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

13. Chapter 13 - The Snatcher Book

Much thanks to my amazing and lovely beta reader Abradystix for helping with this chapter!

Sorry for the delay- my dudes, my life has been absolutely bonkers- hurt back, lead in the house, have to clean said lead (massive undertaking of many months!), got ill, developed persistent bronchitis, all the meds I was on gave me kidney stones... and I was still fulltime teaching :0 i am le tired.

Chapter warnings at the end notes

Previously in Waking Up- Ron finished his second C.R.E. (combat readiness exam)- 'Resilience and Flying Assessment'- He was thoroughly tested with dangerous Bots casting spells, and having to split up from Harry. He ended up leading a team with Neville, Ramona and Kevin- they nearly got blown to bits, hit aging mist that made him grow a beard (Thanks to neville's plant know-how they were able to de-age), and then at the end Ron positioned himself as a distraction to the bots so the other members could have a shot at the capture the flag win. They won the flag and he passed his test. Percy was waiting for him outside the Auror office- he has news- and gives the paper for Ron to silently read to himself: 'Doctors Hugo and Jean Granger- FOUND.'

Even further back, Hermione went to her parents' house. Fleur met her and did some booby trap spells before disarming them. Fleur gave her a brown paper package, and it was revealed that Ron had been tortured by Snatchers- the back of his clothes tattered and stained. The next day she helped Ron study- this chapter takes place before Ron's C.R.E. and is the same scene we saw in chapter 11, just from Hermione's POV.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN- THE SNATCHER BOOK

A sense of normalcy had come to Hermione as she helped Ron and Harry with their studies. Suddenly her faculties were sharp, her body felt light, and she knew, without a doubt, she was of use.

Being of use was a tether in the storm she felt each day. The compunction to lay in bed and not face the inevitable slew of people she'd have to make niceties to was something so foreign it would have frightened her if she wasn't so tired. How was it that no amount of sleep lifted the drained sensation? How was it that little made her smile or think or eat or comb her hair, but the knowledge that people would see her? Anymore, even that wasn't stopping her. Yesterday she'd been a mess in pyjamas well into the afternoon…

But today was a new day! She'd been her old self. She was imaginative in her use of spells, fleet in her research, and had Ron saying how smart she was… It wasn't as if he hadn't said it to her a hundred thousand times, but recently he'd been pointing to her past when he said it. There was nothing in her present to point to… No, wait there was! She was being useful!

She stopped her woolgathering and went back to the book, feverishly scanning it for another useful spell.

"So the Captionem Deprehensio spell can be used to find a variety of traps and reveal their origins… That could be handy," said Hermione, writing the spell down into her notes.

Ron leaned towards the book, his warm arm pressing against her side a bit. She felt herself begin to squirm and heat rose in her. He was so close, with his very kissable jaw nearby, and looked so determined as he concentrated on the book in her lap.

She loved to watch him when he was in true study-mode. The intelligent glint in his eye, the focus, the expressive way his hands would move as if his body involuntarily felt the spells before he tried them. He'd always done that, even in first year— lips would purse, as if to keep from sounding out loud, and she'd see his fingers minutely pinch and shift in a miniature prelude to the sure movements he'd do later. Even if he wasn't accurate, he fully committed to whatever spell he did, waving with a sureness of wand she somewhat envied. There was never a hesitation, just a smooth arc of movement. Hermione was delicate and precise with her movements, but it always felt cramped and rigid, even though she was very accurate.

Ron's hands twitched as he read, then he fully cast the Captionem Deprehensio spell. There was a pulse of familiar white-blue light that scanned the room, then disappeared. It must have been the same spell Fleur did at Hermione's house; the spell she did before she'd given Hermione the brown paper package and revealed the torture Ron had experienced.

"Did I do it right?" asked Ron, startling her from her thoughts.

"I guess we can't know unless there are traps set up," she said, trying to comport herself. "If it's the spell I'm thinking of, I believe it should have a sort of web-like pattern that will light up when there are threats. In this case the pattern surveyed the space and shut down before it could detect anything. Colours can stand for different types of traps."

Ron smiled that open, boyish smile of his. How could he still smile at her like that? So open and careless and loving? He'd been through torture, and losing his brother, and he could just grin this devastatingly charming smile and look at her like she'd hung the moon, when she'd done nothing but make his life worse after he'd been through so much.

"I swear you know about every spell there is!"

She shook her head. "I don't."

His hand went around her and gave a squeeze, putting endless camaraderie and care into the simplest of gestures.

"Who else would know that about some obscure booby trap spell?" he argued. "The details of what it looked like were not in the book!"

She'd seen the spell, then smelled the blood.

"Fleur and Bill would, as curse breakers."

The blood had been everywhere. And there were cuts through so many layers of clothes… She felt hot and like the room was going to fall in on her.

"Fine, but I still am dating the most brilliant woman in England," she vaguely heard him say. He leaned close and kissed her cheek, smiling at her, completely unaware she knew. She knew he'd been tortured. She knew he hadn't told anyone. Was he ashamed? Was it just too much to speak of? Was he trying to protect them? Was he afraid he'd be dismissed?

She looked over to Harry.

He'd welcomed Ron back to their tent and their lives. He'd defended him as she brought her wrath and mocked him.

The clothes had so much blood on them. She didn't know exactly why. What could cause injuries like that? What exactly had they done? She knew some of it, but needed to pretend she didn't know any of it. The room felt stifling, her skin almost too tight. She had to escape. Was it early enough to have an excuse to leave?

"We should go to bed. You both have a big day tomorrow," she said, turning Ron's wrist to see the time in his watch. Nearly nine was late enough. She had to get out of there before she did something reckless.

"So… Where are we planning on sleeping?" Ginny asked.

Hermione couldn't be near Ron. She was lucky she'd not had a nightmare near him the night before. She practically felt nightmares closing in now, even as she was awake.

"We should sleep in the places your mother expects so everyone actually sleeps," Hermione said, fleeing from the bed, but stopping herself. She couldn't just run off… They'd know something was off with her, and if they asked she wasn't sure she could keep from spilling the truth. It took every ounce of her self control to still herself.

She let out a deep breath, then looked to Ron.

She could tell he wanted her to stay. Everyone wanted to be paired off as happy couples, but she couldn't. As usual, she was ruining it for everyone… She had no choice, though. She couldn't cover up her turmoil from him for long; he knew her too well.

If she couldn't stay with him, the least she could do was kiss him so he knew she cared. She pulled Ron in for a quick kiss on the lips, before turning for the door.

"Sleep well you two," she said, before walking from the room as fast as she could. She carefully controlled her pace, knowing one could hear the footfalls from his room fairly easily.

Once in her room, she changed into her pyjamas at a blistering pace and curled into the bed, squeezing her arms around herself and taking deep purposeful breaths.

Her mother had her do this when she was little and wanting to cry. When she was quite young she'd cried at school often: children were cruel and she was rather sensitive to their criticisms and barbs about everything about her, from her looks to her personality. Nothing much changed from when she was five; students were still cruel, only she cried marginally less.

At age six her teacher called home about Hermione pushing someone. She had not pushed him. He'd just somehow fallen after he'd touched her hair and told her it looked like a rat's nest. No one believed her, of course. She'd burst into tears at school when they said she was a liar. She had never been a liar!

Her Mum came and took her home, a dubious look on her face as Hermione claimed she never touched him, then was in fresh tears again.

"He really just fell over! Why won't anyone believe me?" Hermione cried. "I hate school!"

"Oh darling, that can't be true. You love to learn," her mother hummed as she hugged her.

"Learning's not the same as school!" Hermione wailed. "Everyone's so mean and they hate me! They make fun of me all the time, even for answering questions. And we're supposed to, Mum!"

"Oh I know. You're very good at answering questions. Don't stop because of a few little bullies," she said.

"They made fun of me for crying so much…" Hermione confessed. She'd gotten in the habit of crying in frustration.

"Do you want to cry so much?"

"N-no!" she sniffled.

"Well Hermione, why don't we try this: if you ever feel upset, hug yourself if Mummy isn't there to hug you, and breathe a big deep gulp of air, in and out, and think of how much we love you, just the way you are."

Hermione tried the method, but it didn't work to comfort her as her parents didn't love her— they didn't even know she existed all thanks to her.

The door soon clicked as Ginny entered.

"Hermione? Are you asleep already?"

"No," she managed.

"I hate that they're going off to the Aurors without us, and we can't even watch. It feels like last summer all over again." Ginny quietly changed clothes in the corner. "I think the boys will do well, though, don't you?"

"I'm sure they will," Hermione agreed.

"How did the studying go with Ron?"

"Fine."

Ginny was quiet for a moment. "He's been doing too much lately… I think he might need some extra attention right now."

Hermione gave a hum as Ginny turned out the light.

"I know you heard me say it to Ron earlier," she continued, "but it will be important that you and Ron don't fall into old habits of putting Harry first. Ron really does need to concentrate on himself."

Hermione said nothing.

"Did you hear me?"

"Yes. Sorry, I'm just a bit tired."

"These Auror trials are no joke. Tonks told me about them back when we were all in Grimmauld Place. And her series of exams were after years of training. I'm sure they'll do well, but… Hermione?"

"Yes?" she vaguely asked.

"Never mind," Ginny said quickly. With a rustle of sheets she got into her bed.

Hermione waited a long time until small, even snores told Ginny was asleep.

Hermione crept out of the bed and quietly conjured bluebell flames to see under the bed. She knelt down and opened her beaded bag, seeking out the one object she least wanted to see.

Carefully, she took the brown paper package out and painstakingly unwrapped it piece by piece, making sure not to let it rustle too loudly and wake Ginny.

