Unofficial Portkey Archive

TITLE: All Roads Lead Back

KEYWORDS: Hermione, Harry, Ron, Ginny, Draco and the rest of the gang. Primarily H/Hr, but a slew of various ships as well. Post-HBP.

SYNOPSIS: Harry Potter always figured that once his destiny was fulfilled he could finally have a happy, normal life. Unfortunately for him, he fell in love with his best friend...and everything went straight to Hell! A very gradual, slow moving H/Hr love story told through multiple canon character perspective as well as several flashbacks. Set 7 years after the final battle.

SPOILERS: All six books.

WORD COUNT: 22,678

RATING: NC17 for language and later sexual content.

BETA: adamolupin.

WARNING: This chapter is from Ron's POV so it's very Weasley family-centric. If you have no interest in that, please do not read it. It's really that simple. While I can already read the "I waited a year for this", reviews, y'all can never say that I didn't give fair warning.

Oh, and a couple of people kinda die in this one. That's all I'm saying. *mum*

DISCLAIMER: If it looks like it's JKR's, well, that's because it is. She's provided me with the canvas and I'm truly enjoying painting on it.

Sunday, 6/12/05

Weasley Wedding Woes

A pair of long put-upon lovers, a fast approaching wedding date, and a woman of questionable repute - the plot to Sydney Spellman's latest bestseller? No, writes Daphne Greengrass in the first of her series of in-depth articles starting today and running until the end of June. In actuality it is the pixie storm brewing in the background of the most highly anticipated nuptials of the season. Two weeks ago we at the Prophet were happy to report on the engagement of England's beloved son, Ronald Weasley; decorated War veteran and star Keeper for the Wimborne Wasps, to his socialite sweetheart, Lavender Brown-Pye. However what should have been a time for celebration, and joyous reflection for the young couple, has been spoiled by an unexpected (h)ex thrown into the mix; one Miss Hermione Granger. As has been well documented in this very paper, the enterprising Miss Granger is a former flame of Ron Weasley and in the past had often come between him and his ever faithful fiancée, even back in their schooldays. Once highly regarded as one of the most brilliant witches to ever exit out of Hogwarts' doors, Miss Granger also built herself up quite the reputation for dating some of the best names in pure-blooded circles.

Nearly six years ago Miss Granger disappeared from the continent under mysterious circumstances leaving Weasley, her then devoted paramour, high and dry with a broken heart and egg on his face. Like a bad knut, she turned up again only a few weeks ago, reportedly disrupting the calm of his Commencement Ceremony (though the recollections of most of our sources have been spotty at best).

Now ask yourselves this, dear reader, what brings the meddling Muggle-born back home after all these years merely a month before the Weasley/Brown-Pye union?

"…for more on Weasley Wedding Watch '05 please turn to page 4."

Penelope Weasley lowered the article she was reading and looked across the newspaper laden table at her brother-in-law.

"Should I keep going?" she asked fretfully, taking note of his sickly colored pallor. Ron was positively green.

"Does it get any worse?" he whimpered lamely, unsure if he even wanted to know the answer.

"Well there is a lovely picture of the two of you on page five. Ooh! And there's a caption," she said as she bowed her head to read the tiny print underneath the moving photograph. "Weasley tries to sneak in a kiss outside the Cauldron." Penelope realized only too late her mistake. "Oh dear," she squeaked.

Ron let out a loud and tortured groan as he banged his head on the hard wood surface in front of him.

"I'M A DEAD MAN!"

Fleur Weasley quickly waddled around the table, her large pregnant belly protruding out before her, and came to a stop awkwardly behind him. She looked like she was prepared to drop the wee babe any day now. She laid a comforting hand on Ron's shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

"Cher, eet eez not so bad. Oui, Penny?" She gave the woman an imploring look over his head. There was enough drama that morning at the Burrow to contend with. The last thing they needed was to add a depressed bridegroom to the list.

"Of course not," concurred Penelope, catching on. "I'm sure that when Lavender sees this-"

Ron's whole body shuddered.

"If Lavender sees this," she hastily amended as she came to kneel at his side, "she'll understand."

Ron raised his head and saw the reassuring smiles on the two older women's faces. Fleur nodded her head to agree with her sister-in-law. They sounded so certain that he almost believed them.

"Besides I'm sure zat Lavender eez rational enough to see zrough all zese. Lavender wouldn't jump to ze silly conclusions, non?"

Both Penelope and Fleur looked at him expectantly.

"I'M DOOMED!" he despairingly moaned.

Both women ignored the declaration and petted and cooed at him as though he were one of their own little hatchlings. Though the attention was appreciated, Ron's impending disaster took precedent over being coddled and fussed over like some uprooted mandrake sapling.

"Give me that," he said as he snatched the paper out of Penelope's hand. He wildly scanned his eyes from page to page as he practically tore the newsprint to shreds. "Look at that!" he exclaimed as he threw down the Prophet on the table and pointed an accusing finger at the very picture Penelope had just been looking at. "That's Harry's shoulder! That's Harry's shoulder right there. Those bastards cut him out!"

The two women peered down at the photo in question, but in truth neither could make out much else in the grainy photograph other than Ron laying a slapdash kiss on Hermione's cheek.

"Harry was standing right there with us," argued Ron as he began to lather at the mouth. "He was right there! But of course when Lavender sees this she's going to think that me and Hermione... that I... that we...."

Ron couldn't even find the words. His stomach rolled over at the thought of what his beautiful fiancée would do to him the next time he saw her.

"I don't think I'll be able to eat another bite," he said forlornly as he looked at the unfinished breakfast that he had already pushed away from him.

Fleur reached down to pick up the nearly filled plate of kippers and eggs. Ron grabbed it from her hands before she could even take a half-step away from the table.

"I wasn't finished with that!" he indignantly snapped.

The blonde merely gave him a displeased frown as she haughtily tossed her flaxen locks from her shoulder and returned to the morning chores she had been distracted from. The quarter veela had a flair for making even the most mundane tasks look glamorous. Meanwhile, Penelope returned to her seat and reached for the copy of the Dublin Comet to read.

Ron didn't mean to be so short with his sisters-in-law, in fact he was grateful for all the trouble they had gone to, trying to make him feel better about his current predicament. But in truth all he could think of was the row that was awaiting him as soon as his Lav got a gander at the front page of the Sunday Daily Prophet. On it he could be seen draped all over Hermione. The photograph looked like it had caught Ron in mid-shimmy. In actuality the ungainly redhead had only lost his balance and had merely fallen against his best friend for support. Embarrassingly, the suggestive looking photo played over and over again on a loop. What was conveniently left out of it was the black and white image of a rhythmically challenged Harry actually dancing right behind Hermione. None of them had a clue that they had been followed all night long by some sneaky slimeball from the press. Ron certainly wouldn't have tried to drink a bottle of firewhiskey all by himself if he had.

And he wouldn't have been so careless as to give his fiancée any reason to doubt his devotion to her either. Ron knew that there was nothing going on between him and Hermione, but Lavender wouldn't see it that way. She was already so insecure about the place Hermione held in his heart; a situation that he had regretfully fostered throughout the years. Sure Lavender had recently begun to try and accept the fact that his ex-girlfriend would always be a significant person in his life, but Ron was no dummy. With all of the daily rags in town passing judgment on whether or not Lavender would be able to get him to the altar on time, the uneasy truce that she had called between Hermione and herself was destined to splinter into jagged pieces soon leaving him caught in the middle. And to think, up until now, he had been so careful about letting silly misunderstandings such as this happen.

Damn the Ogden's!

Knowing his high-strung Lavender, this 'Wedding Watch' shite would probably push her right over the edge. It was a good thing then that she had decided to floo out all the way to Paris to buy her fancy underthings for their honeymoon. As knee-deep in knickers as she probably was, she probably wouldn't have found time yet to glance at a newspaper, much less read one. The fact that she wasn't here, mercilessly bashing his head against a wall, attested to this. But it was still early yet, he reminded himself. Any number of people could have already tracked her down to give her the sordid details. Truly, was there any bloke in all of England who was more miserable than he was right now?!

"GODDAMNIT, GINNY! I TOLD YOU EXACTLY WHERE I WAS LAST NIGHT. STOP PUTTING WORDS INTO MY MOUTH!"

Mrs. Potter's enraged answering shriek was heard for only a second before silence cut it off. All was forgotten as the three Weasleys in the kitchen turned to each other helplessly, too startled to even make a peep between them. Instead, the sound of pounding feet on the staircase drew their attention as the stout little matriarch of the family bounded into the room, hand clutched to her heaving bosom.

"Well...what are you lot lollygagging about for? Don't you have something to be about?" she groused, winded, as she stuffed a pair of flesh colored extendable ears into an apron pocket.

At Molly Weasley's stern words, and even fiercer expression, Ron began to shovel eggs into his mouth faster than he could swallow, while Penny dropped what she was doing and scurried to the sink to help Fleur with the rest of the dishes. Meanwhile, Molly took a seat next to the hearth and busied herself with a basket full of children's socks that needed darning. To keep herself engaged, she actually did it by hand. Not one word was mentioned about the battle that was apparently still being waged above their heads.

When Ron asked Harry to go house hunting with him they made plans to meet up early at the Burrow first, share a quick nibble with the family, and be off on their merry way; hopefully making it back in time for lunch. However all of that was shot to crumbs as soon as Ron showed up at his parents' door.

Apparently Harry had never made it home from the nightclub. When Lavender floo'ed into the Potter residence to fetch Ginny for their early morning shopping trip, she and little Dobby found the woman fast asleep, curled up in the winged back chair she had spent the whole night in as she awaited Harry's return home. Finding no evidence of her husband stopping by to so much as change his pants, Ginny promptly canceled all plans and placed an emergency floo call to the Burrow in a state of panic. As soon as Ron entered the kitchen, he was besieged on all sides by Weasleys of various ages and genders asking him just where Harry was. Ron had no clue. The last glimpse of Harry he had caught was that of his best mate and Hermione slipping into the back alley behind the club. Before Ron could tell Ginny just that, Harry innocently Apparated into the room, completely unaware of the firestorm he had literally popped in on.

Calmly Harry explained to his wife, and everyone else listening in, that he had been at Godric's Hollow for most of the early morning. After he had taken Hermione home, she had some sort of attack or spell...or something. Ron wasn't exactly sure which; Harry was being pretty vague on the specifics. But from what Ron could make out from the story, Harry had put Hermione to bed and stayed with her through most of the morning to make sure she was alright. Perfectly understandable thought Ron. Sadly Ginny did not seem to share this opinion. Judging the situation astutely, Ron's mother sent the children outside to play and offered Harry the use of her husband's office upstairs. It wasn't much of a study, just a tiny cubbyhole where Arthur went to tinker with his Muggle toys and bobbins when the garage got too crowded with them, but it did have its own floo access that Molly assured Harry would give him and Ginny some "privacy". The Silencing Charm Harry belatedly threw up apparently helped with that.

"Sorry, Perce, I just don't think Adair is that bad."

"All I'm saying is that if Minister Scrimgeour continues to listen to all of these outside influences, the Ministry will be under management of the trolls before long."

Percy's sniffy words were followed by him stamping the dust from his feet as he and Bill entered the kitchen. Charlie followed after them. When the fireworks from earlier had started, Bill and Charlie had quickly beat a retreat from the overcrowded Burrow by declaring that they were going to go weed the garden of gnomes. All they did really was see who could chuck the little buggers the farthest, but it still made for a good excuse. Although he had no interest in getting his hands dirty, Percy chose to follow after them rather than be exposed to what he called, "women's idle gossip". Ron would have gone too if he hadn't been so starved. Then he had seen the paper. The kippers just didn't sit right after that.

"Outside influence?!" Charlie cried, aghast, continuing the conversation they had been having outside. "What the blue blazes are you talking about, Percy?! Adair was raised over there in Hackney. He and Uncle Bilius were mates at Hogwarts."

"That's hardly what I would call an outsider," said Bill before pausing to give his wife a kiss on the cheek and flicking drops of standing water from the sink at both Fleur and Penelope. The two women mirthfully snapped their dish towels at his bum before he was able to run for cover towards the table and throw himself into a chair.

"Besides, I thought his speech last night was rather uplifting," added Charlie as he grabbed the seat next to Ron, turned it around, and straddled it.

Percy rolled his eyes contemptuously as he seated himself next to his oldest brother at the opposite end of the table.

"Anyone can give a pretty speech. The fact remains that the Ministry has been rife with controversy ever since Tarquin Adair came in as Deputy."

Ron leaned over to Charlie and loudly whispered in his ears, "He means since Old Man Scrimgeour passed him over for the job."

Charlie nearly coughed up a lung to keep himself from laughing.

"You can joke all you like, little brother, but we have a serial killer on the loose, there is growing dissension amidst the Wizengamot ranks, and now this," said Percy as he glanced down at the cover of the Quibbler that lay at his elbow. "Eventually you'll all come to realize what I've been saying for quite some time now. The country is falling to rack and ruin, and if this keeps up, don't be surprised to find goblins moving in next door to you shortly."

"Ronnie, stop teasing your brother," his mother chided him from off to the side.

Although Percy missed it, Ron had been mocking him; puffing his chest up in Percy's self-important style, while wordlessly working his mouth open and close. Bill and Charlie snickered at their youngest brother's act, but Molly wasn't too enamored of it. She even took up for the ponce.

"I for one happen to think Percy might be on to something."

Percy sniffed superiorly and thumbed open the paper.

"Your father seems to think so too, although he's more inclined to lay the blame at Scrimgeour's feet. The man is a blood-sucking bugbear of a control freak. And if he continues with all of these programs and new legislature of his, I fear he'll alienate half of magical Great Britain before long," she added as she reached into her basket for another ratty old sock to mend. "Why do you think Arthur had to go into the office on a Sunday? I expect every Department Head received a Ministry summons first thing this morning."

Penelope turned around and leaned against the sink basin. A fearful look marred the brunette's sweet-tempered face.

"But Mother Molly, surely you don't think these rumors of a Marriage Law are true?"

"Sounds like nothing more than a nutty piece of fanciful fiction to me," piped Bill. "Like what you'd read in one of those trashy romance novels of Ginny's she used to hide between the mattresses and didn't think any of us knew about."

Everyone but Percy boisterously hooted, however the subject they were discussing was no laughing matter.

