Hermione Granger and the Time of Troubles

"RON!"

There was a frantic tumble of arms as Hermione, Harry, and Ginny all lunged forward as one in a vain attempt to pull Ron away. Hermione could see Ron's bicep in front of her, she could remember the way his skin felt beneath her fingertips, she knew that she was strong enough to yank him away from the Portkey, she could save him...

Her fingers sliced through the empty air.

"No!"

She recoiled backwards a few steps in order to keep her balance while Harry and Ginny collapsed onto the ground. Ginny instantly scrambled backwards, remaining on the ground and huddling at Hermione's feet. Harry got to his feet much slower, fists clenched, shoulder tense, chest heaving. Hermione just stared at where Ron had been standing only a moment before, eyes wide and shaking hands clasped over her dropped mouth. No one moved a muscle as they all stared at empty air, hoping, wishing, and praying for Ron Weasley to pop back into sight, claiming that it was a joke, that he had learned to Apparate early and wanted to scare them. Granted, all three of them would probably murder him if that was true, but still.

"He'll be back in a minute, right?" Ginny sounded like a lost four-year-old as she looked up at Hermione. "It was-he--he'll--right?"

Hermione lowered her hands away from her face. Her eyes first went to Harry's back; he still hadn't moved an inch. She wanted him to answer, to take control as he always did, but he didn't act like he had even heard Ginny's question. She licked her parched lips before attempting to respond.

"Ginny," she said in a barely audible voice. Her throat was so dry and her lips were trembling so badly that it was difficult to speak.

Ginny shook her head vehemently. "No," she refused, "no!"

Now her whole body was shaking and Hermione thought it might be a good idea to sit down before she fell down. But she couldn't; she had to be strong, she had to fight for Ron. If Ron was here, he would be taking care of everyone, so that was what she was going to do. "Ginny," she tried again, her voice no stronger.

"NOOO!"

But even Ginny's anguish-ridden voice couldn't amend the unbearably, unbelievably wrong situation they were now all suffering through. There was nothing they could do to rectify this. Ron had been kidnapped.

**

"Miss Granger?" Madam Pomfrey tentatively pushed the hot goblet into Hermione's limp hand. "Your potion?"

A few drops of the boiling liquid dribbled down on Hermione's fingers, successfully bringing her out of her daze. She silently gulped down the bitter brew and the medication warmly coated her throat. The aching in her larynx dissipated instantly, but Hermione found little cause to celebrate. She handed the empty goblet back and looked up expectantly at the nurse. She had been told to report to the hospital wing to take some potion to help the pain and she would be released afterwards. Hermione had no desire to spend the night trapped in the infirmary; she had a mission to attend to.

Madam Pomfrey, on the other hand, did not seem at all convinced that her patient was ready to leave her care. "Let me get you another draught that may help," she offered with concern. Hermione wasn't in the mood to argue so she simply nodded and watched the nurse bustle to the supply closet. Her eyes caught on a sleeping Ginny Weasley who had been given a draft for a dreamless sleep. Hermione had never seen her friend as hysterical as Ginny had become after Ron's disappearance. She and Harry had had an awful lot of trouble getting the sobbing girl out of the forest since they were coping with the shock themselves. Hermione still hadn't stopped trembling since it had happened.

She couldn't stop herself from leaning backwards onto the mattress so she could rest her pounding head into the soft duvet, hand pressing against her temples. Ron was gone; he was gone. They had no idea where he had been taken to, and there was no way to trace a Portkey. She had overheard an Order member say that Ron was as good as dead. Her eyes closed as her headache intensified; she could never use the words Ron and dead in the same sentence. The concept of Ron dying was inconceivable, it was absurd, he was just too alive.

Like Sirius was.

Son of a bitch, Hermione borrowed a phrase of Ron's as she opened her eyes again, staring up at the bleak, sterile white ceiling. It could happen. She knew that they were all at risk since the war had begun, but it had never really hit her. She had never really conceived that Ron could be one of these causalities. But now it was all that she could think about.

"Miss Granger?" Hermione quickly sat up at the sound of Madam Pomfrey's concerned voice. "Are you certain you wouldn't like to remain here overnight?"

"Quite," Hermione mumbled as she relieved the nurse of the goblet she was toting and gulped down the potion within. She promptly handed it back and looked up expectantly. "May I go now?"

