Blazing Sands

Blazing Sands

~ We should try to stop the sands from drifting away,

But when we do it shall only slip through our fingers.~

Part X:

"Keep that ruddy thing away from me!" Ron shouted, grasping the edge of the counter to retain balance.

"Ron! Shh!" Hermione hissed and looked back at Mr. Ollivander, who seemed more amused than surprised.

"I see...this was the type of wand that may have put you in a bit of a predicament, is it?" He gently ran his hands over the wand, as though it was a living creature.

Ron glared at Ollivander and cursed under his breath, but, from the look on Ollivander's face, it seemed he chose to ignore his colourful language.

"Fifteen inches, made of Ebony with an indecipherable core."

"That type of wand is used by...by..." Ron seemed to be finding the appropriate word, and then spat the rest of his sentence, "...thing s, that are worse than evil."

"Is it?" Ollivander's expression stated clearly that he never heard of the things . "Well, I wouldn't know, Mr. Weasley. I do know that my uncle fashioned this rather flexible wand. I know it isn't bogus, because it clearly holds magic. Maybe you should..."

"No way in hell!" Ron barked, "That thing hit me with a curse..."

"A death curse," Hermione explained. "He was barely alive."

"Rescued by your expertise, of course," Ollivander acknowledged."But Mr. Weasley, perhaps you should try it."

"How can that thing suit me?" Ron spat, "I haven't done the most credible of things, I know, but I didn't become that evil last time I checked."

"Evil is not we become, Mr. Weasley. Evil is what we do." Ollivander narrowed his eyes at Ron, as though he were speaking to an obstinate child.

"I don't care!" Ron insisted, "That thing is not good. Besides, are you telling me I am just your average wizard, with worthy of unicorn hair one minute and then some dynamic evil bloke with Raety wand, the next?"

"Raety wand, Mr. Weasley?"

"Never mind."

"I won't make it any of my business, but I daresay you and I will be saving a lot of time if you would just try out this wand and see if it is suited for you or not."

"I am not touching that thing." Ron hissed, with an expression of pure hatred towards the wand.

"Ron," Hermione sighed, "it's quite possible that the wand is not meant for you. Or that it is just made as a showpiece or something. Just try it."

Ron looked at her, his violent face relaxing a little, and looked back at Ollivander, who raised an eyebrow and held it out. Ron looked apprehensively at the wand, before extending a trembling hand to grasp it.

He stared at it for a minute, as Hermione and Ollivander held their breath in anticipation.

When he seemed to have made a decision, he swallowed before whispering, "Rosa! "

In a second, the tip of the wand began to glow, and a green stalk sprung out. Hermione exhaled, as a beautiful red rose flowered at the tip of the stalk.

The three of them stared open mouthed, as the flower dropped into Ron's hand. She looked between Ron and Ollivander, her own face matching their stunned expressions, Ron's especially. He looked rather pale, as though he would pass out. It was him who finally broke the excruciating silence when he whispered, "I didn't just do that."

She saw Ollivander's stupefied face slowly break into a smile, "I beg to differ, Mr. Weasley."

Hermione reached to touch Ron, but he suddenly cringed away and dropped the wand on the table, backing up towards the wall. "Don't touch me."

"Ron, it's..."

"No Hermione," his expression was no different from a trapped and frightened animal. "I...It's...It's not okay."

"Mr. Weasley?" Ollivander cast Hermione a glance, before coming around the counter to go to Ron.

Ron caught hold of the shelf next him for support; with one hand and held out the other to Ollivander. "Don't..." he whispered, "I could be dangerous."

That statement scared Hermione more than it surprised her. "Ron?" She crossed Ollivander and went as close to Ron as he would allow it.

"NO Hermione!"

"Ron, it's okay. You are not dangerous." She kept her voice as calm as she could, in an effort to soothe him.

"I could be...that thing Hermione. I have seen it do, horrible things."

"I know..." she said slowly, gently touching his arm. He flinched a little, but she caught his arm firmly, and stepped towards him. "But...you won't do it Ron. A wand is only as evil as the wizard who holds it, Ron. You're not evil."

He looked down, as though some unseen force was hypnotizing him. After a pause he said, "I don't know, any more."

Hermione swallowed all questions and conflicts in her head, and caught his shoulder, helping him stand straight, trying not to think about the people he killed, or how bitter he had become. Trying not to think about the Raeties or anything else he said, or her own doubts whether he was indeed her Ron. She took a deep breath, and said with complete surety in her voice, "I do. I know you are not evil, Ron."

He staggered a little, and leaned on her whispering, "It can't be that wand...it just can't."

"It is possible," Ollivander said, reminding her that they were in his shop, as they looked at the man, who neither looked a day younger nor a day older. "That your being attacked by the wand has caused different powers and abilities within you."

Harry's scar suddenly flashed in her head, and she looked at Ron, hopefully, willing with her eyes for him to break out of his delirium-like state. "He could be right, Ron. Remember, Harry's a Parselmouth because Voldemort transferred his powers to him? They even share the same type of wands."

Ron nodded, and rested his arm around her shoulders, still looking pale. He looked ashen as he finally said to Ollivander, "You're sure this is the wand for me?"

Ollivander smiled and said, "We could go through all the wands in my shop, Mr. Weasley, and you still would have to settle for this wand."

Ron nodded and said, "How much?"

"The actual price would be 25 galleons, but how much ever you have is fine with me. I'll hold it on credit."

Hermione thought 25 galleons was rather expensive, but then she remembered the wand was made of ebony.

"25 galleons, is fine," Ron whispered and looked at Hermione. It occurred to her then that she had the money with her. She hastily took out the money, and paid Ollivander, as he packed the wand. He indicated to Ron, saying, "Water, Mr. Weasley?"

Ron shook his head, and then said, "I'd appreciate if you could keep quiet about us...you know. Coming here and all."

"Of course. Nobody will know."

"To any one. Including my lot."

"Mum's the word."

"Thank you, Mr. Ollivander," Hermione said, as she helped Ron cover himself, and they began to leave when Ollivander stopped them.

"I daresay, Mr. Weasley, straighten out your appearance."

Hermione's tension gave way as a smile formed on her face and Ron shrugged nonchalantly.

"And," he stopped them a second time, "Remember Ms. Granger's words, Mr. Weasley, a wand is only as evil as the wizard who holds it."

Ron stared after Ollivander, who unlocked the door for them, before he went into his storage. She exchanged a look with him and nodded. He gently caressed her face and said, "One minute."

She watched a little confused as he walked slowly towards the counter and picked up the rose that he had created, and came towards her, as she opened the door. He handed her the rose, and she took it graciously, though a little surprised. She was further surprised, letting go of the door which closed automatically, when he bent and brushed his lips on hers, gently. He looked once into her eyes, before opening the door and heading out.

She snapped back to her senses still a little baffled by his gentle kiss, but feeling considerably better. She hurried out and found him waiting for her.

"Ron?" she whispered, so no one would hear.

"Don't say anything about the wand, Hermione. I still don't believe what just happened."

"Ron, you were hit by a Raety spell, after all. It is possible..."

"I don't know what to think. I just don't know."

"I do." She stopped in her tracks. He was forced to stop and turn towards her because his striding had kept him a little ahead.

She sighed before saying resolutely, "I know you are not evil. As much as I hate the idea of what you did, I know for a fact you are not evil."

Under the hood she couldn't make out his expression, but he turned back around and whispered, "Thank you," before resuming his stride.

They spent the afternoon buying something for the family. She had to remind him constantly that, as her companion, he did not have to buy something specific for each person, so he finally settled on buying some Earthen Ale, which his father enjoyed, but could never afford until he became the Minister. Hermione had to admit it to herself, this was the first time that she actually enjoyed going out of the house. They laughed over old times, and talked very little about his disappearance and the present state. The wand did not figure anywhere, even once, in their conversations, but she was aware that the issue was weighing on him heavily. She did not want to remind him that he had to report to his superiors, because the instant she did she would rob him of the only joy he could afford. To see his family.

~*~

On Saturday evening Hermione, entered the bathroom, thinking that Ron was still in the living room, where he had been when she had left him to clean the cellar out, and was startled to find him staring at the mirror in her bathroom examining his unruly facial hair. Stark naked.

"Oh!" she sputtered, "I...uh...didn't expect to see you..."

She backed away immediately, as he gave her a sly smile and said, "Why Dr. Granger! If I hadn't known any better, I'd say you were embarrassed."