Ron's father had been awakened at the very crack of dawn to come into work and brainstorm on ways to suppress whatever rising tide of alarm would surely be aroused by the rumor of Scrimgeour's proposed Marriage Law. It was being said that it was his final solution to thin down the growing numbers of Squib children being found in so many pureblood families as of late. The old families were all so intermarried that it was apparently diluting the bloodlines; hardly any of the so called "pure" wizards and witches in the UK could go down their family tree and not find a Bones or a Poe, a Weasley or a Stonefeather. Abercrombies, Blacks, Blennerhassetts, De Wolfes, Lufkins, Muldoons, Notts, Pembrokes, Standishes, Wallingfords, Yaxleys, and so on, abounded.

Reportedly Scrimgeour's solution to the problem was to ban purebloods from marrying and producing offspring with those of their own ilk. Get new blood in, so to speak. Strange, unheard of before words such as "gene therapy," "biotechnology," and "genetic engineering" were being whispered behind closed doors at the Ministry. Newly of aged young men and women were being aggressively recruited for the MMBA's University program to study in fields that would be beneficial to Scrimgeour's pet project. There was even talk that the Ministry would soon begin offering young purebloods special incentives if they married halfbloods who boasted less inbred lineages. Marriage to a Muggle-born would net them even greater rewards and prizes. However all of this speculation masked a deeper, darker concern amongst some. If the young unmarrieds it governed didn't comply willingly to the proposal, the Ministry would resort to choosing their mates for them eventually; maybe even going so far as to dissolve preexisting matches that hadn't produced children yet and reassigning the partners to other spouses.

Ron had to wonder if this was behind his mother's dogged insistence a few months earlier that he finally settle down and marry Lavender while he still had a chance. At the time he had thought it was just his mum being dramatic. But now...

"Well there was a time I wouldn't have given much thought to something I had read in the Quibbler," said Molly in answer to her daughter-in-law's question. "But I must admit that dear little Luna seems to be well informed these days."

"She sure called it right on the Stadium failure," said Bill.

Fleur nodded her head in agreement. "Eet eez lucky zat 'ermione eez all een ze one piece."

"Instead of pieces," cracked Charlie darkly. "Wonder who Luna is getting all of that information from, though," he pondered aloud.

"Has to be someone pretty high up, don't you think?" offered Bill.

Noticing how quiet Percy had gone during the conversation, Ron grudgingly decided to be considerate and include his brother in the family discussion.

"Sounds like a rat to me, eh Perce?"

His brother raised the newspaper as if to block out even the sight of Ron.

"I wouldn't know what you're talking about," he answered in a fussily, obnoxious manner.

Well the hell with you, thought Ron irately. It wasn't his fault that Scrimgeour had sent out owls for all of the members of his inner circle. It certainly wasn't his fault that Percy hadn't gotten one.

Deciding to ignore his brother's slight instead of rowing with him, Ron's thoughts began to wander as the family's lively chatter washed over him. The morning was almost gone and Harry still hadn't emerged from upstairs yet. If they didn't get a move on they might miss lunch! Ginny must be giving Harry what for, he chuckled to himself. Then he remembered that he had his own little feisty witch to deal with. Sooner or later Lavender was going to hear about the Prophet article. Ron decided that he needed something to distract her when she came to rip his head from his neck. He needed to butter her up somehow.

Instantly his mind hit on an inspired idea. Lavender had casually (for her) mentioned something in passing to him, and Ron set about to see if he could do anything about it.

"Say, mum," he called to her as he ambled over to where his mother was sitting, "I've been meaning to ask you something." Although it was far too tiny to hold him, Ron took the small stool next to Molly.

"Yes dear, what is it?"

"I was thinking," said Ron, feigning nonchalance, "isn't it about time you entered Lavender into the wards? We're practically married already so it would make sense, don't you think?"

"Of course, dear," said Molly inattentively as she concentrated very hard on the toe of the tartan sock she had been working on. She extended her arm back to pull the thread all the way through, then reexamined the stitch to make sure it was right. "Your father and I will take care of it after the wedding."

"But mum..." whinged Ron. Obviously she had missed his point.

Or not.

"Ronald, I said after the wedding and not a second before. Once Lavender is officially a Weasley I'll make sure the Burrow's wards recognize her."

"But she's as good as a Weasley now, mum! Besides, that didn't make a difference when you put Hermione in."

"What's that then?"

Both Molly and Ron looked over to see Harry standing at the end of the stairs.

"What were you saying about Hermione?" he asked inquisitively, looking from his best friend to his mother-in-law for the answer.

Molly quickly got up, her face drawn in concern, and shuffled over to meet Harry at the bottom step.

"Oh Harry dear, we didn't hear you come down," she fondly murmured as she took a hand in hers and led him over to the hearth. "Penelope, sweetheart, please go check on the little ones. Fleur, dear, would you mind taking the children's things up to their rooms?" she asked as she motioned towards the basket by Ron's feet.

Both women rushed to comply with the requests. Penelope popped out of the room instantly, while Fleur headed up the stairs with the mending floating behind her. Molly's full attention remained focused entirely on Harry.

"Is your call over then? Is... Is everything...."

She paused carefully as if trying to find the right word.

"... alright?"

Harry blankly stared at her before realizing that she was fishing for information, trying as lightly as she could to find out what he and Ginny had been arguing about. Harry tried to set her mind at rest.

"Oh! Oh yes, yes. Quite alright. Ginny was just... worried."

As dense as he was rumored to be, even Ron knew that Harry's response was lacking. Unsurprisingly, Molly chose to accept the pat answer rather than disturb the treacle tart cart. The way Ron saw it, his mother would rather just ignore the signs that something was seriously wrong in the Potter household than be confronted with the actual proof of it. Her denial was almost as strong as her desire for more Weasley babies.

"So what's this you were saying about Hermione then?"

"I had just been pointing out the fact that Hermione can bypass the Burrow's wards. If she could still Apparate, she would be able to slip right into the house with no trouble."

The news seemed to take Harry by surprise.

"I didn't know that," he grumbled. "She never mentioned it before to me."

Ron snorted. "Like that's something new." Ignoring Harry's scowling face he said, "Hermione's probably forgotten about it. The only reason I know is because Dad let it slip to me once; in front of Lavender, no less." Ron left out the part where his Lav had cried bitterly for about three hours afterwards.

"Yes, it's quite true. Hermione was Ginny's Maid of Honour at the time and Arthur and I decided it just made practical sense to put her in. Made it so much easier for her to just drop in whenever she needed to take care of some piece of business or other with either Ginny or myself; especially late at night. I guess after everything happened it all just slipped my mind and I never got around to changing things."

"See, Hermione's not a Weasley," Ron stubbornly pointed out, even as he realized that it was a losing cause to push the issue with his mother any further. The Weasley children had undoubtedly inherited their famously bullheaded streak from her.

Molly grinned boldly at her son's choice of words.

"No, Hermione's not a Weasley," she said as she devilishly winked at Charlie, "but there's still time."

Ron threw his hands up in the air in surrender. He knew there was no point in continuing his case since his mother had switched to her new favorite pastime; getting Charlie hitched. Ron did appreciate Harry's silent solidarity, though. His best mate looked just as annoyed as Ron felt at the turn in subject. However Charlie amiably shook his head, as he smiled back at his mother.

"Mum, would you stop trying to marry me off," he jokingly pleaded as he and Bill chuckled at the woman's cheek. "If I didn't know any better, I would think you were trying to get rid of me. I'm developing a complex over it."

"Well you aren't getting any younger, dear," she remarked as Fleur began to call her name from upstairs.

Molly Weasley Disapparated out of the room amidst the sound of Charlie and Bill's booming laughter. Percy pretended to ignore them all, while Ron exhaled a disheartened sigh and rejoined his brothers at the table. Harry followed, taking up a chair right beside him.

"Mum seems to be on a one-witch mission to find all of my ex-girlfriends good and proper homes. Next thing you know she'll be inviting Luna to dinner and shoving her on George's lap."

Bill and Charlie shared a quick, loaded glance and smiled before both men leaned forward in their chairs.

"Would you mind?" questioned Bill, looking first at Ron, then at Harry.

"If Luna dated George?" asked Ron, face screwed up in incomprehension. "Well it would be a step up from the Ferret but..."

"No, no," Bill quickly cut him off. "What I mean is...if say there was a bloke who wanted to take out Hermione, would he have to ask either of you fine lads for permission first?"

Harry stiffened rigidly in his seat, while Ron chuckled dryly at his brother's probing query.

"No," he said, "but I think Fleur might have something to say to you about it."

Once again, Bill and Charlie shared a furtive, wily look before turning their attentions back to the two younger men. Percy noisily ruffled the pages of his newspaper, but he wasn't fooling anyone. He was paying close attention to the conversation as well.

"I wasn't asking for me," said Bill blithely. The statement hung in the air for only a second before Ron caught its meaning.

"You want to ask Hermione out?!" Harry anxiously asked Charlie, taking the words right out of his best friend's mouth. Actually, if he was being honest, it sounded more like an accusation than a question in Ron's opinion.

Instead of answering it directly, Charlie gave his brother-in-law a coy smile. "She's grown up."

"But you already have a girlfriend!" Harry blurted. Quite loudly, in fact.

"Who? Bernadette? We're just mates now," said Charlie shrugging the veiled charge off. "Besides she's also moving back to Calais next year, while I'm a little more interested in finding something closer to home. I'm looking for fun, not long distance."

"HERMIONE DOESN'T LIKE TO HAVE FUN!"

Ron wincingly looked at his dark haired pal, before turning his attention to his brother.

"What I think what Harry here means is that Hermione isn't really your type, Charlie," he said tactfully.

"Yeah...yes, th-that's what I meant," Harry inscrutably replied, carefully avoiding everyone's eyes.

Charlie simply shrugged his shoulders and leaned back in his seat.

"I don't know; she seems a bit of alright to me. She's cute, still sharp as a Diffindo from what I can tell, and I've known her for years. Plus, as an added bonus," he said smiling broadly, "she could teach me a few good moves."

Bill smirked playfully at his brother. His scarred face brightened as he wolfishly whistled. "You dog!"

"I'm talking about dancing, you plonker," Charlie laughingly answered him as he stood to his feet. "Plus it wouldn't hurt to get mum off me back about it," he confided humorously.

He walked to Bill's side and hauled his big brother out of his seat.

"I feel like flying. Want to come with, old man?"

"Sounds good," said Bill smiling agreeably as he rowdily clapped Charlie across the back. "My broom is out in the shed. Let's go."

The two of them headed out the Burrow's kitchen door, arm in arm, after bidding Ron and Harry a merry goodbye. Ron looked after his two older brothers with a smile on his face. Even with all of their silly nonsense about Hermione, he still regarded them with almost fan-like adoration. In fact Ron had reached an age where he could admire all of his siblings to varying degrees without being plagued by the violent insecurities of his childhood. He even appreciated Percy a time or two. When he wasn't being a raging twat, that is.

On cue, Percy set the Quibbler on the table, smoothed the front page, and neatly folded it before tossing it on top of the other Sunday papers.

"Charlie is a smart one," he told the two men still seated before him. "For all her faults, Hermione would make a good choice in mate. Even with all of the controversy always buzzing about her, her name still holds a good deal of weight in certain sectors of the community. A War hero and the cleverest witch of her age; a wizard could sire some fine children by a woman like that. Too bad you ran her off, little brother."

Harry and Ron turned to look at each other, both caught off-guard by Percy's outspokenness. Ron then scowled, his lips stretching thinly across his face, as he glared at his brother.

"Thanks, Perce," he said irritably, regretting that he and Harry hadn't made a run for it when Bill and Charlie first left.

"You should have at least gone ahead and married Luna when you had the chance," Percy continued as he removed his wire rimmed specs and gave the lenses a polish against his dark robes. "Rather stupid of you, I should say. Sure she's no fancy piece like Lavender, but she is quite bright. Then again, she was in Ravenclaw. You didn't appreciate her enough," he extolled.

"I DID APPRECIATE HER!" The hostile tone in Ron's voice made Percy halt his actions, and regard his brother with a somewhat dispassionate squint. Harry reached out a hand to his friend's shoulder, as if to calm him, but Ron shook it off. "I appreciated Luna well enough not to let her get stuck with a dumb bastard like me, apparently," he went on with fervor. "And where is all of this sudden high praise for Luna coming from?" he asked. "You never liked Luna. You barely cared enough to even remember her name before. In fact you were the one who told me not to marry her. What was it you said? Oh yes, 'Lovegood isn't very sane, Ron.' What do you know of Luna?"

Percy held up a hand, as if in submission, and nodded his head.

"You're right, you're right. I misjudged her back then. I realize now that any wizard would be happy to have her," he apologized. "I've even heard word that your former fiancée just might be on the shortlist to receive the Pendleton Publishing Prize for that last article of hers. Quite a prestigious honor, I must say. Why I was just telling her the other day-"

"You've been talking with Luna?" Harry asked, interrupting him. A look of keen interest shone in his eyes as he watched Percy closely. "Why?"

"Oh, no reason," was the response he gave his brother-in-law as he smiled stiffly at him. His eyes bounced from Harry to Ron and stayed there. "I just happened to run into her at work," he explained.

Harry frowned thoughtfully. "Funny, I'd heard that the watchwizard had been authorized to toss her out of the Ministry on sight now. How did she ever get passed Munch?" he prodded as he leaned forward, catching Percy's eye again. Percy stared back at him mutely, for what felt like barely a second to Ron, before rubbing agitatedly at his eyes and shoving his glasses back up the ridge of his pointy nose. He glowered at the two young men.

"I DON'T KNOW! WHAT'S WITH ALL OF THE QUESTIONS?!" he grouchily snapped.

Tiring of Percy's see-sawing mood, Ron decided to just cut to the chase and find out why his brother had suddenly developed such a queer interest in his personal life.

"Percy, what's with all of this about Luna and Hermione?"

"Nothing," said Percy. "I just wish you would have thought through your decision to marry more thoroughly. At the least you should have given better consideration to your choice of bride."

Stunned at Percy's response, Ron looked to Harry, wide-eyed, and asked, "Is he putting down Lav?"

"Don't get me wrong; I like Lavender, for all her lack of depth," said Percy coolly, "but there really is no there there, is there?" He smirked as if admiring his own nonexistent wit.

