Lost and Found

Chapter X

Trials

Hermione sat quietly on the grass in the garden of the Burrow. It was a warm Sunday in mid-September and she and Ron had followed their normal Sunday routine of visiting Ginny at St. Mungo's, and then coming to the Burrow for the weekly Weasley family dinner. Hermione had brought, as she always did, a large salad that everyone always commented on. She had, at one time, tried to contribute something more to the meal, but one Sunday, after a particularly disastrous attempt with some pasta, sauce, and a burnt cauldron not even magic could clean, Fleur had artfully mentioned that she always loved Hermione's salads. Hermione had gotten the hint, but not without first noticing Fleur's kindness and tact.

This Sunday they had also celebrated Hermione's birthday with an exquisite cake made by Fleur and a special punch concocted by Angelina. There had also been gifts and, at one point, Hermione had found herself tearing up at the kindness of her family. The Weasleys had always celebrated Hermione's birthday but this year, now that she was officially one of them, Hermione found herself even more moved by the efforts made on her behalf. The gifts had actually been quite simple but had such meaning to them. Bill had made an elaborate wooden stand that would fit nicely on the mantle in the sitting room. It was designed to hold a single book, open to whatever page Hermione might want highlighted.

Fleur had not only made the cake for her, but also put together a book that was filled with Weasley family recipes. These were dishes that had been made by Mrs. Weasley and her mother-in-law before her and on back many generations. When Fleur and Bill married, Mrs. Weasley had passed these recipes on to Fleur, and she would have done the same for her other daughters-in-law had she been living. Where Fleur had simply received the recipes, she had taken them and bound them into an elaborate book with a cover of the finest dragon hide. On the cover was written, Weasley Kitchen Wonders in an elegant script and at the bottom, in the same script, was Hermione Weasley. Interspersed throughout the book, were photos of various members of the family, usually accompanying a recipe for a dish they favored. Next to "Blood Sausage" was a photo of a very young Ron in a high chair, wearing a big smile and holding the aforementioned food in both hands above his head.

Angelina also had a book for Hermione but it was a beautifully bound diary with Celtic knots on the cover. There was something of a glow to the knots as beads of light moved along their lines highlighting the fact that they had no beginning or end. Fred also got into the spirit with a perpetual, self-inking quill that changed color depending on the mood of the writer.

George's gift was one that surprised Hermione and she gasped when she opened it. He had taken her bridal bouquet that she had thrown at him a few months earlier and created a charm that kept the flowers as fresh and dewy as if they had just been picked that morning. The bouquet itself was inside a large box that had been designed to cradle it and keep it safe.

The last gift Hermione had received had been from Mr. Weasley, as Ron was saving his to actually give her on the day. In a large box was a quilt made of different fabrics sewn together. Much of it was maroon and bright orange. "Molly made it," her father-in-law told her. "I forgot about it until about a month ago. She saved things belonging to the children as the years went on, and when they went to Hogwarts she started a quilt for each of them and worked on it all seven--well, six in the case of Ron--years they were there. Those are all pieces of various clothes and other items that were important to Ron as he grew up."

"Oh, Mr. Weasley. It's just beautiful!" Hermione exclaimed. While the colors were not exactly her favorite, the fact that this quilt represented Ron's life, made it priceless to her.

While she looked at the quilt in awe, George leaned in and pointed at a piece of it. "Look," he said, "lace from those awful dress robes Ron wore to the Yule Ball."

Sure enough, when Hermione looked more closely, she could see the ugly lace in various places on the quilt. She looked up at Ron and smiled. His ears turned red as they both remembered those awful robes and they grinned at each other.

Now, as the day wound down, Hermione sat quietly and listened to her sisters-in-law conversing while their husbands--and George--played a rousing game of Quidditch, and Arthur Weasley puttered around in his shed dissecting some Muggle mobile phones Perkins had acquired for him.

Fleur and Angelina sat quietly watching Girard chase Crookshanks about the garden while Alaric dozed in his basket at Angelina's feet. They were talking about their children and Fleur's second baby that was due at Halloween.

Fleur was gently rubbing her belly and discussing the baby names she and Bill were currently considering. "I am partial to Pierre, but Bill is quite serious about naming the baby Albus."

Frowning, Angelina replied, "That's an awful lot to live up to, don't you think?"

"Mais, oui!" exclaimed Fleur. "Zat is exactly what I keep telling Bill."

Silently, Hermione agreed that any baby named after Professor Dumbledore would find himself growing up with a lot of probably unreasonable expectations on his little shoulders. On this, Hermione agreed with Fleur. She smiled to herself as she suddenly realized Fleur and Angelina were only discussing boys' names. It appeared no one in this family expected to see a Weasley girl for at least another generation.

"Does Bill have a second choice?" Angelina asked and the two women continued their name discussion.

There was a shout from above and Hermione looked up to see Ron pumping his fist in the air while George beamed and Bill and Fred looked quite put out. Hermione smiled again. Obviously, her husband had just made a brilliant save and Bill and Fred were not pleased about it.

Hermione's smile faded as she looked up at her triumphant husband sitting happily on his broomstick. She had seen him smile little of late. Ever since what Ron had taken to calling, "The Great Kitchen Incident," he had been subdued and quiet. He was staying longer at work, spending extra time using the Cannons' training facilities as well as claiming there was a lot to do with the new season coming up.

Hermione knew from past experience that Ron's work did get busier as the start of a Quidditch season approached, but never had he been gone from home this frequently or for such long stretches. If she did not trust her husband implicitly, she might suspect him of having an affair.

