Hermione Granger and the Time of Troubles

It's funny how life can go on when you never ever expect it to. For example, when the love of your life is painfully ripped away from you, you never expect to be able to resume a normal life. It's difficult to conceive how you can live day in and day out without that special person at your side.

But you do. You go to class, you do your homework, you eat, you sleep, you talk to your friends, you argue with your enemies, you occasionally laugh, you cry on a somewhat regular basis, you tend to prefect responsibilities, you write letters home, and basically, you live.

Because that is the only thing you can do.

Normality is the only remedy to stop the pain; staying busy is the only way to look past all the horrible things that have happened. That doesn't mean you remain ignorant of the atrocities occurring in the world. You intently follow the nationwide search for him, you read and scour all of the articles written in the newspapers, you drive your professors mad by asking them everyday if there were any news, and you pray that everything will be made all right again.

But above all, you live; as much as it hurts, as much as you wished that your life was anything but this, you survive. That's all you can really expect to do at times like these.

And that's precisely what Hermione Granger did.

**

"Ron, you are just going to have to try harder than this!" Hermione snapped loudly in frustration, slicking back her sopping wet hair. She was at the Astronomy Tower, at "their" spot, because this is where she felt the strongest connection to him. Huge drops of rain were splattering at an alarming rate; although Hermione had only been there for about five minutes, she was already soaked to the bone. But that wasn't what she was so irritated about--besides, Ron could be out in the rain, and she couldn't sit inside by a toasty warm fire if he was somewhere out there, cold, alone, and miserable. What was annoying her was that this empath connection was taking much too long to establish.

She hadn't told anyone this, but she had continued to try to empathically find Ron everyday. The Astronomy Tower had been the best bet to find him, but the problem was that it just wasn't working. She also tried every night before she went to sleep, but the only dreams she had to Ron were normal, typical ones--nothing like the one she had had that night two weeks ago. That was just the problem: Ron had been missing for three, whole weeks now and there hadn't been a single tidbit of information to aid them. Mr. Weasley had put out a ten thousand Galleon reward for whoever brought his youngest son home safely; they had hoped that some greedy Death Eater would return Ron in hopes of making a hefty profit. Aurors and Order members were searching round the clock, and Professor Lupin sent Harry a detailed report every week which Harry promptly relayed to her. But basically all three letters had said the same thing: we have no idea where Ron is.

"Ron," she repeated firmly, hoping that if she kept saying his name, he would somehow hear her. "Ron, we don't have time for this. It's been weeks since I last felt you and I don't like that since I've been trying everyday, and I know that you felt me that day too so you should know that you can communicate with me, so you're just going to have to try!" She threw her hands out to the side and screamed up to the heavens. "I'm giving this as much effort as I can, Ron, why aren't you! Do you want to come home? Because as of right now, I am the best chance you have, so come on!" Her voice rose shrilly, so piercingly that it cracked with high-pitched intensity.

Hermione flinched at the hysterical sound of her own voice and she felt the need to slide down the slick wall and sit, her weight leaning against the dripping stones. Her clothes were plastered to her body but she didn't care in the least; she was too busy remembering the many hours she had spent here, cuddled in Ron's arms. When she spoke again, her voice was low, shaking, and painfully melancholic. "Ron, I don't know how to get you back," she admitted. "I thought the empath connection would work, but there are no books on the subject so I have to figure it out all on my own. No one knows anything about this, and after two days of trying to talk to you, I don't have ideas about how to reach you." She laughed bitterly. "Maybe I'm not so clever after all.

"I'm trying as hard as I can to be strong for you and Harry and your family. We all miss you so much, Ron, I don't think words can even express the extent of it. I know you don't want to hear about how awful we feel, but we do, Ron, we really do, and it's because you're not here. I'm taking care of Harry and Ginny for you, Ron; I know that's what you would have wanted."

Hermione let out another little laugh. "Here I am talking to you like you've died when I know you're not. Well, I know, you're not, I think--I think I would be able to feel it if you did. A part of me would die too, Ron, if you left me forever, and as hopeless as things seem now, I know deep down inside of me, in the part of me that only you have ever seen, that you're somewhere out there, waiting for us to bring you home. But the thing is, Ron, no one else seems to think that you're alive. I know the Order is treating this like a murder--they're searching for your body--and the look on Harry's face..." She trailed off and sighed. "Ron, I'm glad you can't see Harry right now; I know how much it would hurt you to see him like this. He's depending on me, Ron, to bring you back; it's up to me..."