Ron felt the heat of his wrath creep up his neck and linger behind his ears. Any second he would blow. Harry looked nervously between the two brothers, fearful that either Percy would foolishly keep talking or that Ron would make him shut him up by forcibly removing Percy's spine through the prat's tight arse...or something equally as messy. Unluckily, the former proved to be true so he really had no hope for the latter.

"I'm talking about the bigger picture here. You are a Weasley, Ron. That means something now. People have begun to look towards us as an example; that includes our spouses. Bill and I both married former Head Girls; Ginny married The Boy Who Lived. And even though Fred didn't use the best judgment, there is still a chance that Charlie and George will. I hate to sound so cavalier," he said with a rather self-important snicker, "but these are the things you think about if you hope to have children someday."

Ron's eyes narrowed as he spoke through clenched teeth. "I've already got a kid."

Percy glibly waved him off.

"I mean one of your own," he dismissively tutted.

"I'VE ALREADY GOT ONE OF MY OWN!" yelled Ron, jumping to his feet, fists raised as if ready to deliver a swift bash to Percy's bloated head.

He had sat back and tried to remain calm as Percy insulted his Lav, but he would be hanged if he would ever allow a cruel word said against his daughter.

"You don't know what the bloody fuck you're talking about, you prat! Violet is mines!" he insisted, voice rising. "And she's real smart too! My Pumpkin's got a lot going on up here," he said, jabbing his pointer finger to his temple. "She can count all the way to twenty...fifty if you give her a few hints..."

Harry's loyal smile seemed to bolster his confidence.

"And she doesn't even eat the plimpy paste in class anymore," Ron proudly finished.

Harry looked surprise to hear it. "Really?"

"Well," began Ron, realizing that he was getting carried away a bit, "she doesn't eat it much anymore."

Harry's smile grew even larger. Percy, however, let out a labored sigh and shook his head.

"That's...nice. But you're missing my point. Violet is adopted," he said plainly. "Violet is Lavender's child. Violet is-"

"A Weasley."

When all three men looked over to the stairs, Ron felt his heart sing at the sight they found there. Molly Weasley's fearsome expression was a thing of beauty, especially since her daggered eyes were pointed squarely at Percy's suddenly pale face. Percy actually swallowed nervously as he watched his strong-willed little mother stamp down the steps.

"Violet is every bit of a Weasley," she said fiercely as she strode boldly across the floor and stopped just beside the git. "She's as much a member of this family as you are," she told her son. "And I never want to hear you saying different again, Percy Ignatius. Am I understood?"

"Yes, mother."

"Thanks, mum."

"Of course," she said as she threw a kind look to Ron. "Now explain yourself, young man. What's this all been about?" she questioned Percy, a stern expression on her face.

"It's just that I've been concerned about Ron," he answered her.

Both Harry and Ron rolled their eyes. They remembered well how big a git Percy could be when he was concerned. Percy didn't seem to heed their reactions, though.

"Once you marry Lavender you can't just take back the Rites, you know," he counseled, looking at his brother evenly.

"I don't want to take back the Rites! Besides, you got married under the Rites," Ron obstinately argued.

Percy gave him a sanctimonious look. "Yes, but I was never as flighty as you are. I knew it was Penelope for me for years. But your marrying Lavender is quite different. Next month you could up and decide that you'd rather marry the charwoman who cleans my house. Your track record speaks for itself, little brother. I know you never take any advice I give you seriously-"

"Because I don't."

"But I would hate to see you make a bad decision that you can't get out of, Ron. The consequences could be dire."

An uneasy look came over Harry's face. "What...what do you mean?"

Percy held Ron's brassed off gaze a second longer, before sighing and turning to answer the other man.

"An appeal to dissolve a Cycle marriage had been brought to the Wizengamot about a month ago. What's more, it had been approved."

"WHAT?!" blustered Harry, dumbfounded, as his wild hair almost appeared to stand quite literally off his head.

"Who?!" questioned Molly in shock. She seemed to be as taken aback at Percy's divulgence as her son-in-law.

"Lorkin and Calpurnia Finch," Percy told her.

"They just let him divorce her?"

"Actually she divorced him," said Percy, answering Harry's question. "She petitioned the court citing the Burnemacher case."

Harry thickly gulped. "He sent a troll after her?"

"What?!" asked Percy as he gaped at Harry with unrestrained vexation. "No! Finch entered the Rites in bad faith. He had been dosing Calpurnia with Amortentia for years. That's how he got her to marry him. Just think," he said, looking between the table's three spellbound occupants, "she never even knew until she caught him at it one night."

Molly sighed sorrowfully, her hand agitatedly rubbing at her throat at the tale. "She must have been devastated. Just imagine; to find out one day that your whole life with the person you thought you loved was a lie."

"Could someone really be that dim to be tricked that way for years?" Harry wondered aloud.

"You'd be surprised," said Percy ominously. "It happens more than you know, Harry."

As those words digested with Ron, he shook his head in marvel at all Percy was telling them. Percy was usually so tightlipped, especially when it came to anything dealing with Ministry affairs, that Ron was simply amazed that he had gone out of his way to share so much with them at all. In fact, Ron wanted to keep his brother talking; see what else he would spill.

"Wow. I didn't know it was possible to get a divorce under the Rites," he said.

"There have to be extenuating circumstances," said Harry absently.

That caught Ron's attention. Harry sure did seem to know a lot about the Rites. Ron wondered how. Sure he could have revised on the subject years ago before he got married, but Ron knew that just wasn't Harry's way. He was the type to charge blindly through a door and ask questions later. Then again Ron couldn't talk; he was usually the dumb arse running through that very same door right behind him.

"Extenuating circumstances... right," Percy echoed, studying Harry closely for a second, before shaking his head. "As I was saying, the formal announcement was supposed to happen tomorrow. It was pretty much a done deal."

"Ok, what does some cracked cauldron, and his batty wife, have to do with me?" asked Ron.

"Nothing. I was just trying to point out to you how bad these things can end. You see, once Finch got word of the final decision, he raped Calpurnia, got her with child, and invoked Erasmus' Due to cinch the deal."

"No!" Molly's voice trembled with dismay.

Percy gravely nodded his head. "He was determined to trap her."

Ron and Harry looked at each other, a look of inquiry on both their faces.

"Erasmus' Due?" asked Harry.

"Never heard of it," said Ron.

"And why would you?!" Molly declared shrilly. "It's not something polite wizards and witches talk about. And even when they do it's only mentioned in hushed whispers and muted undertones."

Ron was intrigued. "Well, what is it?"

Molly studied Harry and Ron's eager faces and felt her heart dip painfully at the sight of them. Although she knew she was looking at two grown-up, able-bodied wizards, she still had a hard time accepting them as such. They were still such babies, to her way of thinking; complete innocents to the ugliness the world could produce at times. Her first instinct was always to shelter them from it. However Arthur was always reminding her that she needed to start treating the boys like the capable young men that they were; men who had been old enough to fell a dark wizard and tell the tale after, so she decided to give in.

"How can I explain this to you children," she began uneasily, as she gingerly slipped into the chair next to Percy. "I guess the simplest way would be to start from the beginning. Even when there's no end yet, there's always a beginning," she mused, somewhat to herself. Seeing the anticipative looks all three boys were now shooting her, Molly straightened in her seat and continued. "Well there was a young wizard once named Erasmus..."

...who belonged to a clan of Metamophmagi that lived by the Abhainn Dhubh near Stirling in Scotland. Sometime around the 4^th century a plague swept the area. Some say it was Dragon Pox. Others have said it was Crones disease. Whatever it was, it devastated the clan. All of the childbearing women were lost to the mysterious sickness that passed through just as swiftly as it came. Erasmus' tribe was forced to leave the Black River in search of a new settlement, especially one that could provide the dwindling number with witches to get children by. They eventually came to live in Carlisle. They tried to appeal to the neighboring magical tribe nearest them, but were turned back time and again.

At this point in the story, Ron interrupted.

"Why wouldn't any of the others help them, mum?" he asked, clearly confused as to why the old-timey wizards would be such utter and complete tossers at a time like that.

"Well, back then, your clan was your life," she told Harry, Percy, and Ron. "You were born into it, you died in it, and most importantly you provided children for it. Rarely was a witch allowed to marry and take the gifts of the clan to another tribe. Wizards guarded their powers, unique to each clan, jealously back then. Because of this attitude, Erasmus' people nearly died out."

Then one day, according to legend, while hunting wild buccas in a dark, forbidden part of the woods, Erasmus found himself trapped inside of a fairy ring. He would have died there too if not for the pretty little witch, a Spirǽre, who had been stuck there for days.

Molly paused, fixed each of them with a penetrating look, and gave a prude-like sniff.

"Well, I'm sure I don't have to tell you boys just what those filthy minded little beasts made those two children do."

Once freed from the enchanted circle, the poor girl fled home, refusing to tell what had happened. Not even the threats of her father could get it out of her. Erasmus, however, did not hold his tongue. Days later he claimed the witch and the child she was already carrying as his by right. It would go against his kith and kin to allow another man to bed her, thus bringing bad luck to his clan, especially since she carried his first seed. When a council of warlocks from all over was called to decide the matter, they all voted in Erasmus' favor. Within weeks, young Spirǽres girls and women were being abducted from their homes and families; at least one a day.

Percy nodded his head. "There's even a famous painting depicting it; The Rape of the Spirǽre Women. If I'm remembering right, I think it used to hang right outside of Old Binns' classroom. A very vulgar piece, if you ask me," he arrogantly decreed.

"Aye, it was there back when I was just a First Year," Molly confirmed.

Ron was bowled over to hear it. Ron, Seamus, and Dean had often spent more than a minute ogling the picture (and it's scantily clad women) before trudging into History of Magic for their daily nap, never knowing the true story behind it.

"But it didn't just stop there," Molly continued, interrupting her son's thoughts. "Soon girls from all manner of tribes were being taken at will; Imbuers, Enthrallers, Precogs, Redementir. Erasmus' people was saved, but at a cost. After awhile it got to the point where there was no longer any point to be divided into separate clans, which I guess was fortunate since that's about the time the Muggles decided they wanted to hunt us for sport and burn us on pyres."

"Yes, the barbaric practice is what actually led the magical peoples of the British Isles to band together instead of isolating themselves from each other. After awhile, Erasmus' Due became an antiquated remnant of a bygone era. A wizard could marry anyone that they wanted, even a Muggle, if they were so inclined," said Percy knowledgeably.

"Well...that's a good thing, right?" Ron asked haltingly.

"Sure. 'Course no one likes to discuss the fact that such open-mindedness was the direct result of years of pillage and rape."

"Percival!"

Percy only shook his head jadedly. "Well, mother, it's true. The sad fact is, though rare, there are those that will still invoke Erasmus' Due to this day. Usually it's just a witch who lucked out and discovered the archaic ruling and will use it to trap the wizard who got her with child. But there are times some sick bastard will stoop to anything to win the object of his obsession. If the wizard is powerful enough, and his wandless skill beyond compare, a whispered Raptio in the ear will do the trick every time."

Molly looked near swoon to hear Percy discuss such horrible things so casually. Harry looked incensed.

"That's horrible! Doesn't the Ministry do anything about it?" he asked.

"Ha! Who do you think sanctioned it in the first place?!" jeered Percy.

Molly wore a shameful frown on her face. "T'is true, boys, I'm afraid. That council of warlocks, the one's who gave Erasmus the go-ahead in the first place, was the very first gathering of the Wizengamot, though they wouldn't be called that officially for a few more centuries."

The news and enormity of what she said actually stunned both Harry and Ron into open mouthed disbelief. Both of their jaws nearly banged against the table.

When he had finally recovered from the shock, Ron mulishly said, "Alright, alright. This is all very fascinating and depressing, but what in the name of Merlin does it have to do with me and Lav?"

Seeing Ron's quarrelsome expression, Percy finally relented to Ron's badgering and decided to explain himself fully.

"Ron, you're my brother and I love you," he began. He actually smiled good-naturedly at the slug-mouthed expression Ron made at such an admission. "No, no, I do. I know I have funny ways of showing it at times, but it's true. I'm just worried about you. Believe it or not, I wasn't trying to scare you out of getting married. I just told you all that about Lorkin Finch as a cautionary tale. Sometimes these things just go wrong, Ron. People do desperate things to hold onto the ones they love. And others go to even more extreme measures just to free themselves. You see, Calpurnia Finch tried to commit suicide yesterday morning."

Three astounded faces gaped at him. Percy merely nodded his head.

"She brewed the Belladonna's Blight herself. She must have misjudged the amount of monkshood because she's now just a vegetable in a private room on Mungo's third floor. The Ministry has been in a scramble to keep it all quiet. Between this and the proposed Marriage Law leak, everything is in a dither. I'm sure time will be running out on that upstart Adair pretty soon," said Percy with a cunning half-smile. Realizing that his family was still watching him with rapt attention, Percy's face adopted a more neutral expression as he continued to speak. "There still is time for you though, Ron. Are you sure that Lavender is the witch for you? Because if you go ahead with the Olde Rites, you'll have a devil of a time getting out of it," he cautioned thoughtfully.

As if against his own will, Ron actually felt moved by Percy's genuine seeming brotherly concern. The last time Percy had taken such an active interest in his affairs he had sent Ron a note congratulating him on making Prefect back at the start of Fifth Year. Ron had easily read between the lines of the letter and saw through the Ministry kiss-up's advice not to get tarred with the same "crazy" brush that Harry was being painted with at the time. As far as Ron had been concerned then, Percy could shove it. Percy had only been interested in how Ron's continued allegiance to Harry reflected on his own sorry arse, not in his youngest brother's safety or best interests as the calculating note professed. But now that very same prat who was so unwilling to allow family ties to blind him in his pursuit of Ministry promotions and accolades back then, was reaching out to his kid brother once more. And more shockingly than that, Ron honestly believed that Percy was actually being sincere about it for once...in his own Percy-ish way. Ron never knew the git had it in him.

Still, Ron felt the need to make sure there was no doubt where his intentions lay.

"I love Lavender!" Ron proclaimed wholeheartedly. "In fact I'm arse back...."

He caught himself just in time.

Sending an apologetic look to his mother, he quickly said instead, "I mean, I'm crazy about her. I know I made tons of mistakes with Luna and Hermione, and believe me I regret them. Well, some of them. But I swear I'd never regret marrying Lav. Not today, not tomorrow; not fifty years from now!"

