True to his word, Harry came to the holding cells beneath the Ministry every day to see Ron, whose patience was waning quickly. After telling and retelling his story a dozen or so times, he had stopped caring about civility or staying calm. He wanted nothing more than to walk out of the cell, free and clear, and it was plain that neither Revere nor Wilkes was willing to let this happen.

Ron's arrest had, of course, made sensational headlines, and the buildup to the trial was quickly becoming overwhelming. Hermione, Harry reported, had found out that Ron was being imprisoned, and was quite literally worried sick. Harry didn't have to say that she was doing very poorly for Ron to read it in his face.

Meanwhile, the rest of the family was up at arms, furious and astonished at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement's despicable treatment of Ron. Harry, doubtlessly in an attempt to cheer him, said that he was having a difficult time restraining Molly and Arthur from coming down and breaking him out of his cell, and reported that Kingsley Shacklebolt and many others within the Ministry were adding their names to the rapidly-growing list of character witnesses in Ron's defense.

But even having Kingsley Shacklebolt on his side had limited power. Ron was seriously regretting his support of the post-war bill that had taken away the abilities of the Minister of Magic to override other Departments without a full inquiry by the Wizengamot.

It was to general amazement that there was a small but fierce portion of the wizarding community that did not share their shock and horror. Feeding upon conspiracy theories and panic among Hermione's supporters, the Daily Prophet had stopped painting Ron as a hero suffering unfairly at the hands of fate and started in on him as a rags-to-riches would-be assassin, ready to do anything it took to further his station at the Ministry (they drew attention to his quick rise through the Auror office) and dissatisfied to linger in the shadows of his Muggleborn wife's success.

"They're just trying to stir trouble and sell papers," Harry assured him. "There is no case, and Revere knows it, if the Minister of Magic is publicly taking your side. People are angry, though, and she's taking advantage of the Prophet because they want to report that they know something."

He was quite correct. Carlotta Revere's name appeared in many quoted articles in the days leading up to the preliminary hearings, which would determine whether or not a criminal trial was necessary.

For his defense, Ron had been assigned an officer of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Wilbur Lisle, to represent him in the hearing, but it seemed unlikely that this would help much. The Department was getting endless amounts of attention and glory in their efforts to win justice for their celebrated head, and Ron wouldn't put it past them to put in only half the work needed to defend him if the alternative meant success in their mission. Instead, he devoted his time to making sure there was no way to prove that he had ever tried to hurt Hermione.

One week after his arrest, his defender arrived in his cell early in the morning.

"Time to go," said Lisle, looking eager to begin. "You look sharp," he assured Ron, who had been given a razor and a set of robes so that he might change his clothing and clean up his appearance before the trial.

Ron scoffed and stood, getting to his feet.

"The truth," said Lisle. "That's key, you know."

Ron fought the urge to punch his smug face as two burly security guards down the corridor led them to the courtroom. Inside, the entire Wizengamot had already taken their seats. Ron looked into the seats around them; Harry, Hannah, and Neville sat in the witnesses' chairs, while Rose sat a few seats over, watching her father anxiously, and as Ron's eyes slid over to the seat beside her, his heart gave an odd, twisting, sinking feeling. Minerva McGonagall was watching him, her lips thin and her face pale as she ran her hands nervously over her walking stick.

He groaned inwardly. Why had Rose brought her here? Ron rubbed his eyes, drawing a deep breath.

Three knocks from the gavel drew the room's attention to Alastair Bonneville, the member of the Wizengamot who was presiding over the proceedings. "The Wizengamot calls to order the preliminary hearings for Mr. Ronald Weasley," he said, looking at someone standing over Ron's shoulder. "Madam Revere, inspector on behalf of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, you may begin."

Ron's heart sank as Revere strode forward, staring impressively around the room. "Witches and wizards of the Wizengamot…"

Overall, for the first day of hearings, it could have gone worse. All the same, there were still several sticky moments, that made Ron impossibly nervous despite the fact that he knew he shouldn't have been worried at all.

The first came when Hannah said that she couldn't remember Ron ordering any drink at all at the Cauldron that night.

"Nothing, Mrs. Longbottom?" asked Revere. "Come, now, surely that's odd behavior in a bar, of all places."

"Just because I don't remember it doesn't mean it didn't happen," Hannah said stoutly. "And besides, plenty of people come into my pub and order nothing."

"Do they?" Revere asked, a note of amusement in her voice. Hannah scowled.

The next problem came when it was Neville's turn to speak.

"Yeah, I said Ron could go through the kitchen to the side of the building," he said defensively, eyeing Revere. "The usual alley was spattered with vomit from some kid, I wasn't about to send someone out to step in it, and we don't allow anyone to Apparate in or out of the bar or kitchen."

