I suck! I forgot to also thank the wonderfully helpful and sweet Twigglet25, who also took a look at this for me. Thanks, my dear!

"Ron, I'm going to the Cauldron."

Ron didn't look up from the stack of parchment he had been staring at for nearly ten minutes. It was midmorning, two days since he had spent the night in the hospital. Hermione had, true to Terry's word, woken up, but she now spent most of the time since asleep under heavy pain medicines. He had only been able to see her for one short stay since his first night in the hospital, and she had been too confused and befuddled to talk very much. All of the Healers tried to assure Ron that this was to be expected, considering the numerous potions she was taking on an hourly basis, but as far as he was concerned, it didn't seem as though she was improving at all.

It didn't help that the Daily Prophet was causing a huge maelstrom of panic and finger-pointing among the magical community as to who was responsible for trying to murder Hermione Weasley. The implied accusations ranged from a resurgence of Death Eaters in league with proponents of Muggle-hunting all the way to members of Hermione's own department out for a pay rise.

Hate mail was pouring in, though the amount directed at Ron was nothing short of staggering, considering that the Daily Prophet was painting him as a grieving husband and hero. But he supposed that as he was second only to Harry within the department in terms of both fame and power, he should not be surprised that people expected him to lead the investigations.

Besides, he did not care. Every piece of mail that came his way he inevitably binned, or, if it was a Howler, he shut it in his drawer until it finished screaming.

"Ron. Ron."

He started, looking up at Harry. "Oh. Sorry, what?"

Harry frowned. "You should go back to the hospital, mate. You don't need to be here."

"No, no…they don't like it when I just stay there. You said something. Where are you going?"

Harry sighed. "The Leaky Cauldron."

"I thought you talked to them all the other night," Ron frowned, standing up and shuffling together the papers on his desk.

"Neville's daughter Cat served Hermione the bottle, but she wasn't fit to talk to me," he answered. "She's pregnant, you know, and got so scared when—you know—well, she fainted."

Ron looked up, startled. "No one told me that," he said. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Ron," Harry said.

"Right, sorry." Ron shook his head. "Is she all right?"

Harry nodded. "She's fine, asked us to come in today." He looked Ron up and down. "I guess you're coming with me?"

"Don't I always?" Ron asked in a harried tone. "C'mon, I've got to get out of here."

Avoiding the lingering gazes of the other Aurors and Ministry workers they passed as they left the office and headed for the lifts, Ron was inexpressibly relieved when he arrived at the fireplace that would take them somewhere that wasn't his house, his office, or St. Mungo's.

"The Leaky Cauldron," he called, dropping a fistful of Floo powder and bracing himself as Harry's face spun out of view.

"And you're sure the bottle was clean when you took it from the bar?" Harry asked Cat Longbottom. Neville and Hannah's younger daughter was recently married to one of Seamus and Katie Finnigan's sons, and already expecting her first child.

Ron, Harry, Cat, and her husband Connor were sitting in one of the Leaky Cauldron's private rooms, and Ron was growing annoyed; this round of questions was providing no more information than they had already had.

"I'm positive, Mr. Potter," Cat said earnestly, rubbing her belly and looking very anxious. Connor clutched her hand tightly. "I had been using the same bottle of gillywater all night, no one else got sick."

Harry nodded, glancing at Ron, who was trying hard not to let his frustration show. There was a knock at the door, and Ron practically leapt up to answer it. Neville and Hannah stood nervously in the doorway, looking over at Cat. Ron sighed.

"I think that's all then," he said, turning back to the table. "You can go."

Cat and Connor looked taken aback, and glanced to Harry for confirmation. He seemed surprised, but nodded and rose, closing his notepad.

"She's not a suspect, is she?" Connor asked immediately, standing up as well.

Harry sighed heavily. "No, she's not. There's no evidence at all against you, Cat. I only need to know everything you can remember about what happened, so if you do remember something, you've got to reach our office right away. Do you understand?"

"Of course," Cat said, nodding fervently. "Anything at all."

"All right then," Harry told her. "Go on."

Connor helped Cat to her feet, and they made their way back downstairs to the pub. Ron gave the girl a brief nod as she passed, then faced Neville and Hannah, who had approached Harry.

