Authors Note: Thanks again for all the kind reviews! You guys have been great and have kept me going.
Chapter 19
Then the Morning Comes
The Burrow
As Harry and Hermione were on a plane heading back to London, Ronald Weasley was just waking up in his old bedroom at The Burrow. He had no recollection of how he'd gotten there or why he was there. The only thing he knew was that if he didn't get to a bathroom soon, there would be puke all over the floor. He knew that his mother wouldn't like to see that.
He painfully forced himself out of bed and to the bathroom. About 20 minutes later, he came up from the u-bend and looked into the mirror. His skin had turned a dull, pasty color. He grabbed a cup from under the sink and filled it with water from the faucet. He took a long drink and then sat down on the floor.
"What in bloody hell happened?" he asked himself out loud. He looked down at his body and noticed that he was dressed in only a white undershirt and a pair of boxer shorts. He took a sniff of the shirt and winced. He smelled like a brewery. That would explain why he felt so bad.
He sat there on the floor trying to recall what had led him to this bizarre state. And then, it all came flooding back to him.
He'd returned early from New Zealand two days ago. He'd hoped that Hermione would be back from her self-imposed sabbatical. He'd missed her. They hadn't spent that much time apart in the past, and it wasn't something he relished doing. He'd been upset to find her apartment empty and his knocks at her door, unanswered.
It was outside of Hermione's flat where a group of reporters had bombarded him with questions.
"Did you know that your fiancee was in Hawaii with your best friend?" one asked.
"What?" Ron had answered back. "What are you on about?"
"Do you have a comment about the articles that appeared in both The Daily Prophet and the Wizarding World News? Those pictures seemed to say a lot, didn't they, Mr. Weasley?" another reporter barked at him.
"Look, I don't know what you lot are on about, but-" he'd began.
One of the reporters shoved a copy of the newspaper at him and another snapped photos as he read the article. He hadn't known what to say. He was shell-shocked.
He finally managed to murmur a firm, "No comment" at the reporters and then stormed off. He had no idea where he was going or what he was going to do, but he knew he had to get out of there.
He'd spent the night at one of the pubs on Diagon Alley. He began drinking alone, but then shared a couple of pints with some older blokes. He drank himself into a stupor and passed out on the floor of the pub. He vaguely remembered his brother George picking him up and carrying him out of the pub. He could even vaguely remember his mother's earsplitting screams at him.
He'd always wondered about the two of them-Harry and Hermione. He'd always felt that there was more than meets the eye there. Seeing those pictures and that article only confirmed it for him. They lied to him. The two people he trusted with his life had lied to him.
The optimistic side of him hoped it was like it was in fourth year when that awful Rita Skeeter woman had written those articles about Harry and Hermione being a couple. Those articles had been a bunch of rubbish. Maybe this was the same situation.
He should hear their side of the story. Maybe there was a reasonable explanation for it all.
Where there was smoke, though, there was usually fire. No, he told himself, let's just wait and hear what they have to say about it all. Then, we'll go on from there.
Ron got up from the floor and splashed some water on his face. He took a comb to his hair and when he thought he finally looked somewhat presentable for his parents, he opened the bathroom door.
He still felt dizzy, but did manage to make it down the spiral staircase to the kitchen. For a moment, he stood in the middle of the staircase and surveyed the scene below. His mother was standing over the stove, cooking bacon and eggs. His father had no doubt already gone into work at The Ministry. His brother, George sat at the table, drinking a glass of juice and reading over some paperwork. To Ron's dismay, a creak on the steps gave him away. His mother turned to face him. She didn't smile at him.
"Good morning, Ron," she said. "Have a seat. Breakfast is nearly ready."
Ron nodded and took a seat across from George. His brother was grinning wickedly at him.
"Good morning, Ronnie-kins," he said, beaming at him. "Sleep well?"
"Oh, sod off, George," Ron said, hoarsely.
"That's the thanks I get for saving your sorry arse, then?" George said. "Well, next time you decide to get shit-faced, we'll make sure to send Fred. It could have been much worse, you know. You could have had Percy come to the rescue."
"That's all I need. A line by line reading of the hazards of drinking and magic by Percy Weasley, no thanks, I'll pass on that one," Ron said, rubbing his eyes.
"You'd be better off following your brother Percy's example, Ron," Molly said. "Now, I know you're hurting, right now, but the answer to your problems isn't going to be found at the bottom of a mug at the pub. You'd never see Percy doing that. I only pray that your little escapade last night doesn't wind up in the paper."
"Why not, mum? Would that be so bad? It might cut out the news about my girlfriend off on some Hawaiian paradise shagfest with my best mate," Ron said.
Molly took her wand out of her pocket and cast a spell that allowed the food to cook itself. She then took a seat beside her youngest son and put a comforting arm on his shoulder.
"There's bound to be a good explanation for all of this. Harry and Hermione will explain this. You know how the papers have been making up stories about Harry for years," Molly said.
"But, Mum, those pictures," Ron said. "They looked pretty tight, don't you think?"
"They can do wonders with photos these days," Molly said. "Your father's been talking about how Muggles can do photo manipulation with computers. It would make perfect sense that wizards can do the same with a simple photograph. Now, let's get some food in you."
Ron felt his stomach lurch at the mere mention of food. "No, mum. I'll just have some juice."
"Suit yourself," she said. "George, can I get you something?"
