Waking Up

by Hillnerd

The war is over, but there's still plenty of battles ahead for Hermione and Ron. Her parents are still in Australia, Ron is hiding secrets, and she has to wonder when she'll wake up and it's not from a nightmare. My version of an 'Australia fic', canon compliant- will add warnings at the beginning of each chapter

17. Chapter 17- Cadet Weasley's Counsel

Thank you so much to everyone who took the time to leave nice reviews. I'm very grateful! It's been an intense few months since I last posted. I had my baby 3 months early- so he was in the Nicu for 3 months and I was in the hospital a while too. It was… A lot. I'm still not fully over it, tbh. But now my baby is super healthy and getting so BIG. Add in some awful layoffs coming up at my job, and not knowing how things will go there, PTSD and depression— it's been a lot. So thanks again to everyone who took the time to write me and check in. I have not abandoned this story— I've just been in it recently.

BIG THANKS TO ABRADYSTRIX FOR BEING A BETA FOR THIS FIC FOR YEARS, AND HAVING THE AMAZING TURN AROUND TIME ON THIS. LIKE WOW. SHE'S AN ABSOLUTE LEGEND OF A HUMAN AND I'M JUST SO HAPPY TO KNOW HER, LET ALONE GET TO CALL HER A FRIEND, LET ALONE GET TO HAVE HER EDIT MY WORK. WHAT A MENSCH!

ENJOY!

Last time in 'Waking Up'

Hermione and Ginny anxiously waited for Ron and Harry to return from the final Auror exams. Ron returns, shaken by a disturbing exam experience involving hallucinations and Harry's breakdown after falling into a Boggart den and being covered in Boggart dust. In chapter 15 Ron's Boggart turned into the Snatcher, Crowthers, and Harry heard it say distrubing shit like '"Bet I can make you scream without a wand… Can't I?" "I like raw meat like you, ginger." "You know what I want to do to you? I'm gonna tear—" Hermione did not hear these details when Ron summarized the exam for her Harry went missing a bit, but they eventually found him at Grimmauld Place- Ginny took the reigns for Harry, taking him to see Teddy, and had Hermione make sure to help Ron instead of it being the 'Harry show' like always Hermione helped Ron with his injuries and they discussed the war's effects. With the help of Percy, they almost finished their plans to retrieve Hermione's parents from Australia. Ron received his Auror acceptance letter at dinner, but Harry did not. :( Hermione and Ron finally expressed their love for each other out loud and purposefully :)

Trigger warnings at the bottom

CHAPTER 17: CADET WEASLEY'S COUNSEL

Ron smiled at the ceiling as he pulled Hermione closer against his chest. She had fallen asleep after murmuring a silencing spell on herself, muttering something about covering up her snoring. He'd never noticed it before, but then again, he snored loud as a bag of dragons—he'd probably slept right through it. Her slow, steady breathing was a calming rhythm against his own.

She loved him.

He'd wished she did. He'd hoped she did. He'd thought she did. But now, it was certain. She'd said it out loud. She had said it to his face! And Hermione was a terrible liar, so he knew she'd meant it.

His chest swelled at the thought.

He had loved her so ardently for ages—long before he even knew what to call it. It felt like he had always loved her, even though he knew quite well there had been a time he hadn't.

Eleven-year-old Ron, stepping onto the Hogwarts Express for the first time, had no idea what was in store for him. He met his best friend, his playground bully, and then, finally, Hermione—a swotty little girl whose every flaw seemed to grate on him. He'd genuinely found her insufferable those first few months.

She was bossy, condescending, interfering, rude and belittling—reminding him far too much of Percy.

But those feelings felt foreign to him now, almost like someone else's. Looking back, he could only see how hard she had been trying—trying to connect, trying to help. Honest to a fault and cluelessly steamrolling everyone in her attempt to befriend them.

She was still terrible at people, which he found funny and oddly charming. And she was still occasionally too bossy and entitled—but he loved to argue with her when she was. He imagined he'd only grow more fond of her over the years, as they fit together better and better until all the rough edges smoothed out.

When had he started looking at her flaws so fondly? When had his feelings deepened into something burning and absolute?

He couldn't pinpoint the moment. All he knew was that it had happened. And now he had earned her love in return. Even after his mistakes, his insecurities, his fuck-ups. He just had to keep not fucking up, and things would be okay. He was fairly certain he could manage that. After all, he'd gotten into the Aurors, hadn't he?

The thought soured in his head.

Harry's letter hadn't come yet. It should have by now. Harry pretended he was fine, but Ron knew better. His best mate wanted this. Badly. And if Harry didn't get in, what the hell was Ron supposed to say? How was he supposed to navigate that?

A sharp pain shot through his arm, and it twitched against Hermione hard enough that she stirred in her sleep.

Ron carefully extricated it and flexed his fingers, rotating the muscles. Maybe Vyse had been right during the exam. Maybe he should see a Healer.

He slowly twisted his scarred hunk of an arm, watching it shake. Old war wounds left to fester can get nasty, Vyse had said. And his arm was definitely a nasty sight. Between the missing chunk of flesh down his shoulder and the swirling scars running through his freckles like rivers carving through earth, it wasn't pretty.

Hermione didn't seem to mind, somehow, often tracing his brain scars with her deft little fingers.

He glanced at her still-sleeping form.

After Australia.

His arm could wait until after that. It wasn't like it was a physically demanding trip. But if she caught wind of it, she'd just use it as an excuse to put off the trip even further.

She'd been dragging her feet and fretting over it, thinking her parents would chuck her. Ron had met the Grangers a few times over the years, and he couldn't imagine them throwing out their one daughter, whom they clearly doted on (and sometimes mildly spoiled.)

Even if they did, it would surely be temporary. Once you loved Hermione, how could you stop?

And he'd be damned if he let her walk into such an uncertain situation all by herself.

He had promised to help her, to take her to her parents, to fix what she had sacrificed to keep them safe. He couldn't do a damn thing to fix his own family after the war, but maybe he could help hers.

The grief at the Burrow felt like a living thing, filling every corner with its suffocating weight.

A hand curled around his wrist, startling him from his thoughts. He looked down to see Hermione's fingers curling around his wrist even in her sleep, as though she could sense his unease.

"Ron?" Harry's voice came softly from the doorway.

Ron glanced down at Hermione, her head tucked into his ribs. "We're decent. Come in," he stage-whispered back.

Harry shuffled in, his hands shoved into his pockets and his mouth set in that tight, uncomfortable line he always wore when he was about to say something unpleasant.

"Alright?" Harry asked, his eyes flicking to Hermione before settling on Ron.

Ron nodded, but didn't smile. Taking in the grim set of Harry's jaw, the worried shifting expression; something was wrong.

Harry sat on the edge of the other bed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He was silent for a moment before he said, "I realized something… And I…"

Harry glanced at Hermione.

"Maybe we should go outside."

"Should I wake Hermione?"

Harry hesitated. "Maybe not."

"Okay?" Ron said, unable to keep the question out of his voice. It was rare Harry didn't want to include Hermione; usually that was only when he had something particularly reckless in mind.

Harry had a ritual of tics he'd go through when he drew Ron aside: he did a wary glance over, made a constipated face, and swallowed down whatever it was that was bugging him. The same three tics would continue like this until some sort of internal crescendo, before he would finally tell Ron whatever the unpleasantness was.

It was comforting that he could still read Harry so well. Despite the battles and horrors, his friend was very unchanged in the fundamentals.

Ron gently shifted Hermione off him, laying her back against the pillows. She silently mouthed something in her sleep, but didn't wake.

Harry hesitated, clearly searching for the right words.

"What's up?" Ron asked, trying to sound casual. Harry looked miserable, so Ron tried for humor. "If you're looking for girl advice about my sister, you're plumb out of luck. She's utterly mad."

Harry's mouth twitched, which narrowly satisfied Ron, but it wasn't enough to dislodge the pale focused look on Harry's face.

"A lot happened today, and I was in my head a lot about things…" said Harry. "But when I talked about the exam with Ginny, I realized you and I never finished our conversation."

"What conversation?"

"Earlier today," Harry cautiously continued, "About your Boggart."

Ron's stomach fell to his toes and a bludger of ice replaced it. He turned his back to Harry, fiddling with tucking Hermione's blanket about her. His fingers tightened, the movement burnt.

He had somehow hoped Harry would forget about the Boggart.

He let out a long sigh.

"Let's go outside."

They slipped out of the room and crept down the rickety stairs. The Burrow was quiet, save for the occasional creak of the old wood. The familiar smells and sounds of home were cold comfort as Ron tried to think of a way to make Harry drop it.

The cool night air greeted them as they stepped outside, crossing the garden in silence. The broom shed stood at the edge of the yard; the imperfections from when Harry blew the door apart were impossible to see in the moonlight. As they got closer the familiar scent of wood and broom polish wafted.

Ron leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest.

"So?" Ron prompted, hoping to sound casual.

Harry stood a few feet away, his hands still in his pockets. "I'm not trying to push."

