Author's note:

Thank you so much to:

evil-vile-kitty
ariah23
smithback

for your encouragement to continue this story. I found myself excited to keep writing and squeezing out another chapter before I headed to bed tonight (well now morning lol).

I truly appreciated the comments.

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. JK Rowling owns everything and is taking that $1.6 million dollar home she purchased and demolishing it to make room for her garden. If I owned any of this, you could be damn sure I'd be doing the same thing.

You Know What to Do

Ginny paced impatiently just outside the house. Despite the early summer night chill, she left the door ajar, allowing the light from the kitchen to cast a warm golden glow on the grass below.

Stopping and standing on the tips of her toes, she squinted hard at the darkness beyond the small homey patch of light surrounding her. She imagined she heard laughter and hoped it was Hermione laughing along side the boys about how she took a wrong turn coming home to the Burrow. Playing out the scenario in her head, she anticipated Hermione ended up stuck in the mud or on the branch of a high tree due to an unfortunate run in with some wild Cornish pixies.

Sighing outwardly at the silence, she knew her mind was playing tricks on her. She was too optimistic sometimes.

"Ginevra Weasley come inside this instant, and shut that door. It'll do no good if you catch a cold." Ginny heard her mother fuss from somewhere in the depths of house. She shook her head in silent defeat.

"How does she do that?" She thought aloud to herself as she reluctantly turned to step back inside the kitchen. Somehow no matter where Molly was, on the sixth floor buried in a pile of laundry or halfway across England, she knew exactly what her children were up to.

Shutting the door behind her a little too harshly, Ginny slumped down into the nearest chair and grumbled in annoyance.

"Dear, there is no sense in fussing about something you can't control. The boys will find Hermione and I am sure she is alright. Now just go up to your room it's nearly three in the morn!" Crossing the kitchen to the sink, she unloaded a pile of dirty robes.

Although she put on a valiant façade, her actions were betraying her own reassurance. Molly was worried. She knew Hermione was tough. Her dealings in the war were nothing less than pure Gryffindor bravery. But she also knew that even though the war was over, danger still lurked in the wizarding world.

After Voldemort's demise, most of the Death Eaters had either fled the country or were put to trial. Some however, were still on the loose and until the last remaining one was captured, no one was ever truly safe.

Molly knew however, that it wasn't just the fleeting remnants of the dark side that lurked in the cover of nightfall. There were many magical and even non-magical dangers out there, especially in the forest.

Feeling helpless to do anything to aid the boys in their search for Hermione, she buried herself in a mountain of chores to try and calm her nerves. If she could put on a brave face and keep Ginny from distressing too much, she would at least be doing something. She knew she wasn't fooling anyone, but Molly Weasley was as stubborn as centaur guarding his land in the Forbidden Forest.

"Fine mum, but you know," Ginny called as she ascended the stairs to her room, "you're not fooling anyone."

Huffing in slight anger, Molly turned back to the dirty laundry in front of her and began scrubbing furiously.

BAM!

The door to the kitchen flew open abruptly with enough force to knock it clean off the hinges. After coming down from the multitude of feet in the air she had jumped at the sudden blast, Molly turned to hear the low and calculated voice of her husband.

"Molly. The Medi-Kit. Now."

Walking swiftly past his wife, Arthur moved quickly into the sitting room, carrying a very bloodied and unconscious Hermione in his arms.

Rushing in behind him, a pale and expressionless Harry escorted a visibly upset Ron. Bringing up the rear of the party was George, who carried a bundle of torn and muddied papers along with a slender wand complete with very delicate vine carvings.

Without missing a beat, Molly rushed over to the small cupboard above the stove and retrieved a worn and leathery looking case. Wasting no time she ran into the sitting room.

Hermione was laid out in her tattered and torn clothes on the large scruffy rug in the center of the room. Muttering various healing spells over the gaping wound on her hip, Arthur motioned for Molly to hurry over.

"She's lost a lot of blood."

"Dear Merlin Arthur, what happened to her?" Molly opened the kit and handed him the roll of gauze.

"She was attacked. The potion. Please." Arthur pointed to a purple vial in the kit as he tended to the injured witch in front of him.

Molly handed him the vial and he immediately poured it over her hip. Smoking and sputtering as it hit the open flesh, it cooled to a white vapor and began to close the wound.

Gathering a small vial of blood replenishing potion from the kit, Arthur raised Hermione's head and with George's help, coaxed the thick red liquid down her throat.

After effectively cleansing and closing her wound, Arthur brought her still unconscious form up to the third floor and into her room. As soon as he left, Molly dressed her in her night clothes. Laying her down gently on the bed and assuring herself that her breathing was steady, she made her way back to the sitting room where everyone, including Ginny who had heard the commotion, was talking in hushed and hurried voices.

Ron's voice rang out in an octave above the rest. "There has to be something!"

"Ron, you know there's no cure." Harry replied finding his voice.

"But how can you be so sure it was even a-"

"I stunned it myself." Arthur adamantly interrupted. "There is no mistaking it. Not with the full moon."

Hearing those fateful last words, Molly gingerly spoke up. "You surely can't mean…"

"Yes." He whispered softly. "Hermione was bitten by a werewolf."

After confirming what no one wanted to believe, everyone went silent. Harry paled even more (if it was even possible) and Ron looked as if he was going to vomit all over the floor in front of him. George ran his hands slowly through his fiery hair until they settled on a permanent position in front of his face and Ginny sobbed silently in the corner.

After seconds passed into minutes, Molly finally spoke up.

"Well now, all of you children up to bed. It's been an exhausting night and if you want to help Hermione in any way, shape or form she'll need you all well rested and attentive." Moving over to shoo them out of the sitting room, she called back over her shoulder to her husband.

"You know what to do."