A/N: Thank you, thank you again to my talented and amazing betas ChristinaTeresa, Seakays, and sunshyndaisies! You are the best!


Chapter 6
Regrets

These studies are very important, you know, Hermione whispered to herself, practicing. She had her satchel open in front of her and was rapidly tossing in items that had obviously been thrown onto the bed haphazardly. Without them, we can't understand other creatures like the yeti the way we should. If we don't understand their needs, how can we live harmoniously, and be certain that we're not affecting them in negative ways? How can we have faith in ourselves to--

Here you go, a voice said behind her.

Hermione jumped and gasped, whipping around to find Ginny standing in the doorway and holding out a gold hair band.

Sorry, didn't mean to startle you, Ginny said. Just didn't want you to forget this--you left it downstairs last night.

Hermione let out the gasp she'd been holding and reached out to take the hair band. That's okay. I just--thought you were Ron.

Well, I've got to get down and help Mum with breakfast, but... Ginny stopped and looked at her warily. Hold on-- you have told him, haven't you?

Hermione swallowed and licked her lips nervously. Erm...not exactly. No.

Ginny's eyebrows arched as she seemed to take in the full meaning of the statement. Right then. I'll be leaving now--this moment-- because I don't want to be here when he gets here... With that, she trailed off and was gone.

Hermione groaned. She half-wished that she could disappear just as quickly as Ginny had. Maybe that's it, she thought. You've had a nice few days here--yesterday was especially wonderful with the picnic by the pond and making ice cream last evening...

Hedwig had even arrived in the midst of the picnic with a letter from Harry, so it truly felt as if the three best friends were all together, at least in a way. The snowy owl had joined the picnic herself for a short time to gobble up some meat strips Ron had pulled from a chicken leg, then she flew off for a drink and a rest in Pig's cage.

Perhaps everyone got their fill of one another and you could just slip away when Dad comes to pick you up... Then later you could send an owl...

She huffed at herself in exasperation. You coward! You came here to tell him, and just because you haven't yet doesn't mean you can let yourself off the hook, especially after the other night on the hill when he was looking at you so...so...and the whole thing was so...whatever that was!

Thinking, she pursed her lips and pushed them to one side, just as she had her thoughts about those strange, wonderful and yet somehow annoying feelings for Ron. Besides, she was leaving.

The speech-for-Ron practice began anew as she folded a jumper and shoved it into her bag. These yeti have rights and needs, too, you know. They shouldn't be treated as mere objects when they can communicate those needs to one another and to us. Their lives may not be as structured as ours, but that doesn't mean they shouldn't have every right to respect, and basic needs, and love. So that's where we come in--

Come in? Okay, if you say so, a deeper voice than Ginny's said jovially.

Hermione jumped and gasped again, turning to throw her body in front of her open satchel on the bed. Why do you always have to sneak up on people?

Ron stood just inside the doorway to Ginny's room, looking totally baffled. Me? Sneak up on people? Blimey, haven't been accused of that too often. People usually tell me they can hear me coming a mile away. He casually reached into the bag of Bertie Botts Beans he held in one palm and drew out a few beans, dropping them into his mouth.

Well, I didn't! Hermione said irritably.

All right, Ron said curtly, apparently trying not to snap back at her. He rolled his eyes and mumbled under his breath, Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.

She glared at him and realized this was starting out all wrong. She had meant to be kind and mature and calm and explain just why it was so important for her to leave to do this internship. Then he would tell her it was all right, and that he understood it was necessary for her to take advantage of an opportunity like this, and that he was very happy for her...

Oh, come on Hermione, this is Ron!
Snapping out of her reverie with that thought, she noticed that he had come several steps closer, looking around as he walked and chewed on his Bertie Botts.

Who were you talking to, anyway-- Ginny? Ron asked. Where'd she go?

He wasn't going to make her feel like an idiot for talking to herself. He wasn't going to throw her off-task like that. Not when she had to make him understand, and break it to him gently, and not feel guilty herself for ruining his summer plans. Deep breath, think calm... Why do you have to chew those things so loudly? How did that slip out?

