SoulBands

Harry was gone for months at a time then, leaving news behind but never going into full detail. Hermione and Ron knew by intuition that Harry had faced death on more than one occasion. But Harry would never admit it.

There was a 'pop' as Ron Apparated inside Hermione's flat, bearing great news. He had to admit that it was far too early in the morning to be barging in her flat like that, so when silence met him upon his arrival, he wasn't surprised nor disappointed. Shuffling quietly into Hermione's kitchen, Ron grabbed an apple and began eating it distractedly as he headed to the drawing room, turning the Projector on and surfing the channels in search of the sports channel. Today was the Caerphilly Catapults versus The Prides. Not bad. This could prove to be a brilliant game.

Flopping onto the rocking chair, Ron heard a sound in Hermione's washroom that sounded like someone turning the water off. Shrugging, he returned his eyes toward the game and The Prides marked ten points right on cue.

"Ron?" he heard Hermione ask from the vicinity of the bathroom at the sound of cheers heard from the Projector.

"The Prides marked ten points. Don't worry," he said in guise of a greeting.

The bathroom door flew open to reveal Hermione dressed only in a pair of knickers and a Gryffindor Graduate tee shirt too large for her. He suspected she might have nicked it from him, because he remembered hers fitting to her body quite nicely. She was running a brush through her matter hair and made small puddles of water all around her. "You're awfully early," she remarked with a raise of her eyebrows.

Ron smirked. "Is that so bad?"

Hermione merely shook her head, chuckling, and pointed her brush at him. "Something has got to be tickling you or else you wouldn't be here catching me in my knickers and smiling like Momus bit your arse."

Ron turned off the Projector. "Well," he drawled out, clasping his hands over his lap, "if you care to know, I just now acquired a flat."

Hermione's mouth hung hugely agape and she stood shocked still, incapable of moving. "W-w-what?"

"That's right. I bought the flat I was telling you about. Thought it'd be cool to, you know, drop off and let you know so you can make your decision." He stared at her seriously despite the situation he'd caught her in. "You did consider my offer, didn't you?"

Hermione felt like an idiot. A complete, utter idiot. Leave it to her to forget about the one thing Ron had been talking about that was so hugely important to him. How could she have forgotten? Hermione plopped down on the couch, scratching her head distractedly while drenching the spot she was sitting on. "To tell you the truth, Ron, I... I forgot."

Ron burst out laughing. "Forgot? Hermione Granger, you can't be serious... You're serious?" he said, clearly astonished. "Oh, man, that has got to be a first." He chuckled a bit more, much to her displeasure, then became serious again. "But... would you like to move in with me? I'm telling you, the place is huge. I couldn't live alone in there without feeling like the biggest fool in the world. I'd go bonkers, there's too much room."

Hermione laughed. "That huge, eh?" She could, in fact, imagine Ron getting lost in a gigantic flat and calling for help with desperation in his voice, but she promptly banned the thought. That was mean. "Sure. One condition, though."

Ron was only radiant. "Anything, beautiful."

Hermione grimaced at his choice of wording. "I get a bathroom to myself."

Ron waved his hand in casual dismissal. "Pfft, women."

She swatted him. "Well, I'd like to keep my femininity intact, thank you very much."

"Your wish is my command."

Exactly twenty-five days later, Hermione sat on the couch, perusing through the stacks of letter and sorting them by recipient, then category. Friends, bills, family and job offers. Frowning at the latter, she carefully lifted her mug of coffee to her lips and sipped the hot liquid.

Lately, she had received more job offers from muggle companies than wizarding ones. It was a bit disappointing but she knew the War was accountable for the lesser number of jobs available in wizarding Europe. Dark creatures and Death Eaters everywhere inspired terror to witches and wizards, and Great Britain was no exception, if not worse, for the Dark Lord was known to roam the lands, therefore company owners in England, Scotland and Ireland were closing down shop and often went bankrupt. More often than not, it pleased the employees when their boss locked shop, even if it meant personal bankruptcy as well. But not only was it a guarantee of personal safety, it allowed them to protect their families.

However, Hermione did not care for hiding. She'd recoiled enough in the safety of her flat in Yorkshire, taking freelance writing jobs every odd week but not daring to take office anywhere in fear that Voldemort would know and kill her. It seemed futile, though. He already knew her blood status. He knew she was a 'mudblood', as Malfoy had incessantly called her in school. So why hide if he hadn't done anything yet? She knew she should be scared. After all, she was Harry's best friend and he knew she would be there for him no matter what. But she wasn't going to hide because of that. So as she munched on a bit of scone and swallowed with coffee, she picked up a letter from Bloomsburn with the firm intention to reply to their invitation to join their team of book publicists.

However she was distracted when two large freckled hands wrapped around her middle and proceeded to turn her heart to jelly. Seemed he did this nicely without so much of a second thought, lately.

"See you've finally made up your mind..." he said.

"Ociwan was hit by Death Eaters two days ago. Not very inviting."

Ron proceeded to draw a trail of feather-light lines up her spine before beginning to gently massage her shoulders exactly where her stress had built up in the last few months. "What about Korpes? They were leading after Ociwan, weren't they?" he asked, apparently remembering the little bit of information she'd provided him after a hearty talk about her work direction.