That earned him an ear to ear grin from his mother. Even Harry smiled at his friend's heartfelt declaration in his own, sad way.

"Lavender is it for me," he went on, feeling the sheer certainty of the words. "I mean that. Even if she does kill me once she eventually reads today's Prophet," he risibly muttered.

That last bit actually made everyone in the sunny kitchen laugh merrily. Molly then stood up, still beaming, and told the three men that she had chores to take care of and couldn't dally away the day with them any longer. She affectionately patted both her sons on the cheek, gave Harry a dotingly warm, loving smile, and soon disappeared up the stairs to continue the morning cleaning that had gotten away from her. Realizing the late hour, Harry and Ron both pushed their chairs from the table and stood up as well. Percy followed suit.

"I think I had you pegged all wrong there, Ron," he said, an affable look of esteem on his face. "I was just doing what any big brother should do. Bill gave me a similar talk, years ago, you know. I hope there are no hard feelings."

He offered his brother his hand. After only the briefest of pauses, Ron took it and gave it a firm, up and down pump. The two brothers smiled at each other, and Ron even chummily clapped Percy across the shoulder, almost dislocating it. Percy suffered the brotherly abuse as best he could.

"Did you give Fred the same speech?" Ron asked him.

Percy's smile fell. "Um... er, yes. I don't think he cared for it, though."

Harry's brow knitted. "Oh?"

Percy coughed uncomfortably.

"No. He turned me into a black-tufted marmoset."

"Oh," said Ron and Harry in unison. So that's what that thing was that had been running around Fred's bachelor party that night.

"Yes...well," Percy mumbled, trying to regain his poise, "I best be off. I have a meeting to get to. Tell Penelope I'll see her and the children at home later." He reached down and picked up the copy of the Quibbler he had been reading earlier. He tucked it under his arm before looking at Ron one final time. "Oh, and one final thing; tell Lavender that I hope she appreciates just what she's getting," he said, then Disapparated out of the room.

The Burrow's kitchen was quiet for only a second before Ron turned to his best friend and cocked an eyebrow upward.

"Uh...that was a compliment, right? With Bighead Boy Perce you just never can tell."

Harry grinned widely. "You know, I actually think that it was."

Both of them chuckled gaily.

"Say, did you know that Percy knew a bit of Occlumency?" questioned Harry as he and Ron began to head towards the door. Ron's broom lay propped against the wall next to the exit. The plan had been to get in a bit of flying today as well, as look at the two properties Ron had scouted out beforehand.

Ron shook his head. "I figured that's what you were up to with all of that creepy staring."

"That obvious?" Harry said with a guilty, crooked grin.

"Only to someone who knows you, Potter," said Ron jokingly.

"Well, I wasn't really trying to be discreet. I only wanted him to shut up before a squad of mediwizards had to come out and fish his knob from down his throat. For a minute there you looked like you were ready to kill him!"

"I was," said Ron bluntly as he reached for his Nimbus. "Come to find out the wanker was actually trying to be nice. Who knew?!"

Harry pulled his shrunken Firebolt from out of his trouser pocket.

"Any roads, I didn't really get anything out of him before he pushed me out. Although..."

Harry shook his head as if self-conscious of speaking further.

"What?" urged Ron as they came to a stop.

"It's just... After that speech he just gave you, you don't think your brother would step out on Penny, do you?" Harry asked him.

"Percy? A cheater?" Ron considered it for a moment before saying, "He's not nearly that interesting."

Harry looked like he might agree.

"Perhaps. But I did catch a glimpse of him meeting some cloaked woman out in the rain somewhere. I didn't see her face, I could barely catch her voice, but I did hear it when she called him, 'Deep Wand'."

Ron pulled a face and exaggeratedly squeezed his eyes shut. "Ugh! I think someone is being more than generous there," he gagged, causing Harry to whoop with laughter as they both walked out of the door.

~~**~~ ~~**~~

The first stop they made was in the tiny parish of Axmouth, a short fifteen minute flight from the Burrow. The house Ron had first considered buying was a decent sized cottage that was nestled on a hill overlooking the town. The neighbors were friendly, the village was quiet and peaceful, and the town boasted at least two other magical families that Ron knew of. The one drawback was that there was only one local pub, and in Ron's opinion, their bangers and mash left much to be desired. Really, it was only a small quibble. The Axmouth cottage was simply a fallback plan in case he couldn't get the place he really wanted.

Ron's heart was pretty much set already on a prime piece of real estate that he had found out on Jersey, one of the Channel Islands. The six bedroom house and the modest stretch of land it sat on was called Redfern; named after the mythical plant that grew wild, everywhere. The old witch who had owned Redfern had recently died leaving the place up for grabs. According to the son, a near relic himself by the name of Quintus Qwickley, it was an early Georgian that was well over 200 years old. All of that meant nothing to Ron; he had simply fallen in love with the estate from the first moment he had touched down on the lot. He was meant to live there, he believed. The town was even named Trinity. Ron took that as a sign.

He was pleased to find that Harry seemed as taken with the place as he was. Harry asked plenty of questions while Ron excitedly gave him the grand tour. As they walked the grounds, the two friends discussed everything from whether or not to build Violet a swimming pool, to the best spells and methods of enlarging the closets to suit Lavender's particular needs. However the one thing they didn't speak of was Harry's blatant reluctance to depart Trinity. He practically dragged his feet. If Ron had to make a guess, Harry was doing everything in his power to stall the inevitable verbal brawl they both knew he and Ginny would have over his failure to come home the night before.

Then again, thought Ron, when you got right down to it, hadn't Harry been dragging his feet for years? He had practically been stuck in place, only giving off the impression of movement, of liveliness, for quite some time now, Ron was slowly beginning to realize. It had been that way ever since the Potters had come home from their honeymoon nearly six years ago. The revelation of this nearly hobbled Ron and made him so very, very sad; for his sister as well as his best friend. But not having the words to articulate it properly, Ron decided it was for the best that he just keep out of it as usual.

"And I was thinking that here is where I'd put the stands for the Quidditch pitch."

The two wizards were standing in the field behind the house surveying the backyard. Harry was crouched low to the ground, shirt sleeves rolled all the way to his elbows, as he examined the rich soil in his hand closely. Both of their brooms were lying in the grass right next to him. Ron was squinting off into the sun as he soaked in the lot's lush foliage and surroundings.

Harry looked up at him with a cheery expression on his face. "Quidditch pitch?"

"A smallish one," Ron told him. "You've got to have a Quidditch pitch if you plan on having a Quidditch team."

"And I suppose Lavender will be stocking this team for you," Harry jested as he stood up and dusted the dirt from his hands. "How many, Ron?"

"Six boys of course; we've already got our girl," Ron replied with an engaging smile.

Harry smirked. "Convenient. So tell me, how keen is Lavender on filling this order?"

"Very. Although she did say that I may have to carry the last two. We're still in negotiations over it," Ron quipped. The two shared a jolly laugh over it.

"It really is a nice place, Ron," said Harry with a nod of approval. "Is it affordable?" he offhandedly asked.

Ron couldn't help the wry smile Harry's innocent query produced. There was once a time when a question like that would have incited such intense feelings of resentment and indignant rage in him that he would have been a pain in the arse to deal with for weeks. Ron may have grown up poor, but he was proud. He never cared for being thought of as just a hanger-on; some loser who was The Chosen One's cross to bear, even if it was foolish to think that Harry would ever judge him that way. But Ron had matured enough over time not to take offense at every perceived slight against him.

"I don't need your money, Harry," he genially answered. "I do alright on my own."

"Yes, but you're also footing the bill for a rather lavish and expensive wedding," countered Harry as he bent down and gathered up the brooms. He handed Ron his. "Having had one myself, I know how crazy it all can get. All I'm saying is if you need any help…"

"Thanks, mate," Ron said appreciatively, slinging his broom onto his shoulder. "But I really do have it covered. The Wasps are very generous with the salary. Besides, the house isn't that big. It's no Potter's Palace..."

Ron laughingly skipped out of the way of the swing Harry took at him with his Firebolt.

"... or a Goliath like I hear that showoff-y prat Zabini built out there in Wales somewhere," he continued. The two of them had begun to walk back towards the front of the house. "The roof needs some work, the carpeting in the master bedroom is a bit manky, and I think there's a glumbumble infestation in the basement. It's pretty damned depressing down there. Almost strung myself from a ceiling beam the first time I did a walk-through," he carelessly confided as though his botched suicide attempt was merely a trifle. At the sight of Harry's horrified face, Ron rushed to put his mind at ease. "Oh don't worry; the dead owner's son cut me down in time," he assured his friend with a flippant wave of his hand. "Trust me; the house is more trouble than it looks. I'd be getting it for a steal really. But somehow it's... it's…."

"Home," said Harry perceptively, not missing the glowing look of fulfillment that Ron was unaware he wore.

"Yeah, home," concurred Ron thoughtfully as he looked at his best friend. His head then turned towards the house again as he smiled. "This is home."

Harry nodded his head in agreement. "You're real lucky there, mate," he said in a voice just barely edged with envy. "Good on you! But why so far? You'd be all the way out in the middle of nowhere."

"Lav wanted something far enough to discourage her mum and sisters from just popping over any time they felt like it," he explained. "But don't worry; you know you'll always be welcomed at casa del Weasley," he said beaming brightly. "I even already picked out a room just for you and Hermione."

Harry nearly stumbled over his own feet at the words. He stopped and quickly turned to gape at the redhead with a mortified expression on his face. It almost took more than a second for Ron to realize just how his friend had taken the harmless remark.

"Oh! Oh no, I mean...not you and Hermione..." Ron helplessly spluttered. "Not at the same time...you and her..." he tried again to correct himself, almost turning redder than his hair. Giving up, he finally settled on, "Oh, you know what I mean!"

The lines of Harry's face instantly smoothed into an unreadable mask. "Right... right...."

"So," began Ron ineptly, cautiously trying to transition the conversation, "speaking of Hermione...."

Harry gave him a guarded look. "We're we speaking of Hermione?"

Ron almost laughed. When wasn't Harry going on and on about Hermione, especially since she had come back? he wondered. He kept that to himself, though. Since Ron's intentions were to have a serious conversation with Harry that concerned their mutual best friend, he decided to forgo any wisecrack that might have distracted him from getting around to what he wanted to table.

"I hope she's feeling better," Ron started after an awkward pause. "What do you suppose was the matter with her?"

Harry shrugged his shoulders and kept his head lowered to the ground, hiding his face from view. He kicked at the dirt. "Not sure."

"Maybe it was something she ate," Ron suggested. "The girl does eat like a half-giantess these days." He smiled broadly. "Makes me rather proud to see it. I hope it wasn't the quail. I had three!"

"No, no," said Harry, shaking his head, "she didn't make it to the Ball in time for the food, remember?"

Ron scratched at his head as if trying to puzzle it all out. "Oh, right. Well maybe she had too much to drink," he proposed.

"Didn't touch a drop all night; not even a glass of elderflower wine. I know; I was watching her."

"Well, I guess that was a blessing in disguise, eh?" cracked Ron with a mirthful glint in his eyes. "Merlin help you, if you'd had to deal with a sauced Hermione Granger."

Harry's vague, dim smile told Ron that his dark haired friend hadn't caught his meaning. "I've seen Hermione drunk plenty of times," he attested.

"True," allowed Ron, "but you never had the pleasure of seeing her when she'd wake up from one of those drunken little faints of hers for a few minutes," he told him. Ron smiled fondly to himself at the remembering. "She's aggressive, that one."

Harry's eyes practically fell out of their sockets. "Ag-ag...."

He swallowed thickly as if the words had turned to dust in his throat.

"Aggre... aggre...." he wheezingly tried again, making some progress. Ron decided to just take pity on him and help him along.

"Yeah, real aggressive. She wasn't just bossy about her books, mate," Ron said with a sly wink, grinning toothily at him.

The redhead would never know how close he had come to losing every tooth in that cheeky grin of his, as Harry crankily stalked away from him.

"Hey, Harry! Wait up! Harry!" Ron called as he scrambled to catch up with his friend. He had forgotten how touchy Harry could get at even the slightest indication that he and Hermione had done a hell of a lot more than play Exploding Snap back when they were dating. Then again, Ron was still in fixed denial that he had ever caught Ginny reading out of The Joys of Spellbinding Lovemaking once. "Harry, it was just a joke!"

"Look, Hermione was just fine until we got to the Hollow," snapped Harry defensively as he swung around, jabbing his broom handle out at Ron in anger.

Ron nearly impaled himself onto it before he was able to come to a screeching halt.

"We were talking!" Harry crabbily continued. Then just as quickly as his temper had been unleashed, the anger seemed to seep right out of him all at once. "We were laughing," he unhappily mumbled as he dropped his broom loosely to his side. "And then I... and then I said something. And then she passed out," he bitterly added.

Ron tilted his head and studied him for a second. "Bored her to death?"

The gentle ribbing actually melted away a little of Harry's frost. An errant smile crossed his face. "Maybe."

Ron smiled back.

"After that I carried her into the house, put her in bed, and sat up with her...waiting. You know, in case she woke back up or something."

"Good call," Ron replied. "Did she?"

"No," Harry glumly sulked. "After a few hours I just Apparated over to the Ministry, caught a quick kip in the Capsule Room, and hit the showers after. Luckily, I still had some old training togs in my locker."

Ron didn't miss the fact that Harry had intentionally avoided going home that morning. He paid him a sidelong glance. "Yeah... lucky," he carefully commented.

"Right," said Harry warily as he purposely avoided Ron's sharp gaze. "I'm going to ring her again," he quickly said as he dug into his pocket and pulled out the small, black object he had stashed there. It would mark about the seventh time that afternoon that Harry had used his brand new "mobile" to check in on Hermione. He had been calling her non-stop, but she had yet to answer. With each unsuccessful attempt he made to reach her, Harry seemed to get crankier and crankier.

"Still not picking up?" asked Ron sympathetically, watching his friend's grimly lined face as he petulantly jammed the thingy back into his trouser pocket.

Harry's shoulders seemed to sink and turn inward. "I think she's avoiding me. Again," he dejectedly grumped.

Ron balked at the very idea.

"Avoiding you? Hermione?! Don't be daft!" Ron chided. Obviously the whole argument with Ginny, Hermione's mystery ailment, and the sun had all gone to Harry's head. He was out of sorts or something. How else to explain him saying something so foolish? There was nothing more ridiculous than the concept that Hermione Jane Granger would be deliberately avoiding Harry. Hermione was positively devoted to him! Always had been since they all were kids.

