CHAPTER VI

Ron had been expecting it, and when he woke up in the middle of the night feeling very afraid, it took him only a moment to realize he was actually feeling Hermione's fright through the connection of their wands. It was really weird experiencing these conflicting emotions at the same time. He knew he wasn't afraid, but he could still feel fear running through his veins. His body was reacting to Hermione's fear as if it was his own, making his heart race and his throat dry. He could feel his heartbeat in his eardrums, and his eyes were dilated.

Hermione's fear was still rising; she had obviously not woken up yet. This presented Ron with a bit of a dilemma. He wanted to go downstairs to wake her up, but he knew Hermione didn't want him to make a scene. If he got out of bed, he would wake Harry, if he went down the stairs quickly, he would wake his parents, and if he walked into her room he would wake Ginny.

He thought about using the wand to let her listen in on his emotions. Perhaps it would help her out of the bad dream. Before he could cast the spell however, he felt Hermione calm down, and he felt her emotion fade. She had awoken. For a moment, he felt hopeful. Perhaps Hermione would seek solace like she had done the night before. It remained silent on the other end of the line though, and Ron felt a little disheartened. Suddenly, there she was again. He listened in and felt her emotions for just a moment. Perhaps she had performed a minor spell to fluff up her pillow, or something of the sort. Her emotions had been wild. She was still rather shaken, and he could almost taste the frustration she felt. He wanted to reassure her.

Ron tried to focus on his own emotions. He wanted Hermione to know he cared for her, that he was proud of her, and that everything would be all right. He broke off his spell twice, once because he felt a bit of his disappointment about how they would not be doing anything frisky that night, and once because he felt angry at Bellatrix for having tortured her. Hoping to convey a sense of peace, he tried again. He finally did manage to perform the spell while feeling the right emotions. He was quite pleased with himself, and he had to remind himself to stop performing the spell. He didn't want to share anything that didn't help Hermione feel better. It was quiet for a little while on the line. Hermione might have fallen asleep again.

Suddenly, there was new set of emotions. The first was gratitude. He figured she was grateful for his show of affection. The second feeling was obviously love. It was strong and deep, quite unlike her usual, more logical emotions. The last was something like humour. She must have felt the pride he had felt with himself.

He performed the spell again, remembering to stop it afterwards quickly. His spell had picked up the box of gobstones off the ground. It fell back with a dull thud. Ron glanced at Harry, but he did not move. He had tried to send over indignation and humour, hoping to lighten up Hermione's thoughts a bit before she fell back to sleep. A flare of an emotion welled up again: Innocence; as if to say 'I had nothing to do with it.'

Ron meant to send back a glimpse of his amusement, but in his enthusiasm, he lifted the box of gobstones up a bit too high. It pivoted, and when it fell back onto the floor, several of the gobstones clattered out.

'Wh- What was that?' Harry asked, looking around dazed.

'Nothing,' Ron said, suppressing a chuckle, 'Go back to sleep.'

As Harry turned around and fell back to sleep, he felt a bit of mirth coming from Hermione. The sound of the falling gobstones had apparently even reached her, all the way down at the first floor. Half the house must have awoken.

The spent a little while sending emotions to each other, listening in on each other. Ron thought about how natural it felt. They had not been together as a couple for more than a fortnight, but he was starting to get to know Hermione's emotions more and more. With each passing emotion, he could identify them better. He could sense her emotions clearer, but could also recognise that they were hers better. Sometimes, he thought he could even sense what she had been thinking of, but that was probably just wishful thinking from his part.

Ron emerged from bed closely after nine. It was the summer vacation, and he has getting up at what felt like the crack of dawn. When he arrived downstairs after a quick shower, he found his mother had already finished preparing breakfast. She had stocked scones and bagels. There were also very crispy croissant-like rolls that had some brownish goo in the middle. His mother saw his interest.

'Hermione told me those were called "Pain au Chocolat" in France. Chocolate bread.'

Hermione sat at her usual seat, doing her usual activity at breakfast; reading. She had finished reading up on the history of Australia, and was now thoroughly investigating the cities they were planning on visiting. There were two maps in front of her on the table.

