The Heiress

I thought it'd be awful being cooped up in that bleeding parlour with Hermione recovering and barely anything except the overdecorated chairs for company. Then I thought it'd be awful being cooped up there in that bleeding parlour with people nittering about all the time, constantly underfoot. And then I thought it'd be awful being cooped up in that bleeding parlour with no one around and Hermione and I having nothing to do but stare at each other and wish the last few days had never happened.

Turns out, it wasn't any of that. It was pretty nice, actually, and sometimes bordered on being sodding brilliant.

First off, Mrs. Charlotte Elizabeth Anne Mary Regina Victoria Stafford-Bolingbroke was one tough bird. She hid it under that white hair and sugary smile, but she wasn't some fusty old Muggle lady with her nose always in the air. That became evident when she served us breakfast the morning after we'd all come. She mentioned that she was actually Mrs. Bolingbroke-Stafford but changed it around so that she wouldn't be known as "Mrs. B.S." She said, though, that she'd preferred being called "Ma'am," just like the Muggle queen.

She was a bit taken by fine things and the "quality" of her guests and the people she'd met. Apparently, her family had come from rich Muggles who "still walked the halls of power" or something like that. The way she talked about them, I half-expected that all written out, her family tree would've made the "Noble and Most Ancient House of Black" look like a bit of tissue paper. But she was really very kind and treated Hermione and me like celebrities. Even though the inn was full of other "quality" guests, she made it clear that we got first choice of everything. She and Ethan and Ethan's sister Charlotte came around enough to make sure we were comfortable, but not so much that we ever felt crowded.

The parlour really was pretty big when there weren't so many people in it. There weren't separate bechambers, but Hermione and I each had our own beds that could transfigure into sofas and back again. A good-size loo right beyond the French doors was almost as large as my old flat had been, and we had our meals in a little nook near the fireplace that managed to be both cosy and a little fancy. Ethan moved a section of the inn's library down to us so that Hermione could have her pick of books without having to go very far, and I was always able to borrow the Wireless to listen to Quidditch matches.

Since we weren't daft and assumed that Harry and Ginny's flat was being watched by the Ministry, they couldn't visit as much as they'd been able to when Hermione had been staying with me in my old flat. On the one hand, that meant not having to stomach any more of Ginny's meals, but on the other, it meant pretty dry days sometimes, so Hermione and I both were happy for the company whenever they could make it down.

I'd been wrong about Ethan, too. He wasn't anywhere near the pillock I'd taken him for when I'd first met him. He still goggled after Hermione, but seeing as he was doing so much for us, I figured I could manage to overlook it a bit. He was rather like our "owl" in that he was able to get messages to and from Harry and he brought us news from the Wireless about how the search for Hermione was going.

My opinion of him really took off when he mentioned he had a Wizard's chess set and that if I ever fancied a game, he'd be honoured. I didn't need to be asked twice, and I reckoned that I could teach the young bloke a thing or two about how it was done. Well, that didn't go anywhere. He was one of the best I'd ever played against; maybe only Perce and Bill had been better, and so our games sometimes stretched for hours.

Hermione spent much of the time talking with the old woman and the younger Charlotte. They kept her entertained with stories of some of the people who'd stayed there and their odd requests. One Muggle requested that his entire bathtub could be filled with peanut butter because he'd heard the Gainsevert was "that sort of place." It was - due to magic and all. They'd done as he'd asked and when he left, Charlotte had gone up expecting to have to use some pretty strong cleansing charms to get the tub back to rights.

"But it was already clean! Sparkling, in fact. We never did work out how he'd managed it. I actually had a few ideas, all of them a bit too disturbing to think about."

I looked up from the chessboard and saw Hermione going pink with laughter. It was a sound I hadn't heard much in the past few weeks. Happiness looked good on her.

I looked back down at the board and sent my rook into action. Ethan whistled admiringly.

"Nice move."

I took another look. "Not nice enough."

He just grinned and got his bishop going. About eight moves later, we were setting the board up again.

I rubbed my hand over my eyes. There didn't seem to be anything wrong with them, but I rubbed again just to be sure.

"Where'd you learn to play like this?"

"My dad taught me. He was actually pretty rubbish at it himself, but he was a wickedly good teacher," he said. "But if you want a really good game, you should have a go at my brother. If he'd been a Mug-, uh," he darted a look at his gran, whose nose was already quivering in his direction, "a non-magical being, he might've been a world-class player. I'm a bog roll compared to him."

I decided right then that if I ever met Ethan's brother, I wasn't going to mention chess.

"How would your brother have made a living at Wizard's chess as a Mug-, um, as a whosit?"

"We learned regular chess. Our dad was a Mug-, um, a you-know." He narrowed his eyes as a pawn marched forward. "Me and Geoff didn't even know Wizard's chess existed until we'd gotten to Hogwarts."

I shook my head, sending one of my own pawns on its way. "I've never met a family with almost as many you-know-whats as wizards, and you've got an uncle who's a Squib. That must've been weird."

