Lost and Found

Chapter IX

Settling In

Hermione stood in the middle of the sitting room looking around. She was trying very hard to imagine it with fresh paint, nice furniture, and her and Ron's belongings scattered about. The problem was, the room required a great deal of imagination to even begin improving it, and Hermione had always been far too practical a girl to let her imagination run away from her. She ruefully wondered if she should not have let herself enjoy a few more flights of fancy when she was younger. It might have better prepared her for the task ahead.

The sitting room was painted the same dingy gray as the rest of the house. On one wall, Hermione and Ron's boxes containing their possessions were neatly stacked. To the right of the door was a large fireplace with an ornate mantle that could just be seen under the dirt. Hermione briefly wondered if it was connected to the Floo network. After a moment, she decided it was not. That would create far too easy an entry to Grimmauld Place and Harry would never allow that. She made a mental note to speak to someone in the Floo Network Office about connecting the fireplace. It would raise eyebrows, the reconnection of a fireplace at the house where Harry Potter was known to have taken refuge from the world after the war, but Hermione felt she and Ron should have access to the network in case of an emergency.

Continuing her assessment, Hermione looked across the room to where she assumed there was a window behind the heavy drapes which hung in wilted folds. She could not guess when they were last opened. In front of the drapes stood a scarred and rickety old table that appeared to have seen its best days at least two centuries before. Next to the table were two hard-backed chairs that looked just as wobbly. On the fourth wall sat a sad couch in a faded shade of brown. The cushions on it were sagging in the middle and the whole piece looked as if it would swallow up anyone foolish enough to sit on it.

Hermione bit her lip to keep from sighing. While she had never been afraid of it, there was a lot of hard work to be done.

"Well, that didn't take long."

Hermione looked to the doorway leading to the bedroom and saw Ron leaning against the jamb with a sour expression on his face. She had sent him to check out the bedroom while she took in the sitting room.

"How is it?" she asked.

"One piece of furniture. A lumpy old bed not even Crookshanks would sleep on," replied Ron.

"Well," said Hermione, trying to sound bright and enthused. "We are starting a new life together, and that does include furnishing it."

Ron snorted. "And where do we sleep until then?"

Hermione looked at the floor and Ron, guessing what she was thinking, said, "You can't be serious!"

"It was just a thought," Hermione admitted. She again tried to contain a sigh and was only slightly successful. "Let me see the bed," ermione found the color to be depressing o

she said, stepping past the boxes and toward Ron.

The bedroom and bed were as bad as Ron had made them out to be. She turned to him and said, "I sure hope you're up to shopping for furniture after work this week."

Ron's response was merely another snort.

"For tonight, though," Hermione continued, "this will have to do." She pulled out her wand, pointed it at the bed and muttered an incantation. There was a quiet shimmer as the old, broken-down piece of furniture was transfigured into a bed with a plain, wood headboard and a slightly more comfortable looking mattress on top.

"That's more like it," said Ron, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "A bit hard, though," he complained. "Not at all up to your usual standards."

"Well," Hermione said sharply, her feelings hurt. She could have transformed the bed into a thing of beauty and comfort but, secretly, she truly wanted to go and buy a new bed with Ron. In her mind, one of the things a new marriage should start with was a new bed. Conjuring would work for other pieces of furniture but, to Hermione, they never felt quite as solid or long lasting as the old-fashioned, Muggle-built pieces like her parents had. "It's either that or the sagging sofa in the sitting room," she continued. "Take your pick, Ronald."

Ron grinned back at her. "Wherever you are, love."

Hermione laughed and joined Ron on the bed. "We'll fix it up," she said, taking his hand in hers. "It won't be so bad. Soon it'll be just like home."

Ron's grin faded and he looked at Hermione seriously. She opened her mouth to speak but Ron cut her off by placing a finger on her lips. "My home is wherever you are, Hermione. It doesn't matter if it's at the Burrow, here in some small, dirty rooms, or out in the Forbidden Forest with Aragog's children, as long you're with me."

Hermione felt her eyes getting watery. "We'll make this a good home, Ron. I promise."

Nodding, Ron said, "Yes, we will. And now," he leaned closer to her, "I feel like kissing my wife."

~*~

After trying out the transfigured bed, Ron and Hermione went back into the sitting room and started riffling through some of the boxes. They began to unpack only the items they would need in order to get through the next few days, as it did not seem to be a good idea to unpack everything until the rooms themselves had been fixed up and they were ready to find permanent homes for their belongings.