Hermione at this point had to bury her face into her knees and let out a sob or two. She hadn't slept for the past few nights, preferring to pour over several volumes of books on empathic magic and related abilities. But for once, her vast amount of research had failed her. She couldn't find the answer in a book; she had to find it on her own, in her heart. It was terribly frightening and frustrating to know that so much was counting on her finding Ron solely through the power of her mind, but she had to do it.

The problem was it was driving her slowly mad. She gripped her curled, drenched tendrils of hair tightly, palms resting against her perpetually aching forehead, and let out a long breath. She had to stop this--she had to think about something else.

"Let's try something else, Ron," Hermione said to her knees. "Let's think about something happy, shall we? Before I freeze to death?" Her skin was starting to get alarmingly cold and damp from the amount of time she was spending in the late autumn rain, but she couldn't go indoors just yet. She closed her eyes, thinking of warmer, happier times, and willing herself to be transported back to those pleasant memories.

**

July 29^th

Ron, I don't know about this," Hermione said anxiously, "No offense, but that's not the most sturdy of broomsticks."

If Ron was offended by her statement, he didn't show it. He just continued to hold out his hand to her. "Come on, Hermione," he pleaded, "It'll be fun."

Hermione continued to eye the broom warily. She actually was a decent flier when she wanted to be, but the idea of being fifty feet in the air rather frightened her, especially after seeing Harry fall from that distance and almost die. When she had to fly to catch the key to get to the Sorcerer's Stone, she had been more than capable to help capture the appropriate key. But Harry and Ron didn't know that she hadn't really breathed until she had landed on the ground afterwards. She hadn't flown since that disastrous night in fifth year when she had stupidly tried to be rebellious and ended up almost being killed by a stray firework. She reckoned that the near death experience had altered her view of flying slightly.

"All right, come here," Ron ordered with only a slight amount of impatience, gesturing to her.

Hermione grinned at him, eyebrows cocked challengingly. "You think you can order me around now, do you?"

"Yes," Ron quipped. He quailed slightly under the glare she gave him. "I mean, no."

Hermione giggled as she walked over to him, boldly deciding to join Ron on the broom. Ron was an exceptional flier and as long as he controlled everything, they would be perfectly safe. "Okay, I'm here," she said with an exaggerated sigh.

Ron mounted the broom. "Do you want to be in the front or back?"

Hermione considered for a moment. If she sat behind Ron, she would get to wrap her arms around his back and press her face against his shoulder. If she sat in front of him, he would get to wrap his arms around her waist and then she could lean her head back against him. If she was in the back, she probably wouldn't be able to see anything but Ron's back, which was both appealing and dissuasive. But by sitting in the front, she would be able to sense Ron's next move much better, and probably would ease her mind a little. Besides she could always close her eyes if things got too scary.

"Front," she decided. Ron nodded and shifted back so she could step in front of him and take a seat on the broomstick. He reached past her so he could grip the handle with both hands so he was so close to her that she could feel his heart beat, feel him breathing, his breath tickling her ear. She was definitely glad she had picked to sit here.

She couldn't help gasping though when Ron kicked off the ground, and she felt her legs swing in mid-air. Hermione closed her eyes tightly for the first few minutes of the flight. Luckily, Ron didn't try any funny business, but it was still a little frightening.

"Open your eyes," Ron urged quietly in her ear. She obeyed, and let out another little gasp. They were floating well above the tree tops that shielded the field the Weasleys used as a Quidditch pith. She could see the rambling, shabby, but strangely beautiful Burrow, the winding dirt path that led from the Weasley home to the town of Ottery St. Catchpole, and the town itself, faint lights glittering in the distance. But really caught her attention of the Weasley lake. The early evening sunlight was dancing across the surface of the water and the effect was dazzling; blinding, striking light flashing from the calm navy blue water necessitated Hermione to squint and shift her attention elsewhere. Lucky for her, she did. It had been a while since Hermione had watched a sunset, and the magnificence of it struck her even more since she was in the arms of the boy she loved. The azure of the summer sky had faded into a gorgeous blend of magenta, pumpkin orange, and sunny yellow, all tinged with deep indigo that signaled the imminent night. The white-hot sun had almost vanished by this point, and together, she and Ron watched as the ball of fire slowly sank beyond the horizon.