Scooping two pieces of the chocolate bread onto his plate, he said: 'I'll never speak ill of the French again.' Then, he plomped down onto his own seat, giving Hermione a peck on the cheek. It made her blush, as his mother was still watching them. She kept her attention on the book though.

'How's the preparations going?' he asked her, 'Have you memorized all the names of the streets in Brisbane yet?' Hermione glanced at him for a moment, a raised eyebrow indicating what she thought of his joke. Ron knew how much the trip meant to her. She truly missed her parents, just like Ron had missed his parents when they were on the road. Sitting here, comfortably in his parents's old kitchen, eating a lovely breakfast, Ron was aware of how lucky their family had been. How easily they had returned to their previous lives. Except for Fred. The thought of him sent a guilty pang down Ron's throat, and he quickly dropped it.

It must have shown on his face, or in his demeanour. Perhaps Hermione had noticed the moment of hesitation, when his mouth had opened to take a bite, but it hadn't done so. Either way, she had noticed it, and her hand found his for a long, considerate squeeze. It told him she was there for him, should he feel the need to discuss it. Ron loved how Hermione could convey such complex things to him without needing words. He looked at her gratefully, then reached out to check out the map.

'We could apparate here,' he said after a little while, making an intuitive tactical analysis, 'It is secluded, but not too far away from the clinic.' His finger indicated a small street less than a mile from where Hermione's parents had their dental clinic. 'We could walk this route here,' he said, as his finger moved from the suggested apparation point to a small park, 'Perhaps we could check out the clinic first. We might want to make sure both your parents are there when we enter.'

'That sounds good, Ronald,' Hermione said, her eyes focussed on the map, 'That is a really good suggestion. We should do that.' He squeezed her hand now, and a smile appeared on her face. She was worried, that much was evident as he sat beside her, but she seemed to lighten up a little with him around.

'We're leaving for some shopping in fifteen minutes,' Hermione suddenly said, 'So eat up. I've got to go upstairs to get ready. I'll see you here.' Hermione carefully folded the maps back. Ron couldn't understand how she was able to fold everything back the original way. Harry wouldn't let him near the marauders's map anymore after he had tried folding it in. It still bore some odd creases.

After Hermione left, Ron suddenly noticed his mother staring at him. When he did, she gave him a small smile.

'You two really make an adorable couple,' she said, 'I'm glad you two finally got together.'

'Not as much as we are,' he quipped, feeling a bit warm in the face.

'Since you will be leaving tomorrow afternoon, I wanted to talk to you for a moment,' his mother said, and Ron nearly choked in his orange juice when she did.

'Don't worry, Ron, I'm not going to waste my time giving you The Talk. I'm pretty sure you are both old and wise enough to know about the birds and the bees, and I'm pretty sure Hermione knows any spellwork related to it.'

'I wanted to ask you to be as supportive as you can with her. Hermione never struck me as somebody who wears her emotions on her sleeves, but an emotional trip like this can mess with your head. I want you to be prepared in case she breaks down.'

'Hermione is quite strong,' Ron said, noting a bit of pride that had crept into his voice, 'I'm sure she will amaze us all.'

'None the less,' his mother said, 'Prepare for it. Don't get caught at unawares. Help her in any way you can. Comfort her if she needs it. She is strong (I saw that a lot earlier than you did, young man) but she is still human, and you need to be there for her when she needs you the most. It might be just a quick embrace, or a hand on her shoulder, but could also be more.'

'I know Hermione is tense and nervous,' Ron said, 'but I hardly think she will break down.'

'Yes, so it seems,' she said, 'but Hermione guards her feelings and thoughts well. The front she shows us might be strong, but we can't be sure if she actually feels that way.'

Ron was about to tell her he knew how she felt perfectly well, but swallowed his reply. He wasn't ready to share the bond between their wands with his mother just yet. It was still strange and new, and he did not want the whole family to meddle with their affairs. He took a quick sip from his orange juice, swallowed, then told her he would take care of her if at any time she needed him to.

'That's wonderful of you, son,' she said, smiling at him brightly, 'Really wonderful. Listen, I've been thinking about the shopping. You really don't have that many good clothes for the winter anymore, so I want you to stock up a bit. Hermione is a dear for offering to pay for the clothes, but I'd rather see her spend her money on something for herself. Besides, you are going to need muggle money in Australia.'