"You don't really think Cat had anything to do with it," Neville said, looking between Harry and Ron. It was a statement, leveled with a shrewd expression on his face.

"'Course I don't, Neville, there's no reason to," Harry told him, glancing at Ron, who nodded. "But Cat's a smart girl. I trust her version of events, just like I trust yours," Harry said, gesturing between Hannah and Neville.

"It's just making sure we've gotten absolutely everything," Ron added a little impatiently. "We should get back to the Ministry, though, Harry. Morris and Peakes might have turned something up."

"Wait," Hannah said quickly. She looked sideways at Neville. "We thought of something. I'm sorry I didn't tell you the other night, it's just that I'm still not used to having them, and they're so used to staying out of the way that I forgot about them, with everything that happened…"

Ron frowned. "Who?"

"The four house-elves in the kitchen," Neville explained. "All freed, thanks to Hermione's bill. We're really sorry, it just didn't occur to us."

Ron made a noise of anger, but Harry interrupted him, "That never occurred to us, either. Yes, can we talk to them?" He looked excitedly at Ron, who was clenching his teeth together.

"Would've been better if we'd talk to them right off," he muttered, not looking at either Neville or Hannah, though he, too, had forgotten about the elves. He could have kicked himself.

"I'm really very sorry, Ron," Hannah apologized. "They're really very nice, and all of them were so upset to hear about Hermione. They wanted to be freed, you know. But maybe one of them saw something."

Ron pulled away from her. "It's fine. Where are they?"

"In the kitchen," said Neville. "Come with us."

Ron, still scowling, followed Neville and Hannah from the room and down through the bar, which, as the Leaky Cauldron was still closed for investigations, was entirely empty. At the kitchen door, Harry stopped him.

"Ron, get a grip," he said in a low voice. "You're not yourself." Ron gave him a hard look, and he fell silent.

"We've added on a room behind the pantry for them…it's odd, they like to stay together," Hannah was saying, as they walked through the kitchen.

Neville knocked on, and then pushed open the door behind the pantry. Strung like streamers back and forth across the brightly lit little room hung a wide selection of tiny, brightly colored socks, shirts, blouses and trousers. Beneath a wide window a table and four small chairs, and against either wall was a set of bunk beds.

"Hello, Mister Neville," squeaked a little voice, and Harry looked down at a neat line of four house-elves, two male and two female, standing at attention. "Mistress Hannah."

"Hello, Hilty," said Hannah, smiling at the littlest house-elf, who had spoken. "Tindy, Abner, Jordy—these are our friends Harry and Ron." The elf called Tindy's eyes went comically wide, and Abner, whom Ron recognized immediately as the elf that had taken his and Hermione's orders, actually squeaked in shock.

"Mister Harry Potter!" squeaked the other female, bowing low before Harry. "It is an honor, sir!" The others copied her, and Ron felt rather uncomfortable. It had been a long time since he'd seen Harry receive a welcome like that.

"It's nice to meet you all as well," Harry said.

"We is pleased to meet you, too, sir," said one of the female elves—Hilty, Ron thought. She darted forward and shook his hand.

"Pleasure," he nodded, though he didn't smile.

"Harry wants to talk to you about anything you might have noticed then night that Mrs. Weasley was here…" Hannah trailed off, glancing at Ron uncomfortably.

The house-elves were exchanging sad, gloomy looks, and Ron suddenly felt terrible for them. "Er…listen," he said, and the elves all looked up at once. He sat down cross-legged on the floor, and Hilty actually gasped.

"Please sir," she said desperately. "Take a seat, we is not wanting you to be uncomfortable!"

"I'm fine," Ron said, waving his hand. "Look, why don't you all sit down, right here, and we can talk for a minute?" For a half second, he almost expected the newly freed elves to completely panic, but after only a few nervously exchanged glances, they managed to collect their little chairs and sit down in front of Ron. With a mingled stab of pain and pride, Ron thought of Hermione and how happy she would have been to see them. She will see them, he thought.

He looked back at Harry, Neville, and Hannah. "Give us a moment?"

Neville nodded, and he and Hannah left the room, closing the door behind them. Ron looked at Harry.

"Let me talk to them?" he asked under his breath.

"Ron," Harry said slowly.

"I'm fine, I promise," he insisted. "You can stay, just let me talk?"

