A/N: Loads of thanks once more to my talented and amazing betas ChristinaTeresa, Seakays, and sunshyndaisies!


~ Chapter 4 ~
If Hogs Could Fly



Accio Diminutivus!

Ron looked into the enormous shed room from his position near the wall; he waiting for anything small to move. Nothing did, except for the group of springs that rolled off the table and bounced onto the floor when he walked by.

All right, then. I'll live dangerously. Accio Grandiosos! Ron got ready to duck in case any of the things encased in large metal boxes came flying at him, or any other oversized objects that were dangerously sharp or jagged.

Apparently, he needn't have worried. Nothing moved, or even looked as if it intended to move, aside from some of the tables leaning shakily under the weight of their loads.

Ron yelled as he grabbed the sides of his hair with his hands and pulled, as if that would help. She didn't tell me it would be like this, now did she? None of these bloody stupid Muggle things are in the least bit magical or have the sense to know when they're being called. And you don't even know the names for most of them, Weasley! How do you get yourself into these things?

He threw himself against the wall and leaned his head on his arm, thinking about how in the world he could get this done. May as well try for lightning speed too, thank you, while we're wishing for the impossible, he thought.

A tapping on the door of the shed brought him out of his reverie. He walked to the doors and for a moment thought of what his mother had said, that she was surprised the Ministry hadn't been there already. Nah--couldn't be.

Is that you, Mum? Ron asked cautiously. There was no answer. Still no answer, but more tapping. Nothing.

Ron stepped back to retrieve his wand just in case...then the tapping came again. But this time when he moved close to the doors he could feel and hear the air being forced through the worn and dilapidated shed walls from a set of powerful wings. Anxiously he muttered and shoved the doors open, stepping through them and looking around.

Above and behind him on the roof of the shed had just landed a beautiful and familiar snowy owl that chittered cheerfully when she saw him. Hedwig! Hey, it's good to see you, too! How's Harry? Hedwig leaned back to offer the large envelope from her leg, which Ron carefully untied. Bet this tells me, doesn't it? Head up to the house now and get yourself something to eat. Mum had out some raw liver this morning to cook for dinner. Between you and me--if you get to it first, I'd be grateful.

Hedwig gave a pleased chitter in response and crouched to take wing. Ron watched her fly to the kitchen window, then looked down to tear open the envelope in his hand.

So Harry beat me to it and wrote me first...Withdrawing a folded sheet, Ron noticed there was another sealed envelope still inside the bigger one. But he recognized Harry's handwriting immediately on the page in front of him, so he decided to start with that one.

Dear Ron,

How is your summer going? Enjoying the heat? I'll bet you're just lolling about that pond of yours, being lazy and ordering Ginny about to get your food and drinks. Haha.

Yeah, that's a haha all right, Harry, Ron muttered under his breath, on all counts. He continued reading.

The Muggles are treating me all right, though a bit strangely from the way things were before. Aunt Petunia acts as if I'm going to break into pieces or something, but she (weirdly!) keeps telling Uncle Vernon that I belong here. Heck, I don't even think I really belong here, so what's up with her? Dudley's pretty funny, though. He has to act all tough with his gang, but when they see me out walking or something, he gets all in a panic and starts looking behind him--you won't see old Dudders in any alleyways this summer, believe me.

As you can see, they've allowed me to owl my friends after their discussion' with everyone at King's Cross, and Uncle Vernon even said how much better-behaved Hedwig is this summer. Imagine that.

Ron laughed at a rather unbecoming drawing in the margin of a smiling and unknowing Uncle Vernon with Hedwig poised to peck at his ear.

Hermione sent your letter with mine from that island where she is because she had to send it by Muggle post-- I reckon she thought the dentists wouldn't take kindly to an owl or two at their convention. It sounds like she's reading a lot of books (surprise!) on animal rights stuff. She said you'd tell me why. Trying your animal magnetism out on her or what?

Ron smiled and rolled his eyes, but he could feel his ears burning. I'll get you for that, Harry. Just you wait, he mumbled.

The Muggles are calling me to help with dinner now, so I reckon I'd better sign off. Write back when you can.

Harry

The sun beating down on him finally forced Ron back into the shade of the shed, where he kicked a few things about until he found something very heavy and boxy that was made of metal. He didn't know what it was, though he knew it certainly wasn't a chair, but that was what it was going to be today. So he sat down to re-read Harry's letter.

