Ron floo'ed out to the ministry, in stead of apparating. He hated apparating, and only apparated out of necessity. He had gotten the hang of it after the war (it wasn't all that hard), but he had never taken to its characteristic feel. His memories of being splinched were enough to convince him not to tempt fate any further. Floo powder was perhaps a little crude, and a bit more restricted, it was also relatively safe, and you always had control of where you were going.

Once at the ministry, Ron emerged from one of the many fireplaces, brushing some soot off of his shoulders. Guided by years of experience, Ron set off for the stairwell. Most of the ministy personnel used the elevators. They were swift, easy, and reliable (in so far as anything in the ministry could be called reliable). The stairwell had not so much been added to the building because it was necessary, as that all buildings contained stairwells, and thus the ministry too. They were seldom used, except for the occasional claustrophobe that refused to enter the elevators.

On his way up, Ron thought he heard his name. Like all people, he could not suppress the urge to see who had said his name. Three elder witches were bunched together, one pointing directly at him.
'So much for staying anonymous,' he sighed, as the witches eyed his progress.

Ron walked up two flights of stairs. On his way up, Ron saw a few memo's buzz overhead. One was on the floor, with a footprint on it. It stirred feebly.
'Trampled on your way up, little fellow?' he said, as he picked it up and unfolded it. It was a memo for a guy named Wilkins, department of magical law enforcement. He pocketed the memo, and strode up the last few steps. He was on his way to see Hermione. He had not seen her since giving her his present, even though he had written her half a dozen times since between then and now. Hermione seemed to be warming up to him a little. The initial cold shoulder she was offering him had now been replaced by a 'sensible indifference', as his little sister would put it. Hermione seemed, for all outward appearances, to not care. She had told Ginny his gift had been 'nice'. She had not accepted his invitation for a dinner at the Burrow, claiming to have to work that evening, even though Ron knew for a fact that she didn't.

All in all, he felt a little like he did at the beginning of their sixth year at Hogwarts. There were differences though. Ron knew for a fact that he was in love with Hermione. You didn't travel the globe for four years without realizing why you fell asleep with her face pictured in your mind every night. You didn't spend three weeks on horseback at the mongolian highlands thinking of her smile when the sun set without knowing full-well just how much that person meant for you. Ron knew in his bones that Hermione was his soulmate, the one person he could share everything with. In a way, Hermione and he had a stronger connection that Harry and he could ever have.

Ron pushed open the door for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. As always, the lobby was a complete mess. It was barely noon, and already, two of the three potted plants had been burned down by dragon's breath. The lobby was filled with wizards and witches. Ron did not envy Hermione's collegues.
'Ronald!' a short ministry witch said in surprise, 'I didn't know you were coming!'
The girl in question was Marie, a bright, bubbly witch who had been one year ahead of them at Hogwarts, and who still remembered Ron from Hermione's internship. A the mention of his name, the lobby fell into a dead silence, as many of the wizards and witches present turned to look.
'Hello, Marie,' Ron said, ignoring the crowd, 'I'm on a surprise visit. I'd like to ask Hermione to come a visit a friend of mine for lunch.'
'Ah,' she said, 'Good luck with that.' She gave him a small smile, then patted him on his shoulder as she walked towards a group of warlocks in the lobby. Marie was a bit of a tomboy, with her short-cropped hair and petite figure. She could, however exert an air of authority like no other. As she approached the warlocks, they immediately quieted down. She ushered them into a diagnosis room, but not before turning to look at Ron for an instant, and making a face.
That girl is insane, Ron thought, Absolutely insane.

Ron knocked on Hermione's door. A feeble and weary 'it's unlocked' came from inside. Ron opened the door a little, peering inside. It had been years since he had been there last. They had still been an item then, and Hermione had just started at the ministry. Little had changed. Her desk was still in the same corner, placed just so that she would sit in the sun during the morning. There were some ministry posters hanging from the walls, mostly about house-elves and their quality of life. One poster read 'You wouldn't beat your dog...', and showed a house elf cowering on the ground. It was one of Hermione's first campaigns against the mistreatment of house elves, aiming for public awareness through shock. It had worked marvellously. The posters had been hung at all wizard-only locations, such as Hogsmeade and the Leaky Cauldron. There had been some controversy, since most people felt that the posters were too graphical.

