Tree Houses and Daisies

Ron was sitting at the table the morning after Hermione left. He hadn't been able to sleep. He tossed and turned all night, unable to get comfortable without her beside him. That first night in Grimmauld Place, he had slept on the floor next to her, holding her hand. When they started sleeping in bedrooms, she crept into the one he was using one night, and slipped into the bed next to him, claiming the house scared her. Ron hadn't said anything, but he knew why she was scared, and it wasn't that house. Truth be told, he was scared, too, and welcomed Hermione's soothing presence in the bed. He knew nobody would believe him if he said nothing happened.

And nothing had happened when she crawled into the camp bed with him in the tent. Not even that night in January, nearly a month after he came back. She claimed she was cold. It was a logical excuse. It was arse-numbingly cold.

He hadn't been able to sleep well at Shell Cottage. He had gotten used to sleeping with Hermione.

After the war, they had gone to the Burrow with the rest of the family. One night, she had slipped up into his bedroom, and slid into bed with him. She had been worried about her trip to Australia. And she couldn't sleep without him anymore.

Or so she said.

He wondered where Hermione was. If she had made it to Australia safely. She had a general idea of where her parents were, thanks to the Australian Ministry, and others had assured her the Memory charms would be easy enough to reverse without damaging her parents, but Hermione had been worried.

All those Portkeys... Ron shuddered. He hated traveling by Portkey even more than he hated Apparating. Using one Portkey was enough to make him sick to his stomach.

Ron checked his watch. It was still far too early for anyone else to be up yet and Ron was getting restless. He quietly wandered to a shelf near the sink that held a row of books, all about cooking. Ron had gained a greater appreciation for cooking the last year, especially since he had tried to help Hermione while they were camping the last several weeks. And Ron figured if there was something he liked, it was food.

He knew how to do a few things, like make toast without burning it, and how to boil an egg. Fleur had taken some time to teach him a few simple things to cook by hand and by magic, like jacket potatoes and pasta. It was a lot different than toasting things on a fork at the fire in the common room at school. Ron found he rather liked cooking. And the more he did it, the more he liked it.

Running a finger down the spines of the books, Ron found one that looked interesting and pulled it off the shelf. He took it to the table and began reading, laughing to himself at what Hermione might say if she could see him voluntarily reading a book, even if it was a cookbook. He made a mental note to write about it in his diary.

Molly came down at her customary six o'clock, a long-ingrained habit from when Percy and the twins were small. It gave her a quiet half-hour to herself before she made breakfast for the horde of hungry children that would tumble into the kitchen, pajamas askew, hair flying every-which-way. She stopped short to see Ron, with his nose buried in one of her cookbooks, reaching blindly for another one, so he could compare the recipes. 'Good morning, Ron,' Molly said nonchalantly, as she reached for her apron, hanging on a hook on the kitchen door.

Ron jumped, slamming one of the books shut on the finger he was using to hold his place. 'Mum!'

'Didn't mean to startle you.' Molly measured tea leaves into a pot and filled a kettle with water and tapped it with her wand. It whistled softly and she poured the hot water over the tea, letting it steep.

'It's all right. D'you mind?' Ron indicated the books scattered over the surface of the table.

'Not at all. Sudden interest in cooking, eh?'

'Sort of,' Ron mumbled, feeling the back of his neck grow warm. 'Couldyouteachme?' he asked in a rush.

Molly paused in the act of pouring her and Ron cups of tea. 'I didn't quite get that...'

Ron took a deep breath. 'Could you teach me how? To cook, I mean.' Ron neatly Banished the books back to their shelf. 'Took trying to feed myself to realize it's a good skill to have. Wish I'd known how last year.'

Molly passed a cup of tea to Ron and gave him measuring look. He certainly wasn't the same boy who had left last summer. 'When do you want to start?'

'Today?'

Molly smiled. 'We'll start with something easy. Scones or something like that.'

