A/N : Okay. Here you go. First part is all mystery then Harry-Hermione-Ron Round 1. Please go easy on me :)!
Chapter 48 - Snakes
The cabin hidden deep in Cheddar Gorge was now swarming with London MLE and forensics. Members of the Coroner's office had just taken away what remained of Snape's remains and it was going to the Ministry lab for further examination.
The Chief Coroner had given the Aurors something to work with. Snape died no less than a week ago and no more than two, adding that he had probably been a vegetable for a lot longer and was likely kept minimally alive by the lung, liver, and kidney machines they found off to the side of the room. On initial exam, he was missing quite a number of organs, seemingly taken as a Muggle surgeon would, one piece at a time from least vital to most, over a period of months.
Dean was still shaken up by what he saw. He had never been so affected by death as he was now. He did not particularly like the Professor, most of his former students didn't, but nobody deserved to die that way. The gruesome death was not necessary that it seemed personal and was obviously related to the recent murders of magical beings. Its uniqueness eerily reminded him of what happened to Filch. Why him? And why were his organs taken Muggle way, not magically as was the case with Firenze and Winky?
As forensics was finishing up with their evidence collection and investigation, Dean and Kingsley were riffling through Snape's personal effects that had already been photographed and catalogued. Severus Snape was proven to be a Dumbledore spy and, after Voldemort died, lived a quiet life. He resigned from Hogwarts and became a hermit. What they found in the shack confirmed rumours that he continued to pursue studies in his two beloved subjects; potions and defense against the dark arts.
They found a concealed trap door on the floor under the bed in the master bedroom that led to a sizable underground potions lab. At its centre were several large cauldrons and other potion making paraphernalia, which seemed to have been used recently. A few unbreakable phials were found on the longest counter along the far wall and it would take a few hours to confirm that they were made in Romania. The stench of death was strong there, too, although he wondered if that was just because he would never forget the putrid odour from that small bedroom for the rest of his life.
The lab was designed with a large, well stocked pantry of potion ingredients, one which he suspected contained every imaginable potion substrate. Right beside it was a frequently used study containing advanced books on magic, some of which he had never heard of before. That was where they were at the moment. It appeared that someone had been camping out on the couch and, on one of the tables, obtrusively out of place, was a stack of recently published books and journals on Muggle Surgery, organ donation and harvesting for transplantation. Snape's murderer had lived in his house and used his lab as his life slowly slipped away.
The bulk of documentation related to Snape's recent work was in the drawers of the writing desk in the room. They were handwritten ideas and thoughts about potions and spells he was not familiar with, some of them making sense, most of them way over his head. They sifted through it, hoping to find some clue as to who his killer was.
Finding the lab below the cabin was not difficult. It was standard practice to search every crevice in the crime scene and the simple spells that guarded it from detection were more to keep non magical people out. However, they had been disappointed not to find anything deliberately concealed or hidden away, an act they were certain Snape would do for his most prized possessions.
"So, what do you think?" Kingsley asked as he placed a stack of papers into a box labeled 'Department of Mysteries - for review.'
Dean noticed that Kingsley liked asking that question. He plopped a handful of documents in the same box. Where to start?
"The Professor was a very skilled wizard and he did not trust anyone. Whoever took him down was either more skilled or, as much as I can't imagine him putting his guard down, someone who he absolutely did not expect foul play from. We know organs are being used to make magical potion and I can only conclude that the professor's were used for the same purpose, and the person who was making the potion concocted it right here in his lab. The potion maker spent a lot of time here and all the books on Muggle surgical methods suggest that he or she was the same person who had taken the organs from him. More and more it sounds like this potion maker is Lestrange's Potion Master."
Kingsley said to him, "What do you make of the cauldrons?"
He took out the remaining documents from the bottom drawer, then continued.
"Snape experimented with potions and I doubt he was into mass production. So the newer large cauldrons were not his. That batch of magical potion sent to Toronto was probably brewed right here, although I can't imagine how anyone could stick around long enough to use the lab with a foul smelling carcass up above, even if that trapdoor was closed."
Kingsley continued playing devil's advocate, "Why didn't he get rid of it? That would have been easy enough to do."
"True. Maybe he wasn't done. Or maybe he wanted it found," Dean threw off random ideas, "The sheets bother me."
"I was wondering when you would get to that," Kingsley said to him. "What about the sheets?"
