Hiding From You

Chapter 1

Images of broken light which dance before me like a million eyes
They call me on and on across the universe,
Thoughts meander like a restless wind inside a letter box
They tumble blindly as they make their way
Across the universe
- Across the Universe, The Beatles

He was running down the hall, tracking down a Death Eater. His breath was heavy, his heart was pumping, and the blood was rushing inside. There were shouts and yells behind him, but all he was focusing at was the man running in front of him. They were running down a dark hall, with only a candle or two to light up, giving the whole situation a creepy feeling. Ron ran and ran, but couldn't manage to get him.

At last he had to give up, and sat down. He heard voices whispering everywhere. Reminding him of all of the things he had been through. "Shut up!" Ron yelled, and shot spells everywhere in the hall. Then there was a mysterious sound, like a soft klunk. "Hello?"

Ron started to walk, when he saw something glitter in the shadows. When he came closer, it was a body. A very familiar body.

"Hermione!"

Ron Weasley woke up in the middle of the night in his bed. He was covered in sweat and crumpled sheets, and the moon was still up. He turned his head towards the clock on the bedside table. 4 am. Three hours until he had to get up.

He threw his legs out of the bed. He wouldn't manage to sleep more now.

Ron had gotten used to have a lack of sleep. Every day now, for five years, he had nightmares about the chase. And every time he ended up finding Hermione dead on the floor.

Ron knew Hermione was dead. He had been attacked by a Death Eater, which he had chased down a corridor. Then, he knew he had been trapped, and had been knocked out by two Death Eaters at the time. Ron woke up hours later, but then Hermione had gone. And there was no sign of a fight or a duel. But if she'd been alive, she would have contacted him, right?

His father wouldn't tell him anything. Every time Ron mentioned Hermione, he would change subject. It really annoyed him, because he would like to know where Hermione was buried. Then he would have a grave to go to, at least. Ron guessed Hermione's death was hard to speak about. He couldn't blame his father for that - Ron thought of Hermione every day, he still cried when he talked about her.

Now the clock was indicating 5 am. Two more hours to go.

Ron stumbled out to the bathroom and saw himself in the mirror. There where heavy bags under his eyes showing he had had too little sleep, the bushy red hair showed he had rolled around in his bed and the pale skin stated that he was not much outdoors.

The shower was refreshing. The warm water made him more awake. The radio on the bathroom's counter told him that a new star, Vanessa Wolitskij, had been married. Why does anybody care? Ron thought while shampooing his hair. It was a comfortable voice speaking, and right after the news a song poured out of the radio. Ron knew it at once; it was the song he and Hermione had danced to that night at the Astronomy Tower...

Ron shook his head, and washed away the shampoo. It was hard to think about Hermione. She had gone away so fast, too fast. The last thing he had said to her before the hunting had started was asking what they were going to eat that night. "Stupid git," he said to the mirror. "Why do you always think about food?"

~*~

After finishing reading The Daily Prophet, Ron started to think about what the day had to offer. He had, finally, become a little bit systematic, and checked the Almanac (which he had gotten from his father last Christmas. It was one of the things that where positive with Muggle stuff, Ron thought. It didn't make noise).

9.00 AM Meeting with the group

11.00 AM Lunch

3.00 PM Finished!!!

"Hmm. Not much to do today," he muttered, and closed the book with a snap (he thought he heard it wince, but it couldn't be).

Ron had worked in the Ministry for five years now. He wanted to be an Auror when he was younger, but that was before the Battle and in the aftermath of it. Ron had seen too much of the blood, the pain, the killing. When he'd gotten the offer to work in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, he said 'yes', and started the day after. There where times when he had regret, but most of the time he didn't think about it. If he had become an Auror, the memories would come back, and he wouldn't - couldn't - remember. The grief was too big, and the wounds were still fresh.

He threw on his cloak, grabbed the keys and locked the door. It was cloudy, but there were cracks in the clouds, making a few strains of light shine down on the pavement. The usual London morning traffic was driving past, and Ron felt a satisfaction of walking faster than the cars drove.

The birds twittered, the sun was shining and it was almost perfect, except for a single cloud shadowing the sun. Ron took to the right, coming to an alley behind an abandoned bookshop and tapped at the doorbell. He heard a faint "swoosh", and a click at the door. By twisting the doorknob three times to the left, another click and then two times to the right, he walked right to the floor where he worked - Level Three.