"It might've been if we'd been more like what the typical magical family is, I suppose. More like yours."

I looked up sharply. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, aren't you Purebloods? It's as weird to me to think of being in a family where everyone can do magic as my family might seem odd to you."

"It's not odd really. It's just different." My voice came out harder than I'd meant it to. "We've been magical ever since there've been Weasleys and Prewetts. But we're not bigots or anything. We've been considered 'blood traitors' for a few generations now."

"I didn't mean any offence, Mr. Weasley," he said, giving a crooked smile. "It's just that my dad was just my dad and my mum is just my mum. Me and Charl are magical, but we might have children someday and maybe they'll turn out like Uncle Dolph. And if they do, what's the difference? Didn't you and Ms. Granger and Mr. and Mrs. Potter and my granddad and my mum and a lot of other people fight the Death Eaters so that things like that wouldn't matter?"

I really didn't have anything to say to that. I watched as he went about setting up his attack, and pretty soon found I didn't have anything to say to that, either.

~*~

My talk with Ethan looped through my mind the rest of the day, sticking down like a Jelly Slug that'd gone down the wrong way. It wasn't so much what he'd said about his family or mine, but just the idea of Purebloods in general that got my mind turning. Squibs were a rarety in the magical world. I'd only known a few myself - old Filch, and then my mum's cousin, and the old girl who'd lived next to Harry's Muggle family in Little Whinging.

Whetwistle had said he was a Squib, which had been a lie. But Squibs aren't kept track of in the Ministry since for the most part, they're sent off to live like Muggles the way Ethan's uncle had been. And Susan had said there'd been nothing at the Ministry that said Whetwistle had ever been born.

But that couldn't be right - not only wasn't he a Squib, he was a Pureblood, and there's never any reason to think that Purebloods won't have a magical sprog. And not only was Whetwistle a Pureblood, he'd been a rich one and had influentual friends and all. So it didn't seem possible that the Ministry didn't know about Gregory Whetwistle. And he'd been a Death Eater with a Dark Mark and all, so I couldn't make out how they would just let him run about as free as a House-elf with socks on. His father'd had money, but that didn't mean much. Hadn't helped Malfoy in the end, had it? The Ministry would've had to have known something about him, so why insist that they didn't? It was something I wanted to run by Harry when he made his visit at the end of the week, but a bigger issue pushed that aside.

As the days stretched on and passed us by, I watched Hermione closely. There was something not quite right there, like a broom with the bristles put the wrong way. Her smiles seemed forced and she didn't have that much energy or any appetite. The old woman was a brilliant cook and I shoveled in pretty much everything she put in front of me, but Hermione picked at her food, pushing it around her plate the way I'd do whenever Mum served something I couldn't stand.

It took more han a week from Whetwistle's attack for Hermione to look like herself again. Except for a streak of red down her neck, her bruises were almost gone and her skin had lost that papery paleness. But still, she didn't much seem like herself. She read constantly, and kept up a nice chatter with everyone, but there was a hollowness in her eyes that was worrisome.

She caught me staring a few times and turned away with the same half-ashamed, half-incredulous look of someone who realised they'd left the door to the loo open while they were using it. When I asked her what it was all about, she said that it was just the stress of knowing she was being hunted down like a wild nogtail by the Ministry. I couldn't argue with that, but I thought there was more to the almost-panicked glances she shot at me sometimes during meals or when we were able to get a bit of air and walk around the grounds of the inn by way of Harry's Invisibility Cloak.

One damp afternoon when I didn't fancy getting my arse kicked across the chessboard by Ethan, I took a walk around the parlour to look at all the portraits. The old woman had taken us around before, pointing out Marquess Soandso and Viscountess Thisandthat, and other pinched-face Muggles wearing outfits so elaborate they made Gilderoy Lockhart's robes look like rags. I was always a little unnerved at Muggle portraits because they don't move and all, so I was relieved when I got to the wizarding side of the room.

Those pictures were mainly of her husband's family with a few of her grandchildren at Hogwarts thrown in. Then there were pictures of people playing Quidditch - older pictures taken long ago, even before my parents had been there. I saw one with Headmaster Dumbledore was in the crowd, and my throat tightened. I hurried on to the next picture, a tiny one sandwiched in between one of Ethan playing Gobstones and Charlotte with her first cauldron. I squinted and then I laughed when I figured out who it was.

"Hey, Hermione, come see this. It's old Binns when he was still alive. He's playing Quidditch and giving an earful to the referee. Cor, looks like he's about to nod off right in the middle of it, too."

I looked around. She had put the newspaper aside was staring at me with a half-pained expression. Any mention of Binns was enough to bring that look to my face, too, but it looked a bit out of place on Hermione.

"Didn't you hear me? Come over here and have a look. The referee doesn't look too spry either. Reckon Binns was going on about Uric the Idiot, or whoever it was?"