"Wow," she whispered in awe

"Yeah," Ron agreed, resting his cheek against the side of her head. Hermione smiled at the sensation of his smooth cheek against her skin. Ever since she had arrived, Ron had kept the physical contact down to a minimum due to the fact that he never knew when a Weasley was going to pop out of nowhere and catch them. Hermione, on the other hand, had missed Ron so much in the past couple weeks that she wouldn't have cared if Voldemort himself walked in on her and Ron.

Her eyes closed as she breathed deeply, savoring the serene moment for as long as possible. Finally, she leaned her head back, the crown of her head brushing his chest. She vaguely noticed that Ron's adorable facial hair on his chin was as vividly red as his head of hair. "Thank you," she said softly, "You were right; this was a great idea."

Ron let out a melodramatic grasp. "What? I was right and you were wrong?" He let go of the broom with one hand so he could clap it over his forehead in his mock shock.

"No, Ron, don't let go!" Hermione said instantly, shrinking farther back into him. Ron laughed, but he quickly placed his hand in its original position. She was now nestled even closer to him, so close that she could smell the pepper from the casserole he had for lunch on his robes--the prat probably spilled on himself--she could hear his heart beating against her temple, she could feel his chest breathe in and out with each breath, and she was already anticipating the taste of his lips on hers. They hadn't kissed since the night all had been revealed, and she was dying for a repeat performance.

But when Ron leaned forward, it wasn't to kiss her: it was so he could speak quietly in her ear. "You really have to learn to fly," he said with a shake of his head.

"No, I don't," Hermione argued, "I'll be able to Apparate soon enough and I won't have to fly."

"And until then?" Ron countered, pulling away from her so they could argue properly.

"That's why I keep you around," she quipped with a grin.

"Can't argue with that," Ron agreed, turning the broom so they were flying over the treetops, making a few laps around before pulling to a stop. "Your turn."

"Excuse me?" Hermione asked, hoping she had heard him wrong. She could fly by herself of course, but she certainly didn't trust herself to steer an unwieldy broomstick with two lives at stake.

"You can do it," Ron reassured her, "Come on," He removed his grip on the broomstick so he could move her hands into the appropriate position. "Just steer."

"Ron, I can't," Hermione insisted, trying to lean back and let Ron take over again.

"Yes, you can," he said firmly as he wrapped both hands over hers and held them into place. "Now, go to the left," Hermione obeyed, and to her great relief, the broom started traveling in that direction. "Good, now the other way." The broom then veered to the right, sharper and jerkier than Ron's smooth flying, but in the correct direction and without plummeting to the earth nevertheless. "Now try to circle the house like I just did." Hermione thought about refusing, but Ron was so close to her that she didn't think she could refuse him anything. He let go of her hands halfway through her first lap and held them out to his sides. The broom wobbled slightly, but other than that, Hermione was flying the broomstick with her and Ron on it on her own. "See, you're doing it!"

Hermione smiled, but she didn't release her death-grip on the broomstick. Her shoulders were quite rigid in her tension, so Ron brought his hands to her back, fingers kneading comfortingly in her tight muscles.

"Try to relax more," he advised. "You're too tense."

"You try to relax when you're hundreds of feet in the air!" Hermione countered with a slight edge to her voice. She was rather nervous to be this high in the air and in complete control of the broom. If anything happened, not only would she fall, but Ron would be hurt too.

"You're doing just fine," Ron soothed in a low tone that sent shivers of delight down her back. A fresh gust of wind tickled her flushed cheeks and lifted her hair off of her hot neck, helping Hermione relax even further.

But that all vanished in an instant.

"Ack!"

The broom jolted as Hermione looked over her shoulder, concerned at why Ron had yelled like that--had she done something wrong? He had quickly grabbed hold of the broom when it had shuddered so sharply, but she focused only on his face. It was contorted in disgust, opening and closing his mouth as if he had an awful taste in his mouth. "Your hair!"

Hermione burst out into laughter in relief. The wind must have lifted her long hair right into Ron's mouth. "Here, take over for me," Ron complied as Hermione managed to find a hair-tie in her pocket and restrain her wild, frizzy curls into a ponytail. "Sorry about that."

"Don't be, I love your hair," Ron replied, "I just don't like to eat it." He grinned at her. "You ready to land?"