Ron's behavior at home had changed as well. Ron and Hermione were still forced to come and go by leaving Grimmauld Place through the kitchen and Apparating in the back garden. Ron moved quickly and quietly through the halls of the house as though trying to spend as little time in them as possible. Through the kitchen (a room he had oddly seemed to take a great dislike towards) Ron would practically run, taking time only to glare at the still unsigned parchment from the Floo Network Office lying on the kitchen table. Hermione knew Ron was wishing Harry would just sign it. Then Ron would not have to move through the house at large at all. He could simply Floo to and from where he needed to go and the only part of Grimmauld Place he would see would be his and Hermione's suite.

This all made Hermione feel rather sad. If they did not run into Harry, there would be no way to have any kind of influence over him or to try and bring him out of his shell. She knew Ron was upset at having been left to hang upside down in the kitchen for an hour and she deeply regretted the incident, but she wished Ron would see it as the progress it was. It meant they had already started to get through to Harry; they were having an effect on him.

Hermione's brow furrowed as she thought of another way they seemed to be getting through to Harry, and it was not anything she could have imagined when she had first thought of her and Ron living at Grimmauld Place. Further, it had quite impacted their love life.

About a week after the kitchen incident, Ron and Hermione were engaged in romantic activities in their bedroom when there was a sudden and loud--almost as if it had been magically amplified--crash directly above them. It was as though something very large and heavy and made of glass or, Hermione suspected, crystal, had just exploded.

Startled, Ron had roughly pulled his lips away from hers while Hermione had suddenly jumped. Her unfortunate, knee-jerk reaction had resulted in a pained gasp from Ron who immediately rolled off and away from her. Had Ron actually been able to speak, Hermione was sure she would have been treated to some very unpleasant language.

Not too long after this incident, Hermione and Ron had been involved in some serious foreplay that included heavy tickling and high-pitched giggling. Just when things started to get serious, there was a loud clanging as something heavy and metallic rolled down the stairs from the floor above, along the hallway past their suite, and then proceeded down the next flight of stairs. Hermione later found a very old and very large, silver-plated cauldron at the bottom of the stairs on the first floor.

Jumping apart, with no damage to any of Ron's anatomy, they sat in silence as they waited for their breathing to return to normal. It had become clear at that point that Harry could most definitely hear Ron and Hermione's more passionate moments and was determined to be nothing short of a first-class prat.

"Well," Hermione finally managed as Ron glowered. "We'll just have to make sure we cast a silencing charm from now on."

"Oh, yeah," snarled Ron. "That'll really allow for those spontaneous moments."

"Ron," Hermione began.

Getting up from the sofa, Ron said, "I don't want to hear it, Hermione." He glared at her for a moment, daring her to try and defend Harry. Just as Hermione opened her mouth to speak, Ron beat her to it. "I'm going to bed," he said.

After that, Ron had been home less and less and Hermione became the one to initiate all physical contact after carefully--and quietly--casting a silencing charm around the suite. If she knew the exact whereabouts of Harry at these times, she might even have tried to use the muffliato curse she hated.

Hermione sighed and was brought out of her reverie by a shriek from Crookshanks. Looking across the garden, she saw her cat--left behind at the Burrow when Ron and Hermione moved to Grimmauld Place--hissing at a particularly vapid looking garden gnome. Girard was sitting in the dirt nearby with a surprised expression on his face and his hand on one ankle.

"Girard!" Fleur called. The little boy looked towards his mother and Fleur waved him to her.

Girard got up and ran to her. Standing in front of her chair, he pointed to his ankle and said, "It grabbed me!"

"Oui! I saw that," answered Fleur. "Can I see it?" Girard held out his leg and Fleur looked at it carefully. "Well," she said after a moment, "it looks like it's going to be just fine. It was good your friend Crookshanks was there to defend you, was it not?"

Girard nodded. "'Shanks is my friend."

Hermione smiled at this and it made her glad she had left Crookshanks here when she moved. It had not been much of a choice, really. Neither she nor Ron thought the cat would be happy or even comfortable at Grimmauld Place, and neither of them knew how Harry would take Crookshanks' presence. Finally, Ron had said, "Leave him here where he can be outside and have fun torturing the gnomes. He really seems to enjoy that."

Just then the men, their game apparently over as darkness headed in, landed nearby. Bill handed his broom to Ron who, with the twins, walked to the broom shed.

Approaching his son, Bill swung Girard up in his arms. "Did a gnome try and get you?" he asked.

The little boy nodded solemnly and pointed to his ankle.

Bill looked at Girard's ankle then said, "It doesn't look too bad."

Girard shook his head and propped an elbow on his father's shoulder. "'Shanks saved me."

"Did he now?" When Girard nodded, Bill continued. "Well, I think he deserves an extra special treat, then. What do you think?"

Girard's face brightened and he eagerly asked, "Really? Can we?"

Laughing, Bill replied, "I think this is as good an occasion as any." Looking at Fleur, Bill asked, "Need anything, dear?"

Fleur shook her head. "No, zank you. But, I zink it is time for bed after ze treat."

"And I think we should be going," said Ron as he and the twins walked up.

Hermione took the cue and got to her feet. "It is getting late," she said, dutifully.

Bill took Girard in the house to get a treat for Crookshanks, and Ron and Hermione followed to gather up the salad bowl and Hermione's birthday gifts. They then began the always-long process of saying good-bye to everyone. This included the arduous task of retrieving Mr. Weasley from his mobile phones in the shed. Finally, they were able to Disapparate back to Girmmauld Place.

