Coming Into His Own

Chapter 4: Ron and Harry's Inquiries

Ron walked amongst the throng of people with his head held high. The wave of recognition had been the perfect ending to his already lucrative afternoon. The fans had been very appreciative of his actions in the pervious night's game - although he had barely mounted his broom before the snitch was captured. But he accepted all the compliments graciously, nonetheless. And since he was not flanked by his more popular teammates that day, he indulged himself in all the attention the Diagon Alley crowd had to give.

When the last of the autograph seekers had finally left, he placed his hands in his trouser pockets and walked down the cobbled walkway to his usual eatery, where he always received special treatment and a free meal from the managers. He had taken members of his family there on several occasions; it pleased him to no end that they were witness to his celebrity from the patrons who walked up to their table to shake his hand.

He was standing outside the establishment when he spotted his sister sitting at a table near the window. Harry was seated across from her, his head lowered as he ate. Ron stood there for a moment, contemplating whether to leave or proceed with his plans. A wicked smile curled onto his lips as he thought of joining them for their meal; the flustered look on Harry's face the night before when they sat facing one another at the dinner table surely amused him, and he would have delighted in jolting the other man's nerves once more.

But just then, Ron witnessed a patron walk up to Harry and placed his hand on the young man's shoulder. Ron lowered his head and walked away. Sitting beside Harry, he knew which one of them would receive the most recognition. He would surly be overshadowed in the place if he walked in.

His dream was to always outshine the other boy with his own celebrity, but that has not happened. But there was a moment a few months before when he saw Harry sitting alongside his family members during his Quidditch match. The pained look on Harry's face as the crowd cheered on his team still stayed with Ron, and was a rare moment that he thoroughly cherished.

But as Ron made his way up the street once more, he saw Percy taking his usual afternoon stroll. Although his older brother was usually in a dismal mood and talked of nothing but work, Ron was still yearning to have someone to talk to, or at least boost about his accomplishments to. He could always apparate to the twins' shop; but Fred and George were more likely to test one of their gag candies on him rather than offer him an ego boost. Ron longingly looked back at the window at his sister. She was the only one who was able to massage his sense of self.

Having no one else to go to, he decided to race after Percy. He was only a few feet away from his older brother, when he noticed that there was a young woman walking alongside him. When the woman turned her head to the side to swat a bee that was hovering over her shoulder, Ron took a step backwards. He ended up stepping on the feed of another wizard in the process. "Sorry about..." He broke off as he continued to stare at the brunette, who was now rounding the corner with Percy.

After catching his breath for a moment, he followed them, keeping several feet behind. They soon stopped outside a trinket shop and began to talk. Ron was able to find refuge behind a vegetable stand, which allowed him to listen to them without being noticed.

"Would you like to buy anything, young man?" asked an old witch, as she held up a bushel of carrots.

"I'm just browsing," he responded in a hushed voice, as not to draw the attention of the two people talking nearby.

He slowly crept along the wall so he could get closer to his brother and the young woman. His eyes worked fast to observe the woman's features, starting with her hair and eventually working his way down her body. But he was able to get a better look at her when she shifted positions and wound up facing him.

Ron brought his hand to his chest and inhaled deeply when he found himself staring into her face. A mixture of nervousness and excitement soon spread within him as he looked into her eyes. He found himself moving away from the wall to get a closer look at her. But realizing he could soon get caught, he moved back against the wall.

From this secret position, he was able to hear their conversation without attracting their attention.

"I still have to unpack my things," Hermione said. "I have to get used to living back here again." She looked up at the sky and sighed loudly. "I can't believe I get my very own house. 25 Summit Hill." She shook her head as a smile formed on her lips.

Just then Percy glanced down at his watch. "I think we should be getting back. I have a lot of work I still have to do."

"We've only been out for a few minutes. We didn't even get something to eat."