Ron noticed there was no mention of anything having to do with the Department of Mysteries or Sirius. Perhaps Ginny had been right--maybe Harry did need a break from people who knew everything that happened that night. The whole letter sounded pretty much like the same old Harry. But then, up until this past year his friend had been very good at hiding what he felt--maybe Harry just hadn't got as badly out of practice in hiding his emotions as Ron and Hermione had thought.

After he was done reading it for the second time, Ron folded the page and then pushed it into the bigger envelope, grabbing the smaller sealed envelope while his hand was still inside. He let the outer envelope fall beside him while he looked at the outside of Hermione's letter.

Her handwriting was always so perfect with each letter formed the same way every single time. It always amazed him to see his name written in her neat cursive, but up until fourth year it hadn't given him butterflies in his stomach just from looking at it. He wondered if perchance her name in his handwriting gave her butterflies, too.

What in Merlin's name are you saying, Weasley? That messy writing? She probably can't even understand what it says. Hmmm, it either says Dear Hermione or Dead Hippocampi--wonder which Ron meant?' Give her butterflies? Fat chance!

With her presumed feelings about his handwriting behind him, Ron traced the letters of his name on the envelope with the tip of his finger. She had touched all of those places after all--not so long ago, either. It felt rather wicked to brazenly do this without worrying about prying eyes, and without being concerned that someone might think him mental for doing it. He usually reserved such private rituals as re-reading letters for just before he went to sleep...unless Harry was staying over, of course.

The warm heavy air carried a scent to his nostrils. A flash of hope blazed across his mind and heart--perfume? Familiar perfume? Unusual perfume--please, please! He lifted the as yet-unopened envelope to his nose, and his hopes were quickly dashed. It wasn't even perfume, but that awful Muggle Suntan Potion that she sometimes wore on her nose for Care of Magical Creatures class. Well, at least she used to--until she learned the charm for the same, of course.

Ron looked beyond the unopened envelope to the pink, angry-looking skin on his legs and groaned. Bloody hell, she's going to show up here all tanned and beautiful, her hair full of lights, and I'm going to be either red as a lobster or flaking worse than one of Dobby's pastries.

Then his gaze landed on his arms. She knew the scars were there, of course. Madam Pomfrey had had the good sense to place the two of them next to each other in the hospital wing, which to Ron was both a curse and a blessing. The curse of it was the fact that Hermione had seen the thought scars and how ugly and disfiguring they were. Dr. Ubbly's Unctious Unction had to be applied frequently and left to breathe. So there he had to sit, a cloth covering his chest down to the blankets at his waist, but his shoulders and his arms were bared to the air with musty-smelling greenish-gray potion dabbed in patches over the nasty red slashes. What an appealing picture he must have made! No wonder she acts like she just wants to stay friends--I reckon even the mountain troll was better-looking on his good days.

Hermione also behaved as if she was self-conscious of her appearance once or twice while the two of them were necessarily living so close together-- but he couldn't imagine why. True, she'd started out pale and delicate-looking just after the injury, but he thrilled to see the return of the glow in her cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes. He was perfectly happy to be right next to Hermione every day, making sure she was all right, watching her heal, talking and making her laugh--that was the best part. Ron knew that was the way he could help her most.

But --oooh, if he could only get his hands on that Dolohov bloke! No matter what kind of accomplished Death Eater he fashioned himself, Ron fashioned himself the bloke to rip Dolohov apart after he'd nearly taken Hermione from the world--their Hermione--his Hermione. No, you don't dare think of her as that --you know she's no more than a friend--but damn, she might have been more if only it had been you who had been able to rescue her from the Department of Mysteries.

While he'd been working at getting the smaller items off of the floor and onto tables earlier this morning, he'd been thinking...He would have carried Hermione out of danger if he'd had the chance. He would have shot down Dolohov, or at the very least thrown himself in front of her. He was supposed to be her hero and take care of her and make sure she was safe. Not Neville.

And it was nearly as bad with Harry! He was Harry Potter's best friend--everyone knew that. Harry knew Ron would be there for him to the end, too; he'd proven it before. Why did things have to turn out this way?

When was fate ever going to give him a break? The Quidditch championship? True, that was wicked. Becoming prefect? He was honored. But he could be a hero when it really counted; he knew it in his heart. Yet fate made him leave those he loved at the mercy of the Death Eaters. And where was I when they needed me most? Out of my mind and giggling, for Merlin's sake, while Neville--stupid Neville--picked up my slack as Hermione's hero and Harry's most loyal mate.