What is your problem, Hermione? Ron asked. I think it's a lot more than my chewing.

No, it's not! she said, something inside of her hoping that her attitude might keep him from coming any closer. Obviously, you've already had breakfast--

I haven't! Ron protested. I was waiting for you to come out. But I'm starving, so I brought these along to get me by.

To get you by? Hermione questioned. You couldn't make it all the way downstairs before you had to have something to eat, so you're eating those disgusting things before breakfast?

Why do you care? Ron asked, sounding just a little irritable himself now.

Good question, Ron! Why do I? Hermione folded her arms across her chest and stood in front of the bed, her brow furrowed, her mood resolute.

Ron started shaking his head and turned toward the door. I don't know what's wrong with you, but I'm leaving.

Good! she thought. Maybe I can get away with this after all!

Hold on. That one wasn't a voice in her mind. Oh no...

Ron had stopped. He took several steps toward her and reached for her elbow to gently move her aside; apparently he'd spotted what was on the bed.

Hermione tried to remain steadfast in her stance, but his soft, concerned tone of voice and the feeling of him so close was causing her to panic inside. Without letting go of her elbow, he turned her to face him.

Ron stared straight into her eyes with a look that both broke her heart and made her want to slap him, all at the same time. But much to her chagrin, all it did was make her eyes water--and no, I won't cry! I won't!

What's going on? he asked in a low, soft, somber voice.

She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing would come. Frustrated with both herself and the situation, her brimming eyes nearly gave her away by pushing a tear over the edge, but she looked down just in time.

Oh, whycould he do this to her? It always happened this way. She was going to be so controlled and so calm. Things were going to go so easily. Then he'd look at her that way and it all fell apart, all her plans--everything--and all that was left was the two of them. He'd already proven he knew more than one way to disarm her-- and for this one he didn't even need a wand.

 he said, leaning down a bit to draw her eyes back up to his.

I--I--I have to leave, she said quickly.

Now? Today? Ron asked, first with confusion and then a sudden tone of concern in his voice. Is everything all right? Are your parents okay? Has something happened?

Oh, it was getting worse. Now he was concerned about her and her family and wanting to take care of her. His fingertips were hot on her elbow. They're fine--everything with my family's fine.

Ron paused a moment in thought, but seemed unable to find an answer.

The tone of his question was so honest, so searching, so heartrending that she wanted to scream and pound his chest with her fists. Because it was either that or throw herself into his arms and hold him tight and she didn't dare do that again to her best friend. Not when she was about to walk out on him.

It's important, Ron, she explained after a deep breath. It's something important. It's important to me and to science --and for everyone to understand that what we do affects all creatures, magical and otherwise, so drastically that their lives are changed, and it's just not right for us to make such decisions without--

Ron dropped his hand away. His voice was suddenly starting to sound just a little dangerous. Oh, I see. It's all coming clear to me now. This is about one of your causes, isn't it? It wasn't the man with the dog that set you off reading all of those animal rights books. It was this, whatever it is--

Ginny appeared momentarily at the doorway. Breakfast! ...Er, never mind. She had started to speak before she glanced at both of their faces, then instantly she wheeled around and just as quickly disappeared.

No...no. I didn't know about this then. It's an internship, Ron--an internship with a very famous zoolowizard, she explained, trying to keep her voice even. It'll be easier if we fight, she thought. It'll be easier to go if he's being hateful. Maybe it'll be easier for him if he's angry with me, too.

So tell me about it then, Hermione, he said sarcastically, flopping onto the bed with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes narrowed. Apparently I've got plenty of time and nowhere to go. Sit down and tell me all about it.

Hermione, feeling as if she was under the gun, told him several of the very few things she knew about the internship so far. Ron spent the entire time staring at her with a distrustful sneer on his face.

It's funded by the Ministry, but-- she tried to mention rapidly in the midst of a lot of other information.

The Ministry? Ron said incredulously, picking it up instantly. After what we've just been through? You didn't learn anything about staying away from the Ministry from that?