Hermione stopped backing away, aware of his nudity, and tried not to think of a particular part, saying, "Em-embarrassed? I...uh...I don't..." Then, she regained complete control of herself, and decided not to be affected by his not-so-subtle flirting. "I don't think so."

Then she went towards the cabinet, and pushed him away, aware of her hand brushing up against his side. She opened the cabinet, and took out a bottle, but as to which one she, she had no idea.

She closed it, to find him looking in the mirror at her, amused. She raised an eyebrow, but did not turn around.

"Why not?" he huskily whispered.

"Because...I told you. I've seen better."

That remark clearly seemed to catch him off guard; he made a face, and walked towards the bathtub. Hermione tried unsuccessfully not to glance at the hard muscles of his rump, as he bent to open the tap that began to fill the tub.

He turned around and she looked away, blushing, and was about to leave when she realized she had the wrong bottle. Muttering at her own stupidity she wheeled around to see him enter the tub then froze, as the sight of the sheet of water that enveloped him began to slip into tiny droplets.

It was only when he spoke that she realized she was staring at him, and much to her chagrin, that he had seen her do it.

"Was there something you wanted of me?"

The pun intended did not go unnoticed, as she shook her head, and went back to the cabinet and opened it.

When she had taken out the proper bottle, she turned around, and looked at him. He was still giving her an amused expression.

"Was there something, you wanted?" she tried to distract him.

She noticed his eyes roam over her figure, and she caught her breath, wondering if this was what it felt to be undressed by a man's eyes. She caught hold of the thought, trying not to blush, and forced it back to the neglected part of her head that she dared not venture into.

"No." His answer was strained.

Hermione nodded, aware that the air was suddenly charged with something that she couldn't afford to delve into.

"Ron," she said finally, "Umm...do you want sausages for dinner?"

"Anything is fine with me, if it can be eaten."

Hermione rolled her eyes, and went towards the tub, noticing that the towel needed to be changed muttering about Ron's appetite.

"What?" he defended, "You'd be ready to eat anything too if your doctor had been starving you!"

Hermione pulled the towel from its place and looked at him, irked, "I would not be such a cry-baby, at least."

"Who may I ask, are you calling a cry-baby?" he sat up.

"The man in my bathtub."

"Naughty woman, keeping men in your bathtub. I wonder what..."

Ron thought he had completed the teasing remark, until he found the rest of the statement coming out in bubbles and gurgles. He realized he was being drowned , and gasped when he saw a blurred image of the ceiling through the undersurface of the water. He struggled to force his head up against the pressure, which seemed to gnaw at his hair.

Suddenly it gave way, and he emerged sputtering, his body still bobbing up and down, and he wiped the water out of his eyes to look at a very triumphant looking MediWitch. She disentangled her fingers from his hair, folded her arms, and raised her eyebrows at him.

"What was that for?" he sputtered.

"I though you needed to wet your hair." She looked so damn smug,he could pull her into the water and kiss her. Don't go there, Ron!

"Oh you did, did you?"

"Yes."

"So does drowning me, classify as wetting it?"

"I just dipped you in the water, Ron."

Ron smiled evilly, and he could make out from her face that she caught on exactly what it was he was about to do. He caught her hand before she could run away, and yanked her towards him. She squealed, lost her balance and fell in, splashing the water all around the bathroom floor. He caught her in his arms, as she rose out of the water trying to catch her breath. "Ron!"

"I though you needed a bit of dipping yourself."

She swore and tried to get out, but he kept her firmly on his lap, aware of her small bottom resting on a rather sensitive spot.

Hermione looked at him incredulously and said, "You are a sick man."

"That is correct, Doctor."

Hermione ruffled his hair and smiled, "And ...you're ugly."

She looked so goddamn sexy when she was wet. His eyes trailed on the droplets of water that ran down her arms, and the way the flimsy sleeveless shirt began clinging to her skin and its translucence, exposing the pink flesh...

...what did she say?

"UGLY?"

"Ugly." She nodded smugly. She swung her legs over the brim of the tub, so they were dangling freely out of the tub. He admired the smooth skin of her long sexy legs, which her skirt exposed, riding up over her knees and clinging to her body.

"What...what..." He tore his eyes away from her skin, and forced them to meet the dark pools of her irises. He remembered exactly what he was going to say. "What do you mean...ugly?"

He tried not to concentrate on the slowly forming image of her black brassiere, which was now visible under a transparent white shirt. She sighed, and tried to lift herself out of the water. He let go, not sure if he could take any more of the sight of a wet Hermione, trying not to allow the heat to travel down to his groin.

"I mean, what I mean. You look horrible with all that hair. The virility of men is not seen in the amount of hair they have on their faces."

That comment struck him hard on a place it shouldn't have.

"Are you trying to say, Dr. Granger, that you think I am virile?"

She wheeled around, as she stood shaking water out of her hair. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of the bra and her skin through the shirt, and the way her skirt was still hitched around her legs, having clung because of the wetness. Water dripped from her skin, which shook off, as she opened her mouth to retort, "Actually I am trying to say that you are not."

"I suppose you would be the expert on virility."

Hermione seemed taken aback by that statement. She chewed her lip, making him want to replace her teeth with his own mouth, and then huffed and said, "Probably not." Then she turned around, and he saw the curves of her hips and her bottom. She muttered something he could not understand, and was about to leave. He caught her arm once again, this time more out of instinct than mischief. He did not want her to leave.

"What now?" she said impatiently, as she turned. He watched her shudder, as the breeze sifted into the room, through the grilled window.

"Why..." He tried to think of something to say then finally remembered Ollivander's remark. "Why is everyone obsessed with my appearance?"

Hermione folded her arms over her chest, and Ron noticed the fact that her breasts pressed together as she did so.

"Because, like I told you, you look like a grizzly bear."

"Ah yes," he pulled her towards him. "The infamous American bear. God save us both."

"You and me?"

"No, me and the bear."

She swore, and turned to go, but he pulled her closer, this time she caught hold of the bathtub before falling in.

"I don't suppose it would kill me to shave."

"Or cut your hair." She smiled a knowing smile.

"Or cut my hair."

"Or wash it."

"How many more insults will you need to hurl at my poor hair before I tell you it is okay with it? I wash my hair very nicely by the way."

Hermione smiled, making him want to pull her into the bathtub and kiss her, and said, "So do you want Head and Shoulders or Madame Flaeme's Hair cleanser potion?"

"Head and what?"

"Never mind." She grinned, went towards her cabinet, took out a bottle and set it on the basin.

Ron watched, as she straightened her skirt and smiled at him, looking a lot brighter at the idea of depilating him, "I'll go change and get the scissors."

When she walked out of the bathroom, still dripping water he muttered to himself, "Don't bother, I can imagine you naked either way."

"I didn't know you could shave," he muttered, as he craned his neck further when she ran a sharp blade over his skin.

"Dad, taught me," she said, wiping off the lather on the towel. "He always kept bemoaning that he'd never teach any son to shave, so I told him he could teach me. We practiced on the cat."

"The cat?"

"Yes, poor Copper."

"Copper? What about Crookshanks?"

"Crookshanks was too smart a cat. He'd run away. Besides, Copper died a year before I got Crookshanks. She was too old and her fur was very coarse. Excellent for shaving practice."

"And Crookshanks?"

Hermione sighed, "He died two years ago."

"Oh. I'm sorry. I think."

Hermione gave an amused snort and shook her head. For a good while, she shaved his beard in comfortable silence.

"Well you're good, I suppose," he said, as he tilted his head to the other side. "It doesn't burn...yet."

"It will, but I have transfigured some water into aftershave."

"So..." he said, as she took a last swipe over his moustache, thinking of grizzly bears. "I heard you and Colin broke up."

"I bet you did." She chuckled, splashed water on his face, and wiped it. She had already had a vociferous argument with him, and a rather unnerving struggle with his thick hair, when she finally washed it and cut it. She had to transfigure her pencil to a blade, before she got to his beard.

"That's not all I heard," he mumbled, as she finished wiping his face, leaned back from her seated position on the rim of the tub, and admired her work.

Oh. God.

He definitely looked like the Ron she knew. Only more masculine and handsome. She allowed her eyes to trail over the angularity of his jaw, and was finally able to see each and every freckle carefully. She imagined what it would be to kiss, each and every one.

She swallowed the thought, and tried not to blush, as she could see that, with a clean-shaven face, the man in front of her would stand out gorgeously in a crowd.

"What?" he broke her line of thinking, "Oh shit! What have you done to me? Do I look that horrible?"