Yes he bloody was.

"But… The Boggart today… Who was he?" Harry asked, stepping closer.

Ron swallowed hard. His fingers tapped against his arm that protested at even the slight touches.

"No one important."

"That's bollocks," Harry said quietly.

"It's true," said Ron, plastering a smile on. "He was an idiot not worth thinking about. You nailed it when you turned him into a gorilla with a kazoo. He was a nobody Snatcher. Doesn't matter."

Harry's gaze didn't waver. "It matters if he became your Boggart."

There was something raw, serious, but all too kind in Harry's eyes.

Ron looked away.

The shed had an empty wood knot in one of the planks, right near the ground. Bits of grass stuck out from it—probably a mouse nest. He could imagine the local field mouse took time to stick each blade of grass, lint and trash in place, making a grubby little home for itself and its pink little mouse babies.

His throat could have been a mouse's nest, for all the good it did him.

Harry cut through the quiet, his voice filled with a gentle delicacy that made Ron sick. "I heard what he said to you."

Ron's fingers were going numb from his tightly wound arms. What could he say to that? He felt stupid and slimy and tainted. His Boggart was too embarrassing. Not just what Crowthers said and all that it implied, but that the disgusting oaf had somehow managed to become his Boggart at all.

How could Ron be afraid of someone so stupid? So inconsequential? And how could he hope to have Harry look at him normally again; as his mate, and not some broken fucking loser?

"Maybe you should tell—" Harry continued.

Ron's head jerked up and thunder roared through him.

Before Harry could get another word in, Ron pushed him in the chest and growled, "Don't tell anyone. Don't you dare tell anyone."

Harry blinked, startled. "What? I wouldn't—"

"Swear it!" Ron snapped, hating how his voice broke. "You keep it buried. Swear it."

Harry shifted, his brows knitting together in frustration. "I wasn't going to run off and broadcast it, Ron!"

"Swear it anyway," Ron pleaded, his heart pounding. His chest felt too tight; his breath too fast.

Harry let out a sharp exhale, clearly annoyed. "Fine. I swear. Happy now?"

Ron didn't answer, instead he wrapped his arms around himself and tried to keep a wobbly bleat from coming out. His arms ached. He could barely feel his body. Everything was shaking apart.

"Hey…" Harry said, approaching him slowly.

Ron jerked away when Harry got too close, his back hitting the shed wall with a dull thud. "Don't." His voice was hoarse, raw.

Harry stopped, hands still half-raised, like he wasn't sure what to do with them. "Alright," he said awkwardly, shoving them back into his pockets. "I thought Kingsley could make sure the Snatcher was locked away… I didn't mean I'd tell people."

Ron scrubbed a hand over his face, his palm embarrassingly coming away damp. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—"

"It's okay. We'll do whatever you want." Ron slid down the wall until he was sitting on the ground, a large pebble making the seat uncomfortable, but he was too tired to move. He buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking despite himself.

Harry hesitated, then sat down a little ways away. He didn't say anything else, just sat there, watching.

After a few minutes of silence, Harry spoke, voice low. "That man—the one the Boggart turned into. Have they captured him?"

Ron ran his fingers through his hair.

"I dunno," he hoarsely replied.

Harry frowned, his jaw tightening. "If he's still out there, we'll find him. We'll get him."

Ron's eyes widened with alarm. "No. You don't—" He stopped himself, working against the lump rising in his throat. He shook his head, his voice sharper now. "Leave it, Harry. It doesn't matter."

"It does matter," Harry said firmly, his green eyes meeting Ron's. "He doesn't get to walk away after… after whatever he did."

Ron let out a bitter laugh, his expression twisting. Always so fucking noble, his best friend. Ron didn't know what to say, didn't know how to explain that the thought of Harry going after Crowthers made his stomach churn with dread. He didn't want anyone near it.

"What did he do?" asked Harry in a small voice. A pitying voice.

Ron swallowed hard. The lump refused to go away.

Harry knew more than anyone but Aarti now, but he couldn't bring himself to tell his friend what Crowthers had done. It wasn't that bad, really. Just hits and spells and threats and touches, but he'd never felt more vulnerable, except the locket, or Hermione being tortured, or when he saw Fred's body bleeding on the ground.

Ron's eyes stayed fixed on the ground. He shrugged, the movement stiff and jerky.

What did Crowthers do?

"Nothing good…" said Ron.

Nothing he didn't deserve after betraying his friends.

Of course, his brief sentence wouldn't be enough for Harry. His friend hated talking about feelings, but he needed a sense of closure before he'd let something go.

"He was one of the Snatchers I told you about. They, er, beat me up and the big bloke, Crowthers, said that shit you heard, but I got away alright. It was nothing to write home about, really."

Harry looked like he wanted to argue, his hands clenched and unclenched at his sides as if itching to do something. "And that's it? You expect me to believe your Boggart changed over 'nothing'?"

"What does it matter?"

"It matters because it's you!" Harry told him, so surely Ron could almost believe it himself.

"C'mon," Ron muttered, giving Harry a nudge. "I'm fine."

"But if they're still out there—" Harry began to protest.

"I'm sure those Snatchers did enough to get in prison without me needing to be part of it. Or you," Ron said, giving Harry a pointed look. "Let other people do their job to get them, and let me deal with this how I want to."

Harry hesitated, clearly unsatisfied with this answer.

"Please, mate," Ron insisted.

His friend seemed to inwardly weigh the argument for far too long, but he finally nodded slowly.

"Alright," Harry said softly. "But if you ever change your mind, if you ever decide… I can help, you know, if it's catching them or if you need… I'll be there…" he trailed off, leaving the rest unsaid.

"Thanks, mate," Ron said, twisting his hands round and trying to get the feeling into the bad one. "Let's go back inside. It's too late for Quidditch, and my arse has a wicked indent from a pebble I sat on."

For a moment, Harry didn't move and frowned at his feet. "Are you going to be okay?"

"My arse is a bit sore, but—"

"You know what I mean," Harry said, all grim insistence.

"I'm fine," Ron lied, shoving his hands into his pockets. His fingers curled into fists, nails digging into his palms. He couldn't feel the nails in his left hand. "I'm honestly fine. Just want to relax on a cushion."

He turned toward the house, and with a reluctant nod Harry fell into step with him. The heaviness lingered between them as they plodded back to the house.

Ron wasn't sure what to do when he was the one needing comforting, other than find a place to sulk by himself and wait for his mood to reset into something more pleasant. Ron knew he could be a moody git who needed space to stew. He rarely got space, though, so either emotions would spill over onto everyone or he'd have to swallow it down.

Ron was tempted to find a corner to mope in, or sleep it off a few decades, but once something was actively within Harry's myopic purview, there was little one could do to escape it— he would keep relentlessly digging until Ron's dwarfish dignity was torn to shreds.

Harry could not take his sleep potion for another few days, so to finish the winkling this would require 'casual super-okay hangout after a nightmare' Ron to make an appearance.

"Want to play some chess?" he asked as they reached the back door, tone successfully casual if Harry's relieved look was anything to go by.

"Have a feeling I might beat you this time," said Harry, giving a wry smile as they set up the pieces.

"Nothing like crushing your self-esteem to lift my spirits," Ron smiled back.

---

The next morning Harry had a lie-in, having stayed up until the wee hours. The two had laughed, played chess, gone over the Australia plans, and pointedly avoided any talk of Aurors or Boggarts.

Ron hadn't been able to sleep more than an hour or so. Nerve endings up his arm were throbbing so badly he couldn't find a comfortable position. Just when he managed to nearly doze off, thoughts of the war rattled him awake well before dawn.

Unable to sleep, he snuck down to the living room with his worksheets for Aarti.

She'd sent a confidential note along with his Auror acceptance letter requesting his presence at her office for his next session. Even though he was officially part of the Aurors, she was holding to her assessment that he would not be cleared for field duties or training until he'd finished getting treatment for his PTSC or whatever she had called it.

He didn't mind a delay in being an on-duty Auror— that would just help him make time for Australia.

But he did mind having to dredge up all the old memories he'd been rather trying to avoid. He was just so fucking tired.

He had started and stopped the worksheets several times, never fully writing things out. At this point it felt a bit like when he'd put off a Transfiguration Essay in school. He could do it… it just felt like absolute torture to begin it until the deadline was breathing down his neck.

This was a practice that historically drove Hermione bonkers, as she was the sort who would have years of work done in advance if school would let her. He couldn't imagine ever living like that— but perhaps he'd need to. After all, they'd have to compromise on how to run things in the house, and with kids he couldn't imagine Hermione being okay with his procrastinating health visits or—

Stop thinking about your future kids and concentrate on the task at hand, you absolute wanker.

He hunched over the parchment, the ink pot casting a long, inky shadow of its own. His fingers sweated around his quill as he dithered, his thoughts a physical weight. Each question felt like a fresh poke at a bruise, each memory dragged up a struggle.