But this doesn't have anything to do with the political side of the Ministry, Ron, it's all scientific.

Oh, yes, like you found out with Rita Skeeter? It's not political, it's just--writing?

Hermione had been trying not to get angry, trying not to let him get his way. He'd already been yanking her emotions wherever he wanted to lead them. He wasn't going to make her take the bait, even if she thought it might be easier that way. But now she was getting past wanting to make it easy on him.

Dr. Null is a very famous zoolowizard, Ron, she said determinedly. McGonagall and Hagrid had to write recommendations for me to work in this position--a long time ago. This could be very good for a career, you know. If I get a strong recommendation from him, it could help me a great deal later should I decide to go into this line of work--

Ron glared at her, his arms still crossed as he leaned back insolently. Oh, careers! And how are you going to make sure to get a good recommendation from him? Rather dashing young fellow, is he? Or then--'young' doesn't really matter to you now, does it?

She couldn't believe her ears. What? What?! Just what are you trying to say?

Just make sure he's not trying to research you while you're researching for him, he said snidely.

Hermione felt her temples pounding as she narrowed her eyes at him this time. He had no right to say that. Of all the--

Oh, don't be ridiculous, Ron! she said loudly. He's perfectly harmless! He's an old man!

Really? How old, would you say?

I don't know! Hermione spat back, standing up from where she'd been seated on the edge of the bed. He could be so infuriating! Thirty-five! Forty! I don't know--he's an old man!

Yeah, but--so was Lockhart. So's Vicky, for that matter.

Hermione was becoming incensed. Vicky's not that old-- I mean, she spluttered, realizing what she'd just said. Don't call him Vicky!!

Ron did something very strange then. The corners of his lips turned up just a little, and he stared at her from his position still seated on the bed. But his stormy blue eyes were so cold she nearly shivered.

Hermione looked down at herself and realized that --still-- he'd managed to manipulate her emotions every step of the way. And she'd done so well this past year with trying to keep him in his place so that he couldn't do this to her. How could he do it so masterfully any time he felt like it?

Reckon you'd better keep packing then, Ron said evenly but with cold, brutal sarcasm as he stood and headed toward the door. When you go down to breakfast, tell them not to bother waiting for me. I'm not very hungry any more.

Don't give in, Hermione, don't give in! All right, she said, holding her chin up to prove she was fine.

Don't worry about us--I'll take care of London somehow--and Harry-- he and I can help them out at Headquarters when the time comes, I suppose. Ron was leaning on the doorframe now, looking back at her as she stood stiffly next to the bed.

She knew he was trying to make her feel guilty.

Reckon I'll see you on the train then, if you're back by then, or if they haven't made you a full-time research assistant. You know I have no doubt you could do it brilliantly, he said snidely, almost turning to leave. Oh, there was one thing I almost forgot to ask.

Hermione sighed, feeling weary and deflated and she hadn't even had breakfast yet. What is it?

he started, but his voice broke and cut him off. Suddenly all of the sarcasm and coldness and danger had fallen away and that heart-wrenching tone from earlier was back. When were you going to tell me, Hermione? Or were you just planning on sneaking off to leave me wondering what happened?

I-- I--came to tell you, she said. That's why I was here...the past few days...

Ron nodded slowly and sadly. Well, then --I reckon that's something.

She watched his fiery hair disappear around the doorjamb corner and finally felt that hard-fought tear trickle down one cheek.

How she wished he'd yelled instead.

Damn it all to bloody hell!

Ron paced his room furiously, ignoring the fact that it was a very warm night and a sheen of perspiration already covered his face. When Hermione left she must have seen fit to take the lovely breeze with her, for not a twig was stirring and the bright orange curtains hung limply from their rods. But the breeze wasn't all she'd taken. Every single hope Ron had for salvaging this lousy summer might as well have packed itself in the satchel and headed off to parts unknown with her.

A loud plop and a sound like a bucket being overturned came through the ceiling, but he hardly noticed. It certainly didn't slow his pace. Nothing would, nothing except knowing she was going to be safe - and now that her welfare would be in the hands of the Ministry, he was even more uneasy.