Ron nodded, gently swirling his tea, watching the leaves create and recreate patterns in the amber liquid. He set the cup down, and the leaves settled into drifts in the bottom of the cup. 'Mum? Could I ask you something?' His throat tightened and he had to force the last few words out, straining to do so.

'Of course, dear.' Molly looked at her youngest son expectantly.

'When I was born...' Ron looked at his mother, the anguish he'd felt since confronting that locked breaking through to the surface. 'When I was born, were you upset I wasn't...' Ron's gaze dropped back to the leaves in the cup. He shook his head. 'Never mind, Mum.'

'Upset you weren't...' Molly's eyes narrowed. 'A girl?' she guessed. Ron nodded, his ears going red. 'Ron, where would you get that idea?'

He shrugged. 'It's nothing.'

'Ronald, it's not nothing if it bothers you.'

'It doesn't bother me,' Ron replied defensively.

Molly tipped Ron's face up, so she could meet his eyes. 'I love all of you. It didn't matter to me if you had been a boy or a girl.'

'I know, Mum.' Ron's heart twisted to see the faint distress in his mother's eyes.

'I know it was hard for you. You had so much to live up to, being the youngest boy with all the others ahead of you, sandwiched between them, and Ginny, the first female born in the Weasley family in generations.' Molly took a long sip of tea to gather the strands of thought together. 'So much could have gone wrong, Ron, without you.'

'I don't see how,' Ron said a bit mulishly. 'I'm not smart like Bill or Percy. I don't play Quidditch as well as Charlie, or do something dangerous, like work with dragons. I'm not as clever or crafty as Fred and George. And well, Ginny can do just about anything she puts her mind to.' Ron blew out a slow breath. He shook his head. 'I don't see how I kept anything from going wrong.'

'Ron,' Molly said gently. 'You befriended two children who had everything to lose in this world. Just by being friends with Hermione, you reminded her every day blood doesn't matter. What the three of you did last year, couldn't have been done by a less-confident witch or wizard.

'And Harry... You accepted him straightaway for who he is, rather than what he is. He wasn't the savior of the Wizarding world to you. He was the boy in your compartment on the train who shared what he had with you, without question. You, Ron, taught him what it was like to have people care for him. And how to care about other people in return. He would never have been able to go willingly into the Forest if he hadn't learned from you that there are people worth sacrificing for.' Molly cupped Ron's face in her hands. 'Never believe you don't matter, Ron.'

She kissed his forehead, and began to Summon the ingredients for scones. 'Now, you wanted to learn to cook.'

*****

Hermione landed in a heap in a courtyard of the Australian Ministry. They had warned her in Sydney it was going to be much cooler in Canberra than in Sydney, but it was no different than London sometimes. A hand gripped her elbow, helping her to her feet. She smiled gratefully at the boyish-looking man who greeted her. 'Miss Granger?' he asked.

'Yes. But, please call me Hermione.'

'Hermione, then. I'm Gavin MacAllister. Minister's junior assistant. And call me Gavin. People call me Mr. MacAllister, and I start looking for my dad.' Gavin smiled widely at her, reminding Hermione rather too much of Gilderoy Lockhart.

'Nice to meet you, Gavin.' Hermione followed Gavin inside, her hackles rising slightly. Gavin seemed to be a nice man, but maybe a bit too nice? She walked down a hallway, wobbling slightly. She was starting to agree with Ron where Portkeys were concerned. Ten Portkeys in one day was a bit much in hindsight, but she'd been so anxious to find her parents that she hadn't thought the plan all the way through. A little late for that now, Granger, she said to herself.

The Australian Ministry was a somewhat smaller than the British one, and Hermione said as much to Gavin. 'We have provincial offices, seeing as how we're more spread out here. Just the Department heads here and the staff for the ACT and Victoria.' Gavin turned around to look at Hermione. 'You look knackered,' he said, not unkindly. 'Tell you what, we'll get you checked in with the Minister, and I'll take you to the pub so you can get settled.'