He stared at the question: 'Describe the event or events that you believe have significantly impacted your mental and emotional wellbeing.' His hand hovered over the parchment, quill trembling slightly as his stomach roiled. He gagged as bile suddenly made its way up his throat, and nearly threw up. With a shaking breath, he pressed the quill to the paper.

Just start writing, you idiot.

He forced the words onto the page even as his hand cramped and his heart hammered in his chest. Each sentence was a painful act.

By the time the usual Burrow hubbub had begun, he had finished his packet, and hidden it away, managing to keep it hidden from everyone, including Hermione and Harry, with relative ease.

Between most people ignoring Ron, Harry being a sleep deprived melt for his sister, and Hermione distracted with the upcoming Australia trip, it was all too easy to get something like a few papers past them.

It also helped that Harry had the unique ability to treat Ron completely normally after any incident. The day after their fight in fourth year ended, he and Harry were chums as if nothing had passed. The day after he destroyed the locket, Harry treated Ron as he always had, no tiptoeing or faffing about with feelings.

And this day was no different. The night before, Ron had said to drop it, made his case, and so Harry dropped it. Hopefully the Snatchers would be discreetly dealt with and some ten years down the line he and Harry could have a pint to celebrate, where neither said a thing.

Even without his brothers in the house, The Burrow was alive with energy that morning. Dad did a quick Floo call before he went to work, Mum began her rounds of cooking and chores, Harry and Ginny went off for a quick flight, while Ron stayed with Hermione.

Hermione was back to her old ways, a whirlwind of energy and reading, which he was thrilled to see. Over breakfast, she eagerly plowed through piles of old newspapers she'd ignored, voraciously reading at a familiar pace he hadn't seen in weeks.

"You're after it a bit hard, aren't you?" asked Ron, poking jammy toast her way, which she took without complaint. A hint of currant jam smeared on her chin as she distractedly read.

"I don't like how ignorant I've been of current events. If we're travelling soon, I need to know what is going on," she said, a stubborn jut to her chin.

"I think we just need the weather report for Australia. Do you think they cover that in The Prophet?" he teased, giving her a gentle cuff of the chin to remove the jam.

"Oh do be serious," she said, but he saw the small hint of a smile she gave before setting her scowl in place. He grinned back at her.

"There's all sorts of post-war agreements being negotiated," she began, "shifting alliances between wizarding governments, and who knows what kind of reception we'll get abroad. Our names and pictures have come up a lot in the papers, which is, frankly, rather inconvenient."

She flipped to a new newspaper. "Anyone could recognize us, but there's no polyjuicing ourselves. I haven't any potion left, and it takes too long to brew."

"I doubt we'll be considered important well over on the other side of the earth," said Ron.

"Neither of us thought we'd be seen as important here either!" she chastised, wagging a crust at him. "We need to be aware of the political climate and the potential dangers before we're 'well over on the other side of the earth.' Who knows what it could be like? What if our presence attracts the wrong kind of attention? What if our trip is spun into some sort of political statement we didn't intend?"

"Slow down," he laughed, the sight of her reading and eating warmed him so deeply his cheeks hurt from grinning. "I'm glad to see you at it again, but let's not take on global politics, just yet."

Hermione could very well argue her way into a trove of worries they didn't need.

He leaned in, lips next to her ear. "Plus, we'll be alone in a hotel. You should be more worried about someone spotting me snogging you senseless on a balcony."

Hermione blushed and bit her lip, refusing to look his way.

"From potential international incidents to potential public indecency. You two certainly know how to keep things interesting," Ginny laughed as she took a seat at the table, hair windblown.

"How was flying?" Hermione asked. She was still blushing faintly as she straightened that morning's newspaper, and Ron couldn't help but feel a little smug.

"Harry let me borrow his broom," Ginny grinned, packing the food onto her plate. "Takes turns like a dream!"

"You should borrow it next year," Harry valiantly offered.

"I might take you up on that."

"Ginny? Could you get your clothes for the laundry?" came Mum's voice from down the hall.

Ginny rolled her eyes and grabbed a kipper before yelling, "Coming, Mum!"

Hermione had just started a second piece of toast when she coughed and sputtered, hands gripping the newspaper.

"You alright?" asked Ron, giving her a thump on the back she impatiently waved away as she continued to read, eyes wide. He leaned in and felt the blood drain from his face. A silent conversation played between them with just glances and nods.

"What is it?" Harry asked, looking between them.

Hermione looked at the paper then Ron. Should I tell him?

Maybe… You're good at explaining things… Ron tilted his head back and forth.

You're better with Harry's feelings… She shot her eyes towards Harry then back to Ron.

"Well?" Harry demanded.

"You know how I told you people might have picked up on Horcruxes from your speech to old skull-face?" said Ron, trying to be delicate.

A dubious nod and a stricken expression was all they got before Harry snatched the paper away to read the article.

The Daily Prophet – Morning Edition

DARK SECRETS REVEALED: COULD YOU-KNOW-WHO RETURN?

By Barnabas Quill, Senior Investigative Reporter

HOGWARTS – In the fateful final battle at Hogwarts, the words of Harry Potter rang through the Great Hall, echoing off the ancient stones. Witnesses recall his declaration to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, speaking of 'mistakes' made in the quest for immortality. The words may have seemed like taunts in the heat of battle, but as soon as transcripts were obtained, The Daily Prophet's investigative team began digging into their significance. What we have uncovered is both alarming and perplexing.

For years, whispers of dark magic surrounded the Dark Lord's rise and fall, but only now has one of his greatest secrets come to light. During the battle, Potter openly spoke of Horcruxes.

Our initial research turned up little—no records, no books, as though the very subject had been erased from wizarding history. But through tireless investigation, reaching as far as the Black Forest in Baden-Württemberg and the restricted archives of Durmstrang, we have uncovered the horrifying truth: Horcruxes are objects infused with fragments of a wizard's soul—dark magic at its most unnatural.

The Prophet believes that one such object was the lost diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw, which Harry Potter himself asked people to help him look for hours before the battle. Was this precious heirloom destroyed in the battle's final hours? Or did Mr Potter use it to discern how to defeat You-Know-Who? Sources vary.

However, this revelation of Horcruxes leads us to an even graver question: If one Horcrux existed, could there be more?

Did the Dark Lord seek ancient and powerful relics, and sources close to Hogwarts? If Potter and his allies hunted for the diadem, perhaps a 'Horcrux Hunt' is how they spent the months prior to the battle.

Our sources have only been able to confirm the existence of the diadem, leaving us to wonder—are there more pieces of Voldemort's soul still hidden in the wizarding world?

The implications are chilling. If a fragment of his essence still lingers within another enchanted artifact, what is to stop the Dark Lord from returning once again? History has shown that mere death was never a permanent setback for him. Could we be facing another resurgence, another era of darkness?

The Prophet has reached out to the Ministry of Magic for an official statement and hope they will address these concerns in the afternoon edition.

Until then, we are left with only speculation—and fear. If Voldemort's soul was indeed shattered across multiple objects, how certain can we be that they are all accounted for? And, more importantly, how soon until he returns?

Stay with The Daily Prophet for updates as we uncover the truth.

Harry ran a hand through his hair, looking increasingly frustrated by the second. "They're making it sound like I left Voldemort's soul lying around somewhere."

"I worried this information would get out eventually…" Hermione began.

"Same here, but I didn't think the Ministry would let it get into the bloody papers," said Ron, leaning back in his chair.

"It seems like the Prophet didn't give them time to respond. Look at how they're almost taunting them to respond this afternoon. If the Ministry had known about it, I'm fairly certain the Ministry would have suppressed the story, if they could," said Hermione.

Ron wasn't sure that was true. He had zero faith in the Ministry at the best of times. This story was the sort of thing that could cause full-on panic.

Hermione gave a shake of her head, making a bunch of her hair distractingly fall over her shoulder. Would she mind if Ron stroked it for a bit? Wait, no! Important shit happening.

"Plus, they have so little staff now," continued Hermione. "I doubt they could catch something like this if they had to."

Ron crossed his arms. "Yeah, well, they've a history of being useless at stopping things, so that's a lost cause no matter how many people they have faffing about."

The paper had gotten hold of the word Horcrux but hadn't figured out how many Voldemort had.

Yet.

"At least they don't know how many there were," Hermione said, voicing his exact thoughts. "They've latched onto the diadem, but what if they find out about Nagini, or the cup, or the locket?"

Ron groaned. "How long until they find out everyth—"

"They won't," Harry interrupted sharply.

Ron exchanged a look with Hermione. She looked just as unconvinced.

"They won't," Harry cut in, jaw clenched. "Because we're not giving them any more information."

"Harry, you know how the Prophet operates," said Hermione. "They don't need us to say anything. They'll take what they have and twist it until they get the story they want."

Harry glared and Ron held his hands up. "Look, mate, I want to believe they'll drop it if they don't hear it from us, but we both know how this goes. The moment they think there's more to the story, they'll keep sniffing until they find something. It's not like we were subtle sometimes. Break-ins to the Ministry and Gringotts get attention."