She took out her purse and rummaged in it for a moment. From it, she extracted a couple of banknotes Ron knew to be muggle money. 'This is about a hundred pounds. It's about twenty galleons. I want you two to spend this money before you start spending hers, yes?'

'Yes, mum,' he said, grateful for his mother's financial support. He had mostly owned hand-me-down robes and clothes, and being given the chance to buy himself some new clothes, clothes that actually suited him, meant a lot to him. He got up and gave her a hug.

It was half past ten, and Ron and Hermione were standing in front of the brightly lit entrance to the Castlepoint Shopping Centre. It was a large and modern building made of steel and glass. Hermione pulled on Ron's sleeve, getting him to move forward. Ron was ever hesitant about walking in muggle surroundings. He felt out of place in those places; exposed. He kept expecting them to start pointing at him. Hermione assured him they would not even notice him unless he stopped gawking at everything like a baby.

'We're going to need some shirts and pants for you,' she said, her eyes on a placard listing all of the shops on the ground floor, 'Not to mention shoes, socks, maybe a hat of some sort…'

'Hermione,' Ron said, 'It's not like I don't have any clothes at all.'

'Oh really?' she asked.

'Yeah! My wardrobe might not exactly be overflowing, but I must have at least ten jumpers and five pairs of pants.'

'All of which clash horribly with your hair or are at least two sizes too small for you. I want you to have some clothes that suit you, Ron.'

Feeling a bit foolish, and feeling his ears tingle, Ron followed Hermione into one of the shops in the mall.

'Right,' she said, 'I'm assuming you never did any shopping for clothes before, so I'm going to have to explain some of the basics. This mall is a bit like Diagon Alley: it houses several different shops, and each shop has its own target audience. Some of them are marketed for elderly women, some for young mothers, others for youths. We are in a relatively hip store now that markets young adults. If you check the prices, you will notice that some of these shirts are over fifty quid. I recommend that you buy something less expensive, unless you really, really like it.'

'How much is fifty quid?'

'About ten galleons.'

'Yikes.'

'I know,' Hermione said gravely, 'There are people who save up a lot of money so they can wear the latest clothes of the most exclusive brands, but I don't peg you for that type. Most shirts are something between ten and thirty quid. If you want, you can also go for the garments at the sale, they are discounted.'

'Why? Are they broken?'

'No, just out of fashion.'

Hermione led Ron to one of the tables displaying shirts on sale. Most of them were five quid and though there were some really horrid ones, Ron quickly found a couple he liked. Hermione led him to one of the changing rooms. As he was changing into one of the new shirts, Ron thought of how odd it was that muggles would value clothes that were a little bit older so little. They were still very nice. His own shirts were always patchy and frayed. Pulling the new shirt over his head, he checked his reflection in the mirror. He thought he looked quite nice. The shirt fit him snugly, as if it was tailored to him. He pulled the curtain aside and saw Hermione smile a little.

'You like it?'

She blushed a little. 'You look very handsome, Ron. Try the others.'

Ron had tried out several other shirts, with varying degrees of success. Hermione had practically ordered him out of a purple tee shirt, claiming that the clashing colours of the shirt and his hair was making her feel queasy. The next shirt, a sleeveless tank top with three alternating colours that was skin-tight made her blush and a short-sleeve button-down shirt that was a plain white colour earned him a positive nod.

He left the store with three new shirts (among which the tank top which Hermione had demanded he buy), a pack of plain black boxers, and a pair of trousers. Ron had visited three more shops, and was now carrying four heavy plastic bags.

'Where to now?' he asked, after another ten pound bill had left his wallet.

'I want to buy you a cap,' she said. She kissed his cheek, then softly whispered into his ear 'That cute ginger hair of yours might attract too much attention. I want to remain anonymous in Australia.'

They found a nice baseball cap in a shop selling sports apparel. It was dark navy and held the logo of an English soccer team Ron didn't even know the name of. He liked it. It covered most of his short-cropped red hair, and fitted his head easily. He had put it on right after paying for it. Hermione was stealing glances at him.

'What?' he asked, after she had been eyeing him for the fifth time in under a minute.

'Nothing,' she said, 'The cap suits you.'