Ron carefully unlocked the door and held it open for Hermione. She stepped into the kitchen and paused while Ron set the salad bowl on the table. Winky would take care of it, and next Sunday it would again be filled with a lovely salad. Hermione hated taking advantage of Winky this way, and in the first few weeks she had lived at Grimmauld Place, Hermione had attempted to make the salads herself. Each time, Winky had caught her at it and reprimanded Hermione for doing Winky's work, and, very forcefully for such a small creature, taken over. It was a fight but, in the end, Hermione conceded defeat.

Behind her, Hermione could feel Ron getting antsy. She knew he wanted to get to the safety of their rooms as quickly as possible. Hermione deliberately moved as slowly as she could get away with. She wanted Ron to learn there was nothing to be afraid of.

By the time they reached the first floor, Hermione could practically hear Ron's teeth grinding behind her. She admired the way he was trying to subtly rush her by placing his hand on her back and gently increasing their pace.

Taking care to make it seem like an accident, Hermione stopped to shift her armload of gifts and took her time arranging them while Ron shifted his feet. She realized they were engaged in a battle of wills and her competitive nature kicked in. She would get upstairs to her rooms in her own time. Not even Ron could force her to move faster!

After what seemed like an eternity to both of them, they got up the stairs and were almost to their suite, when a voice from the landing above caused them to stop.

"Home at last, are we?"

Hermione looked up while next to her, Ron shifted the quilt he was carrying and reached for his wand.

Harry was leaning against the wall and casually flicking his wand back and forth at the floor.

"Harry!" said Hermione brightly. She was determined to set a good example for Ron. "How are you?"

Harry scowled. "Just ducky, Hermione. Thanks for asking." He pushed away from the wall and took a step down the stairs. Ron stiffened.

Hermione struggled to find something else to say but everything she could think of would break at least two of Harry's rules.

Harry took another step. "What's the matter, Hermione? Kneazle got your tongue?"

She opened her mouth to retort but Harry, taking a third step down towards them, beat her to it.

"Or are you saving all your conversation for Ron?" he asked snidely.

Hermione frowned. "What?"

"You certainly don't seem at such a loss when the two of you are in your rooms."

Harry was still moving down the stairs, and in such a menacing fashion, that Hermione was paying very little attention to what he was saying. His tone and the glint in his eye, however, told her he was goading her.

"Actually, I think the only words I hear are along the lines of 'Oh, Ron' and 'Yes, Ron.'"

"Wh--"

Cutting her off, Harry continued. "I don't think I've ever heard you squeal like that before."

Ron understood a split-second before Hermione did. His wand was out in front of him and there was a flash of red light and Harry was thrown back against the steps.

She could feel her face was bright red as her mouth made a soundless, little 'O'.

As Harry struggled to a sitting position, Ron, his wand still pointed at his former best friend, shouted, "Don't you ever speak to my wife like that again!"

Hermione knew she should do something or there would be a full-out war in the hallway, but she continued to stand motionless, gaping at Harry. On the one hand, there was the mere embarrassment that someone other than Ron had heard her in such a personal situation, though they had figured out it was happening and taken steps to try and prevent it. On the other hand, was the fact that Harry had not only heard these things, but that he was flinging Ron and Hermione's physical relationship back at them in a way that was meant to debase it. This crass behavior was something she never would have expected of Harry and it stunned her.

"What does she look like, Ron?" Harry's voice again claimed Hermione's attention. "Does she throw her head back when she screams your name? Does she leave nail marks on your back? Was she always as eager for you as she sounds, or did you have to work for it?"

There was an explosion in Hermione's ear as Ron shouted. The curse hit its mark squarely and Harry hit the floor with a thud. Dimly, Hermione realized Ginny was not the only Weasley with a strong bat-bogey hex.

Harry simply smirked up at them and continued. Looking Ron in the eye he asked, "So, is our little bookworm really that good between the sheets?"

Ron lunged and Hermione yelled, "Ron, no!"

There was a mirthless chuckle from Harry as Hermione dropped her gifts on the floor and grabbed Ron's sleeve to try and hold him back.

"That's not how I usually hear it," Harry just had time to say before Ron's fist connected with Harry's jaw.

Ron loomed over Harry as he rubbed his jaw, and Hermione pulled her husband by the arm, entreating him to back off. Whirling around to look at Hermione, Ron yelled, "Did you hear him? Did you hear what he said?" His face was red with rage.

Hermione bit her lip before answering. "Yes," she said. "I heard him. And I love you and that you're defending me. But," she added, "will you give me a chance to speak for myself, now?"

Ron paused and his eyes searched Hermione's face. After a moment he stepped aside, growling into her ear as he did, "Fine. But leave me a clear path, just in case."

Nodding, Hermione walked over to Harry who, despite still showing evidence of Ron's hex, gave her a leering once-over that left Hermione feeling as though she needed a shower.

"Get up," she told him.

Harry gave a laugh. "You don't order me around," he said, getting up anyway. "This is my house. You do what I say."

He stood over her smirking, and Hermione felt almost afraid of this strange man who used to be her friend. Then, his gaze traveled down her body and back up again and, before Ron could react, Hermione slapped Harry in the face.

Startled, Harry lifted a hand to touch his face where Hermione had just hit him.

"You disgust me," she snarled, amazed at just how much she was revolted, not only by the entire incident but, also, by the man in front of her.