They opened several boxes and in the process of pulling out robes for work and other necessary items, Ron found his broomstick. When he thought Hermione was not looking, he tucked it into a corner. Standing back, he admired the placement of the broom and smiled as he thought the ugly room already looked a bit better and more hospitable.

Hermione, meanwhile, had come across her tattered school copy of Hogwarts: A History. She ran her hands over the cover sentimentally for a moment and smiled as she remembered all the pleasure and knowledge she had received from her various readings of this most favorite book. While Ron was placing his broom in the corner, she softly made her way to the fireplace and gently set the book on the mantle. She smiled and thought that it was actually starting to feel a bit like home now.

As they admired the two little pieces of their lives they had brought out, Ron and Hermione caught each other's eye and exchanged somewhat guilty smiles before heading back to the boxes.

Hermione had just returned from taking some towels into the bathroom and Ron was rummaging in a box for his favorite socks when there was a knock at the door. Startled, they glanced at each other before Hermione called, "Come in."

The door opened and Winky, barely visible behind the heavily laden tray she was carrying, walked in. "Winky is bringing Master and Mistress Weasley dinner," she announced as she moved across the room toward the table. Winky stared at the table with an expression of distaste while Ron appreciatively sniffed the air. He heard Hermione gasp as Winky suddenly walked out from under the tray and left it hovering in the air where she had been standing.

Settling her little hands on her hips, Winky glared at the offending piece of furniture. A high-pitched, "Hmph" was heard as she lifted a hand and snapped her fingers. Suddenly, the battered table was no more and an elegant, round table with carving on all four legs sat in its place. Another snap and the chairs matched the new table. Winky nodded her head and, returning to the tray, said, "Winky thinks a pretty cloth would be nice."

Hermione got the hint and, as Winky and the tray approached the table, she conjured a soft blue tablecloth that floated into place. Without pausing, Hermione also conjured matching napkins and chair cushions. Ron gave a happy sigh as Winky, aided by a solicitous Hermione, unloaded the contents of the tray onto the table. When it was empty, Winky gathered up the tray and gave both Ron and Hermione a beaming smile. "Winky hopes Master and Mistress enjoy their meal." She started toward the door but Hermione stopped her.

"Winky," said Hermione quietly, "we are not your master or your mistress. You do understand that, don't you?"

Ron rolled his eyes. She would never give up that SPEW business.

With a horrified expression on her face, Winky replied, "The Weasleys certainly are Winky's master and mistress. They is residents in Master Harry Potter's house and his best friends and Winky works for them too. Though," she added sadly, "Winky must always side with Master Harry Potter's wishes when they differ. Winky is wishing..." The house-elf trailed off and hit herself in the head as though she had said too much. Saying nothing more, she left the room and shut the door quietly.

"Hermione," Ron started. She glared at him and he changed his mind. "Fine, let's just sit down and enjoy this great meal. Winky went to a lot of trouble and we wouldn't want it to be wasted, now would we?"

Without speaking, Hermione moved to the table and sat down. She took her napkin and settled it into her lap before looking up at Ron.

"There's something missing," said Ron, looking around. His face brightened as his eye fell on a box across the room on which the lid was askew. He remembered seeing them in there earlier. Ron pulled out his wand and thought, Accio candlesticks. A pair of crystal candlesticks that had been a wedding gift from Hermione's Aunt Ethel flew across the room. Ron grabbed them and set them down on either side of the large dish containing steaming shepherd's pie. He gave another flick of his wand and a pair of candles followed. Once they were settled, he lit them with his wand and smiled at his wife.

Hermione smiled back and lifted her glass. "To our new home," she said.

Raising his own glass, Ron replied, "Our new home."

~*~

On her first day back to work, Hermione took a moment during lunch to stop by the Floo Network Office. A young wizard greeted her just inside the office door and, when she told him what she wanted, he referred her to a witch on the far side of the room. A small plaque on her desk identified her as Madame S. Wilpott.

Hermione's request itself was greeted with indifference, as it was common enough. It was when she gave the address that the entire room grew silent.

"I'm sorry, you want a fireplace at what address reconnected?" asked Madame Wilpott.

Calmly, Hermione replied, "Number twelve Grimmauld Place."

The witch's eyes grew wide and her thin eyebrows disappeared into her hairline as another voice in the room piped up. "Isn't that where Harry Potter lives?"