Ron decided to try distracting his friend from his groundless insecurities. Ron knew it would be what Hermione would do if she had been in his place.

"Listen, let's say we hop on our brooms, fly over to the Hollow, shake her awake, and get Hermione to drive us over to that old inn over in Nottingham," Ron tried to entice him, dangling the idea out to his friend as though it were a carrot. "You know the one. I wager their bubble is still as good as I remember it."

"She's probably not even there. She had some super secret meeting or something today," Harry grumbled.

"Oh?"

Harry's face hardened. "She's seeing a solicitor; Blaise Zabini's wife. She was supposed to floo to his house to meet with the woman."

Ron's eyebrows shot up into his hairline. Ron didn't know what surprised him most; the fact that pretty boy Zabini had stopped whoring long enough to marry someone or that Hermione was suddenly keeping company with pure-blooded hags.

"Zabini got married?!" When Harry nodded his head, he went, "Well what'd Hermione need to see a solicitor for?" This was the first Ron was hearing of this.

"She won't say," Harry sullenly muttered. "But I don't think it's anything good."

Ron took a moment to chew on this new bit of information. He wondered how it fit with what he had recently witnessed.

"Do you suppose it has anything to do with all of those bizarre calls she gets on that fellytone of hers?"

Harry looked surprised at the question. "You know about those?"

Ron feverishly nodded his head. "And every time she gets one she makes that face. Yeah, that one!" Ron said at the sight of Harry's narrowing eyes. "She got so many once that she looked like she was going to throw it against the wall. Instead, she just turned it off."

"She never answers it when I'm around," Harry admitted.

"I heard her talking into it one time," disclosed the redhead.

Harry's head snapped up at the statement, and his darkening green eyes bored into Ron. The potency of Harry's gaze almost froze Ron's tongue. But since Scary Intense Harry was a sight easier to puzzle out than Brooding Blue Harry, he did his best to keep talking.

"Yeah, she was talking to someone named..." began Ron. His forehead puckered in thought. "What was that damned name again..." he said, doing his best to search through his spotty memory. When it finally it hit him, his eyes lit up with success. "Collier! That's it; Collier."

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Ron cut him off.

"Before you ask, I didn't hear a thing else. She hung up as soon as she realized I was there. Had the nerve to call me a nosey parker. Me!" he cried, affronted at the cruelty he had been forced to suffer. Ron shook his head ponderingly. "I tell you, Harry, that witch...er, miss," he hastily corrected, "she's got secrets."

"Ok, what about this one?"

Ron and Hermione were standing in the mammoth doll wing of Dimwiddie's perusing the shelves. He had asked her to come on the shopping trip to help him pick out a gift for his niece's birthday in a few days. His mum was throwing a huge family bash at the Burrow for the occasion and Ron wanted to get little Rosie something special. You only turned 3 once! Plus he had heard the twins bragging about some huge surprise they were planning and he wanted to find something to top them. He had hoped Hermione would be able to give him a hand on that. He'd had no idea what an interesting outing it would turn into, though.

"A Messy Tessy doll?" Hermione took the package out of his hands and gave it a good once over. The little animated doll baby in the box stared back at her with a woeful, tense expression on its face; eyes crossed, knees locked together rigidly as she bounced from side to side performing what looked like a clumsy jig. It held on to its cloth nappy to keep it from falling to its pudgy plastic feet.

"'Messy Tessy'," Hermione repeated as she turned the box over and read from the packaging, "'the lifelong #1 best friend that #2's'."

Both she and Ron looked at each other, puzzled.

"That #2's?" she wondered aloud as she turned the box back around again.

The doll's face had changed to a relieved, serene expression. Its nappy also looked considerably fuller now.

Hermione's nose wrinkled with disgust. "Oh, no no no! This will never do!" she declared prissily. "Fleur would hex me to Hades and back again if I allowed you to walk out of the store with this monstrosity," she told him. "I'm afraid I will have to exercise my power of veto yet again."

She placed the doll back on its shelf, and without even a backwards glance, tugged Ron forward as they entered into another area of the huge magical toys store.

"I give up, Hermione," whinged Ron, overwhelmed. "I don't know what to get Rosie. I'm pants at this!" he exclaimed with defeat. They had been at it for hours. They had seen everything from dwarf-crafted tea sets, to a stuffed baby unicorn that shied away from Hermione every time she tried to touch it. Dinwiddie's Dolls, Doodads, & Doodles claimed to have anything a kid could ever wish for between its four walls, but Ron was beginning to believe that the boastful claim was just the hard sell. They would never find the perfect gift for Rosie he feared.

"Ron, you should know what a little girl would like. You've bought presents for your daughter before," Hermione said encouragingly as she looked from one set of shelves to the other. Although Ron had tried to subtly steer her in another direction, she had obstinately pulled them into the "Little Learners" section.

"Sure," replied Ron with a cynical smirk, "but the last one I got Pumpkin nearly scratched my fiancée's eyes out," he joked. "I'm a bit wand-shy now."

Although Hermione arranged her face into a contrite expression, she couldn't hide the amusement in her eyes.

"Sorry about that. Crookshanks is nothing if not loyal."

"What did you get Rosie?" asked Ron as he let go of her arm to pick up a Madame Marinska's Beginner's Crystal Ball. He self-consciously put it back at the sound of her snobbish "tsk". "Do you think I could put my name on it?" he begged.

Hermione shook her head superiorly. "In answer to the last question, no. Harry beat you to it."

Ron pouted.

"And in answer to the first question, that would be a book," she said, adjusting the strap of her handbag on her shoulder.

"A BOOK?!" gasped Ron, his freckled face stretched with revulsion. "Ugh! Does Harry know? No way would I want to put my name on that!"

Hermione fumed at the snub. "Fine, be that way!" she snitted as she stomped towards the end of the aisle. She only stopped when something on one of the lower shelves caught her eye. "Ooh! Here's something nice."

She bent down and struggled with a large, dust covered case. Ron jogged up and assisted her with the cumbersome load. While he strained to hold it, Hermione reached into her handbag, pulled out a hankie, and wiped the front of the trunk-like box free of grime.

"The Li'l Witch Potion Kit; isn't it lovely, Ron?" she asked, eyes sparkling at the find. "Look, it comes with a miniature cauldron, a safety knife for young and inexperienced hands, billywig parts, dried bat droppings...Oh! It even has a darling little mortar and pestle," she cooed in delight. "It's adorable!" When she looked up, she was startled to find Ron gawking at her as though she had somehow morphed into the Bandon Banshee or something. "What?"

"If I gave that to Rosie, Fred and George would be her favorites for sure! Percy would probably even beat me out!"

Hermione cut her eyes at him disapprovingly. "Is this some sort of popularity contest, Ron?"

His eyes widened as he nodded his head up and down furiously. "YES!"

She balled up the hankie and threw it at him.

"Well, when I was 6," began Hermione as she lovingly ran her fingers across the box, "or was I 7?" she ponderingly questioned. A tender smile pulled the corners of her mouth. "My dad bought me a junior chemistry set. Oh, I adored the thing!" she chirpily sang. "I used to love fiddling with my measuring cups and...and watching my beakers and test tubes all gurgle and fizz," she bubbled with excitement.

Ron arched his eyebrow and smirked at her. "And that's where you went wrong; right there," he said as he shook his head and shoved the potion playset back where it had come from. "No wonder you never learned how to cook," he said, straightening. He held out the crumpled hankie he had scooped up from the floor to her. "Normal little girls were out making mud pies, while you were plotting to poison people."

Hermione snatched the soiled, lacy thing from him with a huff.

"You know, I think the moment I should have realized that it would just never work out between you and me was that first morning at the Hollow when you burned the eggs. I mean, who burns a boiled egg?!"

"THAT COULD HAVE HAPPENED TO ANYONE!" Hermione protested.

Ron let out a mocking little snort. "It exploded, Hermione. I didn't even know an egg could do that."

"I bet it happens plenty of times!" she argued in her defense. "It was an honest mistake!"

Ron's amused grin said otherwise. Hermione ignored it and snootily raised her nose to the air.

"Well, I didn't think you were with me for my culinary skills any how," she demurred imperiously as they began to exit the educational wing.

Enjoying the rise he was getting out of his friend, Ron boldly continued to tease her. "No. I was in it for your great... big...."

He exaggeratedly held his hands out in front of him as though he were holding two rounded, overly ripened gourds, and smiled suggestively.

"Books."

Hermione didn't take the bait.

"Clever," she drolled humorlessly. "That ranks right up there with, 'hey, Lav, let me see Ur-anus.'"

Ron pulled her arm through his and gave it a loving squeeze. He grinned with devil-may-care charm. "I was quite the lovable scamp."

Hermione bit her lip to keep from smiling. "Funny, that's not the word I would have used."

Ron chortled loudly. They had nearly come out into the middle of the store when Ron began to speak.

"I-SHITE!" he shouted as he jumped back and fell to the floor, yanking Hermione down with him. She shrieked like a mandrake at the mistreatment, but Ron barely acknowledged it. He was too busy peeking around the shelf. When he judged that all was clear, he tittered awkwardly as he stood up and helped his friend to her feet.

When she had steadied herself, she forcefully reclaimed her arm and glared at Ron, clutching the bruised limb to her protectively. Her fury laden eyes practically snapped at him.

"Sorry," he mumbled as he hurriedly tried to brush the dust and grit from off her ruffled, denim skirt helpfully. He continued to try to appease her, even after she stingingly smacked his hand away a couple of times. "I really am sorry, Hermione! It's just that I thought I saw that clown Bozo."

She jutted her chin out at him. "YOU KNOW, RON, IF YOU WERE SO BLOODY WELL CONCERNED ABOUT YOUR GOOD REPUTATION BEING SULLIED BY THE LIKES OF ME," she seethed, "WHY DID YOU ASK ME TO HELP YOU SELECT A BIRTHDAY PRESENT FOR YOUR NEICE IN THE FIRST PLACE?!"

"Because I value your opinion," he said as though it were the most logical thing. "I just don't want to be seen with you."

Miffed, Hermione drew in a sharp breath as she took a step back.

"Oh, I'm not ashamed of you or anything like that," he brainlessly assured her.

Her lips stretched into a thin, straight line. "Thank you. I feel so relieved now."

"I just... look; I don't want to do anything that might upset Lavender, ok?" Ron explained, trying to justify his odd actions. "Hermione, those vultures at the Prophet are just spoiling to get some sleazy shot of the two of us together to plaster all over their next cover. I just don't want to give anyone the wrong idea about you and me," he stated simply. "I'm looking out for Lavender. She's sensitive, you know."

Placing a hand on her hip, Hermione clucked her tongue and scoffed. "She's a drama queen, is what she is! Been that way since Hogwarts," she nastily retorted.

Ron bristled at the put-down. For such a kind, goodhearted person, Hermione could be a right bitch when it came to Lavender. His ex-girlfriend appeared to have no interest in actually holding up her end of their truce. If Ron were to listen to some people, there was a pretty good reason for that.

"Well, I love her and I'm marrying her! And no one can stop me!" Ron blusteringly countered, causing the woman to roll her eyes.

"Ron, I have no plans to stop your wedding," she deadpanned.

"I didn't say you did." When Hermione wouldn't stop giving him the evil eye, he blurted, "Well, I didn't! It was the Prophet! And the Seer. And I think Penny might have said something," he furtively mumbled, traitorously tattling on his poor sister-in-law. "She told Fleur, who told Bill, who told me that it was a possibility. It isn't, is it?" he added nervously, face lined with anxiety.

Her stony silence was answer enough.

"Just covering all of my bases," he replied.

"Ron, I assure you that I have no desire to ever want to be a Mrs. Weasley," she said dismissively as they began to walk towards the front of the store, side by side. He knew that she meant no malice by the statement.

"That's too bad," he bantered teasingly. His blue eyes twinkled with laughter. "Mum will now have to scrap that Yuletide Hogwarts wedding she had still been secretly planning all these years."

Hermione stopped dead in her tracks.

"That's it!" she energetically cried out to the room. Her face turned rosy with excitement as she pumped her fist in victory. A little, toddling witchlet stopped to stare before her mother dragged her away from the babbling crazy lady. Ron wondered for a moment if Hermione'd had a stroke.

"Oh, Ron!" She bounded into his arms before he could stop her. He held her out from him quickly. "You can be positively brilliant when you're not trying!"

She was smiling gaily at him.

"Thanks," he replied dimly before realizing exactly what she had said. "Wait..."

She let him go and began slowly backing away. "Ron, I've got to go speak with Mr. Dimwiddie real quick. Go get us a table in the café and I'll meet you there in a jiff."

Whatever bowtruckle had managed to climb into her bonnet, had electrified her to the point that even her blonde colored hair seemed to hum with energy. Ron was flabbergasted at her barmy behavior.

"But..."

Her happy face fell for a moment as she bossily growled. "Just go already, Ron!"

Rather than get into it with her, he obeyed. Besides, it's not like he had to be convinced to go where there was food. He watched her run off on her secret mission, then took the lift up to the second level of the toy store where Old Dimwiddie had cannily installed a small eatery. It sold ice cream and candy to the countless scores of children that poured into the store daily, and provided more adult fare for the poor haggard parents who accompanied them there.

Since the day was getting on and the store would be closing soon, the café was virtually empty. Ron still chose to sit at a small, secluded table near the back that was practically hidden from view. That's where Hermione found him nearly ten minutes later, finishing off a basket of chips.

"I thought I'd never find you!" she dramatically sighed as she gracefully floated into the seat across from him. Her cheeks were still flushed with zeal.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" he queried, then took a swig from his bottle of butterbeer.

She enthusiastically nodded her head as she sat her handbag at her feet. "Mr. Dinwiddie is in the back seeing if he can find it now. It's perfect; wait until you see it!"

"Well, I bought you a butterbeer and an éclair. Chocolate, of course," he told her as he pushed a plate and bottle forward. She was so grateful that she didn't even comment on the fact that it looked like someone had already taken a pinch from the pastry.

"Sounds good, although I could do for a cheese blintz too." Motherly, she reached over and wiped at the speck of chocolate at the corner of Ron's mouth. He half-heartedly fought her off. "Ooh! I wonder if they have any breaded camembert," she said as she turned to look towards the counter.