"Well--I suppose you are released," Madam Pomfrey said uncertainly. "If you do not feel any better shortly, you will come see me," she ordered sternly.

"Of course," Hermione replied softly. "Thank you."

All sternness vanished from Madam Pomfrey's demeanor and she actually patted the young woman on the shoulder. "They'll find him, dear."

"Yeah," Hermione's throat was starting to close up on her, and she knew it wasn't because of the potion. She was amazed that she hadn't broken down crying yet and she planned on holding it together as long as she could manage. Sobbing her heart out wasn't going to get Ron back to her any quicker.

It had helped that there had been so much to do immediately following Ron's disappearance. Ginny had been the first one to fall apart and Hermione had been quite concerned about her. She had always known that Ginny had a very special place of her heart reserved for her prat of a brother but the depth of the emotion Ginny had displayed back in the forest...Hermione had known that Weasleys were typically very emotional but Hermione had never seen anyone cry like that. It had been a rough, desperate, choking sound that made her heart ache to hear. Harry had also looked as though he wanted to crawl under some rock and die at the sound of Ginny crying, but he had proved once again that he could be quite adept at comforting girls. Ginny had appeared to want to stay curled up in a ball on the forest floor until her brother came back. It had taken a fair bit of time, but Harry had been the one to finally convince Ginny to stand up and walk with them to the village.

They had returned to the village to find that the graphorns had finally been subdued, but at high cost to the town. A good quarter of the buildings had been completely destroyed and several others of the homes and stores had gaping holes in the wall due to the graphorn's massive horns. No one had been killed, thank goodness, but a number of teachers and students had been injured in the process. A makeshift infirmary had been established in the Three Broomsticks, which was now an open-air pub since only a small section of the original roof remained intact. That was where the three of them had found Professor McGonagall and informed her of what had happened to Ron.

Hermione then had to answer a bombardment of questions from professors, Ministry officials, and members of the Order. A team of the best Aurors had arrived to take over the investigation under the orders of the Minister of Magic himself. This of course had led to a jurisdiction issue between the Aurors and the Order, but Hermione had tuned the argument out after a while. She had preferred to stand to the side, one hand still covering her mouth, the other arm wrapped around her midriff--her chest was still aching quite a bit. The nurse had noticed Hermione's daze and insisted on inspecting her. Apparently, Dolohov's elbow had caused a fair amount of damage in her larynx, so she was forced to follow Madam Pomfrey to the hospital wing at Hogwarts for better treatment. Ginny had also been told to accompany them to receive treatment of her own. And Harry...Harry had been sent to Dumbledore, and Hermione had no idea how that meeting was going to go. Would he tell Dumbledore that he had made a deal with the Death Eaters? He knew that Death Eaters would be at Hogsmeade and he hadn't told a soul? In a way, for once, he was actually right in believing that this was his fault?

Harry had been walking a fine line for a long time now, and he had finally crossed over to the dangerous side, the side that Voldemort himself had teetered over to. Hermione just had to pray that they could pull Harry back before...Hermione couldn't even complete the thought. She had once thought that Harry was the kindest person she had ever known, so she knew he had the capacity and capability to be as great and good as Dumbledore himself. But there was so much rage and bitterness inside of Harry's soul right now and it had finally pushed him to a point that he had made a mistake, a huge mistake that may have cost him dearly: he may have lost his best friend forever.

Hermione glanced out of the window as she slowly rose to her feet. He was out there somewhere. They had to find him. There were so many people out looking for him and Dolohov. Hermione shuddered slightly as she remembered that Ron was not the only one to be transported along with the Portkey. Since the Portkey had been in Dolohov's robes and Ron must have been touching the Death Eater in some way when he came in contact with the Portkey, Dolohov had escaped, frozen in a Body Bind but free. They had hoped since the Death Eater was incapacitated that Ron would be able to simply touch the Portkey again and return back to Hogsmeade. But obviously that hadn't happened--someone must have been waiting on the other side.

The door to the hospital wing burst open, effectively bringing Hermione out of her recollections. She froze in place as Mr. and Mrs. Weasley hurried into the infirmary and went straight for Madam Pomfrey.