Hermione sighed, rubbing her temples. "And if they keep running articles like this, people are going to panic. The last thing we need is every amateur curse-breaker tearing through ancient tombs looking for a 'lost Horcrux.'"

Ron winced. "Yeah, or some nutter deciding to make one just to see if they can."

That shut Harry up for a second. He exhaled through his nose, rubbing his jaw. "So what do we do?"

"We wait," Hermione said, though she didn't sound thrilled about it either. "We see what the Ministry says. Hopefully Kingsley will shut this down before it gets out of hand."

Ron wasn't so sure, but Harry nodded tightly and sat back down, staring at his breakfast plate like it might have answers.

"In light of this, perhaps we should stay a bit longer?" Hermione said to Ron.

She'd made such progress today. He couldn't bear the thought of her losing her momentum. The longer she drew out getting her parents, the worse off she'd be. "There'll always be something going on. This shouldn't interrupt our plans to leave."

"What plans to leave?" asked Mum, a dangerous glint in her eye as she put the laundry basket onto the table.

Harry discreetly hid the paper about Horcruxes, while Ron broke the news of Australia to his mum.

He thoroughly explained the plan to leave, not leaving a single detail of their travel out. In hindsight this might have been a mistake, as his Dad wasn't there to talk her down as she made him explain and re-explain every aspect of their trip. "Leaving for Australia in two days!" his Mum lamented, folding laundry with such fervor Ron thought he heard some of it tear. She was, predictably, not keen on the idea of them going anywhere and began plying them both with an excess of food, advice and none-too-quiet complaints. "On the other side of the planet with no adults by your side! How do we know it's safe?"

"The Ministry checked ahead, Mum. Plus, I just got into the Aurors so I think I can manage a trip at a Muggle hotel for a week."

"Travelling all that way on your own— You're just children!"

He bit his lip and didn't even once throw it in her face that he and Hermione were of age, and had survived a war without much adult help that year, thank you! He was trying to be nicer with his mum than when he was a younger and much more whinging teen. It was far easier to sympathise with her worries now.

"How will you stay in touch, again?"

More sympathy didn't mean she wasn't trying his limited patience, though.

"Remember how Percy arranged it?" sighed Ron. She remembered everything perfectly well— she just didn't like it and was trying to poke holes in it.

He explained the owls and phones a fifth time. This didn't comfort her in the least.

As his Mum protested and fretted, Hermione and Harry both kept their heads down and mouths closed, the cowards.

They were always so afraid of stepping on Molly Weasley's good graces, it was ridiculous. They could probably each spit on the floor and put their feet on the table and she'd coo over them like they were a basket full of kittens.

Well, Harry at least.

There was that one time she'd given a dinky Easter egg to Hermione, but even that was a rather mild chastisement for the false crime of breaking Harry's heart.

Harry had no family, so it made sense he'd want to keep things nice with Ron's parents. They were as close to parents as Harry had at this point. And Hermione was so polite and deferential to anyone remotely of authority, so she was no help either.

This left Ron having to run interference completely by himself now that the house was empty of people.

Ginny was all too pleased to be the unnoticed sibling, immediately using it to her advantage by skipping out on folding laundry. No doubt, she was planning on using this to other advantages; perhaps as an opportunity to slip out of the house as she liked or being far more handsy with Harry than she'd ever normally dare.

That was siblings, though.

"Maybe you should go with him, Mum," Ginny teased, grinning as Ron glared at her.

"I've half a mind to do just that!" Mum said, throwing a pair of cooking tongs into the sink with a clatter.

"I'm going to kill you," he mouthed as Ginny gaily stuck out her tongue and leaned back on two legs of her chair.

"I'm off to the Ministry," he said, tipping his sister's chair back with his big toe. She didn't fall, but it brought him a bit of joy seeing her madly scrabble to keep her balance, her face turning tomato red.

Mum swept in to make Ginny and her 'ill manners and lack of judgement' the new source of her misdirected ire, giving him a moment to check in with Harry and Hermione.

It felt oddly grown up going off to do work stuff for the Ministry while everyone else was to stay home.

He kissed Hermione on the cheek, which still made him feel a bit excited to be able to do at-will.

"Pack and tuck into some food, yeah?" he told her in a low voice. Her smile turned to a belligerent scowl. If she meant to intimidate him, she was far off the mark. Seeing some fire in her only made him feel relief. He gave her a smile as she grumbled about how she was 'perfectly capable of taking care of things without instruction!'

As he left, he gave Harry a wave over to the yard. Harry quickly complied, seeming relieved to escape a room of women who were all agitated in some form.

"I need a favor."

"Of course," Harry said, all serious like they were taking a blood oath. The previous night's conversation was obviously on his mind still, the way he fervently stared at Ron.

"Can you keep Hermione going today?"

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, glancing back at the kitchen.

"She might seem okay, but I need her to stay that way. Keep her fed and busy. Reading, packing— whatever, as long as she isn't left alone. If you can't get her to do things for herself, ask her to help you study Auror stuff or something."

"Exams are over… Not even sure it'll matter," Harry said, face taking that navel-gazing look Ron had seen too many times.

"Don't be daft— your letter will come any day now. They're probably just debating how big an office they are allowed to give you, or something." Harry rolled his eyes, but Ron could see his shoulders relax some. "So, Hermione. Have you got this?"

"I'll try," he replied, eyes going to Ginny.

Ron very valiantly only mimed strangling Harry for less than a second.

"I need you to stop trying to get a leg over on my sister—"

Harry gave an offended scoff, but turned a telltale red.

"And I need you to help out Hermione for one afternoon," Ron finished. "She loves feeling useful. The other day when we studied she was so much happier. I'd do it myself, but I've got Mind Healing, Auror forms to sign, Australia details to sort, and —"

"I get it, you're busy," Harry said, none too crossly. Ron raised his eyebrows and Harry thankfully stowed his pout and gave a level look. "I've got her."

"Right then," said Ron, putting his hands in his pockets. Hopefully he didn't come off as braggy or condescending about the whole Auror thing. The last thing he wanted to do was pour salt into the wound for Harry. "Well, I'll be back soon as I can. It's rubbish, and I might just quit the Aurors, at this rate."

"You won't quit," Harry said, with a small smile.

"I might turn to a life of crime or something, you don't know," he said, hoping Harry didn't think him a sod.

With a quick goodbye hollered into the kitchen where his Mum and Ginny fought while Hermione awkwardly watched, he went to the Ministry.

Without Harry next to him, Ron caught far less attention, despite his height and red hair.

He tensed as he got to the wand weight station, but no reporters or flashing cameras came forth. Without Harry's Auror exams, he supposed there wasn't anything worth reporting on at the wand-weighing station. No doubt they had moved on to Horcruxes and Ministry announcements. Robbie was at his usual station, and Ron beelined to the short queue.

"Hello Mr Ron!" Robbie said, a flush working up his cheeks as Ron made it to the front.

"Robbie," said Ron, handing over his wand. "Thanks again for your help the other day."

"Of course! I was happy I could do something for you," he chirped before his face fell to a more serious look. "Erm, it might be the last time I weigh your wand, though."

"What? Surely you're not in trouble for helping us!" Ron asked, incensed and ready to let someone have it.

"Oh no no, nothing like that," he said with a wave of his hands. "But, well, you're an Auror once you sign papers and will be able to come and go without a visitor badge or wand weighing."

"Oh," said Ron. That made it rather official.

"And since I won't be seeing you, erm… I don't want to be a bother, sir, but I might not be able to say it another time—"

He was fiddling with Ron's wand still, not weighing it; just holding it. Ron tensed in anticipation to have his wand back. He didn't like being unarmed in a crowded area.

"Maybe we can do this in that closet over there?" Ron asked, hoping it would prompt Robbie to talk faster, or at least let the wand weighing happen with the safety of privacy.

"Oh yes! Yes I can do that!"

Robbie weighed the wand but still hadn't managed to say anything, looking awfully awkward and red faced.

"So… I need to leave for my appointment soon," Ron prompted after a good half minute.

"Oh yes! Sorry sorry. I know, you're busy! I just wanted to thank you, sir," said Robbie, giving Ron a large smile. "For everything you did."

"Thank me?" Ron said, nearly looking around himself. "What on earth for?"

"For saving me and the other Muggleborns, of course!" he said, wide eyed and genuine.

Ron was absolutely baffled. The only Muggleborn he had done anything akin to 'saving' was Hermione, and he'd barely done anything on even that front.

Stolen heroism was something he had no interest in. It sat grossly on him.

"Look, I didn't—"

"You did!" Robbie insisted, before starting to oddly unbutton the cuff of his sleeve, rolling it up. "I got this from the cuffs they had on me at the Ministry. Remember?"

Ron stared at Robbie's wrist, at the faint, pale band of scar tissue that wrapped around it like a cruel bracelet.

"Er—" Ron started, but stopped. What was he supposed to say to that?

Robbie rolled his sleeve back down, looking embarrassed but determined. "I was here the day you, Mr Potter and Ms Granger broke in."