Hermione stopped walking. 'Why would I want to go to a pub?' she asked in confusion. 'I'm not up for a drink or anything.'

Gavin looked at Hermione like she'd lost her mind, which Hermione was beginning to think she had. 'Oh, it's not like that,' he said. 'There is a bar on the ground floor, but there are rooms for sleeping and the like upstairs.'

'Oh. Right. Like the Leaky Cauldron.'

'The what?'

'Leaky Cauldron. It's a... Well, in London, it's a restaurant, inn, gateway to the Wizarding part of the city.'

'Just like the Phoenix here. That's where you'll stay while you're here, the Phoenix,' Gavin told Hermione. 'Come on. The sooner you meet up with Maisri, the sooner you can put your feet up with a cuppa.'

Gavin led Hermione down a passageway, with large windows overlooking a meandering river. He opened a door and ushered Hermione inside. 'Have a seat,' he told her, gesturing to a cushioned wing chair. 'Maisri will be right with you.' Hermione sank into the proffered chair with an audible sigh. It had been a long day, even with the Portkeys. Leaving London late at night, so she would arrive in Australia during the day, the Portkeys in strange locales. It was now four in the afternoon in Canberra. Hermione leaned her head back, and mentally counted backward. It was only five in the morning at the Burrow. She hoped Ron had been able to go to sleep. He had wanted to go to London with her, but she refused. It was easier this way, to start off alone.

'Miss Granger?' A small brunette woman glided into the room.

'Hermione,' Hermione replied automatically, standing up to greet the woman.

'Maisri Richardson.' The Minister held out her hand. Hermione shook it, wryly noticing her own hand trembled slightly. 'Please, Hermione, sit back down.' Maisri waved her wand languidly at a low table and a tea tray appeared. Maisri poured a cup of tea, and handed it to Hermione. 'So, Hermione. I've quite the letter about you from Shacklebolt.'

'Oh?'

'He says you performed a Memory charm on your parents. Modified their memories, gave them new identities. Rather advanced magic, that.' Maisri gazed at Hermione for a few moments. 'Do you mind me asking how old you are?'

'Eighteen. I'll be nineteen in September,' Hermione answered wariness coloring her voice. 'Why?'

'Just wondering. You're so awfully young.' Maisri sipped her tea. 'We heard about what you did in England. You, and your friends. Breaking into Gringott's, Voldemort. How did you do it?'

Hermione shrugged. 'We did it because we had to. I don't mean to be rude, Minister, but it's not something I like to talk about.' Hermione set her tea down, and clasped her hands in her lap. 'My parents?' she asked pointedly.

'They're in Adelaide. You gave them the names of -' Maisri consulted a scrap of parchment. 'Monica and Wendell Wilkins. Is that right?'

'Yes.' Hermione rubbed her eyes. They were gritty from lack of sleep.

'And their real names? So we can make the arrangements for the three of you to go back to London.'

'Richard and Jane Granger.' Hermione opened her battered, beaded handbag, and reached inside. 'I brought their passports.' She clutched them in one hand.

'We'll hold them here, if you like.' Maisri held out a hand.

Hermione cast a suspicious glance at the outstretched hand. 'I'm sorry, Minister, but after the last few years I've had...' She stowed the passports back inside the bag. 'I really am sorry. I don't want to seem rude; I mean my mother would be mortified right now at my behavior, but...'

'You have no good reason to trust any Ministry official, no matter their nationality right now,' Maisri said shrewdly. 'Shacklebolt said something about how the previous two British Ministers treated you and your friends. Can't say I blame you.' Maisri gave the handbag an approving glance. 'Lovely charm work on the handbag, too.'

'Thanks.' Hermione smiled tiredly.

'Do you want to go to Adelaide tomorrow, or take a few days to recover from your journey?

