Burning Down the House

Hermione stepped through the sliding doors of the Underground train that would take her home, and put an end to a dreary week. Percy had been quietly gathering information about her house-elf law, and it didn't look good. The members of the Wizengamot who had voted against it really didn't care for much of the law at all. They especially hated her provision for an investigative committee to oversee claims of abuse and neglect, citing it as a "private family matter". It made Hermione seethe that they could still turn a blind eye to some of the more blatant abuses to house-elves. She had come to accept the idea that they liked working, but she still believed they should be given a measure of respect and dignity.

She settled her bag over her shoulder and glanced around the crowded compartment. There were no seats available. Scowling a little, she found a place to stand, clutching a pole, cursing silently. Here she was, eight months pregnant, and nobody offered her a seat. 'You ought not to stand so much,' said a voice at her elbow. Hermione turned her head to see an elderly lady sitting down, eyeing her bulging stomach, and trying to get a glimpse of her ankles. 'Your ankles will be the size of baguettes.'

Hermione bit back a tart retort, and forced a polite smile. 'Yes, thank you. But there don't seem to be any seats available,' she said pointedly, glaring at a man reading the paper. He didn't seem to notice.

'Do you plan on working after the baby comes?' the woman asked.

Hermione sighed. 'Yes.'

The woman harrumphed and gave Hermione a disapproving glance. 'In my day, women stayed home with their children.' Hermione just nodded, biting her lip to keep from saying anything. 'Mind you don't spoil the child, picking it up every time it cries.'

'Excuse me?' Hermione blurted.

'Spoils them. They don't learn to soothe themselves if you pick them up every time they cry.'

'I'll keep that in mind,' Hermione murmured, but was inwardly livid about the whole thing. It was none of this woman's business what she did or did not do with her child. The train slowed and Hermione forced a polite smile at the woman. 'This is my stop,' she said, and got off the train as quickly as she could. Hermione hadn't been lying; she had to change trains at Leicester Square.

Thankfully, when she got to the platform for the Piccadilly Line, there was an unoccupied bench against a wall, and Hermione dropped into it gratefully. The next train would be along soon and she would be home in a few more stops. She hoped there wouldn't be any delays. She really needed the loo, and the station didn't have toilets. 'Hey there,' she told the baby. 'I know there's not a lot of room in there right now, but now is not the time to bounce on Mummy's bladder.' The baby cheerfully ignored her and continued to perform calisthenics. 'I am not reading you-know-what in a Muggle Underground station!' she hissed. Ron had taken to reading a few pages of Quidditch Through the Ages aloud at night before they went to bed. Hermione wasn't sure if it was the baritone of Ron's voice or the subject matter, but it usually calmed Angus down. Hearing about the adventures of the Wimbourne Wasps usually made her sleepy, too.

Angus gave her a particularly solid kick in reply. 'Your father will be ever so pleased you're upset that I won't read that to you,' she said, rubbing the area where the tiny foot and connected. 'Your grandfather, on the other hand, would be trying to turn you into a footie player before you could walk.'

The train pulled into the station and Hermione struggled to stand up. The train slid to a halt and Hermione rolled her eyes as the disembodied voice began to chime, 'Mind the gap!'

'I'd mind the gap if I could see it,' she muttered, carefully stepping into the train, and looking for an available seat. There was one further down the compartment and she wound her way through the passengers to it. Just three more stops, she reminded herself stretching a foot out, and peering at her ankle. Her feet and ankles had swollen so badly, she wasn't going to be able to take her shoes off without help. She was going to have to start asking Ron to come by the Ministry and take her home, or ask Harry to do it. The Underground was rapidly becoming more trouble than it was worth.

After the Hermione got off at her stop, she began to trudge home, sweating even in the chill of the January evening. She'd asked Ginny one day, if pregnancy was so uncomfortable, why would anyone want to do it? Ginny had laughed and replied she didn't know, but if it were up to men, the humanity would have died out eons ago. Thirty seconds later, Harry had walked into the house, swearing loudly over a splinter in his finger. Ginny had rolled her eyes at the fuss he was making over the tiny splinter embedded in Harry's thumb, and gave Hermione a look that said, See what I mean?