"If you wait another hour I'm sure they could find a nice, plump gnu for you to pick your teeth with," he kidded, making her turn back to him. The joke earned him a nasty look.

"So how goes wedding preparations?" she asked after deciding to forgive him for the gibe. "Not getting cold feet, are you?" She broke off a small piece of the éclair and popped the morsel in her mouth.

Ron put down his bottle and held his wand arm straight out. It never wavered. "Steady as a Petrificus Totallus."

"Harry says you're planning on writing your own vows."

Ron smiled proudly. "I am! I wrote a poem, actually," he boasted.

Hermione dropped the bite of pastry that she had been about to eat back to the plate. "Oh Ron, no," she said discouragingly, pursing her lips as though she had gotten a taste of a vomit flavored Bertie Bott bean.

"What's wrong with that?" Ron asked, perplexed at her unobliging attitude. He had gotten a similar reaction out of Harry when he had told him about his, "Ode to Lavender". "It's pretty damned romantic if I may say so myself!"

"How do I say this politely?" began Hermione as she clasped her hands together on the table before her. "Your poetry is god awful." She reached over and stole his last chip.

"Wha-?!"

"Mmm. Yes," she confirmed with confidence. "Ghastly, nightmarish; stinks like day old, rotten fish. You don't write poems, so much as you write literary abortions," she asserted, stressing the point with a point of the potato. "Ahem, 'Hermione...Hermione...nothing rhymes with Hermione. You're prettier than a boggart, and your nose is oh so shiny.'" She practically inhaled the chip and licked her fingers after.

Ron remembered well his, "Ode to Hermione". "You said you liked that one!"

"I can't even begin to imagine that you found something to rhyme with Lavender."

"Ack! Everyone's a critic!" he complained, throwing his hands in the air. "I'll have you know that Lavender loves my poetry!" He sat up straight in his seat. "In fact, she loves everything about me. I don't deserve her!" Ron declared.

"Finally we can agree on something," she said with an impertinent little toss of her head. "Sorry, Ron, I just don't think Lavender Brown-Pye is good enough for you," she nastily decreed.

He gave her a reproving frown. "Oi! Don't be such a bitchy little snob!" he chastised. "Lavender's perfect! I've never loved another girl the way I love my Lav!"

The words had tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Was that insensitive?" he worriedly asked, looking at her contritely.

Hermione just barely stopped herself from rolling her eyes. "I'll live."

"Listen, Hermione, trust me when I say that I'm the one not good enough for Lavender," Ron passionately avowed. "I'm a right lucky bugger that she decided to pick me. He then smiled goofily to himself. "She always picked me."

"Yes, well..." Hermione pouted cutely, feigning irritation, "I know I'm chopped liver now, but I did pick you once too, didn't I?"

Although it had been a joke, Ron expressed one of those rare moments of sober clarity again.

"Hermione, luv, I think we both know that you never really picked me."

The kindly spoken response seemed to unnerve her all at once. She sat up, ramrod straight, and tried to refute the statement. Ron cut off the weak denials before they could even leave her lips.

"No, no, it's true. You tried, you're bloody stubborn that way," he admiringly smirked. "But it never was me. I'm ok with it now. I've had a lot of hangovers to think about it," he jestingly said.

Hermione feebly smiled as best she could.

"You see, even though I know you loved me in your own way..."

"It wasn't the right way," she shakily whispered, bowing her head.

"Yeah, and I made the mistake of denying that simple fact," he insightfully pointed out. "It's just that at the time you were the best thing I ever got, so if I could believe that you wanted me, that had to make me the best too. Right?"

The honesty of what Ron was telling her almost broke her heart.

"You were...are!" Hermione cried.

"I wasn't Harry the Brave, or Hermione the Brain. I was just Ron," he said indifferently. Strangely, the years spent in Harry and Hermione's shadows hadn't embittered him at all. He wouldn't have changed a thing if given a chance, though it did help that he had come to build his own, solid identity outside of being just Harry's sidekick or Hermione's boyfriend with time.

"Ron Weasley, you were always the best!" Hermione swore vehemently. "Who helped rescue me from a troll? Who took on the White Queen to save the Philosopher's Stone? Who fought with uncommon valor during the Battle of Hogsmeade?" She counted each courageous act off on her fingers. "Hell, Ron, you were the one that found Slytherin's-bloody-Locket!"

Ron could only laugh. Hermione was being too generous, really. He hadn't found Slytherin's Locket technically; it was more like he was the one who retrieved it. After exhaustively searching for the lost artifact for months, Harry, Hermione, Ron, and that ponce Malfoy were staggered to find that it had been at Hogwarts, right under their noses, all along.

Then they found out just where it was.

It was Dobby who informed them that Kreacher had admitted to sneaking the Locket out of Grimmauld Place back when Harry first ordered him to Hogwarts. Not wanting the half-breed scum, Potter brat to claim any more of the riches of the his beloved Blacks, he hid the Locket in the last place he thought anyone would ever go looking for it; in his bum. He had taken the phrase, "taking it up the arse," to a new and repellent level it would seem. Of course the ancient, craggy little elf had made this confession only after Dobby, in an effort to help his good Young Master Harry, plied him with serving after serving of butterbeer over the course of one whole weekend. In later years, Ron and Harry would always laugh over the small quirk of fate that led to a piece of You-Know-Who's hideous, bigoted soul being smuggled up the rectum of a house-elf for well over a year.

With the new information in hand, their small troop located Kreacher at once, fast asleep on a filthy pallet he slept on in one of the kitchens. He was laid out, flat on his face, while his snout-like nose propped him up and kept him from smothering himself to death. In his right arm he loosely cuddled an empty butterbeer bottle. He actually reeked of the sickeningly sweet drink whose scent practically seeped out of his pores. The topper was his stained loin cloth, flipped up, giving them all a rather distressing view of their intended target. They were relieved to find that he was knocked out cold at least.

As the other house-elves gathered round, offering treats and sandwiches, the four teens debated on what course of action to take to claim the Locket. Their spells produced no results, and Hermione shot down right away the idea of a potion being able to... relieve Kreacher of his hidden treasure. The circulatory system of a house-elf just didn't absorb potables the same way that humans did, she swottily explained. Tiring of the unasked for lesson, Malfoy arrogantly suggested that they just make one of the house-elves dig it out for them. Harry and Ron, for once, actually agreed with him, but Hermione wasn't having it. She snottily scolded the boys for even considering the idea of "forcing" the helpful creatures into doing something that they, themselves, would not do. Not realizing that Hermione hadn't meant the statement literally, Ron figured that meant the unhappy task fell to one of them. When no one stepped forward, Ron did what any self-respecting sidekick and provider of comic-relief would do if put in the same situation; he stuck his hand up that old house-elf's arse!

Ron tittered self-deprecatingly at the memory of the experience.

"Eh, what was so special about that? I only buggered a house-elf," he modestly jested. "After the whole thing with the Cup, I was just scared that you'd go off your nut again and be the one to do it. I don't regret it, although poor Dobby never looked at good Young Master Harry's Wheezy quite the same after that little stunt, I tell you."

"Point is," continued Hermione, ignoring his bit of tasteless humor, "when it came down to crunch time, you always came through. Harry and I would have been lost a thousand times over if not for you, Ron."

From the ardent look in her eyes, he knew she meant every word.

"Pshaw!" he humbly objected. "It's me and Harry who lucked out all on account of some dumb troll."

Hermione smiled warmly at the reply. She uncorked her butterbeer and raised it in the air. "To trolls, then!"

Ron held the last drabbles of his drink up. The smile on his face matched hers.

"To trolls!" he said as their bottles came together in a rich, resounding *clink*.

As Ron lowered his arm and set his drink back down, he sat back in his seat and sighed contently. "I'm so glad that I'm over you."

Hermione primly sniffed. "Goodness, my ego is taking quite the beating today."

Ron laughed at the pert face she made. "What I mean is, I'm glad that you and I have reached a place where there's no longer any drama between us."

"No angst?" she offered with a grin. Obviously she understood him perfectly.

"No petty insecurities," he added. He began to distractedly pull at the label of his now empty bottle. His concentration was focused on the silly task as he continued to speak. "It's a nice place. Somehow I always knew we would get here. I had hoped, at least. Even if we weren't together, I never wanted to stop being your friend, Hermione. I never would have, you know."

At the sound of her rickety laugh, Ron looked up.

"What? What did I say that's so funny?" He was surprised to actually find tears welling in her eyes, even as she wore a strained, wobbly smile. He had thought they were actually having a nice chat since they had already purged themselves of the past and other old business. He hadn't been aware of saying anything that would make her cry.

"Nothing. I'm actually laughing at something that Lavender told me, oh, years ago," she answered him. She plucked a paper serviette out of the dispenser on the table and used it to dab at her eyes. "Until just now I never fully realized it, but you've really come into your own, Ron. Just like she predicted. Lavender was right."

She grimaced at the thought.

"God, I never thought I'd ever hear myself use those two words in a sentence; 'Lavender' and 'right.' I would laugh if I didn't want to cry right... right... n-now," she said, voice choking on the last word. It was as if the damn inside her burst with that simple aside. Hermione's sweet face just seemed to wilt all of a sudden as she began to weep openly.

"Um... Hermione?" Ron was disturbed, to say the least.

"I'm sorry, Ron, I sold you short," she warbled as she plucked out more serviettes from the container, one after another. She used them to dry her wet, splotchy face. "Do you think you could ever forgive me?"

"Forgive?" asked Ron, abashed. "What's there to forgive? Most people underestimate me," he weakly joked. "It's all just part of my charm," he said, hoping to lift her suddenly darkened spirits. What troubled Ron the most was that he couldn't pinpoint just what he had said to make her so po-faced. Whenever he used to make her cry in the past, he always knew exactly what shite remark of his had done it. However this time, he was at a loss.

Hermione shook her head despondently. "That's not true, and you know it. You were my best friend, Ron," she sniffed, lowering her head. "No matter what else lay between us, you were my best friend. I should have trusted in that," she firmly stated, almost as if to herself. "I should have trusted in you...."

Her lips trembled as she wrung her hands.

"... and Harry," she sobbed. She began to reach for more serviettes. At the rate she was going, they would be buried under an avalanche of crumpled paper soon. "But now it's too late. It's much... much too late," she despaired.

Ron felt a chill of ice dig into his heart. He had heard Hermione speak in this tone before. "Hermione...."

"Sometimes I wonder if I've ever been right about anything," her waterlogged voice continued rambling. "If I even got this whole gravity thing mixed-up and I'm really sitting upside down when I'm supposed to be down side up!"

Ron quickly looked around to see if any of the café's other patrons had become aware of the scene she was making. She was beginning to sound loonier than Luna. And that was saying something! Luckily, the private little corner he had picked earlier had proved a smart choice. No one seemed to pay them any mind. Ron chose the opportunity to budge his chair over so that he could comfort his friend.

"Hermione, really, sweetheart, you have to remember that you are smarter than me, so I pretty much don't understand a third of what you say most of the time," he said, forcing a smile.

"That's just it, Ron!" she trilled. "I'M SO GODDAMNED STUPID! I'VE BUGGERED EVERYTHING!" Her hands leaped to the winking, yellow pendant sitting against her chest and began to twist and tug at incessantly; almost as if trying to choke herself with the thin chain the huge stone hung from. "Oh, Ron! I've made such terrible, terrible decisions. I thought I knew better than everyone else. I thought I was doing what was right. But it wasn't right. It wasn't! And now...and now I don't know what else to do!" she wailed. "I don't even think there is anything I can do!"

"Shh..stop that." He managed to remove one of the hands from its mindless action, and placed it between his two large mitts. "That's simply not true. If there's something wrong, we'll fix it. Me, you, and Harry; we can put it to right. Out of all of us, you used to believe that the most. Well, you can't stop now," he implored. Changing tracks, in a wheedling tone he said, "Tell Ron what the matter is, hmm? Let Ron sort it out for you. You'd feel better if you just got it off your chest." Ron had almost believed he had gotten through to her.

"Ron, I... I...."

He nodded his head encouragingly. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly and bit down on her lip before trying again.

"Ron...." she strangled out, "... for years I... I...."

Her nerve snapped.

"No! No, no, no, no, no! I can't! I CAN'T!" she blubbered in a shuddering whisper, lowering her eyes to the table shamefully. "You're too close to it, Ron! You're too close!"

By this point Ron was beyond perplexed. "Well, then let's go speak with Harry."

"NO!" she shrieked, pulling stares from the table closest to them. Ron tossed them a sham of a smile before lowering his head closer to hers. He could only hope that this all didn't make the papers somehow. Hermione, however, didn't seem mindful of the attention.

"Not Harry," she whimpered. "Especially not Harry! He can't know. He can't ever know! It will ruin everything! I'll ruin everything!"

"Know what, Hermione?"

"It lies! It lies!" she moaned as she mindlessly began to beat herself about the head. Her whole body trembled, as if she was in pain, and she began to hyperventilate. She was quite frankly falling apart on him. "It tried to fool me; to confuse me. It wanted me to tell you. It's trying to make me tell again, but I won't do that to him! I won't!"

"Hermione, who is 'him'? Hermione-"

"No, no, no...."

"Hermione, who is 'him'?" Ron prodded again, almost in a pleading tone.

"NO!"

"Hermione, tell me," begged Ron. "Whatever it is, I'll still love you. Harry... Harry will still love you," he said with full certainty. "There's nothing you can say that can make that untrue. But you've got to let us help you for once. Let Harry and I be the ones to take care of you. Tell me, Hermione. The man you were speaking of; did he do something to you? Did he hurt you? Are you scared of him?" Ron asked her.

Hermione pulled back from him and stared at the redhead as if appalled that he would even think such a thing. "I could never be scared of him," she said in an almost wondering tone as her big brown eyes blinked back her tears. "I love him, Ron."

"You... wait, what?" Ron's brow furrowed. "What did you just say?" he asked, trying to understand her garbled words.

Hermione's lips parted to speak again.

"Miss Granger," a male voice sing-songed from behind them, "have I good news for you!"

Ron swung around in his seat, positively livid at the sight of Dimwiddie; himself, smiling down at the two of them.

"MERLIN'S BEARD, MAN! DON'T YOU SEE WE'RE HAVING A PRIVATE CONVERSATION HERE?!" boomed Ron, enraged at the interruption. He jumped out of his seat as if ready to decapitate the poor, hapless man. Everyone in the small café had suddenly begun to watch them.