The smell wafted over her, making her feel sick, but she couldn't stop staring. The lacerations were each the length of her hand or longer, splitting the fabric in a long even slash. Each blood stain wasn't particularly bloody, but there were a dozen or so of them. Some of them had more blood than others, looking like they'd been pressed directly into his wound. What had caused these? How did he not have one scar left after?

She stared and stared, not sure why she had to see it, or what she was hoping to learn.

She'd been staring at it for what must have been hours when her head nodded, sleep insistently pulling at her. Too tired to perfectly repack it, she haphazardly folded the paper around the clothes and stuffed it far under her camp-bed.

She quietly did the silencing spell on herself and drifted off to an unpleasant sleep.

---

Hermione felt her lungs collapsing, as well as everything else. Harry and Ron were following her through her Apparition. Harry's hand held fast, while Ron's hand twitched and pulled in hers.

She landed them in the Forest of Dean, autumn leaves all around. Harry was a few feet away, pushing himself from the forest floor, while she and Ron had landed in a tumble, falling in a puddle of something or another— her side felt soaked and warm.

She almost laughed in relief and looked up into Ron's face expecting to see him smiling at her. His eyes were wide and he let out a gasp.

"Ron?" she asked.

His eyes fluttered as he groaned pain and looked down.

"Her-my—" he breathed out before his words stopped and his head fell back.

She looked down and her own breathing stopped.

They hadn't landed in anything from the forest; Ron's side was all blood, drenching them. She gasped. How had —? Oh God, she'd done it to him; she'd splinched him! And the blood was pooling all over them. Ron's blood.

Her hands shook and she propelled herself to action, moving to cut away his shirt.

"What's wrong with him?" asked Harry, voice shaking as badly as her hands.

"Splinched," she sharply answered. She'd splinched Ron. She'd hurt him. He was bleeding everywhere. With his shirt ripped open she could see his arm was missing a giant piece, and blood was gushing at an alarming rate. She tried to stop it with cloth, but it bled through in seconds, deep red and warm.

"Harry quickly, in my bag, there's a bottle labelled 'Essence of Dittany,'" she said, voice sounding distant to her ears. Harry ran over to her bag as she held the remnants of Ron's jacket to the wound, but he bled through that too. Ron's eyes finally rolled back in his head. He was dying in her arms!

"Quickly!" she yelled at Harry.

He brought forth a broken bottle. "Hermione, it's broken."

"What? No!" she took the fragments, not caring that they cut her hands. The bit of potion that touched her hissed and turned green, healing her hands. "No no no."

She tried to get it into Ron's wound, but there wasn't enough.

"Harry— Harry we need, we need more cloth!" he didn't respond. "Harry?"

She turned her head, but no one was there. She had no help. Ron's breath was stuttering.

She pulled Ron's ragdoll-limp body to her and realised his clothing was tattered in places she hadn't inspected. She gently rolled him, revealing his back. It was covered in long wounds that gaped and bled as profusely as his arm. The blood was crawling along the forest floor and Ron's breathing was becoming more and more shallow.

"You're not going to die! You're not!" she yelled, but not one wound would staunch. Everything was crimson, and Ron's face was taking on a waxy greyish tint.

"Help!" she called out. No one responded. Her legs were warm with blood.

His breaths slowed, and the blood finally stopped pumping across her hands. Vacant blue eyes stared at the sky.

She wailed an anguished sound like a wounded animal, and a door slammed making her startle.

Her eyelids fluttered, realising she was no longer in the forest covered in Ron's blood. She was in her bed at the Burrow. Ginny had slammed the door closed.

Hermione felt under her pillow until her hand blissfully curled around the cool wood of her wand. Blanket and hair covering most of the signs there was an actual human in the bed, she surreptitiously undid her silencing spell.

"Ginny, that was a bit abrupt," she scolded, voice hoarse from her silenced screams.

"Oh sorry, I assumed you'd be awake since it's past ten and it's the boys' second exam," Ginny said in a breezy way, but she had a set to her jaw that made her look very much like her mother before a scolding.

"I… I was tired," Hermione replied, knowing how ill of an excuse it was. She hadn't even thought to wake up for them. The day before had been rather pleasurable, in its own way— she loved finally being of use again and seeing the joy and relief on Ron's face each time he mastered a new spell or impressively hit a target. The moment they stopped studying the momentum came to an abrupt halt and she felt like a duck struck mid flight, plummeting and spiralling into a marsh, waiting for a labrador to drag her body in for supper. She'd thought of no one and nothing, just felt the murky waters rolling over her as sleep took too long to claim her.

Ginny crossed the room to her drawers and began looking through them.

"You're 'tired' a lot," she said, jerking the top drawer completely out and dumping its contents on her bed. "Have you seen my black sports bra?"

"Erm, no. I haven't," Hermione replied, sitting up, a palpable unease settling somewhere in her sternum.

Ginny growled as she began pulling drawers and swiping through their contents.

Hermione was sure her next question would set Ginny erupting like Vesuvius, but her curiosity outweighed any threat of a pyroclastic flow.

"Have I… Done something to offend you?"

"You've not done anything, have you?" Ginny snipped, looking about her. "Oh where is that blasted thing? It's the only one that doesn't make my shoulders feel like my head will fucking snap off!"

"Ginny," Hermione insisted, knowing she sounded a bit naggy.

Her dark brown eyes snapped to Hermione's. "Why weren't you awake and downstairs to wish them luck?"

"Like I said, I was tired," she practically squeaked.

"You went to bed at nine," Ginny noted, obviously not in a mood to take excuses. "I'd understand if we'd each been with the boys, but you insisted we leave them so they'd get rest. Then you slept in like you're the Queen and did absolutely nothing."

"Alright, I slept in and I shouldn't have," Hermione stated. It took considerable force to keep the sharpness from her voice. "There's no need to—"

"You should've seen his face when he asked about you," Ginny interrupted, voice quiet but dagger sharp. "He was nervous as hell and wanted you there."

"Why didn't you wake me, then?"

"It's not my job to make you act like you care about my brother!"

A slap would have stunned and baffled Hermione less.

She'd been accused of many things in her life- and annoyingly most of the accusations had a kernel of truth to them.

Being a know-it-all had been the most frequent insult since she first entered nursery school and spelled a students' name for them, when they didn't even know the alphabet. She'd been called ugly, and she had to admit she'd never been particularly pretty, what with her dowdy body, overbite and large hair that looked on the verge of devouring Europe. Then there was condescension, being a fussbudget, having no sense of humour, being petty, being prideful… She'd had all of those pushed her way at one point or another…

She'd never been accused of laziness before. She'd never been accused of not caring. She'd most certainly never had someone say she didn't care for Ron.

The thought was revolting. Ron was the one person she cared most for in all the world. She wasn't sure when he'd somehow usurped everyone else, but he definitely had. He was the first person she wanted to see the reaction of when something ridiculous happened. He was the first person she wanted to share any news with. He was the first person she wanted safe. A world with no Ron was grey and hopeless.

"Of course I care about Ron!" Hermione finally gasped out.

"Then act like it," Ginny cooly retorted,

Hermione's hackles began to rise. "Sleeping in one time doesn't mean I'm—"

"It's more than that."

"How?" she questioned, not caring how sharp or loud her tone was now.

"It's the way you prioritise everything before him!"

"I don't do that!" she protested.

"Please," Ginny said with an eyeroll.

"If you're going to accuse me, at least give some pertinent evidence!"

"The fact that you can't think of one example yourself is part of the problem!"

The redhead paced the room, arms wound tight, as if to keep her fists from flying out.

"Like yesterday: The second Harry needed help or a boost you were all over it and completely forgot Ron. Yesterday morning you were ready to help Harry study for his exam over Ron until I piped up."

Hermione's brows began to crease. "Yes, but Ron did the same thing."

"How's that supposed to make it better?" she asked. "He needs to study and stop waking early and cooking for everyone when he's getting no sleep- but there you are offering to help Harry on exams, letting Ron coax you into eating as if you're a toddler, not even bothering to congratulate him on his first exam, while he does everything! It's not like Harry has a better track record— this has been a habit of both of yours for years— but at least I know Harry is trying to look after him now and has tried to get him to take care of himself and boosted him up lately."

"Considering your own track record for mercilessly teasing Ron, you're one to talk!" Hermione shot back. "When do you ever 'boost up' your brother?"

Ginny's face began to turn a deep shade of red. "You wouldn't get it; you're an only child."

"I might not fully understand, but the way you and your brothers, especially the twins, belittle him all the time is why he has always been so unsure of himself."

"We're not responsible for his self-esteem issues!"

"Aren't you?" Hermione sniped. "You all have undercut him every year, more than anyone else in the family, except maybe Percy. Everyone has always thought the twins were so very funny- but they were torturing Ron at every turn!"

"Don't you talk about Fred and George!" Ginny growled, eyes glittering with unshed tears.

"Alright," she conceded, trying to keep her voice controlled. "But don't act like you've been so wonderful for Ron when you're tearing him down every time you're in the same room. I know you want to show how very independent you are, but it's gotten just short of despicable the last few years."

Ginny stared at the floor, and Hermione could practically hear her teeth grinding.

"Fine," Ginny sighed, words barely making it to Hermione's ears. "I could lighten up with the teasing. But Hermione, you need to see how Ron needs help— your help!"

"I helped him prepare for his exam all of yesterday!"

"He cares about you more than anything—" Ginny continued as if Hermione had said nothing. "He'll listen if you ask him to slow down! He'll let you if you offer to do things for him! You can't just sit back and be this… This empty vessel, accepting his love and attention and giving nothing back!"