She laughed, and shook her head, standing up, uncertain of her legs, considering her libido was running in frenzy. She reached for her wand, and transfigured the blade into a face mirror.

When Ron first looked at her rather flushed expression, he thought she had done something horrendous to his face, but, as he impatiently reached for the mirror and looked into it, his own jaw dropped in surprise at the image reflected in the mirror.

He was staring at a face he would have known a long time ago.

This was what he truly looked like, beneath the curtain of the beard and the length of his hair. He never considered himself much of a looker, though most women told him he was handsome. Of course, that never seemed to make a difference to the woman to whom he owed his clean-shaven appearance. He handed her back the mirror, nodded in approval, and ran his hands through his hair, realizing that his fingers were free from the feel of hair, considering his hair was shorter now, though it wasn't that short. It was a normal cut, allowing considerable fringe to overlap his forehead. He looked much like his school-self.

At first, he didn't really enjoy the idea of Hermione insisting she wash cut his hair, much less the notion of her shaving him. Of course, he was proven wrong because he did enjoy feeling her hand run through his hair and massage his scalp. The sight of her knit brow, in concentration, as she ran the blade over his jaw, had aroused him. He didn't regret it; she had done an excellent job.

She just had to be perfect at everything.

She was still staring at him, as thought she was seeing him for the first time.

"Like it?" he said, hoping to break her out of her trance, which he did.

She smiled and nodded, "Though I am not used to it. It makes you look more..."

"Virile?" he teased.

"Handsome," she said, and her expression told him she did not fancy his comment.

"Glad to have pleased the doctor."

Hermione rolled her eyes, and with a sigh, stood up. She had changed into a cardigan and jeans, which allowed him to admire the length of her beautiful legs. He watched, as she cleaned whatever little mess had been made. She had to be so ordered and organized, he couldn't imagine the chaos it would have wrought on her to have him in her house. I need that, on some level , he thought. He needed her perfection to keep sane. Just the sound of her own calming voice, telling him and making him believe his state of goodness, despite the conflict, which he knew was still raging within her, could get him to act sensibly. The look on her face, the feel of her lips against his, and the conviction in her eyes was all he needed to be able to stand on his feet. He needed her to be near him. He needed her to touch him.,He needed her to speak to him, to bring him back to sanity, to keep him alive. He craved to touch her the way she ought to be touched. He ached to have her in his arms, and make her feel wonderful. He craved to just have her by his side.

And when she was gone, he finally came to his senses with one thought.

He needed her like he could never need another woman.

She was sitting down on the sofa in her living room, reading something, as usual. Her beautiful hair was tucked into a loose plait, which she was rolling into a bun when he entered the room. The fire crackled into the night, and was the only source of light in the room. Her head was bent in concentration, but she seemed to crane it sideways occasionally. As he stood leaning at the threshold, right leg crossed over the other, he watched her. He loved the sight of her bare neck. Suki Kawasaki, a Spectre from Kobe had told him once that young women in Japan would often cover their necks, particularly their napes, in olden times because it was considered a distinguishing characteristic of their beauty. When Kawasaki found anything remotely beautiful, he would often compare it with his wife's neck -ex-wife, actually. Kawasaki's wife left him for another man, before he became a Spectre, which was why Kawasaki never liked Englishwomen much. Didn't like them at all, to be precise.

When he stepped towards her, he wondered why he was thinking of Kawasaki at a time like this. His answer came from his own logical hemisphere. He had to distract himself from her neck. When he was standing directly behind her, she craned her neck to look back at him and smiled, an action, simple enough to elicit a simple reaction in his groin. He should just turn around, and head back up to the bedroom. He shouldn't stay here. He loved her too much to stay and touch her, because touching her would mean breaking her heart.

And her heart was too precious for him even to feel its beating.

But he couldn't leave, he realized, as he looked into those dark embers.

"Couldn't sleep?" she asked.

He shook his head.

"You want to sit here for awhile?"

He had wanted to take her for sometime. He didn't say anything, only pretended to look at her book, and raised an eyebrow.

"Just reading something on serpent venoms..." She proceeded to ramble about snakes or something related to poisons. He didn't hear a word of what she said. He only watched the flame-like glow of her hair, as the firelight bounced of it. Without exercising a shred of control, he reached out, and stroked her hair. Her head jerked back, but she didn't retaliate, as he continued to stroke it.

"I was just thinking..." he managed to say, as she put the book aside, and turned her body, still seated on the sofa, to face him. "...That I have stolen your bed far too long. Maybe I should sleep on the sofa, tonight."

She smiled and shook her head. "A little late for chivalry, Ron. But thank you. I still think you should sleep on the bed."

It was at times like this when she was so damn fucking polite that he could just thrust his tongue into her delicious mouth and corrupt her. Corrupt her nicely, and closely and tightly, till she cried out his name.

Forcing that lustful thought down his throat, he allowed a croak of a response, "I suppose I could sleep on the bed."

With you to join me , he thought.

She raised herself to her knees. Still about two feet shorter than him, she rested her elbows on the backrest of the sofa, and cocked her head to side. Showing him more of that delectable neck.

"Is something wrong?"

"No, why?"

"You look a little...flushed." She raised her arm, and felt his forehead.

"I have another reason, for that," he blurted.

"Oh really, what?"

The shadows, concern and feelings she had for him danced about over her face. He had forgotten what it was to have someone care for him. He had forgotten what it was like to want to care for someone so...beautiful.

"This..." he blurted, before he caught her shoulders, and raised her up forcefully. The action surprised her so that she gasped when he bent his head. He didn't want to be courteous and wait for her approval. All he wanted was her.

She whimpered, as he forced his tongue into her mouth and ravaged it with a desire and passion that only Hermione could elicit. She fought him initially, pressing her hands against his chest, and trying to push him away, but he only brutishly caught her bottom, and pulled her higher, so her knees had replaced her elbows on the backrest of the sofa. She gasped, and he pushed his tongue deeper, exploring the crevices of her mouth, tasting the honey and water beverage she had just drunk. He had declined from taking the drink, but he realized, now, it tasted much better in her mouth. She moaned and fought him, until she finally gave in, and slid her arms around his neck. Carrying her in his arms, he pulled her off the sofa and set her on the floor, leaning her bottom against the backrest and bending over her, as he tried to kiss her as long as he could. Then, he broke away for want of air. Her face was all flushed, and her eyes held desire for him. That was all he needed as he bent his head to her neck, and sucked on the soft skin. Her small, strangled gasps only made him bite harder, and taste her more fervently. Before long, his hand slid down to the pajamas she had worn, slipped his hand in, and grasped her hard. She began struggling against him again, but that made him clutch harder, sliding around to her bottom. She moaned and tried to push him away further, and he became so much more aroused that he ground his hips forcefully against hers.

She gasped, and pushed him away so violently, he almost tore her pajamas.

She stared at him with an incredulous expression, and before he could reach for her, a searing pain shot through his cheek. He caught his face, feeling the red welt that was beginning to form. This slap had been harder than the other one. Not for the first time. Not from another person, either.

"What the fuck was that for?" he barked, glaring in her blazing eyes.

"What do you think I am, Ron?" she screamed at the top of her voice, "One of your tarts?"

"What?"

"What do you think of me Ron?" She caught his collar and shook him, "You think I would just THROW myself at you? Is that what you think? I still hate you! I still hate that you came back! And I hate that you confused me with one of those...those... women !"

"I DID NOT CONFUSE YOU with one of those... women !"

She sobbed and slapped him again, this time harder. "You did! You always did! Do you think that just because you...I..." she broke off and pushed him away.

How dare she? How dare she turn him down? How dare she slap him twice? He caught her arm forcefully, as she was about to leave, yanked her to him, and caught her face tightly. He watched, as she struggled and began clawing at his hands.

"IF YOU DIDN'T WANT IT, ALL YOU HAD TO SAY WAS NO!"

She stopped struggling and glared at him with pure hatred. Dropping her voice to low tones she hissed, "What do you think I am? Your wife?Your concubine? Who the hell do you think you are to come here and try to... rape me ?"

His rage boiled over from his gut to his throat. Some conscious part of him begged him not to overreact, but he was so angry he could just show her fucking place. "RAPE YOU?"

"Yes, rape me, Ron. Tell me that isn't what you want to do, right now. I can see it in your eyes Ron. You've turned into an animal. Well, I am not going to be the object of your lust!"

She was right. She kicked him in the shin, her kick did not make him flinch even a little bit, but it acted, as cold water. What the fuck was he thinking?

