Another one I hadn't updated in a while. Something weird is going on, 2 updates in a single week!

Thanks to reallybeth, without whom, this story wouldn't be beta'd or even possible.

I know it's been more than a year has gone and you guys are all asking "Yeah, cool angst an all... but... why was this needed? What does it have that the original didn't?" Well, I hope it's more clear after this chap.

Enjoy

A multitude of questions swarmed in Hermione's head, each one of them fighting to be the first one out of her mouth. As infuriating as that was, she couldn't voice a single one of those questions. The Ministry's corridors were already too crowded, and she knew better than to say anything that would reveal who she truly was.

On the inside though, Hermione was a kettle steaming up.

It can't be true. Ron wouldn't act like that. Zacharias must have gotten it wrong, she told herself, mentally scrutinising every word said in the lift. Even so, her doubts still lingered, and she was unable to be at ease while they remained unanswered.

Hermione dashed after Harry at an unsteady pace. She wasn't even remotely used to walking in heels, much less in such a hurried manner. Nevertheless, and despite being conscious of her every step, looking like a wobbly diplomat was the least of her worries.

Supposing it were true, it could still just be an overstatement. Zacharias Smith was more than fond of exaggerations.

From their brief encounter, it seemed as if Zaccharias hadn't changed much in the last few years. He was still an obnoxious little scamp who took joy in criticising other people. However, and as much as she hated to admit it, there must have been some truth to his words. Otherwise, Harry and Percy wouldn't have reacted as they did.

Did Ron really confront Harry so forcefully? Why on Earth would he do such a thing? They were best friends.

It was ludicrous for Hermione to imagine the two of them at odds like that. She tried to unravel the mystery, but as much as she internally went over it, she couldn't find an explanation. Without a full recount of events, she didn't have a lot to go by other than the tidbits Harry and Ginny had let out so far.

An unfinished puzzle. She hated those.

The unstopping clacking of her heels on the floor became nail-biting to the point of unbearable. Even lost in thinking of Ron as she was, Hermione couldn't help but feel out of place in those cold corridors filled with strangers. It reminded her of the last time she'd been there. Back when the world was a dark and frightful place. No matter what Harry and Ginny had said, Hermione still felt as if the war was ongoing. She couldn't stop her heart from racing whenever someone looked at her suspiciously in those corridors. Not any more than she could stop feeling out of breath whenever she turned around, expecting to find that hideous Umbridge woman behind her.

It was downright unnerving, but Hermione wasn't about to slow down because of it. Not after what she'd just heard. Not when she was still owed so many answers.

Eventually, they reached the Department of Magical Transportation. It was as if years had passed since they left the lifts, not only the scant few minutes that had surely transpired instead. The agonising wait didn't end either, because there seemed to be some details with the Portkey that Percy still had to sort out. He kept being pulled back by colleagues to discuss who-knew-what, all the while Harry waited next to Hermione in a contemplative yet maddening silence.

Hermione fidgeted in her place, noticing all the people who were looking at Harry. Most of them stared in silence as if her friend was a frightening presence, while a few tried — and failed — to establish a conversation with him. Harry wasn't rude in his way of dismissing them, but, unlike Percy, he insisted on not having much time for smalltalk. Being disguised meant that Hermione didn't get half the attention herself, and the couple of times she was acknowledged she gave only short and polite answers, as any foreign diplomat would do. She spared a fleeting glance at Harry through the corner of her eye, glaringly obvious in her gesture. However, in the open as they were, Harry didn't have much to offer besides a weak smile. An exasperated huff escaped Hermione, which only got worse once she realised that Percy was being held back not to discuss some urgent matter, but an upcoming birthday party for some woman called Edith in the office.

Oh, for the love of God!

It took a few minutes and also Harry clearing his throat to get Percy's attention. Minutes where the other workers pulled Percy back and forth each time they remembered some new rubbish about that surprise party — and once to gossip about reports of Muggle vacuums allegedly being used as flying brooms. Thankfully, they let Percy go before Hermione was able to say anything rude, and he finally led them to an empty room with a small table and a used inkpot.

"Sorry about that," Percy said once the three of them were alone, looking a tad red with embarrassment. "They're very hard to brush away, especially when there's some rumour they want to discuss."

"Was it true?"

The abruptness of Hermione's question caught Percy off guard, but she couldn't have possibly waited a second longer. She needed to know.

