Fragments

Fragments

And the picture frames are facing down
and the ringing from this empty sound
is deafening and keeping you from sleep.
And breathing is a foreign task
and thinking's just too much to ask
and you're measuring your minutes by a clock that's blinking eights.

This is incredible.
Starving, insatiable,
yes, this is love for the first time.
Well you'd like to think that you were invincible.
Yeah, well weren't we all once before we felt loss for the first time?
Well this is the last time.
Dashboard Confessional - The Brilliant Dance

When he wakes in the middle of the night, he is not surprised. Immediately, his eyes drift over to the clock on the bedside table.

12:01.

Right on target, he thinks bitterly.

Next to him, the sheets are rumpled and tangled, but the space usually occupied by his wife is empty.

Also right on target.

Pulling back his own sheets, he climbs out of bed, wondering why either of them bothered to try and sleep in the first place.

Sleep on this night is impossible.

The floor is cool under his feet, pinching at his heels and he shivers. Grabbing a bathrobe, he goes in search of his wife.

He finds her in the same place that he finds her every year. The middle of the living room floor, bottles upon bottles of firewhiskey spread out around her.

His wife rarely drinks.

She’s far too rational for it—his wife has always needed to think clearly. She hates the way that alcohol dulls the senses.

But on this night—this one night—she can’t ever seem to help herself.

She’s giggling as he approaches her—though her eyes are red and swollen with tears. Her face is pale, her lips dry and chapped. Her nightgown is wrinkled and dirty from the floor.

This is the woman he sees every year—the woman she’s never shown the rest of the world. This is the woman who is broken and grieving.

This is the woman that she allows herself to be on this day, once a year.

The day that Harry Potter died.

He settles himself down next to her and he knows—she isn’t the only one that feels it—she isn’t the only one that wants to drown herself in alcohol until the pain is dulled.

But one of them has to stay strong.

“G’morning, Ron,” she greets cheerfully, holding up a bottle of firewhiskey.

“Good morning,” he says quietly, prying the bottle out of her hands. “I think you’ve had enough.”

She frowns at him, but doesn’t make any moves to take the firewhiskey back. “What’re you doin’ up?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“M’neither,” she whispers, biting her lip. “You know what today is, don’t you? Don’t you, Ron?”

“Yes, Hermione. I know.”

She shifts, drawing her knees up to her chest and letting out a shuddery sigh. “Always hurts—always hurts.”

“It hurts me, too.”

She nods. “Just us. Just us that can understand.” Her eyes shimmer with tears. “No one else can—no one else understands what it was like to lose him.”

He looks away from her, feeling his own tears. He can hear her unspoken words clearly—no one else has to deal with the burden of not being able to save him. The rest of the world grieves for the loss of the Boy Who Lived. They grieve for their inability to save him. That’s what they were supposed to do—and he died. He died and he knows they’ll never stop blaming themselves for it.

Their lives haven’t stopped.

For three hundred and sixty-four days out of the year, they don’t let Harry’s ghost hang over them. They bicker—occasionally they fight—they go to work, him, as an auror, her, as a Hogwarts’ professor. They visit friends and they make love and they laugh together and they share chaste kisses in public.

So they give themselves this one day—this one day to remember.

“It’s been 15 years, Ron,” she says softly, almost calmly, and he wonders if the alcohol is wearing off… or if she was even drunk enough in the first place.

“I know,” he says. “I can’t believe—it doesn’t seem that long.”

She touches her mouth with her fingertips. “He kissed me before he left—he said that he needed it to… he promised he’d be back, just so he could kiss me that way again.”

His heart feels heavy and he wants so badly to reach out—but she never lets him touch her on this day. On this day, she ceases being his wife. On this day, she belongs to another man—the only man she’s ever really loved.

He remembers how it used to frustrate him at first—how Harry still held her heart even though it was his ring on her finger and Harry was dead.

But he can’t blame Harry. He can’t blame Harry when Harry is dead and Harry was his best friend.

He can’t blame Harry when he’s the one who ended up with everything Harry ever wanted.

He remembers the way they clung to each other after Harry’s death. They had no one else in the world but each other. So they clung to each other and they picked up the broken pieces of their lives and they got married.

All we had was each other.

No, if he blames Harry for anything, it’s for leaving them.

“I can still feel the way he used to kiss me,” she whispers. “Like… like the world was ending and nothing mattered but the two of us. I sometimes think that there was some part of him that must have… known.”

He doesn’t say anything. He’s heard this before—he hears it every year.

“But that’s silly, isn’t it?” she says, her voice breaking. “Impossible for me to remember what it was like when he kissed me… it was so long ago…”

“It’s not silly,” he says firmly, as he says to her every year.

“Sometimes I wonder…” she trails off, hugging her knees to her chest with sudden desperation. “Sometimes I don’t think he really loved me—sometimes I wonder if I’m making it all up.”

This part is new and he looks up, startled. “You know that’s not true. You know that everything he did was for you—for us.”

Her hands hit the floor with a sudden thump. “Then he would have come back!” she yells. “If he loved me the way I loved him, he would have come back! Because nothing could have kept me from him!”

Her words pain him a little—it pains the part of him that is her husband. But the part of him that is Harry’s best friend can do nothing but silently agree with her. He left them both.

“I’m sorry, Ron,” she says, exhausted. She twists her wedding ring on her finger. “Not fair to you… not fair when I love Harry….” It’s the first time she’s said his name and her voice breaks. “Not fair at all…”

She does this, too, every year. Tell him that they should end things between them. He knows that it’s just words—that in the morning they’ll wake up together and carry on with their lives and never speak about it again until this time next year.

But he knows. One day she really will leave him. One day his love won’t be enough to help fill the void that Harry left behind.

And it will destroy them.

They need each other. Two parts of a broken third. Together they can stumble on, bear the loss, but alone they’d crumble.

It was never supposed to be this way.

It was supposed to be the three of them.

Forever.

A perfectly balanced triangle.

Not fragments struggling on alone.

“I miss him, Ron,” she whimpers. “So much… every day…”

“Me, too.”

Her face crumples and her shoulders shake with sobs.

He struggles against his need to try and comfort her. She doesn’t want him, he knows.

Just as he knows that one day she’s going to leave him. Not today—maybe not for years and year—but one day she will.

And he dreads that day.

***

A/N - Don't despair just yet - this is Portkey after all... chapter two coming real soon.

Possibility

Well you'd like to think that you were invincible.
Yeah, well weren't we all once before we felt loss for the first time?
Well this is the last time.

Dashboard Confessional - The Brilliant Dance

---

It's much too early. He can tell by the blueness of the morning light piercing the gaps in the drapes.

He slowly rolls over, curious to see if his wife ever made it to bed the night before. She began her annual breakdown the night before - the beginning of what he'd come to think of as 'the day of no comfort.' Ironic that the one thing that truly brought them together - that held them together these last fifteen years - was most likely the thing that would tear them apart.

He sees her, curled on her side and tightly clutching a pillow in her sleep. Her brow is furrowed and she looks anything but peaceful. The intensity of her expression tells him that under any other circumstances she'd have been awake by now, but the firewhiskey seems to have formed a heavy blanket over her, forcing her to remain unconscious.

He gives a defeated sigh as he leaves their bed, the ghost of another man palpable between them.

The sooner he leaves, the better.

***

'I'm coming back! Nothing in this world will keep me from you Hermione, I swear it!'

'Oh, Harry...'

He kisses her like it's the end of the world.

Their foreheads are touching and his thumbs are softly stroking her cheeks. She looks up at him.

'I'm coming back, if only to kiss you like that again,' he murmurs, then he smiles at her. She smiles back through her tears and he suddenly wraps her in a fierce hug.

'Come back to me Harry...'

Then she's alone - desperately alone.

Hermione woke with a start, startled to feel the fresh tears on her face. She'd been crying in her sleep again - not surprising, given what day it was.

She sat up in her bed, then closed her eyes in an attempt to quell the pounding of her head. She took a deep breath, recalling the last wisps of her dream. She could still feel him, the memory of a kiss from fifteen years ago still bitterly vivid.

She'd had too much to drink again. It always happened on this day, and she allowed for the weakness. She rubbed her eyes, reluctant to face the reality of the day before her. She wanted to go back to sleep, back to him, but it was too late... it was always too late.

Glancing to the other side of the bed, she noted that Ron had already gone. No real surprise there; he always left as early as possible on this day. She felt a twinge of guilt at how her actions last night must have hurt him, the way she hurt him every year. They both knew the truth of it - as much as they needed each other on this day, it was always when they were furthest apart. She let the harshness of her words to him the night before sink in. It was unfair to him, they both knew it, but what else was there? What else could there ever be?

