Everild Proudfoot steeped shredded ginseng in a dented pewter teapot. She had come out of the Second Wizarding War with exactly four possessions beyond the clothes on her back; a teapot, an umbrella, a battered trilby and her wand. Everything else had gone either when Death Eaters had sacked her cubicle or razed her cottage. And she only had the teapot because she had picked through the ashes of her home after the Battle of Hogwarts.
"I've been instructed to pour disdain upon you from a great height." The witch sat back in her uncomfortable new chair in her bare new office and shook her finger at Ronald Weasley. "You naughty boy, you should be ashamed of yourself."
"That's it?" Ron had been sweating a little when he had been called into his supervisor's office. Proudfoot was in charge of all the trainees and had a reputation for being difficult to please. She knew what being an Auror took and what it cost.
"Merlin, no." Everild poured herself a cup of the infusion that was supposed to do something to help the curse damage and sipped it. Would have been improved with brandy, but alas she and alcohol were no longer friends. "That is merely the supply of disdain available for someone who punched a Flint."
"I didn't just punch him." He had come clean in his report. Well, mostly clean. There had been quite a bit of 'the girlfriend stealing arse deserved it' in his first draft. Ron hoped he had edited out most of the worst of that. He would've asked Hermione to proofread it, before.
"That is where we start having difficulties, Weasley." She grimaced at the taste of her tonic and at the impulsive boy. "We can't give in. Even when we want to. Even when the bastards deserve it." Everild sighed. "Especially when they deserve it. Down that road Riddle lies."
"Am I going to be charged?" Ron was proud himself for sounding confident. He wasn't but at least he could pretend. No one with a criminal record could be an Auror. That had been a rule since 1741. It had never been broken. It would never be broken, not even for a war hero. Aurors needed to be a cut above.
"To my great bogglement, no." The witch had been expecting a cascade of scrolls from the Flint solicitors. "The muscle-bound bully-boy has made a statement of complaint. Correctly spelled, too. Someone must have been holding his quill for him."
"You don't like Flint either, then?" Letting his breath out slowly, Ron risked a grin. He hastily removed it when Proudfoot levelled a gimlet stare at him.
"I arrested his father. I've had to deal with the family more than I wish." Everild had been expecting to haul the son in on much the same charges but pater Flint had banished his heir for the duration. She'd made inquiries though no one in Moldova had anything on him. "The complaint will stay on your file. You'll be under review. One whisker out of place and you'll go before Kingsley to explain yourself."
"Just a complaint?" Ron frowned. He had been expecting more than that. Parkinson had been packed off to Azkaban before the ink had dried on her docket, no contest. But her family had still levelled a formal objection against his actions. They would have made a noise in the Prophet too but had been gagged as part of their own paroles.
"Someone must like you, Weasley. Or you've been quaffing Felix Felicis on the sly." The Auror frowned too. "My personal feelings aside, that is not the Flint style at all. You dodged a dragon there, trainee. It might not have cost you your place here but you could easily have been rusticated. You absolutely must keep your nose clean."
"I will." He promised, sincere but shaken. Ron knew who it was who 'liked him'. Somehow Hermione had persuaded Flint not to make things difficult for him. His stomach clenched at the thought of what that troll might expect as a favour. He was still angry with Hermione. Angry and terribly hurt. But the thought of her having to submit to Flint's whim for his sake made him sick.
Proudfoot dismissed him with a wave and he shot out of her office to the nearest loo. He sat in the stall until he had himself in good order. He had to do something. Not drink fancy wine in snooty clubs filled with Slytherins would be first on his list.
List. That thought cut him like sectumsempra. He used to tease Hermione for all her lists and study plans. Once, he had highlighted several lines at random in different colours just to see what happened. Fireworks had happened. When she was angry her eyes shone and her mad hair almost crackled with magic.
Hermione hadn't been angry after the fight at the Prism. A bit cross, maybe. A stamped foot or two but considering some of their barnies, she'd been tepid. She'd told him to go to protect his training status.
After she'd flung herself over Flint to shield him from the glass.
Ron turned that memory over his his head, wishing he had a pensieve to have a better look at it. Hermione had tried to get Flint out of trouble. Hermione had tried to get him, Ron, out of trouble. 'Mione did that often. Always had. She always tried to help those who needed helping whether they asked for it or not.