'Tomorrow, please. I want to go back to London as soon as we can.'

'I'll go fetch Gavin, and he'll take you over to the Phoenix. It's close by. Get some sleep, and come back around ten tomorrow morning. We'll have transportation to Adelaide ready for you.' Maisri left the room. She stopped outside the open door, and surreptitiously peered back at the young witch slumped in the chair.

Maisri knew them all - Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger. All three of them barely of age. Teenagers who had dared to do the one thing many adults had not. There had been an influx of Muggle-born and half-blood refugees last winter from Britian. They had all brought horror stories of what was going on. They hungrily gobbled any news from Britian about Harry Potter. Or rather, the lack of news, saying if he had been captured or killed, it would be all over the Wizarding news. Maisri felt more than a little awed by this young woman who could perform such advanced magic at such a young age.

Maisri quickly went back into her office. 'Gavin,' she said softly. He looked up from his paperwork. 'Please escort Miss Granger to the Phoenix.' Gavin nodded and headed for the door. 'Oh, Gavin?' He stopped and looked at Maisri over his shoulder. 'I'd leave her be, if I were you.' Maisri knew Gavin all too well. He liked the ladies, and Hermione Granger was just his type. She added, 'She's likely to hex your balls off if you try anything, ah, unwelcome, shall we say? And she's so good you'd probably not know anything was different until she'd Disapparated halfway to Tasmania.'

Maisri knew she had been unforgivably blunt, but Gavin had a tendency to hit on the wrong women sometimes. Gavin gulped and meekly went to collect Hermione, who was busily stuffing an Extendable Ear into her handbag.

'Erm? Miss, uh, Hermione?' Gavin was few shades paler under his tan.

'Yes, Gavin?' Hermione smiled politely.

'If you'll follow me, I'll take you to the Phoenix.' Gavin ducked out of the room, and was hurrying down the hall before Hermione could rise from her seat.

*****

Hermione sank into a hot bath, wincing slightly as she came in contact with the water. She relaxed against the back of the tub, smirking at the look on Gavin's face when he had come to bring her over to the Phoenix. She thought it was a good thing, then, that Ron hadn't come with her. He'd have likely punched Gavin in the nose for even looking at Hermione twice. Not that Gavin would have necessarily deserved it, but Hermione didn't think she'd have minded.

She missed Ron.

After nearly a year of sleeping either close to each other, or wedged in the same bed, Hermione wondered how she was going to be able to fall asleep without his arm wrapped around her. Or how quiet it was going to be without the snoring. She smiled. It wasn't that bad, really. Just when he fell asleep. And it wasn't nearly as loud as the racket she knew her father was capable of making.

She wondered what Ron was doing. Or rather what he was eating, she thought. It was breakfast time in Devon, after all. She wondered if she could somehow get a message to the Weasleys that she had arrived safely. Molly and Arthur would certainly be worried.

Hermione began to droop with weariness. She had been up for more than twenty-four hours now. She unplugged the stopper with her toes, and haphazardly dried herself. She pulled on the pajamas she had left lying on the bed. Her handbag lay open on a dresser. A bit of bright orange cloth poked through the opening.

Hermione tugged the material, and a large Chudley Cannons t-shirt fell out of the handbag. Fingering a grass stain, she lifted it to her nose, inhaling the scent of Ron from the other day in the paddock, blushing slightly.

Closing her eyes, Hermione could see Ron stretched out among the grass, daisies waving gaily in the summer sunshine. She had pressed one in his diary before she left.

Hermione pulled the t-shirt over her head. It looked as if Ron would be sleeping with her tonight, after all.

She delved back into the handbag and pulled her diary out. The trip today was worth a diary entry.

She unwound the thin strap that held the diary closed, and opened the book. A pressed daisy lay nestled between the first two pages. Ron's untidy scrawl skipped across one of the pages.

-Mione,

I'll be waiting for you.

Love,

Ronald