"Yes, it is," said Hermione. She could feel every eye in the office focused solely on her and she tried to stand still.

"Why do you want a fireplace at Harry Potter's house reconnected to the Network?" Madame Wilpott's eyebrows were still missing and Hermione really wished they would return to where they belonged.

Steeling herself, Hermione answered, "Because my husband and I are now living there also and we would like the fireplace in our rooms reconnected."

There was silence and no one moved. Madame Wilpott's mouth dropped open and, combined with her raised eyebrows, she looked a bit like a surprised seal.

A derisive voice from the far side of the room suddenly broke through the silence. "Who are you to be living with the Chosen One?"

"That's right," seconded another voice. Hermione could not tell where it was coming from. "He hasn't been seen in over two years. I can't imagine he would suddenly allow someone to move into his house."

"What?" asked a third person. "Is he desperate for money and renting out rooms now?"

"Well." This voice was from a completely different direction. "I heard he lost his mind when his girlfriend died."

"Much like that Weasley girl lost hers."

The women in the office had gotten caught up with the old gossip and they began rehashing the end of the war with gusto.

Hermione reached her breaking point with the small-minded witches. "You hear all sorts of rumors and falsehoods," she snapped, particularly angry at the comments about Ginny, regardless of the truth in them. "Not to mention that you are all perpetuating them by continuing to discuss them like this when you know nothing! None of you were there!"

A tall blonde witch sitting closest to Hermione asked waspishly, "And how would you know? Like you were there any more than the rest of us."

Struggling to retain control, Hermione snarled, "I do know. I was there!"

There was no immediate response as Hermione glared defiantly around the room. Finally, a timid voice said, "You're Hermione Granger, aren't you?" When Hermione nodded, the voice continued, "And your husband is Ron Weasley?"

There was silence as the others in the office realized who she was and that she had been one of the few in the Chosen One's inner sanctum. Finally, Madame Wilpott cleared her throat. "Well," she said, and every face in the room turned toward her. "Be that as it may, neither you nor your husband is the legal owner of the property in question."

Hermione's heart sank as the woman continued. "However, if Mr. Potter will sign this form," she held out a parchment bearing the official seal of the Floo Network Office of the Ministry of Magic, "then we will be happy to make the reconnection."

Hermione, still attempting to control her anger, took a deep breath to still her shaking hands. "Thank you," she said as civilly as possible while taking the parchment from Madame Wilpott.

She turned away from the witch's desk and as she did she allowed her eyes to linger on each person in the room. With a final glare at them all, she thrust her chin in the air and stalked from the office.

~*~

Ron sighed and looked at the clock on the wall opposite his desk. The hands on its face had not moved significantly since the last time he looked at it. The clock, a Christmas gift from Hermione and designed for the workplace, caught Ron's glance and waved one of its hands cheerily. Ron grimaced and returned his gaze to the haphazard mess on the desk before him.

Suppressing another sigh, Ron decided to take shorter holidays in future. Two weeks was simply too long to leave his desk unattended and at the mercy of others. After all, here it was Friday already and his desk was just as cluttered as it was on Monday when he had first returned. At this thought, Ron wondered when he had suddenly become so responsible and, after a moment, he decided it had probably not been so sudden but, rather, had been slowly developing for some time and was undoubtedly, at least in some part, influenced by Hermione.

Despite being hard at work all week--except for his lunches with some of the players who wandered over to the administration building after using the Cannons' superior training facility for some off-season workouts--Ron felt he had barely made a dent in the backed-up work sitting on and around his desk.

Rolls of parchment were scattered over the surface and piled dangerously high in one corner where they waited patiently for Ron's attention. A few rolls that had toppled off the pile earlier in the week rested on the floor. There were two broken quills tossed to one side and one of them was covered in black ink from when Ron had accidentally upset his ink bottle during a frantic search for a parchment detailing a Healer's report on Grover Hennessy, the Cannons' newest Chaser.

Now, as the end of the week neared, Ron wondered if he would ever make sense of the disaster before him. He briefly toyed with the idea of owling Hermione and staying late, but the thought had no sooner entered his head than he grimaced. I'm beginning to sound like Hermione, he thought. Though, I really don't fancy the idea of going back to Grimmauld Place.

They had been living at Harry's for just over a week now and it was anything but cheerful. Monday evening Hermione had returned to Grimmauld Place in a rage due to some incident in the Floo Network Office. After a quiet dinner in their suite, Ron suggested they do some of that furniture shopping they had discussed. The next evening was spent in much the same way, and there were now several tiny, little crates carefully arranged on the mantle next to Hermione's Hogwarts: A History.