Dimwiddie's elfin-like smile quickly fell. "Oh! Oh, I'm... I'm sorry, Mr. Weasley," the poor fellow hastily apologized. "It's just that Miss Granger asked me to find her as soon as I located the dollhouse she wanted," he explained, hoping to appease the hulking redhead. You could practically hear Dimwiddie's knobby knees knocking together under his robes.

Before Ron could do him in, Hermione dragged her hands across her face and stood up from her seat. As if by some glamour or trick of the light, her face was dry and the expression on it was a pleasant look of gratitude. Her red, glazed eyes were the only clue that she had been about to drown the lot of them.

"No need for apology, Mr. Dimwiddie," she told the store owner before narrowing her eyes at the other man. "Ron, don't be rude!"

With eyes bulging, he stared at her helplessly. "But... but... you were telling me..."

"Never mind what I was telling you; look!"

He turned to see what she was pointing at, and for the first time, noticed the four smiling house-elves that were hanging behind Dimwiddie. All of them wore matching tea cozies and were struggling with an enormous pink gift box they carried between them. Yards and yards of white and baby blue colored ribbon curled downward from the top of it. At Dimwiddie's signal, his little helpers set the box down on the ground.

Hermione approached the box, which was almost as tall as she was, and wrestled with the top. It took Ron, Dimwiddie, and Hermione's combined effort to remove the lid. As Ron bent his head to take a peek inside, she said in a bubbly voice, "It's Hogwarts Castle. Isn't it lovely?!"

Before Ron could say anything one way or the other, she was instructing the store owner when and where to deliver Rosemary's gift. After she informed him that they would meet him downstairs in a bit, Dimwiddie and his attendants departed their presence.

As soon as they were gone, Ron turned to Hermione to continue their conversation. She, however, was gathering up her handbag and gobbling down the last bite of éclair on her plate. Then, talking nineteen to the dozen, she grabbed his arm and began to maneuver him over to the lift. Every time Ron tried to get a word in she merely talked over his interjections. She seemed determined to act as though her strange outburst from earlier had never happened. But Ron knew he hadn't imagined it all. Her scratchy voice and overly bright eyes told him that something was deeply wrong, but Ron felt almost paralyzed with foreboding as to what it could be.

"I think Rosemary Weasley is just going to adore her gift, don't you? It's practically one-of-a-kind. Mr. Dimwiddie only made a thousand of those Hogwarts dollhouses to commemorate the school's millennium a few years ago. Most of them went into private collections. He had this one, the last one, in his window the day my parents first brought me to Diagon Alley to buy my supplies. Did you see it back then? Well, Ron, I definitely think you'll be in the running for favorite uncle after this! Of course it took a lot of convincing to get Mr. Dimwiddie to part with such a gem, but the exclusive licensing deal you're going to agree to should more than cover it. Oh, don't worry; I'll go over the paperwork myself. Well don't dawdle, Ron! You have a contract to sign."

Three days later, Ron was finally able to share the strange tale with the one person he knew would be just as disturbed by the whole troubling occurrence as he was. Ron had wanted to run and tell Harry about it that very day, the very second he Disapparated from the Hollow after dropping Hermione off home, in fact. But with post Cup publicity obligations still to fulfill and endless errands and fittings to attend to in preparation for the Ball and his upcoming wedding, there just never seemed to be a good enough time to get Harry alone in a corner for a few minutes. And of course he had been nearly incapable of speech for the majority of the past evening. That's why Ron had decided to just wait it out until he found a spot where he knew that he would have a clear opportunity to spill all to his friend with no fear of any distractions or interruptions. A distant outstretch of land out in the middle of the English Channel seemed as good a place as any. As soon as Ron had seen his opening, he took it.

As Ron spoke, Harry silently listened. At the retelling of Hermione's breakdown, word for word, he looked pained to hear about the anguish their friend displayed, but held his peace. He didn't ask a single question until he was sure that the redhead's story had come to a close.

"And that's everything?"

"Everything, I swear," replied Ron. They had finally made it back to the front of the estate. They stood there in the shade of a gigantic, well aged silver birch, avoiding the dry heat of the mid-afternoon sun, awaiting the return of the gentleman who was selling the house.

Harry frowned, almost pitifully. "I can't believe she would tell you, but she wouldn't tell me," he mumbled.

Ron rolled his eyes. He thought they had lost Blue Brooding Harry already.

"Well, she really didn't tell me anything, did she? I could have killed that girly-voiced ponce, Dinwiddie!" fumed Ron, still sore.

Ignoring Ron's ill-tempered grumblings, Harry heatedly asked, "What do you suppose she was going to tell you?"

"Well isn't it obvious?" Ron responded. In Ron's opinion it was the simplest explanation really. "Some bastard broke our Hermione's heart!"

Harry blinked. His eyes then seemed to expand to the size of gobstones. "A... A broken heart?! You think Hermione's in love with some idiot who won't have her?" When Ron dumbly nodded his head, Harry practically exploded. "WHO?!"

Scary Intense Harry had turned back up; that was better. Or was it?

"Hell if I know," Ron harmlessly replied. "But I can honestly say that I'm glad it's not me. Who needs the pressure?" he quipped. "But there definitely is someone, I think. Hey, it could be that Collier bloke."

At the sight of Harry's gloriously enraged face, Ron actually gulped. Whether it was in fear for his own hide's safety or for that of the mysterious Collier, he wasn't sure.

"Or not," squeaked Ron, afraid to say anything further until Harry's temper had died down sufficiently. He didn't want to end up like that old battle-ax of an aunt Harry had sent ballooning over Little Whinging years ago.

It was Harry's maddened pacing that drew Ron away from his wandering thoughts of Marjorie Dursley.

"So you think all of this has only been about some love affair gone wrong?" Harry questioned him.

Ron shrugged his shoulders. "It could be a good possibility. It definitely involves some mystery 'him'. Think about it; something pretty big must have happened to make her just up and leave the States the way she did," he said, unknowingly voicing the same theory Harry had been playing with for days. Ron had just come to a different conclusion than his friend had. "The last time she pulled one of these disappearing tricks was when things were going badly with me and her. We break up, and then a month later she vanishes right after your wedding. That just can't be a coincidence," asserted Ron.

Harry grunted sourly. "When you put it that way, it does make some sense."

"Or," began Ron lightly, "what if there is a good reason Hermione is trying to put some distance between herself and this Collier person? Maybe we've got it backwards. Maybe it's her who won't have him; he does seem to be the one chasing after her." Ron was really beginning to take to his subject now. "It happens. I saw this film once. Actually Hermione was watching it; I was just trying to get a leg over," he casually let slip.

The chuckle in his throat died at the sight of the Potter death glare.

"Sorry, Harry. As I was saying," he coughed, "it was all about this bird that goes to live in this spooky old house with this nasty git and his bastard kid. Long story short; they fall in love and try to get hitched. But lo and behold, the wanker is already married to some nutter. So the bird takes off running rather than be the nasty git's skirt on the side."

"Let me see if I understand you correctly," said Harry as he skeptically squinted at Ron. "You think Hermione's on the lam from her married lover?"

Ron took a second to consider it. "Too far-fetched?"

Harry's mouth pulled into an exaggerated frown. "Actually it's not half as bad as some of the nightmare scenarios I've come up with. How did the movie end?" he inquiringly asked.

Ron turned red with embarrassment at the question as he sheepishly admitted that he had fallen asleep on it.

"Well that's just perfect," muttered Harry. "There's just one thing wonky about all of this; the solicitor. How does that fit into your little theory? Hermione is probably at Zabini's as we speak."

"I haven't figured that part out yet," said Ron. "But whatever it is she is going through is doing a real number on her. You should have seen it; she was a mess. Hysterical. I'd go so far as to say possessed. Harry," he delivered in a tight voice, almost shrinking away from what he was about to say, "the last time I saw Hermione act that way was the evening she woke up after she had drank from Hufflepuff's Cup."

Ron watched with satisfaction as Harry absorbed the gravity of what he had been trying to get across.

"We've got to help her, Harry. All she has is us; we're her family. We've got to be there for her!"

"Of course," breathed Harry, almost as solemn as a grave. "I've already started looking into it."

That one statement, spoken plainly and with unshakable self-assuredness, actually filled Ron with such an overwhelming sense of relief that he nearly whooped aloud from the calm it brought him. Of course Harry was already on top of things. Ron shouldn't have expected less.

A ticklish thought then made him smile puckishly. "Does she know you're spying on her?" Ron asked in a smart-alecky tone.

Harry gave him the most withering of looks. "If that isn't the stupidest question!"

Ron nearly fell to his knees from laughing so hard. He actually used his broom to prop himself up. "She's going to rip your bollocks off and use them as stress relief balls."

"I'll cross that bridge when I get there," said Harry with as much dignity as he could, while straightening his glasses. "All that matters is that our girl is safe and happy."

"Even if it's with some bloke you have no say on?"

Harry's eyes flew to Ron's and stared at him wordlessly.

"Face facts Harry, one day our little Hermione is going to grow up, move on with her life, and marry a man she loves more than the world itself. And we're going to have to pretend we actually like the sodding berk," he added with a silly smirk, giving Harry a friendly punch to the shoulder. "But if she's happy, we'll have to be happy for her," Ron counseled thoughtfully. "Do you think you'll ever be able to accept that and stop playing the overprotective prat brother? She doesn't like it, I can tell. She never did."

Harry sighed and lowered his green eyes miserably. "I... I don't know, Ron. I guess. If I have to, I guess I will."

Ron's heart went out to his friend. Here they had been, nattering away about Hermione and all of her dramas, when Harry wasn't in any better shape than her. His life looked to be in disarray as well.

"You know, I want you to be happy too, Harry," he told him. The look in Harry's eyes when they met Ron's told the redhead all he needed to know. "But you're not, are you?"

Unable to lie any longer to his best mate in the whole world, Harry choked out a strangled, "No."

And there it was. Weeks... months (years?) of speculation had finally been put to rest for Ron. Suddenly everything his brother had been telling him, warning him about that morning was put into perfect perspective. As Percy had said, sometimes these things do just go wrong.

"Well... just so you know... I'm Ginny's big brother," said Ron frankly.

Harry looked for all the world like a man who was about to lose his best friend. He took a tentative step forward. "Ron, I-"

The redhead held his hand up as if to halt him from speaking further.

"No, let me finish," he insisted, gathering his thoughts. "I'm Ginny's big brother...."

Harry shamefully looked away, awaiting a curse or a punch shortly. He even closed his eyes, steeling himself for it.

"... but I'm your brother too," finished Ron.

Harry turned back to see the hand his friend was holding out to him.

Ron meant what he said with his whole heart. Blood was thicker than water, but hadn't what he, Harry, and Hermione all been through together... suffered through... survived together, been just as deep? How could he ever take sides in Harry and Ginny's troubles? He couldn't. He simply couldn't. He only wished he didn't feel so goddamned useless and unable to help somehow.

Harry's eyes looked very wet as he grabbed Ron's arm and pulled him in to a fierce, yet not uncomfortable "mate hug". Ron was surprised by the action for only a second before he warmly responded. Though these moments of raw affection between him and Harry weren't so rare, they did tend to ensue only after an incident where one or both of them had almost snuffed it. Thankfully, Ron didn't think anyone would be dying today.

Ron had begun to jokingly ask Harry if he was going to try and snog him too, when he saw a puzzling sight off in the distance, zooming towards them; being borne on the wind almost.

"Harry, do we know someone whose Patronus is a bunny?"

Harry quickly stepped back from Ron and whirled around in the direction the other man had been staring in.

"WHAT?!"

As the Patronus got closer, Harry's face settled into a vexed grimace.

"That's just Malfoy. What does that git want?!"

Ron nearly pulled something from the laugh that boomed out of him.

"A bunny rabbit?! A BUNNY RABBIT?!" he raucously crowed again. "And I'm just learning of this?!"

Harry smiled at his friend fondly before turning his gaze back to watch the approaching Messenger Spell. "It's a harveyplytus, actually."

Ron's freckled face was flush with good cheer. "Shh... I like my way better," he said as the silvery creature finally came to a stop before Harry.

Once Ron got a good look at it, he had to concede that without a doubt it was the queerest looking bunny he had ever seen. He had heard of the strange beasts before, but this was his first time seeing something that looked like it. It had talons and fangs, and looked like one of Hagrid's breeding experiments gone terribly wrong. The long ears and tail, however, were rabbit-like, though the voice that sounded from it belonged to a Ferret.

"Potter, there's a situation. We just got a report in at HQ about a small, lame Peruvian that was spotted somewhere over Oswetry about thirty minutes ago. It was flying due west towards the Welsh Marches. We think it may be headed out towards the coast; according to the Sweet brothers, there's a couple that fits the profile that lives close to the River Teifi."

Ron watched it as the color drained from Harry's face and his broom fell from his hand. All the air escaped the man as if someone had stole up and robbed the breath from him. Ron had tried to ask what the matter was, but Harry held him off, whipped the mobile fellytone out from his pocket again, and furiously jabbed at it with his finger.

As Harry held it to his ear, Malfoy's voice continued to be heard through his Patronus.

"...whole team is already assembled and is heading out to the scene right now. Your presence is requested, oh wise and venerable Sahib. Hanes, the wanker, is tagging along so look alive. Meet us there ASAP! As always, the Patronus will show the way."

"SHITE!" screamed Harry as he heatedly threw the thingy to the ground, breaking it apart. A crazed, wild-eyed look seemed to distort Harry's features, as a strong wind suddenly rose up from out of nowhere and tore through the tree they stood under. Every single leaf was violently wrenched off. Ron was confused as to what exactly was going on, but he thought it all terribly wicked!

As the Patronus began to retreat, Harry tried to speak. "Ron I..."

The redhead waved him off with a smile. "Go, go. You've got work to do," he said as he affably brushed leaves out of his red hair.

Everything happened rapidly after that. Harry held out his hand and the fellytone, somehow completely unscratched, leapt back into it as if someone had hit reverse on the scene. The Firebolt rose in the air without its owner even summoning it, and Harry, who had retreated into autopilot, threw his leg over the broom; straddling the handle. In the pump of a heartbeat, he had launched himself in the air like a missile. Ron knew that even his top of the line, newly bought Nimbus wouldn't have been able to clock that kind of speed. Harry was obviously a man on a mission.