"So, I'm this horrible potion maker. For months I've cannibalized the man bit by bit, then in the end, took his heart out, leaving his chest open and exposed," Dean summarized, "Why on earth would I take the time to cover him up with sheets like that?"
Kingsley was nodding his head, "Good question, evil potion maker. You should go see a shrink and find out why. Maybe that will help you find out who you really are. It almost sounds as if there's more than one of you."
"So, you think the Potion Master had a conflicted accomplice?"
"Either that or he was the one who was conflicted."
They had emptied all drawers and found nothing on first pass. Kingsley sealed the boxes and magically took them out of the study. Dean followed him, and then right at the doorway he looked back one more time and scanned the room from left to right. It was something he did out of habit, a last check. No magically concealed entrances or contrived disillusions.
His eyes fell back on the writing desk that they had just emptied and felt there was something off. There was something about the uncut flat panel of cheap manufactured wood covering the front. From his estimation, the height of the drawers stacked on either side seemed shorter than the height of the flat panel as he viewed it from the front.
He walked around to the side and to the back of it where he and Kingsley had been. There were three drawers of equal sizes running down on each side and a wider inch deep one in the center. On closer examination, he noticed that the top drawers on the left and the right did not begin right below the half inch writing surface but was staggered an inch down, leaving that much space above it on both sides and him wondering about the possibility of hidden compartments.
Kingsley and the forensics had already cleared the desk, as they had for all the cabin contents, for signs of magical tampering. Knowing his limitations, he would not even attempt to uncover something magical that they were unable to. It would be an expectation for a talented wizard like Snape to do that but maybe the Professor expected others to think that he would use magic to conceal valuables and opted to use Muggle ways of doing so.
It would not hurt to look. He took out all the drawers and examined the underside of the actual desk. The plank of wood that formed the desktop was a half inch thick solid piece, and formed the ceiling of the middle drawer. There was nothing suspicious there. He perused the right upper drawer ceiling that was an inch lower than the middle portion. He tapped the four quadrants of the one foot wide and two and a half foot deep piece and the sound came back solid. He turned his attention to the left one and did the same test. Hollow. He did it again. All quadrants were definitely hollow.
Excited, he toppled the desk over intending to overturn it legs up to get a better view, but halfway through, gravity caused the false top to slide forward, and a part of the medial panel clanked on the floor, exposing a cavity within.
He thought about smashing it in but decided he did not want to risk damaging what was in it. Prudent enough not to blindly sweep within it with his bare hand, he thought he'd let gravity help out again. With his wand pointed at it, he flipped the table onto its right side. Something definitely moved within but whatever it was it was snug it had to be pried out.
Picking up the inch wide piece that fell off, he slid on his back between the legs of the table, and lay down directly below the opening. He lit his wand and directed a beam into the blackness. It was a book of some sort, the pages clearly visible, bound in greenish brown animal hide. He used the stick to pry it loose from one side surprised at how soft it felt and the fact that the darn thing would not budge.
He shifted the focus of his lit wand to the other side. There was definitely more space to maneuver there. Then it moved in an odd way. He stopped; it stopped. He stuck the wood in and before he touched anything inside it moved again, this time much faster, so fast he could tell it was moving clockwise and inward, as if...
Fuck!
He had to move! As he thought that thought, the slits of two pairs of eyes and two forked tongues appeared from that gap he had his wand light on. They were hissing as they uncoiled, unimpressed by his poking and prodding. A tail uncovered the book and disappeared into the back, causing it to fall on him the same time the wide open fanged mouths of the two headed guardian that kept it in place lunged for his face.
Gravity was so not helping...
XXXXXXXXXX
Harry saw the blood drain from Hermione's face the moment Ron appeared and was quick enough to catch her and break her fall.
"Blimey! There's something I never thought I'd see in my lifetime!" the red haired ghost exclaimed, more amused than concerned about Hermione losing consciousness.
Harry took off his coat, bunched it up and gently rested Hermione's head on it, miffed at Ron as he replied, "This isn't exactly part of your lifetime anymore, is it?"
Ron merely threw his arms up in the air and complained, "That's precisely what I mean about being dead! You can't imagine how many of those ghosts can't use anymore!"
Ignoring Ron, he transfigured an old, dusty couch into something more comfortable and much cleaner, and set it up in front of a fireplace in the receiving room to the right of the entrance.
"Why do you think she fainted?" the ghost asked, hovering over him and Hermione as he lifted her and carried her, and set her down on the sofa.