"O-okay. Sure." Harry stepped back and pulled out his notebook, and Ron turned again to face the elves.

He gave them a rather tight smile. Before he could speak, though, the littlest house-elf, Hilty, spoke up again.

"Sir, is Missus Hermione Wee-slee hurt bad?" she asked, looking very distressed. She looked back at the others, who nodded fervently.

Ron paused, feeling his stomach clench. "Do you four know who she is?"

"Yes!" the elf called Abner squeaked. "Missus Hermione Wee-slee is great witch! She gives us our freedom!"

Ron gave a slight smile, glancing back at Harry, who grinned. "Yeah, she did."

"We is not wanting Missus Wee-slee to be hurt," piped up Jordy. The others nodded. "Missus Wee-slee is good witch, kind witch. Missus Wee-slee is favorite to us!"

Ron nodded. "She's one of my favorites, too."

"Missus Wee-slee will be all right?" Hilty asked nervously.

"She's getting better," said Ron, swallowing hard. "She's at the hospital, and they're taking good care of her."

The elves looked nervous, but accepted this. "Thank you, sir," said Tindy, and Ron nodded.

"Now, do you think you can answer some of my questions?" he asked, and the four little elves nodded eagerly.

"All right. Do any of you think you saw something strange, or somebody unusual in the pub that night? Or maybe someone who was near Hermione—er, Mrs. Weasley?" asked Ron. He looked at Abner. "You took our orders, didn't you, Abner?" The elf nodded nervously. "Do you remember anything strange?"

"No, sir," Abner squeaked. "Abner prepares drinks with Mistress Cat…Mistress Cat carries them away…Abner remains in kitchen."

"So you saw nothing at all?" Ron asked, knowing how desperate he sounded.

The four elves looked at each other, frowning and shaking their heads. Then, suddenly, one of them looked up. "Sir, please," he said, raising one hand in the air.

"Er—yeah—Jordy?" Ron asked hopefully. "You can just talk, no need to raise your hand." Jordy blushed scarlet.

"We stays in the kitchen," he said, obviously thinking he was helping a great deal. "We is not disturbing witches and wizards at meals."

"Er…wait," Ron said slowly, "You mean, none of you actually saw what happened to Hermione?" he asked, deflating slightly. He looked back at Harry, who was frowning.

Jordy, Hilty, and Abner shook their heads, but Tindy looked up. "Tindy was in the dining room, sir," she said. "Tindy saw…but Tindy was frightened. Tindy hid." She hung her head, ashamed.

Ron sighed, trying not to be too annoyed. "Right," he said, frowning. He closed his notepad. "All right, then. That's it, I guess. Thanks, you lot."

"Yes, sir, we is happy to help," squeaked Hilty as Ron stood. She caught his hand. "Will sir please—"

"Shh, Hilty," Jordy admonished.

"Will I what?" Ron asked.

Hilty blushed. "Will sir please tell us how Mistress Wee-slee is? If sir is not too busy," she added quickly.

To his great embarrassment, Ron felt a lump rise in his throat. "Yeah," he said. "Sure, I'll send a note to Neville."

Bidding the elves goodbye, they walked out into the kitchen, where Harry faced him.

"What d'you reckon?" he asked. "That didn't help much, to be honest."

"I think we should take a look at Hermione's files on her inquiries," Ron said after a moment.

Harry sighed. "I was thinking the same thing. I've been wondering if maybe it was someone she made angry…well, it's a start, at least."

"I know," Ron said, nodding. "Let's get her staff to bring us the files for the people who lost their elves."

That evening, Ron dropped by the hospital, hoping to see Hermione and tell her that they had begun narrowing their search. Before he could make it to her ward, however, he ran into Terry.

"Ron," he said, catching his arm. "I'm glad I found you."

"Look, I just need to drop in on Hermione, we can talk—"

"No, that's what I want to talk to you about," Terry told him.

Ron's stomach dropped. "What's wrong?"

"Come in here." Terry led him off the corridor into an empty room and closed the door. "Hermione's not doing well," he said bluntly.

Ron stared at him.

Terry continued, "Usually, after being poisoned, we would expect the victim to be showing signs of improvement, sitting up, eating and drinking a bit."

"You said that poison's unusual, though," Ron said. "You said the antidote's different."