She began writhing in his grasp, which had descended to her shoulders, as she screamed, "Which one would I be Ron? Which one of your conquests would I end up as? To you, I would just be another body to warm your bed! Well guess what? I won't be! You really thought that I could be so stupid, that I would jump at the opportunity to shag you? How dare you? How dare you act as though you own me? YOU DESERTED ME! You left me alone when I needed you the most! And now you dare to come back into my life and want me to be your latest one night stand? What's the matter Ron? It's been very long, hasn't it? At least a month since you had sex! Is that why you choose to humiliate me ?"

He let her go, and stumbled back towards the wall and looked down. He was going to take her by force or any other way, that night. He could feel it in the heat of his blood. He could feel it in the vengeance of his desire for her. Why was he realizing this, only now? Why didn't he stop himself in time? He did not want to love her, he just wanted to expel his...what ever it was he wanted to expel. Oh God! What the fuck was he doing? He didn't even remember at what point his love for her changed into pure lust. He looked at her ashamed, as she burned a hole through him with her eyes.

"I am evil, aren't I?"

His words took her by shock. She watched a different man all together crumble down and slide to the ground, a different man from the brute who had bruised her mouth. At first, the desire was unbeatable, and she gave in, but she could feel from the invasiveness of his mouth and the way his hand grasped her private...she felt uncertain. It frightened her the way he dragged her off the sofa. She felt less than dignified almost, as though she had just flung herself at him, and he took her as though he had nothing better to do. It made her feel cheap. Like one of his...women.

"Ron?" she watched him put his head in his hands and whimper, "I...I...I'm sorry, Hermione...I...I...don't know...what came...what came over me."

Hermione didn't want to believe him. She wanted to go back to thinking of the insensitive man whom she hated for most of the time he was with her. Yet all that he had done, and all that he had been through came crashing into her conscious, and it struck her painfully that few minutes ago, the man who had violently kissed her was not the man she saw now. He looked up at her with anguish in his eyes and looked down, almost as though he was ashamed, at himself.

She stepped closer to him, uncertain of whether she should be doing so or not. Kneeling down in front of him she touched his hand.

He was beginning to become warm.

"Ron?" She put her hand on his knee, and raised his chin with the other. There were tears in his eyes. She wanted to think they were crocodile tears, but the anguish in his soul when she looked in the dark blue depths of his eyes, made her feel otherwise. Something was wrong. Something was seriously wrong.

"I'm sorry," he whispered so softly that she doubted if she had heard it. Swallowing the fear that was associated with touching him, she pulled him into her arms, not even aware of what she was doing. It just came by instinct, as he buried his head into her shoulder, and whispered, "Oh God! Hermione! I am sorry. I am so sorry. I don't want to hurt you. I don't ever want to hurt you."

"Ron?" she said, slowly as she stroked his hair, "I...You...what did you feel?"

He looked up at her, and she saw the frightened animal that she saw less than a week ago in Ollivander's shop. This was not the Ron who almost tried to molest her. He suddenly seemed to realize she was holding him, shoved her away, and moved away from her, still seated.

"Don't Hermione...please don't." He was choking, as though he something was strangling him.

She sat up from her fallen position on the ground, and crawled to him; he moved away, as though afraid of being hurt. Or hurting.

"Ron..." she whimpered, "It's okay...I just..."

"I'm evil."

"No Ron, it's...you're not evil..."

"I am Hermione. That's why that fucking thing suits me now. I am bloody fucking evil." He turned his face away from her.

"The wand?"

He nodded and buried his head in his hands. "Keep away from me. It's like I am a different man. I can't be trusted.

"I trust you."

She hadn't even realized that she had thought of the words, but they came out. They came from her mouth, and she knew it was true. She trusted the Ron in front of her.

He looked at her, as though a lorry had hit him.

"Wh-What?"

"I trust you, Ron...let me come closer." She moved towards him slowly, and fortunately he didn't move away.

She came close enough to hold him, and she did; she put her arms around him, aware that he was, as good as a frightened child right now. She could reproach him or hate him later. His forehead was hot. He was breaking into a fever.

"Ron..." she whispered as he rested his head on her shoulder, "What was the last thing you remember...before...well..."

"I...I was thinking about your neck."

"My neck?" she looked at him. He seemed unaware, "I was thinking about Kawasaki saying something about Japanese women and their necks and then your neck. I don't...I remember feeling this...heat."

"Heat, Ron? As though you were sweating?"

"No...I just...I remember feeling this urge to just...dominate you. Oh God! Hermione!" he gasped, and pushed away, "I just wanted to show you your place! Oh shit! I am sorry! I...I don't know..."

"Shh..." she comforted him, unsure of what to think.

"No!" he shook his head, "It felt good! Hermione!" He looked so torn. "It actually felt good! The more you pushed me away the more I wanted to force you! Oh God!"

Hermione did not know how to act on his confession. She could have been at the receiving end of whatever change it was that came over him. It meant that she should keep a distance from him. He could turn violent any minute. But the desperate man in front of her needed her. He needed comfort, not alienation.

"No Ron! Don't think about it." She gathered his sobbing body into his arms.

"But it was like that, you know."

"Okay but..."

"NO! It was like that when I...I...killed him." The last words were a whisper.

She tensed, involuntarily, and held him a little further to look into the turmoil in his eyes, "You...killed whom?"

"Wormtail."

"Ron?" she gasped, "You killed Peter Pettigrew?"

"I just remember thinking of what it was like being an orphan. Of not knowing your parents. I just wanted him to bleed painfully to death, to atone for Harry. To atone for us. Hermione! I liked it! I liked watching him die! And I didn't know how to..."

He began to tremble violently. She knew that he wasn't crying,only sobbing uncontrollably. Feeling his temperature she was surprised that it was coming down.

"You were supposed to kill him?"

"No, I realized he was coming after Harry; it was something I just... did ...and I was congratulated for it," he spat bitterly.

"Ron...it...wasn't your fault."

"It was. I wanted to kill him when he started groveling for mercy. He couldn't show any of that when he took Harry's blood and resurrected Voldemort."

"Ron!" She held him closer hoping he would be quiet, but he kept on talking on the way he felt, with a guilt so painfully obvious in his voice that she ached to reach into his memories, and take that one away.

"Ron!" she said louder, and silenced him. "I mean, tonight. I don't think you were yourself."

"Then who was I?" He caught her shoulders, and pushed her back searching her eyes, "Who was I Hermione? Oh God! I could never dream of hurting you! Not you, above anyone else!" He pulled her to him and buried his head in her shoulder.

Hermione rubbed his back comfortingly whispering, "I know that. Ron. It...wasn't your fault."

"Then whose was it? I was the one who tried to...tried to..." He held her closer and groaned.

"I don't know," she whispered, wondering whom to blame. She felt his forehead again, and his temperature was normal.

"I have never felt this...this...violent before, Hermione."

"I know."

"It could be because..."

"You are not evil, Ron."

"I don't know."

She wondered once more if this was some act he was putting up. Had he deteriorated so badly that he could be good and bad whenever he wanted. She had to know. She had to test him. As guilty about doing so, she felt she pushed him back and looked into his eyes. Very slowly she put her hands towards the buttons of her nightshirt and began undoing them slowly. He watched in a trance as she unbuttoned it.

"Hermione?" he gasped, when he seemed to realize what she was doing and snapped out of his trance, he caught her hand as she made her way to the last button, and was about to reveal more than the strip of skin from her collar downwards, "What are you doing?"

"I'm willing to," she said, softly, hoping he wouldn't see through the façade she was putting up. Inside her chest, her heart cringed with fear if she awoken the beast in him again.

"No." He shook his head.

"I'll do it Ron. I don't mind. I just...if that is what you want."

"Oh god I want! I want!" he whispered, but he began buttoning her up in a reverse fashion, "But...I can't Hermione! I don't want to hurt you anymore."

"You won't. I'm willing for this Ron. Take me."

"No," he put her first button and she was now completely clothed. "I want you, I do. But...I...care...about us. I don't want to ruin the only true friendship I have left. Please. Hermione. I won't be the one to break your heart. I won't come back."

He had passed her test, she thought reluctantly and bitterly, and she realized with more pain that he had already broken her heart. The day she learnt she had died, her heart was broken, and nobody could fix it.

"I won't come back," he whispered, and he leaned forward to rest his head on her shoulder.

She nodded and pulled him closer, wondering if she wasn't dreaming any of this up. He curled into her like a child, and held her closer; whispering apologizes frequently, as though he realized what he had just done. They stayed like that for some time, and just when she thought he had fallen asleep, he looked up at her with raging emotions. Guilt, certainty, pain, anguish, and then as though he had made a decision he said softly, "I can't go home tomorrow. Not after...this."