"Where-where is she?" Molly Weasley panted out. Her eyes were bright red, face splotchy, and she was wringing a damp handkerchief in her trembling hands. Mr. Weasley on the other hand just looked pale, drawn, and unbelievably shocked.

"She's asleep," Madam Pomfrey informed her. "She just needs some good rest. She'll be just fine."

Mrs. Weasley nodded tearfully and stepped around the nurse to see her daughter. She stopped however when she saw Hermione standing awkwardly at the edge of a bed. Hermione stared back at her boyfriend's mother, wondering what on earth to say at a time like this.

But she didn't have to. Mrs. Weasley simply opened her arms and enfolded the young woman into her embrace. Hermione scrunched her eyes tightly as she felt the hot lump rise in her throat, but she couldn't cry. She wanted to, she wanted to let the tears fall out quite badly, but for some reason she just couldn't.

"I know, dear," Mrs. Weasley said softly. "I know."

Hermione stepped backwards so she could look into the mother's concerned eyes. "I'm so sorry," she managed to get out without a single tremor in her voice.

"Thank you," Mrs. Weasley returned weakly. She absently smoothed some of Hermione's hair back before turning her attention to her sleeping daughter. Mr. Weasley came forward to shake Hermione's hand.

"How are you doing?" he inquired. He kept his hand in Hermione's as he surveyed her with mounting concern, his eyes flicking over to his wife and daughter to check on them. Hermione noted for the first time that Ron looked out for people much like his father did: with constant, subtle surveillance that exploded whenever necessary. That was why Ron always blew up whenever anyone he cared about was insulted or in trouble--he was always watching out for them and Hermione thought that Ron felt personally offended whenever trouble came. He felt as though he had failed them or something. It was ridiculous, of course, that he felt that way, but Hermione loved him for it all the same. Now it was clear that it ran in the family.

Hermione simply nodded to indicate that she was alright and Mr. Weasley brought his other hand up to Hermione's. "We'll get him back," he told her with such intensity that Hermione believed him immediately, even though the rational part of her knew that the odds of that happening were practically nonexistent.

She nodded again and Mr. Weasley released her hand with a slight smile. He didn't appear able to be managing anything more. Mrs. Weasley had sat down on the edge of Ginny's mattress and holding her daughter's hand, tears coursing down her face. Mr. Weasley let out a heavy, grief-stricken sigh as he came up from behind his wife. He placed both of his hands comfortingly on her shoulders and rubbed them reassuringly. Mrs. Weasley leaned her head backwards slightly so it was resting against her husband's chest but did not look up at him; she did not realize he already knew about her tears. And she had no idea that her husband was crying himself. His tears were not as frequent and free-falling but they were there nevertheless, and it struck Hermione deeply at the sight.

She couldn't watch anymore without falling apart herself so she surreptitiously slipped out of the infirmary into the deserted hallway. Or the corridor that she thought was abandoned.

"Harry?"

Harry Potter raised his head from his hands to look up at his best friend. He was sitting with his back against the wall, knees drawn up, elbows resting atop his knees. His face was still unnaturally ashen and Hermione didn't know better, she would have sworn that her friend had been crying. He didn't say a word to her and simply dropped his head back down, forehead against his knees, hands gripping his shins for dear life.

"What are you doing here?" Hermione asked quietly as she slid down the wall so she was seated next to Harry, their shoulders companionably touching.

"Came to see how you and Ginny were doing," Harry mumbled. He still wouldn't look at her.

"Well, why didn't you come in," Hermione asked.

"Thought Pomfrey would make me stay," Harry told her. He hesitated. "And--I c-couldn't,"

"Oh," Hermione said flatly. She didn't really know how to respond to that. Harry was obviously feeling extremely guilty for what he had put her and Ginny through, so guilty that he couldn't even come visit them in the infirmary. Hermione thought that was very sweet and she was certainly very sorry that Harry felt that way. He had done everything in his power to help her; he had even once again saved her life. But she couldn't overlook the fact that it was because of Harry that those Death Eaters were there in the first place. Harry had agreed to be taken to Voldemort and because of his arrangement, a multitude of students were in the hospital wing and Ron was in the hands of the arguably wickedest wizard of magical history.

Harry turned his head slightly so he was facing her, but his eyes wouldn't reach hers. "How's Ginny?"

"She's fine," Hermione replied. "Just resting. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley are with her now."