Hermione took a deep breath, and nodded. This was the part she was worried about. Ron seemed to notice, and to quell her nerves, he brought his head down so he could kiss her gently on the lips. Thrills of excitement rocketed up and down her entire body--at last. She had been dreaming about the circumstances of their next kiss for quite some time, but damn, this was much better than she expected. His lips were just so soft and he knew where, when, and how to use them so that she was almost so reduced into a fit of pleasurable trembling that she could barely reciprocate.

Ron finally pulled back, and she blinked with surprise. While they had been kissing, he had lowered the broom in a gradual dive and landed smoothly on the clearing that the Weasleys used to play Quidditch. She tilted her head back sharply so she could look into Ron's joyful blue eyes. "How did you--did you really just..."

"Yep," Ron smirked cockily at her. "Dismount please."

Hermione barely managed to comply; her stomach was still quivering with the aftereffects of nerves and extreme pleasure. "Wow," she murmured again, freeing her hair from the ponytail and running her fingers through her locks. Ron watched her with amusement as he also got off the broom. "Do you mind if--can we do that again?" she stammered. She couldn't believe that one boy could manage to reduce her to a silly, love-struck schoolgirl and she gave him a rather shy but coy smile.

"Definitely," Ron grinned back. "But seriously, we should fly everyday. I think you should know how."

"That's fine with me," Hermione said. "Although we won't be able to have many flying lessons once Harry gets here--you two will probably be playing Quidditch non-stop."

"Oh, I don't know," Ron replied as they started to walk back to the Burrow. "I think we'll be able to squeeze in a lesson or two." He gave her a sideways, almost bashful glance.

"Hopefully," Hermione decided to press her luck and gave him a smile that she had seen Lavender and Parvati successfully use to get boys several years older to notice them. "But just in case, until Harry arrives, perhaps we should have several lessons a day."

"I think we can manage that," Ron was starting to smile.

"I'd like to be able to land just as well as you," Hermione continued, not believing that she was actually flirting like this--Hermione Granger never flirted. "Exactly like you, as a matter of fact."

"Well, of course," Ron said with mock earnestness, eyes twinkling. "It's the proper way, and Hermione Granger always does things the proper way."

"Exactly," Hermione grinned up at him. "You're catching on--I'm glad to see I've had an influence on you."

"You have no idea, love," Ron smiled cheekily at her for a moment before growing serious. "You don't mind if I call you that, do you?"

Hermione fought the urge to chuckle at the flash of trepidation on his face, as if she would actually hate him using terms of affection. "You can call me that as much as you want,"

"You sure you don't mind?" Ron pressed, ears pink to indicate that he was pleased that she had said yes. "I mean--I know some girls don't particularly like that."

"Not at all," she reassured him. Ron's smile grew, his ears turned even pinker, and his hand slipped firmly into hers. She squeezed his fingers softly. "Not at all," she repeated under her breath as they walked hand in hand back home.

**

The memory faded but Hermione remained curled up on the rooftop, the rain drenching her and eyes tightly closed. She wanted desperately to hold on to that moment for as long as possible, but it had served its purpose. She had forgotten about Ron being missing and dwelled solely on how much she loved that boy, how much he meant to her, and why he was worth fighting for. She felt stronger somehow as she slowly raised her head, blinking the raindrops off of her eyelashes; she was exhausted, baffled, frightened, and lonely but she could endure it if it meant getting Ron home. She would suffer through anything to bring him back.

"Thank you, Ron," she breathed, eyes fluttering closed again.

And that's when she saw him.

She saw him so vividly in her mind and although her heart constricted at the sight of his huddled form, the vision brought such an overwhelming rush of relief that she let out a shaking dry sob. He was lying on his side on a cold, drab gray floor, knees brought up to chest-level, one arm curled protectively over his abdomen. His clothes were filthy, torn, and rumpled and he was so pale, God, she hoped she never had to see him look so pale ever again. His eyes were closed and his breath was coming out in quick, rapid, sporadic gasps. Nausea clenched at the very pit of her soul and Hermione let out another dry heave, hand flying to her mouth. The spasm of her abdominal muscles caused her to heave forward and she lost visual contact with him.