'Thanks,' Ron replied, unsure of how to react to her compliment. 'Aren't you going to buy anything?'

'No,' she said, 'The wardrobe at my parents is still full of my old clothes. I can just take a couple of those.'

'Don't you want anything nice? Something new?' he asked. They had spent over ninety minutes shopping for him, and Hermione had not spent a dime on herself yet.

'Well,' she said, 'I might just hop into Topshop. I need a – err – well, a bra.'

Ron fought down the urge to lapse into an uncomfortable silence. He and Hermione were an item now, and this was just a piece of clothing she needed.

'I – err – I see. Let's go then.'

Now, it was Ron's turn to drag Hermione along. She was obviously uncomfortable, and Ron could sense her unease as they ascended the escalator. 'So, why don't they just install a stair here?' he asked, hoping to lighten the mood.

'Most people don't want to walk,' she said curtly.

'Ah.'

Once upstairs, Ron followed Hermione as she walked past several aisles of bra's and other nightwear. He made an effort not to look too much at all of the posters that advertised certain brands, knowing Hermione would not appreciate him doing so. It was difficult. The posters were positively huge, and though they didn't move, they were still rather present. It didn't help that on each of them was a gorgeous girl or woman wearing practically nothing.

'What about this one?' Ron said, focussing his attention to finding a nice bra for Hermione. He pointed out a white bra with a floral pattern.

'No,' Hermione said, 'I need a different kind of bra.'

'What, there are different types?'

'Yes,' she said, her cheeks colouring a little, 'I'll need one from this rack here.'

She pointed at the rack next to the one Ron had been studying. These bra's looked a bit sturdier. The other ones had been made of thin materials. His mother wore those, he had seen them laying around in the clothes bin and the laundry often enough. These were more rigid, thicker. He ran a blue one through his hands. His fingers felt a slight bump at the base of each cup. He bit back any questions he felt bubbling up inside, knowing instinctively they would not be appreciated. Hermione was uncharacteristically silent.

'I like this one,' he said, taking a sapphire blue bra with white stripes from a hanger, 'Blue always looks good on you.'

'Let's see if they have my size,' she replied, a content smile appearing on her lips. She started running through the hanger with her fingers. She took out a 32A, a sigh escaping her lips, which were no longer smiling.

She picked out another bra, a green one with a silver lining. Ron walked with her to the dressing area, and waited in front of the curtain of her cubicle. After about a minute (Ron started feeling a little ridiculous, and noticed that other guys waiting for their girlfriends were also looking supremely bored) he heard her say his name. He carefully inched the curtain aside, making enough room for him to pop his head in. Hermione was standing in front of him, wearing her denim jeans, and only the blue bra above it. The first thing that came to his mind was how fragile and insecure she looked. She obviously didn't know where to leave her arms, settling on crossing them over her stomach in the end. She looked very self-aware.

'I like it,' Ron said simply. He really did; the bra gave her petite figure some much needed curvature. Her beautiful waist still arched in dramatically even though Hermione was slowly regaining her normal weight, but apart from that, Hermione possessed little in the way of feminine contours. Her hips were rather straight, and her bottom was a little flat. Hermione's breasts were small, but Ron loved them none the less. They suited her. The bra made her breasts a little bit more defined.

'I'll try the other one,' she said, 'Close the curtains, will you?'

The other bra fit her too, but Ron told her he liked the blue one better, which ended any discussion. Hermione returned the green bra to the rack, then paid for the blue one. Hermione counted out how much money they still had. It wasn't much.

'How much does a new bag cost?' Ron asked Hermione, knowing he had promised to buy her a new one.

'That kind of depends on the bag. I guess we have enough to be able to buy one, provided it isn't from a major brand.'

'Then let's do that,' he said, 'I don't have any money of my own at the moment, but I'll pay my parent's back when I do.'

They had passed a bag store on their way to Topshop, so they turned back and went inside. The shop held hundreds of bags in varying sizes. While Hermione browsed through stack of discounted satchels, Ron absently strolled around. The back of the store was filled with modern trunks, most of them made of plastic or aluminium. They came in hundreds of different sizes, some with extra pockets and zippers to hold small items.