I turned around again and reared back. A cold chill prickled along my spine and up into my hair. A grimace had twisted her face into dark knots, her hand was trembling and there was a wild look in her eye. She rose up in odd, jerky motions and if she wasn't sure just how arms and legs were supposed to work. She rushed over, nearly tripping and skidded to a halt next to me, almost putting her face into the picture frame.

"What the bloody hell's wrong?" My heart was knocking against my teeth. "Hermione?"

"Nothing! It's a very interesting portrait." She sounded close to tears. "I'd like to lie down now, please, Ron."

She turned away and walked gingerly over the floor, like she didn't want to disturb the too-bright carpet fluff. She collapsed on the couch on it as if she'd propped up by a deflation charm that had just run out. I moved toward her, but Mrs. Stafford-Bolingbroke bustled in just then with lunch. I watched Hermione struggle with about two spoonfuls of soup before I stood up, grabbed the Invisibility Cloak and announced Hermione and I were going for a walk.

"In this nasty weather?" The old woman's eyebrows wiggled in disapproval. "Why, you'll catch your deaths!"

"It's not a worry. We'll be invisible, so maybe the rain won't notice us."

I'd meant it as a joke, but it came off flat. Without another word, I took Hermione in my arms, wrapped the cloak around us both and we went out the winding passageway that led outside. We'd promised Harry that we'd not wander too far out, just stick to the grounds, so that didn't give us a lot of room. Neither of us fancied going into that garden, not after what had happened the night we'd been there, and there wasn't much else to the Gainsvert.

It wasn't as chilly as it had been, even though it was raining, and the first hints of warmth and signs of spring were obvious in how green everything was getting and the buds of the trees that fanned out across the area. But I barely noticed. Once we got to a fairly comfortable, out-of-the-way area, I set Hermione down and we huddled on a dry bit of land.

"What was it that happened earlier?"

"Ron ... it's ... I'd rather not talk about it." She kept her eyes on the ground.

"It was something. Tell me." I smoothed out my voice when I saw her flinch. "You've barely been eating and you toss about in your sleep. I can almost understand that, considering what happened, but a minute ago, you looked like you'd gone mental. I know it's not great, being shut in so much of the time -"

"It's not that." She still wouldn't look at me. "It's ... I couldn't help it."

I had to fight a little to keep the impatience out of my voice. "I'm not blaming you or anything, I just want to know what's wrong."

"That is what's wrong." She looked up at me then and I felt that prickle along my spine again. "I ... was compelled to come when you called for me."

"You were ... what?"

"I didn't have a choice." She squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep, noisy breath. "I had to do as you asked. I didn't want to look at the picture right then; I was reading a very interesting article in the Prophet, but when you asked me again, I had no choice. I had to obey, just like ... like with Gregory ... when he ..."

I gaped at her as the meaning of it all seeped into my head. "You mean, when I say something, you have to do it?"

"Well, when you give me a directive. Like telling me to look at the pictures. It happens with Harry, too. And Ginny. Sometimes even with Charlotte, though she doesn't really tell me to do anything. It's anyone magical, it seems." She looked sideways at me. "If you say I must do something - eat a bit of mash, look at a picture, listen to this story ... I feel a pull, like I'm a marionette being dragged along by its strings."

I cursed sharply. "And you didn't think it was worth it to tell me this?"

"It's not as bad as it was with Gregory." I felt her shiver. "Perhaps because you're not screaming at me maniacally, I don't know. But I have to do as I'm told, just as I did with him. If I don't, my head feels like it's splitting in two and I feel absolutely exhausted with the effort of resisting. So most of the time, I try not to. I had thought the effects of whatever it was he put in my tea would have worn off by now, but apparently not."

"Is that why you can't eat?"

"I think so. I simply don't feel hunger and trying to eat causes pain, too."

"Bloody hell, Hermione, this is serious!" Fear and guilt gave my voice a sword's edge. "You should've told me! What if I'd kept after you to eat or to play chess with me or to stay up and talk? I could've killed you!"

"I don't think so, Ron. Gregory was apoplectic with rage and it made it a great deal worse. Only if you'd been as angry as he would I have been in that sort of danger."

"But I still hurt you! Dammit, I could've belted up before now if you' d said something!"

I forced myself to calm down, but it was no use. I wasn't angry at her. It was Whetwistle. That arsehole had done this to her, and now he was dead and we were about as close to answers as a manticore was close to becoming Gryffindor's official mascot.

"I'm getting Harry over here today. We've got to figure out what this is and how to make it stop."

She frowned heavily. "But Harry and Ginny were going to come visit tomorrow -"

"Bugger that, it can't wait." Harry and Ginny usually visited Saturdays but this week they wanted to come Sunday for some reason. "This is serious as hell, Hermione. It's been more than a week since ... all that. Doesn't seem like that potion should still be affecting you and if it is, we've got to figure out how to make it stop."

I gathered her in my arms and made my way back to the inn's side door. She was quiet, and I could tell it was taking her effort to hang on to me.

"I'm sorry about earlier. It wasn't that great a picture, anyway."