Hermione opened the door of the building and slowly climbed up the stairs to their flat, grateful they didn't have to climb as many as Ginny had when she lived in Soho. She shoved open the door of the flat and let her bag fall to the floor. Hermione hung her coat over a hook and wandered into the sitting room, where Ron was stretched out on the sofa. His dragon hide gloves lay on a corner of the coffee table. 'Why do you have your gloves out? You haven't been out in the garden have you?'

'No.' Ron shifted uncomfortably. 'You got another one,' he said, pointing to the corner of a piece of parchment poking out from under the gloves.

'Why the gloves?' Hermione asked.

'I don't want to touch it,' Ron explained. 'Fingerprints.'

'You've been watching that bloody show too much,' Hermione huffed, waddling to the bathroom. 'You ought to stop rotting your brain with it,' she called. 'I ought to make you quit!'

'How are you going to stop me?' Ron asked following her and standing outside the partially open door.

'I just won't pay the license fee, then. You hate commercials, and refuse to even watch a programme if it has them.' Hermione washed her hands and leaned against the door frame.

'That's just mean,' Ron breathed.

'Oh, stop whinging,' Hermione told him. 'And come help me take my shoes off.'

Ron looked down at Hermione's feet. 'Ouch,' he said sympathetically, leading her back to the sofa. He helped her down, and swung her feet up to the cushions. He sat at her feet and picked up one foot, and gently pried the shoe off; wincing at the marks it had left on her skin. He pulled the other one off in the same manner. 'So...' Ron began to massage Hermione's feet.

'You have about a hundred years to stop doing that,' Hermione moaned.

Ron grinned and ran his thumbs down the length of the sole of her foot. 'Eventually, I'll have to take care of dinner.'

'Uh-huh. Keep doing that.'

'I'll do my best.' Ron put the foot in his hands down and picked up the other. 'What do you want to do about that?' he asked, jerking his chin in the direction of the coffee table.

'I happen to like that table,' Hermione said, deliberately evasive. 'I don't think we ought to do anything to it at all.'

'That's not funny, Mione,' Ron muttered. 'I meant the letter.'

'I know what you meant, Ron,' Hermione sighed. 'Burn it. Like the others.'

'Don't you think we ought to tell Harry about it? You've been getting these things off an on for over a month now.'

'Why? It's still just letters, and nothing more than that. Nobody's tried to do anything. They don't have anything in them. Just please, Ron, put it in the fire.'

'Fine,' Ron said grumpily and tucked a cushion under Hermione's feet. He picked up the letter, pinching it between his thumb and forefinger, and laid it on the fire, clearly unhappy about having to do so.

'Hey,' Hermione tugged at his sleeve. 'Stop worrying about it. It's not worth it.' She pulled him down to the sofa next to her. 'Why don't you read a few pages of Quidditch Through the Ages to Angus before dinner? He was quite shirty with me because I wouldn't read to him in the Leicester Square station.'

'Poor hen,' Ron murmured. 'Baby's nutters about Quidditch before he's even born.' He slid of the sofa and switched off the television.

'Aren't you going to finish your programme first?' Hermione asked.

'Nah,' Ron said over his shoulder as he went into the bedroom to fetch his copy of Quidditch Through the Ages. 'The brother was having an affair with the wife and he offed the husband. But he's blaming the wife. All rather dodgy, if you ask me. He'll get off, though.'

'How can you tell that after watching only half the programme?'

Ron gave the now-quiet television a contemplative glance. 'D'you remember when we thought Snape was after the Stone, but it was Quirrell the whole time?'

'Of course I do. Better than you, probably.'

'Yes, well, all those years, the people who we thought were guilty turned out to be innocent.' Ron sat on the floor next to the sofa. 'You stop listening to what people say, and start listening to how they say it. I'm just better at dissecting clichéd police dramas than I am actual cases.'

'Who told you that?' Hermione's hand traced the lines of Ron's back.

'Nobody told me, hen.' Ron's voice was quiet as he paged through the book, careful not to dislodge the pages that had come loose from the binding. He cleared his throat and began to read.

Hermione watched Ron as he read about the origin of the Snitch. She wasn't paying attention, replaying what Ron had just said about his deductive abilities. He had always claimed to be happy working with George, but she wondered if all those times when they were younger, when she or someone else had dismissed one of Ron's theories as completely illogical, when they had actually turned out to be correct, had somehow made him believe he wasn't cut out to be an Auror. Had she had a hand, however subtle, in crushing Ron's dream to bits?