"Ehm… about the vacuums? I honestly don't know," Percy admitted, still a tad bemused from all the office chatter, "It wouldn't be the first time though, and anyway, Misuse of Muggle Artefacts should look it up first. They'll figure out if there's some credence to those rumours."

If Hermione were truly a kettle, she would be whistling by now.

"I meant what Zacharias said. About Ron," she clarified in a surprisingly measured tone, "Was it true?"

"Oh, that, yes, of course. Sorry," Percy stammered, flushing deeper after realising his confusion. "Well, it's complicated."

Harry took a few steps towards them. He looked more collected than after their encounter with Zacharias, but it still seemed as if he picked his words with care. "Zacharias didn't lie, Hermione. But there's more to it than whatever rumours reached his ears."

It was true, then. There really had been some sort of quarrel between Harry and Ron at the office. Unsurprisingly, that raised more questions than answers.

Hermione sighed, bracing herself for whatever Harry might say. "If that's so, I want to hear everything. Explain it to me."

An uncomfortable expression appeared on Harry's face while Percy appeared more interested in the walls.

"It's not a quick story."

"I have the time."

"Oh, do you now? I don't think so. What with the urgency to catch this Portkey," Harry told her, not without cheek. He had walked to the small table and was now studying the inkpot on top of it.

Hermione's eyes widened in surprise. For a minute, she had completely forgotten all about the blasted Portkey. She lowered her shoulders in resignation, unsure of how much longer she could handle the excruciating wait.

A few steps away, Percy checked his watch. "We're almost out of time. Less than seven minutes from departure."

Harry nodded before going over some final details with Percy. Mostly about who would be greeting them in France and the arrangements to catch their next Portkey. Meanwhile, Hermione stared at the small inkpot with her heart in a knot.

I'm seeing him today. Whatever's going on, I'll find out today. One way or the other.

Percy instructed them to put their hands on the inkpot. "Be careful, alright? You know how much attention you get."

Harry gave a weak smile. "I know how to handle attention seekers. But anyway, I'm not expecting anything exciting before finding Ron."

Percy's attention shifted to Hermione. "Can I ask you to do this slowly? I don't want to hear about my brother having a heart attack."

He was obviously expecting a witty comment from Hermione or at least something more than the nervous nod she gave him.

"We'll try to avoid that, yes," Harry answered for her.

There were too many things going on in Hermione's head and she couldn't bring herself to smile. Still, when Harry spoke next, her head raised in curiosity.

"Don't worry. This is a good surprise. He'll be happy. Nothing like a pair of enlarged ears."

Uncharacteristic to the memories she had of him, Percy let out a chuckle.

"What?" she asked.

"Oh, some old prank George and Percy pulled on Ron. Nothing major."

That cleared things to a degree, but Hermione still felt uneasy and kind of like an outsider. She didn't know which was weirder, being left out of the joke or to know that Percy was a part of one.

Percy looked at his watch once more. There were mere seconds left. He looked more sober when he spoke next. "Ehm, Hermione? If you'll allow me one serious comment? Ronald has had it rough. He's made mistakes, sure, but there's no doubt he has his heart in the right place. Just… Keep that in mind."

The words only made Hermione more nervous. She nodded. She wasn't sure how to reply to that, but just as she opened her mouth, the Portkey was triggered and the Ministry of Magic swirled out of sight.

o0o0o

The French Ministry of Magic was, for a lack of a better word, sprauncy. Its ornaments were sober, and the colours all around were as cold as they had been in the British Ministry. That being said, there was a stylish quality to the French one that was hard to ignore. The corridors were wider, and didn't evoke any ill memories for Hermione. The patterns on the floors, even if muted in colour, were creative and daring — Hermione was yet to decide if she liked them, but they were certainly different, and by no means dull. There were sculptures at each intersection, but they depicted angels and beautiful warriors rather than past functionaries. There was also a natural brightness to the place, brought about by domed glass ceilings that had silhouettes and runes moving freely throughout them.

Had the situation been different, Hermione would have been captivated by the sights before her. She would have undoubtedly asked Harry to slow down his pace so she could admire — or perhaps decipher — some of the wonders circling above their heads. As it were though, not even a fascinating new magical building such as this could move Hermione away from more pressing matters.

Ron. I'm a step closer to him now.

Even as they followed their guide — a perky blond woman who believed Hermione to be a British diplomat instead of a French one — Hermione couldn't help but daydream. She cared little about the curious glances that Harry drew, even here, in an entirely different country. The inquisitive stares their guide threw at her or the bubbly, old man who nodded a passing greeting were even more foreign to her.