Hermione was seated behind her desk in her own comfortable chair, head down in order to read some report. Her tell-tale bushy hair had been tamed, and was now a full auburn mane. She'd told him some years ago that she loathed the time it took to comb it. Ron knew for a fact that Ginny had been jealous of her hair, and the natural fullness and shine that came with it.
'Still busy as a worker bee,' Ron said, as he entered the room. Hermione looked up, then smiled. Ron had called her a worker bee when she had just started at the ministry. She had smiled sweetly at him then, and the name had stuck for a while.

Hermione closed the report she had been reading, then pushed it to the side of her desk.
'A public appearance of Ronald Weasley, and without a cap and sunglasses. How long has that been?'
'Quite a while actually. People are staring at me as I walk by.'
'They used to stare at me too,' Hermione said, 'But the interest fades after a while. The novelty wears off.'
Ron took a seat in a chair opposing Hermione's desk.
'Would you like to have lunch with me?' he asked, 'I promised someone I'd come over today, and I think you'd enjoy meeting him too.'
'Who?'
'Can't say. Top secret.'
'As in, "I won't tell you unless you join me?"' Hermione said with a raised eyebrow. 'How long is this visit going to take?'
'I'm not sure. I guess theres no reason for it to take more than thirty minutes.'
Hermione seemed to be thinking about it. He wasn't sure if asking her out for lunch this soon after his return was a good idea, but Ron had learned on his trip not to over-think things.
'All right,' she said, 'but I swear, if you take me to Madame Puddifoot's, I'll back here before you can say Crumple-Horned Snorkack.'

In silence, the walked down to the atrium. Together, they turned quite a few heads. One witch actually walked into a burly warlock because she hadn't been looking where she was going.
'How you ever got used to this, I'll never know,' Ron muttered under his breath, as they headed to the disapparation area.
'I never did,' she replied, 'but I decided to stop annoying myself about it.'
Ron held out his hand, and Hermione curtly took it. Using side-along apparation, they left the ministry.

The apparated half a mile from Peasedown St. John. Ron led the way, knowing just what roads to take to get to the little farm just off from the cemetary. When they arrived at the hedge surrounding the farm, Hermione stopped. One side of her mouth curled up in a half-smile. After a moment, she said:
'It beautiful, Ronald.'
Ron agreed. Even now, with some dark clouds in the sky, and the temperature quite a bit lower than his previous visit, the small farm looked like a building out of a magazine. Its thatch roof was in fine condition, with little moss on it, the white door was immaculately clean, and the yard's grass mown.
'Want to meet the owner? I met him before visiting Fred's grave. He's an old coot, but still all right up here, I guess,' Ron said, pointing at his head.
The door of the farm opened just before Hermione could answer. Wilbur came hobbling out, leaning on his cane for support.
'Mister Weasley!' he said, 'I wasn't sure if you'd come over.'
'I said I would,' Ron replied, 'and I brought a friend over.'
'Aye, and what pleasant company indeed! Come over here, lass, and help an old man back into his chair.'

A few minutes later, Ron was seated next to hermione at Wilbur's table by the window. Hermione had made tea, which Ron now poured into three cups.
'Black as the night, with enough sugar for a heart attack, right?' he asked, as he poured Wilbur's cup. His own smile was met by Wilbur's. Once the tea was poured, Wilbur leaned back into his chair.
'You brought a friend, eh,' he said, 'Have you two known each other long?'
'Hermione and I went to school together.'
'Ah,' he said, 'So she knows you quite well?'
Hermione looked at Ron for a moment. She seemed rather taken aback by Wilbur's questions. Ron suddenly realized Wilbur was trying to be covert. Ron had told him about the statute of secrecy, and Wilbur was trying to find out if she could do magic as well, without asking it plain.
'Hermione does magic too,' he replied, answering the question that really mattered, 'Quite a bit better than me actually.'
Hermione, who Ron had not told much about Wilbur besides him being a muggle, looked at him in slight outrage.
'So there are two wizards in my little house now?' Wilbur said almost reverently. He seemed mightily impressed. 'Could you perhaps... err.. give me a-errr.. demonstration?'
Ron reached inside his pockets for his wand, but Hermione, having gotten over her initial shock, produced it a bit faster. She pointed the wand at the fireplace.
'Tergeo!'
Within seconds, the soot and grime belonging to years of cold winters dripped down from the stone fireplace. It leaked down into the hearth itself, where it could easily be disposed of. If possible, the fireplace was now cleaner than the rest of the house.
'Wow,' Wilbur said, after opening and closing his mouth several times, 'That's just.. I can't even imagine.. Wow.'
Hermione stowed her wand away again. She seemed to be satisfied with the reaction, as she always was when her spellwork was evaluated by others. Ron had learned that underneath her steadfastness and composture, Hermione was actually quite insecure. He had come to love that side of her, the side that was real, and which she shared with nobody else but him.
'You'd be surprised at how little added value magic has,' Ron commented, 'It makes life easier, but it really doesn't improve it so significantly.'
Now, it was Hermione's turn to look baffled. On of her eyebrows lifted up slightly.
'What happened to you in those four years out backpacking, Ron?' she asked sarcastically. Ron gave her a mock-smile.