"Yeah, I'll have a bash," he said.
"So how did you know where I was last night?" Ron asked his brother.
"Pete Henderson saw you at the pub. Came down the street and into the shop, told me you were there and that I might need to come get you," George said, happily taking the plate of food from his mother.
Molly took her own plate outside. She hadn't wanted to hear the gory details of Ron's drunken night out. Ron turned away from George as George happily devoured his food. Between bites, he filled Ron in on the sketchy details from the night before.
"So, I walk in the pub and there you were," George said, laughing. "Singing at the top of your lungs on the top of the bar."
"Singing? Me?" Ron asked. "How much did I drink last night?"
"Oh, wait," George replied, shaking his hands at his brother. "It gets so much better, or worse
depending on your point of view."
He paused before going on. Ron suppressed the urge to throttle him on the spot.
"Okay, so there you were singing. What was the name of that song? Oh yes, I remember now. 'Heartbreak Hotel' by that American bloke, Elvis Presley. And the best part, Ron, you were shaking your hips back and forth. It was priceless. I have to admit I stood and watched you for a long while. The next thing I know, your performance came to an abrupt end when you fell off the bar and passed out cold."
Ron had his head in his hands by the end of the story.
"Glad that my pain and suffering and humiliation caused you such joy, George," Ron said. He picked up a biscuit from the table and tossed it at George, who managed to duck just in time.
"Well, I best be off, I told Fred I'd open up the shop today," George said, taking a biscuit and wrapping it in a napkin. "Besides, he'll be wanting to hear all about your debut performance."
"Always glad to entertain you, George," Ron said.
Ron took a swig of orange juice from his glass and then set back up the stairs to get in the bath.
Harry and Hermione had just finished going through customs and picking up their luggage from baggage claim, when Harry pulled a hat out of his carryon bag and a pair of sunglasses. Hermione did the same. They hadn't known what would greet them upon their return to London, but they'd thought they'd best walk out of the airport incognito, so to speak.
The flight back had been uneventful. They'd both managed to catch some sleep on the way back. They hadn't talked about Ron any further, but he'd been on both of their minds.
"What do we do now?" Hermione asked.
"Get a cab I guess," Harry said. "Head back to your flat."
"Doesn't sound like much of a plan," Hermione said. "What if there are reporters camped outside my
building?"
"We can apparate in without having to go through all that," Harry said. "And people say that you're the smart one."
Hermione playfully punched him on the arm. "Not funny."
Harry managed to hail a cab and within the hour they were just down the street from Hermione's flat. To no one's surprise, there was a crowd of reporters camped outside the building. They'd managed to apparate inside the friendly confines of the flat and Harry was busily helping Hermione bring her suitcases into her room.
"Vultures, the whole lot of them," Hermione said, staring in disbelief out her window at them. "Can you believe that? Just waiting to pounce on us."
"Well, eventually something else will come along and we'll be yesterday's news," Harry said, sitting down on the couch. He lay back on the sofa and exhaled. He was exhausted both from the long plane ride and the events of the past couple of days.
Hermione was silent as she walked away from the window and sat down beside him on the couch. She rested her head on his chest and instinctively he put an arm around her and kissed the top of her head.
"What should we do now?" she asked.
"I don't know about you, but I'm positively knackered," he said, letting out a yawn.
Hermione followed suit with her own yawn a couple of seconds later.
"We could probably just take a nap," Harry said. He had already closed his eyes.
Hermione yawned once more and closed her eyes as well. "Hmmmmm," she said contentedly.
"So, they've returned," the master asked.
"Yes, my lord," the student said. "This morning they arrived at Heathrow. Slipped into her flat unnoticed. Apparation, apparently."
"Good, good," the master replied.
"What's the next step, my lord," the student asked him again.
"All in due time, all in due time," was his only reply.
"They'll no doubt have to confront the jilted party at some point, I imagine," the master said, hoarsely. "We'll make our move, then. At that dive the Weasley family calls home."
The student looked at him, amazed. While the master's strength had improved immensely over the past couple of days, he was still bedridden and seemed not at 100 percent.
"Are you, are you sure that you're ready for this. I mean, are you sure you're ready to make this move, now?" the student said, stuttering over the words. As soon as he'd said them, he knew he shouldn't have. The master's eyes turned cold and the veins in his forehead began to bulge. The student was frightened.
"How dare you challenge my authority, my judgment," the master said, frostily. "Do you have any idea how long I have been planning this attack? Do you have any idea how long I've waited to exact my revenge on this boy? He took everything that ever meant anything to me away from me. I'm going to take the one thing that he loves more than life itself, as punishment for that. He'll soon know what it means to cross me. You had better heed that example. Now, get out of my sight. I can't bear to look at you. You're weak. You know that? Weak. I don't have any time for someone who second guesses my judgment and my decisions."
The student wanted to say something to explain, but one look into those cold, unfeeling eyes and he knew the less said, the better off he'd be.
He mumbled an apology and then bid a quick retreat outside the safe house. He didn't draw an easy breath until he was outside of the house. He'd never had any pity for Harry Potter or Hermione Granger throughout all of this. Yet, now he feared for them. They had no idea what lay in store for them. If they thought their biggest threat was assuaging Ron Weasley's feelings, they had another thing coming. This would be their biggest test ever. Nothing would ever be the same again.