Hermione laughed weakly, but I could seeing her biting back a cry of pain and her head hung back limply. My stomach knotted and I it was all I could do to not run.

~*~

I didn't nance about. After I'd gotten Hermione as comfortable as I could on a couch, I went to Ethan and told him to tell Harry to come down. I don't know how he managed it, since the system we'd worked out with Harry took a bit of time to unfold, but about 10 minutes after I'd cornered Ethan, Harry and Ginny were walking through the curtains. The old woman seemed to sense something tense and dangerous was happening and she left us to it with a bit of mulled wine and some cookies. Hermione was dozing nearby and I filled them in on what had happened that day and what Hermione had told me.

Harry stood up and paced, massaging the bridge of his nose the way he did when he was digging hard into his memory and not liking what was coming up. He looked over at Hermione then turned to me.

"You said you thought Susan Bones knew something about this potion, Ron?"

"I'm almost positive. There was just something about the way she acted when I went into what Whetwistle said the potion was supposed to do."

Harry nodded thoughtfully. "I've heard from Urdsmore today. Apparently, the Minister's not too happy with Susan. it's said he gave her a right earful behind closed doors. No one's really sure why. It's the talk of the Ministry, but either no one really knows anything or they do and they've been instructed to keep it quiet."

I thought about the shifty look on her face and the way she all but pulled me down the hallway to get me out of there. I felt a little bad that she'd gotten in trouble. Letting me go probably wasn't exactly a brilliant career move.

"Brock said he'd try to get more information. What do you think she knows about it? "

"I don't know, but she was jumpy about it. You'd've thought I was a Blast-Ended Skrewt the way she shoveled me into the lift. She told me that a potion version of Imperio was impossible, but the way she said it, she didn't sound too convinced."

"How would she know what it was?" asked Harry, frowning. "I got a N.E.W.T. in Potions and DADA, too, and I've never heard of anything like this. A potion that can act like an Unforgivable wouldn't go unnoticed for very long."

"Maybe it would. Maybe Susan does know about it, but not for the reason you may think."

We all looked around. Hermione was slowly rising to a sitting position, her hand pressed against her head.

"Hermione, you should be resting -"

"It's all right, Ginny. I feel a little better." She swung her legs off the couch and melted against the cushions. "I've been thinking about this. There are ... things, drugs, actually, that - that Muggles, men usually, use to make a woman ... complacent. Usually they're put into an alcoholic drink. When she takes it, she becomes unaware, tired, confused, and very vulnerable. In that state, these men can have their way with them."

We all looked at each other. Ginny made a choked sound. "Merlin, Hermione, Muggles actually do that?"

She nodded slowly. "And maybe wizards, too." Colour burned in her cheeks. "This potion could be the magical version of those horrible drugs. It's clear what Gregory wanted to do with me and he knew just how to administer it. Susan's negative reaction might be due to a ... personal knowledge of it. It's awful to even think about, but there is a bright side. If someone did use this potion on Susan, it's obvious that it doesn't have any permanent lasting effects. It's also quite possible that it has been around in some form or another for quite some time, but the Death Eaters were able to make it more potent. Gregory did say his father had been quite masterful at dark potions. Susan's experience might have been so traumatic that she doesn't want to discuss it, but there might be stories of other women subjected to this, and if there are, there must be some information on a remedy."

"I can't believe it," Ginny said, shaking her head. "I've never heard about anything like this. Bill or Charlie or someone would've warned me before I got to Hogwarts, I think. When the gits in my year got a 'no,' the only tricks they tried were pouting and whinging."

"It might not be so easy for a Hogwarts student to get hold of or make," said Harry. "I'm going to ask Brock to pull some strings in Records and get a look at Susan Bones' file. If she had something like that happen to her, it'll be in there."

"Harry, you can't!" Even as horrible as she must've been feeling, Hermione still managed to that insufferable know-it-all tone that had driven us mad back at Hogwarts. "That's an invasion of Susan's privacy!"

"I can't worry about that, can I?" Harry said acidly, stopping his pacing. "And it's got nothing to do with privacy - it's lives I have to worry about, yours and other people's."

"I understand that, but it's not Susan's problem, nor anyone else's. It's only mine and I don't feel comfortable with someone rooting around in her confidential personnel records!"

Harry whipped around and unleashed a glare that even made me flinch."Your body hurts. You can't eat. You have splitting headaches. You can barely sleep. Doesn't any of that sound familiar?"

A deep frown knotted her eyebrows together. "I don't know what you mean."

But suddenly I did, and it made me want to throw up. "Whetwistle's daughters."

Harry nodded grimly. "Same symptoms. That's it. That must be the answer. He gave them this potion. And it's killed one of them already and killing the others, bit by bit. They're not proper witches. Magical potions can have disastrous effects on Muggles, and dark potions can kill them. Healer Kilcairn said it was strange that with all the symptoms she'd had, Marie Whetwistle had lingered as long as she had. Well they're not witches, but their not Muggles, either. They're Squibs. That might be why Marie lasted as long as she had and Sarah is still hanging by a thread. But we all know what the outcome for her will be. We have to find out what this is and how to neutralise it."

