After Hermione was given the antidote, Ron didn't leave her side for two whole days. Minerva, Rose, and Hugo would come into the hospital now and then to see them, but Ron would send them away. Terry seemed confident that the antidote would work when he first administered it, but Ron could tell he was losing faith when Hermione failed to wake up after the first day, and he didn't want this to become obvious to anyone else.

He was taking a short walk down the corridor on the morning of the third day to stretch his legs when the ward doors swung open before him.

"Oh," said Harry, stopping and grinning at him. He held a bouquet of flowers and a book. "I was just coming to see how she's doing."

Ron gave him a halfhearted smile. "Okay." He jerked his head in the direction of Hermione's room. "This way."

"She looks a bit better," Harry said softly, standing at the end of her bed.

Ron shrugged. He was placing Harry's flowers in a vase. "She's all right," he mumbled.

"Did you see the Prophet this morning?" Ron shook his head. "You're our staunch hero, once again. And Kingsley's never been so popular," Harry told him, reaching into his robes and producing a copy of the newspaper. "I should thank you. This is the most my name's been out of the paper in years."

Ron took it and folded the front page over to the article Harry pointed out. "'Remains unavailable for comment as he tends to Madam Weasley'…'Family has had to endure undue strain and trial at the hands of mismanagement in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and fearmongers in the public'…'The wizarding community remains hopeful that Madam Weasley's recovery will mean a full inquiry into her husband's maltreatment'…What a load of rubbish," he muttered, thrusting the paper back at Harry.

"The Prophet exists to sell itself," Harry said, folding it up.

Ron frowned. "Where did you get that?"

"Rita Skeeter," Harry said, sounding disturbed with himself. "Years ago…"

He seemed to lose himself in thought for a moment. Then he went to Hermione's other side and laid a gentle hand on her arm. "We miss you," he said, so softly that Ron could pretend he did not hear.

This was just as well, for a large lump had risen in Ron's throat; he coughed and walked over to the blinded window, facing away from Harry. "What's going on with Abner?" he asked.

He heard Harry sigh. "I tell you, I don't know. He's completely distraught," he said. "The last two times I've tried to question him, he's just burst into tears."

"I'd be pretty upset, if I'd gotten caught," Ron said harshly. Then he softened. "D'you need me to come in and talk to him?"

"No," Harry said firmly. "You should be here."

Ron nodded, and turned to face Harry again. "When are you announcing we've made the arrest?"

"Tonight," Harry said. "We've got to give out his identity, or the hell we're getting now is never going to stop. You know Jenkins' desk caught fire this morning from three Howlers? Nothing but ash left. But—"

"But you're worried about what they're going to write about Hermione's bill when it gets out that a house elf tried to kill her," Ron said, swallowing hard.

Harry nodded, gazing down at Hermione's face. "She's worked all her career on this."

Another lump rose in Ron's throat. "Forget career," he said. He blinked rapidly and looked up at Harry, feeling tears prick his eyes. "Remember Winky?"

Harry's jaw clenched in a tight smile, and he looked up. There were tears in his eyes, too. "Spew," he said, giving a sniff.

Ron tipped his head back, smiling, but trying to keep his tears back. "That's right, spew," he said.

Harry gave a faint, choked laugh and drew a deep breath. "I, uh, I think I'll get back to the office and get ready for that press meeting," he said quietly.

Ron wiped his eyes with his sleeve as Harry walked to the door. "Yeah, yeah," he said. "Let me know if you need me to come in."

"I won't," said Harry.

Later that afternoon, Ron returned from the tearoom and sat down at Hermione's bedside. He glanced at the calendar pinned to the wall; it was the twenty-first of July. There were less than two months to Hermione's fiftieth birthday, he realized suddenly, though he had no idea what made him think of it.

Once, he had had a plan to throw her a huge party. It seemed unlikely that this would happen, now. He pushed away that thought and turned his attention back to Hermione.

She looked better, he thought hopefully, though he knew he was kidding himself. She was getting very thin, and her hand was beginning to feel bony when he held it. Her wedding ring was too loose; it spun easily on her finger. Ron knew he should remove it, in case it fell off, but he couldn't bring himself to do it.

"Hermione," Ron said softly. "I'm back again." He chuckled. "You should be glad they're not serving you this tearoom stuff. It's awful." He swallowed hard. "Minerva says hello…she's worried sick about you…Rosie and Hugo are coming by tomorrow again…" he trailed off. Hermione couldn't hear him. Bitterness filled his mouth, and tears began to sting his eyes. Ron released Hermione's hand and grasped his own hands tightly, watching his knuckles turn white.

"I'm so sorry, Hermione," he whispered in an anguished voice. "I took too long. I'm useless, I don't know anything, and—a house elf, Hermione, an elf! You've never done anything to them, you didn't deserve this. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…"

"Mr. Weasley?" A nurse appeared in the doorway, a concerned look on her face. "Is everything all right?"

Ron stared at her, nonplussed. He looked at Hermione, and it dawned on him. Something had set off a monitoring charm on her bed. The nurse hurried over and picked up Hermione's other hand. Her eyebrows shot up into her dark fringe and she looked back at Ron.

"Can you wait outside, please?" she asked him urgently. "I need to get a Healer."

Ron paced back and forth impatiently at the nurse's station, watching the ward's double doors. He looked down the hall, to the room where Hermione lay. Suddenly, the ward doors flew open, and Harry and Ginny came flying through.

"Ron, what is it?" Harry demanded. "Is she all right?"

Ginny clapped her hands over her mouth. "Oh, Ron."

Ron was beaming as he hugged her tightly. "Come on."