The first two years he had worked there had been a living hell. Though Voldemort had fallen, Death Eaters still had tried to live the dream; killing Mudbloods, killing Muggles, destroying important places. Ron was worn out for almost a fortnight afterwards, after the episode in Bristol, when almost a whole village had been wiped out. There had been so much to do. He thought that it would never end. But, finally it did, the Death Eaters had been taken.

Ron walked down to his office, threw the cloak on the hook (which always had to fly off the wall to catch it) and sat down by the desk. No special notes, only except one from Neville, asking about an old case. Neville had started working in the Ministry too, though a couple of floors up; he'd started in the Department of Magical Office Law. Ron scrambled down an answer (Yes, I'll send you the file within the day) and looked at the clock. Five minutes to nine. He had just got up from the chair when a young boy came storming into his office, panting "You have to come, Mr Weasley, it is urgent!"

Ron raised his eyebrows, and followed after him into the meeting room. "What's happening?" There was an anxious atmosphere, everybody looking at the pictures, coming into the room. Brasko, Ron's mentor and superior, turned to him and rumbled, "Those bloody Death Eaters are on the move again. A museum has been blown up. The Muggles think it's a stupid bomb, but we know they've been using a powerful Bombardia. And if that wasn't enough," grumbled Brasko turning to the pictures again, "they used Crucio at some poor Muggles as well." Ron was speechless. "And why did they-?" Brasko snorted. "Well. Don't you know which date it is today, Weasley?" Ron saw a glint in his eye, and studied his face. "It's... June 15^th." Ron gasped.

"June 15^th. Bloody hell." Of course - it was now exactly five years since Voldemort's fall.

"They wanted revenge." Brasko nodded. "Yes. Now, people, get out there as quickly as you can!" He clapped his hands, and five pops filled the air.

~*~

They were the first wizards there. Ron came out of the alley, just to see a big crater. People where crying, bleeding, phoning home, the police was there, and the firemen and ambulances too. "Are you ready?" Brasko asked them, and walked to a policeman. "Hello, we're here to see the scene," Brasko said and ducked under the banner. Ron followed after, to see a horrifying picture; body parts everywhere. Blood on the walls.

"Oh my God," he heard Johnson, one of the newer members, whisper.

"It's horrible," Ron replied, and stepped into the ruins of the museum.

"What do we do next?" Ron muttered as he took off his hat. Ron could see he was sweating, with the sun warming right at them.

"Do as we usually do," Brasko said and squatted. "Report it, take some pictures and give them to the Aurors. We can't do anything here now. We know how they've been murdered, and... well. It will be difficult to collect all of the bodies," Brasko said, and stood up. Ron nodded.

"Take pictures and contact the Aurors and the Oblivators. There'll be a lot to do for them, with all of those Memory Spells to cast," he said, and added "and I guess that the Muggles will have the parts. There were no wizards there, so we can't do nothing with that."

Ron Apparated back to the office and grabbed a cup of coffee. The sight that had met him earlier this morning was... terrible. He hadn't seen anything like this for a long time. In fact, he hadn't seen something like this. Ron flung himself down behind the desk, pulled up the drawer and found a quill, ink pot and some parchment. Writing reports was the backside of the medal. He simply hated doing it. Scrambling down what he saw, how it was, what the cause of death and scene was. "Arg," Ron exclaimed, and threw the quill away from him. "I don't want to see it!"

He rubbed his eyes, trying to get the image out of his mind. The crater was enormous, and the body parts were... nasty. He couldn't get one thin arm out of his mind, knowing it was an arm from a little boy. "I hate it."

Ron didn't realise that a memo was hovering in front of him before it pricked him at his forehead. "Geroff," Ron muttered, and opened one eye. He sighed, and unfolded the plane.

From: Auror Headquarters
To: Magical Accidents and Catastrophes

Mr Weasly,
Please come down to the Headquarters tomorrow first thing in the morning. We need more information about the Museum-case.

H.G

Ron wrinkled his forehead. "They need more info? What more do they need?"

"They need someone to help them out," Brasko rumbled and stepped inside Ron's office. "Since you've had your part of those cases, they need information from you."

Ron turned around. "I see. Well."

"Go home, kid. Get some sleep. You look 'orrible." Ron grinned.

"Thanks, Brasko. See you tomorrow," Ron said as grabbing his cloak.