But she still felt him--he was in so much pain and...Hermione bolted backwards, tears springing to her eyes. No, not Cruciatus, not to him. But it had. She felt it--not in with the same intensity he had suffered through it of course, but she felt the wisps of it and that was enough. Without thinking, she attempted to draw the pain out of him. She squeezed her eyes tight and tried to lose herself inside of Ron, but something kept nudging her away every time she felt herself on the brink of falling completely inside Ron's mind. She was kept on the outskirts so she continued to experience the general idea of what Ron was going through, but it wasn't enough. She wanted to be in him, utterly and completely lost in him. She pushed even harder only to be shoved away with an equal strength.

And then she knew why she couldn't get into Ron.

**

"Why the hell would Ron block you?"

"Because he doesn't want me to feel how awful he's doing," Hermione paced around the common room, droplets of water flying across the carpet from her soaking wet hair. "Or something Ron-like like that. It's not as though we can have a normal conversation in our heads; we just sense each other's emotions and experiences. So he blocks all of my attempts but whenever I'm really upset or hurt or something, he taps into me, and then I can sense him." Hermione hastily sat on the arm of the sofa Harry and Ginny were perched on, swinging her feet up to rest on the cushion so she could face them. She ticked each incident off on each finger. "The first time it happened was the day of the attack and I had just gotten hit by that tree, the second time was when Malfoy knocked me out in the library, the third time was when after you and I had a row, Harry, and just now it happened when I was feeling incredibly frustrated by all of this. The only times it's happened is when I've really needed him. It all fits; he's stopping me from getting in and that's why I haven't been able to find him,"

"Ok," Ginny said slowly as she leaned forward, a tad perplexed. "So what does this mean?"

"This means that since I now know what he's doing, I think if I can get him to tap into me again, I can get a better fix and maybe even find out where he is," Hermione said excitedly. "I pushed harder this time and he wasn't expecting it and I saw more than usual. This time, I definitely saw him and the room he was in."

"Where was he?" Harry asked sharply.

"In the tower room of a castle," Hermione relayed. "Gray, cold stone, bare, not a stick of furniture. The architecture is actually quite similar to Hogwarts--it reminded me of that room you and Ron found the Mirror of Erised in, Harry."

"That doesn't exactly narrow down the possibilities does it," Harry sighed before frowning. "Hang on, how do you know what that room looks like--you weren't here when we found it,"

For some reason, Hermione blushed to the very roots of her damp hair. "Oh, well, Ron showed me one time."

Ginny started to smirk. "Oh really. Just what did you two do in that room now that the mirror is gone?"

"That's beside the point," Hermione hopped off the arm of the sofa and avoided her friends' eyes, unconscious tugging down on her blouse. "The point is if I get myself upset enough or riled up enough, I think I could find him."

"How are you going to do that?" Harry asked. "Ask Malfoy to hit you again?"

"I'd rather avoid that, if you don't mind," Hermione replied. "I can't just force the emotion--I have to really feel it." She sighed. "If nothing happens in the next two days, I can always wait until I go home the day after tomorrow."

"Why?" Ginny asked with slight concern.

"Nothing," Hermione said dismissively. She didn't want to get into the whole issue with her parents. She was only going home for a few days--she was going to go to Grimmauld Place the day after Christmas so she planned on getting the long, much-awaited discussion with her parents about what really was going on at Hogwarts out of the way as quickly as possible. Ginny looked as though she wanted to pursue the topic further, but luckily Harry getting to his feet distracted her. "What?"

"You said the room looked like that tower room?" Harry asked, eyes flashing with excitement and Hermione knew what he was thinking in a second.

"Yes, but you can't think that it actually was that room," Hermione answered. "They couldn't keep Ron at Hogwarts!"

"Why not? It would be the last place anyone would ever look for him," Harry pointed out while pulling out his wand. "It wouldn't hurt to check,"

"Fine," Hermione agreed. "We have to patrol anyway, Harry." Harry had agreed to perform Ron's prefect duties until Ron returned. Hermione turned to Ginny, the fifth-year girls' prefect. "Do you want to come too?"

"Why not," Ginny stood up and stretched. "Better than patrolling with Derrick," she commented with a grimace. She glanced at her watch. "I've got time before meeting Dean."

Harry awkwardly shuffled ahead of the two girls at the mention of Ginny's boyfriend. "How is that going by the way?" Hermione asked.

"Wonderful," Ginny said dreamily, an almost star struck expression on her face. "He's been so great to me after this whole thing with Ron happened," She glanced up at Harry to make sure he was appropriately distracted. "I think I'm finally getting over him,"

"Really?" Hermione said with surprise. "It's getting that serious?"

