EDIT!! Okay, for those of you who have already read the last part of the chapter, you were all like, "Seamus?" and I was like, "What are you talking about?" so I looked and I accidently put "Seamus" instead of "Ron." Seamus didn't go with Viktor to his house. :):):)

Disclaimer: I don't own HP

A/N: Hey guys, another update on time! :) Anyway, I've been straying from the strictly Ron-and-Hermione storyline, but I think it fleshes out the story quite nicely. I like building up all of the other characters and giving them their own lines. So, I hope you enjoy them too. Things are going to get really big!! Oh, and for Amanda: I had never thought about Neville before. He may show up as well, later. Thanks to all of you who suggest things, because honestly, I am lost in my world for the most part and content with making things up. Thanks!!

Enjoy!! :)

Arthur paced the front hall of the spacious apartment, the echoes of his footfalls resonating loudly in his ears. He was quite aware of how alone he was at the moment and strained to hear the familiar bustle of his family. Even though he had not lived with all six children for years, the bickering of raised voices or a party of laughter brought a smile to his prematurely wrinkled face. However, at the moment, he could hear nothing but the scuffling of his wife's slippers across the upstairs hallway. He sighed and peered out the glass in the door, knowing that he would see nothing but doing it to waste time.

It took at least a quarter of an hour before his ears picked up the faint knocking. He hurried towards the door and opened it only scarcely. Everyone was on alert tonight and a door flung wide would only attract attention.

"Come in," the whisper was rasp across his dry lips.

His heart pounded with anxiety and he willed that his knees would not buckle, as they were so inclined to do. His fingers brushed against the cool wood of the door and then he released it to step back and take a fine look at his guests.

Arthur felt lightheaded at the sight of his daughter and her companion. The simple fact she was alive made his elation consume him for several, unspeakable moments.

There she was – tall, beautiful, and marred – leaning heavily against a broad shouldered Seamus. Her face was piqued and white, her nose skewed horribly, and a black bruise forming around the contour of her eye. Her arm was bandaged and her clothes were torn. She limped and grappled onto the cloak Seamus wore for support. He gave it readily, his arms put out suddenly to hold her, and Arthur felt a surge of relief and respect for the young man.

"Daddy," Ginny said brightly, as if nothing in the world was wrong. As if her ankle weren't sprained with a tattoo of blue and green running up the side of her leg, as if her brother wasn't gone, as if her family wasn't being torn apart one by one.

Arthur almost cried with joy as he held out his arms. Ginny tumbled into them warmly and he smelled the top of her head with closed eyes as she began to mumble her story into his sweater. He barely listened – he knew the entire thing from Charlie hours before – but he loved the sound of her voice.

Arthur's eyes flickered open and darted to Seamus. He smiled that wan, broken smile that was so ready for him to give. Seamus nodded at the appreciative look, the corner of his mouth turned up slightly. He stood rock solid, his shoulders squared, his feet planted firmly on the ground, and waited patiently. It was easiest to feign impassiveness and make the others feel safer – he would be their silent guardian until it was time for him to leave.

"Where is everyone, Dad?" Ginny's voice rang clear as a bell through the long, lonely hall. Her cheek moved slowly away from her father's chest, as if to commit to memory the scratchy feel of the wool. Her eyes looked down the gloomy passageway and saw dimly the opening to an empty kitchen. Her voice lost itself in the space.

"Upstairs," Arthur answered, clearing his throat. He took a deep breath and led the couple to the staircase. He offered a skinny arm to aid Ginny and was not offended when Seamus stepped in to take his place. It had been quite a while since he had allowed his children to hang off him.

Arthur took them to a sitting room and waited quietly as Ginny shrieked happily at the sight of her mother, brothers, and sister-in-law. He and Seamus stood as equals and watched the girl they both loved throw her arms around everyone's neck and sing their praises.