"And that's still true, but—well, I got curious about why she wasn't getting better, and I examined her again."

"And?" Ron asked. "What did you find?"

Terry sighed. "Because we have to keep adjusting the antidote, the poison is staying with her."

"What does that mean?" But Ron had a horrible idea that he already knew the answer.

"Look," Terry said, rubbing his eyes. "The antidote we've made…it's not quite right. It's a sort of mash of things that we pieced together. Golpalott's Third Law, though—"

"Terry, get to the point," said Ron rather violently.

"She's not showing improvement because we need a better match to this poison," Terry said. "And the only way I can do that is if I have a clean sample of whatever was given to her."

"We brought you the bottle!"

Terry looked apprehensive. "The sample was contaminated with the gillywater, that's why I've had so much trouble with it. Normally, that wouldn't be a problem, but because of the nature of the poison, you know, it takes on the appearance and consistency of whatever it's introduced to…it's useless."

"What?" Ron exploded. "That's ridiculous!"

"Ron, I'm sorry, but—"

He strode away from Terry angrily. Then he turned. "So what does this mean?"

"We're going to keep doing our best for Hermione," Terry promised. "But I'm very concerned that if you don't find the original poison she was given, she may die before she gets better."

Unable to listen to anything further, Ron marched to the door and stormed up the corridor, ducking into the men's lavatory, where he hurriedly splashed water on his face. How could this be happening? He looked up at his reflection for a moment and wiped his face with a towel.

He took several deep breaths, fighting hard not to be sick. It was all right, he told himself, it would be all right as soon as they'd collected the files from Hermione's office. Then, then they'd have their answer, and Hermione would be all right again. He looked into his own eyes, repeating this over and over in his mind. Then, slowly, he took another breath. He would keep this to himself, for now. There was no sense getting Rose and Hugo upset, and certainly not Harry or Ginny.

Feeling slightly more in control, Ron straightened and left the bathroom, heading down the hall in the direction of the critical care ward. He nodded to Powers and Thompson, the Aurors on duty outside the ward doors, and went in. The curtains were drawn around Hermione's bed, one of the few that were occupied in the ward.

Quietly, Ron walked in. He was surprised to see Hugo sitting with Hermione, holding her hand. They both looked up when Ron came in.

"Hey, Dad," said Hugo, rising. He bent and kissed Hermione's cheek. "I'll see you the day after tomorrow, Mum. Promise."

"Bye, sweetheart," she said with a sleepy smile. She still sounded as though she couldn't keep her breath. Ron's heart twisted.

"You don't have to go on my account," Ron said, hugging his son.

"He's…got…a date," Hermione supplied in a faint voice. "With Alice…Longbottom."

"Thanks for that, Mum," Hugo joked. Hermione smiled. "I'll see you both later."

Ron grinned and sat down. "I'm glad you're awake," he said. Perhaps it was because of his conversation with Terry, but it seemed to him that Hermione looked particularly ill.

"They…woke me up…a little while ago," she said sleepily, holding his hand more tightly. "Ron…I…I've got to…talk to you…about something," she said. "Terry…was here…"

Ron closed his eyes. He would have given the world to keep what Terry had said from her, as well.

"You…know," Hermione said.

"He told me, just now."

She swallowed, closing her eyes for a moment. "I…don't want…Hugo and…Rosie…to know, yet," she said. "Nor…anybody…else. All right?"

Ron nodded. "You're going to be fine, Hermione."

She didn't seem to have heard him. "And…Ron, if…if I do die…"

Ron blanched. "You're not going to die," he said fiercely. "Hermione, don't say that."

Hermione gave him one of her most knowing looks. "Don't…coddle…me," she said. "This is…serious."

"No, listen, Harry and I found a huge lead today," Ron lied. "You're going to be fine. They're taking great care of you here, and you'll be back on your feet in no time."

Hermione watched him sadly. "All right," she said gently. "All…right." Her breath caught, and she closed her eyes, wincing.

"Are you all right?" Ron asked. "D'you—are you tired? Do you want to sleep?"

She nodded slightly, but held onto his hand. "Don't leave…yet…"

"Okay," Ron promised. "Okay…" Then, because the words were fighting to escape him, he whispered, "But you can't, either."

Hermione's fingers tightened in his. "Deal," she breathed.