Percy still continued to look down at his watch, and fretting at the precious minutes he was spending away from his desk. But he ultimately decided that he should get some nourishment while they were out. He glanced back in the direction Ron was hiding - which caused the youngest Weasley brother to cower further against the wall. "I suppose we can go to that Italian restaurant over there," he said pointing to where Harry and Ginny were eating. "It's a little flashy for my taste, but the food--"

"I know another place," Hermione said quickly. Her gaze also flittered to the same restaurant; but unlike Percy, she had a deep frown fixed onto her features. "A place that's less...crowded." She then hooked her arm around Percy's and led him away.

*****************

The black Ministry cars slowly drove up the driveway as the gates creaked open. Arthur craned his neck out the window and gazed at the property, which seemed to go on for miles. The expression on his face was a mixture of fascination and astonishment, but after realizing who owned the property, a sour look soon took over. "It's a bit posh, don't you think?"

Harry remained slumped down in his seat, barely paying attention to the estate, as he fiddled with a loose thread on his shirt. "Yeah," he managed to mutter.

"Well, I wouldn't expect anything less than ostentatious from a Malfoy."

The caravan of five cars soon came to a halt by the front doors. Normally, such an entourage would not be necessary, as Arthur and Harry usually made the rounds by themselves. But when dealing with a member of the Malfoy clan, they took along extra backup. Harry turned his head and watched as some of the Hit Wizards climbed out of the car behind him and passed by his window. These men didn't knock on the front door, but ventured to the back of the mansion.

The curious expression on Harry's face must have been obvious because Arthur immediately responded. "They think he might be hiding his father...or someone else here."

Harry stared at him for a moment, as he wondered who this 'someone else' could be. But he did not utter a word and soon climbed out of the car.

The mansion was magnificent to say the least, and contained every enmity - and more - that a spoiled and pampered individual could ever want. But it seemed as though it was a miniature version of Malfoy Manor.

"I want you two to go in there," said Arthur, as he directed two junior assistants to the double doors at the end of the hall. "Christopher, you can search upstairs. And Simon, you're downstairs."

While the other men went on various floors, Arthur and Harry rounded the corner to the left and continued down the marble hall. Mr. Weasley seemed to know exactly where he was going; Harry was sure he had spent the majority of that morning memorizing the estate's floor plan. "He'll probably be in here," said Arthur as he paused in front of a paneled door.

And just as he had guessed, Draco was in the study. He was sitting in a chair behind his desk, his gaze fixed at the large window in front of him. He stared at the men from the corner of his eye when they walked into the room, but made no other reaction to their presence. "I want to see the warrant," said Draco as he resumed glancing out onto his grounds.

Arthur walked up to the large desk and unfolded the long parchment in front of the young man. Draco leaned forward and scanned the document, his long finger lightly grazing the signature of various Ministry officials.

Harry was curious as to why he would inspect it then; if Draco had any lingering questions about the document's legality, he would never have allowed them to enter his home. But Harry guessed the young man, like his mother, wanted to be difficult. When Draco was finally satisfied that it was legitimate, he pushed the parchment away.

"You of course will send me a copy of it," Draco said, without glancing at the man he was talking to.

"Of course." Arthur snatched the parchment and placed it back in his bag. "Harry, you stay here and do the questioning. I'll be back in a minute."

Harry was then left alone in the mahogany room to deal with Draco. He had hoped Arthur would do the interrogating, as he was not in the proper mind frame at the moment. There was long silence, as he looked around the room and observed the various books and other articles that littered the shelves - anything to keep from gazing at Draco.

Draco sat back in his chair with his hands clasped in his lap, and looked up at him. The expression on his face immediately took Harry back to their years at Hogwarts. The smug smile on the corner of Draco's lips was always present after he made a rude snipe at Ron. Surrounded by his usual bevy of supporters, who would all pat him on the back to show their appreciation for his cruelty, Draco would then watch as embarrassment fluttered onto Ron's face. It was then clear to Harry that Draco sensed his uneasiness.

Harry straightened up and searched the room for an extra chair. He found one in the corner. He hesitated for a moment, but after observing Draco's cold stare for another moment, he finally dragged the furniture to the desk and sat down. He pulled out his notepad and tapped the end of his quill on the edge of the desk.