Then, suddenly, it was there. She saw it in his eyes. A brief flicker of the pain she had seen the day she had come on Buckbeak to ask if she and Ron could live at Grimmauld Place for a while. He had seemed so much more human that day, and she wondered what had given him this hard edge he had recently been displaying─or had it always been there, and it was just now easier to see?

As long as she had stuck the dagger in, she thought she might as well give it a twist.

"And I am so disappointed in you."

Shaking her head sadly, Hermione slowly turned her back on him and walked back to Ron. They picked her birthday gifts up off the floor and, without a word, they entered their sitting room. As soon as the door shut, Hermione cast a silencing spell. Setting the gifts down, she then promptly burst into tears, and Ron took her in his arms.

~*~

Two weeks went by during which neither Ron nor Hermione saw or heard Harry. Other than the noises they made as they moved about their suite and the halls of Grimmauld Place when they came and went, the house was perfectly silent. Even Winky seemed quieter than usual.

Despite a late night Quidditch practice that Ron's boss had required him to be at, Ron awoke early for a day off. It was a Gringott's holiday and most of the Wizarding world shut down and had a break from their various normal routines as a result.

Since the episode in the hallway, Ron and Hermione had been silent with each other as well. The atmosphere in the house as well as Harry's behavior and the busy time at work for Ron, left them both more tired and tense than usual. Ron was grateful for this extra day off with no responsibilities, and he intended to spend the day with his wife and see if they could move past the previous and difficult month. He had no idea how he would start the conversation, and he was sure he would make a mess out of it more than once, or even twice, but he was determined to try.

Stretching, Ron reached beside him to find Hermione was already up and off doing something or other. Most likely she was in the sitting room, reading. Ron decided that since he was awake he might as well get up. Sitting on the side of the bed, he ran a hand through his hair and over his face and reckoned he ought to shower and shave before joining Hermione.

He stood and picked his wand up off the bedside table. Shortly after they got married, Hermione and Ron decided that whoever slept in had to make the bed and Ron, giving a lazy flick of his wand, proceeded to try and do just that. The blankets, pillows, and duvet flew just as lazily into place and Ron frowned. Hermione would not be pleased when she came in and saw what was currently passing for a well-made bed. Giving a sigh, Ron gave another flick with his wand and everything flew back off the bed. Then, waving the wand carefully at each sheet, blanket, and pillow in its turn, Ron more carefully made the bed. Finally convinced that his work would pass inspection, Ron headed into the bathroom for his shower.

Twenty minutes later Ron was just finishing dressing, when he heard a crash and a scream. Mindless of his wet hair and bare feet, he grabbed his wand and ran out of the bedroom. Hermione was not in the sitting room as he had earlier surmised, and he flung open the door to the hallway. Once he got his bearings, Ron realized the scream had come from below and he raced down the stairs. On the first floor he slowed as he saw Harry standing in the doorway to the drawing room.

Harry was shaking his head and muttering, almost to himself, "I'm sorry. Merlin, Hermione, I'm so sorry."

Shoving Harry aside, Ron looked in the drawing room and gasped. A window on the far wall had been shattered and there was glass everywhere. In front of it, Hermione was leaning forward in a chair with her hands up to her face. Her face and arms were both streaked with blood.

Ignoring the fact that his feet were bare, Ron hurried forward to kneel in front of Hermione. Her eyes were open wide as she looked at him, seemingly in shock. "Hermione?" he whispered.

"Ron," she said quietly, her eyes focusing on his face. "I was just reading. I came in here because the light looked so nice through the window."

"It's all right, love," Ron tried to reassure her. He was anxious to know exactly where the blood was coming from.

"The window broke," she finished lamely.

"It was me."

Ron heard Harry behind him but did not turn around to look. He was trying to get Hermione's hands away from her face, but she held them fast.

"I saw her in here and I just...I didn't expect..." Harry tried to continue.

Pushing aside his anger at Harry--not an easy thing to do, especially under the circumstances--Ron concentrated on getting Hermione out of the chair. He needed to get her to St. Mungo's and they needed to go now.

"Come on, love," he coaxed. "Let's just get out of the chair." Ron put his hands under Hermione's elbows and gently pushed them upwards to convey what he wanted her to do. She resisted for just a moment, and then stood shakily.

"Good girl," he said as he lifted her in his arms. She still had her hands up to her face and Ron was frightened to think what she might be hiding.

At his words, Hermione blinked and seemed to start returning to herself. "Ron, you don't have to carry me."

"I want to," he insisted, starting for the door.

At the doorway, Harry blocked their exit and stared at them. His face was white and his eyes wide as he said, "Ron, I didn't mean..."

"I'll deal with you later," said Ron, trying not to snarl in case he upset Hermione. "Now, get out of the way. We have to get to St. Mungo's."

Harry moved and Ron hurried down the stairs to the kitchen with Harry right behind. He was striding towards the door when he heard Harry ask, "Ron, why don't you just use the Floo?"

Trying to keep his anger in check, Ron paused just long enough to half-turn and glare at Harry. "Because this house isn't attached to the network and you won't sign that," he nodded toward the parchment on the table, "allowing us to reconnect the fireplace in our rooms. Now," he said shortly, "if you'll excuse us."

Ron resumed his course to the kitchen door and waved his wand at it. The door swung open and he stepped out into the garden, turned on his heel, and Apparated himself and Hermione to St. Mungo's.