Ron - dear, sweet, best friend Ron. One of three. Who else could ever understand like he did? They had shared in the most profound of friendships and suffered an unimaginable loss. Now they only shared an unspoken guilt - their marriage borne from comfort rather than desire, friendship rather than true love.

She did love him, though - had always loved him. He was her best friend. But she had never been in love with him, and they both knew it.

Harry.

It was always Harry.

It would always be Harry.

They lived for Harry now, for all he sacrificed for them. She excelled in her teaching position at Hogwarts, desperate to influence young minds and help instill the values that would help prevent another war from ever happening. Ron pursued a career as an Auror, giving up his dreams of playing professional Quidditch. He worked as hard as ever to help prevent another Voldemort from ever gaining power.

He told her once it was his way of honoring Harry. In her darker thoughts, she merely sees him as a cold and pale imitation. A constant reminder of what they'd truly lost.

Those harsh and bitter thoughts always seized her on this day. Recriminations and doubts and fears about what she could have done, what they should have done differently. These thoughts tease and torture, condemn and maim. Last night the worst had come to her.

What if he had never really loved her at all?

She swipes at her face and quickly gets out of bed, running towards the bathroom. She retches miserably into the toilet, hoping the sickening thoughts will leave her body along with the remnants of her last meal. She crumples backwards against the wall, gasping in great sobs. The guilt and fear and shame are relentless.

What could have been? That way lies madness...

It will be another hour before she's able to slowly pick herself up off the floor.

***

"Professor Granger, it's an honor."

Taking his name would have made her a traitor.

"This is Simone DeClerque; she'll be accompanying you."

She's shaken from her reverie. This place brings back too many memories - too many bad memories. Hermione gives the young official a ghost of a smile.

"Thank you."

"If you'll follow me, Professor," the older woman gestures towards her. Hermione numbly follows.

It was seventeen years ago when she last followed this path. She'd been too preoccupied to notice the significance of today's scheduled trip. Had she realized sooner what day it had been, where she'd be going, she would have rescheduled immediately. But given the delicacy of the matter, it was nearly impossible. She had a duty to perform, and it had been her idea in the first place. It wouldn't do for her to shirk her responsibility now, simply to sit at home and cry.

She stood in the lift with Simone DeClerque, slowly descending into the bowels of the Ministry of Magic.

"Professor, if I may - I just want to say that it truly is an honor. I've followed your career for quite some time." The older woman's voice is soft and not nearly as intrusive as the dozens of passersby who feel the need to say something whenever she is out in public.

They exit the lift and head towards the door... a sudden stab of phantom pain in her shoulder. Another wound coming back to haunt her.

Her pulse quickens as they grow closer to their destination. Each room brings another flash of memory - another memory of Harry.

She'd failed him then as well.

One more door and they'd arrived. An almost comical scene plays before her and she's surprised at how quickly her rational side can assume command.

"You never fixed it?"

"There was no need. We find it serves as a brilliant illustration."

The cabinet continues to fall and shatter, then rebound and repair itself.

"You know, Professor, I found the request from your school most intriguing. The fact that there is another student worthy of such a responsibility is most impressive."

A flicker of a smile plays across Hermione's face.

"You may not know this, but it was I that retrieved your original time turner for Professor McGonagall. She was quite adamant that you were truly capable of handling the profound responsibility of time."

Hermione blinked in surprise. Surely this woman was no older than her early forties. That would have to make her one of the youngest Unspeakables in history.

Simone DeClerque laughed, clearly able to read Hermione's thoughts as they played across her face.

"Professor, I assure you, I'm not as young as I look, but I thank you for being surprised."

Hermione blushed.

"When your Headmaster and Professor McGonagall lobbied the Ministry on your behalf, there were many issues to take into consideration. We had to make certain that you could handle such a responsibility, and your exemplary record to that point was evidence enough of that. Your thirst for knowledge, tempered with a maturity and brilliance beyond your years was the determining factor. We had hoped that you would have enough discipline and strength to use the time turner accordingly, without abuse. I must say, we were quite surprised at your diligence. You know, we've always wondered... the few students whoÕd been given such a responsibility before you also used the time turner to rest, yet you never did. Why is that?"

It seemed a lifetime ago - trying to squeeze two years' worth of subjects into one. She had never thought to use the time turner to sleep. It seemed frivolous somehow, resting on borrowed time.

"I was told to strictly use it for additional lessons. I didn't want to abuse the privilege."

Simone smiled.

"Ah yes, quite true. I'd forgotten how black and white rules can be to the young, especially those who choose to burden themselves with so much responsibility." Simone shook her head.

"However, it was quite refreshing to see you bend those rules for the greater good. I could scarcely believe it when I'd first heard what you and... well, what the two of you had done."

Hermione flushed. She wanted to pretend she had no idea what this woman was talking about. But as she looked at her, she felt no need to lie. It would be pointless.

"There are some things more important than rules, especially when it comes to fixing something that is completely unjust. And, as I recall, we weren't seen. We didn't break any laws per se."

Simone DeClerque laughed, and her amusement filled the room.

"Oh, dear me, but that's a brilliant answer! And I must say I'd expect no less of you, Professor. Your exploits are legend amongst my peers. Your creative interpretations and relentless logic are highly revered."

"I... I hardly think..." She could think of nothing else to say as Simone eyed her appreciatively.

"Er, thank you."

"My pleasure, Professor. As I intimated, we hold you in the highest esteem."

Simone turned from Hermione and withdrew a fine silver chain from her neck. She stepped forward and encircled Hermione, the action beckoning more bittersweet memories. A small pendant hung from the chain, and Simone nimbly worked her fingers on the spinning dials.

"It's necessary to stop time for access," she explained.

The crashing and rebuilding slowed, then stopped altogether. Simone lifted the chain from Hermione, then proceeded towards the cabinet.

"Hmm, silver or gold do you think?"

"I hardly think it matters. I'm certain my pupil won't mind. Boys that age are hardly ones to worry about accessorizing," she attempted some levity.

"True. Silver it is then. Better to match those Ravenclaw robes."

She placed the time turner in a small jewelry case, then presented it to Hermione. An almost wistful smile played across her face as she took it. How different would age thirteen have been if she knew then what she knew now?

"Thank you, Ms. DeClerque."

Hermione dropped the package into her cloak, then made to leave before remembering that she was in stopped time. She'd have to wait for Simone to rejoin the rest of the waiting world.

"It's no small responsibility, time."

Hermione looked up, only to find Simone rummaging through the cabinet again.

"No... no. I suppose it isn't."

"And you are one of the few who would truly know." Her back was still to Hermione.

"Well, yes, I suppose that's true." As fascinating as this woman was, Hermione was anxious to leave, to return to her grieving before another year began.

"Professor," Simone began, "are you familiar with the saying, 'good things come to those who wait'?"

"Of course. It's an old muggle saying."

"Of course," Simone had stopped rummaging. She turned around, another small box in hand.

"Professor, as I mentioned before, my colleagues and I have followed your career...you, rather closely. And we all hold you and your husband in the highest regard."

Hermione flushed slightly again, Simone's words seeming more weighty than the passing praises she heard from others.

"You see, when we initially agreed to give you a time turner of your own so many years ago, we had the normal doubts and concerns. And I must say, we were thoroughly impressed with how you held the responsibility. Your character far surpassed our expectations when you decided to help Sirius Black and the hippogriff Buckbeak. Your Gryffindor courage surpassed your strict interpretation of the rules, and you did what was just, rather than what was in keeping with the rules. You showed more courage and fortitude than wizards twice your age."

She slowly traced the edges of the box in her hand.

"You and your husband have suffered. There isn't a wizard in the world who doesn't know that. But while others have grieved and moved on, you still bear the burden of guilt - will always bear that burden."

Hermione could feel the prickle of hot tears threatening to spill.

"You were so young... all so very young. The responsibilities you chose to bear helped save the world, at a great and terrible personal cost."

Tears slipped down Hermione's face. There were no words.

"There are those of us... those few of us, who feel you should never have suffered as you did."

Hermione's breath hitched as she struggled to retain her composure.

"Professor...," her voice softened, "you taught us once, that justice should far outweigh blind obedience, particularly when lives are at stake."

Hermione's head shot up. She looked at Simone, fear consuming her - fear of hoping for the impossible.

She couldn't mean...?
Don't think it... it's too painful!

Simone reached out and took Hermione's hand. She placed the second box in her open palm.

"It was unfair that you had to suffer as you did. Your burden was too great for children so young." Simone closed Hermione's hand over the box.