There was no arguing with that, and Hermione agreed that in that case, Harry and Urdsmore had to take whatever measures were necessary to find that information. I listened to everything, and the idea that plans were being made should've satisfied me, but it didn't. I remembered the mental look on Whetwistle's face when he told Hermione he'd not poisoned his daughters. I believed him. And that meant that whoever had done it was still out there. And he might not be done yet.

~*~

Harry and Ginny didn't stay very long. Harry wanted to grab Urdsmore and check into things about the potion. He advised us to just lay low and reminded me to be careful of what I said, as if I'd forget. If I could charm my mouth shut, I probably would've. Dinner was understandably quiet. Ethan, Charlotte and the old woman had other things to do, or maybe they figured Hermione and I did. But we just sat around not talking very much. She was able to eat a bit more than she had at lunch because, as she said, the quiet helped her to concentrate on enjoying her food. I didn't completely understand but I didn't want to argue.

Without the others around, I felt restless and anxious. I didn't want to bother Hermione, but there wasn't much else to do. There hadn't been any news over the Wireless and I thumbed restlessly through the Prophet. The only thing interesting there was a story about the Holyhead Harpies holding open tryouts for Seeker. I wondered if Ginny had seen it.

At some point, I dozed off with the newspaper still in my hand, and spent what seemed like hours tossing and turning. I didn't sleep easily. It felt like there was sand in my eyes and I couldn't get comfortable. I thought I heard voices on the edge of my consciousness and then it seemed like a bell was ringing, and not for breakfast, either. I turned over and landed on something hard - the floor.

"Ron?"

"Wha ...?" I surfaced and there was Hermione perched on the edge of the couch gazing down at me. "Whatimezit?"

"It's a bit after midnight. I didn't mean to startle you. Are you hurt?"

"S'okay." I pulled myself up. "Are you feeling all right?" A horrible thought struck me. "I wasn't talking in my sleep, was I? Did I ... do anything? Did I make you do anything?"

"No, no, it wasn't that. I heard the clock chiming and I thought you might still be up, that's all." She smiled at me and leaned down, giving me a gentle kiss. "Congratulations, Ron."

"Er ... for what? Not talking in my sleep and driving you spare?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Ron, it is after midnight."

"And?"

"And?" She gave a huff of surprise. "Ron, don't you know what day it is?"

"Um," I said intelligently. It was too late for me to make any sense of what was going on. I looked at the Prophet from the day before that was still clutched in my hand and flipped to the front page where Saturday, February 28 blared up at me.

It was like a smack in the head. Now I understood why Harry and Ginny had wanted to put off their visit an extra day and why Ginny had given me an extra-long hug before they'd left and said Mum and Dad sent their love. I could barely believe it. Usually my birthday was the highlight of my year, and I'd completely forgotten about it.

"Happy birthday, Ron." She saw I'd gotten the right end of things and went in for another of those light kisses. "How do you feel?"

"Well, I'm 35 now." It sounded strange to say it. "I feel so -"

" - If you say 'old,' I swear to Merlin I'll kick you."

" - Thirsty." I looked around and spotted the bottle of wine. "Join me in a drink - bugger! I'm - I'm sorry. I meant, would you like one?"

She smiled delicately at me, and since she wasn't going all red, I guessed I hadn't done any harm. I Accioed the bottle and poured it out for both of us. We toasted to my getting another year older and each had a hearty quaff.

"I know this isn't exactly how you envisioned spending your birthday. I'm sorry." She sloshed her wine around in the goblet. "Ginny was only teasing you. It's a bit brisk, but lovely in the Netherlands this time of year."

I shrugged. "It'll still be there my next birthday."

"I've been no end of trouble to you. I feel horrible." She went for another sip and made a pleased face. "I hope Harry can find a counteracting agent to this potion if only so that your life can return to normal."

"Don't worry about me. And besides, there's not just the potion. There's Whetwistle's killer to find - and his daughter's too."

She looked startled. "So you believe Gregory had nothing to do with that?"

"Why would he have lied to you? He didn't have anything to lose. He thought he'd had it all settled. Plus he was going to Obliviate you, so it's not like you would've remembered it."

"I ... know." She swallowed thickly. "I believed him too - about that. I hate that I actually feel sorry for him about anything. But I didn't want to tell Harry. I still feel ashamed about how awful I'd been to him. That he and Ginny have been so willing to help me after what I said ..."

I'd nearly forgotten that when she'd come back to my flat after Whetwistle's death, she'd said she and Harry had rowed. I thought about the clipped way he'd spoken to her earlier that night and had to wonder.

"It couldn't've been that bad. You and Harry have rowed before. This'll blow over, too."

