was quick and messy. He did not care a rat's ass about anything he wrote, for he had written it several times before. He also knew that these files were simply going to be stored away, never to be looked over again, and overall a giant waste of time.

---

"Ms. Granger," Heather spoke softly, jostling her patient's shoulder. "Ms. Granger, can you hear me?"

Hermione stirred, feeling the weight on her body. "Lunch already?" her voice sounded meek and surprised.

"No, Ms. Granger," Heather retorted, "you have a guest."

Hermione blinked, coming to. Realizing it was not, in fact, Ron, she jolted from her place and pressed her back firmly against the wall. Her fingers were still clutching her blankets. "Ron!" she sounded strangled and confused. "Ron!"

"Please, Ms. Granger," Heather was taken aback, but not thoroughly shocked by Hermione's actions. It would not be the first time she had encountered a less-than-willing patient. "Settle down, I'm not here to hurt you."

"Ron!" Hermione's voice was gaining strength. "Where are you?"

"Ms. Granger, my name is Heather McDowell – I'm a Senior Healer at St. Mungos – I'm here to help you," Heather set down her clipboard and held out her hands, face-up. "I've got nothing. I promise. I'm here to help." She reverted to her smile.

"Ron!" Tears were threatening at the edge of Hermione's eyes. "Please, don't do this to me." She squeezed them tight, wishing she were someplace else. "Please. Come back!"

"Ms. Granger, please," Heather began.

"Stop calling me that!" Hermione snapped, sick of hearing the address slip from the stranger's mouth. "Ron?"

---

Ron heard shouting from above. He shrugged it off curtly, a quill clamped tightly between his fingers. Women, he thought.

---

Finally, Heather had soothed Ms. Granger into submission. It was enough to perform her regular functions – weight, height, pallor, balance, vision, blood work, muscle tone and strength – and the tasks were accomplished in a regular amount of time. Overall, Heather was pleased with herself. She would be able to quit the apartment and be able to report her findings before her normal six o'clock departure for home.

---

It took Ron an hour and a half before he heard his name called.

"Mr. Weasley!" Heather McDowell's voice carried quite well in the small home. "Mr. Weasley, can you come up here for a moment?"

Ron gathered his work, grumbling, and found Heather leaning against the railing at the top of the stairs. She smiled when she saw him.

"There you are."

"I live here," he grumbled in response. "What do you need me for now?"

Heather stopped him before he reached the top stair. Ron noticed that Hermione's bedroom door had been closed tightly. His eyebrow rose when her hand met his shoulder kindly.

"I've given her a sleeping draught," she replied. "The exam was a little more, uh, draining than I thought it would be for her."

"You mean all that screaming that was going on earlier? That was part of your test – vocal reaction?" Ron asked sarcastically, following Heather back down his stairs. His agitation with the woman was beginning to grow – she had quite the nerve. It wasn't enough that she didn't find his medical opinion qualified, or that she didn't approve of his home, but that she found herself capable of treating his patient without his consent.

Heather stopped abruptly in the middle of the hall and turned to face him. Without bothering with a response to his earlier retort, she asked, "Is there a place where I can sit? I hope you don't mind my asking, but my feet are hurting."

"Right this way," Ron answered diffidently, gesturing slightly to the sitting room. He seated Heather in the better chair, as was custom to do for a lady, and sat opposite her with a glare on his features.

Heather smoothed her slacks before bringing her leg to cross the other. "Well," she said primly, "Hermione Granger is in much better condition than I thought she would be."

Ron snorted. "Did you think I was lying on my paperwork?"

Heather blushed, replying, "I thought you were… being overzealous in your evaluations. I see now that my assumptions about you, Mr. Weasley, were wrong. I apologize."

"Ron," he answered shortly, "I told you to call me Ron. 'Mr. Weasley' makes me uncomfortable." Frankly, her apology made him feel uncomfortable as well. He was not used to being praised.

"Right," Heather laughed, "sorry. I forgot."

There was a silence, when Ron felt uncomfortably warm in his shirt and Heather looked about aimlessly, trying to calm her fidgety hands. Ron's apartment was in disrepair. Not totally a dump, but slowly getting there. She could see the dust hanging in the sunlit air.

"Here," Ron said after a while, throwing the manila files on her lap. "I finished them."

"Thank you," she smiled again, dimples denting her cheeks. "I know it's a pain, but that's half of what my job entails. I must spend whole days owling the whole department for their records. I come off as quite pushy to some."

"I've heard," Ron recalled Seamus' previous letters.

He watched the woman blush prettily. He turned his head.