Ron swallowed hard. He wasn't sure what he'd expected Robbie to say, but it sure as hell wasn't that.

"It was you, right?" asked Robbie.

"I'm sorry, Robbie, but I really don't remember."

"In Yaxley's office? I was cuffed to a chair, stuck in his raining office for hours. I'd been pulling at the cuffs again and again until my wrist bled," he said, smiling face looking more serious than Ron had ever seen him before, even though there was still a faint smile there. "I was freezing and then Reg Cattermole came in to do some spells to try and stop the rain. He wasn't very good at it, and was cursing when he saw me and asked what I was doing there. I showed the cuffs and then he looked in some drawers and threw me the keys to my cuffs. He even told me where there was a fireplace being maintenanced, so it might not be carefully guarded. I got myself and others to that fireplace and we were able to escape."

Ron shook his head, vaguely remembering that. Of everything that had happened in the war, this moment had completely slipped his mind.

"I thought Reg Cattermole was the real hero I needed to thank… I saw him after the war, though—"

"Reg is ok?" Ron asked, feeling something unclench inside him.

"Oh yes. He and his wife escaped… Course, he didn't know a thing about what happened with me and the cuffs. Said he thought it was you who saved me, as the Ministry thought Runcorn was Harry and Mafalda Hermione."

"I just gave you some keys," said Ron, roughly. "Hermione—Harry— They're the ones who saved people."

"But you were there too," said Robbie quickly. "You risked your life too. And I never got to say thank you."

Ron opened his mouth, then closed it again. He wasn't great at this. He wasn't Harry, with his captivating presence, or Hermione, who could say something articulate and appropriate in the moment. He was just Ron, shifting awkwardly and unable to do anything quite right.

So he did the only thing he could think of—he clapped a hand on Robbie's shoulder, firm and solid. "You got out, mate. That's what matters."

Robbie smiled, and it was small but real. "Yeah. Thanks to you."

Ron cleared his throat, stepping back. "Right. Well. I should—" He gestured vaguely toward the lifts.

"Of course! I won't hold you up," Robbie said, quickly returning his wand. "Thank you Mr Ron. If you ever need anything, you let me know."

Ron took it with a nod and a smile that practically hurt. As he rode the lift, his heart began to pound for reasons he wasn't entirely sure of. The gross uncertain feeling continued as he sat in the Mental Health Office waiting for his name to be called. There were a few people in the room, and all of them kept giving furtive glances his way.

He tried to not notice them, write it off as all in his mind, but the idea was quickly thrashed. One person was reading a trashy magazine with his face in the corner of it and they began to blush as they glanced between him and the magazine.

Great.

He was recognized and could just imagine the papers having fun with calling Ron 'Wobblyminded Weasley' being caught in such an office.

The moment his name was called he practically sprinted to the door.

Within the safety of Aarti's office he felt he could breathe somewhat normally again. He sank into the worn leather chair and clutched a patterned pillow to his chest. One of the enchanted plants hummed a bit as it reached towards the fake window. Did fake sunlight have the ability to nurture plants? He felt like it wouldn't be able to. It wasn't real. It couldn't warm you. You couldn't see anything that meant anything. The fake bird went on its loop and sat on a fake branch, as if everything were fine.

"Hello Ron," came Aarti's kind husky voice. "Would you like some tea?"

He shook his head and she sat in her chair opposite him.

"I believe congratulations are in order. I was told you've passed all your exams and were accepted into the Aurors."

"Yeah. Thanks," he said, unable to muster a smile. He wasn't sure why, but he felt tremendously off kilter.

"How are you doing?" she asked, face kind and concerned.

"I dunno," he said, flexing his fingers around the circular throw pillow. If he stretched his fingers just right he could put one between each little triangle shaped patch. It reminded him of a pillow his mum had made. It didn't have a cover on it, so he wondered how often it got cleaned. Probably not very often.

"Were you able to fill out your paperwork?"

"Huh?" Ron asked before his mind caught up with her words. "Er, yeah, yeah. Have it right here."

He lifted his hips up and grabbed the folded papers from his back pocket before handing it to Aarti.

"Is it alright if I read this now?" she asked.

Ron blinked, unable to think of what to say. "That's the point of it, isn't it? For you to read it."

"Partially," she said with a nod. "But it's also for you to process events. If you don't feel comfortable exploring these events closer, we don't have to do that today."

Ron looked down at his fingers again. The two with missing fingernails felt slightly more sensitive as he pressed them against the taut fabric of the pillow.

"I can do it."

"I'm sure you can," she said. "But it's not a matter of can or can't— it's what feels best to you. We're in no rush here and can take this on at the pace you like, and get what you need out of a session."

He nodded, contemplating what he wanted to get out of it.

"I dunno what I want," he said with a shake of his head. "Sorry, I'm just feeling… weird, I guess."

She nodded before tilting her head at him. "You do seem a bit preoccupied. What have you been up to since I last saw you?"

He shrugged. "I guess a lot has happened. Did my final C.R.E.s, got my Auror letter, and my mum is upset about me and Hermione going to Australia to get her parents on our own."

"That's a lot to happen in a day."

He nodded. It was. It was a lot. Yet he felt like nothing he had said was what was upsetting him. At least not how he said it.

He squished and compressed the pillow between his hands until it couldn't get any smaller then let it go, the pillow springing back into place. He suddenly felt jealous of the pillow, able to spring back into its previous form as if nothing had happened.

"Can we play chess?" he asked, finally looking Aarti in the eyes.

She smiled. "I'll get the board."

They set up the board, Ron playing black. Somehow the comfort of chess made it a little easier to tell her things.

Ron's hand hovered over the pawn for a long moment before he finally moved it. Aarti watched him patiently, her expression softening with concern. A quiet hum filled the air from one of Aarti's enchanted plants as they moved pieces in silence.

"Everything alright?," she gently asked.

"Erm," Ron coughed and cleared his throat, taking out her exposed bishop.

"This bloke named Robbie thanked me for saving him right before I came in."

"Somehow, you don't seem happy about it."

"I'm not," he agreed, looking at the bird in the window. He explained what happened with Robbie as quickly as he could, feeling the redness of embarrassment burn around his ears and jaw.

"I didn't really save him. I just gave him some keys to uncuff himself, but that's it. Like… I didn't actually do anything! Harry and Hermione did— they released dozens of Muggleborns while I got rained on and nearly blew our cover at the Ministry."

He sighed, feeling smaller and smaller.

"A person thinking I'm a hero is just about as real as that bird out there," he said with a wave toward the little sparrow on its circuitous journey.

Aarti considered him carefully as she moved her knight. "You seem to think what you did doesn't count?"

Ron shrugged, reaching for a pawn but stopping short. "It doesn't, not really. I didn't plan it, didn't strategize it. I just… reacted. Gave a bloke some keys. I mean, come on, that's not heroic."

Aarti leaned forward slightly, resting her arms on the table. "Do you think heroism is only about grand gestures?"

Ron frowned, still not moving his piece. "I dunno. I mean, Harry and Hermione—they did the real work. They broke in, got into Umbridge's office, freed the Muggleborns, got the locket, and caused a proper distraction. I just—" He exhaled sharply, finally nudging a pawn forward. "I was just there."

Aarti nodded, moving a piece of her own. "You were there. You made a choice to go into the Ministry and risk quite a lot. Then when in a dangerous situation, you helped someone. To Robbie, that mattered."

Ron scowled slightly. "Yeah, well… bet the bird still chirps when the fake sun comes up, but that doesn't make it real." He gestured at the charmed sparrow, which had just landed on its endlessly looping branch again. Aarti was quiet for a moment, studying him. "It was real to Robbie."

Ron looked up, opening his mouth to argue, but found himself hesitating. That was the problem, wasn't it? It was real to Robbie, but Ron knew better.

Aarti must have sensed his thoughts because she spoke again, gentle but firm. "You know, sometimes people struggle to recognize their own impact. It doesn't have to be a grand gesture to be meaningful. Maybe the difference between you and that bird out there is that the bird has no choice. It's stuck in its loop. But you? You made a choice that day. And even if you don't think it was much, it changed something for someone."

Ron exhaled slowly, shifting in his chair. He moved his knight and took a pawn. "We can go over my papers… If you like."

Aarti unfolded the forms and put them on the table between them.

"You did well writing this out, Ron," she said, her voice calm and even. "It's not easy to put memories like these to paper."

Ron sat stiffly, his hands clenched in his lap. The parchment sat between them, creased from where he'd folded and unfolded it a dozen times.

"We can go through it together, or we can talk about how it felt to write it."

Ron exhaled sharply through his nose. "How it felt?" He huffed a dry, humorless laugh. "Brilliant. Loved it. Can't wait to do it again."

Aarti stayed quiet, letting the silence settle.

Ron shifted. "It was… hard," he admitted, eyes still on the parchment. His fingers curled into his sleeves. "Thought I was gonna be sick."