Suddenly a searing pain shot through Ron's head and he grabbed it with both hands, dropping Hermione's letter to the floor. It felt as if someone had tied a rope through both arms and then through his brain, pulling it all taut in the end. He forced his eyes open and the somewhat dingy light of the wizard space glared into his head as brightly as if he was staring at the sun. When the light dimmed enough for him to see, his vision told him the ground was tilting as if he were on board some ship, but he was perfectly aware that he wasn't moving.

Taking deep gulps of air, Ron felt the pain start to subside a little. The pulling feeling in his arms eased and his vision came into sharp focus again. The floor decided to stay put. And different thoughts poured into his brain.

Listen to yourself, Weasley. What a whiner. Be a man about it. Neville did what he had to do because he was the only one there to do it; you ought to be thanking him. He did everything you would have done for Harry and Hermione at a time when you--couldn't. Who knows how things might have turned out if he hadn't stepped in?

Once he could uncurl his cringing body, Ron stood and stretched his legs and arms. Nothing like that had ever happened to him before and he certainly hoped it wouldn't
happen again. For some reason it left a tingling feeling in the skin on his arms. He started to step away when he looked down and saw Hermione's letter on the floor. Bending to retrieve it, he decided to save it for later and carefully placed it back into the larger envelope with Harry's. Things to look forward to during a summer like this were few and far between--he thought he'd better spread them out a bit.

As he wandered through the rear of the room, he was thinking about what type of spell might work to get this mess organized. Maybe first Wingardium Leviosa, then move the things into place and reverse it--then I could direct them into groups by alphabetical order. With the larger things? Mobilicorpus? No, no bodies. Mobiliarbus? No trees. Hmmm... Mobilithingus...hell, why not?

Ron pulled the wand from his back pocket and pointed it at a small black metal box by the back wall with two buttons on the front. Nothing happened. Even after a break, this was getting old very quickly-- but then, what did he expect of some made-up spell? I give up for today--maybe I can figure this out tomorrow. Ron sighed, mumbled to turn out the lights at the very back of the space, and turned to go, staring down at the floor as he walked in deep thought. His wand hand remained raised as he considered which spells might work.

Suddenly something loomed huge and dark right in front of him. Ron gasped in spite of himself and his head snapped up as he tried to decide what in the world it was. His eyes tried to focus in the semi-darkness as he stared at the thing silhouetted against the distant bright light pouring in from the battered boards comprising the front of the shed. His heart was pounding, his breath quickened.

It was the size of a very large bear, completely covered in a heavy cloth of some sort. The thing was hanging in the air about four feet from the ground and swung a bit as he watched. He listened for it to make a noise, but he could hear nothing. There was no sign of what it looked like under the cloth. Ron was uncertain what to do. Was it the ghoul? He didn't usually stray from his attic--but perhaps he'd invited relatives for the summer. Was it some kind of strange boggart?

Realizing his wand was still in the air, Ron decided he ought to try and disable the thing first. Petrificus Totallus! he said, pointing his wand at the thing. Nothing happened. No noise, no final movement, nothing. It didn't even fall to the floor. Ron was confused.

he said loudly. But nothing happened with that one either. Could that possibly mean that it wasn't anything alive? Ron inched his way toward the thing, holding his wand at the ready. Still the thing didn't make a move. So Ron took the next logical step.

He poked it.

Stabbing at the thing with his wand, he found that it was hard. It didn't growl back at him or squeal or even move much. If he jabbed his wand in a certain place, it made a sort of dull . After poking at it in a number of different places without any response, he decided to be brave--and yank off the cloth covering. He eased up to the thing and carefully grabbed a handful of the cloth, whipping it straight back with his wand at the ready.

he chooked out quickly.

As he dropped the now-empty cloth behind him, he stood staring in awe.

The suspended thing was a motorbike--a very large motorbike--and it had once been a very expensive one. Ron smiled to himself. Oh, Dad! You are one hell of a con man! You had to work really hard to sneak this one out of the Ministry office!

Although it looked as if the motorbike had once been some type of deluxe model from all of the googaws and gadgets attached, it was in terrible disrepair. Nearly every inch of the thing was rusted and the cables were covered in some kind of smooth coating that was cracked with chunks missing. Crumbly stuffing fluffed out from the torn and tattered seat and the tires were squishy when he touched them (he knew from his father using the Ministry cars that this was bad). The headlight and some clock-looking things on the front were broken and unmoving.