"I give back!" Hermione said, more to soothe herself than because she believed it.

"Oh right— you do give him snogs." Ginny rolled her eyes and went back to tearing through the room to find her sports bra.

Hermione had felt useless and terrible for weeks, but now it was confirmed… She was doing nothing, giving nothing… Useless, useless, useless…

"I'm going fucking mad!" Ginny cursed, started to look under her bed. "Is there a chance it's with your clothes?"

"You're free to look," Hermione said, numbly staring at the wall. Ginny was right. She was an empty vessel. She couldn't act. Couldn't think.

Ginny grumbled as she looked under their beds, clearly unable to find… What was it she was looking for again? Hermione was going to ask when Ginny gave a small cry and backed out from under Hermione's bed so quickly she nearly upset the nightstand.

"What is it?" Hermione asked.

"I think it's blood," Ginny said, face pale.

Realisation slowly dawned. Hermione's heart began to race as she watched Ginny's face contort with shock and disgust. She had been so consumed with her own guilt and self-hatred that she had forgotten about the brown paper package filled with Ron's clothes.

Ginny crept back towards the bed and Hermione let out a faint, "Don't—"

It was too late. Hermione sat on the edge of her bed, her head in her hands as Ginny stood in front of her.

"What is this?" Ginny asked, holding the blood-stained clothing.

Hermione couldn't find the words to speak. She slowly raised her eyes out of her hands. All she could do was stare at the clothes and feel the smell of sweat and blood engulfing her. There was so much blood.

"Hermione, what is this?" Ginny asked again, voice shaking in concern.

Hermione took a deep breath and looked up at her friend. "It's from when Ron was captured last year," she said barely above a whisper.

"At Malfoy Manor?" Ginny's voice sounded small, young and so afraid.

She shook her head. "Snatchers."

"What happened to him?"

"I-I don't know," Hermione stuttered, the words barely audible. "Did Harry tell you about Ron's time away from us?"

Ginny gave a small nod. "The other night when he was drunk. He was waxing poetic 'bout Ron, then said the Horcrux had driven Ron off and he couldn't get back for a while."

Hermione felt some modicum of relief. She had not discussed any of that with her, in part because she feared Ginny would judge Ron for leaving them. Hermione had judged him terribly at the time and she'd dealt with the Horcrux. Of course, if anyone could understand a Horcrux driving them to do something against their will, it was Ginny.

"He couldn't get back to us because he was caught by Snatchers. When he came back he made a joke of it, said they were stupid and smelled and that he'd splinched a few fingernails off… and that was all."

She looked down at the clothes.

"Day before yesterday Fleur gave me that brown package, as evidence, if he needed it…"

She explained what Fleur had described to her: an unrecognisable Ron, beaten and bloody, with broken bones and no explanation; All he had was a drive to get back to her and Harry.

"Harry doesn't know about this," Ginny said rather than asked, haphazardly folding the brown paper around his clothes and placing them on the ground between them.

Hermione shook her head. "Ron didn't tell me or Harry any of this. He didn't want us to know."

"But now we do. We need to do someth—"

"And what exactly are we supposed to do?" Hermione interrupted. "He lied about it. Whatever horrible things they did, he doesn't want any of us to know about it! Are we supposed to corner him and make him tell us what they did?"

"Maybe we should!" Ginny threw her hands in the air.

"And make him relive whatever he went through right when he's in the middle of exams? Or if he comes back having done amazing today, we're supposed to spoil his moment of triumph?"

"Well no, but… Someone needs to know. We should tell Mum and Dad! This is—" Ginny swallowed then stopped. "Bill would have told them if he wanted them to know… This is probably too much for them right now… And Harry would go mental…"

The two girls stared at the bloody clothes.

"We should talk to him about it," Hermione said quietly, "but not right now…"

"When?"

Hermione gave a hopeless shrug. When did you confront someone with intimate evidence of a secret so foul?

Ginny bit her lip. "I'm sorry I snapped at you."

"Don't be…" She hadn't said one thing that wasn't true. "You're right… I haven't been good for Ron, good for anyone… I've been so… so utterly useless."

Tears threatened to flood her eyes and she rapidly blinked, knowing she didn't deserve to cry about anything.

"I'm sorry. I'm being a ninny," Hermione said, squeezing the fat of her palms against her eye sockets.

She felt arms surround her. "You are good for Ron and me and everyone else. You're family! You just have some blind spots—most people do around Harry."

Hermione gave a vociferous sniff. How many times had she let Ron be in her blind spot? She wasn't sure. She felt like she was hyper aware of him at all times, but everything was making it rapidly clear; she was utterly clueless when it came to Ron.

"Let's get up and do something," said Ginny. "You need to get out of bed and do things. I've felt depressed and useless before, and finding purpose and actually moving helps. I'd say let's do some chores here, but my brother's done most of them."

Ginny carefully refolded the brown paper package and hid it deep under Hermione's bed.

Hermione wanted to do something for Ron, something he would know meant he was appreciated. She had to admit she wasn't very good at knowing what creature comforts he preferred. He liked being helped with papers and homework when he was overwhelmed, and seemed to like being held and having his head stroked a few of the times he'd been upset… Beyond that she wasn't sure. For years she'd avoided any intimate gestures so she wouldn't give away her infatuation. She gave Ron and Harry the same gifts, the same sorts of compliments— well she had to admit she tended to bite her tongue with Ron on compliments, for fear he'd know of her interest she'd convinced herself was one-sided.

The thought of how rubbish she was for him was flaring so loudly she could barely think, when she realised one creature comfort she'd seen him turn to.

"Perhaps we can do a bit of cooking?" asked Hermione. He loved a home cooked meal. If she could cook enough food he wouldn't have time to take it on himself that week.

"Mum's out visiting Andromeda and Teddy until late this evening and Dad's got late meetings, so that's perfect," said Ginny.

A pang of guilt struck Hermione. She hadn't thought about Teddy Lupin or any of them in weeks. Andromeda had lost almost her entire family and had a baby to care for. Hermione couldn't even take care of herself anymore.

"I'll find some easy recipes," said Ginny as she left. Hermione could hear her footsteps fading down the stairs.

Hermione opened her bag and grabbed the first clothing her hands landed on so she wouldn't become stalled with decisions, then looked in the mirror. She hated how pale and thin she was with giant dark bags under her eyes. And then there was her hair.

She'd been slightly neglecting it. Parts were getting knotted and she really needed to condition and comb it out before it turned into a woollen throw. Not wanting to bother with making it behave, she flung her hair up in a large topknot. She only had so much energy, and her hair wasn't half as important as finally doing something nice for Ron.

She had just made it downstairs when the Floo activated with a 'fwoosh,' making both the girls startle.

"Hello, is this the Weasley residence?" said a woman's officious voice through the green flames.

"This Floo is restricted access," Ginny announced, arms crossed.

"Yes. The Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, is requesting permission to access your home," the woman replied, a touch impatiently.

"Oh! Uh… Permission granted?"

"We will need to do a security sweep," came a man's voice.

"What?" asked Ginny, but suddenly the fireplace burst into person-sized green flames and two men emerged in deep purple robes.

"Pardon us. This won't take a moment," one of them smiled, as the other gruffly went through the Weasley kitchen doing a bevy of spells.

"It's clear," the friendlier of them said into the Floo. With another large movement of green flames, Kingsley walked into their home.

"I'm sorry for the production, but the Ministry is starting to insist on it." He looked to the two officers, dutifully standing at attention. "Gentlemen, you can leave."

"Yes, sir," the all-business one said, and with that they disappeared back to the Floo, letting the green flames turn back to normal on their exit.

"Do you have a security question for me?" Kingsley asked, spelling away the soot from his flowing dark blue robes.

"Oh, erm, yes," Hermione said, looking to Ginny.

"Who was the Order of the Phoenix member who routinely ate the last of the plum puddings?" Ginny asked, a small smile on her face.

"That would be me," he said with a slightly bashful look that seemed very out of place on such a powerful wizard. "And what object was a tripping hazard in the front hall of the Order Headquarters?"

"The umbrella stand," Hermione and Ginny replied. It was bittersweet remembering how Tonks would trip over the stand with regularity.

"Should I get Mum from Andromeda's?" asked Ginny.

"No need to bother Molly. Or Andromeda. I'm here to speak with Hermione, the boys, and you as well, Ginny. I would have come when the boys weren't in their Exam, but my schedule wouldn't permit me to come for another few days," he said, shaking his head.

"Sounds like you've been rather busy," Ginny said, heading to the stove. "Tea?"

"Thank you, yes," he said. He definitely looked strained compared to the other times Hermione had seen him.

"Hermione, I've been made aware that you and others were caught by Snatchers during the war."

Ginny fumbled the kettle with a loud clang. "Sorry," she said. Hermione could see her shoulders rising in tension.

"That's right," Hermione answered Kingsley, doing her level best to not look as fragile as she felt.

"I have a book of photos for you and the boys to look through. We need witnesses to confirm crimes and war crimes Snatchers committed so we can charge the perpetrators," he said, opening the book to an array of wizards, and a few witches. Page after page were official ID photos from the Ministry. "I'm hoping the three of you are willing to identify the Snatchers who kidnapped you, and report any other individuals of note we should know about."

"Wouldn't their position as a Snatcher be enough for you to charge them?" Hermione asked.

"I'm afraid not," Kingsley said, taking a seat at the dining room table. "Snatcher was just an official title given to people. Whether or not they actually committed crimes is another matter. If they fulfilled any of the duties of Snatcher beyond paperwork then that usually is enough to be charged with something like intent to kidnap, but there are some Snatchers who allegedly used their position to help people."