"Possibility, Professor, and now opportunity. The choices are yours." Her voice was reverent as she slipped the chain around them again and restarted the timeline. The sound of the crashing cabinet made Hermione jump.

***

A/N - The lovely story of 'Fragments' was originally a one-shot, created by the fabulous Goldy, apparently for the express purpose of ripping everyone's heart out and squashing it into sticky bits. So me (Demosthenes), being the arrogant little pain in the ass that I am, decided I was going to find a way to set it right (I have a history of meddling with Goldy's toys). And, thankfully, she let me (this time). Hence, 'Possibility', and the chapters soon to follow...

So read - review - show the love! You know you want to!

Opportunity

A little voice inside my head said,
"Don't look back. You can never look back."
Those days are gone forever
I should just let them go... But...
Don Henley - The Boys of Summer

---

She takes long and purposeful strides as she exits the building, not daring to look back. She's both hopeful and afraid that someone, anyone, will stop her.

She unfastens the visitor's badge from her robes, trying to look for all intents and purposes as if she's late for an important meeting. Affecting what Ron lovingly calls her 'don't dare approach on pain of death' demeanor, she dispenses with all niceties as she tosses her badge onto the clerk's desk, then immediately exits the building.

She doesn't breathe until she's home.

Her heart is hammering and she's covered in a thin sheen of sweat by the time she casts the locking charm on the door to her private study. She wants to take a moment to rest just the slightest bit, but a driving momentum has seized her.

She needs to know it isn't a dream - another product of wishful thinking.

Hermione casts a critical eye on the room, her sanctuary for fifteen years, as if seeing it for the first time. Hedwig eyes her back from the perch near the ceiling. This room would always be home to her memories of Harry.

Her mind has been working in a fevered delirium during the entire journey home. She'd been formulating the first of many plans and now it was time to test one.

Feasibility.

She throws her cloak on the chair nearest the door, then goes to the closet. She reaches towards the back and drags out a trunk - his trunk - then kneels down before it almost reverently. She takes a deep breath, then opens the clasps on either side.

The first thing she notices is the scent. It's a bit musty, having never been aired in all these years. But underneath... underneath there's something stronger. Some of the strongest memories are tied to scent, and in Hermione's case, it's no different.

He's reaching across her in Potions class.

He's squeezed between her and Ron on the common room sofa.

He's holding her tightly after their first kiss.

She's almost overcome by the memories until Hedwig flies down and lands on the edge of the trunk. Hermione is startled at first, but when she looks at the snowy owl she swears she can see the same hurt and loss she's felt all these years. She knows that Hedwig can somehow sense the significance of the moment. She leans forward and strokes HedwigÕs feathers before gingerly sifting through the trunk.

Photographs and clothing and... oh Merlin, his wand. She wants to cry, but she's driven now. She will not stop until she knows.

Then she sees it, a silvery cloak neatly folded beneath his Quidditch robes.

She slowly stands, then loosens her fingers to let it unfurl for the first time in ages. She gives it a gentle shake, then drapes it over her forearm.

She moves towards her immaculate desk next, a smile forming as she looks at her muggle desk blotter - an oversized calendar with severe X's marking off each day. It was something she learned early in primary school: note all important events on a calendar, be diligent about crossing off the days. Simple and effective. It kept her organized from an early age and she never outgrew the habit.

Her seated position at the desk is directly opposite the doors, and above the doors is the antique wall clock given to her by her parents.

Behind her desk is a large window framed by an elaborate molding that extends nearly two feet at the top. She closes her eyes and tries to remember if there had ever been anything above that window. The ceilings were high, which accommodated her numerous bookshelves admirably. She often considered extending the wall of shelves to both sides and above the window. Thank Merlin she'd never gotten around to it.

She withdraws her wand, transfigures the topmost ridge of the molding into a large padded shelf, then conjures a ladder to the side. She tucks her wand into her trousers, turns, then walks slowly to her discarded cloak.

Her hands are trembling as she reaches for the package. She closes her eyes and holds her breath as she pulls the box out of her pocket. She cradles it in her hand, then opens her eyes.

She laughs. She laughs like a woman driven quite mad.

When she finally composes herself, she places the jewelry box meant for her student on the seat of the chair, reaches into the other pocket of her cloak, and smiles.

The box, the gift that Simone had given her, is there.

She opens it and withdraws her (possiblity!hope!) time turner. The only similarity with her previous one is the hourglass in the center. This one seems more advanced, with dials surrounding the outer edge. She puts it on, drapes the invisibility cloak over her shoulder, then heads up the ladder.

The shelf is comfortable enough and perfectly sized to hold her if she folds her legs. From up here she can see both the blotter and the clock without fear of being detected. She leans back, covers herself and the shelf with the cloak and almost laughs as Hedwig flies past her and back up to her perch. She's completely filled with nervous excitement as she holds the time turner in front of her, studying the numerals on each dial. Then she begins to experiment.

Seconds. Minutes. Hours. Days. Weeks. Months. Years.

Each dial does something different. She uses the antique clock, her desk blotter, and sometimes her younger self as reference.

She doesn't know how long she sits up there before she figures out how to set specific dates.

She returns to the present, finally leaves her perch, opens the doors, and, for the first time in fifteen years, rests.

***

Ron could find no excuse to stay out any later. He knew he'd have to return home eventually; he had only hoped it would be closer to midnight.

He apparated into the foyer, immediately noting how dark it was. On any other day he'd be worried. But today - today everything was meant to be dark.

"Hermione? Love? I'm home." He wanted to make certain to announce his presence. He couldn't bear to see her flinch in surprise. She looked so small and scared and lost whenever that happened.

"Hermione?" There was no sign of her in the sitting room - no traces of the night before.

Good. Maybe she's done for this year.

He made to head towards the bedroom, when the flicker of light pulled him towards the kitchen. There was an ominous air as he found her sitting quietly at the table, dimly lit, staring at him as if she'd been waiting all day. There was something different about her - something familiar in a way, but something he hadn't seen in years.

"Hermione?"

"Ron. Please, sit down." She rose from her chair and poured them each a cup of tea. Ron noted that the kitchen was a mess Ð potions ingredients strewn all over the countertop and a series of cauldrons sitting near the sink.

It was quite unlike her to work on this day, but then he remembered her mentioning something about a meeting at the Ministry. Perhaps she'd gotten caught up in a task that simply demanded her attention.

He remembered that Hermione could be quite passionate about some things.

She came back to the table and pushed the cup towards him. She began to drink and so did he, then she said the words that seized his heart.

"Ron, we need to talk."

Oh, Merlin! This is it. This is the day she leaves me!

"Hermione...," his voice faltered.

"Please, Ron." She saw his fear. "This isn't... it won't be simple, but I need you to listen to me."

Ron saw a bottle of firewhiskey on the table. He liberally added it to his tea, then finished it in one gulp, preparing for the worst.

"Do you trust me Ron? I mean... really and truly trust me? Not because I'm your wife, but because I'm your friend?"

This wasn't how he usually pictured this scenario. In his dark imaginings, she was cold and heartless, sometimes yelling at him. Yet now, she seemed... what was it?

"I need... I need to show you something. But I need you to listen to me, Ron, not just because I'm your wife, but because you trust me. You trust that I know what I'm doing." She looked up at him, a hint of fear and desperation in her eyes.

Relief washed over him. If she was leaving him, ending their marriage, she'd hardly be taking the time to show him trinkets.

"Hermione, what's...?"

"Please, Ron! Do you trust me?"

"Of course. With my life. Always."

She smiled quickly, then pulled something from underneath her shirt - a necklace - and she held the pendant before him.

"Ron, d-do you know what this is?"

Ron looked closer, squinting in the candlelight. He moved his hand to touch it, but she quickly pulled it back. He withdrew his hand and she held it closer to him.

"I've never seen one before but... is that a time turner?"

She smiled. Of course he'd never seen her original one. Only Harry had.

"Is that the time turner you got for your Ravenclaw student, then?"

"No Ron. This," she pushed another box forward, "is the time turner for my student."

"Oh, then why do you...," he stopped, then his eyes grew wide.

"Someone told me today, when they gave me this, that sometimes justice is more important than blind obedience. Do you believe that, Ron?"

"Hermione... what have you done?" His voice came out as a whisper.

"Do you believe that, Ron!?"

"It won't work," he shook his head, afraid to hope. "Those... those things... they can only do a few hours at a time..."

"Do you see these?" She pointed at the extra dials surrounding the hourglass. "They're for minutes and days and months and... oh, Ron... they're for years!"

Ron slumped back in his chair.