***

"They won't recognize me right?" Ron said, as he took a deep breath and stood at her fireplace.

"No, Carl, they won't." Hermione muttered, much for her own frayed nerves than for his. She had never imagined her own nervousness could compare to his, but now she was sure his was definitely outranked. With each passing minute, Hermione kept wondering if this was a mistake. Then, when she realized it was probably the biggest mistake both were making, she wondered if this was something they could pull off or not.

She stepped to his side, in her rather spacious fireplace, and took a handful of floo powder. She looked up to see the grey-eyed, dark haired man whom, she had to force herself, to call Carl and whom, she had to remind herself, was Ron. The plasto-shaper had worked excellently though it took too much time with his eyes. They could not alter his height but she was able to make him look a lot lankier, which strangely made him look even taller. Her greatest worry had been his voice, but he made a very good impressionist it seemed; his accent was perfect. He could feign a totally different voice much to her amusement and surprise. He looked tired, and she was sure it wasn't only the fact that he was hurt. They had spent the night arguing over whether he should come or not. Her own doubts about his mental stability hadn't helped her confusion and frustration, but when she saw the way he suffered internally (though of course, being as stupidly chivalrous as he could be, he wouldn't admit), her heart melted. She convinced him to come, and convinced herself, she was doing the right thing.

Shaking away all the anxiety, she looked ahead and said, "Are you ready?"

"Are you crazy?" he muttered, "Of course I am not ready."

"Good." She nodded, having not really heard what he said.

"The Burrow," they both said together, and in an explosion, they found themselves not facing her book-filled but neatly organized drawing room, but a dining room in chaos.

Hermione coughed a little from the after effects of her traveling, and stepped out dusting the ashes of the chimney from her hair.

"What the..." Ron's, actually Carl's voice, behind her alerted her to her surroundings. The dining room was a mess. It seemed as though flour had rained in the room. There was not an inch of the dining room that wasn't covered in it. All over the floor they could see messed footprints of various sizes. The vessels seemed abandoned in the sink and the table didn't look like it was going to be ready any time soon.

Behind her, Ron spoke, "Are you sure we came to the..."

He couldn't complete as a blood-curdling scream erupted from entrance to the drawing room, and two flashes of red no taller than three feet burst in followed by a very frantic Fred.

"Jenny! Vicki! Would you two just...STOP!"

Hermione laughed, as she stumbled backwards when two shrieking girls caught hold of her dress, and took refuge between her and a very confused Ron.

Fred skidded to a halt in front of her, panting exhaustedly, "Hello Hermione!"

"Ermiowee! Ermiowee! Pwease! We's a didn't do nothing!"

"Which means you two did everything!" Fred hollered, trying to catch a view of them.

"We's a didn't do NOTHING!" One of two squealed, Hermione recognized her to be Jenny. She looked behind her and saw Jenny looking up at her with that meltingly earnest look in her eyes. A look that was indicative that she was guilty of mischief! Vicki on the other hand was staring up at Ron with an open mouth and wide eyes. Her gaze followed him down, as he smiled and sat on his haunches, "Hi!" He put his hand out, and she took her own little pudgy one and clasped it around his big hand. Still looking at him with an awestruck face she said, "Are you weaaally that tall?"

He laughed and nodded saying, "I'm...Carl."

"Vicki. Vick...umm...tor-yaa? Wight! I is Vick-tor-ya MagabetWeasley!" She grinned wide, and Fred gritted his teeth and said, "She means Victoria Margaret Weasley."

Ron gave Fred a very piercing look as he stood up, his action followed by the tiny redhead and her twin, who looked awestruck by his presence. He shakily held a hand out to Fred saying softly, "Carl Tyler."

"Fred Weasley." He nodded and looked at his daughters, "I am apparently responsible for the birth of these two according to my wife. She had nothing to do with it at all. Except when they behave like good girls, of course. Then they're hers."

Ron laughed and eyed Fred's beard and said nothing.

"So." Fred gave him a smile that was familiar, "You are Hermione's new man."

"Er yeah! I guess!" Ron looked down at his nieces, who were trying to slip away from their father.

"Oh no you two don't! I swear it Hermione, if I'd known twins were this much trouble I wouldn't have had any."

"Sounds a bit like Mum, doesn't he?" Ron muttered and Hermione stifled a giggle.

"What did you say?" Fred cocked his head towards Ron.

"Er...nothing, I just said you sound a bit like my Mom. I uh...I have twin brothers too."

"Oh..." Fred frowned, "I just...nothing. Hey! Come back her you two little rascals!" Before they could say anything he was after the two little hellions, who squealed their way to the garage.

Hermione smiled at Ron, who stared at her with an amazed expression, "I don't think I could ever get used to him as a father, you know. Not that I mind. I hope those two pay him back for each and every one of his pranks."

Hermione laughed and said, as they heard voices coming from the drawing room towards the kitchen. "I think you and the twins' children will get along very well. Each have inherited their mischief."

"You've got that part right." George came in and stopped to look around. "Oh shit! Mum'll kill us!"

"Where is everyone?" Hermione smiled and went to George. He gave her a kiss on the cheek and looked a little amused at the sight of Ron, as he came in and said, "They're all outside in the backyard. Dad's got this big tent for all of us. If Mum comes in and sees this mess..."

"OH. MY. GOD!" A shrill voice interrupted him as he shrugged and turned to face a very vexed Molly Weasley, "What on earth happened here?"

"Mum...it's all right. We'll get it..."

"George Weasley if this mess hasn't been cleaned up in THREE minutes, I'll give you a sound whomping in front of your children!"

"Come on Mum! It wasn't my fault. It was Fred's twins."

"Fred's twins, your twins, makes no difference. It's your genes they've all inherited."

"Mum my jeans won't fit them. And I don't have any twins."

"DON'T TRY TO OUTWIT YOUR MOTHER!"

Hermione stifled laughter, as she turned to glance at Ron, as George and Molly argued. Her smile faded at the look on his face. His face was pale, and his eyes were fixed on Molly, with a longing expression in his eyes. She looked back and forth between mother and son, and imagined what it must be for Ron not to be able to go to Molly, and even touch her, without seeming awkward.

She walked towards Ron, and touched his arm. He flinched, then shook his head, as though bringing himself to his senses, caught her hand, and squeezed it tightly.

When George stomped away, muttering constantly, Molly's face relaxed immediately, and she turned to Hermione.

"Hermione! Darling! Come here and give us a kiss!"

Hermione smiled. She went towards Molly, and gave her a hug and a kiss, before she said, "It's good to see you Molly."

"Lovely to see you dear, you ran away so fast that evening I had no time to talk to you! No matter! I'll fill you in on certain details later! Now what's this Ginny saying about you having a new man...." She trailed off and her eyes fixed on Ron.

For a few moments Hermione panicked inwardly. The way Molly was staring with transfixed eyes at Ron with an expression that resembled him she almost though that she had recognized him. She checked his appearance but he still looked like Carl and nothing similar to Ron. Then why were they staring at each other as though they were seeing each other after a long time? Could Molly see through plasto-shapers?

It was Ron who finally broke the silence. He smiled uncertainly, and stepped towards both women and put his arm around Hermione, "That's me, Mrs. Weasley. Carl Tyler, pleasure to meet you."

Molly just stared at him, as though in a trance. Slowly she brought her arm forward and seemed to reach for his face, but stopped it midway. Hermione could make nothing out from the listless expression in her eyes.

"Molly Weasley, dear," her voice came as a croak, "Please...do call me Molly."

Ron pressed his lips uncertainly and nodded, "Molly."

"Carl...wasn't it? How do you do?"

"Fine thanks, Mrs...Molly."

Molly stepped back and said, "Well, I'm glad...you came, Carl. I...where are you from?"

"America."

"I see...how do you find England?"

"Very nice."

"Good. Good. I think that's good." Molly seemed to be talking in a daze.

Hermione looked nervously at Ron, who met her gaze. He seemed to gather himself, and said, "Molly...umm...do you need some help?"

"What...?" she looked about at the room, seemed to snap out of her daze, and said, "Oh! No dear...a cleaning spell ought to do it."

"Okay."

"Carl, do you like treacle tarts?"

They were both startled by her question. Hermione realized that she was surprised so much, because treacle tarts were Ron's favourite. She looked up at him and saw that he broke into a smile. "I uh...I do, Molly. Why?"