No. All that mattered to Hermione, all she could think about at the moment, was Ron.

Ever since she'd arrived, Hermione had been musing over the clashing differences between this new world and the one she'd left behind. Ron was one of the most important changes, and the one she ignored the most as well. She didn't know exactly what had happened to him in those five years, nor did she know what could've compelled him to confront Harry as he did. She also had no idea what she was going to find at the end of this trip.

There was a possibility that Ron was still his old self. Only without Hermione in his life. Harry and Ginny could have very well made the wrong assumptions, and Ron might be enjoying his new life with that friend of his.

Isabelle.

Hermione frowned. For some reason, she pictured Isabelle looking similar to their french guide, poshly dressed and dashing. The woman could even be revelling on some Italian beach this very moment, splayed upon the sand in some tasteless swimsuit as she shared some laughs with Ron.

"Humph," she snorted, a tad more loudly than she'd intended.

The reaction earned her a questioning look from Harry, and a raised eyebrow from their haughty guide. Hermione averted her gaze, deciding to ignore both of them.

He might already be in love with her.

The traitorous thought hit her unannounced. Hermione's heart felt tighter as she imagined Ron happily spending a sunset at the beach with Isabelle. Maybe this trip was a mistake. Maybe he won't appreciate the interruption.

Hermione also imagined a different scenario. One where Ron would be glad to see her again, but where he wouldn't make a huge deal out of her miraculous reappearance. He could very well make a joke about her needlessly coming all the way to Italy just to see him. Couldn't you have just waited a few days to catch up? he might ask, as if Hermione were any other friend he'd lost contact with.

The sole idea hurt Hermione.

Maybe he doesn't joke anymore. A completely different thought came to her, and this one felt way worse somehow. Maybe he's all sullen and whatever happened to him is not something I can help him with.

Hermione went through that rabbit hole at a dreadful speed. Every new possibility she envisioned being worse than the one before. That was until a bright voice pulled her out of it, and for a moment, she could almost hear him smiling.

Getting ahead of ourselves, aren't we? Relax. Things will work out.

Hearing Ron's voice, even if only in her head, helped calm her down. She knew it was nothing but wishful thinking on her part, but it was good advice nonetheless. Even if it wasn't as easy as that, Hermione knew she needed to avoid any distressful suppositions and lean on what she did know.

On the cherished memories she had of Ron for instance.

Hermione remembered the redheaded boy who could make her laugh or rage, occasionally both at the same time. She remembered the young man who'd been tired and battle-worn, but had still stayed to fight for what he believed in. Memories she planned to use as a shield for whatever was to come.

"Everything alright, Madam Burton?"

The question from Harry startled Hermione, who, for a moment, had forgotten she was no longer Madam Botrel. She nodded and soon realised that they were standing at the French Ministry's entrance. She turned to Harry inquisitively.

"As I was saying, we have a little over two hours before the Portkey bound to Italy is set to depart. More than enough time for a quick lunch at Place Cachée," Harry said, pointedly.

Too distracted to argue with any plans, Hermione nodded. It wasn't as if she could force the French Ministry to alter their schedule anyway. She imagined they would be far less accommodating than Kingsley Shacklebolt had been.

"I can take it from here, Mademoiselle Cloutier. Thank you for the escort," Harry told the blond guide.

"The pleasure was all mine, Mr Potter," the young woman replied in a heavy french accent. She gave him a wide smile, then threw a curious look at Hermione before taking off.

Once she was gone, Hermione followed Harry up some sort of elevator, which enveloped them in a metallic cage before propelling them upwards. The cage unravelled itself on the surface, where the light took Hermione by surprise. They had come out in the middle of a small, charming fontaine, well into the busiest time of the morning. They were surrounded by cream-coloured buildings, all neck-to-neck and with undeniably french facades. The place was bustling with people as well. Hermione saw a couple of bicycles passing by, but most of the Muggles there were walking in and out of the concealed little plaza. Almost all appeared to be in a hurry, and none of them were paying any mind to the pair of strangers who had just sprung out of the ground.

"Charmed, of course. No one will even notice us until we step out of the fontaine," Harry explained.

Hermione nodded, taking in the place around her. There were some businesses on the lower floors of the buildings around her, painted in olive and light pink, awnings hanging from the top of their window frames. The people coming out of them looked lively and bright. A happy exterior such as Hermione hadn't seen in a while.