"I don't know why they gave it to me... to us! They said we'd suffered too much... we were too young..."

He recognized it now... what was different about herÉthe excitement, the determination - things he'd sworn she'd lost when she lost him.

"Hermione, we - we can't... " His voice sounded small, weak.

Her eyes flashed in anger.

"Why, Ron?! Tell me why we can't! The only thing we need to be certain of is not to be seen!"

The loudness of her voice awakened his ire - verbal sparring, the one thing they were best at. He suddenly stood up.

"Hermione, do you have any idea what you're suggesting? DO YOU?! You're talking about breaking a ridiculous number of laws!"

"We've done it before, Ron. We've broken rules plenty of times and you know it."

"Those were SCHOOL RULES, HERMIONE! Not something that'd get us both SACKED and landed in AZKABAN!!"

"Don't you think I've thought this through, Ron? Don't you think I know what's at stake?!"

"Honestly, Hermione, when it comes to Harry, NO! You never could think straight!"

"And what the hell is that supposed to mean?!"

"You know exactly what it means!" His face was red with anger.

"You know, Ron, I don't care what you think. This is Harry we're talking about, Ron, not us. And when it comes to Harry, you know as well as I do that we failed him."

"I won't let you do this, Hermione! Dammit!! You knew I'd have to stop you!! I'm an Auror, for Merlin's sake!!"

She leaned back, a small look of smugness on her face.

"And I'm still the smartest witch in a generation." Her voice had returned to normal. It was more a statement of fact than a challenge.

Ron narrowed his eyes at her, certain he'd missed something. She arched her eyebrows ever so slightly, a gesture he recognized well as 'you dare doubt me?' Then the very corner of her lip raised ever so slightly, and Ron went into full Auror mode.

That look. Her confidence. Her tone of voice. Her body language.

The mess of cauldrons in the kitchen.

The tea... the bloody tea!

He grabbed his teacup, sniffed, then looked at her.

"Bloody HELL!!!" He threw the cup across the room where it shattered into a hundred fragments.

"WHAT WAS IT?!! WHAT DID YOU USE?!!!"

She stood there, completely unsurprised at his outburst.

"Temporary binding potion. You most likely have the magical ability of Argus Filch right about now."

He was both incensed at her actions and mildly impressed, but both of those feelings were squashed by his sense of utter outrage.

"You think I need magic to stop you?" He advanced on her and before he could blink she had her wand trained on him.

"They wanted me to be an Auror, too, Ron, remember? But I chose to teach. So just sit the bloody hell down and listen to me!"

"You're mental!" His eyes were wide in disbelief. Surely this couldn't be happening. Hermione, his Hermione, would never do this to him, would she?

"Just sit down Ron, and let me explain!"

Ron glared at her defiantly. As much as he was afraid to admit it, he was frightened by his wife's sudden fervor. Then he sighed as she took the seat across from him. It was easy to yell at her in the heat of an argument, but when it came down to rational discussion, he never stood a chance.

"If this had happened on any other day, Ron - any other time of the year, I'd be inclined to agree with you. Every bit of rationality I have would tell me that this is ridiculous and dangerous and... and criminal..."

"Exactly!! It's criminal, Hermione..."

She raised her wand again and he immediately shut up.

"There's a reason this happened now, Ron. I have to believe that. I was meant to go to the Ministry today, on a day that I would never leave the house normally. Then for me to happen to be assisted by that particular Unspeakable... the one who trusted me with this responsibility the first time, back at Hogwarts. For her to trust me again, to trust me to do what I know is right. Ron, it's a gift! A beautiful and dangerous gift, but a gift just the same. And I cannot... I will not ruin the next fifteen years of our lives knowing that I... that we had the means of saving him and we did nothing!"

Ron couldn't help but notice how beautiful she looked right now. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears, and he could see in them something he thought they'd both lost forever. Hope. Hope and the end of their long suffering guilt.

"Ron, you have to realize, I've thought this through carefully. I've run dozens of scenarios through my head, planned for all types of contingencies. I'm prepared to do this, with or without your help. I've already decided on that. But I'd rather have you with me, beside me, because it was always meant to be the three of us, Ron - not two broken bits of three."

Ron couldn't help it. As much as he tried, all these years, to suppress the pain he carried with him, it was always there, always the same. Anytime he felt any happiness, whenever anyone praised him for his heroic efforts in the war, every time he touched her... it always left him with a sense of shame.

He shouldn't have this life. He was never meant for it. He'd only managed to survive the war when Harry actually won it, and yet he'd ended up with all the spoils.

The few times he had ever let himself dwell on those thoughts, he became physically ill.

His eyes began to glass over with tears.

"It's against all sorts of wizarding laws Hermione, and you know it," he said weakly.

"But that isn't a real reason, Ron. I know you want to save him as badly as I do. I simply know it!"

"I do, Hermione, but... I don't... it was horrible, Hermione. It was painful and awful and all sorts of terrible, and..." He looked down, his cheeks reddening.

"And what if we fail again?" She grasped his hand and he looked at her.

"We can't fail him twice, Hermione. I might be able to handle it, but we both know it would destroy you."

"But we're ready this time, Ron. Don't you see that? We're fifteen years wiser and we have the luxury of knowing what's going to happen. It would be impossible for us to fail again."

"You really mean to do this, then?"

She smiled, already knowing she'd won him over.

"You dare doubt me?"

He gave a small laugh, then swiped at his eyes.

"We can't fail, Hermione. You know we can't."

"I know." Her voice became more solemn as she rose from the table. She walked towards the kitchen counter, collecting her phials of various brewed potions.

"I spent the rest of today brewing these and buying the ones I didn't have time to make myself. Strengthening solution, general healing, wit sharpening, blood replenishing..." She began to cast unbreakable charms on each phial as Ron rose to join her. He placed his hands over hers, stopping her mid-charm. She looked mildly annoyed, until she noted his soft expression.

"Hermione...." He sounded scared. "What... what will happen? I mean, if we actually..."

"When we actually," she corrected, her voice soft and reassuring.

"Hermione, when we succeed, what... what will happen to us?"

Her eyes widened a bit and she set down the phials.

"Um... I'm... I'm not entirely certain. We may return here with our memories changed, or we might just get absorbed into the new time stream..."

He gently grasped her shoulders.

"No, Hermione, what happens to us?"

Her cheeks began to burn. She took a deep breath.

"Ron, I love you. You know I do. You've always been my best friend. These last years, you've been so much more.... comfort and love and home." She hugged him and he gripped her tightly. Her voice came out muffled, but strong.

"We need to believe, Ron, no matter what happens, that things will be as they were meant to be."

A strange mixture of pain and hope washed over him. He held his wife, for what he was certain would be the last time, then he gave her one long and bittersweet kiss that she returned with just as much feeling.

He had finally touched her on this day.

***

When they broke apart Hermione began outlining her plan to him.

They both recalled everything they could remember from that terrible night - the way Harry left, the dueling they had done with the Death Eaters, the escape of Bellatrix Lestrange (a situation that always left a cold place in Ron's heart - after all these years as an Auror, they had never found a trace of her, yet another failure he carried). No one had expected the final confrontation between Harry and Voldemort to create a bubble of such strong magical force that it prevented anyone from approaching the hilltop where they fought. After everything else was done, they, along with members of the Order and the Ministry, had all tried to find a way to penetrate the bubble. All they could see were flashes of light as spells were cast between the two. And then finally there was a ripple, then an explosion. The magic expelled knocked everyone to the ground, some completely unconscious, but the bubble had disappeared. They could all approach the battleground.

Hermione and Ron had been the first to run up the hill, desperate to find Harry. Through all the smoke and fog, Hermione could have sworn that she had seen Harry in the distance, just for a moment, staggering towards them. But when they found him...

Voldemort was dead. Harry had killed him before dying himself.

They would arrive early at the site of the final battle, each hidden in an invisibility cloak (standard issue for an Auror of Ron's ranking). They would sit and wait and watch what happened, making certain that Voldemort would never have a chance to throw the final curse at Harry.

After all her years of study on what had happened, Hermione knew they'd have to wait until the duel had a clear winner. If they were able to sneak their way into the battle's proximity, they still wouldn't be able to interfere until the very end. The sheer force of energy and the ancient magics of dueling prevented such an interference. But if Harry had weakened Voldemort enough in the end, then they'd be able to help.

She knew they could save him; all they had to do was a simple spell. Push him out of the way to prevent Voldemort's last spell from hitting its target... it was simple really.

Merlin, she hoped it was that simple.