~*~

The St. Mungo's waiting room appeared before them and, despite her protestations, Ron carried Hermione over to the reception witch. The blonde looked them over, snapped her chewing gum, and asked, "What happened?"

Hermione, who was feeling much more herself after the uncomfortable sensation caused by Apparition, was beginning to feel uncomfortable that Ron would not put her down. She looked at the reception witch and simply said, "Broken window."

The witch replied, "Artifact Accidents. Ground Floor. Go through that door and take a left, then a right, and another left and you'll be at the desk. They'll register you there."

Ron turned quickly and headed to the door the witch had indicated.

When they got to the desk in the Artifact Accidents ward, a kindly wizard took Hermione's information and then led them into a room where Ron set her gently on a bed. Promising a healer would be in to attend to them soon, the wizard left.

Hermione finally moved her hands away from her face, and Ron looked at her with concern. It was the first good look he had gotten of her since arriving in the drawing room at Grimmauld Place. When he blanched, she wondered just how awful she looked, and she glanced around to see if she could find a mirror. Not seeing one, she settled for looking at her arms. There were numerous cuts all up and down them, more on her right arm than her left as she had been sitting sideways in the chair with her right side facing the window. She could feel them stinging and, judging by the stinging on her face and some on her neck and right shoulder, she could only imagine the damage.

"How bad is it?" she asked Ron.

After looking at her more carefully for a moment, he gave a half-hearted grin and said, "You're still my Hermione."

She tried to scowl at him and then winced, deciding it was important to keep her expression neutral. "Ron. I mean it. How bad is it?"

Sobering, Ron replied, "Well, it doesn't look good but I'm sure the healers will have you back to normal before you can say 'hippogriff.'"

Hermione sighed as she thought about what Ron said.

After a moment Ron spoke. "What happened, Hermione?" he asked, softly.

"I wanted to read," she answered. "I was in our sitting room for about a half hour, but I'm so bored of looking at those walls so I decided to see if there was somewhere else that I could go with my book. I went down to the drawing room and, after looking around for a minute, I remembered what a beautiful window there was behind those dark, ugly drapes."

She looked at Ron and he nodded. "I remember having to wash that window," he said. "Without magic."

Continuing, Hermione said, "I opened the drapes and there it was. The window was filthy." She gave Ron an apologetic look. "I cast a cleaning spell and the sunlight just came through so brilliantly and I was just longing to sit in it, so I transfigured one of those old chairs into something more comfortable and settled in."

"And then Harry came in," stated Ron, acidly.

"I don't know how long I was sitting there reading, and I didn't even know he'd opened the door. It was just, suddenly, the window exploded," she finished weakly.

"Yeah, I'll just bet it did," Ron's ears were turning red.

"Ron," she said quickly in an effort to keep him from getting angrier. "I don't think he meant to do it."

"There you go, defending him again. Of course he meant it!" The red was beginning to seep into his cheeks.

"No, really. He didn't even have his wand out. It was like he just lost control and that's what happened." Hermione insisted, trying desperately now to keep Ron from losing his temper. "Remember when he blew up his aunt?"

Ron nodded and Hermione said, "I think it was like that." She saw a muscle tighten in Ron's jaw. "Please, Ron," she pleaded. "He didn't do it on purpose."

Shaking his head, Ron said, "I don't get it, Hermione. Look what he's done to you! You're sitting here in St. Mungo's, all cut up and covered in blood, and you're defending the person who did it to you. It's not like he hasn't been harassing and threatening us since we moved into Grimmauld Place. What is it going to take to make you see that we can't help Harry, and we shouldn't be there?"

Hermione opened her mouth to reply when a healer in lime green robes walked into the room. "Well, what have we here?" he asked, cheerily, looking at a parchment. "Mrs. Weasley?" The healer looked up and saw Hermione. "Oh, my," he said, his practiced smile sliding off his face.

"You can fix her, right?" asked Ron.

The healer did not answer but, instead, said, "How did this happen?"

"I was sitting near a window," answered Hermione.

After waiting a moment, the healer said, "And, it attacked you?"

"Something like that," said Ron sullenly.

Forgetting her earlier rule of no facial expressions, Hermione glared at her husband and then winced again. The healer clearly noticed and, taking out his wand, cast a hovering charm on the parchment before going to examine Hermione.

"By the way," he said as he carefully took Hermione's chin in his hand and lifted her head to see more clearly, "I'm Healer Ramsey." He muttered a spell and slowly moved his wand over Hermione's face and down her neck, cleaning up the streaked blood that had begun to dry.

Hermione would have said it was nice to meet him if he had not had such a strong grip on her face. Ron simply stood behind the healer and watched anxiously. Finally, Healer Ramsey said, "Yes, I think we can take care of most of this with no problem."

"Most of it?" Ron asked the question for both of them.

"Yes, Mr. Weasley," answered the healer who had to look up to meet Ron's gaze, but still managed the appearance of looking down on him. "And I think it would be best if you waited outside There's a waiting room just by the desk where you checked into the ward."

"But--" Ron began to protest.

"Out." There was a brief exchange of glares and scowls but Healer Ramsey finally won and Ron slunk to the door.

"I'll be just outside," he said to Hermione.

"It's fine, Ron," she answered, trying to give him a brave look.

As the door shut, she turned to the healer and asked, "How bad is it? Now that my husband is gone, I want the truth."

Healer Ramsey sighed. "I can heal most of the cuts without a problem," he answered. "But there are a few that will scar."

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Badly?" she asked.