"I think so," Ginny blushed, hugging her arms to her chest. Her eyes glazed over, obviously reminiscing about some sweet moment she had with Dean. Hermione's heart lurched slightly; she knew the sensation of young love all too well.

"What does Dean think about Harry spending Christmas with you?" Hermione asked.

Ginny shrugged. "He's fine, I suppose. He knows Harry is like one of the family. And it's not as though he's spending Christmas with me; Mum invited him. She invited you too, but you wanted to go home, but that proves that it's not as though I personally invited Harry and not Dean, although I did want to invite Dean but since we're going to Grimmauld Place, Dean can't exactly go there, but anyway, he's fine with it."

Hermione eyed her friend shrewdly. "You haven't told him, have you?"

"Of course not," Ginny said casually, tucking a crimson curl behind her ear.

"Ginny," Hermione said reproachfully.

"I know, I know," Ginny conceded. "And I hate lying to him but I just don't know how he'll react," Her eyes lingered on Harry as he tried the door to the tower room. "Dean just doesn't understand about Harry."

Hermione couldn't continue this discussion about Ginny's love life--she had to see if she could find her own boyfriend. Wand out, she and Ginny quickened their pace and jogged after Harry. He was already standing in the decidedly empty room, shoulders slumped in disappointment. Ron wasn't there. Hermione sighed; she knew there wasn't a real hope that Ron would be here, but some part of her had truly wished that for once logic would be incorrect and Ron would be there awaiting their rescue.

Harry turned around and shrugged sadly. "Worth a shot," he mumbled, raking a despondent hand through his hair. His fingers paused in his untidy black strands and he gripped his hair tightly. His eyes closed briefly and Hermione seized the opportunity to shoot Ginny a worried look. Harry had appeared to be handling Ron's disappearance rather well; after the first week, he had gotten in his routine of detentions and was cheering up with the thought of returning to classes after the Christmas holidays. But Hermione should have known he was handling it just as poorly as she was, and she definitely should have known that he would hide his grief from everyone. Ginny looked as though she would like nothing more than give Harry a big, comforting hug and Hermione had to agree with her. Ever since she had blown up at Harry and told him to open up, she had seen no indication of him changing his ways unless he was opening up to someone she didn't know about. It was now apparent that Harry needed someone more than ever.

"It was a good idea," Hermione said quietly. It would be very clever to keep Ron somewhere unobvious as Hogwarts but she knew that he was being tortured on a somewhat regular basis and unless a professor or student was involved, it just wasn't possible. Her stomach clenched at the thought of Ron being tortured--she had to find him before he got hurt even more. She hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her jeans uneasily as Ginny slowly approached Harry. She gently took hold of Harry's arm and lowered his hand away from his head. Harry opened his eyes and watched her with a surprising lack of emotion.

"Don't tear your hair out over this," Ginny enjoined quietly. "You're going to get him back."

Hermione watched them with raised eyebrows. On second thought, maybe Harry was opening up to someone with long red hair and big brown eyes.

"Well, well, well, how touching,"

Son of a bitch, Hermione moaned in her head. Did Draco Malfoy have some sort of radar that always allowed him to show up at the worst possible moment?

Harry stoically raised his eyes from Ginny's to look at Malfoy who was leaning against the doorframe. "Oh, you," he said flatly.

"Good to see you use those powers of observation, Potter," Malfoy sneered. "Now tell me what you lot are doing here after hours on my floor?"

Hermione swore in her mind again. She had completely forgotten that Malfoy was in charge of patrolling this floor.

"None of your business, Malfoy," Ginny said coolly as she kept a tight hand on Harry's wrist to prevent him from charging. "We didn't realize it was so late; we'll be going now. Thanks for the warning; have a nice night," She gave him a sarcastic wave and a wide, false smile. "Run along now."

Malfoy gave her a revolted leer. "Sorry, Weasley, but duty calls." He pulled his wand out. "I'll ask again: what are you doing here?"

Ginny spoke up again before Hermione or Harry could open their mouths. "All right, Malfoy, but you asked for it." She heaved an exaggerated breath. "Harry, Hermione, and I enjoy sneaking into deserted rooms of the castle and shagging the socks off each other--a ménage a trois, I believe it's called--and lucky for you, you just caught the post-coital phase otherwise you would have had to see for yourself just how much longer Harry's wand is compared to yours." She tilted her head impudently to the side. "Is that a satisfactory explanation?"