"Oh Mama, I missed you," she cooed to Molly. She punched Bill's arm and admired Charlie's new tattoo – her fingers running shakily over the warm, tanned skin. "You smell so wonderful!" she told Fleur, smiling grandly. She gave George a kind smile and a, "Hello Melancholy Brother. I have arrived in an even worse condition than you – does that make you feel better?"

George laughed and bade her to sit down. Both Charlie and Bill took that time to stride over the Seamus and pump his hand with hard shakes to show their quiet appreciation. Bill grinned toothily and whispered, "Playing hero, Finnigan? I thought that was someone else's job."

Besides the extraneous comment, Seamus felt at ease with the Weasley family. He remained standing until Mr. Weasley beckoned him closer to the fire. They sat around it not for warmth, but for the arrival of any scrap of news. Even then, Seamus fell into a tall-backed chair and was silent unless spoken to.

Ginny perched eagerly on the footstool and let her mother comb through her hair. Her eyes darted about the room to everyone's faces and she felt happiness all the way in the bottom of her heart. The only thing missing was Ron and Hermione and she was sure they would be found soon.

That feeling of safety was questioned as soon as George unwrapped a letter which had come by owl around the time of her own arrival. They naturally thought it had been a reassurance that Seamus was coming and not to worry. George turned to his family with a grave face and said, "They've upped the alert. Viktor is gone and so is Healer McDowell."

The group fell silent and their eyes were downcast.

"We're all to stay here until Viktor arrives with Ron and Hermione," George finished, crumpling the letter in his long fingers and tossing it carelessly in the fire.

Molly watched it burn and blacken and said, "I do so hope they're alright." Her gaze fell on Arthur for comfort.

He matched her eyes and said, "I'm sure they are." And in turn, he looked to Seamus for his own comfort.

Seamus cleared his throat uneasily as he fell under everyone's scrutiny. "Ron's a good man," his voice sounded too loud and rough. "He knows how to keep himself hidden."

"What about 'Ermione?" Fleur was clutching at Bill's hand. Her beautiful eyes were naked and Seamus could see the fear clearly. He tore his gaze away shakily.

"She's been getting loads better," Seamus answered, mostly to Ginny. She smiled softly, encouragingly. "She can walk now. I'm sure that with Ron's help she'll make it home, too."

"He watches after her, doesn't he?" Mrs. Weasley wanted to know, her voice warbling with age and worry. "Even after what happened – he's good to her?"

Seamus plastered a reassuring smile on his face. "Yeah. They have rows loads of times a day, but they're getting along just like they used to."

It seemed to placate the women and make Bill and Charlie try to smother laughs under their breath. Everyone knew how Ron and Hermione acted towards each other – how it had been before the Order, before the War, before their romance had been serious.

Seamus relaxed as the conversation started again and the focused was shifted off of him. He breathed deeply the stale air of the room and felt the warm glow of heat on his face. He heard Ginny's voice deep in his ears. He felt the camaraderie of a family he never had, but did not feel the jealousy he usually did. Instead, he remembered their pain and loss and sympathized. Already they had lost one son and the sense of being whole. They were acting surprisingly fair in the face of another potential tragedy.

However, the pain still rang fresh in Molly's heart. When she looked around and saw George quiet and alone in his chair, tears welled in her eyes. His humor – the thing that made his lifeblood run quick and pure in his veins – had been taken away with the murder of his twin. He had been alone in a crowded room ever since. Her heart burned for him and raged with want of her youngest boy. She couldn't remember the sound of his deep voice begging her to 'get off him for a second' or the way he stood slouched against a wall and was ashamed for it. Not even Arthur's gentle, but firm grasp on her shoulder could shy the guilt away.

Ginny was the heart of the conversation and the people who surrounded her were glad of it. No one really had anything to say, but remembered their social graces when her questions bombarded them. She looked from person to person and when she saw everyone was calmed to some extent, she turned to Seamus.

Seamus took the opportunity to talk to her. "Can I speak with you in the hallway?" he mumbled under his breath.

