Disclaimer: Still don't own HP :)

A/N: Hello everyone! Another regular Wednesday update... surprised, no? Anyway, thank you to all who reviewed - I'm so glad that I haven't lost your interest! The support really helps me meet my self-imposed deadline and makes me feel very guilty when I don't. :)

Here's the next chapter! I felt the last one was lacking the usual Ron/Hermione interaction like the others have, so I began with them. Unfortunately, I wrote this late at night, due to the Cultural Food Fair being this Friday. I'll be graduating soon, so this means a lot of... things I have to do all the time. These things include homework, AP tests, writing stupid notes in peoples' yearbooks, making enough quiche to feed nine-hundred people, etc. However, once the summer comes, I promise that the quality of the work will increase exponentially. :)

To answer a few questions... TheDivaDivine: I really hadn't thought that much into Felicity's involvement in the Order financially. I figured that her paycheck - which would probably be minimal - would be directly routed back to the Shop to use. The old uniform was only a substitute until she really had time to get her own. And I apologize if I accidentally said that Seamus joined the Shop!! I honestly didn't mean it... he never did. And to me, Harry has always been able to overlook certain aspects of his relationships - able to romantisize the gap that keeps widening between Ginny and him.

Enjoy!!

The night air was surprisingly cool across Hermione's cheek as she struggled to turn over in the bed. Pressing her face into the pillow and breathing deeply, she was struck with the memories the room brought to her. Racing the boys up the stairs during humid afternoons, helping Mrs. Weasley hanging the linen outside when the sun shone white above them, midnight rendezvous with Ginny by the doorframe, exploring the haunted attic by herself on the days Ron and Harry chose to play tournaments of Quidditch. It was Ron's old room – Ron's old bed – and it smelled faintly like he used to. That sweet musk that settled in his hair and on the back of his neck and in the folds of his clothes, the mix of green grass and dirt and old wood. Hermione inhaled it deeply, lost in the past, until she realized she could not longer sense the new Ron.

Her eyelids fluttered open to the brilliant daze of the small moon outside the open window. Hermione blinked and pulled herself up on her elbows, her hand tracing the pillow next to hers. It was cold, still cradling the shape of Ron's head. Her heart skipped, but she found herself too exhausted to acknowledge any real fear.

Hermione had almost drifted back into sleep when she faintly heard the door open and shut. She did not open her eyes, as she realized it was Ron by the long strides he took across the noisy floorboards and the way he hummed to himself – his voice throaty and deep – as he pulled back the sheets. She was grateful that Ron had decided to share his room with her – being alone was unnerving and strange, even in Grimmauld Place.

She waited until she felt Ron's weight fully next to her, heard his final sigh, knew that he was settled.

"Where were you?" she mumbled.

Hermione heard Ron's head jerk against the crisp pillowcase, the covers around her waist become taught as he moved away. "Downstairs," Ron whispered back, hesitant to relax again. His brow furrowed.

"Why'd you leave?" Hermione wanted to know, her eyes drifting open slowly.

Ron glanced down at her. He had propped himself up on his elbows into a reclined sitting position. He scrubbed a hand over his face and replied, "I wanted to talk to my family."

Hermione reddened, inwardly chastising herself for her stupid question. "Oh," she said quietly, "of course you did."

"Here's a question," Ron bit, "why aren't you asleep?"

Hermione grinned softly. "I was," she assured him. "It's just you made such a racket coming in that I had no choice."

Ron eased himself back so that his head lay on his pillow and his arms folded across the quilt. He stared up at the crooked jags in the ceiling his brothers had made years ago when they jumped on the bed, their fists held above their heads. "Sorry," he replied. He had spoken to his brothers not five minutes previous and found that he missed the days they were small enough to jump on the mattresses without breaking them.

Hermione looked at the side of his broad, weathered face without worrying that he would notice. His eyes were far and foggy. She waited until his mouth dropped open, ready to speak, to shift her gaze to the window beyond.

"Charlie told Bill and me all about what happened tonight. Viktor keeps them all updated – Mum's up all night with them, making them coffee and breakfast – and we'll know more in the morning," Ron began.