Ron hadn't completed the section when Hermione fell asleep. He closed the book, using a finger to mark his page. He stared into the fireplace. The flames sent shadows dancing over the walls, making the usually cozy flat seem sinister. For the hundredth time, he wished he knew how she was being so calm about everything.

*****

The next week passed without incident until Hermione announced she was going to the Burrow on Saturday morning, to Ron's dismay. As he helped Hermione on with her coat, Ron asked dubiously, 'Are you sure you should go spend an afternoon helping Mum chase James around the Burrow?'

'Yes. Did you see how awful Ginny looked Sunday?'

'No...'

'Of course not. This time of year, if it doesn't have a Quaffle on it somewhere, you don't pay any attention to it. Ginny doesn't look well at all. She hasn't for a couple of weeks now. She could use an afternoon off.' Hermione turned and gave Ron a quick kiss. 'Besides, it's not like I'll be alone. Your dad will be there, too. I imagine he'll do the hard work with James.'

'Probably. Poor kid will have a pocket full of batteries and plugs before the day's out.'

'So you'll come pick me up around five?'

'Yeah. I might go into the shop for a bit and help George with the new window display.'

Ron took Hermione's hand and Apparated them both to the Burrow. He stood in the lane outside the back garden, and watched Hermione conjure a scarf and top hat for the snowman Arthur had built for James, who giggled gleefully as Arthur used magic to color bits of snow and create something of a face into the topmost mound of snow. As he stepped away from the fence, and began to Disapparate, he saw Ginny sitting at the kitchen table, Molly next to her. It was too far for Ron to know for sure, but Ginny looked upset. Ron blinked and found himself on the landing in front of his flat. He stepped on the door mat to open the door, and his shoe landed on something that crackled. He looked down to see a piece of parchment. He worried his bottom lip between his teeth, thinking. This was odd. They usually came early in the morning.

Ron bent to pick up the parchment, and carried it into the kitchen. He opened a cupboard and found a box of Muggle plastic storage bags. It wasn't quite the same thing as what they used on Law and Order, but it was close enough. He pulled out a bag, and tucked the letter into it, sealing the bag. Enough was enough. He tucked it into his copy of Flying With the Cannons, knowing Hermione would never think to look there.

It was time to talk to Harry.

*****

Ron handed George a swatch of bright red fabric, and held the ladder steady while George reached up to tack it in loopy swags around the window. 'What are you putting in here?'

'Among other things, Daydream Charms for Two. Perfect for the busy couple. A complete evening out, and you don't have to leave the flat.'

'Or perfect for the parents of twenty-one month old twins?' guessed Ron.

George peered at Ron through the clouds of glittery red fabric. 'Just you wait. Do you know how hard it is to get a babysitter willing to take on twins? Especially on a Friday night?'

'Hannah and Neville could do it,' offered Ron. 'They're both dying to get some practice in.'

George climbed down the ladder and picked up a stack of Daydream Charms. 'I don't want to put them off parenthood,' he snorted. 'Katie and I were washing up after dinner the other night, when we realized we couldn't hear them. Cheeky monkeys had gotten into Katie's makeup. Lipstick all over the place. On them, on their clothes. The floor. Fred was standing on the vanity, smearing lipstick all over the mirror.' George nearly laughed. 'Katie was so mad at them, she went speechless.' He arrayed the boxes neatly in the window. 'Thought she was going to do a Mum and start shouting in phrases. Remember? Things like "Plates broken!" And you could hear her all the way down in the village.'

'Yeah, good times,' Ron said, almost wistfully. It had been quite entertaining to see the twins or Ginny be on the receiving end of one of Molly's rants. As long as he hadn't been part of it.

'Getting close isn't it?'

'Yeah.'

'How much longer?'

'One more month,' Ron promptly said. 'Or three weeks, and six days. But who's counting?'

'Apparently not you,' George said sardonically. 'You doing all right?'

'Yeah, I'm fine. Why?'

George arranged the Daydream Charms for Two in a heart that gradually rose in height from the point at the bottom to the point at the top. 'You just seem a bit off is all.' He pulled his head and shoulders from the window. 'You haven't snapped at anyone in weeks. Not even a snort of disgust at the maroon jumper.' George took a good look at Ron. 'Which I notice you happen to be wearing today. Another sign you're distracted about something.'