Ginny nodded cheekily, "Sure. Anything for you."

Seamus shot her a sour expression and turned to address her family. "I have to be off."

"So soon, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked immediately, her maternal instincts never wavering. "Can't I make you something to eat first? Even if it's just to take with, I'd feel better if you ate."

Hunger had been his last priority and Seamus shrugged off the offer, even as the feeling rose in his stomach. He wished it not to make any sounds that might discourage him from leaving. "I wish I could, but I think the Order needs me back at the offices. Since Viktor is gone, I'm second or third in command. They'll want me back pretty soon."

"Really, Seamus," Molly protested, getting to rise from her chair. "You used to eat like a horse. Let me fix you something."

Arthur soothed his wife back into her chair. She was exhausted and still felt the obligation to feed her children's friends. "It's alright, Molly. I'm sure there's food where Seamus is going." He smiled at Seamus and beckoned him to go with the jerk of his head. He patted his wife's limp shoulder and then took hold of her hand.

"I'll go with," Ginny chirped, wanting to say her own goodbye privately. "Walk him to the door, you know." She threw a dirty look to her brothers' raised eyebrows that shook suggestively.

Seamus stood and straightened the collar on his robes. He desperately wanted to shower all the soot and ash of the fire off his body, get the sweat that crusted along his neck and ears away from him, drown his troubles in fresh, hot water. "I wish you all very well," he said, looking at Mrs. Weasley. "Please let me know if I can do anything for you. I'll be at the offices for the rest of the day."

Charlie stood and shook his hand again. "You've done enough already, Finnigan. Thank you for getting Ginny here in one piece."

Bill did the same and clapped him roughly on the shoulder. "Let me and Charlie know if there's anything we can help with. Anything at all."

Fleur kissed both his cheeks and thanked him an airy voice. Molly received him with tears in her eyes and choked out a great thanks. She patted his cheek and hugged him like he was family. Arthur gently took her back to her seat and she sat silently, twisting a kerchief in her fingers.

Ginny took hold of Seamus' outstretched arm and departed the room with a strange feeling in her chest. They did not speak to each other until Seamus had closed the sitting room door tightly behind him. Ginny leaned against the wall and realized how tired she was, how good resting on the footstool had felt. She looked straight into the dark slant of Seamus' eyes.

"You didn't have to walk me out," Seamus chastised her gruffly, leaning next to her. They faced the opposite wall as old friends again and their conversation lilted.

"I know," Ginny sighed, "this is as far as I'm going. There's no way I'm getting down those steps again." A smile crossed her face, imagining herself in Seamus' arms as he strutted effortlessly down the numerous flights.

Seamus chuckled and scratched the back of his ear. "Fair enough," he countered.

They were quiet for a while, their eyes picking over the peeling wallpaper and cracking baseboards. They looked at the dripping ceiling and the moth-eaten carpet. Anywhere but each other, because that meant looking at the heavy tension between them.

"Will you come back?" Ginny whispered, her voice wavering with the weight the question carried. She knew the workings of the Order and she knew the pain of hearing that a loved one would be gone for months at a time. Just as she put Harry in the back of her mind, Seamus was joining his exclusive deserters club. Her gaze flickered shortly to him and then back to the carpet beneath her feet.

"Do you want me to?" Seamus asked lazily, his own pulse quickening.

"Yeah," Ginny murmured, unabashedly. She looked to him, her eyes unable to focus on one thing for long. She roamed his face, going over his smooth, shaved head, the deep recesses his eyes glittered out of, how strong his nose and jaw looked in the shadows, and the tight curve of his mouth. She was reminded of Harry for a moment and was scared.

"Then I'll come back," Seamus promised seriously, "as soon as I can, Gin." His hand was on her shoulder as an act of comfort. He too knew that it may be months before he saw her again after he set foot out the door. It weighed greatly in his mind.