"Well, they certainly haven't helped anyone in this house," Ginny said, putting out tea and the biscuit tin for them all.

"No. I don't think anyone from the Order has seen the good side of a Snatcher," he said with a rueful shake of his head, taking up his cup of tea. "So this book will have their photo bordered in orange if you recognise someone."

Hermione turned a few pages, and there was Fenrir Greyback, staring back at her, his gruesomely sharp grin on full display. The black border around him turned orange and glowed.

"However, if they have committed crimes you witnessed, you can touch your wand to their photo to confirm you saw, heard or experienced evidence of their crimes. It will turn green. To do this, picture the crime in your mind and the possible charges will be listed underneath. No one but you, me, others who witnessed the crime and necessary staff can see this list."

"Who are the necessary staff?"

"People actively working on the case or in the courtroom. The prosecutors, Aurors and clerks actively working on the case can see it, as well as whoever is defending them in court."

"What happens if I just touch the photo without thinking of the specific crimes?"

"It will still grow green, but no list will be displayed. This might prompt an interview with an Auror or Ministry Prosecutor so we at least know what crimes you bore witness to or heard the confession of. If they need you to testify, they will contact you. The wand method can be a good way to cut down on you having to describe things to a stranger as often."

Not wanting to describe Greyback's crimes more than she had to, she touched her wand to his photo and thought back to the nights she'd seen him commit heinous crimes.

At Hogwarts and her sixth year out of the corner of her eye she'd seen Fenrir's back and matted hair. He was hunkered over some prone figure. That figure had turned out to be Bill Weasley, who he had mauled and left scarred for life.

Then there was the night he and the other Snatcher captured her, the boys and others, taking them to Malfoy Manor. She could still remember the feel of him pressing against her in lewd ways, commenting on her flesh he wanted to bite. He and the others had beaten Ron. They had commented on killing others, and had kidnapped all of them, and turned them over to be tortured by Bellatrix.

Finally, she'd seen him mauling Lavender Brown, who was still horribly scarred and in recovery from it.

In tiny green writing it listed what she'd thought of.

Inflicting Grievous Bodily Harm (GBH)

Causing GBH or wounding with intent to cause GBH

Common Assault

Actual Bodily Harm

Confession of Murder

Kidnapping

As the list continued down, the other photos moved to accommodate the lines of crimes, though many photos rolled their eyes and huffed at having to move.

The list continued on another few inches down, all the way to petty thievery.

It was odd seeing it laid out in words. In some ways it felt wrong for such heinous acts to be summed up so neatly in a few lines. At the same time, having a succinct list of crimes with Kingsley overseeing it, it felt like there might be some form of justice down the road.

"Keep the book and have the boys look over it, if they feel so inclined," said Kingsley.

"Don't forget Dean Thomas. He was captured by Snatchers too," said Ginny.

"We haven't. That's how we learned about Harry, Ron and Hermione's capture. They were investigating Ted Tonks' death. I might be Minister now, but I wanted to help. He and Andromeda are old friends, and Order members, even if just peripherally."

Hermione nodded as a thought struck her. "Is this a thorough list of all the Snatchers?"

"All that we have official photos of. There might be some people who aided Snatchers or acted as ones in some capacity who were not included. They didn't get paid unless they were official Snatchers, so that was a good incentive for them to file paperwork and get ID photos." He took a moment to glance at his watch. "I wish I could stay, but I have a meeting with the Prime Minister in a bit."

"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed, this more fully put into perspective Kingsley was a world leader now, not just a highly trusted Auror and Order member. "You didn't have to bring this yourself, Kingsley."

"If I had law enforcement you already knew and trusted I would have sent them." It went unsaid that the Aurors they knew were now dead. "Plus I didn't want to spring this on Arthur or Percy at work."

"Thank you for being so thoughtful with this."

"We Order members need to look out for one another," he said with a small smile that managed to put her at ease. She was never an Order member, technically, but she appreciated the sentiment. "And Ginny, there are a few pages at the back with photos of people you might recognise from your time at Hogwarts; mostly surviving Death Eaters. If you chose to identify them for us that would be helpful to our cases."

Ginny gave a nod.

"Minister, it's time to meet with the Prime Minister," came the woman's voice through the Floo.

He sighed before dipping down the last of his tea.

"Thank you, ladies," he said with a small bow of his head before leaving through the Floo again to his office.

"Meeting with the Prime Minister," Ginny said with a whistle. "Poor man."

"I hear this one is not too bad."

"I don't know anything about politics except that I want nothing to do with politicians," Ginny said with a shake of her head as she sat at the table. Hermione declined to comment on how Kingsley was a politician now, or that Ginny and her family very much took a political stance almost daily with their actions and sentiments.

Hermione let her fingers trail over the book. "Should we show this to the boys?"

"Of course," Ginny said, a crease of confusion between her eyebrows.

"But now? Would this be any better than bringing up Ron's clothes?"

Ginny stared at the book. "We might learn who did all that to Ron…"

"But not what they did."

"We can tell most of what they did from looking at his clothes," said Ginny, eyes still not meeting Hermione's. "I say we show them the book, but save any confrontations about the Snatchers until this Auror Exam business is over."

"I don't know…" Hermione dithered, not wanting to make things worse.

"I don't want to delay the people in that book from getting put away. Neither will Harry or Ron."

She was right, of course. Neither one of them would want to delay justice. At the same time, she didn't want to make his life harder than she already had.

"Hand us the book, then," said Ginny.

Hermione slid the book of Snatchers across the table.

"Let's get this over with," said Ginny, flipping her way through it and touching a few images here and there with her wand.

In all the time they'd spent at the Burrow since the Battle of Hogwarts, Hermione hadn't spoken with Ginny about her time at Hogwarts. Ginny had a few scars on her arms, but hadn't brought up the topic once.

"Was Hogwarts very bad last year?"

"It wasn't pleasant." Ginny paused mid page flip. "It was a bit like when Umbridge was in charge, only with Unforgivables, pro-Voldemort propaganda, and dark magic."

"Did they—?"

"Done," said Ginny, touching the last picture and slapping the book closed.

"Was it the—?"

"I'll start putting together food, you finish looking through the book," said Ginny, a firm set to her jaw as she got out a few of Mrs Weasley's cookbooks.

It was times like this where Hermione wondered if Ginny would have ever chosen Hermione as a friend, if not for proximity.

They'd been very much thrown together over the years, the 'only girls' being forced to room together. Hermione could see the hesitancy Ginny had with her—girls had never particularly liked Hermione. Well, no children had really liked her until Ron and Harry. And Neville, though much of the time she felt it was because she was a life raft he needed more than he genuinely liked her.

The first few nights she spent in Ginny's room the summer before fourth year had been awkward, but somehow they'd found a rhythm. Ginny was a lot like Ron: warm, welcoming, passionate, clever, brave, impossible not to like. Weasleys were all like that. The biggest difference was that Ron was never forced to spend time with her, be polite or welcome her in as a guest— initially he'd hated her and was an independent agent who owed her nothing— so when he changed and brought her into his life she knew he wanted her there. With Ginny, Hermione couldn't quite tell how much was politeness and finally having a young woman nearby in a house of boys, versus her genuinely wanting Hermione's presence around. Once back at school they would talk, but they had their own paths and Ginny rarely spent time with just Hermione.

In some ways they had the intimacy of friendship, but it always felt tenuous for her when Ginny was clearly upset, but tight-lipped. Hermione was ill-equipped to handle emotions on the best of days.

Not having it in her to pursue a stubborn Weasley, Hermione flicked through the book Kingsley had given them, finding Scabior and the other Snatchers who had captured them. These men provoked less fearsome memories than Fenrir and his groping claws and wake of blood he left wherever he went. She flipped to the back and recognised a few Death Eaters here or there. Bellatrix wasn't there, being thoroughly dead.

Dark task done, Hermione turned her attention back to Ron and trying to help him in some way.

Food and something else… Ah! She set up his chess board and got out the paper, which Mrs Weasley had stopped hiding. Finding what she needed, she went to help Ginny.

They spent the rest of the afternoon making casseroles and quiches enough to last the household days without a person needing to lift a spoon to have meals ready.

The work had made the hollow feeling in her chest ease just a bit, but her attention was continuously brought to the book of Snatchers, resting like a scimitar ready to come down on the relative peace of the house.

The food wasn't delicious. Despite following the recipes and tasting along the way, it was just average fare— but it was plentiful.

It was nearly time for dinner by the time the Floo burst into green flames again. Harry came through first, looking a bit pale, but smiling as Ginny bounded up. It warmed her to see that particular smile he only held for the youngest Weasley.

"How'd it go?" Ginny asked, throwing her arms around him. His hands quickly encompassed her waist.

"We both passed," he told them.

Ginny quickly kissed him. "I knew you would! Bet you were flying circles around whatever they set up."

"Definitely not," he said, a rueful look on his face. "It was mad. They had these battle dummies that obliterated everything around us if they saw anything move. Nearly got blasted dozens of times. Would've, if it wasn't for Ron."

The green flames turned back to normal before dying down to nothing.

"Where is Ron?" Hermione asked, eyes fixed on the empty fireplace. What if something—

"He's okay," Harry assured her, reading her mind. "Percy showed up to congratulate him and Ron waved me off. Said he'd be here soon, though."

"Oh." Hermione felt herself deflate as she watched the empty grate. She only half listened to Harry describe his time in the exam and the vests that acted as portkeys.

She knew Ron was fine. Harry had said so. It didn't make her feel less nervous not having him right there beside them.