"No, Ron. We've never rowed like this. He ... agreed with you. That I was mad to even think of marrying Gregory." She paused. "I told him what happened between you and me, about our row in your flat the morning after .... well, you know, everything you said, and he ... he said you were right and that I was lucky not to have gotten worse from you. He said I was selfish and that you'd put your life ahead of mine so many times and that he was surprised you didn't toss me out yourself ..."

"Harry said all that?"

"He was furious with me. Ginny tried to calm him a bit, but I'd never seen Harry so angry. Not at any of us, anyway. And I ... said things back to him. Horrible things." Her eyes were shining. "I told him I didn't need his help I'd be happy to leave their flat since I'd nearly gotten killed the last time I was there, so I'd likely be better off. Oh, I knew it wasn't anyone's fault and I was so hateful to him about it! And Ginny saved my life, but I was just so ... so ... angry! I was angry about all that was happening and I didn't think Harry was being fair. It's no excuse; I wouldn't have blamed him if he never wanted to see me again, and not only did he come when he heard about what happened with Gregory, he got into trouble with the minister and was nearly sacked for it. I don't think he's quite forgiven me, either. I think in some ways, he's doing this for Ginny's sake. And ... maybe ..."

She trailed off, looking away. But I understood what she'd been about to say - that Harry was doing it for me. But I knew that wasn't true. Hermione couldn't know how Harry had worked hard to stay neutral after the trial and after she'd left. He'd had pretty much nothing to say when I married Daphne except a few colourless words that let me know he thought I was being a git. I didn't half think that Harry had wound Hermione up on purpose in hopes that she'd come back to me. And she had - but with a detour to Whetwistle along the way. I think that had Harry known that was a possibility, he wouldn't have let her leave his flat, no matter what she' d said to him.

"Harry loves you like a sister. You know that." I reached out and swept away the tears trickling down her face. "You'd think he'd be used to the mad way you go about things, but he's just worried and he doesn't want you going off doing something even more mental than usual."

I thought I saw a glimmer of a smile, but it was hard to be sure through the tears. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"No, that's what the wine's for. It's just the truth." I swallowed down my wine. "It all worked out anyway. There're worse places to hide out. It's probably a better deal than either of us would've gotten on our own."

"Maybe." She gave me one of those sideways looks I was coming to hate. "Ron, I have to tell you something and please don't get angry."

I didn't say anything for a minute while I tossed back what was in my cup and poured another, and downed that one, too.

"All right. I'm ready.Let's hear it."

She caught her lip between her teeth and looked down. "I ... I wasn't going to leave."

It was so far from what I'd been expecting, that it caught me up short. "Leave? What do you mean?"

"I mean, I wasn't going to follow your plan to get on a train or boat or anything and leave Britain. It was a good plan, but ... I wasn't going to do it."

"What? Bloody hell, Hermione, you promised!" I sounded like a whinging little prat, but I was already half-pissed, so it was about right. Disbelief and cold chills were coursing through me too hard to think properly. If I'd run across anyone except McLaggen ... if Susan had decided to have me interrogated - any number of things could've gone wrong, and that nether of us was dead or imprisoned for life was a wonder. "It was the one chance you had to get away!"

"I know I promised, but I couldn't!When it came down to it, I didn't feel strong enough to walk away and know we might never see each other again."

"You didn't think that way when you went to America!" Part of me understood that I wasn't playing fair, but it was all I had.

"That was different. I knew where you were. It made things more bearable somehow. Even when you were with - even when you were married," she ground that bit out like a person spitting out orange seeds, "at least I knew where I could find you. I couldn't go, Ron. Even if it meant Azkaban. I was writing you a letter -"

"I know. Ethan used the back of it to write you the instructions on reaching the parlour. All it said was that you 'couldn't.' I reckoned you were telling me you couldn't stay, which I already knew since I thought you were following my plan like you said you were going to!"

"I was going to write that I couldn't go." She half-smiled. "I wanted to explain myself in case ... well ... you know ... the worst happened. Which it didn't, thankfully. I can only think what those damp cells would've done to my hair."

"You're mental," I breathed, after I'd waited a minute to let it all sink in. "Completely cracked."

"Well I don't suppose I can't help it," Hermione said softly. "I do love you, after all."

I thought that over and grimaced. "Wait, are you saying it's mental to love me, then?"

"Oh, Ron ..." She smied a little, leaned forward and plucked the goblet right out of my hand. "I think that's enough of that for the moment. Shall we go to bed now?"

My head was whirling, and not from the drink either. "We?"

"Yes, Ron. We."

She nudged me over and climbed in, curling around my body and resting her head on my chest. I was quiet, barely moving and shoving down a spark of desire that was working its way up from my ankles and pooling in a very particular area. In minutes, she was asleep. In hours, I still wasn't.

~*~

Some stretch of time later where I'd somehow managed to drift off, I felt the air around me shift and then there were low voices above my head.

" ... Mr. Potter said to just be thankful not to ever walk in on them starkers."

"He didn't really say that, did he?... Mr. Weasley sleeps starkers sometimes?"