But wait a minute....What made it take to the air like that? From all Harry had told him, Muggle motorbikes were ground vehicles--they couldn't fly like airplanes. Ron thought backwards through all of his steps of the last few minutes. Suddenly the furrow left his brow and a look of wonderment came upon him.

Hold on! he said aloud. he said and pointed his wand at the motorbike, sweeping his wand very slowly to the right.

The motorbike shimmied a bit to start, but silently moved in accordance with Ron's wand, very slowly floating in a sweeping arc toward the wall.

said an excited Ron. This is no Muggle motorbike! It knows it's magical!

Ron had no idea how to operate the thing or he probably would have tried right there and then. Instead, he decided to go to the one person who could tell him more--if he was home yet. But he couldn't just leave it hanging there. He pointed his wand--what would be the right ending for that spell? Descendo Motorbikus? No...

All at once Ron remembered that Harry had brought a motorbike magazine back to number twelve, Grimmauld Place last summer. Harry had taken very good care of the magazine, confiding in Ron that Mr. Weasley had given it to him because of something to do with Sirius. Ron's eyes widened at the thought--Harry had told him Sirius once had a motorbike --surely this couldn't be--?

Well, even if it was, which he realized was a very long shot, that was no reason to leave it hanging here like this. If it fell, it could do some serious damage--or fall to bits itself. What did that magazine say the slang Muggle term was? It was some kind of an animal--a farm animal. Ron furrowed his brow once more. A hog! he said aloud. They called it a hog! But that didn't sound like anything the motorbike would recognize. Oh, well--nothing else to try. Descendo Hoggus!

The motorbike made a move and then stopped, as if trying to decide if it was supposed to listen to that command or not. But finally it slowly started moving toward the ground, flattening its tires with its own weight but staying upright and leaning on a very shaky bent piece of metal that stuck out at an odd angle.

Looking closely at the badly tarnished front fender, Ron had an idea. He yanked his undershirt up and wrapped his fingers in the hem of it, then leaned down to the fender. Pushing as hard as he could against the shirt cloth with his long fingers, he rubbed in a circular motion in a patch about half the size of his palm. As he worked, the grin on his face grew wider.