Hermione cringed. She had hoped for something other than news about the incident. She wanted to hear about George's life in Norfolk – if he was happy enough in his new apartment – or if Fleur had conceived yet or the renovations to the Burrow or anything to distract her from the tiredness that seemed to settle in her bones. She did not complain, however, simply stared and wished.

"Both Viktor and Seamus are safe," Ron sighed, lying still beneath the covers. It was much too tense to sleep by now. "Seamus was here a while ago to deliver Ginny. He says he'll be back eventually, which is good. My parents don't know how to thank him. Neither of them would stay for a meal and you know how that drives Mum crazy."

Hermione smiled, but the action did not reach her eyes. She pictured a frazzled Mrs. Weasley, but could not find the real humor in it. Something else was tugging at the bottom of her stomach, making her heart ache. It took a few moments.

"Ted Ryker is dead, then," her voice was low. Her eyes closed and she did not need confirmation. Through the darkness, she saw that horrible quick, green flash and her bedroom melt into a whirling tornado. The electric jade spark flickered on and off until it was too much to bear. She finally thrust her eyes open again when she heard Ted's voice in her head, screaming and yelling and hissing.

"Yes," Ron said flatly.

Hermione turned her face towards the ceiling so they were laying shoulder-to-shoulder under the quilt. Her hands twisted into each other as she fought back the idiotic, unwarranted tears that perched beyond her lids. Ted had been her first and best friend when he knew nothing about her and Hermione would not forget that. However, she could not forget the blank cruelness his eyes carried when he was breaking her night after night. She felt her old scars burn as she convinced herself it was better that he was gone.

"Don't cry for him," Ron told her, only assuming her lapse in speaking was due to the fact she was misting up. Hermione had a right to be emotional, but not over a monster. His neck felt stiff as his muscles edged.

"I'm not," Hermione replied, blinking. She tried to rid her mouth of the frown it held.

"Don't think about him," Ron said firmly into the darkness.

"I won't," she retorted harshly. "You won't hear his name again."

"Fine," Ron bit, sensing the sharpness in her voice.

Hermione rolled to her side so that her back was to him. "Goodnight," she uttered. Her body was hot and rigid, bothered by Ron's flippant remarks. She felt herself boiling inside and nothing but time and quiet would soothe it.

Ron breathed in through his nose and let himself relax. He slept uneasily for a while, his mouth open and hands tucked under his pillow. He did not think of Hermione again until he heard his voice.

"Ron?" it was hushed, but the voice was close. He blinked wearily, struggling to collect himself. "Ron?" it repeated.

"Huh?" he turned and saw through his daze that Hermione was awake and her face was pained. He wiped his hand over his eyes and rolled fully to look at her. "What is it? It's late. You should be asleep."

She gave him a look and he did not press the matter.

"Well?" he demanded groggily.

Hermione faltered, her mouth parting and closing slightly. "Do you…? I… uh," her words were short and forced as her face screwed up, trying to grasp the right question. "I just wanted to let you know that Ted was a monster, yes, that's very apparent."

Ron groaned, his brows furrowing. "Now is not the time, Hermione."

"Let me finish!" she snapped, drawing herself closer and propping herself up so that she was above him, commanding attention.

"Fine," Ron grumbled, letting his lids drift downwards.

Hermione shook him, an anxious passion flowing through her veins. "The reason I'm so upset by his death is because he was a good friend, Ron. When you put aside the fact that he was deplorable, Ted treated me well when he considered me a coworker."

"Why are you telling me this?" Ron snapped angrily. He was awake now, and uptight. "Not an hour ago you said you wouldn't say anything else about him! I could care less about your old affairs with Death Eaters."

Hermione glared at him and quickly replied, "I'm just trying to explain my reasoning and you won't let me finish."

Ron's eyes gleamed with disgust, but he did not say anything else.

"The reason I hung around him was because he reminded me of you." She hesitated, but swallowed and continued, staring him down. "Ted barely filled the gap that you left, but it helped. He was funny and bright and sort of clumsy sometimes – everything he did reminded me of you somehow. I missed you so much that all those things helped me deal with the pressure. His friendship was the closest thing I had to you."