She laid it out before Ron, and he agreed with and modified her strategies when necessary. They had a mission to accomplish now, a shared purpose.

Two of three.

They each took a swig of invigoration potion before leaving, then Ron suddenly grabbed Hermione's arm.

"Bloody hell, we almost forgot! Hermione, you have to give me the antidote. I can't do anything without my powers!!"

Hermione looked confused for a moment, then laughed.

"What's so funny, then?! We could have nearly ruined everything!" Ron was both cross and slightly hysterical.

"Oh, Ron, I'm sorry!" She dabbed at the corner of her eye, the laughter being the perfect tension breaker. She gave her bewildered husband a hug, then smiled at him.

"I knew you'd be cross, I just had to get you to calm down long enough to hear me out, that's all. Honestly Ron, what kind of wife and best friend would that make me if I went around poisoning people?" The grin she wore was infectious.

Ron couldn't help but laugh. After all these years, all the things they had shared, she could still surprise him.

"Smartest witch in a generation you say?"

"The smartest."

"Then we've as good as succeeded."

She kissed his cheek, looped the time turner around them, and vanished.

***

Reparation

Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.
T.S. Eliot - The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

---

Ron Weasley had never been so frightened in his life.

He stood at the edge of the small assembly, apart from his friends and mentors. The time had come. The time had finally come, and they were all about to head into this last battle together.

He glanced over his shoulder. The final adjustments were being made on Hagrid's magic repelling armor. Professors McGonagall and Flitwick were working with the Aurors and Order members on the strategy that Ron had outlined. Dumbledore would lead the attack, providing the cover necessary to get Harry to Voldemort.

They were ready.

He looked around, then saw them, tucked away towards the back. He couldn't hear what Harry was saying, but he could feel the emotion between them. It was palpable, even from this distance. Their foreheads were touching and he could see the tears slipping down Hermione's cheeks.

He looked away, ashamed, feeling as if he'd intruded on a sacred and private thing - possibly their last moments together.

Don't think that!

But the doubt comes unbidden and the fear grips him. He can hear Harry coming up behind him, then feels a warm hand on his shoulder.

"You ready then, Ron?"

He can't help but give a snort of laughter.

"I should be asking you that."

They both stare out at what will shortly become the battlefield.

"You know, Harry, I've been thinking...."

"Not one of your stronger suits."

"Just because my last name isn't Granger doesn't mean I can't rub two thoughts together. Now what was I saying?"

"You were thinking..."

"Yeah, I was thinking... Let's just chuck this whole lot, the three of us. Use all that gold you have at Gringotts and go buy a tropical island somewhere."

"Really? Anywhere in particular?"

"Someplace nice and balmy, as far away from all of this as possible. Hermione probably knows something about geography; bet she could find us the perfect place."

"I don't think I'd do too well in the sun, Ron."

"Oh, you'd adapt eventually. We'll just go pick an area where no one knows us. I'll get more freckled, Hermione will singlehandedly discover potions to cure all known diseases while collecting every book known to man and wizard alike."

"And what would I do?"

"Well, that's the best part really. You'd fly around on your broom all day, raise the fifteen kids you'll have with Hermione, and grow bald and really quite fat."

"Bald and fat?"

"It's the kids, Harry. They really take a lot out of you!"

"Right, but I suppose you'll be lean and handsome forever, then?"

"I'll have to be, what with all the beautiful tropical island girls who tend to me."

"Tend to you?"

"Well, Hermione won't let them near you! I deserve a happy ending, too!"

Ron gave a wistful smile and Harry grinned before continuing.

"Right then, so what about Voldemort? What about now?"

"Oh, him... almost forgot about him."

"Think he'll let us postpone this? Say, maybe, 50 years or so?"

"That would be good. Then you and the fifteen Potters can all have a go at him. You and the whole scary lot of nearsighted, brilliant, crazy haired, large toothed sprogs."

"Tanned, Ron. Don't forget tanned."

"He'd never stand a chance then, Harry."

"No, I don't suppose he would."

They were both silent. The impending future stretched out before them with the fate of the world hanging in the balance. But in this moment they were simply Harry and Ron, two boys who'd become best friends on a train.

Harry squeezed Ron's shoulder again, then turned to face him.

"Ron, I need you to promise me something."

He wanted to tell Harry he was being silly, that he'd make it through just fine and there was no need to ask, but he simply couldn't find the words.

"Watch out for her. Keep her safe. If... if something happens to me, you have to take care of her, Ron. She won't let you at first; she's too stubborn for that. But you have to promise me..."

"I promise, Harry... I promise."

Harry grabbed him into a hug.

"You're my best friend, Ron. I'd have never made it without you all these years."

Ron could feel the tears rise suddenly from the back of his throat.

"You'll come through this, Harry. You have to... we... we all will. You'll see!"

They pulled back from each other and swiped at their faces, embarrassed at such an emotional display. Just as they began to compose themselves, Hermione came up behind them.

"Honestly," her voice wavered as she smiled up at them, "you two are as bad as I am!"

"Hermione, I have no idea what you mean!" Ron feigned insult.

"Of course you don't," she tucked herself under his arm, then reached out for Harry. He stepped forward and she pulled them both into a hug. Their arms tightened around one another as they stood there.

"I love you both so much," Hermione's voice was muffled but curiously strong. "Don't either one of you dare think about getting hurt, or Merlin help me, I'll really give you something to cry about!"

They laughed around her and Ron felt her tighten her hold on the both of them.

"It's the three of us now. Do you understand? I don't care what happens, what you have to do, but each of us is going to make it."

"Yes, mum!" Ron asserted, and they all laughed again.

And then there was silence, and they held each other tightly.

Three of them.

A perfectly balanced triangle.

And then all too soon the moment was over, the group was assembled, and the attack began.

***

Ron Weasley had never been so frightened in his life.

He stood at the edge of the small clearing, unable to believe what he and his wife were about to attempt.

Not attempt! Do! What we're about to DO!

He tried to shake the doubt from his mind as he felt Hermione brush past him. They were both still invisible and spoke in hushed tones.

"By Merlin, Hermione... we're here! We're really here!"

He felt her grab his hand and lead him to the far edge of the clearing, to the edge of the hill where Harry would fight his final battle. They looked out over what would soon become an historic battlefield.

"Hermione, no one's up here; we should just take these things..."

Then, right at that moment, they heard it, the multiple sounds of people apparating into the clearing behind them.

He heard Hermione gasp beside him.

Voldemort and his faithful Death Eaters, dozens of them, now stood a few meters away. Hermione's grip tightened on his arm. It had been years, well, fifteen years to be exact, since she had last been involved in a life or death situation. Thankfully, Ron had more recent experience and dragged her off behind some low bushes to better mask their voices. They both knelt down as he began to note the enemies before them.

It was odd more than anything else, as he assessed them. He knew which ones would soon die, which would be captured and sent to Azkaban, and, as he gritted his teeth, which one would get away. A low growl escaped his throat as Bellatrix Lestrange shared a malevolent laugh with her husband Rodolphus. His body tensed.

"Ron, don't!" Hermione hissed next to him. "We have to let as much of this play out the way it's meant to."

He was certain she could hear his jaw drop.

"I know... I know. It sounds ridiculous considering what we're about to do here, but Ron, we're here to do one thing. Just one! And if we try to tamper with anything else, it might hinder our ability to save Harry."

"All right then, Hermione," he gave a tense sigh. He went back to observing the enemy, disconcerted at how lightly they were discussing killing his friends. He squeezed his eyes shut as Bellatrix laughed again. He remembered seeing her standing over a dead Auror fifteen years ago - one he didn't know, but who was dead nonetheless. He remembered her laughter as she saw him approaching to challenge her. A gangly seventeen year old fresh from schooling, woefully unprepared for the true viciousness involved in cold blooded death.

She'd left him alive, badly beaten with a broken arm. When he'd been younger, he never understood why she hadn't killed him before laughing and apparating away. It was only as he grew older that he came to understand why she'd done it.

She mocked him.

Through the following years, as she remained expertly hidden with nary a trace of her existence betraying her, she continued to mock him. And now, as he heard that laughter once more, it took all of his resolve not to run out and repay her for the insult.

He opened his eyes as he heard Voldemort issuing orders - telling them to kill as many as they wished, so long as no one killed Potter. He wanted that glory for himself. Of course, they were free to hurt him as much as possible, and at that admission, they all laughed again. Then, one by one, they disapparated.

Hermione grabbed him roughly and pulled him out from behind the bushes. Had they not been in their invisibility cloaks, they'd be in plain view of Voldemort himself, a mere ten meters away.

"Get ready, Ron."

