A/N: Welcome! Thanks for stopping by to check out this missing moment fic. The story will take place over a two-week period between Half-Blood Prince and Deathly Hallows and deal with the fallout of Hermione's decision to erase her parent's memories. I'm aiming for biweekly updates, but that may slow to weekly if needed.

Please don't hesitate to let me know your thoughts as we go!

July 14, 1997

"Excuse me, but can you please pass the steak and kidney pie!" Fred called down the table. "How many times do I have to ask?"

Ron's eyes were focused on the window above the kitchen sink, constantly scanning for any sign of movement outside. Dusk was falling outside the Burrow, and the silhouette of the distant orchard was quickly fading into darkness. It was only when a dinner roll flew across the room and hit him in the side of the head that he snapped out of his stupor, glaring at his twin brothers.

"Oi, what the hell?"

"Oh, good morning, sunshine, how nice of you to join us. The pie, please, if it's no trouble," Fred quipped, brimming with sarcasm.

"Oh. Sorry."

With a grunt, Ron heaved the heavy casserole dish over to his father, who passed it the rest of the way to Fred. Truthfully, dinner was the last thing on his mind.

It had only been a week and a half since Dumbledore's funeral. The following day, Ron, Harry, and Hermione had taken the Hogwarts Express back home one final time. It had been a melancholy ride knowing that they wouldn't be returning the next year, and the conversation in their compartment was as stilted as Ron could ever remember. Their goodbyes at King's Cross station were full of unspoken emotion and were profoundly sad. Since then, Ron had been moping around the house, trying and failing to prepare for and focus his mind on the upcoming mission.

The only bright spot since then had been letters from Hermione. By the end of the last school year, the two of them were closer than he could ever recall them being. Once he and Lavender had broken up, Hermione seemed to be close to him at all times. Ron had lost count of the number of times he'd almost convinced himself to finally kiss her, but he had yet to summon all of the courage needed for such a risky proposition.

So they went into the summer with their status very much up in the air. Judging by her letters, though, even someone as notoriously dense as Ron Weasley could tell how much she missed him. She had written every single day, often sending multiple scrolls of parchment that weighed Pig down. The poor bird looked plainly exhausted, but Ron wasn't about to stop writing back, not when the tone of her last few letters had noticeably shifted. There was an anxiety in them that he couldn't quite understand. Something was bothering her, and he could only hope that she'd explain when she arrived.

Throughout the day, he found himself particularly distracted as the letter he'd received the previous evening indicated that Hermione would be apparating to the Burrow sometime today. He'd hoped she would arrive before dark, but that was looking less and less likely as any remaining light continued to dim. Knowing that he likely wouldn't be able to see her even when she did apparate in, he turned his attention back to his dinner, picking at the crust of the pie with his fork.

"What's the matter, Ron? Don't you like it? I know it's not your absolute favorite, but you've always eaten it all the same," Mrs Weasley asked, reaching across the table and placing a hand on her son's forehead.

"I'm fine, Mum, stop it. The pie is fine too. Just…not quite as hungry tonight, I guess."

"Leave poor Ron alone, Mum," Ginny chipped in, throwing a mischievous smile toward her brother. "He's just nervous because a certain someone is showing up tonight."

Ron narrowed his eyes and glowered her way, but also found himself surprised at her inside knowledge. "First of all, sod off, Ginny, I'm not nervous. Second of all, how do you know she's coming?"

"I nearly broke my neck tripping over her trunks when they appeared this afternoon, so she'd better either show up or get her stuff out of my room."

"Besides, Ronald," Mrs Weasley added, "you're not the only one with whom she corresponds. Hermione notified us that she'd be arriving this evening several days ago. She's a very conscientious girl, she wouldn't simply apparate in unannounced!"

"Right. Right, I suppose," Ron said, still fuming at his little sister.

"We knew as well," George added. "Not because she told us, but because it's just so painfully obvious based on your behavior."

"What behavior?"

"Your room hasn't been that clean since you were too young to do anything about it, which is pointless because it's not like she's going to–"

"Enough!" Mrs Weasley said, staring down each of her children in turn. "Ron, dear, what we all mean to say is that we know how important she is to you, so we're all trying to be as welcoming as possible. Isn't that right, everyone?"