"But you didn't watch Mr. Weasley leave, did you, Mr. Longbottom?" Revere asked in a cold voice.

"No, I didn't," Neville snapped. "I didn't need to. Ron would never hurt Hermione, ever."

"This isn't a character reference, Mr. Longbottom, that's quite enough," said Revere sharply.

But worst of all was Harry's time on the stand. Revere seemed determined to make him crack, throwing him confusing and jumbled questions undoubtedly in the hope that he would suddenly explode and confess everything she wanted to hear.

"You say Mr. Weasley wanted you to come to dinner?"

"With my wife," Harry agreed stiffly.

"And yet he turned up at your office. Was he surprised to see you still at work?" Revere asked.

"No."

"No?"

"I believe that's what I said," said Harry sharply. "Was there another question you had in mind, or shall I tell you what I'd eaten for breakfast that day, too?"

By the end of it all, Ron was still trying to make sense of whether Revere or Harry had won, and he was being returned forcibly to his cell.

"You'll speak tomorrow," promised Lisle, giving him a jaunty wave before disappearing up the corridor.

Ron let out a sigh of endless frustration and sat down on the bed in his cell, running his hands through his hair furiously.

"Dad," said a soft voice.

Ron leapt up; Rose was standing outside the bars of his cell, holding one hand out to him. He rushed forward and took it. "Rose, you shouldn't be here," he said.

"We wanted to see you," said Minerva's voice. Ron pressed up against the bars. He could just see Minerva coming down the corridor with Harry.

"I didn't know you were coming," Ron said apologetically. "You didn't have to."

"Hermione asked Hugo to write to me," Minerva said. She looked at Harry and Rose, her face white and tense, her expression very worried. "I wish I'd been here sooner."

"There's nothing you could've done," Ron said.

"Ron, if it's any consolation, none of the stuff Revere was bringing up today is anything other than circumstantial evidence. Kingsley is furious, he's giving an interview right now to the Daily Prophet to vouch for you," Harry said. "You'll get your turn tomorrow, and you'll show them you can't have done this."

Ron gave a humorless smile as Rose squeezed his hand. "All circumstantial. Right, except for their bloody charms that prove I was in that kitchen."

"Dad," Rose said, horrified. "Don't say that."

"No," Ron said, shaking his head. "Sorry."

There were several beats of silence, during which the guard standing just down the corridor cleared his throat. "Five minutes, Mr. Potter," he warned.

Ron sighed. "You'd better go. See your mum," he told Rose. "Tell her not to worry about me."

"That'll work," Rose said, smiling rather sadly. She squeezed Ron's hand. "I'm staying with her tomorrow. Hopefully I can keep her away from the newspaper. Hugo's coming here to support you."

"Thanks, Rosie," Ron managed, swallowing a lump in his throat. He looked to Harry. "Hold down the fort, all right, mate?"

"I'll be back later," Harry promised. "I'm still scouring Hermione's files. I'll let you know if I come up with anything."

"Anything else," Ron corrected, but Harry gave him a look that plainly said they weren't going to discuss Wilma Crouch or their disagreement surrounding her in front of Rose or Minerva. Ron sighed again. "Minerva, anything you need, a place to stay, anything—it's on us. Rosie can get the key to the bank vault."

"Nonsense," Minerva said, shaking her head; she sounded stuffy, as though she had a sudden head cold. "I pride myself on having good enough relations with my former students to earn a night or two at the Leaky Cauldron, even if it is closed." She paused, looking around at Rose and Harry. "May I have a moment?" she asked.

Rose nodded, and allowed Harry to lead her away from the cell. Minerva drew a deep breath and faced Ron.

"Rose and Hugo are worried about you," she said. "So is Hermione."

Ron stared at her. "Do you think I don't know that?" he asked rather rudely. "Don't you think if I could do something about it, I would?"

"I'm not saying that you must do something about it, or that there even is anything to be done," Minerva said calmly. She stepped forward and, rather awkwardly, placed a hand on Ron's, which was resting on the bars before him. "I only want you to know that while I'm here, you needn't be so worried."

Ron stared at Minerva. If her hair hadn't been pure white, and her face quite lined, Ron had the distinct impression that her sharp, square-spectacled gaze could have been watching him from behind a desk in his old Transfiguration classroom.

"I'll help wherever I can," she said in a much stronger voice. "I'll stay with Hermione."

"Minerva, you don't need to do that, you're—" Ron trailed off. He did not want to say "too old," but Minerva seemed to guess what he meant.

"Don't argue," she said sharply, drawing herself up. She tapped her walking stick on the ground impatiently. "I'll help any way I can, and that's final."

"Ms. McGonagall, I have to ask you to leave," said the guard. Ron started; he had almost forgotten that he was there.

Minerva nodded, taking a deep breath. "I'm going to the hospital," she said to Ron.