"So?"

"So I just wanted you to know! I wasn't in love with him and I was never unfaithful! I used him to be nearer to you," Hermione hissed angrily. "I don't care if you're placated by the news, but it feels better to get it off my chest! That's all I wanted to say." She let herself fall into her pillow as her cheeks burned. "Goodnight," she said tersely, with finality.

Ron lay stunned for a few minutes and did not use his time to reply. He was too tired for an argument and there was no real need for one, anyway. The news brought him a small amount of relief, but he did not want to express it verbally. There had been enough talking already.

Hermione was still flushed with livid excitement and embarrassment and the twisting in her stomach had not ceased. It would be a while until sleep came. She jumped when she felt Ron's arm drop across her waist, his body sneak up behind hers, his breath in her hair. He did not give a reason for the sudden contact, but it was enough.

They were asleep in minutes, their bodies flush and breath even.

--

The dirt was loose and damp as it crumbled through his thick fingers. He picked up a small, porcelain doll's head and flicked off the dots of mud. "Found something!" he called, his voice booming largely throughout the stone cellar. Someone appeared at his shoulder and took the child's toy out of his grasp.

There was a muttered incantation and the doll's face glowed purple. Its matted hair was plastered against its fierce features, but Seamus had the distinct feeling the toy was watching him. "It was used recently as a portkey," the agent told him, holding the object back out.

Seamus grabbed it and held it up to his face. The doll was disgusting, having spent time deep in the earth, and he deftly stuck it in a collection bag. Seamus wiped the tiny droplets of sweat off his temples and hoisted himself to his feet. He still hadn't had the time to work through the entire scene, but the cellar was almost clear now that the investigation hadn't led anything but a broken portkey.

"Any thoughts?" the woman wanted to know. She planted her hands firmly on her hips as she took stance beside him.

Seamus nodded, immersing himself in the room. He made a better officer than detective, but now it didn't matter. Anyone who was able and ready was out wandering the city and answering owls and Flooing to suspicious locations – no policing to be done, only collection. It was an honor to his authority and ability to be at a primary scene.

"No specifics yet," he grunted as a reply, "but I figure she left Weasley's flat out of the bushes in the front yard. Went to the phone booth at the end of the street and used an empty soda bottle as her first portkey. That took her here," he gestured to the stone-walled cellar around them, "and waited for a while. There are tread marks over there," Seamus pointed to the corner, "and dug up that doll to use as a second."

"Any clue where that took her?"

"A train car outside Moscow that brought her to Ipatovo and presumably back to The Shop," Seamus repeated, stringing together the errant facts that had been delivered to him throughout the night.

"When was she here?" the agent wanted to know.

"I don't know," Seamus confessed, reaching up to stretch and scratch the back of his head. "I think it might've been right after the attack – she wouldn't want to spend too much time in that booth. It would attract too much attention. She waited here for a few hours, I'm sure. Someone checked the train departures earlier and found there was only one running across Moscow and that was early this morning. She might've left once the sun rose. That's the best I've got."

"Alright," she cleared her throat. "If that's all, I'm going to deliver this back to HQ." The agent picked up the collection bag and held it up for Seamus to seal. Once she did so, she pulled out her wand with long, lean fingers. She smiled at him with crinkled eyes. "See you back there soon."

Seamus nodded at her and turned, searching the room for others. He heard the unmistakable crack of the agent's body being sucked into a vortex and realized he was alone. He fulfilled his duty by walking around the perimeter of the basement, careful not to tread over the existing footprints. There was nothing but cobwebs and dust, illuminated by a tiny window a foot above his head. He gazed up at the sun and let his thoughts drift.

Ginny's face wandered into Seamus' mind, but quickly vanished when there was a whisper behind him, a tickle on the tip of his ear. Seamus spun around, his wand pulled already, but found nothing. It was a closed basement – no way in or out – and that meant there was no reason for anything to touch him. His heart pounded in his neck.

There was nothing.

