Okay, we've got angry Ron here. It's all going to get a whole lot worse though before it gets better! Thanks for reading!

Ron woke with a headache. A slash of sunlight fell across his face, though he didn't know the source of the brightness. Opening his eyes, he realized he was in an unfamiliar place. The drawn curtains of a window hung above him and he lay on a strange couch. Fully alert now, he hopped to his feet, wand in hand.

"Hermione's place," Harry grumbled from a spot on the floor. "We're at Hermione's place."

Ron's shoulders relaxed for a second, then instantly tensed up again. I'm at Hermione's place. The implication of what that meant was too complex to fathom. Three days ago, he didn't know there was a Hermione. Now he was crashing on her couch.

God, he thought, I didn't know there was a Hermione.

It was routine for aurors to get looked at before a mission, but it usually consisted of just a physical check. This mission he and Harry had been working toward was special. He didn't know the particulars yet, only Harry had been fully briefed, but it had to do with a prophecy. Ron's only previous experience with the prophecy business had been that awful night in the department of mysteries, so he knew it was serious. The prep work had included a full body and mental check. Which was when he discovered there was something wrong with him.

When he had been assigned to the recovery room for magical removal, he had gone over the various possibilities of what the attendants might find. He thought an ex death eater may have been responsible. He'd had some close run ins with Shraxen and Willigsbee about a year ago, and had spent his fair share of time at St. Mungo's. There was even one time the healers didn't think he would pull through. He'd give anything never to see his mother in that state of despair again.

But none of the spells or injuries or death eaters had prepared him for what the attendants discovered. No evil mastermind had cursed him, Hermione had. Hermione. The girl who had been his best friend, and then his…something else. He had fought beside her and very nearly died beside her. Almost died for her. And she had cursed him. Why?

For the others, it was like a switch was snapped and they just suddenly remembered that they knew Hermione Granger. For him, it was different. Because he was the one she had turned her wand on. So he remembered her actually doing it, remembered him walking up to him, speaking to him, then pointing her wand at him. He could even remember the swirl of blue light coming at him. He had been curious but not suspicious. It was Hermione after all, what would she do to harm him? And then, he remembered nothing. Hermione was, just, gone.

Remembering it all again that day at the Ministry was a nightmare Ron had to live in daylight. He felt confused, like he was drugged and couldn't remember his own name. He felt such sadness, like the dementors all over again. He was angrier than he'd ever been, the rage in him threatening to boil over on whoever came near him first. It was like he was a caged animal let loose for the first time, clawing at everything around it.

But was made him angrier than anything else, were the other feelings bubbling at the surface. Elation. Joy. Gratitude. Like he had found a missing puzzle piece he'd been searching for his entire life. Like some great prize had finally been returned to him. Hermione Granger existed and he was glad for it. He wanted to thank the universe for it. He was in lo…

No. He wouldn't say that. Not even think it. Any happiness he had felt at the removal of the memory curse would be pushed away. Because she had betrayed him. And he would never again show her what it had cost him, how it had affected him. Now, for all he cared, she could go to hell.

"Thinking heavy thoughts?" Harry asked, sitting up from his makeshift bed on the floor and securing his glasses on his nose.

"I'm fine. What's the plan?"

Last night after Hermione had shut herself up in the bathroom, Harry had been able to sneak far enough into the room to hit her with a calming spell. She quickly fell into a deep sleep and Harry had carried her to bed. They'd decided to stay the night, as their business wasn't finished. Now, it was well into morning and Ron was anxious to finish up and leave.

The thought made him stop, paralyzed with fear for a moment. If they left now, would he ever see her again? Ron shook his head of the thought. That wasn't a concern now. He was only thinking that way because of where he was, in her living room, surrounded by her things. He glanced around the room, the mounds of books proof enough to tell him it was Hermione's home even if he didn't know anything else about the place.

"Good morning."

Ron looked across the room to see Hermione, standing cautiously against the wall of the living room entry way. She wore a light blue nightgown with a robe over it. Her hair was shorter than years before but no less wild. He wanted to touch it. Instead, he glared at her.

"Hey," Harry said, standing up. "Did you sleep okay?"

Hermione nodded. "Did you stun me?"

"No," Harry said. "Calming spell. You seemed pretty upset."

"Right," Hermione said. She looked like she didn't know whether she should thank Harry or berate him for using the spell. Ron smirked at the irony.

"Should we get some breakfast?" Hermione asked finally.

"Sure," Harry said. "Do you have any toast?"

"I thought we might go in town. There's a little pub. It's not much but maybe it would be good for us to talk there."

In public, Ron thought to himself, silently ending her sentence. She was obviously afraid he was going to lash out again. Well she could hold her breath. He didn't plan to speak to her anymore than was necessary for the duration of the day.

Hermione went off to change and Ron folded up the few blankets he and Harry had used to sleep on. It's not like he had a change of clothes, he hadn't known he'd be having a sleepover. He watched Harry closely, trying to figure out what his friend's next move would be. After the blazing shock of remembering Hermione, he and Harry had initiated a search squad to track her down. It had taken them surprisingly little time, Hermione hadn't hidden herself well, at least not well enough to hide from two people who knew her they way he and Harry did. Or at least used to. But they had pushed aside all other assignments, and Ron knew Trottle would be expecting this thing to get wrapped up quickly so they could all move on. Bloody likely.

"We'll tell her the extent of it at breakfast," Harry said, as if reading Ron's thoughts. "She can't cause a scene in a pub, and she doesn't have a wand now, so no canaries."

Ron glowered at Harry's attempt at a joke. She may not have a wand, but she was certainly capable of inflicting pain. And she wasn't going to like what Harry had to tell her.

Hermione emerged then dressed for the day in sensible jeans, boots and a jacket. She held out two knit scarves. Harry took one and she held the other in Ron's general direction.

"It can get cold out there," she said quietly.

"I'll survive."