"No reason." Molly turned around, and pulled out her wand. Muttering a few words Hermione could not make out, but didn't need to, as four brooms and dusters and dustpans came out of a cupboard magically and began to clean and dust the whole place.

"Hermione?"

Hermione tore her eyes away from the duster over the dining table and smiled at Molly who said, "They're all outside. Harry's come too."

"We'll join them, then."

"Yes dear." Molly nodded. She gave a long piercing glance to Ron before setting about her work.

"She looks so...different." Ron whispered in her ear, "She looks older."

"She is older." Hermione said comfortingly, as they headed into the backyard.

"You know when I heard he became the Minister, I wondered if he would change residence," Ron said as he looked at the garden, as they passed it, "But all he did was widen the place."

Hermione nodded as the sight of two badly erected, large tents came to view. Inside were tables, on which Harry and the other boys were sitting and laughing. There were children, all red heads running about screaming at the top of their voices.

Harry spotted her and waved. She smiled, and nudged Ron, who just stood, as though he were struck by lightning.

"It's okay," she whispered, assuring herself more than him. "You'll be fine."

He nodded, and put a brave smile, as they both entered the tent. She broke away from Ron, and went to greet Harry with a hug. As she wished all of Ron's brothers' hello, she turned to look at Ron, who seemed to be speaking with Harry, in the same tone as he spoke with Molly. She tried not to seem too obvious when she hurried to Ron's side.

"So Harry!" she smiled as she took Ron's hand in her own, "This is Carl Tyler."

"Yeah, Hermione," Ron said, as he looked at her. "We've been introduced."

Harry raised an amused eyebrow.

"Oh good!" she said nervously, and pointed to his brothers, "This is Bill, Charlie, Fred, whom you have met, George's twin brother, Percy and...where's Ginny?"

"Probably snogging Verona!"Fred muttered, "One would think our sister had manners, you know."

Hermione smiled knowingly, and pointed to the children, "Umm, Jennifer and Victoria are Fred's twin girls. Mark and Daniel are Percy's boys. Those three girls there? The tall one, with the twins is Gloria, she's George's eldest. That boy with Mark is Lee, he's Gloria's younger brother."

"Oh." Ron nodded holding her hand tighter.

"And..."

"Hermione?" A young girl's voice interrupted them; they turned, and she heard Ron give a strangled gasp. She realized then that Ron had seen Sarah and Arthur, Bill's children; they were four years old when he had...supposedly died. He was godfather to Charlotte, Charlie's little girl, who was born a few months before the day he died.

"Hi!" She smiled at Ron, blushing slightly. "Aunt Ginny wanted to see you."

"Sarah." She looked at Ron whose face seemed paler. "This is Carl. Carl, this is Sarah. That's her brother Arthur, over there with..."

"With...?"

Hermione sighed and looked down, "His name is Ronald...Ron. He is Charlie's youngest boy."

She felt his grip loosen gently on her hand, and his body went tense next to her. She sighed, and smiled an assuring smile at him. He nodded and said, "And the elder one?"

"Hermione!" A shriek erupted from behind them. They turned as Hermione opened her arms and a six-year-old Charlotte ran into it, giving her a tight hug.

"Where were you?" she squealed, "I was waiting for so..." she trailed off and looked peculiarly at Ron, "And you might be?"

Ron laughed and held out his hand, "Hey there! I am Carl."

"You speak funny." She broke away from Hermione.

"That's because I'm from America."

"Oh yes, Fanny Leewohen from class says all Americans speak funny."

Ron grinned and shrugged.

"I'm Charlie by the way."

"Charlotte," Charlie said behind them disapprovingly.

She leaned towards Ron and said, "Only him and Mum call me that. Everyone calls me Charlie junior."

"Okay, Charlie junior." Ron nodded, "Pleased to meet you."

"You too. Do you play Quidditch Carl?"

"Well as a matter of fact I do."

"See if you can defeat me."

"I'd love to see you try winning over me."

Hermione watched spellbound, as Ron interacted with Charlotte. They had barely known each other for a minute, and were speaking like old friends. She looked at Charlie, who had quite a baffled expression on his face. She wasn't surprised. Charlotte rarely connected this well with anyone. She was even apprehensive of Harry. Harry smiled at her, but she could tell he was a little jealous. Charlotte was the only grandchild who didn't think the world of him, and treated him like every other person she wouldn't speak to. It made Harry try even more to please her.

"Hermione," Ron interrupted her thinking.

"Hmm?"

"Harry's talking to you."

"Huh?" She looked confused at Harry, who did the same thing with his eyebrow again.

"I was just asking if you'd mind us mingling with your new boyfriend?"

"My new boyfriend," she whispered, realizing that she probably sounded stupid.

"Okay, you're new 'man.'"

"Well who's stopping you?"

"You know, man to man type of mingling."

She gave a disgruntled snort and said, "You say that as though women are wet blankets to all your macho mayhem."

"Women are wet blankets to all our macho mayhem," Bill stated and Sarah huffed and stomped off.

"Well, you're just a girl, darling...it wasn't applying to you!" Bill called after her, and gave a defeated shrug.

She looked up at Ron, uncertainly. He seemed a little uncomfortable too, in case anything happened. He whispered in her ear, pretending to kiss her cheek, "I uh...I'll be fine. I think I'll mix with your friends."

"You're sure?" she whispered.

He looked at Charlotte who was arguing with Charlie about playing Quidditch with the boys. He nodded, "I think you better see Ginny before she...you know..."

Hermione knew he wanted to say 'shags Verona'. Smiling knowingly, she nodded and warned the Weasleys, "Be nice."

They all put on mock expressions of naïveté much to her chagrin. She decided to put on a bit of a show, and reached over to give him a kiss on the cheek before heading off. She had to contain herself from laughing, as the boys surrounded him and began interrogating him.

"So you're the bloke who's like, actually seeing our Hermione?" She heard Bill say, after asking him all possible questions.

"Well, Carl, we like you and all but there is something you should know," she heard Harry say.

George said, "Hermione's like our second sister..."

Then Charlie added, "So if you hurt her..."

Followed by Fred saying, "Or break her heart..."

George interjected again, "Or try to cheat on her..."

Percy finally piped up, "George, that's breaking her heart..."

"Whatever, if you hurt her."

In unison, they chorused, "We'll kill you."

She laughed with Ron, whose bellowing laughter was the last she heard, as she entered the house. She was sure all the boys were surprised by his amusement at their 'warning'.

They all took to Ron/Carl instantly. After a few pranks and ideas, he was the hero of the twins' children not to mention the twins themselves. After a few drinks and dragon talk, Charlie and Bill were so smitten with him that their wives came and complained to her. After the Earthen Ale, Arthur Weasley had him as his new favourite companion; after many games of Quidditch, even Harry was comfortably talking to him, though she was sure Harry still doubted his intentions. She introduced him later to Janine and Tara, Bill and Charlie's wives, who were both Muggle, and both who seemed rather besotted with his charming personality. Katie, who wasn't showing her pregnancy yet, congratulated her on her choice, and Angelina fell in love with him the minute the topic of Quidditch started.

"Oh Hermione!" Ginny whispered to her when she had introduced, 'Carl' to her, "He's the most delicious thing I've seen."

Hermione wondered what she would think if she found out about him being her brother.

Of course, the only person who was distant and a little confused, but cheery nonetheless was Molly. She seemed to admire Ron/Carl, and steal glances at him with every opportunity. Ginny who also noticed it, told Hermione not to worry. It seemed Molly had been rather attached to the idea of Ron and Hermione getting together wasn't prepared to see Hermione with anyone. She found it a plausible explanation for Molly's observance of Carl, but it still didn't satisfy her. Particularly when she learnt from Ginny that Molly had suddenly got the whim to make treacle tarts, and wouldn't allow a soul into the kitchen. A greater worry was of course, Ron himself. He seemed to be smiling and cheery outside, but Hermione knew that one could only imagine the storm of emotions raging within him. She could see that the Quidditch playing had exhausted him, and she was worried about his health. Of course, this was much to the expense of her sense of dignity, as Harry and the twins teased her endlessly about constantly staring at 'Carl'.

All these worries aside, Hermione realized, when she was checking Katie, that she was going to have twins. Of course she couldn't confirm it, but her instincts were usually correct. She didn't tell Katie immediately, but pulled Ron aside in the drawing room and told him secretly.

Ron burst out laughing.

"What?"

"George'll have the time of his life!"

"Oh, I bet he will!" She smiled, as she saw Arthur enter the room give a longing look at Carl and head into the kitchen. She frowned.