Two minutes later Ron could see his own reflection in the glinting chrome oval on the motorbike's fender.

~~~***~~~

The sun was finally setting on another hot July day, but no one seemed sorry to see it go. Ron was seated at the small desk in his room that evening, ready to open--The Letter. He took a deep breath and unfolded it.

Dear Ron,

You'll never guess what I did today. I sat on the beach. Oh, what fun (snore).
Well, at least our exciting little trip is almost over and I can go home and relax. I have to catch up on reading several of the books that I couldn't bring with me.

Yeah, Hermione, and I know why, Ron muttered to himself. With your idea of several books', even I know the Muggle plane wouldn't have been able to get off the ground.

I've brought along a few books on creatures' rights to read while I'm here, though. I'll have to share what I learned when I see you.

Ron groaned. Now there's something to look forward to, he thought sarcastically.

The weather has been precisely as I explained to you it would be, with a thunderstorm nearly every afternoon that makes the air feel more humid and hotter than ever. (Not to mention what it does to people's hair--Sleakeazy's would do a good business here.)

He furrowed his brow--he had no idea what that meant--must be a girl thing.

My parents have taken me to some lovely places for dinner to try some of the local cuisine, so I suppose there are some good things to talk about. It is very nice to sit in an open-air restaurant just off the beach and listen to the waves as you watch the sunset. It could be very romantic, I suppose, if you were with someone you cared about.

Hmmm...why would she tell me that? Listening to the ocean crashing, watching the sun go down and tucking in a chicken leg all at once is romantic? Bloody hell, how's a bloke to know all that romantic stuff? They ought to teach a class, Ron thought, it'd be a damn sight more useful than History of Magic--or Divination. Come to that, maybe it is a form of Divination. Then his eyes narrowed. As long as she wasn't thinking about stupid Krum...

Harry's probably told you I sent this letter by Muggle post to him so that he could get it to you--hopefully with Hedwig, if the Muggles let him send her this year. Besides, I wanted to let you know that even though I love seeing my parents, I'm anxious to come visit the Burrow and get back to the magical world. Hmmm, I hope I haven't got out of practice with my spells (at least at your house I can discuss them without frightening people).

Ron felt a satisfied little smile cross his lips. Maybe she wasn't thinking about Viktor after all. And even if she was, it was the Burrow that she was anxious to visit'. Viktor wasn't going to have her at his house--but he was.

Speaking of Harry, have you thought of what to get him for his birthday?

I should likely be at home by the time you receive this, so send any responses there. Let me know when I should come so that I can talk to my parents. Say to Ginny for me and tell her not to work too hard on all that clean-up. I know you won't. (Just kidding.)

Hoping to see you soon,
Hermione

Hoping to see you soon? Ron could have sworn he felt his heart skip a beat because he was quite anxious to see her soon as well. But then his excitement dulled...That was just a friendly thing to say, wasn't it? We've talked to each other like that for years--hell, it's something I might say to Harry, so what am I thinking? Argh, this matter of being best friends with someone you like is so bloody confusing. Or is it that I like my best friend? Bugger!

Ron had been struggling with this same dilemma for most of fifth year, and it simply wasn't sorting itself out at all. He knew, he just knew that even though he loved them both equally as friends, some of what he was feeling for Hermione these days was not the same as what he felt for Harry (thank Merlin!) But what to do about it was simply beyond him.

He and Hermione (and Harry, if it came to that) had seen each other at their best and their worst, both physically and emotionally. They'd had huge arguments and managed to work their way through them and still remain friends. The three of them had made decisions together in life-threatening situations and he and Hermione had vowed to protect Harry at all costs--as a team, if necessary. They would die for one another--and that was all within the scope of their friendship'. Now how the bloody hell does someone make a friendship like that mean more?

Ron simply threw those thoughts off and realized that it wasn't going to be resolved tonight, so perhaps he'd better get started on writing those letters back to Harry and Hermione. He took Pig from his cage in the corner and set him on the tying perch, then immediately realized it had been the wrong thing to do.

As soon as Ron released the little owl onto the stick that served as a roost on the tying stand, Pig started sidestepping from one end of the stick to the other, over and over and over, side to side to side...

Ron shook his head at his pet. Bad idea on my part, eh, you fluffy little git? I always forget you're not like a normal owl and you get so excited to be off. Should have waited until I had the letter written. Oh, well--try not to wear yourself out before I send you to Hermione's, okay?

Several hours later, the letter that Ron had written to Harry was already signed and rolled, ready to be tied to Errol downstairs (there weren't many places that Errol could still remember his way to, but luckily, Harry's was one of them). Ron was just putting the finishing touches on Hermione's letter and he stopped to re-read it one last time:

Dear Hermione,

It sounds as if you're managing to suffer through all of those horrors at the beach, but maybe all that reading you're doing is keeping your mind off of them, right? I trust that all of that new creatures' rights information you're learning hasn't led to your chasing down any more evil men. What am I saying? It couldn't have, because I wasn't there to save you and you're still alive. Ha ha.

He had considered mentioning something about the romantic part here, but aside from not having a clue what to say, he knew he wouldn't have the nerve to say it anyway. So we'll just move on...

Lots of things have happened here. Big exciting things, too. The grass grew. Errol's been sleeping better. The gnomes have discovered a new soft spot to dig back in under the fence. Things keep magically appearing at the bottom of Mum's To Do list. But if I tell you more, I'm sure the excitement will overwhelm you and you'll be afraid to come here. And we certainly don't want that!

