"Hey," Harry said, plainly startled to see Ron already seated at his desk early the next morning. "How's Hermione?"

"Fine." Ron closed a folder and made a note on its cover.

"Are those the files her team dropped off?"

"Yep," said Ron shortly. "They're a bloody mess."

"Doesn't Hermione oversee these?" Harry asked incredulously, picking up a folder.

"No, the filing is her assistant's job," Ron said bitterly. "And nothing's in the right order."

"Blimey," Harry said. He looked up at Ron, grinning. "Better not tell Hermione about this till she's well again, right?"

Ron scowled. "We need these," he said. "They're our only lead, and since no one seems to have bothered to keep them neat they're nearly useless."

"All right, all right," said Harry. "Calm down. They're not useless. Come on, I'll help you."

"No," Ron grouched. Then he shook himself. "No, it's fine."

Harry sighed. "Ron, listen—"

"What, Harry?" he snapped.

"Nothing. Never mind."

"Fine," Ron said, flipping another folder shut. "I'll let you know if I find something."

The office filled up around him, but Ron paid no attention as he pored over file after file, with little success in finding anything out of the ordinary. It also didn't help that his mind kept wandering back to Hermione.

He was almost all of the way through the box of files when he came across a particularly thin folder. He frowned, looking at the name, written in Hermione's neat script: Crouch, Wilma.

He opened it to find only one single page—the status report. It looked as though this woman had had her house-elf removed for not conforming to the terms of the bill. But this was all that the page said. Ron frowned and flipped through the other papers; he could find no questionnaire or notice of inspection for this file.

Then, suddenly, the name hit him. Crouch…he got up and hurried away from his desk to Harry's office.

"Harry," Ron said, pushing the door open. "Harry, look at this."

Harry was scribbling notes into an investigation record. "What is it?" he asked, looking up.

"Look at the name on this file. It's missing a questionnaire and inspection record," Ron said, handing him the folder.

"Crouch?" Harry asked immediately. "Like Barty Crouch?"

"Probably a cousin or something," Ron said dismissively. "The point is, they're an old pureblood wizarding family, and she had a house elf taken away from her, and I can't find her questionnaire anywhere."

Harry shook his head. "That doesn't mean anything, they could have misplaced it."

"Harry," Ron said fiercely. "Let's talk to her. We can find out where she lives easily enough."

Harry was looking dubious. "It's not a lot to go on, Ron."

"What's the matter with you?" Ron cried. "You can't just let this pass by, it's suspicious. The one file I've found that's missing information? We've got to do this, and we've got to do it now!"

"Ron," Harry said loudly. He flicked his wand at the door, which slammed shut. "What is the matter with you? I want to find this person as badly as you do, but you've gone a bit manic."

Ron exhaled in disgust. "Look, if you don't want to go, it's fine. I'll find what I need to on my own, just give me the paperwork I need to do it."

"Ron, what's going on?" Harry asked seriously. "Did something happen?"

"Hermione's in trouble," Ron said. "Real trouble."

Harry blinked. "What?"

Ron was fighting to keep control of his voice. "They can't get a clean sample of the poison to give her the right antidote. They're just guessing, making it up, and it's taking too long. She's not getting better."

"I…Ron, I'm—" Harry stood and put a hand on Ron's arm.

"So are we going to this woman's house, or what?" Ron snapped, dodging him.

"Wow," Ron said, standing before the large house. "What does this remind you of?"

"Houses like Grimmauld Place run in old families like this," Harry shrugged. "At least we could find this one."

"Well, let's go, then," said Ron, going up the steps. He rapped on the door as Harry joined him. It hadn't been difficult to track down the information they needed to locate Wilma Crouch, as she had once been a well-respected donor to the Ministry of Magic via her late husband. Her very large townhouse (left to her by her husband, who was, in fact, a blood relative of the Crouch family) was in the heart of one of the nicest parts of London.

Ron knocked again. "The file says she's about a hundred years old," he grouched. "Where could she be, Quidditch practice?"

As if on command, the door opened. A young woman in nurse's clothing stood in the doorway. "Yes?" she asked.

"We're, er, here to see Ms. Crouch," Harry supplied, when Ron said nothing. "Is she in?"

"Yes," the nurse said. "But I'm afraid she wasn't expecting any visitors."

"We're Aurors," Ron said. "We need to ask her some questions."

The nurse looked very surprised. "Aurors? Well, let me see. Why don't you come in, and I'll see if she can talk to you."

They were ushered through a small entrance hall and into a dark sitting room, furnished with a great deal of very old, expensive furniture. The shelves that lined the walls were full of gilt-edged, leather-bound books and antique trinkets.

"Wait here, please," said the nurse, before leaving them and disappearing up the stairs.

"A nurse?" Harry mouthed, and Ron shrugged.