They both knelt down, and as the last Death Eater disappeared, they both lay flat against the ground. Hermione held Ron's arm tightly, and he kept his gaze fixed on Voldemort, anxious to see if her theory had been correct.

Voldemort raised his wand into the air, then began speaking a string of complex incantations. A swirl of color lifted from his wand, then stretched into an ever growing ring, a brilliant luminescence on its edge.

Ron felt her shift, never releasing his arm, then she began to mutter her own string of incantations. As the ring grew, Ron began to worry. He had faith in his wife's ability, but so much rested on their assumptions. He prayed that she knew what she was doing.

Then he felt it - a bizarre tingling sensation as the ring passed over them and reached past the hilltop. The bubble that would only allow Voldemort and Harry had been established. Hermione's suspicions had been that Voldemort had cast the bubble, but the true power of it had been reinforced when he and Harry had dueled. The charm was an old and complex one, but not one that Hermione couldn't find and research. It was one of the many things she had studied before laying out her plan to him.

He had feared the worst, had feared that they'd be thrown forcibly clear of the bubble and rendered completely useless in their mission. But Hermione, his brilliant Hermione, had worked on the countercharm, and thought to bring the one thing that would make them immune - Harry's wand.

Now they simply had to wait.

***

Dumbledore led them onto the valley. The Aurors attacked first, once the Death Eaters apparated onto the battlefield. They were closely followed by members of the Order, then a select group of students who had chosen to fight. They flanked the Death Eaters on all sides and began using a volley of spells, clearing a channel for Harry to make his way to Voldemort.

As Rodolphus Lestrange attempted to attack Harry, Hermione gave the signal, and everyone shielded their eyes.

"Lumos solarum," she cried, and a magnificent flare of light blinded the enemy. Harry would reach Voldemort unscathed if it was the last thing she ever did.

Everyone pressed their advantage and attacked the enemy in earnest. Time seemed to crawl to a standstill, losing all meaning as people fought and died all around.

***

Hermione turned her head as the brilliant light engulfed the valley below.

The lumos solarum spell...

She slowly stood, then pulled Ron up alongside her. She kept a careful eye on Voldemort as she tucked Harry's wand away, somehow afraid that he might be able to sense them standing there.

She noted how Voldemort looked almost regal, but nonetheless deadly, as he stood there waiting for Harry. Small licks of luminescent green energy seemed to crackle all around him as he rose to his full power, eager for the final confrontation.

She didn't realize how utterly terrified she was until Ron grabbed her and she almost gasped aloud.

It took a moment for her to recover, and then she and Ron moved back towards the furthest edge of the clearing. Her hand was trembling as he reached over and gave it a comforting squeeze. They both knew what... who... was coming, and fear and anticipation gripped them both.

There was no turning back now.

***

"Protego!"

A resounding CRACK filled the air as Antonin Dolohov disapparated quickly enough to escape his rebounded curse.

But Hermione knew better than to think he'd simply run away.

She lowered her wand and curled her hands into fists - she was ready. She had studied him and his tactics, promising herself that he would never get the better of her again.

She felt it before hearing it, the sudden shift of air behind her. Then she brought her elbow straight up and back with deadly precision, driving it directly into his face as he apparated behind her. The loud cracking noise of apparation coinciding with the sickening crunch of his nose. He staggered backwards, blood first staining, then pouring, from beneath his hood. He ripped it from his head with a howl of fury as Hermione drove her fist into his face with a frightening growl.

As he fell to the ground she aimed her wand, then nearly screamed a slew of incantations that caused roots to pull free from the earth and bind him. He struggled for breath as they drew tightly around him. Another hex ensured that he couldn't disapparate.

In the dim light she could see the pain, surprise and fear in his eyes as she pointed her wand directly at him. She paused as he held his breath, then stunned him.

Never again!

***

Her breath caught in her throat, and she could hear Ron gasp softly.

Harry!

Time seemed to stop as he stepped into the clearing and slowly made his way towards Voldemort. She felt faint, and a buzzing filled her ears so she couldn't hear what they were saying.

Oh Merlin! Oh Lord in heaven! He's alive! He's really alive!

Her knees could barely hold her and her vision began to swim. She could feel herself slowly pitching forward, and when her instincts took over to stop herself from falling, she gasped for air.

She hadn't breathed once since she saw him.

She felt Ron's hand on her shoulder, steadying her. Then he moved closer to her. She could swear he was trying not to cry.

They were holding each other, both of them fighting the urge to run to Harry.

Voldemort made the customary bow to Harry, and Harry shouted something scathing in return. They each held up their wands, then began the duel.

***

Death Eaters, Aurors and fighters alike suddenly stopped and looked upward, the palpable energy of the duel radiating from the hilltop.

***

It had been almost an hour, but to them it felt like an eternity. They were tense with anticipation, and yet dumbstruck with awe at the spectacle before them.

Harry was magnificent.

Every hex, every curse and taunt that Voldemort would throw, Harry would counter or block with ease. Despite the spells that hit him, Harry managed to hurl something just as damaging at his opponent.

Given that they knew the final outcome of this duel, both Ron and Hermione were terribly confused. What, in the final moments, had gone wrong?

Voldemort tried to attack Harry again. Harry countered by using a simple summoning charm to drive a large stone into the back of Voldemort's head.

Hermione couldn't help but grin, remembering everything they'd gone through for him to learn that spell. She could hear Ron beside her.

"Good one, Harry," he murmured.

And then it happened... the final confrontation. It was all so quick that neither of them could distinguish exactly what was happening. Harry rushed towards Voldemort, and Voldemort screamed, and then there was a brilliant flare of lights and phoenix song and then a soundless explosion that rocked the hilltop and knocked them both to the ground.

Hermione scrambled to get up.

"RON," she said in a furious whisper. "WHERE ARE YOU?!"

"Hermione!" He crawled towards her voice then pulled himself up with her help. They both turned towards the clearing.

"Hermione? I... I don't..."

Hermione saw it as well and could barely catch her breath.

"I don't understand..."

There was no possible way to mistake it. Even from this distance, they could both see what had happened.

Voldemort was dead.

And Harry was alive and well and standing over his remains.

"But... but we didn't... Hermione? We haven't done anything... have we?"

"N-no... no, we haven't." Neither of them could tear their eyes away from the wonderful and bizarre sight before them. They slowly began moving towards Harry, as if magnetically drawn to him. Harry continued to walk towards the edge of the hill. He was now visible from the valley below.

"I don't understand, Hermione," his voice was hushed. "If Harry's alive, and Voldemort is dead, then what..."

He never had the chance to finish his question.

Ron saw it first, out of the corner of his eye. There was no familiar cracking sound, simply a shimmer, and then a solid person at the far end of the clearing behind Harry.

In one fluid motion Ron squeezed Hermione's hand. "Get Harry!" Then he ran.

Hermione had never moved so quickly in all her life.

The figure raised its wand, and Ron could hear the husky growl that had begun to utter the killing curse.

An invisible Hermione tackled an unsuspecting Harry.

Ron hurled a violent 'Expelliarmus' towards the attacker, whose wand went flying through the air.

A stunned Harry struggled to get away from some unseen force that kept scrabbling at him.

A vicious scream erupted from the attacker, who then ran straight towards Harry, intent on killing him with her bare hands if need be.

"LESTRANGE!"

Ron chased after Bellatrix while Hermione still struggled with Harry. She pushed him down again.

"Blast it, Harry, stay down!"

He stopped struggling.

"Hermione?"

"Yes! Now, please! Just stay put!"

Despite every instinct he had to get up and fight, he stayed down.

Bellatrix was snapped out of her murderous rage when she heard her name. She turned at his voice and that's when Ron saw it. All need for pretense was gone. He pulled off his cloak.

"Well look who's all grown up! Ready to play with the big boys now, little weasel?" She gave that cold and mirthless laugh then made a sudden grab for the time turner around her neck.

"REDUSEN!"

Bellatrix was thrown backwards as her time turner exploded into dust.

***

Harry tried desperately to turn around and see what had happened.

"Harry, please, don't!" She pushed his head down as she watched Ron subdue Bellatrix.

"Hermione! What is it? What's going on? Why on earth are you wearing my invisibility cloak?"

"Harry... oh Harry..."

The tone of her voice alarmed him more than anything else.

"Merlin, Hermione... what is it?! I... I beat him... it's over..."

He could hear her sobbing gently.

"Hermione, please, what's the matter? Let me look at you."

"I... I can't..."

"What? Why not?"

She took a deep breath to calm herself. He felt her arms wrap gently around him as she brought her cheek against his. Her breath was warm through the thin fabric of the cloak as she whispered into his ear.