Shaken, Seamus apparated outside. The sun was still fresh in the sky and gave the empty expanse of field a glow. There was no one there, either. The grass only moved when the wind blew on it. Relaxing, Seamus let his wand arm droop slightly.

There was a gentle popping sound from miles off that immediately tensed Seamus' body. He whirled around, certain that something was afoot, and found nothing. Deciding not to investigate, Seamus apparated again. He found himself back at the offices and was glad. There were shivers still running up his back.

--

Harry woke with the dawn, his eyes opening as the weak rays of light crept in through the curtains. They fell awkwardly on Ginny's peaceful face and he watched them shift and grow for a while. Ginny was beautiful. Ginny was his.

--

Hidalgo appeared suddenly in parlor looking a bit disheveled. His black hair had been blown away from his tanned forehead, making his face seem long and very elegant. His lips were chapped and his clothes were wrinkled. His usual smirk, however, was displayed clearly in his features. He joined a few of his advisors for breakfast, taking his place at the head of his table.

"Hello, gentlemen," his voice was casual and drawling. Hidalgo slid smoothly into his seat and tucked his napkin into his lap.

"You certainly look fresh," Ulysses Nash raised a thick eyebrow in his direction. Everyone at the table wore the same piqued expression. It was always customary that Hidalgo ate his breakfast first – and alone.

Hidalgo flashed him a toothy smile. "When walking, one discovers quite an assortment of things. It took me quite a while to remember to come back to you lot."

"What's all that cryptic bull supposed to mean?" Ulysses challenged. He was fourth in command and was a direct Head. This trust enabled him to push the limits and was rewarded more than not for his attempts. No one else dared speak that way. "Taking a walk," he scoffed, setting down his silverware, "you haven't done that in months."

"I just went out to check on a few loose ends," Hidalgo explained patiently, waiting for someone to question further. He did not want to brag at his success, but under his cool demeanor he did ache to share it.

"What would those be?" David Shale wanted to know. He was a taller man, thin and gaunt, and never spoke much. That was partly why Hidalgo liked him – Shale was subtler than most and only spoke when needed. "Finnigan?" He continued to eat.

"Precisely," Hidalgo said firmly. "As we all have decided, he is our next capture."

"Why not just grab him, then?" Ulysses wanted to know, still holding wonder in his features. "You were alone with him, of course."

"Of course," Hidalgo snapped back, "I would never be that stupid."

"Right," Ulysses agreed amiably. He was barely fazed.

"When the time comes," Hidalgo was staring at him with hard eyes, "I will assign a recon team to snatch Finnigan. Only when it is critical that we need him that I will place that order. Jump a moment too soon and the effect as a whole is spoiled."

Ulysses shrugged in response and David tried to keep his eyes from rolling involuntarily.

"Then why did you follow him?" Ulysses asked after a while. "Isn't that putting it in jeopardy?"

"I suppose, but I'm careful enough," Hidalgo replied, trying to keep the conversation pleasant. The day had been all too well to have it ruined by the likes of Nash. The man acted like an idiot most times, but his extensive knowledge of potions and languages made him extremely handy and secured him a spot close to Hidalgo. He was also very amusing when drunk. "I went to test him. If he caught me then he deserved the kill." He sipped his coffee and continued lazily, "However, as expected, he did not. He was paranoid, at the most."

"When do expect to order the attack?" David asked calmly, his hand reaching for the paper that sat in the middle of the table, unopened.

"In a week or so, when everything has calmed down. Tell your team to be on alert until then." Hidalgo was done with his display and looked at his meal with mild disgust. He realized he did not want to eat, but tell the others of his success.

David nodded in agreement and let his eyes drop to the text in front of him. Ulysses watched his boss lithely exit the room and turned back to his plate. The visit was strange, but not too overdone. Nothing big had been discussed and the two men were free to spend their morning how they liked. They had no idea how explosive the capture would become.

A/N: How'd you like it?? :)

Please leave comments, questions, and suggestions... I really like reading everything and thinking it over. It helps me shape the story so much!

Have a happy rest of the week, everyone.

Katie

PS: Has anyone read Twilight? I finished the entire thing on Monday and discovered I have a thing for vampires. ;)