"Don't sound so shocked, Charl. And don't look so excited. What would he want with a sprig like you when he has a dish like Ms. Granger?"

"You're such a pig! Ms. Granger is one of the most brilliant witches who ever lived and you're thinking of her as a common sex object!"

"Well, it's not exactly her brains I can see from where I'm standing."

I lifted my eyelids and two young faces swam into focus.

"Maybe you should stand somewhere else, then."

Ethan jumped back and nearly fell on his arse. "Mr. Weasley! You're awake!"

"Now you're the one who sounds disappointed, mate." I heard his sister giggling, and he eyed her balefully while still trying to smile at me. It made him look a bit mad.

Hermione was wrapped around me in a complicated series of twists and turns and to make things even more brilliant, my feet had gotten entangled in the covers. I felt damp, my back was killing me, and I reckoned I was going to have to be peeled off the couch eventually, but I didn't really want to move.

"What's going on?"

"We didn't mean to disturb you, Mr. Weasley." Ethan was shifting from one foot to the other and doing a pretty good job of keeping his eyes on my face. "We came for the goblets."

"Goblets?" I was too tired to do anything more than sound like an idiot, apparently.

"Yes, Gran likes them washed and locked in the cupboard. They were Granddad's and she's very attached to them," said Charlotte. "Oh, we're so sorry that we woke you. We were just going, unless there's anything else we can do for you."

Hermione stirred against me, stretching her arms over her head and giving the sort of large, contented yawn her ruddy cat used to after he'd tried to eat one of my socks. She settled down again and I had to blow some of her hair out of my mouth before I could answer.

"No, I think we're all right here, thanks."

"Well, good night, then, Mr. Weasley." Charlotte's eyes darted briefly to Hermione and her lips flattened into a worried line. "There was one thing - Gran wanted to know if Ms. Granger is finding the food satisfactory? She's been noticing that she barely touches her plate. Is there something she particularly likes that we could fix for her?"

"Er, no. It's all right. The food's brilliant, really." I looked down at her and raised the blankets a bit. "Hermione's just ... not feeling up to eating much right now. Stomach's a bit wonky, and that."

Ethan grimaced in sympathy. "Well, let us know if we can help any there, too. Gran has some Muggle things for a bad stomach and Mum has a whole bunch of medicinal potions stocked up."

"Thanks, but unless one of them's a cure for a potion form of Imperio, I think none of it'll help much," I muttered darkly, half to myself.

I didn't expect either of them to understand or even hear me that well. Just as I'd figured, there was puzzled frown on Ethan's face. But the look on Charlotte's face was a lot different. It wasn't the twitchy unease of Susan or the horror of Hermione and Ginny. It was surprise.

"The potion? I haven't heard about that in years!"

"You've heard of it?" I went to sit up, but Hermione's elbow was in an inconvenient location, and I didn't want to risk it. But I fixed my eyes eagerly to Charlotte's face."When? Where?"

"It was a long time ago, Mr. Weasley." She shrugged. "I only remember it because it was so odd and ridiculous. Well, then, goodnight -"

"No, wait a minute. I want to hear about this."

I worked to unwind myself from the couch without disturbing Hermione. It took some doing, and that elbow of hers did some damage, but I was able to slide out from under her without jostling her enough to wake her. I nodded toward the far side of the room, and we moved soundlessly over there. I thought about casting Muffliato, but I remembered what Hermione had said after I'd Stupefied her and decided that talking quietly would have to do.

"Where did you hear about it?"

"Mr. Weasley, really, it was all just nonsense," the girl said, starting to look a little annoyed. "I'm sorry I brought it up, but when you mentioned something about a potion form of Imperio ..."

"It's not," I said quickly. "It's almost certain that Hermione and others have been poisoned by it."

"W-what? But that's not possible -"

"You want to know why Hermione can't eat? That potion's why. It's doing Merlin knows what to her and it's already killed a girl. She died slowly and in pain and she was barely eleven years old. It ate her insides away, a Healer said. So there's your bloody rubbish."

She backed away from me slowly, as if she feared I was going to smack her. I suppose I didn't have the kindliest expression on my face then. Maybe it was good that I was scaring her. It was scary business, even more so now that I knew someone as young as Charlotte was aware of it. If Hermione was right about what the potion was used for ...

Ethan put a hand on his sister's shoulder and gave her a little shake. "Bloody hell, if you know something, Charl, then come out with it!"

"Oh, I ... it's just that I don't know anything really." Her eyes darted around and the goblets shook in her hands. "It was back at Hogwarts, and that was 10 years ago ..."

"Did you take this potion?" I asked, already dreading the answer. "Did some bloke slip it into your pumpkin juice so that he could have his way with you?"

"No! Why would you think that?" She wrinkled her nose at me. "That's what I'm trying to say, Mr. Weasley, I've never seen this potion and I never really thought it existed."

"Then how do you know about it?"

"It ... there was an article about it," she said, biting her lip. "In The Quibbler."