Harry gave her a moment to look around, then he extended his hand to her.

"I know a place where we can talk."

After taking Harry's hand, Hermione felt the familiar squeeze of side-along apparition. It was a horrid sensation, but one she was used to. It was slightly worse than apparating by one's own account, but considering she didn't know their destination, there hadn't been much alternative to it.

Harry took her to a bronze statue, from where they entered a hidden street which was clearly the French equivalent of Diagon Alley. The buildings still had that French aesthetic to them, but the people walking by were dressed like wizards or witches. Some things were being sold at the corner, and even when Hermione couldn't see exactly what they were, she didn't imagine Muggles had plenty of small fireworks which jumped and flew around as if conferred with life of their own. Not to mention, there was a crowd around a floating man with a colour-changing spiral of flowers.

"Peculiar place. First time here, I suppose?" Harry asked, though he clearly knew the answer.

"I've been in the city a couple of times before, but as you can imagine, this is not the sort of place my parents would take me to visit," Hermione replied, trying not to think too much about her parents. Once she found Ron, she would go get her parents.

Harry smirked. He appeared to be a bit more at ease than at the Ministry, but he still guided them away from crowds and avoided anyone's eyes. "And what do you think?"

"Picturesque and vivid," Hermione admitted, though there was no excitement in her tone. She found it hard to enjoy the visit, burdened as she was.

Their destination was a charming-looking cafe at the end of the street. On the sign, Hermione was able to read Café Abringer. Inside, Harry headed straight for the manager, who beamed in delight even when Harry struggled to not draw too much attention. It was a little comical to be frank, as the man didn't seem to understand Harry's consternation and kept throwing casual mentions of 'Of course, Monsieur Potter' and 'That would be no trouble, Monsieur Potter.'

Eventually, they were led to a door in the back. A small creaky staircase behind took them to a balcony overseeing the street, and a single table waiting for them. An overly-excited waiter came the next moment, though it was clear it wasn't his first time he'd seen Harry.

"Merci, Marc," Harry said, once the waiter had taken their order. He turned to Hermione. "You won't see it from here. The Eiffel tower. It's actually behind us. The Seine runs somewhere around there, and the Ministry is on the other side."

"I see now," Hermione replied, making sense of the landscape. She noticed that Harry was looking at her as if trying to drill through the Polyjuice Potion with his eyes. There was an awe there as well, the same one he'd occasionally shown in the last few days, as if he still couldn't quite believe she was sitting in front of him.

The door leading downstairs shut once the waiter left, which Hermione took as her cue to start asking questions. There were dozens of things she wanted to know, and the only reason she hadn't complained more vigorously about having to wait for yet another Portkey was the promise of getting those questions finally answered.

"Can we talk now?"

Harry gave her a resigned gesture. He was obviously not looking forward to it, but he sighed in defeat at the inevitable. He raised his wand lazily in the door's direction, and Hermione didn't even ask what spell he'd cast. "What do you want to know?"

She gave him a harsh look. He obviously knew what the first thing Hermione wanted to know was, but that didn't stop her from voicing it plainly for him.

"Ron. What happened to him? You say that Zacharias didn't lie, but I just can't believe— I find it absurd that the two of you would ever come to that. Why would you even fight? Is it due to his, you know, drinking," Hermione said in a hurry, whispering the very last word.

A heavy breath left Harry. "Not really. It's actually more like— Well, where should I start?" he wondered aloud, passing a hand through his ruffled hair. "I guess the only starting point that makes sense is you."

"Me?"

"Yes. Your… disappearance."

Hermione's brow tensed. That was another thing she couldn't understand. "Why me? I mean, you've said how bad Ron had it after that day, and I get it. I know he was hurting, and how he tried to… cope. But, it's been five years! How could my apparent death five years ago cause a rift between you and Ron some weeks ago?"

"Losing you was the start of things. Not the whole story."

"Explain it all to me then," Hermione answered defiantly, leaning back on her chair and crossing her arms.

If she was going to help Ron, she needed to know it all. No matter how bad it was.

Harry sighed, "Remember when we talked about Iz?"

"I remember," she replied sharply.

"Right. Well, Iz helped Ron a lot. She helped him go through all the aftermath of the war, and through some other shit that Ron had brought upon himself. We were very hopeful by the way things were going."

"But?" Hermione pressed.