Another wave of nausea crested over Ron as the rest of the family grunted their agreement. "Ugh, you know what, I'm not hungry. I'm just going to go up to my room."

"Make sure you brush your teeth, little brother, bad breath is an instant turn-off!" Fred called as Ron stormed away from the kitchen.

Even the sound of his mother chastising the twins couldn't tamp down his annoyance, and he punched the wall as he started up the stairs three at a time. When he arrived in his room, he threw himself onto his bed, trying hard not to glance at the clock or peek out the window for any sign of her.

Sod all of them, I'm not acting any differently. My room is cleaner now because I really needed to clean it and I had time. So what? It doesn't mean anything…

He knew it was a lie, of course, and lying to himself was ridiculous. Why couldn't he even be honest within his own head? But the more he tried to convince himself that Hermione coming to stay with them wasn't that big a deal, the more he found himself panicking irrationally. Those surges of panic caused him to clean his room without being asked for the first time in recent memory. It also caused him to hound Ginny into tidying up her own room since Hermione would be staying there, shower multiple times over the past twenty-four hours, and lose any semblance of his appetite as the day marched on. As much as he hated to admit it, Fred and George were right; he hadn't been himself.

But so what? Things had definitely changed between him and Hermione over the last several months, and it left him anxious, excited, stressed, and intrigued all at once and at all times. Especially in light of her last few messages, he was more eager than ever for her to be back with him. Even the prospect of proximity was enough; everything was better with her around.

The wait, however, was torture. Over the next two hours, Ron could barely sit still. He paced around his room, occasionally reorganizing things for a moment before putting them back the way they were. He tried reading through a Quidditch magazine, polishing the pieces of his chess set, and even skimming through an old Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook. At one point, Fred and George came up to apologize by order of their mother, and they offered a game of Exploding Snap or a sneak peek at their latest products, both of which Ron turned down. Nothing was going to be able to sufficiently distract him, so why bother?

By the time nine o'clock rolled around, Ron had developed a permanent twitch in his leg. As he sat in bed, wondering where she could possibly be, his entire lower limb jumped off the bed over and over again, no matter how hard he tried to force it to stop. Time seemed to slow down, and at one point, he could've sworn the clock actually started going backward. It was then, as he slunk down onto his bed for what seemed like the hundredth time that night, that he finally heard a faint pop outside in the garden.

Scrambling onto his knees, he looked out the fifth-floor window to see a lone figure standing on the uneven cobblestone pathway leading to the back door. A light was cast towards the newcomer as the back door opened, and a head of bushy, unruly hair was illuminated, leaving no doubt as to her identity. Ron watched as his mum hurried outside and approached the girl, immediately wrapping her in an embrace. As Hermione's head rested on his mother's shoulder, he could see the tear tracks on her cheeks glistening in the ambient glow from the kitchen. His heart broke as his mind raced through increasingly more worrisome possibilities.

For several seconds, he remained still and watched as Hermione released his mother and started explaining something to her. He couldn't make out her words, but she seemed to be constantly interrupted by a fresh stream of tears, rendering her unable to continue telling her story. It was only then, seeing her agony, that his brain finally kicked in.

Hey! Something's happened! She looks devastated! Go downstairs and be with her!

As he tried to climb off his bed, he tripped over his bedsheets and crashed down onto the hardwood floor, only covered by a thin rug. Cursing to himself, he stood up and ran his hands over his clothing to smooth out the wrinkles before speed-walking towards the door and wrenching it open. He dashed down the stairs as quickly as possible, nearly falling more than once in his haste to get to her sooner.

When he finally reached the bottom, he rounded the corner into the kitchen, finally laying eyes on his best friend. Mrs Weasley had her arm around Hermione as she finished telling her what had happened.

"...must've worked, because there was no recognition–" Hermione said, stopping short as soon as she saw Ron come around the corner.

"Hermione, hi," Ron said, taking a few steps closer to her. "Are you okay?"

Hermione nodded and looked away with a quick embarrassed smile, sliding further into Mrs Weasley's embrace. Her eyes were wet with tears and it looked like she was having trouble walking, like his mum was having to bear some of her weight.

"You're sure? Hermione, come on, what's going on?"

Just as she opened her mouth, Mrs Weasley cut her off. "Ronald, I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist that we leave Hermione be. She's been through a lot and needs to rest. The two of you can catch up later, but for tonight, it's straight to bed."