"Yeah, I saw them when they came in," Harry said thickly. He stretched his legs out and stared bleakly down at his jeans. Whatever must have occurred between Harry and his best friend's parents must have affected him as deeply as Hermione. Hermione just watched him for a moment. What on earth was going on in that head of his? Maybe she had become spoiled after years of spending the majority of her time with Ron--she could tell what Ron was thinking in an instant. But Harry, Harry liked to hide his emotions which was why Hermione was so surprised that he was so noticeably desperate and miserable. All of the bitterness and rage that had been so prevalent in Harry for all this time appeared to have vanished, drained out of him by exhaustion, grief, and defeat.

Hermione wanted to comfort him any way she could; she hated seeing that lost little boy look in those green eyes. But at the same time, she had to have answers. If they were ever going to get Ron back, they had to know the whole truth. "Harry," she began matter-of-factly--she couldn't get emotional about this if she was going to get some answers. "Harry, I need you to tell me the truth. Did--did you know about that Portkey and was Ron disappearing a part of the arrangement you made?"

"No!" Harry recoiled from her as if she was Bellatrix Lestrange and for the first time looked directly into her eyes. "Hell no, of course not!" Some of that painfully familiar anger was back in his gaze. "How could you even think that?"

"How could I not?" Hermione countered. "You were perfectly willing to put yourself in that position! Harry," she had the good sense to lower her voice at this point. "Harry, you knew about this, you knew!" Her voice rose shrilly at the end of her accusation and she quickly bit the inside of her lip. She wouldn't start crying now, she couldn't.

"I didn't know everything," Harry shot back weakly. He scooted around so he was seated on the floor, facing her. "Look, I got a letter from them a while back. They said that they didn't want to fight a war, and I didn't want to fight a war, so why didn't we meet and discuss a way to end this."

"Harry, I think it's rather clear that they didn't want to discuss a truce with you," Hermione interjected bitterly.

"You think I didn't know that?" Harry snapped. "Hermione, I know you're brilliant and all, so maybe you could think of a better way to live with a death sentence hanging over your head, but I can't." He leaned back against the wall, looking infinitely exhausted. "I just thought it would be best to end this now and I could finally, finally get some peace of mind," he confessed.

Hermione sighed as she also slumped against the stone wall. "You could have been killed," she reminded him.

"Yeah, I know," Harry returned with an equal amount of bitterness. "Like I said: peace of mind."

Hermione's head jerked towards him, heart racing. Did he really just say that? She didn't think she would be able to handle one best friend being kidnapped and the other best friend having a death wish. "Don't talk like that," she begged in a low voice. Her trembling had worsened with Harry's statement and he glanced over at her with concern. He must have realized how upset he had just made her and simply nodded once, promising her nonverbally not to express those thoughts out loud ever again. Now she had to make sure that he didn't even think them. "So you got a letter," she brought the conversation back to the events leading up to that morning.

"Yeah," Harry looked away and now stared at the wall across from him. "And I replied agreeing to meet them at the fork in the path where I found you. Alone." His fist clenched and one tightly balled hand began unconsciously pounding into the floor. "Hermione, I swear to you, I didn't know about those graphorns, or that they would go after Ginny, or Ron. All I knew was to be at the path at 11:30."

"Why didn't you tell us?" Hermione asked. "Why didn't you tell anyone?"

"Because this is my fight, not yours," Harry said simply. "I don't want anyone getting hurt because of some prophesy that has my name on it. If I had told you or Ron, both of you would have insisted on coming, and I couldn't have that. If I told Dumbledore, he would have had a team of Order members at the path instead, and more people would have been hurt or worse. I was told that if I came alone and willingly, no one would get hurt."

"I suppose Ron and I were a big surprise," Hermione said wryly.

"Yeah," Harry laughed one, his sarcastic, bitter laugh that Hermione had grown to despise. "Yeah, you were."

Hermione paused, absorbing what Harry had just told her. "What happened with Dumbledore? Did you tell him?"

"I didn't have to," Harry answered, tapping his temple with his forefinger. "He knew."

"Oh," Hermione said. "And what did he say?"