"You know the laws Harry... we can't be seen. Ron and I can't be seen by anyone."

She drew back from him, watching his eyes go wide as he realized who she was - where she must have come from. A moment, and then his eyes grew wider as he realized why she would have traveled through time to be here.

"...no..."

She gripped him suddenly in a crushing hug.

"...oh, Hermione...." His voice was small.

***

For the briefest of moments, he considered killing her. All the pieces fell into place and he realized that she must have been the one who murdered Harry. But his Auror training asserted itself, and he subdued her like any other Auror would any other suspect. He rendered her unconscious, then bound and hexed her for the Aurors of this time period to find.

He felt as if a weight had been lifted. All these years of not knowing, and now, in the end, he had finally captured her.

He glanced over and saw Harry sitting at a peculiar angle, his face white with shock and speaking to thin air.

Alive.

Harry was alive.

A grin played across his face before he realized that he was no longer wearing his cloak. He wanted to run and crush Harry into a hug, as he was certain Hermione was now doing. But he remembered her warnings - they couldn't be seen by anyone in this time period. So he turned to retrieve his cloak and was astonished to see yet another person shimmer into existence before him.

***

Hermione stole a glance and saw Ron going to retrieve his cloak. She was still uncertain as to what would happen to the two of them now that time had been altered. As happy as she was, she didn't know what lay ahead. Would she remember any of this? Would they suddenly evaporate into memory?

Whatever happened didn't matter now. Harry was alive. Wonderfully alive.

Wonderfully in her arms.

I'm sorry, Ron.

"Harry, close your eyes."

She grabbed her cloak and covered Harry.

"We only have a few moments before the younger versions of Ron and myself come running up that hill to find you, so listen. We came back for you, Harry, because it was never meant to be us without you. Remember that. It's meant to be the three of us, always. We love you, Harry... I... I love you, and I always have."

She gently cupped his face in her hands, then gave him a soft kiss. And he kissed her back, just as he had hours before - just as he had fifteen years ago.

Oh Merlin, it's just as I remembered!

"I love you, Hermione." She saw the tears running down his cheeks. He gave her one last kiss on her forehead as she pulled the cloak off him.

He never opened his eyes.

***

Ron pointed his wand at the strange woman suddenly before him.

"Auror Weasley, it's both an honor and a pleasure." She gave him a serene smile.

He lowered his wand, his eyes narrowing as he spied the time turner she was wearing.

"Bloody hell, does everyone have one of those now? Giving them away in boxes of Choco Cheering Charms are they?"

"Hardly, Mr. Weasley. As you may remember, we don't have much time before your younger selves find their way here. I suggest you say your hellos and goodbyes to Mr. Potter while you can. I'll be here to explain when you're done."

"But who...?"

"Please. You haven't much time." She gestured behind him, where he turned and saw Harry slowly standing. Ron threw his cloak on and rushed towards him, nearly knocking Hermione over in the process.

"Ouch!"

"Hermione? Are you all right?!" Harry looked around, trying to figure out what had happened to her.

"Oh, she's fine, just can't keep a decent sense of direction while invisible, is all," Ron choked out. Hermione let out an indignant, yet amused, huff.

"Ron?"

In answer, Ron grabbed him in a bear hug, lifting him from the ground and spinning him around in an extremely unmanly fashion.

"Merlin, Harry, it's good to... to see you... after all this time," he managed to say, his voice full of emotion.

"I wish I could say the same," Harry joked, and Ron grabbed him again.

"I've missed you, mate. I really have."

"Again, wish I could say the same."

They laughed, then grew quiet. Ron spoke in a low voice so Hermione wouldn't hear him.

"I did what you asked, Harry. I took care of her, but... but she was never really mine to take care of. That's your job. It's your turn now, and you'd best do a bloody good job of it. I'd hate to have to kill you after going through all this trouble."

Harry was stunned. It was too much to take in all at once. And then he suddenly felt Hermione grab him as well, her hold tightening on them.

The three of them.

They could hear the sounds of people making their way towards them. Two sets of steps louder, faster and closer than the rest.

It was time.

"Thank you," Harry whispered. "Thank you for coming back for me."

"Well, you know, time turners - not just for hippogriffs anymore. OUCH!"

"That wasn't funny, Ron!"

"Yes it was, Hermione," Harry laughed, and they all finally laughed together.

"Here... he's somewhere over here, Ron!" The younger Hermione's voice was in the distance.

"Goodbye, Harry."

"Goodbye, Harry."

"Thank you."

Ron and Hermione let him go and walked to the edge of the clearing.

***

Ron and Hermione came running over the edge of the clearing. Ron was nursing his arm as Hermione shouted in delight and ran into Harry's arms.

Ron surveyed the area, almost certain he'd seen shapes moving through the mist, and then he saw a trussed up Bellatrix Lestrange lying on the ground. A smug grin of satisfaction played across his face before he turned and joined Harry and Hermione. They drew him into their embrace and the three of them stood together, silent and victorious.

Three - a perfectly balanced triangle.

Whole.

***

"Ron, where are we going?" Then Hermione looked up and saw her.

"Professor, it's an honor and a privilege to finally meet you in person."

Hermione's eyes widened in shock.

"Ms. DeClerque? What... what on earth are you doing here?"

It was Simone's turn to look surprised.

"Professor, have we met before?"

Hermione gave a rueful smile.

"Well, I'm guessing for you we haven't met yet. But yes, Ms. DeClerque, we met earlier today in fact. Today being exactly fifteen years from now. You gave me this." Hermione showed her the advanced time turner.

Simone smiled back. "Of course I must have. It only makes sense after everything that's happened."

"Yeah, and what the bloody hell is it that happened exactly? We thought Voldemort killed Harry. What is Bellatrix Lestrange doing here with one of those," he pointed at Simone's time turner, "when she hasn't been seen in fifteen years?"

"Mr. Weasley, Professor Granger, it's something of a remarkable case, actually. But then, when it comes to the two of you and Harry Potter, things are rarely less than extraordinary. Perhaps I should start at the beginning..."

Simone DeClerque proceeded to tell them of her role as an Unspeakable, and how she was asked to observe the events surrounding the death of Harry Potter. She told the two of them how there are those that monitor the time stream within the Department of Mysteries, and how they had noted that certain things didn't seem to correlate in his death. As far as they had been able to tell, Harry Potter should have lived.

"But... but then what you're saying..." Ron began.

"Is that Harry should never have died," Hermione finished in awe.

"From what we've been able to tell, it was all Bellatrix Lestrange. Some time after the defeat of Voldemort she somehow managed to acquire a time turner. Her repeated attempts to save Voldemort were fruitless because of the protective duel charm he had placed. Those numerous attempts to breach the bubble using the time turner alerted us. However, she was obviously not as clever as you, Professor. So instead of saving Voldemort, she resorted to her only other option, murdering Harry Potter after the duel."

"Only this time she didn't," Ron stated.

"Exactly, and now the timeline has been restored to its original flow."

"But Ms. DeClerque, Simone, what will happen to us now that everything's been fixed?"

"Professor, once you and your husband use the time turner to return, you'll slowly merge with what should have been your proper selves. You'll still have vague memories or impressions of the last fifteen years, but they'll only be amorphous thoughts in your dreams, nothing more. As I said, everything is now as it should be."

Ron and Hermione looked at each other, then turned around to peer at the three of them in the clearing, clutching one another tightly. He grabbed her hand, then turned around to face Simone. He glanced once more at Hermione, who smiled up at him.

"We're ready."

"Yes, we're ready. And thank you. Thank you ever so much."

Hermione looped the time turner around Ron and they both shimmered from one existence into the next.

***

Whole

God's in his Heaven
All's right with the world!
Robert Browning - Pippa Passes

---

When he wakes in the middle of the night, he is not surprised. Immediately, his eyes drift over to the clock on the bedside table. He squints to make out the numbers.

12:01.

Right on target, he thinks, a smirk playing across his face.

Next to him, the sheets are rumpled and tangled, but the space usually occupied by his wife is empty.

Also right on target.

Pulling back his own sheets, he climbs out of bed, wondering why either of them bothered to try and sleep in the first place.

Sleep on this night is impossible.

The floor is cool under his feet, pinching at his heels and he shivers. Grabbing a dressing gown, he goes in search of his wife.

He finds her in the same place that he finds her every year. She's pouring three rather large glasses of firewhiskey and lining them up on the coffee table.

His wife rarely drinks.

She's far too rational for it — his wife has always needed to think clearly. She hates the way that alcohol dulls the senses.