"A few months before the third anniversary of the battle, something happened," Harry went on, and there was a certain darkness to his tone. "We got a case at the Auror Office. A rogue Death Eater on the loose. Those have become more and more rare over time, but we still get one every now and then. Apparently, this was a case like any other... Only that it wasn't. That bloody day messed everything up. I swear Hermione, if I had known… I wouldn't have let Ron put his eyes on that file."

"I'm not following. What case? What was it about?"

Harry continued, though Hermione didn't miss the fact that he had a harder time keeping his eyes on her. "The reports pointed to an attacker at Yorkshire, on the west side. The man was said to be extremely dangerous. There were several victims, and more than a few destroyed buildings," he said, pausing. He then set his deep green eyes on her and didn't turn away this time. "His signature move was to melt the ceiling over his targets."

"Melting the— ? Oh." Hermione's eyebrows shot upwards, moving a hand to her mouth.

There was a fleeting moment when her thoughts went blank and a chill crawled up her spine.

Harry had rarely looked as serious as he did just then. "Ron lost it," he said. "All of his problems, all of his anger… He hadn't put it behind him after all. He had just been bottling it up, and— It came out. All at once. Worse than ever. And now he had someone to direct it at."

That charming French corner of the world felt suddenly cold. Hermione pressed her lips together and moved her hands under the table, where she unwittingly grasped at her clothes. There were still so many things she wanted to ask, but she dreaded asking them now. She was heaving as well, yet she found the courage to nod for Harry to continue.

Harry didn't seem to notice her reaction. He was too lost in his own thoughts. That guilt-stricken face of his that Hermione knew so well made an appearance. "He was not himself," he said. "His entire life was suddenly dedicated to catching that man. You wouldn't believe how obsessed he became. His family couldn't get through to him, Iz couldn't get through to him and, by Merlin, not even I could get through to him."

The words lingered heavily between them for several moments. Harry shook his head, looking troubled. He must have noticed Hermione paling, because he appeared to start regretting what he'd said.

Hermione wasn't regretting it. It had been hard hearing it, for sure, and her heart felt tighter, but she had to hear it all. Unfortunately, when she finally opened her mouth, there was a loud knock on the door.

"Le déjeuner est ici," the waiter said in a festive voice. Although, his smile dropped as he felt the tension in the room. "Everything alright, Monsieur Potter?"

"Splendid, Marc. What do you have for us?"

Baguettes and elaborate egg dishes landed on their table. Hermione wasn't sure if the dishes were in any way different to the ones from Muggle France. Her eyes hadn't left Harry's face, and Hermione could see her friend's concern.

Marc had barely closed the door when Hermione cast the Muffliato herself, not caring about using Bellatrix's wand to do so.

"What happened then?" Hermione asked, leaning over the table and ignoring the enticing smell of the food.

"Hermione… Maybe I said too much. You're better off knowing this a little at a time."

"What happened then?" Hermione pressed, frowning.

Harry seemed to be debating on how to proceed, but Hermione wasn't going to back down, and he must have realised. "It got worse," he muttered at last.

This startled Hermione, and she wondered how it could possibly get worse.

"Worse?"

"Hermione…"

"Worse how?" she insisted, unrelentlessly.

Harry sighed in defeat. "Months passed without a serious lead on the case. Months where I grew increasingly worried over Ron's obsession. Still no clues about that attacker, only the occasional strikes, which we were never able to reach in time," he lamented. "Anyway, an informant appeared eventually. An informant with a name for us. Thorfinn Rowle."

"Rowle? But that's one of the men who attacked us at that coffee shop," Hermione said. Then her eyes widened seeing Harry's soberness. "Ron couldn't have possibly thought that it was his fault."

"He did," Harry told her. "Thank Merlin you weren't there to see him. To hear the rubbish he said. He was this huge mess of guilt and anger. And, you know, there was firewhiskey…" Harry rubbed his forehead, looking beaten. "I felt useless, Hermione. I couldn't help him. Every day, when he went out there, I was afraid that it might be the day when he did something really stupid. That it was finally the day I wouldn't be able to help him."

Hermione forced her eyes shut, brushing a few tears away from her eyes. What Harry was telling her felt so wrong. She couldn't believe Ron would lose himself like that. He had been furious too, when Fred had died, but she had been able to control him.

You weren't there, though. You left him to fend for himself, a voice told Hermione, and a knot formed in her throat.

Anger grew inside of her. Irrational anger which didn't care about reasons or excuses. Anger at herself for being stuck in some stupid void doing nothing. Anger at Ron for thinking like this and forgetting who he truly was. And also anger at everyone who hadn't been able to help him.