Mum says you're welcome to come anytime and move to Headquarters with us when we go, if you want. And yes, I have been working hard, thank you very much! Just wait till you see! Besides, I have something rather, erm...interesting... to show you.

Hoping to see you soon--too.

Ron

He felt his ears going hot and at the same time became exasperated with himself for it.
Gah, Weasley! You act like you've never said that before! And it's just friendly--just friendly! Ron was trying desperately to ignore the other little voice pushing to make itself heard--the one that was saying, It's not the words you said--it's the feelings behind them, you prat! You know, the feelings that are rather more than friendly?

Just then, Ginny knocked on the half-open door to Ron's room, claiming to be hot and bored of reading in her own room. She seemed to feel free to barge right in without first receiving permission this time.

Ron desperately hoped that his ears were finished making fools of themselves by now--or at least, that she wouldn't notice.

Oh! Writing love letters to Hermione? Ginny asked with a twinkle in her eye, leaning over what he'd written.

Damned ears!

Ron answered flatly, still staring at the parchment he held in front of him. He had worked very hard to make his handwriting neat and legible for once (it wasn't as if he didn't have time) and there were a number of crumpled pieces of parchment littered around his desk to prove it.

Yeah, sure, Ginny persisted playfully.

See for yourself then, Ron said. There. I just finished. He shoved the piece of parchment toward Ginny.

Ginny picked up the letter and began to wander toward the window, reading as she walked. Suddenly, she looked slyly back at Ron.

Oh, I think you've made a mistake, she said innocently, heading for the door. I have just the thing for it!

Ron stood quickly and stepped in front of her. Leave the letter, please, he said firmly, holding out his hand.

Ginny shrugged and dropped the parchment into his outstretched palm, then hopped down the stairs. Ron's brow furrowed as he re-read the letter again, but for the life of him, he couldn't find a single error (he'd learned long ago how easily Hermione spotted such things). On the other hand, Ginny had always been a better speller than he was.

He was still engrossed in his error search when Ginny reappeared in the doorway. She held in her palm something small and pink and rubbery. It's an Eraser Placer. Takes off the wrong letter and replaces it with the ones you say.

Ron looked skeptical. I never saw one of those before. You sure it's not one of Fred and George's inventions that's going to smear ink all over the place or set it on fire or something?

Ginny said in exasperation, rolling her eyes. Catelyn Hamner gave it to me--it was one of hers.

Frowning, Ron reluctantly handed the parchment back to Ginny, trying to remember if he'd ever heard of this Catelyn Hamner before.

Ginny laid the parchment on the desk and leaned over to work at whatever she seemed to think the problem was. Ron shifted from side to side to see what she was doing but couldn't manage to see around her shoulders.

But he watched her suspiciously. This was taking far too long. What are you doing now?

Ginny turned an innocent-looking expression toward him. Checking the rest of your spelling--you don't want to look like a complete idiot in front of Hermione, now do you?

No, but--

The letter's done, right? Ginny asked, finally standing straight and moving toward Pig's perch next to the window. The little owl chirped as she approached and she scratched his neck a bit. When he saw the letter in Ginny's hand, he obediently held out his little claw. She tied the top of the scroll to the owl's tiny leg, leaving the parchment unfurled for one last check. Acting as if she'd forgotten something, she touched the eraser to the letter one more time.

That is it! I'm not that bad of a speller! What are you up to? Ron asked, determined to see what she'd done. He stomped to her side and looked down at the letter. It all looked as he'd left it. He barely noticed that she shoved the window open next to her as wide as it would go while he checked.

Nothing--I'll even let you see, Ginny said. She then touched the eraser to the bottom of the letter, at a place just above his signature. She mumbled something under her breath and Ron saw a thin black line swirl from the end of it, the line affixing itself in some pattern just above his name.

Ron grabbed the corner of the scroll to pull it down more and saw the words Love, Ron at the bottom of the page scrawled in a perfect replica of his own handwriting. As the word sank in, he gasped and reached to pull the entire page from his sister's hands.

But Ginny was ready for him. She slapped his hand away from the scroll, which rolled up immediately, then she firmly but gently grabbed Pig with both hands. She swung the little bird away from Ron, said Hermione's house! and tossed him out of the window.

Ron threw himself halfway out the window then, grabbing at Pig. But he missed by a long shot. In a thrice the little tawny owl was gone.

Ron growled, turning on his sister. Now what's she going to think?

Ginny was nonplussed. The truth, perhaps? Oh, how awful for her to know how you actually feel and to even have it in writing.

That was none of your business! he roared. We're--just friends--you stay out of it!

Fine, then, she said nonchalantly. Take it back when you write her next.

Ron was beginning to look more miserable than angry. You can't take something like that back!

Sure you can if it's not true, Ginny said, picking up one of the crumpled pieces of parchment from the floor and making a perfect shot with it into the wastebin.

But if I take it back, she'll think I don't -- Suddenly there wasn't a word to say in Ron's head or in his mouth.

Ginny raised her eyebrows at him and smiled sweetly. And you do? So what's the problem?

But not like-- His tongue felt like he'd just eaten five Ton-Tongue Toffees in a row.

Ginny rolled her eyes heavenward and sighed. Go ahead, then--lie to yourself some more. What's it to me? You've been driving everyone in the house crazy with when Hermione comes, we'll do this', I hope it's this nice when she gets here', she's so brilliant at that'-- she singsonged.

Ron looked desperate. But--but I've been talking about when Harry comes too!

His sister looked up at him in exasperation. Yeah, right. Like once every ten times it's about Harry. So--okay, sign his letters Love, Ron' as well--I'm sure he'll be entertained by that.

Fixing a smug look on her face, Ginny took her leave of him then. She acted as if she knew full well that he was standing in helpless confusion in the middle of his room and staring at her back as she haughtily sauntered out the door.