Harry remained quiet for a long moment and Hermione could see him reliving the experience over again, and she could tell that the memory was not a good one at all. She had only once seen Dumbledore irate, but it was a sight she never wished to see again. She had a sinking feeling that Harry had finally experienced a Dumbledore rage firsthand. "Suspended until the Christmas holidays," Harry finally admitted.

"What?" Hermione gaped at him.

"Reckless endangerment of my fellow students, abetting Death Eaters, concealing knowledge from the Order," Harry listed each offense on a slightly shaky finger. "He said that I'm lucky he didn't expel me or brought up criminal charges." The trembling hand went up to grip his hair. "He should have," he muttered almost inaudibly.

Hermione chose to ignore the final statement of Harry's. "So, what are you going to do for three weeks?"

"Stay here," Harry replied. "Help Hagrid and Filch out. It's like I'll have detention every day and night. I'm off the Quidditch team for the rest of the year, of course," he added as an afterthought.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione breathed sympathetically. Being suspended and having to watch students learn while you toiled away for Filch was almost as bad as being expelled. She couldn't even imagine how awful it would be. "I'll take good notes for you," was all that she could think to say.

And for some reason, it was the right thing. Harry burst out into laughter, not the sarcastic, dark laughter she had heard from him for the past year and a half, but a laugh that was a shadow of the way Harry used to be. It wasn't exactly the same of course, but it was closer. In that second, Hermione saw a brief glimpse of the little boy she had met on the train almost six years ago, the boy she had respected more than anyone in the world.

And somehow, Hermione knew that despite the issues she and Harry still had to work though and all the awful, horrible things that were happening to them, in the end, everything was going to be alright between the two of them.

**

"Password, please,"

Hermione stared dumbly at the Fat Lady, wondering if she should really head into the tower. It was rather late, well past curfew, so she did not have to contend with inquisitive students hounding her in the hallway. But everyone must know by now that Ron had disappeared, and Hermione didn't think she would be able to handle the inquisition. It was a Saturday night and the common room would be buzzing with various conversations about today's events. It made Hermione's head ache even more at the thought of forging into the chattering din and she knew that she couldn't do it.

Hermione silently shook her head at the Fat Lady and briskly walked away from the common room. She didn't know where she was going to go or what she was going to do, but she knew she wouldn't find any solace anywhere in the Gryffindor Tower. It was going to be a long, sleepless night for them all. She had tried to get Harry to come with her back to the tower, but he had preferred to sit outside the infirmary. He said that he was going to wait for Mr. and Mrs. Weasley to leave before checking on Ginny. Harry was just as stubborn as she and Ron, so she had finally left him sitting on his own. It was probably for the best--Harry was a very solitary person and would want to just sit up all night and think about what had happened.

She, on the other hand, had to do something. She had been thinking about Ron so much that her head hurt and there was a nauseous sensation in the pit of her stomach. Even when she talked to Harry about other things, Ron had been on her mind. She kept running possible scenarios in her head about where he was and what was happening to him and for some twisted reason, they kept getting more and more horrific. She had always had a wild imagination and now it was working overtime in the worst possible way. If she tried to sleep now, she would only dream about and wake up screaming in the middle of the night. And if she didn't do something to occupy her mind, she was going to go insane by sadistically and perpetually playing the what-if-Ron...game.

If Hermione was going to find any comfort throughout this hellish night, there was only one place that could offer her what she needed. Too bad that they for once had locked the door. Hermione sighed with annoyance before glancing about her and pulling out her wand.

"Alohomora!"

The lock clicked open and Hermione silently slipped inside, shutting the door behind her. She stood there for a long moment, fervently hoping that the musty smell of books would somehow heal her of her grief. When it didn't work very well, Hermione decided that she might as well start some research.

Let's see, let's see...where should I start?

Portkeys. Hermione lit up the tip of her wand and went straight to the section in the library on magical objects. She had to get down on her knees to inspect the books on the lower shelves, squinting to read the spines in the dim light her wand had provided. She knew that there was typically no way to trace a Portkey, but maybe there was some unethical, potentially dangerous spell she could use. She was willing to take that risk if it got Ron back. There were no textbooks that focused solely on Portkeys so Hermione opted to just pull all of the books on magical objects and check them all. She knew she wasn't going to sleep tonight and she might as well be useful and do everything in her power to get Ron home safely. After a failed attempt to lug the pile of books over to a table, Hermione simply lined the books along the length of the bookshelf. She opened the first book but she for once didn't start reading straight away.