For nearly half an hour, Wilbur barraged them with questions about wizardry. He was interested in quite a few things, and their answers seemed only to spur newer questions. Some things they kept silent, such as the wizarding wars, the existance of dragons, goblins, trolls and whatnot, and locations such as platform nine and three-quarters. After a while, Hermione asked him about the house.
'Mister Yorke, may I be so bold as to ask for a tour around your farm? I'd love to see what the rest of the house looks like.'
'My lass,' Wilbur replied, 'You certainly may! I'd give you a guided tour if me legs could still take me up to the second floor. Why don't you go and take a look around. Don't forget to visit the barnyard in the back yard.'
Ron was about to get up when Wilbur asked him to pour another cup of tea. He gave a tiny wink, so discrete Ron nearly missed it. Assuming the old man had something to ask in private, Ron told Hermione he'd catch up with her. As she left for the back yard through the kichen, Wilbur produced a small binder from behind his chair.
'I've got me a problem, son,' he said earnestly, 'And I hope you might be able to help an old man out.'
'Me health is fading,' Wilbur said with a note of regret, 'I'm eighty-two years now, and I can feel my strength declining with each day that passes. At first, I started needing a nurse to help me with heavy things like groceries, or climbing stairs, but these days, I've gotten to be more and more reliant on her.'
Ron took a hesitant sip of his tea. 'If you want me to heal you magically, I'm afraid to say it won't help much. The natural aging-process can't be stopped or slowed down magically. That's just.. nature's process, running it's course.'
'Use magic on me?' Wilbur said half in shock, 'By the gods, no! I don't want to see you pointing that stick on me, even if you could make me twenty again.'
'I've lived a long and happy life, regardless of the war and the fact that my love died before we could have kids. I don't have regrets or fears.'
'Then what is it you want me to help you with?'
'I saw the look in your eye when you were on your way to the cemetary a few days ago. I saw how my farm took your eye. True?'
Ron smiled. 'True. It's a beautiful building, and it seems to be in mint condition.'
'I expect my health will decline further. In a few months I expect I won't be able to take care of myself as I used to. A few weeks ago, I decided I'd sign myself in for a retirement home. I've visited it a while back, it's actually quite nice. Of course, I'd need to let go of this little lot first, and since I don't have any family or children, I thought I might sell it to you.'

It took a moment for Ron to register what Wilbur had just offered him. This quaint, lovely little farmhouse, located in a small village near the Weasley cemetary, was for sale?
'I- I don't know what to say.'
'For now, say nothing. Let me sketch you an outline of what I intended.'
Wilbur opened the binded and withdrew a few pages of what seemed to be a contract.
'I had my accountant jut this down. It's not a legal document, but I think it helps to fill in most of the blanks.' He offered the pages for Ron to read.
'As you can see, the taxated value of the property is quite a bit higher than what I'm asking for. I don't need a lot of money, and I'd love to help a young man such as yourself in finding a good place to settle down.'
Ron quickly scanned the pages. Wilbur was asking less than half of the market value for his farm.
'Surely you can't sell this house for such a low price, Wilbur.'
'Be quiet now, Ronald. As I said, I don't need any money. Once I've payed for my room at the retirement home, my only costs will be food and the occasional bill. Even if I sell my house for this price, I'll still end up with more money in the bank than an old man such as myself, in failing health could spend.'
'But why me? I've known you for three days!'
'When I first saw you, you had the look of a man in love, Ronald. I could see how much you liked the house, and even at my age, I can still value a man on sight.'
'Are you sure about this?' Ron asked.
'Yes. Take your time to mule this over, Ronald. I'm not in a hurry. Let me know what your decision is when you are sure of it.'
'Sure of what?' Hermione asked. She'd just entered the room from the kitchen. 'Your house is beautiful by the way, mister Yorke.'
Wilbur smiled. 'Let me know, kid,' he said, leaving Hermione's question deliberately unanswered, 'And remember, no rush.'