Ron collapsed the ladder and carried it into the back. 'I'm fine. Hermione's been working too hard and all that. Just worried she might be overdoing it a bit.'

George followed him to the back and pulled a carton of merchandise off a shelf. 'Trying to prove she can do just as much as she could before.'

'Why would she need to do that?'

'Kind of this barmy idea that once a woman has a baby her intelligence drops to the level of a troll.' George started for the front part of the shop. 'Brace yourself,' he advised. 'Hermione's the type that'll do a Mum.'

'Yeah, don't remind me,' Ron muttered, knowing he was in for it when Hermione found out what he was planning on doing later.

*****

Ron dried the last dish, and replaced it in the cupboard. He ran the tea towel over the counter, drying the water that had splashed onto it while he'd done the washing up. He tossed the damp towel into a small laundry basket in the corner, and went to check on Hermione. She'd been tired when he'd brought them home earlier. Not that James was a vile child. He was quite charming with an infectious, yet mischievous, grin. But he was highly curious about everything around him, and was capable of making a rather lot of noise with a wooden spoon and an old pot if you let him. Ron didn't wonder why Ginny or Harry had asked Molly and Arthur to keep him overnight.

Hermione had curled up in bed with a book, but it appeared she had fallen asleep moments after she had lain down. The book was in her hand, but unopened. Ron closed the door, and went to the shelf of the bookcase where his old textbooks and collection of Quidditch books rested. He slowly pulled Flying With the Cannons off the shelf and took out the hidden plastic bag. Stuffing it in the back pocket of his jeans, he stole to the fireplace and surreptitiously took a handful of Floo powder. The roar of the flames when he threw the powder into them made him flinch. He wasn't sure if Hermione was going to stay asleep, and he didn't want to get into a row with her. She got vicious when she was tired. Admittedly, so did he, and he really did not care to repeat the infamous ice cream incident.

He knelt on the hearth rug and stuck his head in the flames. Harry was sprawled on the sofa, his head leaning against the back, massaging the bridge of his nose, a gesture Ron recognized from school that screamed Harry was tense about something. He considered waiting to approach Harry until tomorrow at lunch, but it was too difficult to have any sort of private conversation. Swallowing, Ron called out softly, 'Harry?'

Harry let his glasses fall back into place. 'Everything okay?'

'Oh, yeah.' Ron nervously waved a hand dismissively. 'Is Ginny around?'

'No. She's gone to bed.'

Ron looked back at his watch. 'It's barely eight-thirty,' he observed. 'She feeling all right? Looked a bit peaky at lunch Sunday.'

'Rough week,' Harry sighed.

Ron nodded. 'Can I come over for a bit? I need to talk to you.'

'Can it wait until tomorrow?' Harry asked, sounding quite tired himself.

'No,' Ron said seriously, the slight weight of the letter feeling like a ton of bricks.

Harry sat up, his eyes narrowing. 'Come on. We'll go into my office.'

Ron pulled his head out of the fire, grabbed handful of Floo powder, and stepped into the fireplace. He landed on the hearth rug with a soft thump. Harry laid a finger over his lips, signaling Ron to be quiet. Ron nodded and followed Harry into the small office off the sitting room. 'Thanks, mate.'

'No worries. So then... What is it?'

'It's this.' He reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out the plastic bag, handing it to Harry.

Harry took it from him, with a raised eyebrow. 'You've been watching Law and Order again, haven't you?' He raised the bag and examined the parchment inside. 'I thought Hermione cut you off.'

'She tried to.' Ron grinned.

'So what is this?' Harry gestured to the parchment.

Ron wanted to keep this between him and Harry for the time being, so he quickly cast Silencing and Impenetrable charms on the door. 'Death threat.'

'On who?'

Ron gulped. 'Hermione.'

'Why?'

'House-elf regulations she's drafting.'

Harry's eyes widened. He carefully set the bag on the desk, and rummaged for his dragon-hide gloves. Harry pulled them on, and gingerly opened the bag, and pulled out the letter.

Listen, Mudblood - Stop trying to make the beasts equal to wizards. Have you no pride? Of course not; you're nothing but a filthy Mudblood. If you don't stop, we'll stop you.

Harry looked at Ron, as he carefully replaced the note in the bag and stripped the gloves off. 'Is this the first one?'

Ron tried to keep from squirming. 'Yeehhhhh - No,' he admitted. 'Just the latest one.'