Ginny took a step back, feeling horribly guilty. "Good," she whispered, not believing the words that her tongue created. She threw her arms around Seamus' large bulk and held him tightly to her, trying to numb herself of everything that she felt. She wanted to say goodbye clearly and freely.

Seamus wrapped her in a rough embrace and felt the urge to slip away. He wasn't used to dealing with his own wants and needs, especially romantically. Through and through the match was clandestine and he felt Harry's presence even when they were alone. He wished dearly he could whisper in Ginny's ear how easy it was to love her and hold her, how difficult it was to keep the words inside and his face from hers. Seamus was professional in all aspects of his life – expecting to be alone – and was shaky.

He gripped her shoulders tightly one last time, before letting Ginny glide away. His mouth opened to blurt out something, anything, but he saw her hand resting on the doorknob and thought better of himself. Ginny knew anyway – she could see it plainly – and had to leave him. Better to kill it before any real attachment formed.

"Goodnight," he said lamely, his bravado vanished.

Ginny's chin shook as if she were trying to hold in tears. "Night," she tried to say casually, but lost her voice.

--

"Kill him."

The voice slithered in through her head like a fog descends on a town – quietly, coolly, unexpectedly. Sleeping, what she saw was nothing but blackness. The voice shook her.

"Go on, kill him."

The sound brushed against her skin lightly and unnerved her. It was a tone like a lover might whisper in her ear, persuading her, coaxing her on. She squirmed, smiling, and wondered who it might be she should have to kill.

"Kill Ron, silly girl. You know who." The voice laughed, filled with mirthless joy. "Just end him and then you'll be free."

Hermione tossed under her hot covers, questioning why it should be Ron. She liked him so.

"Kill him, Granger."

Alright, she succumbed to the highly suggestive voice. There was a promise in it, unspoken, but she heard happiness. She turned again, uncomfortable.

"He's sleeping right beside you, girl. You could smother him if you pleased."

She reasoned with her secret voice. He was much too strong to just lay there while she sat on his chest and held a pillow over his face. There would have to be another way.

"You know magic, silly. Hex him, charm him, use Avada Kedavra. It will be simple. And then you can leave. Go back to Ipatovo and be with the man who really loves you."

In her sleep, Hermione frowned. Ted? She thought that he was dead. Killed by the same curse the voice was suggesting she use on Ron. She rolled over and felt hot, hot heat on the back of her neck.

"Theodore is not dead – Weasley just wants you to think that. He wants to keep you an invalid for the rest of your days. You'll not see your family again if you let him control you. Kill him and Ted will be happy and love you and let you be free to do whatever you aspire."

That was odd reasoning.

"It makes perfect sense, stupid girl!" the voice spat, showing its vileness for the first time. "Roll over and end his life."

Ron awoke when Hermione cried out in her sleep. It was not a wail of helplessness, but one of hardship and confusion. Her voice was raspy and foreign. He leaned over her and grabbed her shoulder.

"Hermione?" his voice was thick with slumber. "You okay?"

Hermione jerked in his grasp quickly. Ron reared back to find that she had scratched his arms with her fingers stretched like claws. What was more surprising was that Hermione did not stop – she was out for blood – and scratched his face with sharp nails.

"Hermione!" Ron gasped loudly, angrily. "What the fuck are you doing?" He fended off another blow. "Can you even hear me?" he shouted.

Hermione came at him again with her eyes closed tightly. Her hands were held like weapons as she darted clumsily beneath her covers. Ron grabbed her wrists and wrestled her onto her back. There was something wrong and it festered in his stomach. He pinned her down and straddled her waist, her arms tucked very snuggly under his legs. As Ron looked down upon her face, Hermione twisted and wretched and her skin became very red.

"Snap out of it!" Ron barked, his hands lay thick on her shoulders. He wrestled to keep her down, to break her of the horrific trance. "Hermione Granger, you wake up now!" he yelled as loud as he could, digging his own nails into the soft flesh of her arms.