What if there was some sort of location spell, a tracing spell they could put to find Ron wherever he was? Just because Ron had been transported to a completely new location didn't mean that he was still there. He could have been taken somewhere else and even if she did find a way to trace a Portkey, what would be the use of locating where the Portkey had taken him if he was no longer there? Hermione pushed herself up into a standing position and picked her way over to the section on charms. There were obviously many books on the subject so Hermione grabbed as many as she could carry.

Creak.

Hermione froze. What was that?

"Hermione?"

Oh God, oh God, oh God. Hermione knew that she knew the low voice from somewhere, but she couldn't place it for the life of her. What if whoever had taken Ron was coming for her in retribution for Harry's inability to carry out his end of the bargain? She didn't think she would be that obvious of a target but she wasn't going to risk it. Although if she did go with whoever was lurking in the dark library, she could find Ron. The offer tempted her for a few precious seconds until her common sense returned to her; God, she was thinking like Harry now.

Her arms were laden with books and she couldn't set them down without attracting attention to herself. So she turned so her back was to the shelf she was hidden behind, wand awkwardly clutched in her right hand. She wouldn't be able to get her hand in the right angle to curse whoever was sneaking in to find her so she was going to have to hope that when she did send the spell that the person would duck out of the way, giving her time to throw the books down and send a second wave of spells.

"Hermione?"

She frowned as recognition suddenly kicked in and she poked her head from behind the shelf. "George?"

She couldn't see George's face in the dim light but the flash of still brilliant red hair was enough. George lit up his wand too at the sound of Hermione's voice and pointed it in her direction. She blinked at the bright light and heard George sigh with relief.

"There you are," he said with forced energy.

"What are you doing here?" Hermione inquired. A swatch of long hair was draped irritatingly over her eye and she absently brought her hand up to brush the locks out of her face. Since her grip on the books had slackened, the whole pile almost toppled out of her hands. George instinctively stepped forward to help but she somehow managed to balance the unsteady stack.

"Well, I didn't know we had a library," George said with false earnestness. He spread his hands wide and glanced about the room as if he had never seen it before. "I mean, Fred and I had better things to do than study, you know?"

"I'm sure," Hermione said dryly as she carefully set the books down on one of the vacant tables.

"So I thought I should pay homage to the place while I was here," George finished with a flourish. "And of course, what library would be complete with Hermione Granger burying her nose in a book?" He gestured to the textbooks she had just set down as well as the ones covering the entire span of the floor of the magical object section. "And now the worship session is complete."

Hermione leaned against the table and folded her arms uncomfortably over her chest. She had never been close to either one of the twins and she had no idea why George was there. And being near the Weasley red hair was making the ever prevalent worry about Ron come to the forefront of her mind. She had been trying to push the thoughts away or else she would break down and cry her eyes out; she hadn't cried yet and she wasn't going to start now. "When did you get here?"

"Came with Mum and Dad," George explained. "Fred's out with the Order looking for him."

"Why didn't you go with him?" Hermione asked. Fred and George had joined the Order during the summer holidays.

George shrugged. "Had things to do here." He avoided Hermione's eyes and indicating the books once again. "So, you need some help with this?"

"No, not really," Hermione lied. "I was just going to research some ways to try to find him, I mean I know that the Order probably have thought of all these possibilities to locate him, but I would hate myself if I didn't make the effort, you know?" Don't fall apart now, she told herself sternly. She was starting to babble and that was the first sign of an emotional breakdown.

"Yeah," George answered, still picking up one of the books and thumbing through it. "Why don't I give you a hand?"

"Why?" Hermione pressed, confused. George loved action just as much as all of his brothers and Hermione had a fairly good idea that he wanted desperately to be out in the night, searching for his little brother. "What's going on, George?"

George studied her for a moment before sinking down into one of the chairs at the table. The cheery front he had been putting up ever since arriving in the library had disappeared and Hermione could plainly see that George was in fact very, very worried about his brother. "I'm not supposed to tell you," he admitted.

"Tell me what?" Hermione gripped the back of the chair across from George. Had they found Ron? Was he hurt or...worse...God, it hurt Hermione's heart just to think that possibility...and they just didn't want tell her yet?