"The forest was rife with traps, of course. Good thing we had fast brooms. At one point the trees all started falling in on us like Devil's Snare or snakes. It was like that time with Nagini at Bagshot's," Harry said that last part to Hermione.

Both paused to remember one of the worst times of their lives— no Ron, one wand, Harry nearly dead in a torpor for days.

"I'm glad you had fast brooms," Ginny said, biting her lip. "Here, let's have you look this book over so we can get the bad stuff over with."

Ginny grabbed the Snatcher book and pushed it towards Harry, explaining the purpose of the book and how the spells worked.

"It should already have all the ones we know, Harry," said Hermione, watching as he flipped through the book, frown on his face. He read through the descriptions one by one, nodding. He'd witnessed most of the same crimes, so all but a few showed up for him.

"Looks pretty thorough," he said, putting it back on the table and leaning back in his chair. "Ugh. I'm exhausted."

"Would you like some dinner?" asked Ginny.

"That would be perfect," he said with a sigh.

Hermione pursed her lips. How could they eat when Ron wasn't back yet?

As if summoned by her thoughts of him, the fireplace burned green and out stepped Ron, a few papers in hand.

"You're back!" Hermione cried, latching onto him, much as Ginny had Harry. He gave a hiss as she hugged his arm to her. She stood back. "Are you hurt?"

She cast a small frown at Harry. He'd said Ron was okay!

"Only a bit hurt. They fixed me up, but I landed on my arm and it's still sore," he said, giving his left wrist a bit of a rotation. She looked up to his face and belatedly realised he was sporting a beard. She'd never imagined him with one before. It made him look so much older and manly in a sort of valorous way that she suddenly wanted him all to herself.

"What'd you do to your face?" Ginny asked, bringing over the casserole dish and setting it out on the table.

"What?" he asked.

"You've got a beard," Hermione said, feeling her face start to burn.

"Damn it. I forgot to shave that off," he said, fingers rasping against it. "We got into some sort of ageing mist. Me and my team were over a hundred years old for a bit. This is the leftovers of it, I guess."

"You look like an orangutan," Ginny teased.

"You look dashing," Hermione corrected, fixing Ginny with a weighted glare who managed to look a touch sheepish.

"I mean, it just looks out of place because you're young. If you grew one when you were older, I'm sure it'd look fine," Ginny amended, getting a suspicious look from Ron.

"Do you think it'll grow back once you shave it?" Harry asked.

Ron gave a shrug before bodily throwing himself into a chair and setting his papers on the table precariously close to the Snatchers book. "Dunno. Guess I'll find out tomorrow."

"We cooked. Are you hungry?" Hermione asked.

"Famished, thanks," he said, sitting up taller in his seat.

She and Ginny put together plates that the boys eagerly tore into. Ron mostly stayed quiet as Harry told them about the last of their exam.

"Then Ron went up on his broom so the battle dummies would follow him and gave us an opening. What were you, half a mile up?"

"Felt like it when I was falling from it." He gave a shudder.

"Then that annoying girl Ramona ended up capturing the flag, but it was all thanks to Ron," Harry grinned as he took a bite of casserole.

"So Ron sacrificed himself?" Ginny asked, not smiling at all as she reached to add more casserole to Harry's bowl.

"Ginny…" Hermione said warningly.

The boys seemed unaware of the minefield they'd stepped into.

"We had on those vests; I knew I'd be okay," said Ron through a large bite. "Took forever for the portkey to kick in so I fell a long ways. Made me worry the vest wouldn't work, for a bit— and of course, I thought I'd bollocksed up the exam, but I ended up passing anyway, somehow."

"You sacrificed yourself and you didn't know you'd pass," said Ginny, pausing mid serve, a potent glare settling on Harry. "You let him do this?"

Harry roughly swallowed his bite, seeming to understand the situation given the way the smile fled his face.

"Let me?" began Ron, eyes glinting in challenge. "Harry's not my minder. I made a plan and executed it."

The ladle in Ginny's hand quivered, and she looked very much like she wanted to fling it across the room then dump the remains of the casserole on Harry.

"And he did quite well, it sounds like," Hermione prodded, hoping to avoid another Weasley fight. She understood the anger and fear swirling in Ginny, but she equally understood how Ron needed to have a moment to breathe and be celebrated. "And you're not hurt badly, are you?"

"Er, no," Ron said, giving his arm a wave to show how functional it was.

Ginny stared down at the table and took a deep breath. "Right…" She held her breath then finally released it, though it looked as if it were painful for her to do so. "Fine… let's celebrate you then. I'll put on the wireless."

She turned on the wireless and fiddled with the dial, past news and Celestina Warbeck, until a Weird Sisters track came on, music buoyant and lighthearted. Hermione moved the Snatchers book to a nearby seat so they wouldn't have to look at it.

As Ginny sat, Hermione just caught the intense glance she gave Harry that very much said, 'we're going to talk about this later, and I doubt you'll enjoy it.'

The tension was palpable, but both the girls seemed determined to celebrate and keep it merry despite how tired the boys were and how Ginny was pointedly not touching or looking at Harry.

Hermione beamed when she was able to turn the dial of the wireless to a Chudley Cannons game.

"No!" Ron let out, a broad smile on his face. "Oh it's been ages!"

They finished their meal with a few short games of chess by the fire that Ron won with more speed than usual- whether from Harry's distraction or Ron being in fine strategic form, she couldn't say.

The Cannons game was quickly over when the opposing team caught the Snitch. Ron let out a moan of dismay.

"We'll get them next time!" he said before giving a vociferous yawn.

"You both look exhausted," Ginny said to the boys. "Let's turn in for the night."

The question of 'where' hung about until Ginny waved it away with a, "Hermione do you need to grab anything from my room?"

Oh, it was going to be like that.

Harry, who normally was quite eager to spend time with his girlfriend, looked much like he did before going into battle; pale, jaw clenched, determined with a touch of fear as he worked out a plan.

Toothbrush in the bathroom, Hermione shook her head, giving Harry a look that was both apologetic and commiserating. She'd been on the receiving end of Ginny's anger only earlier that day, and it had felt blistering and hollowing all at once. By the look of ire on Ginny's face, he had a long night ahead of him.

Ron put on his 'disapproving brother' face as they went up the stairs, but it soon turned into a great yawn and a small smile at Hermione.

"Thought they'd never leave," he said, putting out a hand and coaxing her from her seat towards him. She quickly moved where his hand guided her, until she was standing between his knees with him grinning at her. "You cooked food for me."

"Well it was for everyone, and it wasn't as good as your mum's by any stretch, even though we tasted it all to make sure it was right and followed the recipe as written to the t," she babbled until his hand squeezed hers and he squinted at her in that teasing way only he could. "But yes. I cooked for you."

"Thank you," he said simply, but it felt like there was more to it. "You kept busy today and ate your dinner tonight. Well done."

She hadn't noticed, actually. She bristled at being praised for something so very minor and pathetic in terms of accomplishments. One glance into his warm expression made her ease, feeling like a hedgehog relaxing its quills until they laid flat. Somehow he was staring at her with genuine pride, happy she'd taken care of herself even minorly. She wished she could so easily convey how she felt to him.

"We should be celebrating you right now," she said, trying not to let the wash of emotions make her wobble.

"How were you thinking?" he asked carefully, letting another hand drift up and hold her other hand.

"I was thinking we could go to bed and you could tell me yourself about everything you did," she said before pulling him towards her out of the chair. He was so tall his head nearly hit the nearby hanging lamp. "Maybe I could massage your hurt arm, and then—"

He leaned forward and she thought he was going to kiss her before he bent past her and grabbed some papers.

"We have something we need to talk about first," he said, face suddenly a mask of seriousness, brows arching into an apprehensive wrinkle.

Hermione worried her lower lip. It could be anything he wanted to discuss; Snatchers, school, trials, Death Eaters… "Whatever it is, can it wait until tomorrow?"

"What?" He blinked at her.

"If it isn't an emergency, then I'd rather wait on knowing anything about it."

"It's not an emergency, exactly… But you want to wait?" he asked, clearly unsure and sceptical. A measure of disbelief at her wanting to put off knowing something was natural. She rarely put off knowing anything and was fairly ravenous in her appetite for every bit of knowledge at her disposal, be it the contents of a nearby pamphlet, the next chapter of a book, or the surprise behind someone's back. She preferred the instant gratification of answers to any joy built through anticipation.

"Do you want to wait on even knowing what it's about?" asked Ron. "Because you normally prefer to know everything sooner than later. And this is rather a big bit of news."

He knew her too well.

"You don't seem to think whatever it is will be good news," said Hermione, mentally noting how he still looked wan and worried. She didn't have the wherewithal to process bad news, and didn't want barely-held-together Ron to have to pick up the emotional pieces she could shatter into.

"It's not bad news," he assured her, "but you might not be happy with me about it."

"Then it can wait," she said with confidence. "Let's just be happy tonight."

"You sure?" he asked, eyes wide and in that particular lamplight, startlingly blue.

"Quite."

"And you promise not to be mad that we put it off?"

"Yes," she promised, doing her level best not to be irritated at him questioning her again. "I have something for us to go over tomorrow, too, but as opposed to your announcement, it's decidedly unpleasant."

Ron cast a wary look her way, body bracing as if he was about to take a hit. "Did I— Or is it— Did George do something—?"

"Oh no, no!" she denied with emphasis, feeling wholly inconsiderate she'd not made it more clear. "It's nothing you've done and it's nothing to do with your family at all! It's just identifying some criminals from the war for Kingsley. Harry and I already did it, but you can add yourself to the witness list."

She picked up the Snatchers book.