"We'll see," he said and held up his wand, "Now, keep as still as possible. This is going to take awhile."

~*~

Ron fidgeted in the hard chairs in the waiting room. He hated waiting rooms. For that matter he hated hospitals. One only got bad news in them. The small Wizard who had checked Hermione in had wandered by a couple of times and offered to get Ron some pumpkin juice or tea and apologized for the fact that the hospital did not have anything stronger. Both times Ron had just grunted at the wizard.

Looking up at a clock on the wall, Ron silently cursed and looked at the door to Hermione's room. She and the healer had been in there an awfully long time. He let out a breath, slouched down in the chair, and stretched his legs. It was then that felt something sharp and, looking down, he realized his feet were still bare. "Great," he muttered. "Just great."

Crossing his ankle over his knee, he looked at the sole of his foot. It wasn't nearly as bad as Hermione's face, but there were several cuts from when he had run into the drawing room and walked on the shards of glass surrounding Hermione. The pain he had felt was from a piece of glass that was embedded in his heel.

Ron gave an exasperated sigh and looked around for the reception wizard. Of course, thought Ron, he's nowhere to be found now that I need him. "Hello?" he called, not wanting to stand on the glass. "Hello?"

There was no answer from anyone and Ron threw his head back in annoyance. It clunked against the wall and he grimaced. This has just been a bloody fantastic day, he thought, trying to pick the glass out himself. Once he had a grip on it, the shard came right out and the cut bled afresh. He inspected his foot to see if there were any more wayward pieces stuck in it. When he did not see any, he switched legs and looked at the other foot that was also crisscrossed with cuts. "Ow!" Ron swore as he found a small piece of glass in that foot as well. He removed it and continued his perusal. After finding one more piece and pulling it out, Ron let his foot fall back to the floor where it left streaks of blood.

Finally, Healer Ramsey came out of Hermione's room. He stopped in the corridor and glanced into the waiting room. When he located Ron he said, "Ah, Mr. Weasley. You can go in and see your wife now. "

"How is she?" Ron asked, standing up.

"Just fine," answered the healer. "We're going to give her some potions and she should keep quiet for a few days, but she'll be just fine."

Ron felt relief flood through him. The only thing keeping him from Apparating back to Grimmauld Place and strangling Harry was his worry over Hermione. Once he had checked on her he would proceed to do just that.

Ron started towards the healer and skidded a bit. Regaining his balance he continued on with the intention of seeing Hermione.

"Er, Mr. Weasley?" Healer Ramsey had noticed the slip and looked down to see the trail of blood Ron was leaving on the floor behind him.

"Yeah?" asked Ron pausing.

"May I ask what you did to your feet?"

Ron looked down. He had not realized his feet were still bleeding that much and was shocked by what he saw on the floor. "I was in such a hurry to get to my wife," he explained, "that I didn't stop to put on shoes."

Ramsey shook his head. "You two are quite the pair, aren't you?"

At that, Ron found himself grinning. "We always have been," he replied.

~*~

Hermione sat quietly at the table under the window in the sitting room. It was early, but Winky had already been by with cereal, fruit, pastries, and juice. Hermione was determined to eat healthy and she tried to encourage this in Ron by only allowing Winky to make fresh, healthy food. The pastries were a compromise.

She was writing in the journal Angelina had given to her for her birthday when she heard her name.

"Hermione? Ron?"

She looked up to see Mr. Weasley's head in her fireplace. When she and Ron had returned from St. Mungo's, they had found the parchment from the Floo Network Office had been signed and slipped under the door to the suite. Hermione had been thrilled that something good had come out of all the earlier ugliness and she was convinced more than ever that she could get Harry to soften up and return to the world he had left behind when he locked himself in Grimmauld Place.

Hermione had returned to the Floo Network Office and everything had come to a standstill the moment she had walked in. They all watched as she had triumphantly put the release in the middle of Madame Willpott's desk. The woman had squinted down at it momentarily and then her eyes bugged out and her eyebrows disappeared into her hairline again.

"When will my fireplace be reconnected?" Hermione asked, arching one of her own eyebrows.

Madame Willpott had sputtered a moment before saying, "I'll put you to the head of the queue. It should be connected by tomorrow afternoon."

"Good," Hermione said. "Thank you." She turned to leave and allowed her gaze to fall on every one of the stunned employees she had reprimanded back in the summer. Then, nose in the air, Hermione had sailed out of the office.

Getting up from her chair, Hermione greeted her father-in-law. "Good morning, Mr. Weasley. How are you today?"

"Oh," he said distractedly, "fine, fine. Is Ron around?"

"I'm afraid he's still in bed."

"Well, that's all right. I just wanted to tell you that Fleur went into labor during the wee hours," said Mr. Weasley and Hermione felt her face break out into a giant smile. She was not surprised as Halloween had come and gone three days earlier and Fleur had remained pregnant.

"That's wonderful! You will let us know when the baby arrives?" She asked.

"Oh, that's what I'm doing now."

"The baby's here already?" Hermione knelt down in front of the fireplace, eager to learn as much as possible.

"Yes, he arrived just about an hour ago. Etienne Charles," Mr. Weasley beamed. "A fine strapping boy just over 4 kilos!"

"My," said Hermione, "so big!"

"Yes, yes. But, you know," confided Mr. Weasley, "they get bigger as you go along."

Hermione remembered reading that somewhere but she had honestly thought it to be an old wives tale. She hoped any further children Fleur had would not be significantly larger. "When can I come see him?" she asked.