It seemed that the degree of Ron's transparency matched the degree of sensitivity he had left compared to his former self, which was not a lot to begin with. Harry did not answer, contemplating if he should just get her to a Healer even though his gut feeling said she would be fine in a few minutes.
"Do you think I scared her?"
The room was dark and cold. He lit the fireplace and it slowly filled the room with much needed warmth and light.
"I must look really ghastly."
He checked on her again as Ron continued to float around, trying to catch a glimpse of himself on the grimy mirror above the fireplace mantle.
"Oh, Merlin! It's my breath, isn't it?" Ron had a genuine horrified expression, then, moved closer to him and repeatedly blew cold air from the mouth directly onto his face as he asked, "Is it? Is it? Is it?"
"Will you quit that?!" Harry finally turned to him and told him off. The frosty mist made him shiver again and Ron's behaviour was starting to really annoy him, "You may need a tic-tac or two but I don't think it's bad enough to make someone faint!"
His comment just made it worse.
"What should I do?!" Ron panicked, "I can't talk to her like this!"
Seriously?
"Get a grip, Ron…"
"I knew I shouldn't have had that second serving of Jemima's onion soup!"
Ghosts didn't eat, not really. But then this was Ron. Harry could not imagine him without food.
"She lived with you for a long time. I don't think she'll care…"
"It'll be the last thing she'll remember about me," Ron insisted, "It's a definite no-no on Witch Goddess' list of what not to have when you meet an old flame, way up on it right after a botched engorgement job. I'll be back."
He gave up, thinking Ron must have a lot of time on his hands to have gone through and read such a list on a publication more popular for its, um, graphic fleshly content. The ghost was acting very much like some self conscious teenager and, just like yesterday, a lot more immature than Harry remembered him to be. Merlin only knew what he was going to say to Hermione. This was a major concern particularly after thinking how much of an ass he was when it came to her when he was a teen.
Harry took a glimpse at Hermione; she was still out of it. All night at Andy's he was going insane keeping himself away from her and admittedly, he had thought long and hard about what to do after dinner. He finally decided to do the decent thing as opposed to acting on the not so decent thoughts he was having about her since he watched her get dressed back at the hotel. He got farther with her than he hoped for after they talked in the park and, if not for Julius, he would have gotten even further. It did not help that he had to watch Andy and Colin make-out at the dinner table nor did it help that each time he looked into her eyes she looked back with the warmth he thought he would never see again.
And she was as transparent as he. She wanted that kiss as much as he did. Her openness to his touch and invasion of her space was heartening and he could sense that she was as keen as he to be alone with each other. But as they left Andy's place, he had decided on 'decency' and put Ron first. He thought it best not to talk to her until he could not back out on that choice, afraid that one kind word about them would swat his resolve quickly.
But at the moment he wasn't so sure Ron was earnest about the reason why he wanted Hermione there. He was having regrets about coming, particularly about not giving her more time to prepare for it. He should wake her up and warn her about Ron while the ghost was off finding a breath mint.
He was about to when he was distracted by an awful smell. The room suddenly filled up with an obnoxious aroma that he could only describe as a cross between overripe bananas and rotten cabbage. Ron was back with the poltergeists he had met the day before, directing them as they carried lit candles and placed them in strategic locations around the room.
"Scented candles to mask my problem," Ron answered his perplexed look, "We found them in the neighbor's rubbish."
For good reason. He fixed that with a gas entrapment spell that was handy for noxious fumes and replaced it with the more pleasant and milder flowery one of Hermione's perfume, the first thing that came to his mind, and it immediately evoked a deep churning within him. It was not appropriate to be thinking about her that way right now but self control had never been his strength. Ron didn't seem to notice or care.
"How long do you think she'll be out?"
"I don't know."
With Ron there he was no longer in a rush to wake her up. Maybe it was a good time to ask him about how he died.
"I have to be somewhere else in about half an hour."
For a ghost he certainly seemed to have a lot going on. That wasn't a bad thing except both he and Hermione were in the middle of this potion business and there wasn't much time for much else. If not tonight he didn't know when else they could have this talk with him. It was frustrating, as he thought almost certainly that whatever it was, it was something not as important or one that Ron could skip just this once.
"Another Quidditch match?" Harry's tone was laced with sarcasm.
"Don't be silly. It's way too late for Quidditch," Ron answered, not noticing it at all, "Thursdays are usually strip poker nights but the gang is going out tonight on a rare special permit."