In the end, Hermione found a nice dark green bag made of velour and leather that was just big enough to hold a couple of notebooks. She seemed happy with it.

Having finished they shopping, Hermione was visibly relieved and told him she wanted to go to one more place before they returned to the Burrow. Ron meekly followed her, as they made their way out of the shopping centre and into the parking lot. There, they hid behind a couple of cars and apparated out.

The city of Cambridge was quite large for English standards, with a busy city centre and many students. There were quite a few parks, and the river Cam ran through it, bifurcating it into an upper half, and a lower half. Most of the university grounds were in the lower half. In the upper half, there were three residential neighbourhoods called "King's Hedges", "Chesterton", and "Arbury", and near the point where these three neighbourhoods joined, was a road called Orchard Avenue.

Orchard Avenue was ill named; there wasn't an orchard in sight. The road was lined with large houses, most of them duplexes. Near the end of the street was a three-story duplex building with its own driveway. It was empty now, as it had been for nearly a year. The family that had lived there (nobody could quite recall the name, though it was at the tips of their tongues if you had asked them about it. Gardner perhaps?) had moved away to Australia.

People were unsure if it had actually been a family. At first, everyone had been quite sure that it had just been a husband and wife (Greene?), but as time progressed some people became quite convinced that there had also been a child. The family (Grant?) had not sold the house, and though some spoke ill of leaving an abandoned house in their upper class neighbourhood, most people just accepted the now somewhat forlorn building. They assumed the family (it must have been Grant) had only temporarily left. Their neighbours could not tell; they had just vacated the house without notice, and though madam Burlington was usually quite keen on the comings and goings on her street, even she had not been able to tell what had made the family leave.

The houses all had a back yard, and most of those held small sheds. One of them contained three bikes, a full set of winter tires, an assortment of gardening equipment, three ordinary muggle brooms, and two young wizards.

'Where are we?' Ron asked. Hermione had not explained where they were headed, and though he trusted her completely, it was rather strange to end up in somebody's garden shed without knowing where it was located.

'The garden shed of number 5 Orchard Avenue, Cambridge.'

'Cambridge?' Ron asked in surprise, 'Didn't you grow up in Cambridge?'

'Yes,' she said, her hand caressing the steering wheel of a girl's bike, 'This was my bike. I used it to travel to school. It was only a few blocks away, so after I became ten, my mother let me bike there on my own. I loved it.'

The bike was pink, a colour he did not associate with Hermione very often, and it had a chrome steering wheel. The handles were white. Hermione seemed to be lost in memory, one of her hands gripping a handle tightly, the other fingering a slight tear in the rubber of the seat.

'I was pushed off of my bike at school when this happened,' she said. Her voice had taken on an almost melancholic quality. 'I was teased relentlessly by three other girls. It was in the time when I knew nothing of magic. I knew I could do things. Strange things that happened without me actually being in control.'

'The magic was trying to get out. We all have it.'

'Yes,' she said, 'But back then, I didn't know that. All I knew was that I was an unpopular smart girl who freakish things happened to.'

'Hermione,' Ron said, 'Are you sure you want to visit your parents's house now? We can do this another time. Or I could hop in quickly, get some of your stuff.'

Hermione had to pry her eyes off of her old bike. She looked up at Ron, who stood only inches away from her. It was a rather small shed, and Ron had to bend down to keep from hitting his head. He was afraid that Hermione would be too emotional to be able to handle visiting the house of her parents. When she looked into his eyes though, he saw a grim determination there. One he had seen in her often before. She was dedicated to this, and he could detect in her resolute stare how sure she was of herself. He kissed her lips softly, a tender kiss that lasted for just a moment. She smiled at him afterwards.

'So long as you are here,' she said, 'I'll be fine.'

They entered the house a few minutes later. Hermione had hidden the key to the back door in a jar of screws and bolts in the shed. She had transfigured it into a screw with a scratch on the side. Ron was pretty sure none but the most powerful wizards would have been able to find it. The house was another story all together. She had placed several very powerful enchantments and ward on it. Ron recognised barely a handful of them. There was a nasty surprise waiting for anyone who entered the house without the key.

'Ron,' she said, as they entered the kitchen through the back door, 'Be careful. We don't know if anyone has been here.'