He hit his head lightly against the stall door. It was the damn Law, wasn't it? Ron thumped again. Hermione had leapt into the breach to help the persecuted and Flint had taken advantage. Her concern for the bastard had not been the frantic worry of a woman in love. It'd been a nurse's duty of care for an unconscious man.
Who she'd slept with.
Ron stopped slowly head-butting the door. She had bonked Flint. He couldn't remember exactly what she had said when she had told him. He'd been too angry. Something about her asking Flint to take her in a hallway? That did not sound like Hermione at all. She'd never been spontaneous. Up for it once they were in bed but never, well, fun about it. They'd tried it once in the garden when everyone as out but she'd lost her nerve when the gnomes had started snickering, and wouldn't let him touch her for a week.
He didn't know if he could forgive her for cheating on him. Didn't know if he wanted to forgive her. Some things mattered. But in the cold sweat aftermath of his interview with Proudfoot, Ron found himself being analytical. He needed some answers.
Harry was in their shared cubicle being methodical about some of the endless paperwork. Aurors were dashing, powerful wizards and witches who got the job done. Then spent days writing about every bloody detail just to tin plate their arses. The trainees had it the worst. They had to fact-check and review old cases, and not even the interesting ones.
"Harry, what's Hermione said about getting married?" Ron asked after checking the question for obscenities. He'd been swearing a lot and didn't want to get into the habit. It upset his mum.
"Not much." Harry put the scroll down and cast a Muffliato. "That hasn't been the big weight on her mind." He looked up at his best friend, standing so casually as though they were just chatting. "She didn't go away with Flint. He was there, yes, but that wasn't the reason for her going to Australia. Hermione went to visit her parents and got some bad news."
"They're dead, aren't they?" Ron had heard a lot of 'bad news'. When Harry got that grim expression and spoke carefully, he knew exactly what his mate wasn't saying.
"Car accident. I don't know any more than that. Hermione didn't want us at the funeral." He was sorry, he was. He understood what it was like to lose family. He did not understand why she had wanted to keep it private. Not telling anyone would not make it hurt any less.
"Bloody Aunt Muriel." Ron muttered. Harry stared at him blankly. "You were off with Ginny on a wedding planning thing. Flowers or something. Aunt Muriel asked Hermione when we were getting married. Grilled her a bit. Then said it was a pity her parents wouldn't be there. 'Mione thought she meant because of the Memory Charm and said she'd bring them back. But Aunty meant because they were Muggles. They wouldn't understand wizarding customs. They didn't belong."
"That's not the same."
"Isn't it? All sorts of things 'Mione tells me about Muggles sound barmy. Has to be true the other way. Maybe she thought we'd all laugh or something." Ron shrugged then held his hands up placatingly when Harry glowered at him.
"You can't not be angry she didn't want us there. After everything we've done together!" Harry felt like he had lost Hermione too, that she wanted to forget him and pretend the war had not happened. She'd gone hell for leather over her NEWTs as they had all expected. After she had graduated she still didn't seem to have time for them. Sure, he and Ron were busy with Auror training but she could've made the effort.
"I don't want to go to another funeral." Ron snapped, that sick feeling coming back. "I never want to go to another one. I mean it. Never."
"So you don't mind she didn't want her best friends there? That she'd rather have some Slytherin who used to try to push me off my broom?" The youngest Gryffindor Seeker had a long memory for fouls.
"I mind more that she fucked him!" His voice boomed, testing the efficacy of the Muffliato. Ron kicked the wall. "I mind, Harry, alright? I mind. But not about her parents. They were Muggles. I don't know if they even cross the Veil. Them going wherever they go, the Muggle way is fine. It's right, you know. Proper."
"He's using her." Harry changed the subject because he did not want to feud with both of his best friends.
"Of course he is. He's a snake." Ron gloated at the memory of Flint's nose breaking. "But she got him not to put me up on charges. I can guess what he wanted."
"She wouldn't." He did not want to think about Hermione in that way. Harry had an awkward enough time thinking about Hermione and Ron together let alone Hermione and anyone else.
"Bloody Flint wouldn't not be an arse just because Hermione asked nicely." His teeth grated and his hands clenched, wanting badly to throttle the troll. "He wouldn't do anything just because she asked."