War was coming--everyone knew it. One day the papers would try to gloss over the clues, spinning the acknowledgment of the Dark Lord's return in whatever direction the Ministry wished for the week. The next day, the Prophet was full of articles from anonymous contributors' speculating on when and how', whether with skirmishes or with one big attack, clearly showing there would be no avoiding the conflict between Voldemort's growing forces of evil and those for the common good. Everything had been deathly quiet so far this summer, but it could all start in a heartbeat and no one would be at all surprised.

What if something happened and Hermione was far away? What if she was on her own - without her parents, without anyone from Hogwarts, without him and Harry, or even Neville-- without anyone to help her? After cleaning up and doing its best to ignore the Department of Mysteries break-in and the ensuing battle, the Ministry had, of course, gone on blindly about its business as if everything was perfectly normal. So they thought nothing of continuing their scientific studies' and their psychological research' for the betterment of wizardkind'. But Ron hadn't thought Hermione to be the type to fall for such nonsense. How could she be so blind?

The trap door in the ceiling opened several inches and stayed ajar, though no other noises issued forth. Ron kept pacing, thinking, cursing, wishing he hadn't been so bloody furious with her earlier today when she was here so he could have actually helped himself by getting more information.

What are you lookin' at?! he snapped, stopping to glare up at the black opening in the trap door. He knew it had been open for at least five minutes, but kept hoping the ghoul would just leave him alone. He wanted everyone and everything to leave him alone. You'd better close that thing and stay up there tonight if you know what's good for you. And keep it bloody well quiet for a change!

The trap door jostled a few seconds and then fell shut with a thunk.

Ruddy snooping spirit, Ron mumbled to himself.

He'd sent Pig off with a letter for Hermione, hoping that the little owl would have the fortitude to hold out against Hermione's possible ranting and bring back a response. The letter was direct and blunt and almost demanded that Hermione let him and Harry know where she'd be and how they could get in touch with her if necessary. And it certainly wasn't signed with love' either, he thought.

It was almost nightfall when Ron heard the flutter-swish of little wings outside his open window. He'd been lying on the bed staring blankly at the ceiling for the better part of an hour after picking aimlessly at a dinner that tasted to him like Professor Sprout's peat mulch always smelled.

He knew there wasn't much chance of the sound being Errol yet, because it had taken Ron another half hour after Pig left to get a letter off to Harry telling him what had happened. Sure enough, Pig had managed to make his way through the litter of fruit bat babies that regularly practiced their newfound ability to fly just outside Ron's window at this time of night. The little owl landed on the sill with a tired thump, breathing hard and looking around frantically for fresh water.

Ready and waiting in your cage, mate, Ron said, untying the parchment from the little owl's leg. Once he was done, he lifted Pig on one finger and crossed the room. You did a bang-up job for a little bloke, Pig. There and back again that fast! And this time it really mattered -- any post owl would be proud. If I ever tell you any differently again, you have my permission to ignore me.

Pig stared attentively up at Ron, his huge golden eyes already drooping with sleep. But Ron's words seemed to make him feel proud and he sighed contentedly before settling in for a drink and a long nap.

Ron collected and unfurled the parchment, expecting to find a terse answer from Hermione, but expecting her to answer him nonetheless. Yet what he read only left him with more questions. For one, she claimed that didn't know exactly where the wildlife refuge was.

Maybe better that she doesn't say anyway, Ron thought. I'm still getting used to these bloody Order restrictions on letters... He couldn't imagine who would try to intercept their letters and who would have had time tonight; but on second thought, he knew it wouldn't be wise to pinpoint her whereabouts, just in case there was anyone about who would be anxious to find a young girl of mixed magical heritage alone and vulnerable. Supposedly, she and her parents would be given the exact location during her meeting at the Ministry the following day, immediately before she departed by Portkey.

Hermione did, however, tersely tell him that she was only allowed one owl a day because too many of them flying about disturbed the very creatures they would be working with. Under the circumstances, she thought the owl would usually be reserved to communicate with her parents because they had been so overly concerned about her after her injury.