Hermione sighed, drawing her legs underneath herself. "It's no use, is it? I mean, no one is going to pick up a book after the fire... no one. And no one will be inspired to write a book. It'll all be about survival and hiding. So I think it's safer if I opt for the non-magical companies. The sales are going well and no one suspects there's a war going on under right their noses."

Ron said nothing but his hands busied themselves elsewhere. He worked at the nape of Hermione's neck, eliciting a soft mewl of content from her part as she closed her eyes and relaxed under his touch.

"I never thought I would get so many replies, though. Twenty-three. I counted them."

Ron shifted to sit on the back of the couch, hovering just above her, and peered down at the tea table. Hermione caught a whiff of soap and cologne as he looked over her shoulder. "Did you..." he drawled. "I got three in so many days," he said, picking his job replies from the table and proceeding to open the topmost one. "Well, Dagenfern's closing down. No point in re-applying anytime soon," he mused bitterly.

Hermione turned in her seat to face him and stared up into his eyes as he read the next one to himself.

"Omega Forces is accepting me but their study course is rumoured to be complicated." He looked up at Hermione quizzically, silently asking her for her opinion, though he thought he knew exactly what her next words would be.

Hermione nodded at him. "Ron, if you're accepted, you should give it a shot. It's not everyday that you encounter someone with the grades to make it to the biggest Magical Law Enforcement schools."

Ron shrugged and passed on to the next letter. His face suddenly became covered in a sheen red blush that profused from his cheeks up to his ears and hair roots. "Bloody fame," he grunted before making a ball with the parchment in his fist and throwing it at the furthest wall.

Hermione cocked her eyebrow and giggled at his face, which had reddened considerably. "What was that one about?" she scoffed.

"No clue," Ron replied quickly, studiously avoiding her gaze.

Hermione's interest was furthermore piqued. "Oh, come on. Don't feed me that codswallop."

Ron's ears reddened to the tips, matching his flaming hair remarkably. "Err, some bird."

"A girl?" Hermione scoffed, in the mood for some teasing. "What did she want?"

"HarryandItoherselfandohshewantsyoudead," he said all in one breath.

"Come again?" Hermione asked, befuddled.

Ron grimaced. "Nevermind." He looked around conspirationally, then, and finally slid to Hermione's level. "I am forever doomed," he stage-whispered dramatically in her ear, making Hermione shiver as his breath stirred the hairs sticking out from behind her ear.

She chuckled a bit and laid her head happily on Ron's chest.

Ron felt a tightness in his heart at this close contact, but he asked anyway what was toying in his head. "I wonder what happened to Harry. It's been weeks now."

Hermione tensed and then sighed. "I heard on the Wireless that the Dark Lord was seen heading to Norfolk. Harry must be at his tail constantly for him to be moving around so much. But..." Here she pulled away, sadness and emptiness filling weary chocolate eyes. "Ron," she said with a tautness tugging at her throat, "I don't want to think about him right now. It just serves to remind me that he's out there right now and could die any second from now. I constantly look at the ring expecting it to be turning black, but tonight I don't want to be reminded. Please."

Ron nodded, understanding her request. "Yeah, me too," he said quietly, fingering his ring absently. Unknowingly, he slipped an arm around Hermione's shoulder protectingly and laid his head next to hers gently. Ron's breath on her cheek felt like a small gush of relief. "He'll come back to us, I know that." Pushing a stray lock of hair away from her face, he continued with a small reassuring smile. "But we have to stick together, you and I."

Harry made another cameo appearance halfway through that month, dropping in to rest, eat and pull himself together before hasting away again.

Ron had regarded him distractedly from the kitchen, where he had been unloading the dishwasher with a bit of magical help. "You got my letter, then?"

Harry had sat neatly at the table, eyes dark and mysterious and devoid of all and any emotion. Hermione thought it was sad that he'd turned out this way. Harry had been recoiling away from feeling, before, yes, but now he just didn't give way at all.

"Obviously, otherwise I wouldn't be here," he had replied snappily.

Hermione, from her perch at the dinner table, had pursed her lips. "Harry, Ron was only asking. We've been worried, you know. There isn't a day I don't wonder what's happened to you." She folded her hands neatly on the table and was met with the faint glint of the ring sitting on her finger. "Then I glance at my ring and I'm at least reassured that you're still alive... but for how long?" She sighed wearily.

Ron wandered into the dinner area warily and gingerly pocketed his wand, letting it pop out from his jeans casually. "Harry, mate," he said before grabbing a chair and sitting down on it with the back on the front. "Listen, we moved in here because we thought it would be safer for the both of us. See, this place is Screened. Anyone with bad or evil intentions will see themselves shipped to Uzbekistan or something. I have to thank Hermione for installing the wards. Brilliant work," he beamed quickly at her, winking.

But Harry's mood had not lifted. "What do I care for Screens?" he grunted, staring off in the distance.

Hermione stole a worried glance at Ron and bit her lip, helpless to Harry's reckless behaviour.

And yet he surprised them both with his next request. "How about some of that Sleeping Draught, eh? Could use some knocking out for a couple of hours."