"Anyway, as I was saying," Heather once again found her voice, "Hermione Granger looks extraordinary. From a medical standpoint, that is. Hand-eye coordination is superb, reflexes back to normal, things like that. Her legs are still very weak, but that's to be expected in coma patients." She waved her hand, "Anyway, a month or so of exercise will cure her of that. All in all, I have to admit it Ron - you are one fine caregiver."

"Thank you," he felt the heat creeping up his neck. He scratched at it, feeling nothing but his beard stubble.

"There is one thing that concerns me, though," Heather's voice grew serious, as did her countenance. Her fingers folded tightly into each other as she uncrossed her legs.

"And what would that be?"

"Her mental health." There was to be no getting around it. Hermione Granger was acutely, psychologically scarred. She flinched at Heather's commands, drew away from her touch, cried when asked to remove her clothes, and squirmed away from Heather's wand. All the symptoms of a torture victim were readily apparent.

"What about it?"

"I'm going to request a follow-up session with Ms. Granger." Heather was leaning over the arm of her chair, speaking clearly and precisely. "In order to fully heal, she will also have to deal with her past. It's already hard for her in the present – this kind of thing cannot continue if she wants to lead a normal life after her recuperation."

"Alright," Ron's voice was hard. He did not see any reason to bring in anyone unneeded. He could help Hermione cope – it was obvious she required his assistance with it. However, the sooner she healed, the sooner she would leave him be.

Heather took out her clipboard from her pocket and began scribbling something down. "I would make you an appointment with Head Healer Andy Keene for next Monday – seeing as how he's a good psychologist and he specializes in long-term trauma patients…"

"But?"

"Unfortunately, The Order is afraid that having so many visitors over in such a short span of time might compromise your hideout. I will replace Mr. Keene and report here at eleven exactly." She finished scribbling, grinned, and handed him the paper. "Just another to add to your collection."

Ron did not want Heather McDowell to return. He did not want to hear about Andy Keene. He did not want to be informed on Hermione Granger's mental state. He just wanted to go to sleep.

He snatched it from her and pushed it into the cushions he was sitting on when she turned away.

"I should be going, then," Heather spoke. She stood abruptly and walked into the hall, summoning her coat from the rack. She was finally beginning to feel awkward – Ron Weasley was not the easiest man to get along with. It would be better if she left.

Ron helped Heather slip the fleece around her shoulders. He stood impatiently by the door, his hand on the latch, and waited for her to exit.

Heather flipped her black hair out of the collar and sighed. "Oh!" she exclaimed, turning to face him. Her mouth was open in a perfect oval.

"What?" Ron couldn't help but grinning.

"I forgot to tell you that Seamus Finnigan is going to be stopping by," she exclaimed, throwing her hand to her forehead. "Sorry."

"When?"

Heather scrunched her eyebrows, fully embarrassed by herself. "I think he said next week. Perhaps we'll both appear, if The Order's not against it. It'd save us both the hassle of securing protection charms. Discretionary business is such a hassle."

Ron shrugged, feeling as if his life were completely out of his hands. He had no control over who came or who went. The only thing constant was his irritation. "Can I inquire as to his motives?" he asked, dreadfully sarcastic.

"Seamus needs to complete an intelligence report that he's been working on. He can't present it without an interview with Ms. Granger." The subject made Heather itch to change it soon. She had been told that Hermione would need to recant her experiences in The Shop's camp during her last few weeks as a member. It would be a difficult thing to sit through.

"I guess I can't refuse," Ron shrugged again, trying to shake away the curiosity that was rising inside of him. Though he no longer cared for Hermione, he would do almost anything to know where she had gone and what she had done without him. He also found it unfair that Seamus, of all people, would be privy to the information.

Heather stood next to the door, waiting for the dreamy look in Ron's eyes to dissipate. He would a handsome fellow, if he bothered to shave and dress properly. His face was drawn and gaunt, but she still observed his strong chin and nose. His body was lean and long, his fingers knobby. There were freckles everywhere.

Ron blinked and realized he was under her scrutiny yet again. Quickly, he shoved the latch down and the door opened.

"Well," Heather smiled again; her cheeks still flushed slightly, "goodbye, Ron."

"Goodbye," he answered gruffly.

Heather tucked her scarf under her chin and stepped out of the flat. Ron shut the door before she had time to look back, taking pleasure in the echoing sound of the slam. Finally, he felt safe and calm. Everything was quiet again.

Ron glared at Gus one last time. The dog ducked out of the way as Ron went to the kitchen to prepare an early dinner.

A/N: Thanks for reading! I hope you guys approve. :) If not, let me know, and I'll make some revisions. Have a great rest of the week!!

Also, drop me a review!! Thanks. :)

Katie