His face immediately changed and his body relaxed back into his usual loose, easy posture.

"We can check out the uglies tomorrow," he happily agreed.

Part of her selfishly wished he'd gone ahead and protested. She wanted to watch him look through the book, and see him recognize his assailants so she could put them on a private hit list. She felt such loathing for the unknown Snatchers it was hard to school her features into a neutral expression. She must have failed at this, for he gave a chuckle and took the book from her.

"How about we hide that and these papers in my roll top, and get to that celebration you were talking about," he said, bringing up a fist to cover his yawn and gave a frown. "After I shave."

"You could keep it," Hermione promptly said, before heat took over her face. She wished for a curtain of hair to hide behind instead of a giant poof of a bun swaying uselessly on top of her head.

Ron's face lit up with his lopsided grin. "Oh yeah? You like it?"

"I don't mind it," she corrected.

"What did you call my beard when Ginny said I looked like a monkey?"

"Dashing," she mumbled. "And she said orangutan."

"I much prefer your description." His voice had pitched down just a hint.

Overwhelmed by the girlish giggle trying to make its way out of her, she giddily backed up a pace until she bumped against one of the room's wooden posts. He leaned in. "Course you might not feel the same if I were to kiss you. Might be a touch scratchy."

Her pulse quickened. "Were you planning on kissing me?"

Ron's grin widened as he stepped closer to her, causing her heart to race. "Were you hoping I would?"

Hermione felt a blush creep up her cheeks as she met his gaze. "Maybe," she whispered.

Without another word, Ron leaned in and pressed his lips gently against hers. She could feel the roughness of his beard against her skin, grounding her in a kiss that would otherwise make her float.

After a few blissful seconds, they pulled away from each other, their foreheads touching as they caught their breath.

"I think we should take this celebration up to your bedroom," said Hermione.

"Yeah we'd better go before Mum arrives," Ron said, taking her hand and leading her up the multiple flights of stairs to his room.

After twenty four hours of heartache and self loathing, her mind was in a state of contentment again. Once they were in his room, she quickly spelled together their bed.

And then the moment seemed to pause and they stared at one another, not sure how to go back to kissing, or try their hand at something else. Hermione was hoping kissing could lead to something else that would keep her mind thoroughly distracted.

"Do you want to change for bed?" he asked, quickly finding the same Cannons t-shirt she'd worn the other day.

"Alright, but after that I want to celebrate you a bit more. It sounds like you were really amazing."

His cheeks turned red and he rubbed his neck. "I did alright."

"Hmmm… Why don't you tell me about it?" she asked, walking towards him and trailing her hands along the bottom hem of his shirt.

He gave an appreciative hiss. "I can't talk worth a lick when your hands are on me like that."

"Then we'd better change and get in bed."

Not waiting for him to gallantly turn around, she pulled off her shirt, feeling a thrill as he stared at her, mouth just slightly open but turning up at the edges and hiding in his beard. Her face flushed under his scrutiny, but she liked being stared at like she was a desirable woman instead of a prudish, emotionally damaged, skinny mess.

He shook his head and started taking his shirt off. She grinned at the sight, his long lean frame, the steady muscles of his pecs and arms bunching as he finished taking off his shirt.

She began to unbutton the top of her jeans and peeled them off. Like a returning volley in tennis, he did the same.

Down to only their underthings they stood still, flushed and raw as they stared at one another and took in every detail.

He broke the tension by picking up the Cannons shirt and silently offering it to her. She took it, rubbing the soft worn fabric between her fingers. She looked up to see him watching her, breath bated, cheeks flushing all the way to his ears. She loved how he was a combination of lust and innocence, one moment ravenously kissing her, the next chivalrously trying to cover her modesty.

She let the shirt fall from her hand.

He tilted his head in a silent question.

She answered his question by bounding into his arms.

She giggled in surprise as he hefted her up by her bottom just a moment, letting her legs cross behind his hips. His long fingers nearly spanned each globe as he kneaded them. She continued to kiss him, revelling in the powerful way he held her, and how the rugged beard felt against her.

He moved her quickly to the bed, but had less surety in his movement as he went to put her down, there being a wobbly-legged moment where he crouched, but was still unable to quite reach the low bed with her wrapped around him.

"Heh, thought I'd stick the landing better," he huffed, unsteadily placing her on the bed. She smiled and pulled him towards her, fingers curling around his broad shoulders.

"Next time I'll build a taller bed," she murmured, wanting to feel him against her. He smelled of pine needles and fresh air. He felt warm and firm against her.

She wanted to take in every detail of him: his countless freckles over every contour of his face, the riot of reds and oranges through his hair that wavered like a flame each time he moved.

And then she looked up into his deep-set blue eyes. Her heart beat faster seeing the tender gaze he had in his face. He had so many shades of blue in his eyes, like an early evening sky just beginning to dim. He was like a painting, and they had chosen all the best complementary colours that made him vibrate with life.

"You're beautiful," she let out, wanting to smother herself as he incredulously looked at her then burst out into a chuckle. He laughed the same way he did everything, with his full feeling and full body going into it. "Don't laugh!"

"Sorry!" he wheezed, rolling off her and to the side to continue laughing, "just think your bun might be twisted too tight."

"It's not funny!" It made her furious he'd find that so laughable.

"There are a lot of words to describe me— you probably know more words than anyone— so it's pretty funny you'd choose… that," he said with a snort, clearly uncomfortable.

Hermione found herself irascibly tongue-tied, which especially seemed to happen when he was down on himself.

The dark thoughts began creeping up on her… Useless. Empty vessel.

"I do know a lot of words," she finally said, poking him in the side. "Exasperating, childish, mercurial!"

He gave a chuckle, looking fondly at her, happy to be teased by her again. She wouldn't let him off so easily.

"Heroic, witty, good…" Her fingers traced the swirling silvery scars up his arms. "And yes, beautiful."

He shifted under her gaze. "I'd rather save that one for you."

"If you like," she said, more to get along than because she'd ever thought the term could seriously apply to herself. "But altogether you have to know I think… I think you're just about perfect."

His eyes rapidly blinked. "Oh."

"I've always felt that way… You were always this fiery boy who felt things so deeply and I was drawn in."

"Long noses and tattered hand-me-down robes had you done for, hmm?"

"You can try to deflect all you like, but like I said earlier, I'm celebrating you!" She gave him a small shove and he winced as he put more weight on his left arm.

"Is it still hurting?" she asked, sitting up.

"It's nothing," he said quickly.

"Well, they should have healed you properly, instead of sending you home hurting!" she said, pushing him back on the bed so she could look at his arm. It was the same one she'd Splinched all those months ago.

Blood spattered leaves flickered in her memory and she had to shake her head to rid herself of the dark red pools.

"Let me take a look." She went to grab his arm, but he flinched away.

"It's fine."

"It's not," she told him firmly, having him twist his wrist for her. His hand shook a bit as he did so, the range of motion stiff and unsteady. "You need to see the Auror's Healer tomorrow. I don't think they healed it right."

"Okay," he said, a petulant set to his jaw.

"We need you in good fighting shape for the final exam." She took his knuckle and kissed it, surprised at the ease of such a new gesture for them. "So? Tell me about today's exam."

"Oh, Harry told most of it," he said, lying back on his pillow.

Harry had told the gist of it. He was good at getting across the essential information, but it wasn't like Ron, the story-teller of their group.

Their letters were the same as when they told stories in real life: Harry was a good communicator in his letters, mostly because he was trapped with his horrid relatives and it was his only escape. Harry's letters would tell about various happenings, but only get very detailed if there was some big mystery to unravel. Ron's were different in every way- he'd go on into details about little interactions between gnomes, or go off about his mother's reactions to the twin's newest pranks— he painted a picture; personal and thoroughly engaging.

"He might have, but he wasn't there for all the moments your teams were split up. And even if he had told us, I'd still want to hear it from you," she said, grabbing a blanket to cover up their nearly nude states.

"Fine then," he hummed as she settled into the spot just above his heart to listen. In this position she could feel his baritone voice rumble through her in a comforting vibration, and in the lulls of his story she could just manage to hear his heart beat, strong and steady.

His voice was quiet and low as he told her all about the Bots and the ride across the lake, then made her gasp as he told her about saving an ungrateful Ramona.

"You dove your broom into the water?"

"Well I had to if I wanted to have an intact team," he said with a shrug that temporarily tilted her head away from him.

The horrors continued as he described the Aging Mist, but she had to admit the leftovers of it were more than intriguing.

She had never pictured Ron with a beard before and she'd have to convince him to grow it back someday. Hermione buried her head into his chest after he described the fall from the broom.

"I can't believe they let you fall all that way! It's completely barbaric!"

"I told them it was fucked up," he agreed, long calloused fingers trailing along her side. "But I'm okay, minus the arm, and I passed."

The entire picture of it left her in awe. Ron Weasley had a talent for that, though. Every time she thought he'd proven what all he could do, he'd burst through her high expectations and do something even more amazing. He never appreciated the surprise she'd show when she marvelled at him. No, she'd need to be more firm in her praise.

"I'm really proud of you."

His eyes widened and he let out a small, "really?"

Despite his current beard, he looked so young and innocent. She thought of first year when he won points for his chess game and the look of wonder that anyone had noticed him, let alone given him attention and praise on such an epic scale.

"Yes. Your plans were brilliant, and you lead your team so well." She'd almost wished it had been a poor fit so he wouldn't be an Auror, but it was obvious he was a natural.

"I dunno…" he said, blushing and tucking his head down.