"We can come back another time. You have what? A few days to sort your problem out?"
Harry didn't know what else to say. Ron finally picked up on it.
"Were you expecting me to drop everything on short notice?! You should have sent word that you were coming with her! We ghosts have lives, too, you know!"
"Next time I'll be sure to call ahead for an appointment!" he could not help but bite back, "I'm sorry, it slipped my mind. It's been a busy day."
"I can only imagine. So what happened? Did she immediately rush into your arms and spent the entire day fucking your brains out?"
"Watch the language!"
Ron ignored his warning, no doubt trying to push his buttons.
"Did she sound like this? 'Oh, Harry! Yes! Yes! Yes! Make me come over and over again!'" Ron moaned very much like a woman in the throes of passion and then said, "Or has the fact that I'm no longer around to ridicule taken the fun out of that?"
"We never meant for you to get hurt!"
"It never crossed your mind that sleeping with my fiancée would do that? Overestimated my insensitivity, did you? The first time, maybe, I would have given you both the benefit of the doubt. But you've always had the talent to turn any decent woman into one of your whores."
"Stop talking about her that way! She's not like that!"
"Like what? Like some scarlet woman? Let me think. She was going to marry me and then she had an affair with you. I say measure her up for an appropriate bold letter in red and mount it on her with a permanent sticking charm. You don't know her like I do!"
"She still hasn't gotten over you!"
"Good. She shouldn't, not after what she did to me!"
It was obvious that Ron was still bitter about what happened despite already 'forgiving' him. Harry could sense where the conversation was going to go once Hermione woke up. He tried to appeal to Ron's other side, the one he knew for sure cared about Hermione.
"If you loved her, you'd want her to move on!"
"If you loved her, you wouldn't have screwed with her and her life!"
"Is this why you wanted us to come? To remind us of how wrong we were and make sure we live with that guilt forever? I'm not surprised that you can't cross over! And I didn't bring her here so you can do this!"
"How predictable! My treacherous best friend trying to protect my unfaithful fiancée!"
"Ex-fiancée."
Both wizard and ghost turned to the quiet voice that interrupted them. Harry saw that Hermione was up on her feet, staring at Ron with tears in her eyes that did not match the disapproving and stern look on her face. He did say that Hermione would chew his head off and make him regret becoming a ghost.
"Hi, honey. Feeling much better?" Ron asked sweetly, a bit afraid, intimidated at what was coming and Harry could not blame him.
"Hi honey?! Don't you 'hi honey' me!"
Hermione said through gritted teeth, her voice shaking as she talked.
"Hermione..."
"You're a ghost!"
"I realize that…"
"What were you thinking?!"
"I suppose my brain was somewhat damaged by the impact..."
"We talked about this when you were still alive!"
"Er, um, did we? Really?"
"Don't even pretend that you don't remember!"
"You don't have to..."
"A desperate, useless attempt to hang on to the past..."
"Sounds like something I would say."
"Choosing a life that's neither here nor there is for pansies..."
"Yes, quiet down a bit, will you?" he tried hushing her.
"It's cowardice not to face the unknown future..."
"I remember."
"You said you couldn't imagine why someone would want to be a ghost!"
"That's obviously changed. It seemed like a really good idea at the time…"
"It obviously wasn't! So, why did you choose to be one?!"
"Let's not get into that," Ron seemed not to even consider telling her what he told him. Harry thought this a good sign. "The important thing is I don't want to be one anymore."
"You better be on the way to moving on to the other side, because if you're not, I'm going to tell your mother!"
"No, please, not Mum! Dying on her unexpectedly like that was bad enough. She'll be distraught if she sees me like this. I would have gone already if I could but I can't seem to cross over."
"What?!" she looked at him, he nodded to confirm, "Why can't you?"
"If I knew that you wouldn't be here. That's why I asked Harry to bring you."
"Yeah, right. I'm having serious doubts about that," Harry interjected.
"You know I would have never wanted you to see me like this unless you had to," Ron countered, "I need your help, Hermione."
"You always do this, leave important things for the last minute. You have less than two weeks!"
"I am getting a bit desperate. So will you help me?"
Harry watched them as Ron awaited Hermione's answer. It was a foregone conclusion that she would, if that was indeed what Ron wanted her here for. Despite Ron's benign treatment of her Harry still had his doubts. He looked over to Hermione, unsure if she was flushed from the emotional outburst she just had or if that was the red glow from the fireplace. For a brief moment, he thought she would faint again.