Draco reached for the box of cigars that rested on his desk, and cut the tip. He then sank back in his chair and took a deep puff. The smoke from the cigar was thick and prevented Harry from seeing his face.

"So," Harry began, "we have some information that you're purchasing a nightclub." He stared into the smoke when he thought he heard Draco snort loudly. He waited for an answer, but after several moments, he asked, "Is it not true that you are in dealings to purchase a large building near Sloan Street?"

Harry began to fan his hand in the air to get rid of the smoke. When it finally cleared, he saw that Draco had a cynical expression on his face. Harry raised an eyebrow, as if asking the other man whether he was going to respond.

"Yes, Potter," Draco finally said. "I am purchasing a nightclub."

"And what are your plans for the building?"

Draco snorted once more. "What do you think? It's going to remain a nightclub." He then lowered his voice and mumbled, "Of course I'll have to restrict the clientele that will be able to come it. I wouldn't want any old riff raff to be able to get in, now would I?" With that, he gave Harry a hard look.

Harry ignored him and continued with his questioning. "There's been some reported Death Eater activity around that section of town. Can you explain that?"

"No, I can't."

"So it's just a coincidence that you're buying property there?"

"Yes, it is. And why are you asking me about Death Eater activity to begin with? I thought my mother supplied the Ministry with that sort of information."

Harry didn't answer and glanced down at his notepad for more questions. "Well, if you don't have any involvement with the Death Eaters, why were you inquiring about an antidote for a withering spell?"

Draco was about to bring the cigar to his lips once more, but suddenly stopped. "Who said I was?"

Upon hearing the almost startled tone in Draco's voice, Harry sat up straight. "We have our sources. And as you most certainly know, these sorts of spells are Dark curses. And are illegal."

Draco's face suddenly turned expressionless, and he lost the smug satisfaction that was once prominent on his lips. And for once, he stopped staring at Harry and glanced to the shelves of books on his right.

"Were you practicing any Dark spells?" Harry asked.

Draco continued his tactic of avoidance and did not meet his gaze. He only responded to the question by taking in a deep breath.

"Answering my questions," Harry went on, "will prevent you from getting yourself--"

"Why are you questioning me anyways?" asked Draco as he suddenly snapped his head towards Harry. "Shouldn't I be questioned by some high ranking Ministry official?"

"The 'high ranking officials' don't intervene unless you've gotten yourself into trouble."

Draco crossed his arms against his chest. "Well, I'll just wait until then. In the meanwhile, I want you out of my face."

Harry dismissed Draco's temporary stubbornness, as he was used to such behavior from many of the people they questioned. One such ill-tempered witch threatened to set him on fire if he didn't leave her house; but Arthur had warned him early on that such threats never resulted in much. But they kept precautions just in cause such an emergency occurred.

Harry flipped through the parchment that chronicled Draco's dealings. "There is also a large property in Paris that you appear to own. What might you use this for?"

Draco scoffed loudly. "It's a house obviously. I don't believe it's a crime to have two residences, is it?"

Harry brought his quill to the corner of his lips and kept a focused gaze on Draco. He paid close attention to the manner in which Draco drummed his fingers on the desk with intense speed, and the way his eyes would intermittently avert his stare. But after several minutes of this silent observation, Harry determined he had all the information he needed for that day and got to his feet to return the antique chair back to its rightful place in the corner.

Draco placed his elbows on his desk and watched his every move, as his lips twitched in a grimace. "It's pathetic to see what you've become."

The statement caused Harry, who was in the midst of placing his notepad back in his bag, to look up.

"Who would have thought that the famous Boy Who Lived would have turned out to be some....what are you again? Some lowly assistant?"

"I'm a project officer," Harry said.

"No matter how you try to dress it up, you're still someone's servant." Draco rested his hands calmly in his lap; he had finally gotten back the confidence and calm resolve that had escaped him a few minutes before. "And to think that you have to report to Weasel's father."