'How many has she gotten?' Harry pulled a scrap of parchment across the desk, ready to take notes on what Ron said.

'Once a week for the past six weeks. They usually come to the flat. She just tosses them into the fire, but she wasn't home this afternoon when it showed up.'

'Is she worried at all?'

'Doesn't appear to be. She says it's just the same kind of gits who sent her hate mail during our fourth year.'

'So let me get this straight.' Harry leaned back, massaging his temples. 'Hermione's been getting threatening notes for almost two months?'

'Right.'

'And she's not worried or bothered by them?'

'No.'

'So why are you just now telling me this?'

'She doesn't know I'm here. I wanted to tell you the first time we got one.'

'Ah.' Harry nodded.

After Harry questioned Ron further about the notes and discussed his plans for handling the case, assuring him neither he, nor Ginny, had received a note, Ron left, feeling more than a little reassured that Harry was taking this seriously, and that Hermione would have someone looking out for her at the Ministry. Hermione was still asleep, to Ron's relief. Harry would talk to her tomorrow about it. Harry was generally able to make Hermione see sense when nobody else would.

*****

Hermione removed her coat, her movements jerky and uncoordinated. She was furious with Ron for telling Harry about the letters, even though she had managed to maintain a calm exterior about it. She was even more furious with Harry for trying to keep all of it from Ginny. She didn't know who she was angrier with - they were both being such men! She tried to hang her coat up, but considering she all but threw it at the hook, the coat slid to the floor in a heap. 'What's the matter with you?' Ron asked.

She glared at him balefully. 'How could you?' she seethed. 'How could you go to Harry, when I've told you it's nothing to worry about?'

Ron bent to pick up her coat. He hung it up, his ears turning red. 'Because I'm not going to stand around and bloody wait for something to happen, Hermione.'

'I can take care of myself,' she said hotly. 'I don't need some effing nursemaid following me around all day.'

'It won't be a nursemaid,' Ron protested. 'Just someone to make sure nothing happens to you. And if something does, they'll be there to help. Bloody hell, you don't have to do everything on your own!'

'And why won't he tell Ginny about this? Every other person in the family knows but her? And you approve of this?' Hermione nearly spat.

'Well, I...' Ron was taken aback by Hermione. 'Actually, no, I don't,' he admitted. 'I think he ought to at least warn her. It's not fair to her to sort of stumble around in the dark like this.'

Hermione stalked into the kitchen, and began to make herself a cup of tea. 'Why didn't you tell me you were going to Harry?'

'Because I knew you were going to shout at me,' Ron sulked. 'Nobody says you have to like the Auror keeping an eye on things. But with everything else going on, it makes me feel better, all right?' Ron stood uncertainly in the doorway. 'I lost Fred, then I lost your dad, too. If I lost you and the baby...' His voice cracked. 'I'd rather not have to think about that.' He turned on his heel and walked out of the kitchen.

Ron brushed his teeth and threw his clothes into the laundry basket, before yanking his pajamas on. This was almost too much to handle right now. He hoped Harry would be able to solve this soon. They had been so happy when they found out she was pregnant, after so much disappointment and loss. This was rapidly depleting all of the joy from the event. Ron climbed into bed, and pulled the bedding around his shoulders. It's going to get better, he told himself. It has to.

Later Hermione came to bed and gently prodded Ron's shoulder. 'Are you awake?'

'Would it make a difference if I wasn't?' Ron snorted.

'No.' Hermione settled against the pillows stacked against the headboard. 'Would you have told me about Harry, if he hadn't brought it up earlier?'

Ron sat up and began to rearrange the bedding. 'Truthfully?'

'Yes.'

'Only with a Shield charm up. Those bloody birds mirror your moods. I didn't fancy getting pecked to a bloody pulp.' When Hermione didn't smile, Ron sighed, 'Yes, I would have.'

'Don't you think I can take care of things myself?' she asked, fiddling with the hem of the sheet. 'I'm not helpless!'

'I never said you were, and yes, I do happen to think you can take care of yourself and Angus if anything were to happen to me. And you'd do a spiffing job about it, too. Except for the Quidditch. But that's what all his uncles will be for.' Ron slid down into the bed. 'Go to sleep. It's been a long day.'

Hermione stayed awake for hours, unable to sleep, and unable to shake the idea that once again, she had immediately dismissed anything Ron had said, making him think his opinions meant less than hers.