For he remainder of the week, they shared their dinner in the sitting room and then remained in their suite for the rest of the evening as they both seemed uncomfortable leaving their rooms unnecessarily.

As for Harry himself, he had not been seen by either Ron or Hermione since the day they arrived. Harry's location in the house; whether he moved about during the day when Ron and Hermione were at work; why he would not sign the Floo release that remained, unmoved, on the kitchen table; and his general state of mind, were all topics Ron had listened to Hermione chitter on about all week. Ron had finally wearied of the topic and when Hermione began on it for the umpteenth time the night before, he had turned to her and, without preamble, kissed her. It was a most effective way to silence her on the subject and led to a very enjoyable time for them both.

Ron smiled in remembrance of the previous evening and then sighed as he looked at the clock again. He had fifteen minutes left before he could go home and it would take that long just to sort through enough parchment to find something simple to take care of.

"Weasley!"

Ron jumped and then looked towards his boss' office. Wally Wervin stood in the doorway. He had a cigar clamped between his teeth and the buttons were straining on his robes as he strode forward toward Ron's desk. Wally's eyes flicked over the surface and Ron cringed inwardly, sure a reprimand was on its way.

"You've done a great job this week," Mr. Wervin surprised Ron by saying. "This desk is at least only half as full as it was on Monday. But, what I want to know is, what are you still doing here?"

"Er, excuse me, sir?" Ron asked, still shocked at the comment about his desk.

"Well, if I had a new wife at home and it was the end of the week, I'd be off as quick as a Firebolt to spend as much time with her as possible. As it is," he continued, "I've got an old wife so I only move as fast as a Shooting Star to get home."

"But, it's not time yet," said Ron, indicating the clock on the wall.

Mr. Wervin waved his hand at the clock. "Who cares what that thing says. Go home, Weasley. There's nothing you can do in the time left that will cause you to find the surface of that desk, anyway. You can pick it up again on Monday."

Ron tried to conceal a grin. "Are you sure, Sir? I can go?"

"Aren't you listening?" Wally Wervin was trying to look fierce now but instead, his expression made him appear as though he had an acute case of indigestion. "I said, GO!"

Ron did not hesitate. He stood up from the desk, said thank you to Mr. Wervin, and almost ran from the room.

~*~

When Ron opened the door to the sitting room, Hermione was sitting at the table moving small bits of parchment around. She looked up and smiled. "You're home a bit early, aren't you?"

"Yeah," replied Ron, walking up behind her. "Mr. Wervin let me go early. What are you doing?" he asked, looking over her shoulder.

"Well," said Hermione, "we're going to spend tomorrow painting and we need to pick some colors. I've narrowed the choices down to these." She indicated the parchment in front of her.

Ron looked at a small pile off to the side. "What are those? Rejects?"

"Exactly. Now," said Hermione, "which one do you like for the bedroom? I thought we'd paint in there first and I've narrowed it down to Gilderoy Gold or Horntail Honey." She pointed to two pieces of parchment with differing shades of pale yellow on them.

"Gilderoy Gold?" Ron asked, wrinkling his nose in disgust. "Surely, you're joking?"

Hermione looked up at Ron and he could see she was clearly not joking. He tried to be serious but all he could see when he looked at the samples on the table was yellow. What was the question, again? Oh, yeah. Which one did he like better.

"Well, I've heard that yellow isn't exactly a restful color, Hermione. Are you sure you want to put it on the walls in the bedroom?" Ron could not remember where he had heard this, but he thought it sounded knowledgeable.

Hermione snorted indelicately. "This coming from someone who grew up in a violently orange bedroom. Pick one, Ronald, or I'll just choose for both of us."

Ron suspected Hermione would make the final choice anyway but thought it was nice of her to pretend to include him in the process. He looked at the colors again. Honestly, either one would be fine, he thought. There really doesn't seem to be much difference anyway. But then there was the unpleasant idea of having something called Gilderoy Gold on the walls of the bedroom he was sharing with Hermione. Trying to keep his expression neutral, Ron pointed to one of the swatches. "That one," he said. "Definitely, that one."

"Gilderoy Gold it is," said Hermione, setting that swatch aside.

"Wait! That's not the one I picked," protested Ron.

"I know," said Hermione sweetly. "But it's the one I picked."