There was a long stunned silence as the other three gaped openly at Ginny. Did those words really come out of her mouth?

The quiet was broken by a huge, muffled snort of laughter from Harry. This set Ginny off with a long trail of giggles and Harry doubled over with mirth. Hermione was restraining her laughs with her hand although a part of her was anything but amused. After that incident in the library, she didn't think angering Malfoy would be a wise idea and she also couldn't help wishing that Ron could have witnessed his sister's cheek; he would have been a very proud older brother.

"I don't see what's so funny, Weasley," Malfoy's drawl managed to penetrate clearly through the laughter. "You do know what happened to the last Weasley who spoke to me in that manner, don't you?"

The hilarity in the room vanished instantaneously.

"What did you say?" Harry demanded.

"Harry," Ginny warned, eyes wide.

"You heard me, Potter," Malfoy hissed.

"Don't ever talk about him!" Ginny ordered harshly to Malfoy while tugging Harry back towards her.

Harry ignored her. "Do you know where he is?"

"Do I?" Malfoy shot back.

"Tell me, god damn it!" Harry exploded, straining to reach Malfoy and pummel his face into it was an unrecognizable, bloody pulp.

Ginny was turning beet red with exertion as she dragged a thrashing Harry backwards a few feet just to be safe. "Hermione, help me!" she shouted. She glanced over at her friend. "Hermione?"

Hermione had yet to move ever since Malfoy had entered the room. She was simply standing there, head cocked slightly to the side, staring directly at the Slytherin with an indecipherable expression on her face. She was coping with some very, very odd ideas and thoughts racing through her analytical mind and although she didn't like what she was thinking at the moment, she couldn't help concluding the validity of her thoughts. Malfoy hadn't given her a second glance after striding into the room but Ginny's shout had brought his attention back to her. Hermione met his gaze and she couldn't help noticing that his eyes were a very similar shade of blue as Ron's. The major difference was that Ron's exuded emotion and integrity while Malfoy's were simply plain cold and dead. He sneered at her, daring her to respond to his insulting comments.

She held his gaze. "Harry, Ginny," she said slowly. "Don't hate me for this." You either, Ron. She could hear the sounds of Harry and Ginny's struggling dissipating but her eyes never strayed from Malfoy's cold face. She supposed he was good-looking in a strictly textbook, classical way. It was too bad that there was no decency to support his attractiveness which made him, in Hermione's book, the most repulsive human being on the face of the planet. But if it got Ron back...

Hermione took two long steps forward, seized Malfoy by the cheeks, and pressed his lips against hers.

Malfoy's lips were almost unbearably pencil-thin and chapped so they chafed roughly into hers. He was stock still when she had first grabbed him so they were simply smashing lips together. But as she correctly assumed, once the surprise wore off, he began to react and kiss her back, rather poorly. She bit the inside of her lips so there was no chance in hell that his tongue could invade in unwelcome territory. That didn't stop him from trying though and the sensation of his slimy tongue bumping into her tightly clenched mouth that her stomach churned and she almost had to open her mouth to actually vomit all over him.

This was so incredibly disgusting!

What the hell do you think you're doing??!!

Hermione wrenched away from her archrival and closed her eyes so she could concentrate on the wonderful, welcomed presence in her thoughts. "Ron?" she breathed.

Are you kissing Malfoy????

Shut it, Ron, Hermione thought angrily. She didn't have time to explain what had just happened. She could scarcely believe that this had actually worked, but there he was, she was certain of it. It was rather different and odd this time--there hadn't been that rush of emotion and dizzying rush until she had abruptly and roughly been shoved into Ron's subconscious. This was much gentler almost as though Ron had in a very controlled fashion slipped inside of her thoughts and now was speaking to her. It was as though she was simply having yet another row with him, as though he was standing right next to her, ears and face red as he glared furiously at her and Malfoy. But at the same time it was different because she could sense every, single thing he was thinking. She knew that he was furious and shocked that she had done something like that but at the same time he didn't care because he could tell that she still was crazy about him and had done it to get his attention. She could tell that his left leg was bothering him, his scars on his arms were prickling like mad, and he had an almost unbearably horrendous headache. Luckily, the aftereffects of the Cruciatus Curse appeared to have worn off. She didn't like that he was so incredibly exhausted and that he was too weak to even stand, but he was alive. He was alive and thinking coherently and if she could just keep connected with him for a bit longer, maybe she could get out of the hell he had to be going through. Where are you?

