Deny

Hermione stared down at the thick golden band that she wore on her left ring finger. It glinted in the waning sunlight as she turned it first one way, and then another. She dropped her hand to her lap and lifted her eyes to the horizon, where brilliant shades of orange and red stretched across the evening sky. It had been two years that she'd been married to Ron before he'd died, and somehow it seemed fitting to her that today, the anniversary of his departure, the sunset reflected so many hues of red.

Without her realizing it, a wry smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. She missed him, and she missed the laughter that he'd always brought into a room with him. Ironically enough, it wasn't the war with Voldemort that had finally been his undoing; it had been his own weak heart. One evening while they'd been outside working in the garden together, he'd suffered a heart attack. She'd done everything she could to revive him, but to no avail. His heart was simply too weak.

They'd buried him on a Thursday, in the same small cemetery that Harry was buried in. She hadn't thought that she'd make it at the time; Harry's loss had been devastating for both of them, and they'd found solace in each other. Now that she'd lost both of the most important men in her life, she had no desire to have another relationship with another man.

She'd been living apart from the Wizarding world since Ron had passed, and that had been four years ago. She wasn't happy - but then again, she hadn't been truly happy since her husband had died. She glanced down at the wedding band that she still wore, and then raised her eyes to the sky one final time before going inside her home and closing the door behind her.

She awoke to the sound of an insistent tapping on her window. Grumbling, she pulled the covers back over her head and rolled onto her side. When the tapping came again, more insistently this time, she sat straight up in bed and glared. Her look of anger quickly faded into one of panic. There, at the window, was a caramel-colored owl with a rolled-up parchment attached to its outstretched leg. She hesitated for a moment before rising from the bed and opening the window.

She removed the parchment from the bird's leg and watched as it perched on her window. Inwardly she sighed. That meant that the bird's sender was expecting an answer, and expecting it quickly. She opened the parchment and scanned the page quickly, frowning as she read.

Miss Weasley,

It has been a while since our last contact, but I am in a great hurry, so there aren't time for formalities within this letter. I need you to do something for me. The Ministry is trying to prosecute a member of the Order, and false evidence is being garnered in an attempt to put this person in Azkaban for good. I need someone to hide him until I can clear his name, which is proving to be an exceptionally difficult task. What I must ask from you is that you hide him for me for as long as it takes for me to clear his name. I know that what I'm asking you is difficult - to take in a total stranger - especially after your voluntary removal from the Wizarding community; but you must know that this is the only course of action we have at the present time because of your detachment from all things magical. I shall await your response.

With thanks,

Albus Dumbledore

Hermione stared at the parchment as though it were a snake about to strike her. Could she really allow a stranger to come into her home and stay for an undetermined amount of time? And a male stranger, at that? She exhaled noisily and rummaged about for a pen. She already knew she would help Dumbledore, if for no other reason than Sirius' memory. She had always harbored a soft spot for innocent people being wrongfully persecuted. She found a pen and scribbled a quick response on the bottom of the parchment.

Professor,

I'll be glad to help in any way I can. Just let me know when to expect him.

Hermione Weasley

She rolled the parchment back up and handed it to the owl, who took off immediately. She stared out the window as she bit her fingernails down to the quick, ignoring the metallic taste of blood as she did so. She couldn't help but wondering if she had made the right decision; after being alone for so long, would she be able to tolerate another person in her home?

Two hours after she had sent the return owl to Dumbledore, there was a loud knock on her front door. With shaking hands, she unfastened the locks and opened the door. Her jaw dropped open as he stood there in the pouring rain, staring back at her.

"Well? Are you going to let me in, or not?" She closed her mouth and mutely stepped aside, watching as he brushed past her and into the sitting room. She closed the door and refastened the locks, ignoring the derisive snort that the gesture elicited from him.

She turned around and leaned her back against the front door, and stared unabashedly at him. He sat down in her favorite overstuffed armchair, wet cloak and all, and returned her gaze unflinchingly. She wasn't sure how long they stayed like that before she realized that her stomach was growling at her. She hadn't eaten all morning, and now it was nearly lunchtime. She tore her eyes away from his and headed to the kitchen.

He rose and followed her noiselessly, finally coming to rest in the doorway as he leaned against the doorjamb. She moved automatically, devoid of any thought, as she went about her task of preparing lunch. He wondered at her silence; it unnerved him. He had known that Dumbledore had not told her who she would be harboring when he'd asked her, and had been fully expecting some sort of outburst from her upon his arrival. When she had simply stared at him, he'd taken the opportunity to do the same and study her.

The last time he'd seen her had been during their tenure at Hogwarts. Back then she'd still had bushy hair and a burgeoning pubescent body, and she'd still been the know-it-all of the school. Time had obviously wrought changes on her - her once shiny hair was now dull and hung in limp waves down her back. The eyes that he remembered as being so full of spirit and life looked haunted now, and it gave her the appearance of someone much older than he knew her to be. Her body looked too small for the clothes it was in; she was thin and looked as though she was wasting away.

He frowned to himself as he watched her prepare the food. She filled two plates with it - one plate held a whole sandwich and sliced vegetables, while the other plate held only a few vegetables. She reached up to withdraw two glasses from the cabinet, and he winced. The hem of her shirt had ridden up as she reached, baring the lower part of her stomach and exposing her prominent ribs to him. He was relieved when she put her arms down, and watched as she poured two glasses of milk.

It was only then that he realized that she had not used magic at all since he'd come in. The lines of his frown deepened. Of course he'd been told that she no longer moved in circles of the Wizarding community, which was why Dumbledore had thought her home to be the safest place for him until everything could be straightened out. She picked up her own glass and plate and moved into the dining room with them.

He moved into the doorway of the dining room and folded his arms across his chest, staring at her. After she had bitten into a carrot stick and taken a drink of milk, she sighed.

"I'm not going to wait on you. You can carry your own food in here, unless you'd rather eat in the kitchen." When he said nothing and remained unmoved, she shrugged. "Fine." She took another bite of the carrot stick and forced it down with another drink of milk. When she had swallowed everything, she rose from the table and rinsed her things out in the sink. He watched as she did everything methodically, as though she had done it a million times in the past. When the dishes were in the strainer, she turned to him.

"You can have the bedroom down the hall. It's the last door on the left. The bathroom is across the hall from your room, and it's the only one, so we'll have to share it. You can use whatever you want - the television, the computer, the kitchen - whatever." With that, she brushed past him and went down the hallway. He watched as she disappeared behind a door, and sighed when he heard the soft snap that meant she'd closed the door behind her.

Only then did he eat, and glance around at his surroundings. For all intents and purposes, this was going to be his prison for an undetermined amount of time. All he could do was try to endure it, and pray that Dumbledore found a way to clear his name soon.