Harry did not utter a word, and flung his bag over his shoulder. He would not fall prey to Malfoy's ploy of trying to lure him into a confrontation. And the insult on his profession did not affect him; he considered it to be quite silly, to say the least. Harry thought they were both past the age where they bickered like schoolchildren, but apparently Draco was content to allow that inner brat within him to shine.

**************************

Ron brought his finger to his mouth as he gazed at the clock on the nearby wall. The clock now indicated that Percy was still at work and that Ginny was lost. But he wasn't concentrating on the whereabouts of his siblings, nor did he care. His thoughts as he lay on that couch for the past hour had stayed consistently on whom he had seen at Diagon Alley that afternoon. He constantly played back in his head the sight of her talking to his brother.

Of course the ordeal between him and Hermione had been painful. But the pain was slightly overshadowed by the embarrassment of being unceremoniously rejected, especially after he showed her time and time again proof of his affection for her. But the bigger headache always awaited him back in the common room.

Dean, Seamus and Neville had all assumed - with some confirmation from him, of course - that he was intimately involved with Hermione; so it was a very unpleasant moment when they would ask him why he and his beloved no longer associated with one another. And the hurt these questions produced were only intensified by the fact that the cause for his breakup with Hermione only slept a few beds away.

At times, Ron would awake in the middle of the night and stare down at Harry as he gripped at his bed sheets. He would often have to escape to the common room, where he would attack the cushions of a chair with a knife he had stolen from the Great Hall. The mess would eventually be blamed on Crookshanks - this gave Ron the small pleasure of seeing Hermione chastised by the rest of the house for not having control over her pet.

But the anger that erupted within him every few minutes during the end of his Hogwarts experience eventually faded. His time was too preoccupied with being a great player for his squad and basking in the benefits that came with his occupation. And that Harry was now bound to mundane deskwork also helped to calm him.

"Ron," called Mrs. Weasley from the kitchen, "do you want any of these leftovers?"

"No," Ron mumbled. He was now chewing on the front of his shirt and had made a considerable hole in the fabric.

"Are you going out tonight?"

Ron lazily turned towards her. "Why? Don't you want me here?"

"Of course it's not that, dear. You know I love it when you come around." She stopped wiping down the counter and glanced up at him. "I wish you would do it more often. I was just wondering what your plans were for the night."

"Nothing in particu--did you know that Hermione was working at the Ministry?"

Molly placed the dishrag back in the sink and rinsed off her hands. "Yes. Ginny told me when she stopped by earlier. Poor girl, I think she's upset that Harry has to work late. She's now forced to go over to one of her girlfriend's house for a change. Anyway, Ginny told me she and Harry ran into Hermione at the office and heard the big the news. I have to make her promise to come over for dinner some time. Gin said Harry had very little to say to Hermione, which is a bit odd."

At that statement, Ron immediately sat up on the couch as his brain started churning. He then remembered Hermione's reaction when Percy suggested they have lunch in the same establishment as Harry and Ginny. He slowly got up from the couch and began to make a grab for his jacket. He winced when he caught sight of his wet and torn shirt. But he was able to hide the destroyed shirt under his jacket.

"Where are you going dear?" Molly asked.

"Out," Ron flippantly uttered.

"Do you mind taking Percy along with you? He has no personal life anymore, poor dear. He's even taken to sleeping at his desk."

Ron sighed loudly as he closed his eyes. He continued to button his jacket, all the while hoping his mother would forget that he didn't answer her. But that was not the case, as Molly soon placed her hands on her hips and stared at him.

"This is not the kind of outing I would like to include Percy on," he said quietly. "But I'll take him with me some other time."

Molly snorted loudly. "I can just imagine where you're going." A defeated and disappointed sigh escaped her lips. "I wish you were settled down with a nice young woman. I mean look at Fred. He's calmed down considerably since he met his girlfriend. He's not wandering about aimlessly on the town like some vagrant."

Ron didn't bother to look back at her and continued to gather his things. It was moments like those that made him wonder why he considered coming back home at all, when he had his own flat waiting for him.

"And look at your sister," Molly continued. "I've never seen her so happy."