That was Malfoy!!

RON, Hermione screamed internally. Where--are--you?

A pause. I don't know.

Hermione deflated in defeat. You don't know?

No. I didn't know we could actually talk like this.

Me either. Hermione was too upset that she couldn't rescue Ron to really care that they had progressed to the next level of empathic ability. It was really as though they were having a conversation in their minds which was absolutely extraordinary. Do you know anything about where you are?

England somewhere, in some castle. I think it's owned by some Death Eater.

Which one?

Dunno. I've only seen Dolohov and the Lestranges a few times; the others I don't recognize.

Well, that plan just went to hell, Hermione thought bitterly, not intending Ron to hear that, but of course he did.

You'll think of something.

She smiled at his steadfast faith. Are you all right, she asked almost timidly, not sure she really wanted to hear the honest truth but knowing that she would. She would be able to tell if Ron lied to her--it was as though she could see every single corner of his mind. It was an overwhelming, exhausting sensation to be overcome with two different people's very different thoughts, but that didn't matter because it was also an extremely glorious feeling that it was Ron that she was swallowed within. It was becoming difficult to discern where she ended and Ron began.

I've been better, Ron answered honestly. She could tell he wasn't telling her the reality of the situation but when she tried to explore the nook of his mind where the entire truth lay, Ron shifted positions so she was once again blocked.

Ron, she scolded. Tell me.

Nope.

It amazes me, Ron Weasley, that you are even this irritating in empathic communication. Tell me something that can help us find you!

Shit.

What?

I'll talk to you soon.

No, wait! Ron! "Ron!" Hermione protested out loud as she felt him pop out of her mind. Now the familiar dizzying rush washed over her as she came back fully into herself and some unknown force was able to keep her wobbly legs from locking and collapsing.

"What? What did you see?" Harry demanded. She opened her eyes--when did she close her eyes? He was standing in front of her, his hands on her upper arms; he must have been the one to prevent her from falling--how did Harry get in front of her? Ginny was standing off to the side, watching her worriedly. Hermione shook her now fuzzy mind to clear it; this was so odd. She didn't particularly fancy being this disoriented but she certainly did fancy the thought of having conversations with Ron even though he could potentially be miles away from her and in the hands of mortal danger.

"He doesn't know where he is," Hermione reported, hand going to her forehead. "Some castle in England that he thinks is owned by a Death Eater--maybe Dolohov or the Lestranges. He's been injured--his left leg is really bothering him but I can't tell why, but his thoughts are clear and he's very coherent which is a good sign. He's just waiting for us to find him,"

"Good girl," Harry praised with a squeeze to her arms. "It gives us a start," He shook his head in disbelieving pride. "Can I just say that was without a doubt the most disgusting thing I've ever seen in my life?"

"Be lucky you didn't have to be doing the actual kissing," Hermione retorted wryly, grimacing at the lingering taste of a Malfoy on her lips.

Harry and Ginny looked equally revolted and Harry quickly changed the subject. "I better owl Remus about this,"

"Harry, this isn't something you put in a owl," Ginny reminded him as she restrained him from racing out of the room. "I know Hedwig is the best owl there is, and she always delivers her messages safely and everything, but if Umbridge can intercept her, than anyone can," Harry gaped at her with a slightly dropped mouth.

"Ginny's right, Harry," Hermione said, shaking her head to rid herself of the final cobwebs that were still clouding her thoughts. Head clear, she frowned at the sight of Harry still gaping at Ginny. "Harry?"

"You're brilliant!" Harry told Ginny hoarsely. He seized both of Ginny's hands in delight. "Brilliant! Why didn't I think of it before!"

"Think of what?" Hermione and Ginny chorused.

"Hedwig," Harry explained. "Hedwig can find anyone!"

Hermione gasped and covered a hand over her mouth. Ginny was bouncing up and down with glee, still clutching Harry's fingers tightly.

"I don't know about you two," Harry finally released Ginny's hands and backed towards the door, the mischievous smile that no one had seen in a long time plastered across his face, "but I rather feel like sending an owl, don't you?"