"What kind of moron let him go on like that? They should have pulled him out of the case!" she snapped.

Harry gave her a sympathetic shrug. "They did. Remember? Sabbatical?"

Her eyes widened. Things were making sense now, and she could understand her friends' secretiveness as well. Not like that made things any easier.

"I went to the Head Auror, asked him to put Ron on leave. Something Ron didn't take kindly to."

Hermione gasped. "Don't tell me that— ? What Zacharias said?"

A sad expression appeared on Harry's face as he shook his head. "What Zacharias saw wasn't my first argument with Ron, Hermione. Only the most recent, and most public one," he confessed.

"But, you're friends."

"I hope so. I want to believe there's still a chance for us. But I have also been called a traitor more times than I can remember."

Seconds passed in silence. Hermione didn't touch her food or say anything for a while. She just turned to the window, trying to process it all. Out in the street, the floating performer had been left without an audience and was preparing his act for his next show.

How could I have possibly missed so much? Maybe he truly is a different man now…

No. I refuse to accept that. Ron is still Ron and I will find him, even if I have to search all of Italy to do so.

Hermione was well into her musings when she remembered something, and turned to Harry. "Rowle. What happened to Rowle?"

"You don't have to worry about him, now," Harry answered, though an odd expression appeared on his face.

"Ron couldn't have faced him. You said they pulled him out of the case."

Harry gave her a look. "As if that would stop him."

Even though she knew Ron was safe somewhere in Italy, Hermione went cold. "Please tell me Ron didn't find him," she pleaded.

There was no answer.

"Harry…"

"He solved it, Hermione. Faster than the whole Department. And when he did, he went after him. All by himself," he told her, gravely.

Hermione closed her eyes again, taking large intakes of air as she did so.

"He didn't— He couldn't have."

"Kill him? No. He didn't," Harry said, and gave Hermione a few moments to breathe before he added, "Though not for lack of trying."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, losing her brief respite.

"I kept a magical tracker on Ron. A clever little thing I came up with, though not the most precise in location. It took me a while before I was able to find them," Harry explained. "Honestly, Hermione, I wouldn't be telling you this if you weren't going to find out about it in the papers anyway."

"What happened?"

Harry let out a heavy breath. "The Cruciatus happened," he said, causing Hermione to gasp. "I don't know for how long, but no irreversible damage was caused from what I've been told. Rowle is still pretty much Rowle, but I reckon I wasn't sure what the outcome would be when I first found them."

Hermione paled, her eyes lost in the distance. She'd never imagined Ron capable of casting one single Cruciatus curse, let alone anything like Harry implied.

"I had to stun him, Hermione," Harry blurted out, almost as if asking forgiveness. "There was no other way. If I hadn't…"

"He wouldn't have done it," Hermione hurried to say.

The discomfort in Harry was easy to see. "I was there," he said, as if that was the final answer that Hermione had to accept.

"He wouldn't have done it," she repeated, more intently this time.

Harry gave her an odd look, and Hermione could distinguish some pity in it. However, he didn't argue any more. Instead, he went on to close the conversation. "So, that's it. The big secret. Rowle is in Azkaban awaiting trial and Ron got riled up at me in the Ministry once he woke up. With Rowle out of reach, Iz is making progress getting to him. He left the drinking, and we hope he's on the right path. But…"

"But?"

Harry shrugged. "One never knows with Ron these days. And he barely talks to me, anyway," he said. "Considering it was me who advised him to date Iz, it could very well be the last thing he wants to do."

Hermione nodded. Oddly, that didn't make things feel better.

"Look, Hermione. I know it's a lot to take in, and if you want to turn back and give it some time, I won't hold it against you. But I'm here for you. Whatever you want to do."

"No turning back. I want to find him. Now more than ever," she told him in her most convincing tone.

Harry smiled, "Well, then, in that case. Can we eat before we do so? I'm famished, and I want to taste my lunch before we have to catch that Portkey."

And so they went forward with their plan. Though Hermione honestly had lost most of her appetite and barely touched her food, which did look delicious.

He's still Ron. My Ron. If he's forgotten that, I'll make him remember.

Hope that long conversation didn't drag too much. Next chapter is going to be way more dynamic.

I know I've been going all in with the angst, and that I promised action at some point, but next chap is going to have some humour spice to it

Next Chapter: L'esperto turistico