Ron glanced over his shoulder and gave her a long look. "Well, I wouldn't be so eager to want Harry as a son-in-law if I were you. He's not as perfect as you think."

His mother stared back at him, creasing her brows every now and then. "What is going on between the two of you, anyway? We've all noticed that--"

"I have to get going."

*******************

He stood by the door for several minutes as he smoothed back his hair. The wind had picked up considerably and his once neatly styled coif was now in shambles. When finally satisfied with his appearance, he stood up straight, as a confident smile curled onto his lips. Everything will work out perfectly, he thought over and over again in his head. The idea to visit her had occurred to him at The Burrow when his mother had mentioned her encounter with Harry at the Ministry. Seeing that she received such a cold reception from Harry, he thought he could win her over with his kindness.

He took a deep breath, before knocking on the door. The excitement built inside of him, as he imagined her opening the door at any given moment; but nothing happened. When he received no answer after knocking several more times, he pressed his face against the window to see if he could spot any signs of movement. A dim light could be spotted from inside the tiny house, but nothing else.

But just as he was about to head down the small walkway, he heard the door creak over. He turned around. She was standing in the doorway in her nightgown, while Crookshanks yawned lazily at her feet. Neither one said a word as they both stared at the other. It was difficult for him to see her face, as the light from the hallway cast a shadow on her features.

And just when he thought he couldn't stand the silence for any longer, Ron finally mustered the courage to speak. "I know it's a bit late..." He glanced down at his watch; it was midnight. A shocked look came over his face. He had meant to knock on her door earlier, but had lost track of time during his stroll around her neighborhood. Unfortunately, his walk did nothing to soothe his nervousness.

"I didn't mean to disturb you," he said. His gaze then drifted to the robe, which was loosely tied over her nightgown. His eyes stayed fixed on her bare shoulder, until she finally pulled her robe tight around her body.

Another awkward silence came over them. But this time, it was interrupted occasionally by the wind that howled through the air. And just when he thought his journey had all been for nothing, she finally spoke. "Why don't you come in?" she said in a hushed voice.

The tone of her voice first made Ron think she was being insincere about her offer. But he then realized she was merely tired.

Ron made his way to the door and brushed past her into the house. As he stood in the hallway, he was able to see her face, with the help of the gentle glow of the light that cascaded from the living room. He could tell that she looked just as nervous as he felt, though she tried to hide it by lowering her head.

"I'll make some tea," she said.

But before she could take a step, he grabbed her arm. "I don't want you to trouble yourself. I'm not gonna stay long." He glanced down at the wrist he now held tightly in his hand. Hermione looked down at it as well, before moving away. "I'm sorry about that," Ron muttered.

He then watched as she ventured to the kitchen and poured hot water from the kettle into cups. Seeing that the kettle was already on the stove, he assumed she had been up when he knocked on the door. He wondered why it had taken her so long to answer. But no worries, he thought to himself; he was talking to her now. He took the moment to look around the small house. It was plain and the walls were empty, except for the living room.

"Here you go," she said as she handed him a cup.

While reaching for it, Ron's fingers wrapped around Hermione's. He should have let go immediately, but he let his fingers remain on top of hers. It was only through the startled stare that Hermione gave him that he finally released his grip on her fingers.

Hermione walked to the living room and sat down in a small chair near the fireplace. Crookshanks curled into a ball near one of the chair's legs and fell back to sleep. The hot cup remained in Ron's hands for a long time, before he placed it on the bookshelf. He noticed that Hermione didn't drink her tea either, as it now lay on the coffee table.

Ron was about to take a seat in the sofa, but his jitteriness kept him from staying still for too long. He paced the small room. Although it appeared as though he was examining the artifacts and paintings that rested on the mantle place and walls, in reality, he was trying to think of what to say to her.

"Did you have a good first day at the Ministry?" he asked. His voice was laced with tension; he wasn't very good at feigning idle chitchat. Hermione must have sensed that the inquiry was just a prelude to more intense questions to come, and simply nodded her head.