"I'm here for Ron," George finally spoke. Hermione blinked in surprise and George leaned forward, elbows resting on the table top. "Look, a couple days after Ron got home for summer holidays, Fred and I came home to visit. Ron and Ginny were still all jumpy about what had happened and weren't really talking to anyone so Fred and I decided to split up, I would take Ron, he'd take Ginny..."

**

July 1^st

George Weasley rapped on the door to his little brother's room. "Oy! Ron!" He didn't wait for a reply and barged straight into the obscenely Chudley Cannon orange room. It was still quite early in the morning and Ron was typically a late sleeper, so he was looking forward to waking his little brother up. However, he was quite surprised to find Ron sitting in bed, dressed in his too short maroon paisley pajama pants and white T-shirt--he had long outgrown the pajama top and the discarded article of clothing was draped over Ron's desk chair. Ron was seated cross-legged on his bed, parchment and quill in his lap. He had an unusually pensive expression on his face, but that was not what drew George Weasley's attention to his brother. Ron had yet to wear short-sleeves in front of his family thus far so George hadn't seen the vivid, deep festering purplish red welts marring his brother's skin and he couldn't prevent a very colorful phrase from escaping from his dumbfounded mouth.

The slew of curse words pulled Ron's focus away from his writing and he looked up at his brother, then down at his bare arms. His ears became tinged with embarrassed red as he set down the quill and parchment so he could crawl over the mattress and retrieve his pajama shirt. "What are you doing here?" he demanded.

"I live here," George said shortly, "Well, technically, I live here, we don't technically have approval to live in the flat over the joke shop, but that's beside the point." Ron had shoved the pajama top onto his lanky form, but the sleeves were five inches too short and still revealed plenty of Ron's scarred skin. George strode straight over to the bed and seized one of Ron's arms. It looked even worse close up. "Has Mum seen these?"

"No," Ron wiggled his arm free from George's fingers. "You won't tell her?"

George sighed. His brother was staring him in the way that all Weasleys had learned at quite a young age: the guilty, woe-is-me, oh-big-brother-you-will-protect-and-look-out-for-little-old-precious-defenseless-little-me-won't-you? Ginny obviously was the undisputed master of this trick, but Ron came in as a very close second. Probably because after Fred, if George had to pick a favorite sibling, it was Ron. He gave Ron a lot of flack, of course, the idiot deserved it, but at the end of the day, Ron was his only little brother. And he was damned good brother.

"No," His eyes were still riveted onto the interconnecting network of spider web shaped welts and bruises. "Are those ever going to go away?"

"They should," Ron relayed, "But not for a while. I may have some scarring, but it's nothing to worry about."

George shifted, slightly uncomfortable. It wasn't often that he had to be serious, and he never liked it when he did. But he had to make sure that everything was alright. "Ron, what's up?" he asked flat out. Ron's blue eyes met George's brown ones. "I mean, you and Ginny haven't been the same since the whole thing at the Ministry and I guess I just want to make sure that you're okay,"

"So you took me, and Fred took Ginny, right?" Ron finished with a small smile.

"Are we that predictable?" George shook his head with false disgust. "We're becoming boring in our old age."

Ron didn't laugh at the crack, eyes now on the parchment that he had laid on his bedside table. George glanced over quickly so Ron wouldn't know he was peeking at his personal letters and sure enough, he spotted Dear Hermione scrawled at the top of the page. Ah, he's writing to the girlfriend, George thought. Well, Hermione wasn't technically Ron's girlfriend, but it was only a matter of time before those two crazy lovebirds worked things out. He and Fred had actually started a pool among the Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, and even a few choice staff members and whoever guessed the date the two finally got their heads out of their asses and realized how perfect they were for each other won the kitty.

"I'm fine," Ron said slowly, his mind obviously focused on other things. Or other people, George added with a smirk. He planned to torment Ron about his little girlfriend for as long as possible. Ron finally looked away from his letter and back to his brother. "George, can I ask you something?"

"Fire away," George scooted backwards so his back was leaning against the wall.

"Well, it's a pretty big favor," Ron said edgily. "But it has to be you."

"What is it?" George asked, honestly intrigued.