Annoyed, Ron grabbed a random piece of parchment off the reject pile. "What about this one? I like purple. Why can't we have purple instead?" He realized he sounded like an idiot, but he could not let the Gilderoy Gold win without a fight.

Hermione's expression immediately turned sour. "Absolutely not," she said harshly, trying to take the swatch back from Ron. "I don't even know how I got that one. Give it back."

"Why? What's wrong with it?" Ron asked. "Why is Gilderoy Gold any better than..." he held the parchment up in the light to read the color name. "Oh," he said. "I think you're right. I don't think purple is a good idea after all." He handed the sample labeled 'Luscious Lavender' back to Hermione and watched her throw it on a plate on the table.

Hermione picked up her wand, held it to the parchment and muttered, "Incendio." Luscious Lavender went up in flames and they both watched until there was nothing left but ashes.

After a moment, Hermione cleared her throat and said, "I suppose Horntail Honey is a pretty color. What do you think?"

"I think Horntail Honey is an excellent color," agreed Ron.

~*~

A week later Ron had to admit the bedroom looked much better with the Horntail Honey on the walls. The ugly drapes had been replaced with some white, see-through fabric curtains Hermione called 'sheers.' The new curtains allowed in a great deal of sunlight and, with the yellow walls, the whole room was brighter.

They had moved the new furniture in a few evenings before and then spent the next evening putting away all their belongings that went in the bedroom. After celebrating the completion of the bedroom the night before, they had awakened early that morning to begin painting the sitting room.

Hermione had chosen a soft white color for the sitting room. Ron could not remember what silly name this color had but at least it was not named after anyone they knew. By early afternoon they had three walls painted when Hermione suddenly realized they were not going to have enough paint. "I can't believe I made such a mistake!" she groused. "I wanted to finish the first coat today."

Ron looked at his watch. "Well, it's still early yet. I could go and get more paint and maybe we could still get it done."

Hands on her hips, Hermione frowned at the room in general and then at Ron in particular. "I suppose we could try," she said gloomily. "But it's important to finish before dark so we can see if we missed a spot or if it's streaked or it isn't covered somewhere."

"When did you become an expert painter?" asked Ron.

The answer should not have surprised him. "I've been reading home improvement books. They're quite fascinating."

Ron suppressed a groan. "Okay, well, it's the middle of summer and there's loads of daylight left so why don't I just get more paint and we'll get right back to it?"

"No, I'll go," said Hermione firmly.

"Why can't I go?"

"Because I know where I'm going and what I want," Hermione answered.

"And you can't tell me where to go and what to get?" Ron was beginning to feel insulted. It was like she did not trust him.

"No."

"Thanks a lot, Hermione."

"I'm sorry, Ron. But you'll see something in a window or run into Fred or George or someone and it will be hours before you get back," explained Hermione.

"Once, Hermione. That happened once!" Ron protested.

"Honestly, Ronald. Just stay here and appreciate the opportunity to rest a bit while I'm gone. We're going to have to work very hard when I get back to finish this coat before the sun sets." Hermione picked up a small bag with some coins in it and walked up to Ron. "Besides," she said kissing him lightly, "the sooner we finish the sooner we can move on to other things."

Always open to the idea of 'other things,' Ron kissed Hermione back and said in a low voice, "You better hurry up with that paint."

With a grin, Hermione opened the door of the sitting room and ran down the stairs.

Ron sat down on the old sofa they had, for some unknown reason, covered with a sheet. As he sank into cushions that threatened to swallow him, he grinned and allowed himself to imagine his reward for finishing the first coat of paint in a timely manner. Leaning his head back and closing his eyes Ron thought a short nap would be a good idea.

Twenty minutes later, Ron's stomach growled. Keeping his eyes closed he tried to ignore it and concentrate on his nap. Hermione should be back at any moment and he would need his energy for painting. After several more growls, Ron finally gave up and decided he needed a sandwich. He opened his eyes and began trying to extricate himself from the sofa.

When he was free from the engulfing piece of furniture, Ron began a mental debate with himself. He knew by now that this was the time of the week when Winky ran errands pertaining to the running of the household; so if he wanted something to eat, he would have to get it for himself. Going down to the kitchen meant the possibility of running into Harry. Then again, neither he nor Hermione had yet to see Harry since moving in so maybe there was nothing to worry about. After another few minutes Ron decided he had better just go downstairs.