"That's normal," Aarti said gently. "Memories like this aren't stored like regular ones. Your brain didn't get to file it away as something past tense. Writing it down starts that process."

Ron pressed his lips together, considering that. He finally glanced up. "So what now?"

"Now, if you're ready, you read it aloud."

His jaw tightened. "And if I'm not?"

"Then we talk about that." Aarti leaned forward slightly. "What feels hardest about saying it out loud?"

Ron's grip on his sleeves tightened. He didn't answer right away. Then, almost too quiet to hear, he muttered, "It makes it feel more real."

Aarti held his gaze. "Ron," she said softly, "it was real either way."

He swallowed hard. His throat felt tight. "Yeah," he whispered.

Aarti didn't push. She just waited.

Finally, after a long moment, Ron reached for the parchment. He read it out, finding his voice shook more than he liked as he stuttered and stammered over bits of it. They looked at a few parts together, and she calmly went over the bits where he seemed to write things too harshly about himself, making him cross out stuff like 'I abandoned them' and replacing it with something nicer, like 'I left to calm down, and came back as soon as I was able.' She called it reframing. It felt disingenuous, but he did it without much complaint.

Their hour was almost up, but Ron felt there was one more thing needed to address before he left.

"So… So Harry and I ran into a Boggart yesterday," Ron said, eyeing the time. "I thought my Boggart would be a spider, but… But it was him. Crowthers. Harry heard the things he said to me."

"I'm sorry that happened, Ron," said Aarti, brows creased in concern. "That must have been upsetting."

"I'm fine, but… Is there a chance coming to these sessions can help my Boggart change back to a spider?" Ron asked, feeling small and childish.

Aarti bit her lip and he saw her normally calm demeanor falter. Before she could answer he cut her off. "It was stupid to ask. Course not… I'm stuck with him in my head."

"The trauma is there, but hopefully, with time, it won't feel so present. There's a chance your Boggart could change back to a spider, or could stay the same, or change to something else entirely as your life alters. It's impossible to predict that."

"Figured," Ron said, nodding his head, looking out the window at the fake bird. Maybe he had more in common with its stupid repeating loop than he thought.

She gave an apologetic look, and carefully put the old packet as well as a new one in his hands.

"So, while you're away and even in Australia, continue in your workbook pages every day, if you can. Just challenging thoughts in the chart."

He looked down at the worksheet with 'A B Cs' for Activating event, Belief, and Consequence — little columns where he had to 'reframe thoughts.' As long as he kept it from Hermione, he was okay filling it out. It was loads easier than having to write out past bad memories in full.

He thanked her and left her office. As soon as he got to the door that read 'Mental Health Office' a barrage of lights began going off.

"Mr Weasley! Over here!"

A wall of flashing cameras and quills scratching furiously against parchment met him. The voices crashed over him like a tidal wave—sharp, eager, and far too loud.

"Mr Weasley! Where are the remaining Horcruxes?"

"Did you destroy any Horcruxes?"

"Is Harry Potter in treatment too?"

"Did you ever chat with You-Know-Who's soul?"

"Ron, darling, is it true you're seeking treatment for a nervous breakdown?"

Ron's grip on his workbook tightened. His ears burned. He wasn't sure if it was anger, embarrassment, or just the overwhelming urge to apparate far, far away.

Ron's jaw clenched so tightly his teeth ached. His instinct was to push through, keep his head down, and ignore them, but the flashes were blinding, and the reporters were too close, blocking his way forward.

A short witch with a Quick-Quotes Quill already scribbling furiously shoved her hand under his chin, tipping his face toward hers: Rita Skeeter, in all her garish glory, beaming at him.

"Ronald, sweetheart," she purred, a predator's smile stretching across her lips. "The public has so many questions. The brave war hero, slipping off to the Mind-Healers—truly, a tragic tale. Do tell, are you suffering from—"

Ron yanked his chin free. "Bugger off!"

"Oh, tut tut! That crazed temper of his," she said with a laugh. Her photographer joined in with a forced sycophantic laugh. "Just trying to give the world your side of the story before the whispers turn into something far worse."

Her green-painted nails tapped against her enchanted notebook. "Though, I must say, your boggart taking the form of a certain Snatcher does make for very interesting speculation. Surely, there's more to that story…"

Ron's stomach twisted into knots. How the hell did she already know that? His fingers itched for his wand, but he knew better than to give her more ammunition. He shoved past her, forcing himself through the throng of journalists.

"Is You-Know-Who coming back?

"Did any of the Horcruxes affect you?"

"How is this affecting your relationship with Hermione Granger?" asked another reporter.

That one made him snap. Ron turned sharply, eyes blazing. "Leave Hermione out of this!"

Click. Another flash. Another headline in the making.

"Oh, dear. Trouble in paradise?"

"Tell us about the Horcruxes, Mr Weasley!"

He felt a sudden tug on his sleeve. A familiar voice, urgent in his ear.

"C'mon, Ron, let's go."

Neville.

Ron didn't hesitate. He let Neville steer him through the crowd, ignoring the shouted questions and flashes, until they finally burst free into the golden lift.

"Mr Weasley!" shouted a reporter, "do the Aurors still want you now that they know you're mentally deranged?"

"Does Hermione Granger know about the—" another began, but Ron ignored them.

He sucked in a sharp breath, pulse hammering in his ears. His skin crawled from where Skeeter had touched him.

Neville gave him a sidelong glance, but didn't say anything. He simply pushed the button for them to go to the Aurors office.

The lift doors clattered shut, muffling the noise of the reporters. Ron slumped back against the cool metal, eyes squeezed shut for a moment as he tried to get his breathing under control. His heart was still hammering, his skin still buzzing with the aftershock of it all.

Neville shifted beside him, hands shoved in his pockets. He wasn't much for talking when it wasn't necessary, which Ron appreciated. Instead of asking if he was alright—because he obviously wasn't—Neville let the silence settle, only breaking it once the lift gave a small jolt and started moving.

"Well, that was a bit of a mess," he said mildly.

Ron let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "You reckon?"

Neville tilted his head, considering. "Could've been worse."

Ron rolled his eyes. "How?"

Neville shrugged. "Could've actually answered one of her questions."

That got a real laugh, short and weary. "Tell them all about how the Hunt for Horcruxes took its toll on me?" He dragged a hand down his face, then glanced at Neville properly. "Thanks for pulling me out of there."

"Of course," said Neville. "Are you coming in to sign your Auror papers too?"

Ron gave a sheepish look. "Yeah. Still got to finish up with the Mind Healers before they let me on full duty, though."

Neville nodded like it made sense. No pity, no awkwardness—just understanding. "Good on you," he said simply. "They have all of us seeing Mind Healers too, of course."

"Well done on getting in— knew you would. You absolutely smashed it in the C.R.E.s."

"Not as well as you did," answered Neville.

The lift chimed, and the doors slid open. The Auror Department stretched out before them, all brisk movement and parchment stacks, the scent of ink and magical hum of wards lingering in the air.

Neville's smile faded for a second, and he glanced at Ron with a careful sort of expression, as if weighing his next words. "You'll make a brilliant Auror, Ron. I know it. Everyone who matters knows it. Ignore the reporters."

Ron met his gaze and felt the knot in his chest loosen. Neville didn't look at him like he was fragile or broken. Just like a mate.

"Thanks," Ron said quietly, voice almost lost in the noise around them. "Nev—congrats again."

Neville gave a small, grateful nod before taking off towards an office down the hall. Ron watched him go for a second, then turned on his heel and headed toward his own appointment.

Once he found the proper Auror Wizard Resources office, he entered to find the inside sterile, and overly bright. The space was cramped, filled with towering filing cabinets overflowing with parchmentwork and a lone, imposing desk. A severe-looking wizard with tightly wound hair and spectacles perched behind it. He gestured for Ron to sit in the chair opposite, the movement sharp and efficient.

Without preamble, he began to slide forms across the desk – parchment after parchment detailing regulations, oaths, confidentiality agreements, and an overwhelming amount of fine print. Ron stared at the sheer volume of paperwork with a sinking feeling. He'd almost take the reporters over the daunting amount of forms.

The Wizard Resources representative droned on, his voice a monotone as he explained the intricacies of Auror protocol, the chain of command, and the specific clauses regarding the use of force. Ron did his best to focus, catching snippets of phrases like "unauthorized access," "escalation of threat," "clearance to sensitive information," and "consequences of non-compliance."

Ron signed his name repeatedly, the quill feeling heavier with each stroke. He was assigned a badge, a gleaming gold shield that felt strangely foreign in his hand, and an identification number that the W.R. rep told him to memorize. He handed Ron a thick handbook filled with even more regulations and guidelines, warning him that he was expected to know its contents.

The rep confirmed that he wouldn't be assigned to active duty until his sessions with Aarti were complete, with no set date for completion. He added that the Australia trip wouldn't interfere with his job status, which Ron found reassuring.

As the meeting concluded, Ron felt a mixture of relief and exhaustion. He now had a badge, an ID number, and a stack of papers that felt heavier than a bag of galleons. He was officially an Auror, but the reality of the job felt much less exciting and much more bureaucratic than he had imagined.