"I do," she replied, curling a leg around his and bringing him in for a kiss. It began as tentative and assuring, but Ron could always be depended on to react swiftly— just like with their first kiss when she went in first— he quickly met her with passion and caught her to him. His kisses somehow improved every time and he had now mastered the art of leaving her breathless, brainless, heated and needy. He was so amazing, and kind to others and — she broke the kiss. "You weren't supposed to be so self sacrificing!"

"Huh?" he asked her, still kiss-drunk.

"I told you I don't want you to be a hero saving people! I wanted you to be selfish and so you'd always come back to me. That's the plan with the Aurors!"

"I'll try," he said, eyes very much set on her mouth.

"Well, try harder," she said, holding his wrist for inspection again. She absolutely despised the thought of him laying down his life for anyone, but that Ramona character was so unworthy of it she wanted to spit.

He gave a short chuckle and she scowled up at him.

"I'll try harder, since you care so much," he said, nudging his forehead against hers.

"You should try harder whether I care or not!" she demanded, poking his chest. To her annoyance he gave another laugh. "It's not something you should be so cavalier about."

"I'm not cavalier," he said, mouth trying and failing to contain a smile.

"Take what I'm saying seriously!"

"Oh I take you more seriously than anything," he vowed, all mock sternness as he leaned in and kissed her again.

She couldn't stay mad as his lips moved against her own. The kisses quickly blossomed into a fevered frenzy as their bodies moved against each other in a natural rhythm. His hand sprawled the width of her back, and fingers slid up and under her bra band for a tantalising moment, before his whole arm encompassed her waist and held her closer. There was nothing like the sweet intensity of being surrounded by him, feeling his warmth and care moving against her skin.

She moved her hips forward and felt his hardness beginning to press against her.

His hands skimmed up and down her sides, just holding back from intimately grazing her breasts.

"Rooon, please just touch me," Hermione breathed into his mouth before kissing him deeply again. She didn't care if she sounded desperate or silly, she wanted Ron's hands upon her. And then they were, thumbs pressing across her breasts and teasing her nipples until they stood taut and tight under her bra.

Her soft moans encouraged him, and he leaned forward, kissing his way down down her chest until he nestled up to her breast. He looked up at her for silent permission she happily gave, nodding as he gently moved the cup of her bra and took her nipple into his mouth.

Her hands trailed through his soft fiery hair. As a couple they slowly fell back into his bed. It surprised her how he could be on top but she didn't feel smothered or crushed; he just managed to keep enough of his weight above her to make it comfortable.

His fingers trailed down to her cotton pants, just teasing the elastic.

"I want to touch you," he whispered as two of his long calloused fingers dipped just a touch around the edge of her pants. "That okay?"

"Please," she whimpered, not wanting him to ask anymore. She just wanted him everywhere without pause. "Do whatever you want."

His eyebrows went up at that, and a wicked smile lit his lightly flushed face.

"Alright then," he said, voice nearly as deep as she'd ever heard it.

He gently began to slide the pants down her legs and she quickly assisted by raising her hips. She was naked before him, but all thoughts of modesty left her as his fingers returned. With tenderness they explored her nethers, crooking and coaxing, making her let out sounds she never thought she'd be capable of that quickly. He'd definitely been paying attention the last time, because he knew every spot and angle.

"You're so wet for me," he moaned and she let out a gasped, "yes!"

His touch scorched and filled her with bliss until her mind was clear of anything but Ron, Ron, Ron.

"Ron!"

Then his mouth was on her clit and sucking, fingers still exploring. She gave a heady sound of approval, feeling the momentum and tightening coil in her centre. He fingered her faster, the sounds of her slickness and gasps filled the room, and with a final buck of her hips she felt the coil release. Her orgasm crashed over her, leaving her twitching around his fingers, muttering nonsense of thanks and curses as he kept pumping his fingers, slower and slower through the waves of contractions.

In an enticingly filthy moment he licked those fingers and smiled up at her.

Not giving him more than a moment to bask in his triumph, she grabbed him by the sides of his face to properly kiss. He scrambled up her body and quickly complied. His beard was wet with her, and somehow that made her even more turned on.

They kissed and she rubbed her wet fanny up and down his tented boxers, feeling the hardness pressing against her, just barely teasing her, ready to enter her if not for the boxers. They both stopped, looking down at what they were doing.

"Erm… I don't think… Are-you-ready-for—?" he began.

"Maybe not quite yet…" she agreed.

"How about I keep my boxers on?"

Part of her wanted to see his hardness. Part of her wanted to have him take her virginity right there. She wasn't sure if she was ready, though. Maybe she was? But it was probably better to know instead of guess. It'd be difficult to resist letting him plunge into her if he removed that last barrier.

"Okay, boxers on," she said, moving herself back into the position they'd just been in.

She ground her hips upward, canting until he was again teasing her slickness.

"Fuck! You feel so fucking good," Ron panted, starting to hump into her with equal fervor. "Have a perfect little pussy."

The dirty words made her speed up her movements, and seemed to push him towards the edge as well. She kissed him again, urgent and without finesse, only passion and hunger guiding her. After only a minute or so he gave a low grunt and spent himself.

The two lay there, panting and entwined, basking and senseless, unable to think of anything to say. They were smelling of sex and had very nearly gone all the way, and she felt a sense of satisfaction that made her fall into a boneless puddle.

"Fuck me, that felt amazing," Ron weazed, before wobbily lowering himself to give a her quick kiss. "Thank you."

"Thank you," Hermione replied, too tired to even think of cleaning up or looking for her wand. Ron was much in the same boat. He curled around her, nuzzling his face up on her naked breast.

After a few minutes he mumbled into her side, "this is by far the best pillow I've ever had."

Hermione let out a puff of a laugh. She played with his hair and stared at the ceiling, watching his posters moving. She'd nearly dozed off when he began moving. With his absence, she suddenly felt how naked and filthy she was.

She could hear the sound of him standing and watched as he removed the boxers, his cock still partially hard. She held herself back from smacking his cute bum as he leaned down to find his wand that had rolled onto the floor.

He said a few cleaning charms and the sticky wetness was gone.

"Er, maybe we should do a charm?" he said, face going a bit red.

"Charm?" Hermione dazedly asked.

"You know… the, er… contraceptive-charm," he muttered.

"Oh yes!" she said, sitting up. They probably were safe, but it rapidly occurred to her that they were walking a precarious line, especially considering how young they were. She found her wand and did the incantation. She had Ron do it too, just in case she'd not managed it correctly.

Ron handed her the Cannons shirt a second time. This time she took it. "Don't feel like you have to cover up, because seeing you with yours tits out is just about my favourite sight."

"Seeing your arse is welcome too," Hermione shyly laughed, holding the shirt to her chest.

"You like my arse?" he asked, a bit cockily as he put on some new boxers.

"I thought you already knew that," she said, putting on the orange t-shirt. As much as she wanted to bask in Ron's attention, she was cold and didn't want a naked run-in the next morning with Harry or, Merlin-forbid, Mrs Weasley.

"How in the world would I?" He got into the bed and stretched out to his full length, foot going over the end of the bed. He propped his head up with one hand and stared at her expectantly.

"Back when we left Bill and Fleur's wedding and you changed clothes and I packed your tight jeans," she muttered, eyes fixed on the bed spread. She thought it had been obvious.

"Y'mean you did that on purpose?" She nodded, glancing up at Ron who gave a chuckle. "And here I was, miffed I couldn't so much as shift one nut."

"Or fit your wand," added Hermione.

"I swear you go straight filthy after we've had a roll around," he said, poking her nose.

"What did I say?" she asked, before giving a huff. "You know I meant your magic wand and not... You're absolutely perverted!"

"Mmmhmm," he agreed, turning the light off. "But now I know you've been eyeing my arse for at least ten months and even plotted to see it better. Who's the pervert now?"

She blushed anew and curled up into her side of the bed.

"Don't be embarrassed," he softly added. "I like knowing you thought of me like that."

"I still do."

"Right," he added, giving her a small nudge. "Thanks for that."

"I have no choice in the matter. It's always been you," she said with a shrug. It was an easy thing to say, for it was as true a fact as the moon circled the earth and the North Star was constant.

She heard his breath catch before resuming again. For the longest time, he didn't reply. She was about to ask if he was asleep when she heard a quiet, "and you for me. You've always been my girl."

She smiled at the thought. Niggling thoughts of his interest in Lavender, Fleur and Madame Rosmerta tried to buck their way in, but she kept them at bay knowing none of that mattered— she had Ron Weasley beside her in bed and he'd said he loved her just the other day.

As the giddiness wore off and sleep started to beckon, she realised she hadn't put a silencing charm on herself yet. She couldn't very well do the charm and not have an explanation in place.

"Erm, Ron?"

"Hunf?" he grogged.

"I was snoring the other night," she lied. "You need your sleep, so I'm going to put a silencing charm on myself."

He breathed in slow breaths of someone mostly asleep before he gave a nonsensical, "s'okay. Go backta work."

Soon he was snoring away, somewhat muffled by the pillow he had his face buried in.

She put the spell on herself and fell asleep to the sawing snores of Ron.

Hermione woke up to a hint of sunlight warming her nose, gave a lazy stretch and looked to her side. A hint of ginger hair poked above the blanket.

She smiled and rolled over to find Crookshanks giving a large stretch before waddling her way with a small 'mrrrrowl.'

As happy as she was to have her cat boop her with his head and purr, she had hoped to wake up to Ron. As if he knew her thoughts, Crookshanks went to the door, gave a demanding meow, and gave her a stare that clearly meant 'now.'

She undid her silencing spell and was about to get up for the demanding feline when there was a small knock at the door.

"It's me," came Ron's voice.

"Come in."