Once in the kitchen, Ron dug around and found the makings of a sandwich. When it was assembled, he put it on a plate and took it over to the large table where he sat down and smiled. If there was one place in the kitchen where he excelled, it was at making sandwiches. His stomach growled again in anticipation.

Picking up the sandwich Ron took a bite and sighed. Perfect, he thought. Just perfect.

He was on his third bite when the door to the kitchen slammed open. Startled, Ron dropped the sandwich on the plate and watched some of the meat fall out from between the bread. Without thinking, he cast a dirty look toward the door and encountered a dark glower. Bloody hell, he thought. Harry.

Harry stood just inside the kitchen, his eyes shooting daggers at Ron. He looked very different than the last time Ron had seen him when he and Hermione first arrived. Ron thought this was how Hermione must have seen Harry that day she had flown here on Buckbeak. She had said he did not look like himself, but more like a shadow of who he had once been. As Ron looked at the flashing eyes in Harry's pale face, and took in his dirty, disheveled appearance, he wondered if there was any way Hermione's plan of helping Harry could possibly work.

"What do you think you're doing here?" Harry demanded.

Ron swallowed. "Just having a sandwich," he answered. "Hermione--"

"I don't care about Hermione!" Harry shouted. "I asked what you're doing here. How dare you eat in my kitchen! You're supposed to be in your rooms!"

"What? Blimey, Harry. I'm just eating a sandwich. It's no big deal." Ron was mystified as to why something like this would make Harry so angry.

"I don't care! Eat it upstairs!"

Ron stared at Harry. He and Hermione had spent weeks tiptoeing around the house and trying to avoid Harry. Ron had been anxious about not running into him, but he had no idea Harry's reaction would be this extreme.

Slowly standing up, Ron said, "You're being ridiculous, you know. I'm not doing anything that violates any of your rules, and if you wanted me to take my lunch upstairs all you had to do was ask nicely."

"The rules are subject to change," snarled Harry, stepping away from the doorway.

Ron got the hint. He was reaching down to take the plate with him, when he felt a sudden jerking motion at his heel. In the next instant he was hanging upside down and the remnants of his sandwich were scattered over the floor beneath him.

Ron twisted in the air until he could see Harry, his wand still pointed toward Ron. "What did you do that for?" he demanded.

Harry smirked and Ron cringed at the dead look in Harry's eyes.

"You didn't move fast enough," said Harry, lowering his arm and stuffing his wand in the back pocket of his jeans. He gave a mirthless chuckle and then left the room, the door swinging shut behind him.

~*~

Ron hung upside down in the kitchen for an hour before he heard the back door open. All the blood had rushed to his head and he thought it was going to explode. Trying to control his movement so he did not swing too wildly, Ron turned to see who had come in.

Standing just inside the back door with a container of paint in one hand, Hermione stared at Ron in astonishment.

"What happened?" she asked incredulously.

"I got bored waiting for you to come home and just decided to hang around in the kitchen," Ron answered sarcastically. "What do you think happened?" he demanded. "Harry happened! Now, get me down!"

Hermione set down the paint and hurried forward. Taking out her wand, she gently lowered Ron to the floor. He lay flat on his back for a few moments, trying to regain his equilibrium. Ron recounted the incident to Hermione, whose eyes grew wider with each sentence.

"I can't believe he would do that," she kept saying.

Struggling to sit up and getting annoyed, Ron said, "Oh, no, Harry would never do such a thing. That's why you came in and found me hanging upside down!"

"Ron, I'm sorry, it's just...I guess I'm just so shocked," she answered.

"You're shocked?" asked Ron. "I'm the one who hung in the air for an hour. What took you so long, anyway? You said you were going to go, get paint, and be right back."

Hermione's face turned pink. "I'm so sorry, Ron. I ran into Padma Patil and she was telling me the most fascinating things about her job in Greece and I guess...I guess I just lost track of time."

Ron scowled and moved his feet that were tingling as the blood began to return to them. "Tell me again why you wouldn't let me go get the paint?"

Hermione looked abashed. "I'm sorry, Ron. I really am."

"Yeah, well," said Ron. "You're not going to get your first coat finished like you wanted."

"I know," she said.

"And I," he added, "better still get the reward you promised me."

A slow smile began to spread over Hermione's face. She reached out and, taking Ron's hand, helped him to his feet. "You will," she said, kissing him on the cheek. "Don't worry, you will." Hermione led Ron from the kitchen and back up to their rooms.

~*~