With a final sign of the quill, he was suddenly able to go and come from the Ministry at his leisure.

The W.R. rep cleared his throat. "By the way, Cadet Weasley, Minister Shacklebolt asked to see you when you were finished here."

Ron's stomach gave a lurch. Kingsley? Surely he had someone better to talk to than Ron?

"Okay…" His mouth went dry. "Is there a way to get there without running into—"

"Reporters?" the rep interupted. "Yes, you are expected to Floo directly to his office."

What an odd thing, Ron Weasley Flooing directly into the Minister's office. The rep promptly threw Floo powder into the grate saying, "Cadet Weasley for Minister Shacklebolt."

Unlike the usual green, these flames had a hint of purple as Kingsley's rich voice said, "Come on through."

He moved towards the fireplace when the little representative grabbed his arm and insistently whispered, "You're to address him as Minister or Minister Shacklebolt."

"What?"

Then Ron was forcibly shoved into the fire. He tumbled through, landing in an unflattering crouch, arse right towards Kingsley. He quickly stood and tried to not look like an idiot.

The office was spacious and well-lit, with a large window overlooking the Ministry atrium. Kingsley stood behind his desk, a tall, imposing figure with a kind but serious expression. As he stood he realized he was a few inches taller than Kingsley.

"Ah, Ron," Kingsley said, gesturing to a chair. "Please, sit."

Ron sat, trying not to fidget under his steady gaze.

"Congratulations on joining the Aurors, Cadet Weasley," he said with a smile and a nod. "You surpassed my high expectations, I hear. Well done."

"Thanks Kingsl— Minister," Ron corrected, not sure the weird rep wasn't listening in.

Kingsley performed a series of spells , including perturbing all the entrances.

"Now that you've been granted access to privileged information, I wanted to speak with you about the recent developments," Kingsley began, his voice calm and measured. He gestured to a copy of the Daily Prophet lying on his desk, the article about Horcruxes. "We've planned our statements to contain the fallout, but it will prove difficult. People are concerned."

"I noticed," said Ron, thinking about some of the questions reporters had asked.

Kingsley sighed. "We're doing our best to prevent the worst. However, the Prophet's article raises some valid points. The public has a right to know, to a degree, what happened. But we can't have them thinking Voldemort is just around the corner."

Ron nodded slowly. "So tell them some of the truth, edit out the rest?"

"Exactly. Acknowledge the truth, but frame it in a way that doesn't incite mass hysteria," Kingsley said firmly. "We'll confirm the existence of Horcruxes— the truth is already out on that— it was the moment Harry mentioned them at the Battle of Hogwarts."

Ron flinched. He hated being right on rotten shit.

"The main thing to emphasize is that they were all destroyed," Kingsley continued. "We'll stress the finality of Voldemort's defeat, the strength of the protections in place."

Kingsley's expression hardened slightly. "But beyond that, we provide only the details we choose to provide. The number of Horcruxes, their nature, how they were made – that information must remain classified. We can't risk anyone trying to replicate Voldemort's actions."

"Course," Ron agreed.

"Now that you're an Auror, I need a comprehensive report. Everything. Every detail you remember about the Horcruxes, their locations, how they were destroyed—everything."

Ron hesitated. Everything? Dread tingled across his scalp.

"I can't do that," said Ron. "Nothing can be told without Harry and Hermione."

"Consult with them, if you like, but for now," Kingsley said, his voice firm, "The Ministry needs only your account, and will not need their input."

"But Kings— Minister," Ron protested, "this is Harry and Hermione we're talking about. I can't just speak for them. Harry should be the last say on what's shared, and Hermione is too smart not to weigh in on it. They're worth ten times as much as me. Harry and Hermione— What could I know that they don't? They should be here."

"You're an Auror, and you have the necessary clearance. They don't."

"I don't understand. This is me telling you things, not you telling me things. Why would clearance matter?"

"Ron," Kingsley patiently explained, "this isn't like school where you write a report, turn it in, and get a grade. You'll be an active consultant on this. It's not just about what you know and report, but what you are authorized to know in future discussions."

"As an Auror, you will have access to information about ongoing investigations, potential threats, and the Ministry's contingency plans. This includes details about lingering Death Eater activity, potential magical artifacts that were not destroyed, and the security measures we're implementing. These need to remain confidential for the safety of everyone."

Ron's brows furrowed. "I get Harry and Hermione not having access to information the Ministry has. I guess… But who would get access to the information I give?"

"The circle would be small. Only a few Ministry officials and myself, so we can follow up on everything, help tie up loose ends, and keep this as confidential as poss—"

"But who would those few officials be?" Ron interrupted, his voice rising slightly. "This is the same Ministry that tried to cover up Voldemort's return. The same Ministry that let Umbridge run rampant. The same Ministry that just a few months ago was rounding up Muggleborns and destroying lives. I trust you, but I don't trust many beyond you here. Not yet anyway."

Kingsley paused, his gaze meeting Ron's with an intensity that made him shift uncomfortably in his seat.

"You're right to be cautious. Trust should not be easily given, especially not after everything you've been through," replied Kingsley, looking at his steepled hands. "I will not try to pretend there was no corruption and bad decisions made in the past. There absolutely was. But we are working to change that, to rebuild that trust."

He raised his eyes back to meet Ron's gaze. "That is precisely why I need your help, Ron. Your honesty, your integrity. I know you speak the truth and you want to do the right thing. Things have changed and we are rebuilding. I want to be transparent with you, and even Harry and Hermione to what extent I can, so here is what I will agree to. You can give your full account to me and only me. I'll allow your input on who will have access to your direct account. However, certain information will need to be acted upon, so minimal amounts of what you tell me will need to be discreetly disclosed, but only the barest minimum of facts, and only on a need to know basis."

"What will you do with what I tell you?" Ron asked, leaning back in his chair.

Kingsley met Ron's gaze, his expression serious. "First, I need to know the full story, Ron. Every detail. I need to know what you faced, what Harry and Hermione faced, and how you overcame it. I need to understand the specifics of each Horcrux, its location, its destruction, and any residual magic that might remain."

"And then what?" Ron prompted, still wary. There was a time in his life where he was much more trusting, but that had been very well eroded by the war and exams.

"Then, we assess. We identify any potential threats, any lingering dangers. There might be experiments in Horcrux-like objects Voldemort might have made. There might be Death Eaters still searching for these things, people who would try to use them. Perhaps people who know details about your hunt and will release statements to the press if not suppressed. My intention is to keep everything as secure as possible. What you tell me, I can promise you now, will not be idly shared. There are no glory seekers here, Ron, not with this. This is too sensitive, too important."

Ron pondered for a moment. That sounded reasonable. He still wasn't comfortable with the Ministry having this information, but he trusted Kingsley. "I can write it for only your eyes… But I want a say in what is shared with people, and who you share it with."

If he could control who had access to his statement, that was something. Was he missing some loophole that could be exploited?

"How about I agree that only under emergency circumstances where I am unable to reach you, would I not consult you," Kingsley said, a small smile appearing on his face, putting out a hand. Ron didn't immediately shake it.

"And you need to let me have time to consult Harry and Hermione," added Ron. Kingsley began to shake his head. "I wouldn't disclose anything to them I'm not allowed to. But if you want access to secrets only us, Dumbledore, and sort of Snape knew— you have to take Harry and Hermione's input."

"And this would be their input on who gets access to this information? And what is shared?"

"Yes."

Kingsley flexed his hand, seeming to think it over, before offering his hand to Ron again.

"You strike a hard bargain," he said as they finally shook.

"I'd be a bit of an idiot to not negotiate something this big, sir," he said with a shrug.

"Remember, this isn't just for the Ministry, it's for everyone's safety. We need to make sure there are no loose ends, and prevent anyone like Voldemort from ever rising again," said Kingsley, sitting back down. "Trying to negotiate that, while rebuilding and keeping the public vigilant but safe? It's a careful balance we have to maintain now. A balance anyone could easily upset."

"I get it," Ron said, nodding. "And it's… I'm glad you trust me, but…If you want to do this right, you should have Harry and Hermione here at the Ministry for all of it. I shouldn't be the only one. Hermione is brilliant and always sees the holes in things. She's ten times smarter than I could ever dream of being."

"I'm well aware of her intelligence. She chose not to become an Auror."

"So what? Give her some sort of advisor position or something? A visitor badge? Assign her 'Liason of Big Brains.' I dunno— you're the minister," said Ron with a huff, ire flickering to life.

"It'd be much easier if she became an Auror."

"Harry chose to become an Auror. Doesn't seem to count for much." Ron shook his head.

"That decision is not solely up to me."

Ron's ears began to burn and his fists clench.

"He's the bloody chosen one. How could you let him not get his letter?"