Defying his mother had never been easy for Ron. She had such a commanding presence that when she spoke, they always listened. All of them. But this was too important. Couldn't his mother see how much Hermione was hurting? He was always the one who could help when she was hurting!

"Mum, how do you expect–"

"Ron, it's okay," Hermione squeaked, her voice faded and raw.

"Mother's orders," Mrs Weasley added. "Hermione, dear, let me take you up to Ginny's room and get you a nice cup of tea. Your bed is all set up. Let's just have a nice drink and then get some sleep, shall we?"

As Hermione nodded, Ron remained still, completely shocked. How could she do this? Didn't she know how much Hermione meant to him?

The two of them slid past Ron, Hermione barely lifting her eyes to him in acknowledgement as she headed up the stairs, still leaning on Mrs Weasley for support. Disbelief coursed through Ron as he sat down and stared at the table, running his fingers over the various dents and scratches in the long piece of wood. For a few minutes, he remained frozen, stewing in anger at his mother and worrying about the girl he couldn't stop thinking about. What could've happened? She didn't seem to be hurt, at least.

Several minutes later, Mrs Weasley padded back down the stairs and rounded the corner into the kitchen, not even flinching when she saw her youngest son still seated at the table. Ron stood up, immediately launching into a questioning of his mother.

"Mum, why'd you do that? What's going on? Why's Hermione so upset? And what about Harry; this isn't about him, is it?"

"Harry's perfectly fine," his mother replied as she continued to busy herself around the kitchen, pouring two cups of tea after magicking away the last of the silverware. She sat down at the kitchen table and placed a cup in front of the seat next to her, patting the chair to encourage Ron to sit. As he settled in and took a sip of tea, his mother released a long exhale.

"So…what then?"

"I'm sorry, Ron. I know how much you were looking forward to Hermione arriving today, but it's simply not a good time. Please trust me when I say that I'm trying to act in her best interest and make sure that she's taken care of first and foremost."

There was pain in his voice as he addressed his mother, something that she picked up and placed a gentle hand on his arm. "That's fine, Mum, but she looked so…sad. I've never seen her like that before."

Mrs Weasley rubbed her eye, wiping away a stray tear as she shook her head. "It's not my place to tell you everything, Ronald. Rest assured that she is physically fine, but she is going through a particularly difficult time at the moment. I have no doubt that she will talk with you about it eventually, but for now, I ask that you respect my judgment on the matter and let her rest. Poor dear."

Ron thought about it for a minute, realizing how rare it was for his mum to handle a situation incorrectly. He was left with no choice but to be patient. "I know, Mum, and believe me, I'm not just going to barge in there. I just…I wish I could talk to her."

A knowing smile came over her face, which made Ron blush. "Such a sweet boy. You two are lucky to have each other."

"Come on, Mum, stop. You're being weird."

"Nonsense, it's quite plain, really. Now, I know how difficult it is to wait, but I'm sure it won't be long. She wants to talk to you, she just…needs time. For now, she is here, and she is safe. I hope that brings you some solace."

It didn't, but Ron knew he didn't have much of a choice. "Right. Okay, well, I'm going to head up to bed then. Hopefully she's feeling better in the morning."

"Chin up, dear. Chin up."

As Ron climbed the stairs up toward his room, he stopped on the second-floor landing, trying to remain as still as possible. Once the creaking of the old warped floorboards ceased, he listened.

Faint sobs were coming from the other side of the door. Ron could tell that Hermione was trying to muffle the noise with a pillow, but it was only doing so much good. It killed him to know that she was in so much pain and yet not be able to do anything about it. As quietly as he could, he took another step closer to the door, raising his hand to knock.

He almost flung his fist forward to rap on Ginny's door, but he stopped himself. His mother's words were echoing in his head, reminding him that Hermione wasn't interested in his company at the moment. Even though he hoped that she would consider him to be more than just ordinary company, he forced himself to pull back his arm and start back up the stairs again. It was one of the hardest things he'd ever done; knowingly leaving her suffering by herself made his stomach hurt, surges of dizziness spinning his head around with anger, frustration, and heartache.

But in his mind, he had no choice. His directive was clear. All he could do was listen.