One owl! One lousy owl! Ron said aloud. I know her parents deserve to know first, but they can't know the kinds of danger that could find her from the wizarding world--they just wouldn't be able to understand. He looked at Pig, already asleep in his cage.

I'll give you an hour, Pig, he whispered even though the owl was soundly sleeping. Then you've gotta go back.

Ron sat down to write the new letter, trying to explain to Hermione just how dangerous it could be to be unable to communicate with her in some way. He argued with himself about how stupid it sounded because she would be working with those from the wizarding world, but the world was so divided these days--there were only certain people who could be trusted.

Several times he got up to pace about the room again. Gently he tried to explain to Hermione that her parents couldn't possibly help her in case she managed to find trouble from a magical source. He re-read the letter and realized that it sounded pleadingly pathetic, and mostly as if he was doing all the pleading. I haven't heard back from Harry yet, but you know he'd feel the same, he wrote at the end.

The letter was finished, ready to be sent. But the post owl wasn't yet ready to take it. Ron tried to wake Pig after the hour he'd thought about letting him sleep. But the little owl just barely fluttered his eyes at Ron's touch, then slumped back against the side of his cage, fast asleep in an instant.

Ron sighed and walked to the window, staring into the darkness. She was leaving tomorrow--time was short. He had to talk to her--to get through to her how important it was that she find a way to communicate. Maybe she really did know where she'd be, but knew well enough not to send it in the letter--perhaps in person she'd tell him. A month could be a very long time. There were certainly many ways she could find herself injured or worse in that time should war break out, even if she was in the care of the Ministry--or especially, in the care of the Ministry, for that matter.

But how could he get to her? Floo powder? No, Hermione's fireplace wasn't connected to the Network. Ministry regulations specifically stated that fireplaces from households of Muggle disposition' were not to be attached. At the moment, there was very little room at the Ministry for special permission to be granted for anything having to do with Muggle households'.

A Portkey was out of the question -- not enough time and a permit was necessary for that, too.

He had no way to talk to her again before she left, unless...under cover of darkness... An idea was starting to form in his head--a very risky idea as far as how much trouble he'd be in if he was caught, but possibly the only answer nonetheless. Ron looked toward his well-serviced Cleansweep, mounted on the wall above his bed.

But could he get away with it? He'd heard people at Hogwarts boasting about flying when they were away from school and under unauthorized conditions. Most of the bragging came from bloody Malfoy, whose father could fix' almost anything with the Ministry even if Draco should somehow be discovered. Yet when one needs to break the rules, why not follow the lead of the expert rule breakers?

If he flew low enough, Ron thought--on short hops--sometimes the magic of flying didn't register with the Ministry for some reason. How often had they practiced Quidditch in the old apple orchard without getting the dreaded reminder notices about underage magic? He was fairly certain he remembered where Hermione had said her house was; he reckoned he could be there by midnight...if he was successful in getting her to listen to reason, maybe he could be back before dawn...

Just in case, while he finished thinking this out, he felt he ought to take time to check the status of the household. Ron had an idea that everyone was already in bed--the silence had told him so--but he wasn't willing to risk such an important undertaking by being careless.

Ron checked for light under the door in his parent's room. There was none, so he eased the door open a crack, far enough to hear his father's snoring. But he had to be certain his mother was there as well. At least if his father was snoring, he knew he wouldn't be interrupting -- well -- he was old enough to know that seven Weasley children did not come from his father spending all night snoring. Opening the door a bit wider to find it very dark in their room, he could barely make out a Molly-sized mound on his mother's side of the bed, so he was probably safe. But he'd listen very carefully while he made his final preparations just to be sure.

Fred and George were staying the night at home, too, but aside from the possibility that they might want to come along, he really had no worries about their letting on to Mum and Dad about him. In any case, he knew the twins had to get the shop open early in the morning, so it looked like they had trundled off to Dreamland as well.