"Candidly… He performed admirably on his C.R.E.s, and his bravery and skill are unquestionable. But Harry has always… valued his independence," said Kingsley. "There are concerns about how he would react to the structure of the Aurors, and concerns about his mental health. It's complicated—"

"No it's not!" Ron said, standing tall, anger swelling in him like a dragon about to breathe fire. "You want people to feel like Voldemort's really gone? They need to believe in Harry. If you can't back him up, and it gets out you think he's 'too independent' or too much of a nutter to be an Auror— or whatever other reason you lot have made up to shut him out— then they won't think Harry did his job of defeating Voldemort and knocking out the Horcruxes, no matter what shit you write in the papers."

"Ron," Kingsley said in a warning tone that did little to make the fires stop burning.

"He's worth a hundred of me and you. He's the best man I know, and you've treated him like absolute shit. Trying to humble him and break him. It's fucked up!"

Kingsley's mouth pulled down into a frown. "Remember where you are, Cadet."

Ron clenched his fists until they burned and nearly punched the table.

"I'll get started right away then, Minister," he replied, trying to keep the venom out of his words. "But you need to get Harry involved. You're right. He is independent, and he is a little mental right now, but—"

He riffled in his pocket and pulled out the mental health worksheets. "But, so am I… So is everyone from the Battle of Hogwarts, and this bloody war. If you shut Harry out right now, when he's willing to trust you— and I mean this respectfully— you could be fucking things up way more than you know."

A silence rang through the office and finally the fire left Ron. It felt a bit like a rough broom landing, momentum throwing the body off as it tried to slow down and have feet on the ground. Ron bit his lip, realizing he'd gone off on The Minister. He'd really really gone off…

Oh fucking buggering shit on a pole sliding down a—

"How are we fucking up?" Kingsley asked, gesturing for Ron to continue.

Words. Yes. He could make those. Maybe… FUCK! Okay… He could speak. What was he talking about? Mental health… Harry should be included… Oh yeah— accusing the Minister of fucking up.

"We'll, erm," Ron began, trying to find his rhythm again. "It's Harry, right? And… And…"

C'mon… Say it proper.

"Are you prepared to deal with Harry not trusting you? The savior of the Wizarding World not supporting your statements?" said Ron, trying to word it right. "You're worried about someone messing up the 'careful balance'— but you're letting the Aurors straight up insult Harry right now. He deserves better, but even if you don't think so, you should know better than to risk it."

Kingsley let out a slow breath, eyes intent on his desk. "Thank you for your counsel, Ron."

The fire that had pushed him through his rant was well extinguished now. "Er… Sorry if I was too… direct or something."

"Don't be. I think you're making valid points," said Kingsley, raising his eyes to meet Ron's before giving a small smile. "We should have more of these talks in the future."

"Oh?" Ron asked, feeling dazed and boneless.

"Yes… I think I'd like a lot more of your counsel," Kingsley said almost to himself, before standing, a subtle gesture that indicated the meeting was concluded. "You continue to impress, Cadet. We'll make this more regular soon, if that's alright."

"I don't think I could turn you down, now that you're Minister," said Ron.

"Not as long as you work for me, no," Kingsley said, laughing deeply.

Ron couldn't tell Kingsley was joking or not.

"Er… okay then… I guess I'll write my statement at home, then bring it to you later before I leave for Australia. May I use your Floor to avoid the reporters?"

Kingsley nodded. "Of course. Take as much time as you need on the write-up, but please, Ron, be thorough. The more details, the better."

"I'll do what I can," said Ron, moving towards the Floo.

"And Ron," said Kingsley. Ron stopped and turned, hand full of floo powder. "About Harry… I'll give what you've said careful consideration. We'll talk again soon."

"Thank you, Minister," Ron replied. He gave a nod, stepped into the floo and threw down some floo powder. "Department of Magical Transportation!" he said.

The floo ignited, and Ron was pulled through the network of fireplaces. The sound and feeling of Ministry halls hit him again—the low murmur of voices, the rustling of parchment, the hum of magic he could feel against his arms. It felt both familiar and strange now, like he was seeing it through new eyes. He made his way to the lift, the gold Auror badge feeling heavy in his pocket. He headed to Percy's officer, ready to finish the plans for Australia.

---

The back door clicked behind Ron as he entered the kitchen. He shrugged off his jacket, still damp with sweat, trying to appear casual, but his insides were doing a nervous jig. Harry and Hermione were sat at the kitchen table, Hermione's brow furrowed as she meticulously wrote something, while Harry staring off into space, idly tracing patterns on the wooden tabletop.

"Evening," Ron said, trying to keep his voice even.

"Hey," said Harry, looking relieved to see Ron.

"Where's everyone?" Ron asked, looking about. For how late it was, it was rather quiet.

"Your parents and Ginny went to Bill's," said Harry.

"We didn't want you coming home to an empty house, so we stayed," said Hermione before her brow furrowed. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, fine," Ron replied quickly, maybe too quickly. He busied himself with pouring a glass of water, avoiding their gazes. "Erm… Kingsley wanted a word."

Hermione's head snapped up, her eyes sharp. "Kingsley? About what?"

"Just… Ministry bollocks," Ron hedged. He leaned against the counter, trying to look nonchalant. "Look, Kingsley asked me about the Horcruxes."

Hermione's breath hitched slightly. "What about them?"

"He wants a full report," Ron said, watching their reactions carefully. "Everything we remember. Where they were, how we destroyed them… all of it."

Harry's eyes finally focused on Ron, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths. "And what did you say?"

"I said I'd do it," Ron admitted, bracing for their disapproval before telling them of the deal. He left out the whole 'yelled and cursed at the Minister about Harry and Hermione' bit. "So I told him I couldn't do it without you two reading it over and approving everything. That includes approving who he tells any of it to."

Hermione was frowning, but holding back from saying anything as she watched Harry.

Harry was silent for a long moment. His gaze was fixed on a point somewhere beyond the kitchen table, his fingers still idly tracing patterns on the wood. Ron could almost see the gears turning in his head, weighing the implications of what had been said.

"Okay," Harry said quietly, finally breaking the silence. "That's… that's alright. I trust Kingsley…" He paused, then added, almost to himself, "And… it's not like we can keep it secret forever."

Hermione looked sharply at Harry, as if she wanted to argue, but Harry held up a hand. "We can't, Hermione. People will always ask questions because of me mentioning the Horcruxes at the Battle. It's out. They'll want to know what happened, how we did it. It's… part of the story now. Ours, and everyone else's."

Ron let out a breath. Part of him had been terrified of their reaction, of being told he'd overstepped, that he'd made a mess of things. But Harry's quiet acceptance, his trust in Kingsley, eased some of the tension.

Yet, a knot of unease still lingered in his stomach. He trusted Kingsley too, but the thought of putting all those memories, all those secrets, onto parchment… He was having to do so much writing about it all… Exposing something raw and vulnerable, like peeling back layers of skin.

They shared some sandwiches. Harry, still glum from the lack of Auror letter, turned in early, leaving Ron and Hermione to the living room.

He stared into the dying embers of the fireplace, Hermione's head resting softly against his shoulder. The room was quiet, the usual Burrow chaos replaced by a peaceful stillness. But inside, Ron's mind was racing. He'd agreed to write it all down, but all meant everything, didn't it? Would he have to tell them about the locket? About how it had felt, how it had twisted and turned his darkest thoughts, amplifying them until he couldn't tell his own feelings from its venomous whispers?

And what about the other Horcruxes? The details were fuzzy, tangled in a web of fear, desperation, and the adrenaline of the hunt. He rubbed his temples, a dull ache starting behind his eyes.

Fate had determined he'd have to relive it all, every painful moment, every desperate decision. And then, he'd have to hand it over, just like the writing with Aarti. Having to trust others with the most vulnerable parts of himself felt like penance, in a way, for all the wrongs he'd done.

He glanced down at Hermione, her eyes open, watching him with a soft gaze.

"You okay?" she asked quietly.

"Yeah," he lied, his voice barely above a whisper. He looked back into the fire. "Just thinking."

"About what Kingsley wants?' she asked.

He nodded. "Yeah...and all of it. Everything that happened."

She was quiet for a moment, then reached out and took his hand. Her much smaller fingers intertwined with his long freckled ones.

"We'll get through it," she said. "We always do."

He squeezed her hand, a wave of gratitude washing over him. He'd do it. For her, for Harry, for everyone. Even if it tore home to pieces.

---

END OF CHAPTER 17

author's note:

Thanks again for reading! Hope to hear your thoughts on my writing. They really really do help me feel inspired to write more! I appreciate the sweet messages about my life, but I read over the messages about the writing the other day and it helped me buckle down and write like 8,000k in a few days after being unable to make myself write for a few months. Y'all are fantastic. Truly, a million thanks! Oh and know that big criticisms are really good at making me unable to write for a while :P So please, just keep those to yourself.

Australia and Hermione's POV next chapter!

trigger warnings: anxiety & PTSD symptoms, references to war trauma, medical anxiety, mental health stigma, fear of failure & survivor's guilt, negative self-talk, cursing, breathing hard, crowds and feeling trapped