"Maybe she's just a maid or something," he said, though he didn't quite believe it. He was having a difficult time making head or tail of what was happening.

They waited in the parlor, without speaking, for nearly twenty minutes. Ron was absorbed in staring restlessly around the dark walls and shelves, and was thoroughly startled when a sudden crash and a loud thud sounded from across the hall.

Harry and Ron immediately drew their wands and hurried out into the dark foyer. There was a door at the back of the hall that presumably led to a kitchen. Harry nodded silently and started quietly forward, Ron directly behind him, their wands raised—

"It's an old house, Mr. Potter," said a raspy voice, startling both Ron and Harry. They whirled around. A very, very old woman was coming down the stairs, leaning on the nurse's arm. Ron's mouth fell open. She was surveying them austerely, dressed in old-fashioned, very fine clothing.

But, for all of this, it was obvious that she hadn't left the house in some time; she was barely able to walk, much less plan and commit a murder.

"We've learned to live with the occasional creaks and groans," said Wilma Crouch, as the nurse helped her into the sitting room and settled her in an armchair. "Thank you, Emily," she said. Harry and Ron, who was by now thoroughly confused as he stowed away his wand, sat down opposite her. "Would you make some tea?"

Emily, the nurse, nodded and hurried from the room.

"Emily tells me you've some questions for me," said Ms. Crouch, turning her sharp eyes on Harry and Ron.

"We're Aurors," Harry said. "We're investigating an attempted murder of a Ministry official."

"That poor Weasley woman," said Ms. Crouch, shaking her head. "Yes, I read about it in the papers." Then she narrowed her eyes. "And I assume that the Auror office is involved because of her personal connection to the two of you. Harry Potter, of course, and—ah, yes, you're Ronald Weasley, are you not?"

"Yes," Ron said rather rudely. He didn't at all like the way the woman's eyes lit up behind her spectacles when she said his name.

"Well, it certainly is nice to see that the three heroes of our world are still friends after all these years," Ms. Crouch said, sitting back in her chair. "And nicer to see that Mr. Weasley is taking an interest in his wife's case…Oh, forgive me," she said, when Ron made a furious noise. She picked up the newspaper beside her. "I was just reading about how you've been unavailable for comment and curiously absent from the hospital building. They don't sketch a flattering picture, Mr. Weasley."

Ron opened his mouth to retort, but Harry silenced him with a look. He sat back, eyes narrowed.

"What is it that I can do for you, Mr. Potter?" Ms. Crouch asked, looking at Harry.

"Well, we'd like to know if you may have had a reason to be at the Leaky Cauldron the night that Mrs. Weasley was attacked," he said.

Ms. Crouch laughed. "I don't know why you would even ask," she said dismissively. "I haven't left my home in nearly two months. I am dying, you see."

Ron stared at her.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Harry said uncomfortably.

"Yes, it's quite inconvenient," said Ms. Crouch. "Be that as it may, however, I cannot leave my house, much less subject my weakened defenses to exposure. I was nowhere near the Leaky Cauldron that evening, and I cannot imagine where you would have gotten such an outlandish idea."

"But you had a house elf taken from you," Ron said suddenly. "You had an elf taken when you were inspected."

Ms. Crouch turned to him. "Yes, Mr. Weasley, I did. A very faithful elf, whom I regret losing. However, the worst things do seem to happen to the least deserving people, and here we are. I understand Madam Weasley's bill perfectly. I was in violation of it, and the elf wished to be free, so I cannot bemoan my losses. At least not legally. Ah, thank you, Emily."

The nurse had returned with the tea tray. She set it on the coffee table and prepared a cup for Ms. Crouch, then offered biscuits to Harry and Ron, who both shook their heads.

"I think we've taken up enough of your time," said Harry, giving Ron a meaningful look. They both stood. "If you think of anything that might be able to help us, Ms. Crouch, please don't hesitate to send us an owl."

"Certainly," said Ms. Crouch coolly. "Good luck in your investigation, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley. I hope your wife is well soon."

Ron repressed a shudder as he and Harry were shown out of the house.

"I still say she knows more than she's let on," Ron insisted.

"Ron, there is no evidence to suggest that she had anything to do with Hermione getting poisoned," Harry said. "I agree, she's a weird old bat but we have to face it, it was a dud."

It had been two days since their visit to Wilma Crouch's house, and Ron was becoming quite frustrated. Hermione's staff had misplaced the questionnaire and information on the elf that had been taken from the house, and it seemed that the lead they had attempted to follow was quickly becoming a dead end. To make matters worse, Hermione was still no better, although Terry Boot seemed intent on making Ron glad that she was no worse.

Ron himself hadn't slept or eaten in quite some time, though he was scarcely aware of it. What little time he spent away from work was usually spent at the hospital, where Hermione was being kept sedated for the most part, as she was in a great deal of pain. He had dropped in early that morning and found Rose sitting with Hermione; brief moments like that were quickly becoming the only times he ever saw his children.