"I knew you were going to ask that so I asked Fleur. She said you can come any time. She can't wait to show him off."

"I think the Cannons are playing tonight, but I'll ask Ron when he's available," said Hermione.

"Hermione," chided Mr. Weasley, "you don't have to come with Ron. You can always come by yourself, you know."

Feeling herself going pink at the reminder that she was family, Hermione said, "Tell Fleur I can't wait."

They said good-bye and Hermione sat back on her heels. Another Weasley grandchild. She grinned. And another Weasley boy. So far, she thought, they've all been right about the boy thing!

Just then, Ron staggered through the door in search of breakfast and she proceeded to tell him about their newest nephew.

~*~

Hermione sat at her desk feeling bored. Strangely, she was not in the mood to attend to her work. Of course, there wasn't much of it anyway. Her excellent scheduling skills standing her in good stead, she had finished everything that was due for the next ten days.

Staring at a wall in front of her, she thought what an ugly color this room was. Immediately, she smiled as she thought about her inviting bedroom with its sunshine colored walls and the restful sitting room where she spent most of her time at home. She would never admit it to Ron, but she had become a bit nervous herself about roaming through Grimmauld Place since Harry had shattered the window. She was still convinced it was unintentional, but she did not know what his other reactions might be should he come upon her or Ron. However, Hermione was still convinced that they were doing him some good. They just needed to patient. Harry had been a hermit for two years and getting him to come out of his shell, especially after all he had been through, was not something that would happen overnight.

The more Hermione stared at the office walls, the more restless she became to do something about them. She sighed as she realized she was stuck with these walls as they were not hers to paint. However, she smiled to herself, I could paint the corridor outside our suite. After all, Ron and I have to look at it every day and surely Harry wouldn't mind. It's just one hallway and I doubt he notices the wall color as he walks by.

Getting out her weekend planner, Hermione picked up a quill from her desk and dipped it in ink. She saw that Ron did not have to attend any Quidditch games and she grinned while she wrote, Paint hallway walls in the space for the next day. She would stop and pick up the paint on her way home from work.

~*~

Ron stood in front of the blank wall with his wand out in front of him. He watched disinterestedly as paint flowed out of the wand and onto the wall. Every now and then, he would glance around warily to make sure he and Hermione were still alone in the hallway. Of course, he had no doubt they would be instantly aware of it should Harry appear. Ron wished he knew where Harry was in the house so he knew in which direction to look. He still thought this was a stupid idea.

Hermione had come home the night before with several containers of paint and a plan. "We're going to paint the hallway outside our suite," she had announced. Ron cautiously asked why and she told him she was tired of the dingy gray walls.

"What about Harry?" Ron had asked. "Don't you think he might be a little upset that you've just decided to paint his house?"

"We live here, too," said Hermione. "Why should we have to look at ugly?"

Trying to maintain a neutral expression, Ron said, "Hermione, do you even remember what happened the last time you ventured out of our rooms?"

She frowned at him. "That was a long time ago, now," she reassured him. Ron did not think two months was that long. "Besides, we use this hallway all the time. It's not like we're painting the whole house."

Ron had not been sure then and he wasn't sure now. He suspected that once Hermione saw the difference between the newly painted walls and the old ones, she would decide to paint all the corridors. Aside from the fact that Ron did not feel like spending all his days off painting someone else's house, he was more nervous about Harry stumbling on them in the act than anything else. If, as Hermione maintained, he had not meant to shatter the window in the drawing room when he had discovered Hermione reading there, then it would seem he had very little control over his magic these days and, in that case, anything could happen.

Ron risked a glance at Hermione who was gently moving her arm up and down a section of wall down the hallway from him. The healer had been able to heal all her cuts but there were some that had left scars that nothing could be done about. Healer Ramsey, however, had tried to make these scars as small and insignificant as possible. For a month, both he and Hermione had been forced to drink three different potions, all of which he thought were vile but that she claimed tasted fine. One of them was to replenish the blood they had each lost, the second was to prevent infection, and the third was supposed to help prevent scarring--though Ron was not sure why he need be concerned about any scarring on the soles of his feet. Hermione had left St. Mungo's with about fifteen scars but this third potion had continued to work on them and only four remained.

She had a long scar on the back of her right hand and she claimed it made her feel distinguished when she was writing. Then there was a smaller scar on her forearm and the two scars on her face: one on the edge of her jaw that was small and white and only noticeable in certain light, and one about an inch long at her hairline on the right temple.

The scars bothered Ron. Not, he thought, that they make me love her any less. But they made him think of the rocky start this marriage was having and whenever he looked at them, he could not help but think that he should never have agreed to try living with Harry at Grimmauld Place. He should have put his foot down and said no as had been his first instinct.

Suppressing a sigh, Ron realized that never would have worked. Their marriage might have been filled with a bit less strife but Hermione would always be wondering what if? What if they had moved in with Harry? Could they have helped him? These questions and more would plague her over time and Ron would feel that he had let her down by not letting her have the chance to try.

"Ron!"

Turning, Ron saw Hermione scowling at him. "What?" he asked.

"Pay attention to what you're doing," she told him.

"I'm painting," Ron argued.

"No you aren't," said Hermione. "You were spraying paint and looking around."

"How is that not painting?" Ron complained.

"You didn't move your wand to cover the entire wall and now there's a great spot of paint all in one place." She came over to stand next to him and inspected the area she was talking about. "Look," she pointed out. "It's all dripping down the wall."