"JUST BE CAREFUL, POTTER!" shouted Ron, yelling his throat sore, as he watched the Harry shaped blur whiz out of sight.

~~**~~ ~~**~~

After returning the house keys to Mr. Qwickley, and haggling over the asking price with the creaky old codger for a good half-hour, Ron decided to Apparate back to the Burrow rather than make the lengthy flight back to Catchpole by himself. Instead of entering directly into the house, he appeared right outside the door so that he could place a quick, private two-way call to Lavender before going inside. Her silence all day had begun to trouble him, but he soon found that his worrying from earlier had been for naught. Lavender seemed blissfully unaware of the Prophet article as she gave him a delightfully exuberant rundown of her trip, and informed him that she would be staying in Paris overnight so she could attend something called a trunk show at a famous Muggle fashion house the next day. After interestedly asking after his excursion with Harry and unreservedly telling Ron just how much she loved him, she signed off. With his fiancée's heart quickening words still ringing in his ears, Ron opened the door and entered the front parlor of the Burrow, practically singing out his arrival...

"I'm hungry enough to eat two adult Horn... tails.

... and was surprised to find the house virtually empty.

"Hey, where'd everybody go?"

"Shh," went the two carrot topped midgets who were kneeling on the floor in front of the rose patterned couch; both hunched over the parchment and quill laden coffee table before them. After hushing Ron satisfactorily and giving him an aggrieved look, Marc and Leo's rapt attention went back up to the large wooden wireless set that they had been listening to before their uncle's disruptive arrival. It sat on a shelf next to the Burrow's wall clock. As the set's transmission crackled and hissed, the voice of the field reporter from the Wireless News Service carried through the room. In the background, almost drowning out the woman, could be heard the distant blaring of sirens, what sounded like a desperate, grief-stricken sort of a keening, and the mad clamor of voices steadily rising and clashing together in an almost maddening tumult.

"... YES, IT'S QUITE THE SCENE OUT HERE, ARMSTRONG. I'M SEEING REPRESENTATIVES FROM CATASTROPHES, CREATURES, AND... AND... YES, THE DEPARTMENT OF MAGICAL LAW ENFORCEMENT HAS JUST ARRIVED."

"JANUARY, DO YOU THINK YOU'LL BE ABLE TO INTERVIEW ONE OF THE AURORS?"

"ARMSTRONG, WHILE I DO HAVE A CONTACT INSIDE THE DEPARTMENT, IT DOESN'T LOOK GOOD AT THIS TIME. IT'S BEDLAM OUT HERE! THERE'S NOTHING BUT DISORDER, DISARRAY, AND DEVESTATION EVERY WHERE YOU TURN. THE BLAZE HAS FINALLY BEEN BROUGHT UNDER CONTROL, BUT THERE ARE A NUMBER OF EYEWITNESSES AND EVERYONE STILL SEEMS TO BE IN A PANIC. THE OBLIVIATORS ARE GOING TO HAVE QUITE THE TASK ON THEIR HANDS TODAY."

"FROM WHAT I UNDERSTAND, JANUARY, THE MUGGLES HAVE A QUAINT OLD FABLE TELLING OF HOW THE LAST DRAGON OF CYMRU WAS SLAIN THERE."

"IRONIC, ISN'T IT? ARMSTRONG, FROM WHERE I'M STANDING, YOU CAN PRACTICALLY CUT THROUGH THE SMELL OF BRIMSTONE AND CHARRED FLESH; THE TELL-TALE CALLING CARDS OF A DRAGON ATTACK. IT'S THAT THICK! ONCE AGAIN, LISTENERS, IF YOU ARE JUST TUNING IN, THE DARK WIZARD KNOWN AS CADMUS HAS STRUCK ONCE MORE. FROM WHAT I'VE BEEN ABLE TO PIECE TOGETHER SO FAR, THERE ARE NO SURVIVORS. I REPEAT, THERE ARE NO SURVIVORS."

"Merde!" called an irate voice from the doorway of the kitchen.

Ron, who had still been standing in the doorway, listening to the report with interest, looked over to find his sister-in-law in the door frame that led into the kitchen; wand pointed before her. With a dainty flick of her wrist, the wireless was abruptly silenced.

"No more of zese!" she angrily whisper-shouted, advancing further into the room. Ron had almost feared that he was the unlucky recipient of her wrath until she marched straight up to her two sons and towered over them. She gave the two little boys such a terror-provoking glower that Ron was almost reminded of his own mother for a moment. "Eet does not turn back on until you are both finished wiz your lesson for ze day," she fumingly told them.

Although they were rightfully terrified, Marc and Leo still chose not to roll over at their mother's building fury.

"But mum!"

"It was just getting good, mum!" whinged Marc. Ron had to agree. Silently, of course; a hacked off Fleur Weasley wasn't pleasant.

"En Français!" she screeched at her boys' childish dissent, even turning a little beaky in Ron's estimation. Every afternoon, for at least an hour a day, she tutored her two oldest children in the language of her birth. Although Marc was exceptionally bright, and Leo was generally a competent pupil, neither boy was a fan of the daily, mandatory sessions they were forced to endure. They preferred the thought of guzzling down bottles of doxycide to being made to conjugate verbs under their mother's veela-eyed supervision. It was only the threat of no dessert or nightly treat that got them to bow to Fleur's unbending will. And even then, there were just some evenings that they went to bed with no biscuits in their bellies. The headstrong little boys took any and every opportunity to avoid their French lessons. When Fleur had stepped out of the room for a minute, they had both skived off the assignment their mother had given them to listen to the wireless. That's how Ron had found them.

Finally noticing him standing there in the room, Fleur turned to find Ron silently observing the almost comical battle of wills. Lowering her wand, her ire quickly dampened at the sight of her brother-in-law and she greeted him with affection.

"Ah, Ronald. Salut ça va, mon ami?"

Ron's face screwed up in incomprehension. "Say wha-?"

Fleur smiled at his bewilderment. "You are well?" she asked as she came around to the couch, sat in the space between the boys, and began to inspect their work. She went through all of their parchments as she continued to speak. Marc and Leo were left to sulk in silent discontent as the two adults talked around them. "Your errand, eet went well?"

"Oh! Oh, yeah. Wee, wee and all that," said Ron distractedly, earning from Fleur a humored smile. "Say, Fleur, where is everybody?" he asked as he walked from the door and approached his family members. "And when's dinner?" It hadn't escaped Ron's attention that the aroma of food being prepared was regrettably missing from the house.

"Dinner will be late, cher. Bill eez just waking ze leetle ones from zere naps, and your maman...."

Ron felt his heart fill with dread as he watched the blonde ominously raise a hand to her heart, as if pained, and pause to take a halting breath.

"DID SOMETHING HAPPEN TO MUM?!"

"Non, she eez in quite alright," Fleur said quickly, clearing up the misunderstanding and allaying the panic that had seized him straightaway. "She eez wiz Glinda right now," she informed him as she dropped the parchments in her hand back to the table.

Relieved, Ron finally let go of the breath he had been holding. "Mum floo'ed to Hogsmeade?"

Although Fleur had opened her mouth to answer, Leo beat her to it.

"Marc said that Auntie Glinda's friend got snuffed!"

Poor Marc could only stare at his kid brother in horror as the younger boy artlessly ratted him out.

"Marcel! Lionel!" Their mother was absolutely scandalized at her children's appallingly bad manners. However, before she could give them both a sound scolding, the 6 year old's freckled face perplexedly frowned.

"What does 'snuffed' mean, Uncle Ron?"

"..."

Mercifully, Fleur saved him the difficulty of having to answer. She gracefully held out a hand to Ron so that he could help heave her considerable bulk, heavy with child, off the sofa. After ordering the boys to continue with their lessons, she held Ron's hand as she walked him a few paces away from their young, eavesdropping audience.

"It's true, I'm afraid. Glinda... our Glinda, she 'as suffered a great loss," whispered Fleur in a low toned, confidential manner once they stopped near the kitchen's entrance. "She got ze word zat a friend 'as perished."

Ron was saddened to hear it. "Oh no, poor Glinda," he said with concern. "Do we know 'em?" he apprehensively queried.

"Non. Eet eez probably only some Muggle," Fleur dismissed with a haughty shake of her golden head.

"Oh."

Once that was settled, a more pressing matter weighed in on Ron's mind. He was starved!

"You know Fleur," began Ron, placing an arm around his sister-in-law's shoulder, "not counting my fiancée, you're the prettiest girl I know," he said, buttering her up good and thick. The quarter veela lived for compliments.

"Ah, ze Weasley flattery; my greatest weakness," she said with a shrewd smile. Although she certainly didn't doubt the compliment, she easily recognized a fast one when she heard it. Still, although she cared for all of Bill's brothers to varying degrees, young Ronald had somehow always held a special place in her affections; probably because of that one time he complimented her English so sweetly. As she said, she was a sucker for the Weasley flattery, even back then. "You are 'ungry? You wish me to fix somezzing?" she offered hospitably.

A wide smile took up the whole of Ron's face. "You would be my favorite sister if you did," he said in answer, making her laugh.

"Well come wiz me, ma petite cochonne," she said, patting his cheek. "You will 'ave ze traditional vily delicacy taught to me by my own grand-mère. Eet will rival anyzzing you 'ave ever 'ad," she said, boastfully, as the two of them drifted into the kitchen.

Ron pulled a face at the news.

"Argh! Not the mushy aubergine again?!"

The sound of Fleur fussing in her lively, eclectic mix of English and French masked the gentle click of the wireless signal tuning back in. In her haste to tell Ron about Glinda and her poor nameless friend, Fleur had carelessly left her wand on the couch. It had fallen between the cushions where Marc plucked it from. With Leo playing lookout, Marc waited a good minute, then spoke the spell he had heard his gran use well over a dozen times to turn on the old wooden set. The little boy even executed the simple swish, swish, and flick to perfection; he had the true makings of a future Hogwarts Head Boy.

As the wireless crackled lowly, the two boys gathered just under its shelf and listened in as the news report was beginning to wrap up.

"...TRY ONE MORE TIME TO SPEAK WITH SOMEONE IN CHARGE. WISH ME LUCK. AUROR MALFOY... AUROR MALFOY... I'M JANUARY MCNICHOL WITH THE WIRELESS NEWS SERVICE. IS THERE ANYTHING YOU CAN TELL US ABOUT TODAY'S EVENTS, AUROR MALFOY? CAN YOU CONFIRM THE NUMBER OF CASUALTIES? IS POTTER'S POSSE ANY CLOSER TO APPREHENDING THE ROGUE WIZARD? AUROR MALFOY, A STATEMENT PLEASE!"

"PISS! OFF!"

"YES...WELL...AND THERE YOU HAVE IT, LISTENERS. ONCE AGAIN THIS IS JANUARY MCNICHOL REPORTING FROM THE SMOLDERING, BLACKENED RUINS OF WHAT WAS ONCE THE ZABINI COMPOUND IN NEWCASTLE EMLYN, WALES. ALTHOUGH IT HASN'T BEEN VERIFIED YET, OUR SOURCES TELL US THAT IT IS SAFE TO SAY THAT ANYONE WHO HAD BEEN IN THE HOUSE WHEN IT WENT UP IN FLAMES IS NOW DEAD. THERE IS NO HOPE THAT ANYONE COULD HAVE SURVIVED AT THIS POINT. THERE IS NO TELLING WHEN THIS SENSELESS BLOODSHED WILL END, ARMSTRONG. THERE'S NO TELLING IF IT WILL EVEN END. RIGHT NOW, THERE'S JUST NO TELLING ANYTHING."

The two boys turned to look at each other in wonder at the unpromising pronouncement.

"MAY MERLIN HELP US ALL..."

A/N: Next up is Draco's POV. Potter's Posse arrives at Blaise & Amparo's too late, Draco pays a visit to the person in Room 39, Janus Thickey ward, and something gets said that sets off Potter/Malfoy Brawl '05. I'm sure you would prefer the next chapter be a H/Hr POV (there's still the little matter of a confession to deal with), but trust me when I say something happens in the next chapter that will make it well worth the wait.

A few more points of interest...

1) All characters other than Sydney Spellman, Lorkin Finch, Calpurnia Finch, Erasmus, the Spirære witch, Old Lady Qwickley, Quintus Qwickley, Caedmon Dimwiddie, Armstrong Heath, and January McNichol are canon.

2) The Rape of the Spirære Women is a homage to The Rape of the Sabine Women.

3) A bucca is a goblin-like creature from out of English folklore.

4) In European legend a fairy ring is a gateway to a magical kingdom, or a place where magical creatures gather to dance.

5) According to Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, a glumbumble is a furry insect whose secretions cause melancholy.

6) I know the hiding place I chose for Slytherin's Locket was a bit far-fetched, but once the image of a piece of Voldemort's soul being up a house-elf's arse entered my head, I couldn't let it go. My head is a scary place to be. LOL! Ironically the Locket was the Horcrux the Order traded back to Voldemort in order to get Ron back after he was captured during the Battle of Hogsmeade (chapter 10).

7) The movie Ron was doing a terrible job of describing to Harry was Jane Eyre.

8) French translations…

Merde!= Shit!

En Français.= In French.

Salut ça va, mon ami?= Hello. How are you, my friend?

ma petite cochonne= my little piggy(a term of endearment, but works for Ron's appetite as well. lol.)

9) Cymru is Welsh for Wales. The legend of the final dragon in Wales being slain in Newcastle Emlyn is actually a real tale. When I read about it I thought it would make a perfect place for Cadmus to attack.

10) For the purpose of this story, Penelope was a Head Girl and Fleur was the equivalent at Beauxbatons. I think canon allows me to squeak that one by. And if not...eh. I also had to take some liberties with the wizarding history because I just can not access the Lexicon for some reason.

11) The Pendleton Publishing Prize, theconcept of Erasmus' Due, the Raptio Spell, Belladonna's Blight, Crones disease, Redementirs, Spiræres, Redfern, the toy sore Dimwiddie's Dolls, Doodads, and Doodles, Madame Marinska's Beginner's Crystal Ball, the Li'l Witch Potion Kit, Hogwarts Castle dollhouse, and The Joys of Spellbinding Lovemaking book are all original to this story.

Tell me if you like it. Tell me if you hate it. Just tell me something. Please review.