"What is it?"

She looked at him and sighed, "Have any of them mentioned...you know...Ron?"

"Ron? As in me? Or my little namesake of a godson?"

"You."

"Not really, well...Charlie just told me they had a brother who 'passed away'. Why?"

"It could just be my imagination."

"You think they suspect it's me?"

"I don't know."

"I have certain habits, Hermione. Familiar ones. They could be reminded of me."

Hermione nodded, "It's not your fault..."

"Not the right choice of words," he muttered.

Hermione looked into his eyes, saw the bitterness and misery there, and ached to hold him. He pushed away a strand of hair from her face and said, "Did Harry give you any instructions regarding me?"

"Only that I should be careful."

"Good, I found it rather amusing when he told me he was going to kill me. I was just imagining everyone of Ginny's boyfriends. Speaking of which, this Sholtoperson...what is he exactly?"

"Italian lovetoy," she muttered. "I still think Ginny's got a bit of a crush on Harry, you know. Covering it with all the men in the world."

"Has she always been this...open with boys?"

"I suppose." She sighed. "She was like this in school too, remember. Never shy. She was only quiet around Harry, otherwise she'd chatter the whole school down with anything from gossip to fact."

"No argument there." He sighed, and put an arm around her. She could see he was leaning a little for support.

"Ro-Carl? Are you okay?"

"Tired. I think."

"You should sit down."

"I want to see the house. My room, especially," he said suddenly, as though he hadn't heard her.

"Okay..." Hermione nodded, "I'll make sure."

She went towards the kitchen and called to Molly. "Molly? Is it okay if I show Ron around the house?"

Molly gave her an empty expression, and then smiled softly, "Oh...no problem dear."

She didn't need to show Ron the house. She in fact, ended up being shown the house, as Ron went about excitedly from room to room, touching the walls, the beds and things in it, as though they were a lost treasure he were seeing for the last time. It struck her that they indeed were a lost treasure to him, and that he thought he never would see the house he grew up in again. As he narrated his memories to her, with each corridor and each man-made or rather Weasley, made crack on the wall, about who fell where or who punched whom and missed and small items she wouldn't know otherwise, she wondered if she knew the Weasleys at all. Or maybe it was just the way he narrated it, like it was a novel he was writing. His room was the last they were going to enter. He stood at the door and looked at the broken letters of what was once 'Ronald's room' and sighed.

"Go on," she nudged, "It's okay. Molly left it the way it was."

"I still have to get used to the idea of calling her Molly." He smiled, as he opened it. He stared at the orange wallpaper and whispered, "If I had known then, that I would have come back to this room and missed the sight of that ghastly wallpaper, I'd probably lurch."

Hermione hid her smile. Ron took a deep breath and looked back at her. She urged him to go in. He did, still looking at her and banged his head into the ceiling.

"Fuck!" he yelped clutching his head and shaking the stars out of his head, "It seemed a little higher when I was here."

Hermione, who was stifling giggles of amusement entered, closing the door behind her, and bent a little, as she looked up at the sloping ceiling, "You were a little shorter when you were here."

"Oh," he said, peeved. "Find that amusing, do you?"

Hermione gave a muffled laugh, and sat on his bed, looking up at the worn out posters covering the walls.

He looked out of the window and sighed, "I hated degnoming. Now I just wish it was what I did for a living."

"I think your Mum would like that Ron. You should take it up." She grinned sarcastically. "Ron Weasley - professional degnomer."

"As opposed to Ron Weasley, dead man walking," he muttered, and sat next to her.

They sat in comfortable silence for a while until Ron finally said, "Oh God! How I missed all of this!"

Hermione said nothing. He continued, "They've all moved on. The kids have all grown up. Sarah's going to start Hogwarts next year, Charlotte is definitely not the scrawny little baby I saw..."

"But she still gets along with you well," Hermione said, putting an arm on his shoulder, "I remember the only person with whom she never cried as a baby, apart from Tara and Charlie, was you."

"That was because the twins got a big kick out of seeing her cry. Bill was too scary. Ginny was too clumsy, and Percy was a git."

"Or because she was smitten with you," Hermione teased.

"I wish." He sighed, exhaustedly, and raked his dark hair with his fingers.

"You shouldn't have played so much." She put her hand on his knee.

He smiled radiantly, "Not every day you get to beat the pants out of Charlie you know. Speaking of which, Charlie junior, is one hell of a player. If she had been taller, she could play for the Cannons!"

"Ron, I hardly think, the Cannons will like the idea of a six year old girl playing with them."

"She'll be seven in two months."

"You sound just like her."

"Well she is my goddaughter, you know."

"For good reason." She harrumphed, and stood up to go to Ron's table. He caught her hand, and pulled her to stand in front of him. Gently he put his hands on her waist and said, "I don't know if I could ever see them again, Hermione."

Hermione looked into his grey eyes, and saw a familiar longing. Gently, she pulled him to keep his head on her stomach, and stroked his hair.

"It's been so long..." he whispered, tightening his embrace about her hips, "They've all grown older and I will just be me, I suppose. Time doesn't move on for me."

"Ron," she whispered, pulling him a little backwards, and kneeling down to catch his face in her hands and look into his eyes. "Can't you try...you know...to come back?"

He shook his head, and squeezed his eyes. She ran her fingers to the sore part of his head, slipping them through his hair to feel it. It wasn't badly swollen; she gently caressed it with her fingers. He opened his eyes and met her gaze, "I want to. But it's too late Hermione. They all think me dead. Let them. I don't ever imagine what I would tell them. They'd forgive me...Hermione. They will, that's just how they are. Full of love and support, but I wouldn't be able to forgive myself. I've done too many horrible things."

"But you did it for the greater good."

"Greater good?" he chucked, sarcastically, "Who decides that Hermione? I don't see any good in having to kill...but I would do it. I would do it a hundred times if it meant protecting those who matter to me. Even if those who matter to me may never accept me. Or I may never see them again."

"Ron-"

"No, Hermione." He caught her face and brought her closer. "By the time I am able to come back it will be too late. And with what excuse shall I come back? They've suffered like you did. Their tears, though I am not worthy of it, would all be in vain like yours did. I can't look at Mum and expect her to rile me as she used to, or at the twins and expect them to play pranks on me. I have wronged them by fooling them, just like I did to you. I may be a coward to face them, but the truth is. This day is the last I see my house."

Hermione wanted to say something. Anything. She knew better than anyone else that a part of her still resented his being alive. That part goaded on her conscience in brining him here. She felt guilty most of the time, for the simple fact that the Carl Tyler they all knew was indeed their own brother, and only she had this knowledge. She felt guilt towards Molly most of all, because she suspected that she was still the grieving mother, and her loss of a son had only been a farce. She could imagine what it was doing to Ron. The guilt, the betrayal and above all the knowledge of a loss so great that he would never recover. Even if he found a family of his own, how would he be able to forget this one? He would never be able to go back to his mother and tell her she had grandchildren from him, because his mother thought him dead. He'd never be able to call any of his family members in a crisis or a triumph because they all thought him dead. He would be alone. No friends, no family, not even his colleagues because the Spectres were trained to work on a lonely front. She imagined what it would be now, when he was struggling with his own sanity. With his feelings and emotions and the exhaustion that was slowly taking a toll on him.

"Don't cry." He brought her into his arms, and it was only then she felt the wetness in his cheeks. "Don't cry," he whispered in her ears, "I'm not worth so many precious tears."

"You're wrong," she whimpered, burying her head into his shoulder. She missed the muscular one of his real appearance but what difference did it make. This was Ron. That was all that mattered.

She realized after a while that he was holding onto her and crying. She brought herself up to sit on the bed next to him as he grabbed onto her and sobbed miserably, provoking her own tears. How could he have taken on a task so difficult and handled it all alone? Why? Was Harry Potter worth a lifetime of loneliness? Was she worth a lifetime of loneliness? Why did it have to be him? Why not her? Why did he have to be the valiant protector of them both? She ached for him. She ached to keep him with her forever and let nothing hurt him. It was the type of protectiveness that came out of something so pure than in any form it was beautiful. As a mother, a father, a brother, a sister, a husband, a lover, a wife. And above all the way it came from Ron. A friend.

"Oh God!" his strangled gasp came, as he sobbed in her shoulder. She ran her hand over his fully arched back, as he leant entirely on her. "How can I survive Hermione?" he whispered, "How will I survive without them all? Why did this happen? I feel so fucking weak."

"You're not weak," she said, through her own silent tears, feeling the sleeveless shoulder of her sundress getting wet with his tears, "You're strong. Ron Weasley. The strongest person I know."