He led them down the hall, not to the room where Hermione had been lying for days, but to a different private room, full of afternoon sunlight. Hermione, frail and tired, but smiling, sat up slightly in the bed, supported by many pillows and covered with a heap of blankets. Minerva stood in the corner near the window, watching Hugo and Rose, who sat in chairs around her bed.

Ron looked at Harry and Ginny, who had frozen on the doorstep. Harry seemed to be fighting not to cry, but Ginny rushed to her side.

"Oh, Hermione," she said happily, taking her up in a gentle embrace that Hermione returned feebly, beaming. Harry swallowed hard, and Ron threw an arm around his neck, bringing him into the room. Hermione smiled up at them.

"Sorry I scared you," she said in a very faint voice. She glanced at Minerva, whose eyes were rimmed with red.

"We knew you weren't going anywhere that easy," said Harry rather gruffly. Ron swallowed a lump in his throat and patted Harry's shoulder. Hermione laughed briefly, looking around at everyone. Her eyes rested on Hugo, and she winked.

"Not a chance."

It had been nearly a week since Hermione had woken up, and she was improving very, very slowly. Rose, Minerva, and Hugo took it in turns to stay with her during the day. Harry arranged for the Auror rotation to stay on duty, and Ron relieved them when he would come at night to stay with Hermione.

Ron and Harry were having yet another argument over what to say to Hermione about her attempted murder now that she was on the mend.

"I can't just tell her that kind of thing," Ron insisted. "She's just barely getting better."

"You've got to. Abner's trial begins next week, and she doesn't even know we've arrested him," Harry said. "You can't keep her away from the Daily Prophet forever."

"I can try," Ron grumbled, though he knew Harry was right. "I'll tell her tonight."

"Tell her now," Harry advised. "Come on, I'll go with you."

"Mr. Potter?"

Harry and Ron both looked up. Alexandra Morris stood in Harry's doorway.

"I've got Abner—er—the house elf. He's asking to talk to you," she said.

"What?" Harry asked. "We can't speak to him, he's been arraigned."

"He says he's offering information, though," Alexandra said quickly. "That's different than interrogation."

"All right," Harry said, looking surprised. "Okay, let him in."

Alexandra nodded, hurrying out of the office, and returned moments later with Abner, who was still wearing his t-shirt, as well as a set of enchanted shackles about his wrists. Ron stood and walked behind Harry's desk, while Alexandra lifted Abner onto his abandoned chair. Then she hurried out, closing the door behind her.

Ron looked at the little elf, who was staring down at his hands. "Okay," he said. "You had something to say?"

Abner nodded.

"Go on, then," said Ron, trying to keep the snap from his voice.

"Abner understands why you is upset," Abner said softly. "Abner is sorry for everything. Abner understands how important Missus Wee-slee is."

"You don't make a whole lot of sense," Ron said coldly, leaning over the desk. Then, he thought of Hermione and felt guilty. "Look, if you're so sorry, why did you do it?"

"Is complicated, sir," said Abner.

"Abner," Harry interrupted, looking at Ron. "Why did you ask to come here? Why did you need to see us?"

Abner drew a shuddering breath, his eyes filling with tears. "Abner…Abner requests help."

"Help?" Ron asked. "Why?"

Abner suddenly drew himself up. "Abner will only talk to Missus Wee-slee," he said fiercely. "Abner asks for her help."

"That's not possible," Ron told him. "You're not allowed anywhere near her."

"Sir has Abner's word he will not harm Missus Wee-slee," Abner said fervently. "Abner promises."

"Out of the question, Abner," Harry said. "You can ask us for whatever help you need, and we'll be happy to give it to you." He silenced Ron with a sharp look. "Or, you can wait for your trial."

Abner folded his arms tightly, scowling. "Abner has nothing to say to Mr. Harry Potter."

That night, when Ron arrived in the hospital, Rose was sitting up with Hermione, who looked half-asleep, though there was a book open in her lap.

"We wondered where you'd gotten to," said Rose.

Ron hugged her. "Got held up at work." He grinned at Hermione, who pulled off her glasses and smiled back.

"Well, I'll see you both later, then," said Rose, picking up her bag. "Keep it quiet!"

Ron shook his head and sat down beside Hermione, who was still watching him closely.

"Hey," he said. "How're you feeling?"

He supposed something about his voice must have betrayed what was on his mind, for Hermione frowned suddenly. "What happened?"

Ron sighed, closing his eyes. He took her hand. "I've got to tell you something," he said quietly.

Hermione nodded slowly. "All right," she said, taking a deep breath. "Go on."

"The reason you're…" he paused, smiling slightly. "The reason you're getting better is because we got a sample of the poison you were given." Hermione nodded. "Well, I didn't tell you that we got the sample from our suspect. Harry didn't find it at the Cauldron."

"You told me—" Hermione began.

"I know what I told you," Ron said. "And I'm sorry. I wanted to…break it to you…more easily."

Hermione's face drained of the little color it had. "Break what to me?"

"Our suspect—" Ron sighed, exasperated. "It looks like it was a house elf, Hermione."

Hermione looked faint. She closed her eyes, lying back, and pressed a hand against her stomach as though it pained her. Ron held her other hand tighter.

"We got a confession from him," Ron said.

Hermione shook her head. "Why?" she asked. "This doesn't make any sense. Why would an elf poison me?"

"He works at the Leaky Cauldron," Ron said slowly. "Hannah hired him from a pure-blood family that didn't pass registration. It looks like he didn't want to be separated from them, and got upset."

"The Leaky Cauldron?" Hermione asked suddenly, lifting her head.

"What?"

"What's his name?" she asked seriously. "Ron, tell me his name."

"Why?" demanded Ron. "What does it matter?"

"Was it Abner?"