The Daily Prophet, in the meantime, was causing even more trouble, and it was turning vicious. Every other day or so, an article would pop up about the "fruitless" and "misguided" investigations of the Ministry into Hermione's attack, and how the Auror office and Department of Magical Law Enforcement were showing little to no interest in catching the would-be assassin.

Ron and Harry's images were turning from distraught husband and concerned friend to bumbling, uncaring oafs without half an idea of what to do next. Ron was doing his best to keep this from Hermione, but it was difficult, when all she seemed to want to do at the rare times she was awake was read.

Overall, the atmosphere in the Auror office was growing tenser by the day; Howlers and hate mail were arriving with every post, demanding more action. Ron's robes were nearly set aflame by a particularly nasty cursed letter that managed to singe his hair as it rocketed off of its own accord. The entire magical community, it seemed, was desperate to find the one responsible for trying to kill Hermione, even if it meant beginning to level character assassinations and unfounded accusations of conspiracy.

"I definitely think she could've gone to the Cauldron if she wanted to," Ron insisted to Harry, tilting back in his chair. He knew it was hopeless to cling to the idea that Wilma Crouch could have had anything to do with Hermione, but it was the only lead, however weak, he had encountered. He couldn't let it go.

"I don't think so," Harry said. "You saw her, she's not well."

"She could've been lying, though," said Ron. "I mean, who's to say she wasn't?"

"Mr. Weasley?"

Harry and Ron both looked around. Alexandra Morris stood in the doorway of Harry's office. "There are two officers from Magical Law Enforcement here to see you, sir."

"Me?"

"Bring them in, please, Morris," said Harry.

Alexandra stepped aside, and a moment later, a middle-aged, paunchy wizard and a young, sharp-featured witch entered the room.

"Carlotta Revere," she said coolly, shaking Harry's hand first, then Ron's. "I've taken on the lead in our investigation into Madam Weasley's poisoning."

"Your investigation?" Ron asked.

"We think it's important to have as many eyes as possible on the case," said the wizard, clearing his throat. He shook Ron's hand. "Tom Wilkes, by the way. We've just finished our sweep of the Leaky Cauldron."

"We turned in reports on everything we found there," said Harry, still frowning slightly. Ron was feeling distinctly on edge. "We wanted the Cauldron to re-open as quickly as possible, that's why we were the only ones to examine it. It's the only source of income for the Longbottoms."

"We know all about the couple who owns it, Mr. Potter," said Revere in a disdainful voice. "However, it's not your duty to determine when and how examinations conclude. The Leaky Cauldron will be free to re-open when we have collected all of our evidence."

Her eyes were boring into Ron's as she said this. Now thoroughly disconcerted, he stood, shutting the door. "What's this about, then?" he asked, looking between the two officers.

Revere glanced at her partner for a moment, then back to Ron. "Mr. Weasley, our spells today revealed that you were present in the kitchen of the Leaky Cauldron."

"Yeah, I was," Ron said hotly. "And so was Harry, but that was four days ago."

"That's true, Revere, we were questioning the house elves who work there," Harry cut in, giving Ron a warning look.

"You misunderstand me," Revere said loudly. "We can place you, Mr. Weasley, in the kitchen of the Leaky Cauldron the night that your wife was attacked. Can you account for that?"

"No," Ron said, shocked. "Wait a moment, yes," he said suddenly. "I went out to the back alley to Disapparate. I'd left my briefcase here, at the office, and I needed to get it."

"Surely your briefcase would have been safe here overnight, Mr. Weasley?" asked Wilkes. "Why the urgency?"

"Well, I'd taken money out of Gringotts that morning, and I didn't want to leave it lying around." Ron looked desperately at Harry for help; Harry looked just as shocked as Ron felt.

"But again," said Wilkes. "Surely it would have been safe here."

"Look, it's just smart, isn't it?" Ron said angrily. "You don't leave money lying out."

"How much money?" asked Revere suddenly.

"What?" Ron stared at her.

"You say it was enough to make you want to ensure its safety," Revere said, as though she thought this were a very fishy thing to want to do. "How much was it, Mr. Weasley?"

Ron gaped at her. "I don't know. Fifty Galleons, maybe?"

"Quite a sum," commented Wilkes. "Why so much? That's hardly pocket change."

Ron turned scarlet.

"He was buying a birthday present for Hermione," Harry interrupted forcefully. "He'd been talking about it for a month. She's got her birthday coming in September, and Ron had her gift all planned out."

"What was this gift, then?" asked Revere, now glaring at Harry.

He fell silent. "I didn't know. Ron?"

Ron stared at the floor. "Bracelet," he mumbled.