Ginny? Well -- he wasn't so sure that she was asleep. Plus he was a bit more unsure if she would tell on him or not, too, but there was one big reason that he didn't want her to know his plans. He happened to know that whether or not Ginny actually knew anything, his mum automatically assumed she did, and would question the poor girl senseless. Ginny had often complained to him about this before, because she really could be the great source of information' Ron had told Hermione she was. But this way, if his little sister didn't know, she didn't have to make a decision whether to cover for him or not--it was already made.

Stepping quietly to her door, Ron saw that there were indeed candles burning in her room, but he listened for few minutes without hearing a sound. Her door wasn't completely closed so he pushed just a little, only to find Ginny fast asleep and sprawled across the bed with the latest edition of that rag, The Quibbler, spread open next to her. Knowing he took a chance on waking her, Ron grabbed the wand from his back pocket and uttered a spell as he pointed it at the candles, extinguishing them. But she didn't move a muscle.

Perfect, Ron thought. They'll never know.

Ron slipped up the stairs to his room, purposely avoiding the one where Fred and George had dropped a lit Filibuster Firework and blown out a step several years earlier. It had been rapidly (and shoddily) repaired by them with magic before their mother appeared (though they had trouble explaining the smoldering once she did), but it still squeaked terribly and rocked ominously when stepped on.

Yet, Ron made it to his room without incident. After changing into warmer, dark clothes, he took a deep breath and looked at the wall above his bed. His shining Cleansweep hung there, where he'd painstakingly cleared a space and pounded in nails to hold it secure and safe--until just such a moment as this. He'd thought the next thing he'd be using it for was Quidditch practice with Ginny or George and Fred--he'd never considered the fact that he might be flying to Hermione's house instead.

Remembering a hot, thirsty trip in a flying Ford Anglia several years ago with Harry, Ron decided to fill an old flask with water and threw it into his weathered school rucksack to take along. Opening his bedside drawer, he also threw in his last bag of Bertie Botts Beans and a few Peanut Poltergeists from last summer. (Honeydukes had been introducing them then and he'd grabbed a handful. Ron didn't like them very much, but he supposed they could be filling.) He smelled one to see if a year had done anything drastic to it, but it seemed perfectly fine, just a bit harder than intended. He brushed a few quill shavings and bits of lint from the packages and tossed them in.

From a small cloth bag under his mattress, Ron removed the two Galleons he'd been saving to spend with Hermione over the summer, along with the few Sickles and Knuts there, and shoved them into his pants pocket. Reckon I won't be needing them to spend with her now, he thought bitterly, then reminded himself he needed to stay focused on getting to her instead of getting angry with her, which had got him into this mess in the first place.

Ron mentally checked for anything else he might need on his rather lengthy flight there and back again. Unable to think of anything further, he slipped his arms through the straps of the rucksack, climbed onto his bed on his knees and carefully pulled the Cleansweep down. On his way out of the door, broomstick in hand, he stopped to look into the cage on his bureau. Sweet dreams, Pig, he muttered, looking at the little owl sleeping peacefully. I'm the messenger this time.

Ron stepped carefully down the stairs again, listening cautiously for any sound that might alert him to someone being up and about. He heard nothing and was trying to decide if heading out the back door or the front would be less noisy. The kitchen, he thought. After all, he'd just re-oiled that bloody screen door the other day--he was quite sure it wouldn't squeak--as long as he didn't let it slam.

The clock chimed softly at eleven o'clock -- he was already running late for what he'd planned --maybe he could be at Hermione's house by twelve-thirty? He crossed the darkened living room, the only light a rather bluish glow leaking in through the windows from the moonless night outside. Two more doors to go...

Ron edged the swinging door to the kitchen open a few inches, making sure that his broomstick didn't bump the sides and make a clatter. He had nearly pushed the handle into the open space --

Wham!!! Something slammed into the door from the other side, shoving Ron's unsuspecting body backwards. He tried to catch his balance, stumbling rapidly until he finally ran short of living room floor and crashed into the bookshelf Ginny had cleaned a week before.

Forcing himself to freeze the instant he could manage it, he listened in the darkness.