"Thanks," he answered quietly. "I mean it, anything you need, just ask Rose."

Minerva was already walking away, disappearing up the corridor the way that Harry and Rose had disappeared. Ron heaved a sigh and dropped onto his bed, rubbing his face hard and running his fingers through his hair.

He wondered briefly if he was going mad. Frustration, anger, and above all, fear, were coursing through him, and he certainly felt as though he had lost all control of his life. He was hungrier and more tired than he ever had been, but he didn't think he could eat a thing or go to sleep when he felt this miserable.

Well, perhaps that was untrue, he thought, rubbing his eyes, which were sore and, he was sure, quite red. He lay back on the bed, repeating to himself what he would say tomorrow.

Slowly, irrepressibly, his eyes began to close.

The second day of the hearings followed the same rocky, uneven path, and the third was even more unsettling. As these were not yet the real trial, and merely hearings to determine whether a trial was necessary, Ron found himself telling and retelling the events of the evening at the Leaky Cauldron. Each time, it was worse; his temper was wearing thin, and it was becoming painful to have to watch Rose, Hugo, or Minerva in the crowd of reporters and Ministry workers that filled the courtroom.

Not only did he have them to worry about, Ron was also faced with the forceful presence of Carlotta Revere. Deprived of any concrete evidence that Ron knew anything about the poison or how it had gotten into the bottle, Revere seemed to be trying to secure a trial based solely on circumstantial evidence.

On the fourth day of the hearing, it was Ron who spent most of the day being questioned by Carlotta Revere.

"You admit, do you not, Mr. Weasley, to being in the kitchen of the Leaky Cauldron moments before your wife was poisoned?" she asked.

Ron grit his teeth. "Yes," he said.

"And why is it that you were in that kitchen? You are not an employee. There was no reason for you to be there," Revere said coolly.

"As I've already said, and so has Neville, the back alley was blocked off. I used the kitchen door to get out to the side," Ron snarled.

Revere continued loudly, "And you were alone with your wife in the hospital, weren't you? The night when her Healer claims, and I quote, 'Madam Weasley's condition took a surprising turn for the worse, owing to an unexpected reaction to the poison that had not been detected and counteracted earlier.'"

"I was," said Ron testily. He felt Hugo's and Minerva's eyes on him, and shifted uncomfortably. "I was told that the Healers didn't recognize the poison she was given, so they were unprepared for what happened."

"It's a very unusual poison, isn't it, Mr. Weasley?" Revere asked quietly, her pale eyes fixed on his.

Ron stared. "Well, I guess it must be, if it was unrecognizable."

"It would take someone with a great deal of power, not to mention access to a great many dangerous poisons, to effectively hide an attempt at murder, wouldn't it?" asked Revere.

"Meaning what?" Ron demanded hotly.

"Meaning that many rare and dangerous poisons are studied here, within the Ministry itself," said Revere. "Someone with the appropriate clearance and training in stealth and tracking, for instance, would easily be able to obtain a sample or two—"

"That's speculation, Miss Revere," said Lisle suddenly, standing up. "There's no evidence to suggest that the poison in question came from within the Ministry. It could have been created specifically for this purpose by the outside assailant."

"Understood, Mr. Lisle," called Alastair Bonneville. The damage, however, was done; Ron could see Revere's statement had surprised members of the Wizengamot. "Miss Revere, proceed."

"No questions, sir," said Revere calmly. She turned her back on Ron and marched back to her desk.

"Mr. Lisle?"

Ron looked to Lisle, who shook his head. A knot twisted and tightened in Ron's stomach.

"Mr. Weasley, please stand," said Bonneville. Ron obeyed, feeling intensely scrutinized. The courtroom, as yesterday, was filled to the brim with reporters and Ministry employees. In the corner of his eye, Ron saw Harry shift nervously in his seat; Minerva was clutching her walking stick with white-knuckled hands and Hugo looked rather green. "As yet, the Wizengamot can make no ruling as to your guilt. That would be determined in a full trial. Miss Revere, I expressed to you my reservations with going on in this preliminary trial. Hearing the evidence I have heard, I can make no definitive conviction to pursue a full trial."

Ron's heart leapt, and he saw Hugo sit forward suddenly out of the corner of his eye.

"We will hold Mr. Weasley here, until such time as the Wizengamot has deliberated further. At noon tomorrow, we shall reach an agreement upon appropriate measures," Bonneville concluded. He banged his gavel, and muttering broke out all over the room. Camera flashes went off in Ron's face, and he could dimly hear reporters shouting questions at him, but his brain seemed to have turned down the volume on the world around him.

Painfully, inexorably, Ron felt himself being led away by the two security guards again, cameras still flashing in every direction around him.

"Ron!"