Ron's attention was now centered on his wounds and he rolled his too small sleeves so he could inspect the injuries even closer. "I honestly don't know how I got away from those brain things," he commented, tracing a finger along the curves of the scars. "I don't really remember a lot of things about that night after they cursed me, but I do have those random flashes that are really clear, you know?" George nodded soundlessly. "And one of those flashes is the brains wrapping around my arms and damn, it hurt, and then Harry and Neville ran out of the room to draw those Death Eaters away from the rest of us because the girls were all knocked out." Ron had to swallow hard at that point. "So I was alone with these brain things attacking me and I remember thinking that I was going to die," His finger froze on one particularly hideous welt. "And then next thing I remember is waking up in the circular room and the brains were gone."

George didn't know where his brother was going with this but he had the good sense to just shut up and let Ron talk. "I could have died," Ron repeated under his breath. "I don't know how I managed to get away, but I did." He looked over at his brother at this point. "I may not be so lucky next time."

George's stomach lurched nauseatingly like the time he had swung at a Bludger too hard and would have fallen off his broom if Fred hadn't gotten there in time. "No," George began, but Ron wouldn't let him finish.

"We both know it could happen," Ron said quietly. "So what I want to ask you that if anything does happen to me..."

"Ron, I don't know..."

"...I need you to look after Hermione for me."

George blinked. Ron's voice was deadly serious and left no room for argument, but George decided to press his luck anyway. "I don't know, Ron, I don't know Hermione that well..."

"Look," Ron interrupted impatiently. "It has to be you. Bill and Charlie don't know her at all, I don't want Percy anywhere near her, so that means it has to be Fred or you, and I want it to be you."

"What about Harry?"

"Harry will keep an eye on her, of course, but he's got enough on his mind, and besides," Ron grinned a dopey, wistful smile. "Hermione's the type of girl who needs as many people looking out of her as possible."

"Hermione?" George said with disbelief.

"No, no, don't get me wrong," Ron quickly clarified. "She can look out for herself, of course, she's great, hell, if we were in trouble, she's the one who usually ends up saving my ass, but still..." Ron paused briefly. "Hermione is so brilliant and everything that she doesn't like to ask for help or give up or anything so when she's in trouble, she's not going to let you know it. She'd rather suffer and work things out herself than admit that she's in over her head. That's why you have keep a close eye on her so when she does get in a spot of trouble, you can recognize it and help her out whether she likes it or not." Ron hesitated once again. "Besides I would just feel much better if I knew that if I couldn't be there to take care of her," Ron's fist clutched his comforter for a fleeting moment, "she was being looked after by as many people as possible."

George considered his brother for a long moment. He had always kidded around with Ron about his relationship with Hermione, but never realized how dead serious he was about her. Sure, he knew that Ron fancied his best friend but he had never realized the intensity of Ron's feelings towards the girl. In fact, it sounded as though Ron was in love with her. Little Ronnie in love, George repressed the urge to rub Ron's hair affectionately. For the first time, George felt old as he sat on the bed contemplating his brother. They were all growing up so fast.

'Ron, first of all, nothing is going to happen to you," George stated forcefully. "Not as long as you've got me and Fred and Bill and Charlie watching your back." Ron tried to interrupt but George simply waved his hand in annoyance. "But if anything does," he relented, stomach lurching at the thought of his youngest brother in trouble, "I promise you that I'll take care of Hermione."

Ron looked infinitely relived but he still narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "Swear?"

"Swear."

**

"He really said that?" Hermione's voice was very small, very weak, and very full of unshed tears. She had long since sunk down in the chair across from George, the books strewn on the floor and table forgotten.

George nodded.

"Oh," she breathed, hand up over her mouth, posture unusually tense and straight. She had to kept her body rigid to prevent herself from losing her composure completely. Hermione closed her eyes, willing herself to keep it together.

"Hermione," George croaked. He too sounded as though he was about to lose it. "I know you and Ron weren't getting along, but he never stopped--I mean he wrote to us saying how miserable he was..." Hermione opened her wide grief-stricken eyes to stare at George's pleadingly earnest face. "Don't ever think that he didn't care about you--I know he wouldn't want you to think that he didn't...you know?"

She nodded, eyes watering uncontrollably. George's incoherency reminded her so vividly of Ron that Hermione finally knew what she had to do to pass the long, sleepless night.

She laid her anguish-heavy head down into her trembling hands and she finally, at long last, burst out into tears.