And then Hermione stilled. She was still hot as fire beneath him, but she lay complacently. Ron let go of her shoulders and sat back on his haunches warily. Her neck twitched and instantly he was back on guard, breathing strongly through his mouth. His eyes glittered through the darkness and saw the distressed look on Hermione's features. His hands reached up to gently cup her face, sure that the worst was over. He smoothed her hair and took her in slowly.

"Ron?" her voice was weak. "Are you still there?"

"Yeah," he answered, quickly drawing away his hands. He did not scramble off her body, though, but stayed and stared.

"Oh, Ron," she was teary. Her eyes blurred with wetness, but she still saw the bright blood welling in the gashes on his face. "I'm so sorry. I had a dream."

"A dream?" he was skeptical.

"Yes," she answered, waking. The gap between her vision and reality began to widen and separate and she felt blame rest heavy in her mind. "It was terrible." She shifted beneath him, his weight keeping her firm in actuality. "I dreamed I had to kill you. I have no idea why the notion came to me, but I wanted to. I wanted to leave you and go to Ted back in Russia. It sounds so stupid saying it aloud, but I wanted it so badly."

Ron did not speak for a while. He contemplated her mental state and figured it was the trauma catching up with her. It had been a long time since they had rested and the events were conjuring up grotesque images.

"Is he really dead, Ron?" her voice was soft, sad.

"Who?" he asked, his throat closing up slowly and making his words sound husky.

"Ted."

Ron blinked through the darkness and found that things had gone lighter in the room. He could see her face very clearly now. He saw the sparkle of the spent tears dripping off her cheeks and the way her mouth was pulled to one side. He had heard a man's voice shrieking in his ears the words of the curse, but he did not know who it had been. He wanted to tell her yes, that her immoral comrade was gone forever and she shouldn't think about him again, that her past had died with him, that they were to start again here and now.

But lies were lies and he couldn't force the words out.

Instead, he said flatly, "He could be. All I know is that you're here and I'm here and we're both breathing. It could be Viktor or Seamus or Ginny, but it could also be Ted."

Hermione could not help the tears that streamed with hot passion across her face. Even if she could, she would not have bothered to wipe them away. She felt miserable with confusion.

"But we're alive, Hermione," he said roughly, his hands back on her shoulders. She felt comfort under his touch, no matter how light or hesitant it was. He was not dead and her dream was just that – her imagination. "And I don't care if you try to kill me. I don't like you that much, either. I'm going to protect you." His old sense of guardianship – the one that came when blokes stared at her body while they were at the market and the one that came when she cried into his shirt at the end of yet another funeral – hummed through his body.

There was a crash from far away that stilled Hermione's response. The couple was motionless and alert, their ears pricked up. There was a murmur of loud voices and footsteps all along the downstairs.

Ron was off Hermione in an instant. "Get up," he told her, pulling her arm. Hermione complied and let herself be thrown to her feet. Her heart pounded in her ears and washed away all outside noise. She heard her breathing and blood and nothing else. She watched as Ron's eyes widened and he grew frantic, looking all about for something.

Hermione was tugged into the corner and watched as Ron threw the closet door open. She was forced inside and fell to her knees in the rush of the moment. Her eyes shut and she hoped it was another dream. Ron closed the door gently and pushed Hermione into the cramped corner. He was terrified and sure that Ted had found them. His tight grip around Hermione's wand slipped and he realized that his hands were sweating.

"It's him," Hermione's voice was small through the darkness, but had lost its weariness. It was firm and wondering. "Isn't it?"

Ron could see nothing in the darkness, but knew that she was close. He pressed himself against her, his arms around her shoulders and his chin brushing her hair. "Maybe."

"He's going to try to kill me again. Just like he tried last night," Hermione told it as fact, not as a question. She felt in her heart that Ted's pursuit of her would only end when she was crumpled in a pile at his feet. Ron was in danger while he was with her and that wasn't fair.