I was caught short by that, torn between relief that she'd not been dosed with it and disbelief that The Quibbler had entered the conversation. Next to me, Ethan groaned.

"Oh, Merlin's arse, Charl, you might've mentioned that before you got Mr. Weasley's hopes up. Of course anything in that rag was pure rubbish!"

"Not everything! And you're forgetting it was edited by a Ravenclaw -"

"Not everything? Oh, right, I forgot about that brilliant article about hippogriff droppings causing scalp chancre in wizards over age 20. Why else do you think I wear a hat when I go out to the endangered creatures preserve?"

I gestured for Ethan to shut it. I reckoned I'd given as much attention as that to The Quibbler in the past, but I didn't want to hear it now. For one, Xeno Lovegood had gotten more than one story right over the years, and for another, there was nothing else to go on.

"Just tell me what the article said."

"Well ... it just mentioned that the Ministry had developed some potion that was like Imperio in a bottle. Very nasty."

"The Ministry developed it?" I staggered a little. "Are you sure?"

"Positive. It actually caused a lot of commotion, from what I can remember. I was a second year and I remember there was first year in my house, a rather posh bit of business named Archana Boot. Popular, if you were into that sort. She said both her parents had been in Ravenclaw with Luna Lovegood - that's the editor's daughter, you know -"

"- I know who she is." I reckoned Charlotte hadn't cracked open the Compendium or History of the Second Wizarding War lately. "Go on."

"Well, Archana said her parents told her Luna Lovegood and her dad were both as dotty as a centaur with spattergroit. But Archana said her dad was upset about the story and that some people in the Ministry might get sacked over it. There were others in Ravenclaw whose parents were in the Ministry and they seemed concerned, too."

"Why? What else did the story say other than that the Ministry made it?"

"Well, I think it said that it was supposed to be used on those Death Eaters." Her voice lowered until it was almost an exhaled breath. "You know, the ones who were hiding in Wales and got killed by those Aurors?"

"I remember." I felt like I had gravel in my mouth. "Used on them how?"

"The way Imperio is used on others ... to make them do things ... things like ... like ..." Her mouth pulled into a small frown of concentration. "I'm sorry, Mr. Weasley, I don't remember. As I said, it was too fantastic to be believed. There was nothing in The Daily Prophet about it and there was never anything mentioned after that. Of course, those Death Eaters were dead, so I guess there wasn't anything to tell anymore. I do know Archana's dad didn't get the sack, and neither did anyone else, but I think he might have resigned and got another job somewhere later. Archana and I were never really friends, so I don't know the details of it. I just figured they'd rubbished the whole story. Then, of course, The Quibbler went out of business later that year."

I remember how surprised my parents had been when The Quibbler had stopped publishing. They'd never been able to get a straight answer out of Luna's father, and then he'd died suddenly while out trying to confirm the sighting of some fantastic magical creature that no one had ever heard of or could pronounce. That had been a wonder, too.

"It really exists?" Charlotte's eyes were wide and glinting with fear. "How could it? Just the idea is preposterous -"

"Yeah. It is." My brain was going ahead at full click, taking me through the last week or so from the time I'd left the Ministry. Susan's reaction. The way she'd shoved me out. Whetwistle somehow falling thought the cracks at the Ministry. He'd given Hermione the potion, but the Ministry had it first. How it got from their hands to Whetwistle's, I couldn't begin to guess. But I knew where I might start. I asked Ethan to take me up to the Floo and keep Stephen occupied while I made a call.

"I can get in touch with Mr. Potter, no problem, Mr. Weasley. Do you want him to come down?"

"It's not Harry I need to talk to," I said, before turning to the girl. "Would you stay here with Hermione for a bit? I've got to go out ."

Ethan shook his head quickly. "But Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter said -"

"I know what he said. And I'm saying I've got to go out." I looked at Charlotte again. "If she wakes up, tell her ... tell her I've gone for a walk. For some sea air." I paused. "Tell her ... I'll be back quick as I can, and I'll bring her back some shells. And tell her ... tell her if she wasn't going to do it when I asked her to, she'd better not do it now that I haven't. She'll know what I mean. Do you have all that?"

A wispy sort of smile floated over her face and she nodded. I did, too, and reached for my wand with one hand and Harry's Invisibility Cloak with the other. Ethan led me through the maze and up to the inn. Stephen must've been away counting his socks then because the reception area was deserted. I made my Firecall, and I got lucky. Late as it was, I got an answer - one I was happy to hear. I was expected and there'd be a kettle on when I got there. I reckoned that with what I wanted, I'd be able to use it.

I didn't want to risk Apparating from inside the inn so I wrapped up in the Invisibilty Cloak and stole out, running down one block, turning down another alley, edging down a different avenue, jogging to a lonesome, dark corner before I decided I'd put enough space between me and the Gainsvert to Apparate without being traced. I clutched the cloak tight around me as the squeezing sensations began, and I felt half-choked and like my skull was about to cave in. This wasn't how I'd envisioned I'd be spending my birthday - not by a long shot.