Standing beside Harry, Hermione felt unsteady as she took this new information in and stopped herself from reaching out to him for support. She righted herself in time but was still in disbelief. The fact that Ron had chosen this kind of life was troubling and scolding him just happened spontaneously. She figured it was either that or cry her eyes out. The latter would be something for later, for doing so in front of a bickering Ron and Harry was not going to be productive.
His choice distressed her because she knew it was not what Ron wanted and that the decision was an impulsive one. She was responsible for this and the fact that he could not move on only added to the crippling guilt she already felt.
"I don't have a choice, do I?" she finally answered.
"Awesome!"
Absentmindedly, Ron gave her a hug and she immediately felt the biting coldness as part of his form merged with hers, making her tremble.
"Sorry, I forgot," Ron apologized immediately. "So, when did you get into Toronto?"
"This morning."
"And it took you this long to come and see me?"
It seemed like he was feigning disappointment but raised his brows at Harry as if indicating he was right about something.
Harry spoke out in her defense, "She would have come sooner had I told her sooner."
"When exactly did you tell her?"
"I'm here now. It's not important," she said to Ron.
"But it is important, honey," he replied, "You came for him. Not me, him. He was always more important to you. You were always at his beck and call."
He was taunting, goading her into an argument, daring her to contradict what he just said. At least that was what it felt like. The lack of acrimony in his tone made it sound more like an observation than a remark with the intent to incite, but she thought it best to let the comment slide. Unfortunately, Harry didn't.
"It was a coincidence. The Order sent her."
"Drop it, Harry," she advised.
"What does the Order want with you?" Ron asked, too innocently.
"They want me back in London," Harry countered, not knowing what he was walking into.
"Coincidence, huh? So, who came first? Kingsley? And then, Remus? You told them to what, 'forget it'? Did you play hard-to-get knowing they'd eventually ask her to try and talk you into it?"
"What?!" Harry expressed his disbelief at what he was hearing.
"She didn't want to see you but you made her anyway. Nice!"
"He just wants to pick a fight. Let it go," she said to Harry again, hoping that he would know that she didn't believe what Ron was suggesting.
"Admit it," Ron continued, "There was a reason why the Sorting Hat thought about putting you in Slytherin. You're manipulative and conniving. You're a snake, always has been, always will be! You couldn't even stay away from her when I asked you to!"
He asked him to stay away…that was why he came that night and said what he said.
"She wasn't in love with you anymore!"
"And you pounced on the opportunity for an easy fuck!"
"It wasn't like that! I love her and I thought that if she didn't love you, she might love me."
Hermione felt warm wetness stream down both cheeks. She loved him, too. He knew that because she told him that night he came as Roy to do what Ron had asked him to do.
"You owed me! You owed me for keeping the real cause of your accident a secret!"
"It wasn't fair to ask me to give her up for that!"
"You were supposed to do the honorable thing!"
"Would you choose honor over love?"
"You're the hero! I expected you to do what was right! You were supposed to stay away from her!"
"Ron, stop! He did stay away!"
Hermione finally got in between him and Harry as the men glared at each other.
"Yeah, he did, until I died. And now, he wants to slither himself back into your life. Tell me, Harry. What would you have done had I lived?"
Harry looked straight at her and replied, "I would have asked her to make a choice. I intended to after the game."
"I rest my case. Lock up this serpent in a glass cage and throw away the key!"
"What would you have answered?" he asked her quietly as he kept his eyes on her.
The response would have been simpler but it wasn't, not with Ron right there about to get hurt some more and have added reasons to feel bitter about than he already had. So instead, she faltered and did not give Harry what she knew he wanted to hear, hoping he would read between the lines and they could talk again at a later time.
"It would have been a difficult choice to make."
"You're too kind, honey. It wasn't that difficult avoiding Harry was it? Until you were forced to see Harry you pretty much chose dead me over him."
Ron was getting to Harry. Hermione could tell by the change in how he looked at her. She had to do something.
She turned and said to Ron firmly, "I understand why you're upset at him but he wasn't the only one who betrayed you. If there's anyone you should be angry at it should be me."
"True. But I never could stay mad at you. I seem to find excuses not to. I'm sure you can relate."
Ron had this seriousness, the one he spoke with when he knew he was right. He was referring to how she was with Harry, how she always seemed to find excuses to not be angry at him either. She needed a moment with Ron, if only to let him vent on her, for he was deliberately picking on Harry.