The kitchen seemed undisturbed. Her parents had left it completely cleaned, and apart from a layer of dust over the counters, it looked to be completely normal. Ron knew he should feel relaxed, that it indicated nobody had been here, but it only heightened his anxiety. What if the Death Eaters had wanted to make them feel like nothing was wrong. They had been fooled by them before. Ron had learned the hard way that the Death Eaters were anything but dumb. Not moving a foot from the floor mat, he checked the kitchen for anything suspicious. Everything looked to be in order; the dust on the kitchen surfaces was undisturbed, nothing seemed out of place or broken. Even the floor was pristine.

Ron felt Hermione relax beside him. She was about to step forward when he noticed that the floor was unnaturally pristine. It was spotless. The Burrow was cleaned every day by his mother, but even there, small specs of dust or crumbs of food were visible in hard-to-reach corners. This floor was so clean, you could eat off of it.

'Hermione, no!' he shouted, grabbing the back of her coat and one of her arms just as her feet fell through the floor as though it wasn't there. The mirage instantly dissolved, showing just how terribly the house had been ransacked. The entire kitchen floor had been stripped away and a deep hole was all that remained. The Death Eaters had intended to capture, not kill; the fall would not have killed them, but Ron was pretty sure they would have been trapped.

Hermione, finding her footing suddenly gone, could not prevent herself from falling in. She shrieked in surprise while Ron's iron grip on her coat and arm saved her from falling into the trap completely. Ron felt her weight pulling him down too, but he managed to keep from falling in after her by wrapping one of his feet under the pipes of a radiator, and frantically tried to hold her up. Hermione reached up to him with her free arm and managed to wrap it around his neck. Pulling with all his might, Ron dragged her back out from the pit.

Ron was panting. Hermione barely weighed seven stone, but pulling her back onto the floor mat had been excruciatingly difficult. It is surprisingly hard to keep the full weight of a human body up, even one as petite and fragile as Hermione. She was sobbing into his neck, her arms wrapped tightly around him and shaking softly. It took her more than a minute to stop crying, and over five minutes to lift her head from his neck and look into the trap she had nearly fallen into.

'The Death Eaters really made an effort here,' Ron said, as Hermione surveyed the damage. 'Look at how carefully they removed the floorboards. They even left the kitchen island standing on a pile of hard-packed earth. They must have been busy for days setting this trap. It looks like they didn't touch the rest of the house. Perhaps they were hoping we would let our guard down.'

'Yes,' Hermione said weakly, 'Did you see how detailed that mirage was? It takes a lot of time and skill to make a mirage look so convincing. It was almost identical to the original floor. I doubt Harry or I would have noticed it.'

'Question is,' Ron continued, as he pulled out his wand, 'who placed it here? And when?'

Quickly coming to the realization that they were like sitting ducks, sitting on the floor mat, Ron got up and pulled Hermione to her feet. They took out their wands, scanning their immediate surroundings. All seemed quiet.

'Homenum Reveilio' Ron said softly, casting the spell on both the house and the immediate surroundings. The house showed no signs of intruders, nor did the garden, the driveway, or the shed. The golden outline of a woman standing behind a fence became visible though. Ron lifted his wand, but Hermione pushed his hand down almost immediately.

'Hello Madam Burlington,' Hermione said loudly, 'The weather is nice today, don't you agree?'

The outline clearly stiffened a little before she replied. 'Err - Yes, lovely.' She was talking rather loudly, Ron thought, 'I swore I heard a scream just now. What did you say your name was?'

'I did not say my name,' Hermione replied, as she walked towards the wooden fence which separated the garden of the duplex house neatly down the middle. 'Do you recognise my voice perhaps?'

It was silent for a moment. Madam Burlington seemed to be thinking. 'I can't quite place it,' she half-shouted at Hermione, 'You sound like somebody from the neighbourhood, but I can't seem to find a name to connect to the voice. Are you called Horatio? No, that is a man's name. Hendrika?'

'Close,' Hermione said, and Ron knew what was about to happen. Hermione lifted her wand and performed a non-verbal obliviate. As the spell settled on its target, their bonded wands communicated her emotions to him. She was feeling anxious, and uncertain.