He opened the door, bringing a plate covered in a gingham towel, and a sweet smile that made her feel a flutter in her middle. Crookshanks wound around his ankles.

"Go on, you mangy beast," he muttered, but he had a fond smile on his face as he watched Crookshanks prance out the door.

His jaw was pink from being recently clean-shaved. She'd been fond of the beard, though she thought him every bit as handsome without it.

"It's your room, you don't have to knock," she said, as he approached the bed.

"Didn't want to interrupt you changing or something." He blushed and gave a shrug. She ducked her head and smiled at how they were back to shy teenagers in the light of day. "Brought you breakfast."

With a flick he removed the towel from the plate. The toast and eggs and fruit all looked and smelled perfect. Her mouth watered, but her hands clenched.

"Thanks," she said, grabbing a piece of toast and taking a bite, hand held under to catch crumbs. "Have you eaten yet?"

He nodded and put the plate on the bedside table beside her, obviously displeased that she hadn't taken the fork and started shovelling food.

Ron went to his roll top desk and took out the book of Snatchers and his mysterious papers from the night before. Eating felt even more impossible.

He was holding the book and hadn't seemed to realise his torturers could be in there. And she was going to let him find them without warning him. If she let him know about the Snatchers he might avoid the book altogether, and then she'd never know their identity.

"Kingsley wants us to mail this to him after?" he asked, holding up the book.

She nodded.

Ron whistled and Pig fluttered through the window.

"Dunno if he can carry the book, actually," Ron said with a small laugh. Pig puffed up his chest and made a mad scramble for the book, enthusiastically carrying it a few feet towards the window. "Not yet, you little numpty!"

With a grunt, Ron caught the little owl from the air and the book tumbled to the ground, falling open to a page of Snatchers. Even from the bed she could see the borders of two Snatchers turn a glowing orange.

Ron stood frozen, staring at the book. His ruddy cheeks paled and his eyes widened just a hint.

Having no idea how long she would get to look at the Snatchers before their identities were lost to her, Hermione quickly bent down and picked up the book.

The two Snatchers shared the last name Crowthers. They were clearly related, even without knowing their names. They were thick-set men, with prominent jumps in their nose bridges, the same sloping heavy brows and wavy near-blonde hair that went into overgrown mutton chops. Marcellus Crowthers had a somewhat thinner neck and somewhat softer and duller look compared to his brother. Otho Crowthers looked ahead with a malevolent stare, and a cruel smirk that hinted at a cold indifference. He also had ears with overlarge cartilage around the edges. She had seen that before in a rugby match her father was watching. He called it 'cauliflower ear' — a deformity caused from blunt force trauma to the ear. One normally saw that in wrestlers and boxers. In this case, she imagined he'd been in many a brawl.

Ron had been silent a long time.

"The pictures glow orange if you recognise someone," she murmured, closely watching Ron as she lifted the book up. He stared at the pictures with rapidly thinning lips. "You touch your wand to them if they committed a crime you witnessed and the border turns green. If you also think of the crimes they committed when touching the photo with your wand, it lists the crimes."

He blinked at the page.

"I don't need to do that."

"No one can see it except you and the staff who are doing the trial. It's so they know what crimes to charge them with and can ask you to be a witness if they need to. It also saves them interviewing you to know which crimes you witnessed."

His normally expressive face dulled until he looked worn and thin as an old flag about to rip in the wind.

Without saying a word he took his wand out and held it to the book.

As the pictures budged over for the text she saw Marcellus's photo did not need much space for whatever he'd done. Otho Crowthers, on the other hand, needed photos to move and make way for the invisible list of his crimes.

She was going to find him and hurt that man. It wasn't a question in her mind. She'd have to, for whatever he'd done to Ron. She'd kept that Skeeter woman in a jar for weeks, and cursed Marietta Edgecomb's face for crimes that now seemed so small by comparison. Yes, Otho Crowthers was going to pay; in blood if she could make it happen.

Ron stared at the text she couldn't see, face horribly devoid of emotion.

When he'd stared at it for over a minute she finally spoke.

"Harry and I found Fenrir and a few of the Snatchers that got us before Malfoy Manor," she quietly told him. "Are these some of the Snatchers you came across last winter?"

He nodded and gave a rough swallow. "Yeah."

She had to remind herself that she didn't 'officially know' what had happened to him. He hadn't told her yet. She couldn't force him to talk about it now; not when he was staring at those faces; not when he had a career dependent test that evening and needed his wits about him.

She needed to lighten the mood somehow, but had no gift in that. Distraction was all she could think to do.

"These eggs look perfect. I suppose Ginny didn't cook."

"No," he said with a wane perfunctory smile, obviously made for her sake.

"Your mum?"

"Mhmm," he replied, turning the page so harshly he almost tore it. With purpose, he turned to the S names, scanning with his finger until he found a man named Stennis Smythe.

"You know their names?" she asked in astonishment.

"Only the three." He quickly touched the photo of Smythe with his wand and photos moved a bit for the invisible list of crimes to form. It wasn't quite as long as Otho Crowthers', but it was close.

He silently searched through the book until he'd found three more figures he went through so fast she barely had time to see their photos; a gaunt bald man, a man with a dark beard, and a small round-faced man.

"I thought there were five of them, not six," she said, as he went back to Greyback and others she was familiar with.

"One of them was unconscious by the time I was escaping, so it was five of them versus me," he said shortly, finishing up the book, putting a feather-light spell on it, and holding it out for Pig. "Take this to Kingsley."

Pig seemed to sense Ron's unease, and landed on his shoulder, leaning in to him until his little owl head was resting on his owner's jaw.

"Thanks, little guy," said Ron, giving the small bird a small tickle on his chest.

With a tiny hoot, Pig leapt down and took the book, over compensating for what he thought would be a heavy book, and nearly hitting himself on the ceiling. He regained his flight path, and made his way out the window.

They both watched the owl until he was gone.

"Are you alright?" she quietly asked Ron.

"What?" he asked in return, looking back at her. "Oh— Oh yeah I'm fine."

He had just lied through his teeth, putting on a grimace of a smile. "Now that's all over and done with, I'd like to show you something."

She felt nervous as he guided her to sit, but was still standing himself. His hands nervously fiddled with the edge of the papers. After having to hold her tongue with the Snatchers book, she had little patience for whatever surprise he was going to spring on her.

"So…" he said, rocking back on his heels a moment and biting his lip, eyes fixed on the papers. "I was looking for a quill and ink the other day and needed to borrow some from you. You and I definitely need to do some quill shopping later— I know, it's not book shopping, but it's still one of your favourites…"

He glanced up at her, clearly trying to soften her up. She raised her eyebrows in a sign for him to continue.

"Yeah, right… Erm…" he coughed. "I didn't mean to pry, but in your bag I found your notes about finding your parents."

She suddenly felt cold.

"So I went and talked to Percy because he's in charge of family reunification. There's a discretionary fund for helping with the costs of it, like portkeys and travel expenses, and I told him everything I knew about your parents and their new names and their jobs and— and then he came to me today at the Auror office after the exam and… Hermione, they've found your parents."

She stared at him, mouth agape, brain staggered as well as if she'd been hit over the head with a frying pan. She could feel her brain trying to restart, emotions trying to flicker to life, actions trying to animate her. She could flee the room she was so overwhelmed, or she could angrily hex him for his interference, or rain down hugs and kisses upon him until he was absolutely smothered in love.

She settled on bursting into tears.

"I'm sorry!" he said, quickly hovering his hands over her, seemingly not sure where to place them. "Did I— Should I not have done that? I'm so sorry. I just wanted to help, and—"

"Ron—" she began, but her sobs choked and overwhelmed any words.

"If you don't want the Ministry's money, it's okay! I got that job at the Pub so I could save up some money to help you," he reached under his bed and took out a bag filled with Muggle cash, putting it on her lap. "So I can help pay for that! And then there's the Auror signing bonus— y'know, if I pass—" he said in a low voice.

He shook his head, undeterred. "So we can make this happen. However you want. I just want you to be happy, and thought this might help, but now you're crying and—"

"Ron Weasley!" she wetly cried through a sob.

He wilted in front of her.

"You… You high handed…" He flinched. "Perfectly wonderful man."

He looked up, mouth a perfectly open 'o.'

"You're… you're not mad?" he asked, peering hopefully at her.

Unable to articulate the roiling emotions, she shook her head and continued to sob, hands curling around the wads of money he'd laid in her lap.

"We'll get you your parents back and we'll make everything okay again," he said, putting his much larger hands on hers. "Right after my C.R.E.s are done, we can go, if you want."

She nodded, though a gravid feeling of dread began to grow in her gut at the thought of seeing her parents so soon. She wasn't ready, but she was too much of a shamed coward to say so out loud.

Instead she let Ron hold her hands as she cried. She cried for how much she loved Ron and how kind and wonderful he was. She cried in relief that she didn't have to get money or resources to find her parents. And she cried knowing that when she brought back their memories they'd finally be lost to her for good.

---

AUTHOR NOTES

A special thank you to everyone who took the time to write a comment! Y'all are so thoughtful and I thoroughly appreciate you all so much. You keep me inspired! :D Soo many are anon so I can't reply directly? But please let me know what you thought.

Chapter warnings: depressed/anxious/scattered thinking, character 'death', description of blood and wounds, explicit sex scene, swearing

If you want to skip the explicit sex scene, but not accidentally miss anything, here are the words to stop and start at: STOP AT: 'The kisses quickly blossomed into a fevered frenzy as their bodies moved against each other in a natural rhythm.' START AGAIN AT: 'The two lay there, panting and entwined, basking and senseless, unable to think of anything to say.'