He then stood by the mantle, and with his back turned towards her, he fingered a drawing of the Arc de Triumph. "Why didn't you respond to any of my letters? I went through a lot of trouble to get them to you. I must have sent you about twenty letters or so."

Ron remembered the disappointment he felt when Pig flew back to his flat from his first journey to Paris without any letters tied to his legs. The little owl had buzzed happily around his flat after completing his arduous task, but soon faced Ron's anger for coming back empty handed.

The drawing of the French monument remained in Ron's hand, as he waited for Hermione's response; but she said nothing. He finally turned around and stared at her. She was sitting back in her chair, looking down at her hands.

"I meant to write back," she said in a small voice, "but..."

Ron now leaned against the wall and looked down at her. "But what?"

"I didn't know what to say to you." Hermione's gaze remained lowered.

"How about telling me how you were doing? Or about your life in Paris?" He now moved around the room, all the while keeping an intense glare on her. "You'd think that after a year, you would just send me a little note saying you'd read them. Any kind of confirmation would have been nice. I kept thinking you were throwing them into the fire."

Hermione finally lifted her head and glanced at him. "I don't think a simple letter would have been enough for you. I know you would have wanted more."

Ron finally took a seat on the sofa and leaned towards her. "What do you mean 'more?'"

"Your letters became a bit intense after awhile and I don't think a one sentence letter would have sufficed."

Both of them made eye contact for a moment, but Ron was the first to look away. He knew what she was talking about. His correspondences had indeed become more forceful as time went on. He had initially tried to keep them light and friendly, but found it hard to hold back his strong feelings over their breakup. Plus her lack of response helped to fuel his anger, and he soon found himself sending her angry, ten page letters.

"Plus, I really didn't want to..." She hesitated for a moment. "I didn't want to relive the whole episode anymore."

Ron now sat up straight. His face, which was once flooded with curiosity, had now hardened. Hermione watched the transformation closely; but she did not let his narrowed eyes prevent her from continuing.

"Every letter you send me kept repeating what an evil person I was for breaking your heart," she said. "Do you know how lousy I felt after months of reading that?"

"I can guess it wasn't as lousy as I felt after what you did to me."

A bitter laugh escaped Hermione's mouth, as she shook her head. "You never give up, do you?"

"What do you expect me to do? Forget about the whole thing?"

Hermione lowered her voice and glanced down at the floor. "I don't expect you to forget any of that. But I do expect you to move on." She looked up at him once more, but now her gaze had lost all its bitterness. "Do you know that I stopped reading your letters after the fourth month?" She didn't wait for Ron to make a comment, and continued to speak. "I stopped because I got sick of beating myself up because of my past actions. I wish that episode in school had never happened and that no one got hurt..." She glanced back down at the floor and cleared her throat before making eye contact once more. "But in the end, I realized I did the only thing I could do at the time."

Ron got to his feet and stared down at her, before muttering in a bitter tone, "So you think what you did was right?" His eyes flittered along her face, as he felt himself become more and more agitated by her lack of guilt. "How can you just sit there so calmly and say it was okay for you to hurt people?"

"I'm not saying it was okay." She squeezed her eyes. "I've spent the last couple of years regretting my actions. But I'm not going to do that anymore. What I did was wrong, but it was the best decision for me."

Ron opened his mouth to say something else, but Hermione raised her hand to stop him. She, too, stood up and leaned against the wall, facing him. "This is the reason I didn't want to respond," she said. "I knew that no matter what I said to you, it would never make you happy."

Ron took a step forward. But seeing that she was backing away from him, he kept a substantial distance between them. "But all I wanted was a resolution."

Hermione crossed her arms against her chest. "No, all you wanted was for me to say that I picked the wrong boy."

"Apparently you did, since he rejected you."

Hermione stared at him for a moment, as if shocked. The calm look that was in her eyes suddenly disappeared; she now began to glare at the smirk plastered on his face. "Get out of my house."

Ron did not move for a while and continued to gaze back at her until she opened the front door. But as he walked past her, the look of satisfaction was still on his face.