'The scream you heard came from Rodney Parssons room. That boy does always turn his television on loudly, doesn't he?'

'Yes', Madam Burlington replied meekly.

'I think it would be best if you return to your favourite chair by the window,' Hermione continued, 'Have a nice cup of tea. If you see or hear anybody coming to the neighbours's house, those are just men and women from a cleaning company. By the looks of it, the Grangers are coming back. Perhaps you should leave your hearing aide out for a while.'

'Good, I always did like the Grangers. Never turned the telly on loudly. Always polite. Sweet daughter.'

Ron could not suppress a grin after Madam Burlington had returned to her house. Hermione also smiled. 'Madam Burlington tends to forget to put in her hearing aide. I was surprised she heard me.'

'Well, you did produce a rather loud, girly shriek just now.'

'She will be on Rodney's case for at least a week,' Hermione said, ignoring Ron's jibe and smiling devilishly, 'He used to break my toys whenever he was around.'

They returned to the house. It was obvious that the Death Eaters had not risked putting any enchantments over the mirage to alert them if anybody fell into the pit. Ron figured they might have been afraid that the presence of such an enchantment would be detected. There was a six-pack of large water bottles in one of the corners of the pit.

'They probably stopped by to check the pit once or twice a week,' Ron said, 'This trap was very ingenious.'

Hermione brought a ladder that lay behind the shed, and Ron carefully positioned it horizontally over the trap so they could enter the living room without falling in. Carefully treading the spokes, Ron managed to reach the other side of the kitchen and enter the living room. It looked to be in normal order, but Ron would not take any chance. He carefully examined his immediate surroundings, while he heard Hermione make her way over from the other end of the ladder. When she reached him, she performed a number of charms and spells to reveal magic, but none of them showed anything was present. As always, Ron could listen in on Hermione's emotions. She was clearly anxious and uncertain. By the time she cast the last spell, he could also feel a bit of relief.

Hermione made to move forward, but Ron cut into her path, keeping her behind himself. He had nearly let her tumble into a trap once before, he was not going to do so again. The living room was untouched. With all of the furniture removed it felt like a big empty box. The sounds of their shoes hitting the wooden floor as they moved around resounded hollowly from the walls. Faint outlines of furniture and paintings were visible on them. Ron thought the place looked both deserted and desolate.

'Let's check upstairs,' he said, still keeping Hermione behind him. He could sense her irritation as he did. He knew she would be mad at him for a while, but didn't really care. He would not allow Hermione to come to any harm; if anything else was waiting for them, Ron would make sure she would be safe.

Hermione pointed her wand at the stairs, and performed some counter-curses to see if anything would happen. Ron could feel the irritation with him that he had expected. He also felt a very strong surge of pride. Meanwhile, none of the spells hit a target. The stairs looked to be safe. He ascended it slowly. The first floor landing was quite large and looked perfectly normal. There were outlines of picture frames here too. The carpet was in a desperate need of some cleaning. Hermione reached out to one of the doors, but Ron made sure his hand was the first to connect to the doorknob. Hermione nearly hissed in frustration, but Ron gently pushed her out of the way, carefully opening the door.

It was Hermione's room. Ron had never been here before, though he had often wondered what it would look like. The walls were painted in a gentle blue colour that reinforced the orderly nature of the room. Everything was neat and tidy, from the orderly rows of books (alphabetically ordered by the looks of it) to the half opened closet, from which Ron could see hung an assortment of clothes. Even that looked ordered, though one of the jeans had fallen from its hanger. Hermione had told him she had left her room mostly the same as it always was. She had taken a few books, some clothing, a few quills and rolls of parchment, but she had left nearly everything else behind.

Hermione had confided to him how much she regretted not taking a picture of her parents with her. It had been a few weeks after their capture at Malfoy manor. Whatever grudges and bitterness had been between them up till that point had been completely wiped away by the events that night. Ron had found himself seeking her out night and day, never wanting to be apart from her for too long. Harry spent most of his time brooding over his plans, either discussing them with Griphook or alone at the grave of Dobby. Hermione had become something Ron had never seen in her before; weak. He helped her whenever he could, even going as far as sitting by her bedside whenever she went to sleep, much to the protests of Bill and Fleur. Fleur was especially insistent, arguing the case heatedly until Hermione (who had spoken barely a five words up to that point) ordered her out of her room.