"Didn't catch that, sorry," said Wilkes, not sounding very sorry at all.

"It was a bracelet," Ron said, sighing. "A private matter, between me and my wife and not you."

"Oh, so you've purchased it, have you?" asked Revere.

"No," Ron said, growing hot around the collar again. "Sorry, but I've been a bit busy, lately."

"So you mean to say that you've got fifty Galleons in your possession, which you haven't spent, but you expect us to believe it's for the purpose of buying your wife a birthday present…two months before her birthday," said Revere. She arched an eyebrow coldly. "You'll forgive me if I have a difficult time understanding that."

"You can't interrogate him for being a husband," Harry said violently.

"Wait, wait a moment." Ron held up a hand. The blood was rushing in his head, and he could feel his neck an ears glowing crimson. "Let me get this straight. You think," he said slowly, glaring at Revere and Wilkes, "that I tried to murder my wife for money? For our own money?"

"Not necessarily your own, Mr. Weasley," said Revere. "Your wife recently received a rather substantial pay rise, did she not, for her work with the house elf task force? And with the fairly recent death of her mother, she inherited quite a bit of money as the only child, did she not?"

"What's that got to do with it?" Ron demanded.

"Your parents, Mr. Weasley," said Wilkes. "They are not wealthy, are they? You had very little growing up, did you not? I assume that they're getting on in years…"

"Sure, accuse my whole bloody family!" Ron bellowed.

"Ronald Weasley," said Revere suddenly, stepping forward and drawing her wand. "By order of the Ministry of Magic, you are hereby under arrest for—"

"What?" Harry roared, leaping up. "You can't do that!"

"Quiet, Mr. Potter, or we'll have you in as well. You can't bury evidence," said Wilkes coldly. "You'll be lucky if we don't have you up in your own trial."

Harry's jaw dropped.

"Harry," Ron said, looking desperately at him. "Harry, you know this is wrong! Harry!"

"You are hereby under arrest for the attempted murder of Hermione Weasley," said Revere. She flicked her wand, but Ron was quicker; he deflected her binding hex and tried to dodge around her.

"Stun him!" she yelled.

"Stupefy!"

And Ron knew no more.

"Hey."

"Hey," Ron muttered hoarsely. He didn't look up from staring at the food tray that had just been delivered through the bars of his holding cell.

"I talked to Rose and Hugo," Harry said, leaning against the door. "They've told Hermione you're held up at work."

"They think I did it?" Ron asked hollowly.

"How can you even think that?" asked Harry. "They're furious. I almost had to stop Rose from coming in here herself."

"All right, all right," Ron mumbled, still staring down at his feet. "Who else knows?"

Harry shook his head. "I'm keeping this as quiet as I can."

"Good luck with that," said Ron bitterly. "It'll be in the newspapers by tomorrow. I heard the guards talking."

At that moment, a guard who was meant to be keeping an eye on Ron ambled past, looking closely at both Ron and Harry before continuing on his way.

Harry dropped his voice. "What d'you mean?"

"The hearings start next week," Ron said. "It's just a matter of time till they've got me on trial. I'm the only suspect. They've got witnesses piling up, and I've got no one to defend me."

"That's not true, Ron," Harry said desperately. "Hannah, Neville—everyone, we can all give character witnesses, and they know you weren't doing anything in that kitchen. Don't give up, all right?"

"That Revere woman," Ron said, imitating her voice, "She says that, 'not only is it suspicious for you to have taken the wrong way out of the Leaky Cauldron, Mr. Weasley, you were the only one present when your wife took a turn for the worse the next day.'"

"Ron, you know that doesn't mean anything. They're just trying to look busy," Harry insisted. "Hermione's their Head of Department. It looks bad if they can't get anything done."

"Yeah, well, they look any busier, and they're going to throw me in Azkaban without a trial," Ron snapped, meeting Harry's eyes for the first time.

"No they're not," Harry said. "Listen, Ron, whatever happens, you've got to tell the truth. No matter what. They're going to twist your words, but you've got to stick to the truth, it's the only way you'll get out of here."

"Mr. Potter, we haven't given clearance for anyone to visit Mr. Weasley," said an icy female voice. Ron didn't need to look to know that it was Carlotta Revere.

Harry fixed her with a hard stare. "I'm a head of department, Revere," he said, equally cold. "I don't need clearance to do anything from members of the staff."

Carlotta said nothing, but Harry turned to Ron. "I'll see you tomorrow," he promised pointedly.

Ron nodded once, and watched from the corner of his eye as Harry walked away, only to be replaced by Carlotta Revere.

"Are you ready to be a bit more helpful, Mr. Weasley?" she asked, in what she clearly felt was a kind and understanding voice. Ron was having hard time not shouting at her.

"Fine," he muttered. Revere tapped the cell door with her wand and came in, giving him a cool smile.