"No, I am bloody not. If I had the guts to do anything, this operation would be long over and I wouldn't have come and ruined your life. Hell! I am so fucked up I cry like a woman."

"Crying is not a bad thing you know." Then to distract him, she teased, "Oh but I suppose you are too macho for it all."

"Yeah well you should see Geiger cry."

"Geiger cried?" Hermione pulled him back to see his glistening eyes. He sniffled and put his head back into her shoulder.

"Like a baby."

"Oh." Hermione chucked, and sniffled away the tear, feeling the weight a little less on her heart, as she caressed his hair.

"The bloody git got stuck to an arrow once."

"An arrow got stuck to him, you mean?"

"No, he got stuck to an arrow. Long story."

"I don't want to hear it."

"I don't want to tell it. Anyway, Razia was at least a day's journey away, so we had to remove it the old-fashioned style. As in Muggle old-fashioned style."

"You had to pull it out manually?"

He nodded and rested his cheek on her shoulder, looking up at her and grinning wickedly, "He squealed like a rabbit and cried like a baby."

She laughed and held him closer, resting her head on his forehead. "I'd love to see that."

"I bet you would, you feisty woman." He kissed her cheek. "Not a day I wish you weren't there to whomp his proud arse."

"Or spank yours," she chided.

"Oh you'd like that would you?" He straightened his head and cocked up an eyebrow. Her heart did that little flutter.

"Are you flirting with me?" she teased.

"Me?" He leaned back, and made that false expression of innocence again. "Would never dream of it!"

"No?" she laughed. It was so good to laugh so freely. The way she and Ron would enjoy themselves had become a dream now. Lost a long time ago with her desire to sleep. She lost her train of thought, as the mischief in his eyes faded. She watched, as his gaze dropped to her lips. She unconsciously pouted them.

He growled so softly, she wasn't sure she heard it, but that thought was lost the minute he took her lips prisoner with his own. A driving need replaced the sorrow and fear, and she responded immediately, allowing her own hands to slip into his soft dark hair. Closing her eyes, she opened her mouth, and trembled, as his tongue crashed on to hers. Sucking and caressing it, slowly he began pushing her down to the bed. Not forcefully, but not gently either. She didn't retaliate, or think about the previous night's incident, as the bed creaked when she was completely resting on it. The bed as too small for Ron. She smiled, as she kissed his cheek when his lips moved to the opposite side of her face. Her legs were still dangling under the bed, as she felt him slowly shift his body, his knees knocking with hers when he settled gently over her. She gasped under his weight, and felt him raise his body and balance himself over an already wobbly bed. She smiled. He kissed her lips, and she opened her mouth without protest, as he slid his tongue in again. His hands moved from their supporting position on the bed to her sides, and ran up and down sending sparks of electricity. Gasping with each breathtaking kiss, aware that the little sounds of pleasure were arousing him because his kissing became more intense, and his body began rubbing against hers.

She had shied away from a touch so sensual for too long. After Ron's death her own uncertainty about being able to love anyone else kept her away from men for long. She didn't realize how long until now, when the one she did love kissed her sensually down to her collarbone. Her mind began forcing her to see reason. This was Ron, because of whom she never could look at another man and feel anything beyond friendship, because of whom she was afraid to love, for fear of loss and afraid to touch for fear of rejection. This was Ron, who was no longer the one she knew. He was violent and unpredictable and a man who clearly was experienced with women. The one who could only love her for a minute and be done with her the next. Even if he did care for her, would he not break her heart? Would he not leave her again never to return?

But as he began pulling her over him, her mind began numbing in its protests. The need for affection, and the desire for him replaced all sense of reason. She found herself atop of him giggling, as he leaned his head up and kissed her urgently, keeping one hand at the nape of her neck.

The man was an amazing kisser.

He smiled, in response to her giggling and whispered, "Like being on top?"

"Always." She mumbled against his lips before nibbling on it. He groaned, opened his mouth, and she pushed her tongue into his. Pressing her hands on his chest, unsure if she had ever experienced a gesture so passionate and so delicious as his skillful kissing, she could do this forever. He rolled her again, to push her on her back, not breaking away for a second from her mouth, as their hands took a mind of their own. The feel of his gentle touch began driving her insane with the desire to taste him all over. She broke away, and kissed his cheek, his ear, his jaw, his neck right down to his collar, and she began to fumble with its buttons. He only reacted by kissing his way to her neck, and sucked at the thrum of her pulse. A tremor shot through her body, and she began shivering against him in pure pleasure, catching hold of his collar with the feeling that she would sink if she left him.

He gasped loudly, and broke away from her.

She opened her eyes looking at him confusedly, as he rolled himself off her, and sat on the bed, panting furiously.

Feeling tremendous disappointment, and above all more emptiness at the loss of his touch, she sat up, aware that her legs were still dangling over the ground. He looked flushed, and tired and Hermione wondered if his wound was hurting him, so she leaned, to press his side.

"No." he said huskily, "It's not the pain."

"Ron?" she was still confused to wonder about anything.

He looked at her with a desire so intense, she wondered if she was imagining it to be something else.

He reached his finger, and traced the line of her jaw, "I can't do this."

Hermione wanted to scream at him, but she tried to force the urge down.

"I want to..." he whispered, and pulled her into his arms. "Merlin knows, I want you more than anything else."

She remained motionless, as she felt his hand brush over her arm. She did not respond, as he gently pushed her head onto his shoulder, "But I can't...I...will leave. I have to leave. And it will be forever."

At which, she buried her head into his shoulder, and tried to force the tears of longing away.

"I don't deserve you Hermione," he whispered in her ear. "I want you like hell, but I don't deserve you. I won't break your heart."

Her heart broke the day he died, she wanted to tell him. Her heart broke every time she thought of him, she wanted to say. Yet her mind told her he was right. If she could stand being around him without needing him, how would she handle being away from him if he took all she had left? She chose to remain a virgin because no one could elicit the reaction that Ron did in her. More so because of the fear of being hurt. She would be hurt when he would be gone. And he had to go. Whether they liked it or not.

"I'll..." Her voice was cracked, and she cleared her throat. "I'll...go and see..."

A knock on the door did not let her complete. Hermione sat up straight, breaking away from Ron and tensed. She didn't know how whoever it was would react if they knew that she had brought him to Ron's room. The second knock resounded and Ron stood up, giving her a reassuring look and kissed her hand before he went to the door and opened it.

"Oh I am sorry, dear." Molly's soft voice came in, before she did. Ron smiled at her and said, "Molly. Hermione was just..."

"Showing you Ron's room?" Molly said, looking at her. Hermione blushed. The woman had seven children enough to know what her own face, which was probably as flushed as Ron's, was would look like.

Was that amusement she saw on her face?

"It's okay, darling." She patted Ron's - Carl's arm before she closed the door behind her and stepped properly into the room, looking at Hermione intently. Hermione frowned, inadvertently; Molly looked as though she was hiding something. She shook off the thought. She was already so nervous she could be pointing fingers all over the place.

Molly looked about the room and sighed heavily, "We threw the ghoul in the attic out a year after you died."

"Ah yes," Ron said, "Hermione told me about the ghoul..." he broke off and his face became pale. Hermione's eyes widened, as she swallowed. Did Molly just say 'you'?"

Ron came towards her and said, "I'm sorry, Molly?" he asked uncertainly.

Hermione knew, the instant Molly looked at her with an expression so intensely full of emotion that only belonged to the eyes of a mother. Molly kept her gaze fixed on her and said softly, "When he was conceived, I knew it. I knew I was going to have another child, long before the signs of my pregnancy began to show. I held him for nine months and twelve days. I delivered him after 15 hours, 50 minutes and 26 seconds of labour. His head was as bald as an egg. 'Mum' was the first word he said. 'Quidditch' was the second. I saw him take his first step and the look in his eyes when Ginny was born. I watched him grow for nineteen years. I was there, Hermione. Whenever he thought I ignored him, I was there more than ever. Whenever he thought he wasn't special, I thought he was the best of the lot. The instant I was told he was dead, I knew he wasn't. The more I tried to convince myself of it the more I was convinced against it. All my children thought me grieved but in my heart I knew."

Hermione began trembling as Molly's gaze brimming with tears shifted to meet Ron in the eye. She watched as the older woman went towards Ron who was already shaking.

One single tear slipped from Molly's eye, as she blinked, before her voice dropped to a croaky whisper, "You silly boy! Did you really think you could fool your own mother?"