After that, Hermione's silence was broken. In the course of a week, Ron learned most of what had happened between her and Bellatrix. He listened to her, rubbed her back while she cried against his shoulder, and made small-talk to put her mind at rest before she went to sleep.

Hermione performed another set of spells to detect magic. Several things happened at once. In the corner of her room stood a desk. On the desk were several pictures, and three of those suddenly caught flame. The pair of jeans on the bottom of the closet got up on its own, and leaped over the bed. It bounded once off the floor and flew directly at Hermione, who was caught in utter surprise. Ron quickly pointed his wand up, yelling "Reducto!". The denim pants flew apart harmlessly. Ron prodded its remains while Hermione quickly doused the flames that were beginning to lap up from the desk.

'W-What?' Ron said, completely dumbstruck.

'Those pants would have strangled me if I had touched them,' Hermione said while she surveyed the damage to the desk, 'And there was a very dark curse on these pictures.'

'Let's not tempt fate again,' Ron said, 'I think it would be best if we apparate directly back to the Burrow, and inform my parents. We can let the ministry check out the rest of the house.'

Hermione nodded, but did not speak. Her hands gripped the desk tightly. Ron approached her gingerly. He noticed how her shoulders were shaking, and how her head was bowed down. Her thick hair had poured down from her shoulders onto the desk, the tips brushing the wooden surface.

'Hermione,' Ron whispered when he stood directly behind her, 'Hermione, it's going to be all right. We're going to find them.' Her breathing was ragged. 'Hermione, trust me. We're going to find them alive and well.' He could hear her crying now, even though her face was blocked by a curtain of her brown hair. Her fingers gripped the desk forcefully. 'Hermione,' he whispered, hoping her name would calm her, 'We'll find your parents.'

Suddenly, one of her hands reached up and wiped the tears from her face. Taking a few deep breaths, she straightened and reached out to pick up one of the photo frames. Then, she turned to the bed and together, they sat down. Ron looked at her to find her eyes bloodshot. Not knowing what to say and what to do, he sat in silence beside her. Hermione cradled the frame in her hands for what felt like an eternity, her thumbs running over the outline of her parents.

It was a nice picture. Ron still needed to get used to seeing pictures that didn't move. It was like watching a paused movie. Hermione's father was a physically rather unimposing man. He was short, much like Harry was, but where Harry's hair was unruly and thick, his was neat and thinning. His glasses completed the slightly diminutive sight of him. Ron had spoken to him once or twice, and he knew her father was surprisingly different from how he looked. Hermione had told him her father was quite present during parties and conversations. She had also told him that her father was a black belt at judo, which apparently was a martial art. Ron had heard about martial arts during his career advice with McGonagall. Auror training consisted of mastering at least one style of martial arts.

Hermione's mother was quite different. Though more than twice his age when this picture was taken, she was still very pretty. Like Hermione, her beauty was neither classical or outspoken. She shone with a youthfulness and kindness that were far more attractive than her smooth skin or dark eyes. Ron felt oddly conflicted about thinking of Hermione's mother like this.

'I'm sure they will fall into your arms the moment you lift their charm,' he said, unsure if this was what Hermione would want to hear. Her thumb still caressed the picture frame. 'You saved their lives.'

Hermione turned to face him and planted a soft, ginger kiss on his cheek.

'Thank you, Ron,' she said, 'For being such an optimist. I know I can get a little depressed or negative about things. You always help me to find the silver lining.'

Ron fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. He didn't quite know how to react. Should he tell her he loved her? Was that appropriate? Still not knowing what to say, he merely planted a kiss of his own on her cheek. 'No problem. Let's go. The ministry can go fix your parents's kitchen.'

He got up from the bed and turned to Hermione. Extending his hand, he offered to help her up. Looking quite pleased with herself, she took his hand.

'My, look at you,' she said, 'How gallant.'

Ron could not suppress a smile, then said: 'I'm just trying to get you to my own room as fast as possible.' Hermione gave him a genuine smile which reminded him strikingly of the image of her mother in the picture. Then, she tapped down hard on his cap, causing it shift low over his eyes.