~~~***~~~


Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no...errrrfffff!

The enormous, tipping bundle of belongings she'd been carrying fell with a flump on the bed, bouncing a bit from their own weight landing so heavily. Never mind that she had fallen onto the bed right along with them.

As Hermione pushed up from her mound of vacation items and felt her feet touch the floor again, she also felt the heat of a glare and began to scan the room. It didn't take long to find the source.

she cried, spotting the ginger tabby staring at her with wide eyes from his place curled up on her pillow. She bounced around the bed to encircle him in her arms and bury her face in his soft fur, finally lifting her head to look into his face.

His very sour-looking face, that was.

Oh, now, you know I couldn't take you with me, Hermione told him in self-defense. You would have been most irritated having to be in that cage to fly only to be stuck in a hotel room anyway. I'm sure you were much happier here, and I know perfectly well that Mrs. Anders loves you to bits and took very good care of you while we were away. You must have been eating well--just look at you--you haven't lost an ounce. She cooked you more fresh mackerel, didn't she?

Crookshanks still appraised her haughtily. If he were human, she thought, he'd surely have one eyebrow cocked in disdain. But she knew he'd give in soon. He was just making certain that she knew he disapproved of her treatment of him--just like Ron did sometimes. Hmmmm...must be the ginger hair that does it, she thought, stifling a giggle.

Crookshanks snuffed, then settled his head back on his paws--but at the same time he began to purr.

That's better, Hermione said, squeezing the very large cat-Kneazle into one last hug and kissing him lightly on the nose. She stood and looked at the conglomeration of clothes, books, toiletries, and other odds and ends on her bed that had nearly tipped and gone rolling down the stairs before she managed to cart them here. How did I ever survive as a Muggle? she asked Crookshanks. Putting things in their place one by one, Hermione found herself wishing all the while that she could simply whip out her wand and get it done in one-tenth of the time.

After watching her a bit with shifting eyes, Crookshanks stood from his place, and stretched, then walked off the bed across the bedside table. Standing on his hind legs, he proceeded to scratch with both feet at the glass, his long claws making the horrible screeching sound that he'd apparently learned earned him his way outside most promptly.

Just a minute, she told him, but by the time she walked across the room to where he was, he was no longer digging but walking back and forth on the windowsill across something light-colored and crunchy. Hermione furrowed her brow at the sight of a letter that had apparently been slid beneath the locked window onto the sill somehow. She ran her hand down Crookshanks' back and the cat moved so she could pick up the envelope.

So when did this get here? she asked, knowing full well that Crookshanks probably knew exactly when it arrived and would have been thrilled to let the delivery owl in for an impromptu playtime if he could have.

Examining the envelope, she noted that it was addressed to Miss Hermione Granger, which told her it wasn't from one of her friends--everyone she knew regularly dropped the Miss'. Quickly flipping it over, she was surprised to see the distinctive and ornate Ministry seal.

Her heart sank. Oh, no, she said aloud, holding the envelope to her chest and closing her eyes, trying to summon her Gryffindor courage. What if they've decided to press charges for the Department of Mysteries break-in? We'll all be expelled for sure, no matter what Dumbledore said. Maybe they've overridden him, maybe they've decided to take charge of Hogwarts again, maybe--

Hermione took a deep breath and looked at the letter once more, ordering herself not to panic. Just open it, Hermione. Sliding one finger under the wax seal, the flap easily popped open and she reached inside to pull out several pieces of parchment . Oh, it's so long--there must be loads of charges...

Slowly unfolding the parchment, she began to read:

Dear Miss Granger,

Some time ago, you submitted an application to our Summer Internship Program, listing your proposed specialty as creatures' rights'. Although we rarely have many opportunities in this field, an internship position of this nature has become available to commence the twenty-fourth of July of this year, and continuing for thirty days thereafter.

As your submitted Letter of Application, qualifications, and faculty recommendations appear to be of superior quality, you have been accepted as our first choice to fill this position.

Oh my word. Thank Merlin it's this. But I'd forgotten all about it!


The primary nature of the internship will be to assist Dr. Christopher Null, the
distinguished and acclaimed Crystobel Prize winner, with his current research project, the results of which he notes as being crucial to the survival of a high-level endangered magical species, the Yeti.

Hermione gasped. Christopher Null? The great zoolowizard?! To assist him in a research project? Ohhh--that article in the Prophet! This was all too good to be true. She pinched her earlobe, then read the letter again and there it was. Permitting herself a girlish luxury that she rarely took part in for fear of sounding silly, she squealed.