But on this night — this one night — she can't ever seem to help herself.

She's giggling as he approaches her — her eyes gleaming at him. A beautiful smile lights her face before she wraps him into a warm hug. He smiles back at her, then gives a her deep and soulful kiss - like the world is just beginning.

This is the woman he sees every year — the woman she's never shown the rest of the world. She's positively giddy and girlish, a childlike joy emanating from her.

This is the woman that she allows herself to be on this day, once a year.

The day the three of them survived.

The day that Voldemort died.

He settles himself down next to her and he knows — she isn't the only one that feels it — she isn't the only one that wants to indulge herself in alcohol and celebrate until her head is swimming delightfully to match her mood.

But one of them isn't here yet.

Their fireplace flares a brilliant green, then with a whoosh, he appears.

"G'morning, Ron," she greets cheerfully, holding up a glass of firewhiskey.

"Good morning," he responds, taking the glass from her. "Haven't thought about starting without me?"

She gives him a playful frown before picking up the other two glasses and offering one to Harry.

"Honestly, Ron, I'm offended!" She grins, then raises her glass. "To Harry, for saving the world as we know it from the clutches of evil," she toasts with an overly dramatic flourish.

"To Harry," Ron toasts, "for thoroughly kicking the arse of evil!" He gave Harry a cheeky grin.

"To Ron and Hermione, for saving me when no one else could," he responds, a puzzled look crossing the faces of his two best friends.

"Cheers," and their glasses clinked before they each downed their contents in one gulp.

Harry shifts himself on the sofa, drawing his knees up beneath him and letting out a contented sigh. He watches as Ron removes his cloak, the brilliant orange and red of his Cannons jumper clashing horribly with his hair. Hermione is laughing at something he said while she refills each of their glasses.

He looks away from them, feeling tears rising unbidden, prickling at his eyes. He remembers the whispered words of an older Hermione and the weight of their implications — a kiss on the battleground, hidden from everyone. Then there was Ron, and his promise fulfilled.

He often wonders what they looked like. How much time had passed and what it must have done to both of them — what they went through that drove them to do what they did.

He never told either of them what had happened that night.

Sometimes the wondering and the what-ifs threaten to drive him mad. He felt a twinge of survivor's guilt at first, curious as to why he should have been spared, why he was allowed to cheat death when so many others died that night.

He almost told her one night, a few months after it happened. Wanted desperately to tell her and Ron and see if they had any memory, any echo of a recollection as to what had happened. He needed to know why he'd been allowed to cheat fate.

They shared a flat in London then, not too far from Diagon Alley. Ron was on tour with the Montrose Magpies as a reserve keeper and Hermione had been attending Stonehenge. Harry had spent those months recuperating - the final duel having drained him of a large amount of his magical ability. Time and rest would heal him completely, and he had a standing offer to join the Auror division when he'd fully recovered. However, the weeks of rest had given him too much time to think and ponder and replay those few moments over and over again.

His moods would fluctuate back then, from simple gratitude to be alive to a sullen moodiness at feeling unworthy. It caused a bit of a strain between the three of them, but they adapted, as they always did. Still, Harry carried the burden of knowledge.

He hadn't felt he deserved to live.

And so he had decided. Tonight. He was going to tell her tonight.

That's when the large tawny owl had flown through their open kitchen window and dropped the scroll in his lap before flying out again.

'They set things right. You'll know when it's your time.'

There was no signature on the scroll. No one to question further. And then he realized that he was meant to carry this knowledge alone; there was no other way to explain the fortuitous arrival of this note. Perhaps it was his penance — their burden of life without him in exchange for his burden of knowledge. He read it again.

'You'll know when it's your time.'

'You'll know.'

And then he felt it — truly felt it for the first time since that night on the battlefield.

He wasn't supposed to die. He was supposed to live.

He deserved to live.

And his heart felt suddenly light.

When Hermione came home that night, they made love for the first time. He proposed less than a week later.

"Would you marry me, Hermione?" he had asked, his voice shaky.

"Oh, Harry, don't you know I'd do anything for you?" She smiled through her tears, and he couldn't help but laugh through his own, knowing more than any other man that she truly meant it.

Ron stood beside them both on their wedding day, just as happy as the bride and groom. And when the time came, Harry stood beside Ron at his wedding.

And their happy lives haven't stopped.

Harry eventually joined the ranks of the Aurors. Hermione, after gaining several wizarding degrees, decided to become an Unspeakable, utterly fascinated with all they had to offer. Ron finally became a team member of his beloved Cannons.

A few years later, and more Potters and Weasleys were born into the world.

For three hundred and sixty-four days out of the year, they're simply normal wizards. They visit one another's families and share occasional meals. Ron and Hermione still bicker — occasionally they fight. Harry still manages to outperform most professional players on a broom, and Ron always tries to convince him to leave the Ministry. After all their years of marriage, Harry and Hermione still share less than chaste kisses in public.

But they give themselves this one day — just the three of them. This one day to remember.

"I can't believe it's been 15 years, Ron," she says softly, almost calmly, and Harry is snapped back to the present, wondering if the alcohol is wearing off.

"I know," he replies. "I can't believe — it doesn't seem that long."

She gives Harry a sultry smile and touches her mouth with her fingertips. "You kissed me before you left — you promised you'd be back, just so you could kiss me that way again." She blushes.

"Bloody hell! That's what he said to me, too!"

Harry throws a pillow at him as Hermione laughs.

They continue to drink and carry on the rest of the night. No worries about work in the morning. Their fame and exploits have forever guaranteed that they are exempt from any demands of the wizarding world on this day.

His heart feels light and a part of him wants so badly to tell them — to truly thank them both for what they've done. How his life belongs to the both of them.

He remembers how it used to frustrate him at first — how a part of him felt as if he couldn't ever express enough gratitude for their sacrifice.

He remembers the way they clung to each other after Voldemort's death (the second time). They needed no one else in the world but each other and no one but them understood everything they'd gone through - together.

All we had was each other - and it's always been enough.

"You know," a highly inebriated Ron begins, "I'd 'ave made a damn good seeker if that ruddy slag hadn't 'ave broken my arm!" He throws an empty shotglass up in the air and tries to catch it. Thankfully Hermione's 'reparo' is just as effective when she's completely drunk. "How in the bloody hell did you manage to truss her all up like a Christmas bird after beating whassis face?"

Harry grins and doesn't say anything. He's heard this before — he hears it every year.

"Don't be silly, Ron!" Hermione says, her speech slow and deliberate to fight off the inevitable slurring.

"It's not silly," he says firmly.

"Yes, it is," she affirms, "when you know full well that Harry didn't do that; you did!"

This part is new and Harry looks up, startled.

"Oh... right. Stupid cow!"

"Stupid time travelling cow!"

And both Ron and Hermione collapse in a fit of giggles.

Harry is silent, his eyes wide.

"I like it much better this way, don't you?"

"Oh, much," she nods, her eyes trying to regain their focus.

"You're a better Unspeakable than a professor."

"You're a better Quiddishhh," she vigorously rubs her face, "er, Quidditch chappie, than an Auror."

They both turn to look at Harry, who's mouth is agape.

"Not what I pictured, though," Ron said.

"Whaddya mean?"

"Thought he'd be fat and balding by now."

Hermione snorts, then laughs hysterically. She crawls towards Harry and throws her arms around him. She motions for Ron, then throws an arm around him as well.

"Much better," she repeats, her tears of joy lost in the embrace.

"Much better... always knew you were brilliant."

She squeezes them both tightly, Harry's face still fixed in astonishment.

It was supposed to be the three of them.

It is the three of them.

Forever.

A perfectly balanced triangle.

No longer fragments struggling on alone.

***

A/N - So that's it, our first official outing as the OBHTF. Look for more and exciting author pairings between the four of us in the future (and don't forget to check out the Goldy & Kaze author account as well - the two of them are so special as a couple they merited their own pairing - *laughs*). And yes, as much as it pains me, I must pass on this little note. I made the mistake of telling Goldy implicitly to NOT EVER KILL HARRY AGAIN! And while she agreed that it was indeed a painful thing for her to do, she also did it again - just to spite me! Altho', she swears up and down that she didn't actually kill him again per se. So, for those of you interested in seeing what would have become of Ron and Hermione had they not ever been given the opportunity presented here, feel free to visit Goldy's LiveJournal for her one-shot So Impossible. Otherwise, I'm more than happy to accept this as the end all, be all happy ending that I wrestled from her twisted little depress-o-fic.

And also, special thanks go out to danielerin, for gifting her lovely beta skills and walking me through the tribulations of Word.

Love as always - Demosthenes.