"He might try," Ron confirmed vaguely. He hadn't heard a sound from outside and dwelled mainly on that fact.

"I should face him," Hermione decided. "It should be my turn to protect you. So long as I'm gone, you'll be alright."

"Don't talk such nonsense," Ron bit harshly.

Hermione inhaled the deep, dank smell of the closet and felt a strange sense of tranquility seep through her. It was time to begin repaying her debt to Ron's kindness and it would start with Ted. Ted didn't even know Ron, but Hermione bet everything that Ted would kill Ron too, if he found him. She had underestimated his cruelty very much during her short friendship and was shocked when it was revealed during her 'interrogations.' She would not send Ron to his death on her accord.

Ron was annoyed when Hermione made to stand up. She grappled through the blackness for the handle of the door only a few feet away. He scrambled to tug her back down, face-to-face. She struggled and growled, but his grip was firm. Eventually she stopped.

"Listen to me," he hissed, seeing only the shine of her wide eyes. "You are going nowhere. If that's Ted, then I'll face him. You can barely walk, let alone do magic. So help me God, you'll stay where you are if you want to get through this."

"I have to," Hermione thrust back, trying to hit away his hands. "You can't just keep taking all the guff for me. We've been muddling through this for months and I've always come away feeling guilty and resented. Please, let me make this right – let me make this up to you. I need to." She went to stand up again.

Ron shoved her back down with a force that came from a carnal part of him. Ferocity rose on his tongue. "You should feel that guilt and that shame for what you did." He breathed through his nose and said tersely, "But you shouldn't feel in debt to me. You and I both know I've been treating you terribly and I've got no excuse but a weak misunderstanding. You're a damned fool if you think that sacrificing yourself will settle the hostility between us.

"Hermione," he sighed, holding her head with his hand under her ear, "this isn't all your fault. I realized that since I heard the interrogation, but I never wanted to admit it. I hated you when you came back, because I thought you abandoned me. I hate being wrong." He laughed heartlessly at his own confession and brushed his thumb across her dry, cold cheek. "It's been a long time."

"Do you still hate me?" Hermione gave voice to the question that plagued her every time she looked his way, grabbed him for support, thought of him, dreamed of him. She dreaded the response, feeling it would only be natural for him to affirm her fears.

"No," he whispered curtly. "And that is exactly why you are staying exactly where you are."

There was a loud bang as the bedroom door was forced open. Two male voices whispered to each other and Ron watched shadows pass under the door. He stood and was glad when Hermione huddled into herself and stared at him.

"I won't lose you again," he told her, heat prickling up his neck. And with those final words, Ron gripped his wand and threw open the closet door. He lunged at the back of the first man, his wand dipping harshly into the stranger's neck in a thoughtless attack.

Ron was taken for a ride when the man bent forward and flipped him over. He hit the floor with a bang and yelped, "You son of a bitch!" He turned over quickly and scrambled to his feet.

"Ron!" a very familiar voice said casually, if not a bit scared. "It's me, Viktor."

"Bullshit," Ron seethed, wiping the corner of his mouth. He could see only the two men's outlines and did not trust anything.

"Viktor Krum," the voice replied quickly, "this is my home. You're here with Hermione because I programmed a portkey to send you here and away from your flat in Lawrence. Can you trust me?"

"Is that really you?" Ron stepped forward, reeling with surprise.

"And I've brought a friend."

"Mate!" a new voice rang clearly through the room.

Harry grinned with a full heart on seeing his best friend. "It's me!" he exclaimed, throwing out his arms and pushing his glasses back up his nose. "It's Harry." He walked up to Ron as if to present himself and readied for a glad reception.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

A/N: Did you like it? It was so good to write a sort-of-reconcilliation between Ron and Hermione. It's like a giant hurdle that the story has crossed and now things will begin to change. :):)

Please leave comments, questions, or suggestions! Especially suggestions. :) Have a great weekend, everyone, and thanks for leaving 300 comments so far!

Katie