He turned. Harry was reaching out for him, patting his shoulder. "It'll be all right, Ron! I promise!" he said, and Ron nodded vaguely. Harry's face was disappearing into the crowd.

"Look after Hermione," Ron said automatically, and he faced front again, not looking back as he was pulled from the courtroom.

Ron sat in his cell, alone but for the security guard who paced slowly past him every minute or so. Try as he might to think otherwise, he was having a hard time believing that he was going to stand trial for attempting Hermione's murder. And questioning by the Wizengamot was surely going to be a lot different than having to face Carlotta Revere.

How could this be happening? Was there no one with enough power to stop this who knew he would never, ever be capable of hurting Hermione? Was he going to have to see his children's faces as they watched him be taken to Azkaban, possibly for the rest of his life?

Nightmare scenarios chased themselves around his mind, one after the other, until he felt nauseated and more frightened than he had been in many years. And then, slowly, irrepressibly, the image that he had been trying to keep away from himself for over a week burst to the front of his mind. It was Hermione, lying alone in the hospital, waiting for him to come back.

Ron dug his palms into his eyes. The image was burned into his brain; she was painfully sad, and he felt as though his heart was being ripped out of his chest.

For the first time ever, the icy cold truth clutched his whole body. In one terrible moment, he realized that it was very likely that he would never see Hermione again. Either he would be taken to Azkaban, or—and this was like a blow to the stomach—she would die before he was set free.

Ron bit down hard on his knuckles, drawing blood so as to stop himself from sobbing out loud. He sank onto the bed, hunched over to muffle the sounds of his tears.

The next time Ron woke, it was early morning, and he was lying on his sofa in his own home. To his great surprise, Hermione was sitting beside him, smiling as she ran a hand through his hair. He grinned up at her.

"You're all right," he said happily.

Hermione leaned over and kissed him. Ron closed his eyes, wrapping his arms tightly around her. She was alive, and here, and warm, and he was never going to let her go again. Then, Hermione ended the kiss rather abruptly. She sat up, still smiling. Ron reached for her again, but Hermione got up, walking away from the couch towards the front door.

"Hang on," Ron said. "Where are you going? Hermione?" He leapt to his feet and hurried after her. "Hermione!" he shouted as she crossed the garden. She turned at the gate and waved.

Ron felt a thrill of inexplicable terror. She was in terrible danger, and she did not know it. He started forward, trying to catch her before she left the gate.

"Avada Kedavra!"

A flash of brilliant green light hit Hermione squarely in the back, and she crumpled. Ron whirled around. Bellatrix Lestrange stood behind him, laughing like a maniac. She threw her head back, laughing cruelly as Ron ran to Hermione, scooping her into his arms. She was not moving, not breathing, but her eyes were wide open in terror.

Ron screwed his eyes shut, pulling Hermione closer to him, and let out a yell that mingled with Bellatrix's laughter. Then, someone was trying to pull Hermione from him—he struck out—

"Ron, stop it! Ouch!"

"Mr. Potter!"

"I'b fide—I'b fide."

Suddenly, Ron's eyes opened. He was in his cell in the Ministry, and it was easily the middle of the night. Two dark shapes stood over him. A wand tip ignited. Alexandra Morris stood near the cell door, biting her lip as she held her wand aloft. Harry stood directly above him, frowning as he pinched his nose, which was bleeding.

Ron winced. "Sorry, mate," he said hoarsely, sitting up. "What's going on? What are you doing here?"

"Episkey," said Alexandra, and with a nasty cracking sound, Harry's nose mended. He rubbed it gingerly and faced Ron.

"You're being released," he said.

Ron's heart leapt and he jumped to his feet. Then he stopped. Rather than looking elated, Harry had a very grim expression on his face.

"What?" Ron asked ominously.

"They've ruled you out as a suspect," said Harry, taking a breath, "Because Hermione's taken another turn for the worse."

Ron's stomach plummeted through the stone floor.

"Revere's best evidence was what happened the other morning, when you were alone with her," Harry explained, putting a bracing hand on Ron's arm. "Now that it's happened again, Kingsley and I've gotten the charges dropped. The Wizengamot is going to reject the trial, and Kingsley's getting Revere to give you a full pardon and apology right now."

Ron felt dizzy and weak at the knees. "I have to get to the hospital."

To Ron's great comfort, Harry leapt into action. "I'm coming with you. Ginny and Minerva are there, waiting for the kids." He withdrew Ron's wand from his pocket, and Ron accepted it. Alexandra started to lead the way out of the cell, but Ron numbly put his arm on Harry's elbow.

"Wait, Hermione's wand. I had it when they arrested me."

"I've got it," said Harry, producing it from his pocket as well. "Come on, Ron."

"Is she alive?" Ron asked hoarsely.

Harry paused. "I…I don't know."