Giving Ron a dirty look, she pointed her wand at the paint Ron had applied and said, "Scourgify." The wall was instantly cleaned of all wet paint. "Now," Hermione said darkly, "pay attention to your work."

Ron rolled his eyes, a Hermione-trait he had picked up sometime over the years, and when she turned away to go back to her section of wall, Ron stuck his tongue out at her back. Then, dipping his wand into a container of paint to refill it, Ron started over. He honestly though painting walls was not exactly the best use of a wand but, who was he to say?

~*~

They were almost done with their painting when Harry appeared. Ron thought he heard footsteps and froze. He had been about to refill his wand again and he continued leaning over the paint, listening for any more odd sounds. He did not hear any and, after a moment, he straightened and looked around. Hermione was touching up around a door down the hall near the stairs that led to the first floor. Nothing else looked out of the ordinary and Ron began to relax.

Wiping his wand off on a rag he turned back to look at the section he had just finished and found Harry standing there glaring at him.

"What do you think you're doing?" asked Harry in a deadly voice. Ron wondered if Harry had spoken to Voldemort that way and if that was what had done the dark Wizard in.

"We, er, were painting," answered Ron lamely, hoping Harry would just go away and Hermione would not even know he had been there.

"I see that. Who said you could paint my house?"

Before Ron could reply, he heard Hermione's voice behind him. "Harry," she called and walked over to stand next to Ron. "What do you think? We thought this hall could use a little brightening up!"

Ron felt Hermione's smile falter when Harry did not answer but simply glowered at them.

"Who said you could paint my house?" he repeated.

"Well, we were just painting the hallway we use," answered Hermione. "We didn't think you would mind."

Ron felt that this was an inopportune time to point out that there had been no 'we' involved in the decision-making regarding the painting of any hallways. He watched Harry closely for any signs of potential trouble.

A vein pulsed in Harry's forehead, highlighting his scar as he turned away. Ron was about to let out a sigh of relief when Harry suddenly turned back, wand in hand, and yelled, "Stupefy!"

Ron was not sure whom Harry was aiming at, but the curse hit Hermione full in the chest and she went flying backwards into the wall. The back of her head hit the wall with a soft thunk and she slid down until she was sitting dazedly on the floor.

"Hermione!" Ron went running to her.

"I'm all right. I'm all right," she insisted, sitting up and rubbing her head.

Ron saw the tears in her eyes and something inside of him snapped. He couldn't do this anymore. He could not sit by and watch while Harry repeatedly hurt the woman he loved. What would it be next time? Would he catch her on the stairs and send her over the banister? Would he cause irreparable harm with some other spell; perhaps something dark and deadly that Ron did not know about?

No, he decided, this can't continue.

"That's it, Hermione," he said, helping her to her feet. "We're leaving."

She blinked and looked at him. "What?"

"We're leaving. I've had enough. We can go back to the Burrow until we find something else."

Shaking her head, Hermione said, "I'm not going anywhere."

Trying not to grind his teeth, Ron replied. "Well, I'm not staying."

Neither of them spoke for a minute and Ron was aware of Harry, still standing where he had been when he stunned Hermione, listening avidly to the conversation.

"What are you talking about, Ronald? This is our home," insisted Hermione.

"Our what? Hermione, this has never been home. No matter how much we tried it has never been home. At home you don't feel as if you can't walk into and out of the house without being punished for making noise or being in the wrong place. At home you don't feel locked in and confined to one set of rooms. At home you aren't afraid of having a snack without winding up hanging in the air for an hour." He paused to take a breath then, trying to drive his point home, said, "At home you can read wherever you want without fear that a window will suddenly break and scar you for life."

A floorboard creaked as Harry shifted his feet.

"We can't stay here anymore, Hermione."

She shook her head at him. "I'm not leaving, Ron," Hermione insisted. "All those things you listed? They're exactly why we need to be here. Can't you see it? We're getting through. If we leave now then we will have failed."

Ron snorted. "And we all know how you feel about failing at something, don't we?"

Hermione's cheeks turned pink. "At least I'm not afraid to try," she retorted.

Ron felt his face begin to burn. "I tried, Hermione. I tried. Why can't you understand that I simply can't stand by and watch while someone hurts you? And not only once, but over and over and over again."

"I'm fine, Ron. There's nothing to worry about."

Reaching out with one hand, Ron gently touched the scar at Hermione's temple and watched as she tried not to flinch. He gently caressed the pink line and said, "I worry about this." He moved a hand to her jaw. "And this." Running his hand down her right arm he touched the remaining scars, lingering on them each briefly to make his point until he was holding her right hand.

He saw her eyes tear up and knew he was getting through to her. "I love you, Hermione. But I can't do this anymore. I just can't sit here and continue to watch the woman I love get hurt like this," he said softly.

Hermione shook her head. "I can't leave, Ron. I feel we're so close." The tears began to spill over and rolled down her cheeks. "Why can't you see it?"

"Because all I see is you," he answered.

When Hermione did not respond, Ron, searching her face, whispered, "Come with me." His eyes pleaded with hers and there was utter stillness all around them.

Finally, Hermione shook her head and Ron dropped her hand. He looked at her harshly and said, "Well, I guess Harry isn't the only one who has a saving-people thing."

With that, Ron walked past Hermione and down the stairs until he reached the front door. He waved his wand and the door opened as he approached. Stalking out of the house and down the walkway, Ron reached the street and turned to the right without thinking of where he might be going and simply kept walking.

Not once did he look back.

~*~