"Harry, I need to talk with him in private."
"No, I want him to stay," Ron refused as she expected he would. He wasn't done. "Whatever you want to say to me, you can say it with him here."
"This has nothing to do with him."
"Silly me. You're right. Let me get a flask of Polyjuice so he can be Roy Hunt."
"We can leave. You don't need to do this right now," Harry suggested, fed up with Ron.
"Believe me you'd want to do this right now," Ron replied to him, "She owes us the truth. Are you interested in the truth, Harry, or are you too afraid to find out?"
Ron smirked. She had not seen this mean streak of Ron's in a long while. It was the sort of meanness she had wanted him to have when he found out about her tryst and when she carried on with it. It was the treatment she felt she deserved. And he knew her too well to know to use Harry to make it sting just a little bit more.
"What happened between us had nothing to do with him," she repeated.
Ron retorted with mockery, "It had everything to do with him. If it wasn't him you wouldn't have had your last fling."
"I would have and I did. I didn't know it was him that night here in Toronto."
"Really? Just like you didn't know it was him that night at St. Mungo's? Would you have let a mere stranger use you that second time even after I forgave you for the first?"
Ron paused, his words hung heavily in the air as she was drawn to Harry's querying gaze. She did not say anything and that was the answer to the question.
"It was just too good to pass up, wasn't it? Even if you thought nothing serious would come out of it. Curious how it would be like with him? See, Harry, you're not the only one with secrets. But why oh why did she let you think that she was angry at you for it?"
"It was a difficult time."
"I know. I was there."
"Tell me about it. It's hard to be a ghost. There are no real guides out there…"
"He loved me and I broke him. He died, Harry."
"Yes, he did. He was my friend, too. We could have talked about it, mourned his loss together."
"I couldn't look at you and not see him. I just wanted you to stay away."
"Was that because you felt guilty about what you did to me? Oh, honey! I'm so touched."
"And you just couldn't say that? Here I was thinking all along you didn't want to see me because of what I did!"
"You wouldn't have listened. You wouldn't have stayed away."
"She's right, you know. You are kind of stubborn."
"So, what if I didn't? We could have sorted this out sooner!"
"I wasn't ready!"
"She still isn't from the looks of it."
"Why didn't you confront me?! Why didn't you get in my face and force me to tell the truth?!"
"That's easy, Harry," Ron answered for her, "For the same reason you didn't tell her you were Roy Hunt when she met Roy. She thought it would be a one time thing. She didn't think it would last forever, either."
"Is that right?" he asked her to confirm but he already knew the answer.
"You were lying to me, Harry. And after what you said that night, what was I supposed to think?"
"It's not her fault. She was feeling a bit left out being one of the few women you had not slept with. I already said this once and I'll say it again. What else could she possibly want from you aside from a few quick romps in the sack? That's all you're good for nowadays."
"Ron!"
He ignored her.
"She said so herself. She wanted you to stay away. She's been telling you she wanted out in so many ways for a fucking year! I guess you're as dense as I am and can't take a hint!"
That did it. Hermione had hoped Harry would at least stay calm and not be swayed by how Ron was picking bits of reality and taking them out of context to suit his purpose. What Ron just said was accurate. She did want an out; there was no denying that. There would be no more lies, at least not from her. If only they had a more candid conversation about Roy before seeing Ron, things might have gone better.
"I'll be outside," Harry said calmly to her as he grabbed his coat from the couch.
Torn between helping Ron transition over and telling Harry the truth from the very beginning, she really didn't have much of a choice. The truth wouldn't matter if Ron remained a ghost. Harry walked off as Ron laughed in the background, floating after him until she heard the sound of the front door opening and banging shut. Ron had a most satisfied and smug look as he glided his way back to the spot where her feet seemed to have frozen solid to the dust-covered floor.
"For someone supposedly smart and in love with you, he seemed content hearing my preferred version of the truth. He didn't even give you the benefit of the doubt. He definitely failed that test, don't you think?" Ron said eyebrows raised. "And you wanted him instead of me."
Hermione tried to push the disappointment aside. There would be plenty of time to deal with that once she got Ron on his way. But she had to try to get Ron to ease up on Harry.
"That really wasn't necessary."
"At least now you know he's a runner," Ron merely shrugged, "I do have one burning question."
"What is it?"
"After all this, do you still want him or not?"