Bounding down the stairs to her parents, she breathlessly told them of her good fortune. Together the three of them went over the rest of the paperwork: a response form, an instruction letter regarding travel arrangements to the worksite, and a list of suggested clothing and items to bring along. Finally, they read together the last paragraph of the letter:

We sincerely hope that you will consider our offer of this internship. We realize that this is late notice, but our correspondence was delayed due to logistics problems in our home office.

Hermione cringed. She was very aware of which logistics problems' the Ministry was referring to-- just a little snafu in the Department of Mysteries, perhaps? Or perhaps it was the battle in the Atrium between Harry and Bellatrix, and finally, Dumbledore and Voldemort? Thankfully, it wouldn't be necessary for her to spend much time in the Ministry office according to the itinerary.

Your response is requested no later than July seventeenth should we need to secure another intern for this marvelous opportunity.

The seventeenth? Hermione asked herself, mentally counting and then suddenly panicking. That's today!

The letter may have been here a few days, dear, Mrs. Granger reasoned. Didn't you have to do something to stop the owls from coming to Bermuda?

An Owl Ban--yes--that's why it came here, Hermione replied. But-- what do you think? Can I accept?

I wish we had a bit more time to think about it--and knew a little more about the circumstances, Mrs. Granger said. But unless your father objects for some reason, I don't see how you could pass up an opportunity like that.

Hermione's father had been standing by, listening. I know you said there'd been some trouble there in the Ministry office around the same time that you were injured. Is this handled by them as well? Do you think they've improved their safety precautions?

Hermione didn't want to lie, exactly, to her parents about the Ministry break-in, but on the other hand, she didn't want to worry them unnecessarily either, since it was difficult for them to understand just why she and her friends had gone there in the first place.

I know there were some problems before, but as far as I can tell from this itinerary, I only need to report to the Ministry office once, Hermione explained. After that, we'll be on-site with the creatures performing the study, so I don't see why the Ministry would even be involved that much, except that they're paying for the study under the Department of Creatures' Rights. I'm certain I'll just be working directly with Dr. Null if I'm to be his assistant and I'm certain the security precautions for a scientific study will be very strict.

Dr. Granger sighed. Well, as your mum said, it's difficult to make a decision based on what little we have, but...I think you're old enough to handle yourself, or find your way out if it looks like there's trouble brewing. I'm sure your Ministry would have to accept full responsibility for your welfare, especially since you're underage.

Hermione waited for the final decree. Her father seemed to be mulling over his own words.

Taking all of that into consideration...I don't see why it would be a serious problem.

Oh, thank you! It'll be nothing short of wonderful--you'll see! Hermione launched herself at her father, quickly and tightly hugging him around the neck before she did the same to her mum. I'd better go get this response letter ready and off right now, then, before it's too late!

Pounding her way back up the stairs this time, thoughts were blazing their way through Hermione's mind. She thought of what to take, how to get there, what books she should read beforehand to help her assist Dr. Null and not look like a complete idiot...
I have to owl Harry...she thought quickly, then all of the thoughts flying through her mind suddenly ground to a complete halt...and I have to owl Ron.

Back in her room once more, that last thought had taken over all the rest and temporarily thrown them out of her mind. She knew Ron was looking forward to her visit to the Burrow; she'd been looking forward to it, too--even told him to check with his parents to see when she could come. Now she'd have to tell him that she wouldn't be staying for the rest of the summer, as planned.

But Ron will understand--of course he will. He wouldn't want to stand in the way of my doing something so important to me. Would he? A sudden but strong doubt ran through her mind. She remembered how protective Ron had been of her when they were in the hospital wing together and how he'd told her they all ought to stay away from the Ministry ghouls because no one could be certain who were the good guys and who were the bad ones the way the wizarding world stood now (with the exception of the Order members, of course). Hermione was hoping perhaps he'd forgotten how upset he was then.

But she knew Ron-- and she knew him so well that she was certain he'd have something to say about her going. Not that that was going to stop her. Yet perhaps she could find enough time to tell him in person at least, and explain that she'd be out of harm's way working way out there away from all the Ministry officials. The only people who would be with her were scientists and many scientists were famous for not giving a damn about political things, right? If she could work in a few days at the Burrow before going away for most of the rest of the summer, maybe Ron wouldn't be too upset.

Oh, sure, Hermione, she thought. Dream on... But she had to tell him in person--there was nothing else for it. Taking a deep breath, Hermione headed out of her bedroom door and down the stairs one more time. Mum? Dad!