The Orb of Odenis

1. Hermione's Cries

A young man ran across the muddy yard of his home, head covered by the hood of his faded black cape, fighting against the wind and rain. As he groped around in his pocket for his key to the front door, another flash of lightning lit up the woods surrounding the house, which was followed by an enormous clap of thunder. Dropping the spoon-shaped key in the mud, he stooped down to pick it up and was suddenly aware of a sharp pain in his head. Thinking that he had hit his head on the doorknob, he looked up to see that he was not quite close enough, but the throbbing in his head convinced him that something had actually hit him. The key he picked up was not an ordinary key, as this was not an ordinary house. It was the house of the Weasley family. A family of wizards. Ron placed the key - which was wriggling about in his hand - against the doorknob, and the door responded with a series of clicks and clanks as various chains and locks opened up. Eventually, the door swung open and he threw himself into the kitchen as another flash of lightning lit up the interior of the house.

"Damn weather," he muttered to himself as he slammed the door shut. "I hope it hasn't ruined my hair."

He started to preen and fuss over his hair while looking in a mirror over the fireplace when another howling blast of wind shook the old house as if to try and topple it over, making every part of the house shudder and groan. In the corner of the kitchen, a large clock stood. But as with everything in this house, it was no ordinary clock. It looked like a grandfather clock, complete with a swinging pendulum, a face, and hands, but that's where the similarity to a normal clock ended. The clock had nine hands, and the face had no time markings on it, instead it had locations: "Home", "School", "Work", "Travelling", "Lost", "Hospital", "Prison", and "Mortal Peril". On each hand, there was a picture of each of the Weasley family. Ron watched the hand with his face on it move from "Work" to "Home" as he stepped through the door. Five of the hands for Ron's older brothers Bill, Charlie, Percy, twins Fred and George, were all pointing to "Work", while Molly, Arthur (Ron's mother and father) and his younger sister Ginny were pointing to "Travelling".

"Wish I was over there now, catching up on my tan," he said, looking a postcard sitting on the fireplace sent yesterday by his mother from Egypt.

The picture on the front showed three people all smiling and waving while standing in front of an Egyptian Pyramid.

"Ah well, you'd only have had me doing research for Ginny's Curse Breaker field trip anyway."

At eighteen years old, Ron had decided that family trips were no longer for him, and as his older brothers lived away from the family home for most of the time now, so he had been completely alone for a whole month.

Taking off his muddy boots, he flung them into a corner where Molly had placed a cleaning charm on a mop and bucket. Within the blink of an eye, the boots were grabbed by the mop, dunked into the bucket, and the mop jumped up and down on them, making a sloshing noise as it did. As he threw his cape over a chair, he noticed a note on the table and picked it up to read the envelope.

"I wonder who has sent me ... Argh! Not someone I wanted to hear from ever again," he snorted and screwed up the note.

What stopped him from throwing it on the fire was the pain in his head was back again. It was like someone shooting frozen radishes at the front of his skull. Clutching his head, he rubbed it with the heel of his palm and dropped into the nearest chair.

"Aww, sod it! I need to keep off dad's rhubarb wine," he whined.

After blinking a couple of times, he decided to go to bed for a while and read the Daily Prophet newspaper. On the floor of the kitchen, the envelope flattened itself out, and a small drop of water appeared in one corner.

Ron lay on his bed reading the newspaper while outside the rain was pouring down harder and the wind tried more than ever to push the house over. With every gust of wind, the house seemed to shudder as if in the grip of ecstasy, enjoying the rough caresses of the wind. This didn't appear to worry him as he continued to read about the cancellation of the latest round of the British Quidditch Championship due to bad weather. Moving pictures of officials inspecting the pitch were on the back page, looking at the sky and pointing while holding their hats on against the wind. One figure was picked up by the wind and blown out of the picture.

"Humph," Ron said in disgust. "Bunch of big girls blouses. We used to play in hurricanes, and we were only at school! These get paid for playing and woose out at a little gust of wind."

Ron was an avid fan of the game ever since school, where he was team captain for his house during his last year. Being the sixth and last Weasley boy to attend the Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry he had a lot to look up to. The three oldest brothers have gone to work for the Ministry of Magic, and his younger sister is starting her final year, and is hoping to follow her eldest brother as a Curse Breaker. The twins now have three joke shops selling anything from sweets that bring the eater out in boils, to items that could protect you from the most serious spells, but none of them had become Quidditch team captain like Ron had.

What did worry Ron was the growing stories about magical people suddenly becoming squibs - people born of magical parents but not magical themselves. He read stories about areas of the country being drained of magical powers, such as the doormat owned by Mrs Biltch in Macclesfield that would protect her house with the ferocity of a guard dog, but is now just lying there, well like a doormat. Then there was the strange case of a Mr I.M. Fug. He had an enchanted pair of socks that would never smell and now his wife has banned him from the house. Apparently the stench was upsetting the cat.

Listening to the falling rain, he heard another sound. Tap, tap, tap. He looked out of the window to see a large grey owl tapping the window with its beak, fighting to keep steady in the howling gale.

"Who could be writing to me?" he muttered as he went over to the window and opened it.

The owl flopped through the window and onto the table below, knocking over a glass containing the remainder of last night's rhubarb wine. When the window was closed with a bang, Pigwidgeon, Ron's own owl, woke up with a start and fell off his perch, straight into the half-eaten bowl of soup Ron had left from yesterday.

"Stop fighting me, will you!" he asked the soggy bird.

The owl didn't seem to want to give up his letter until he had put his feathers back in place and he had dried out a bit. Eventually the bird offered up his leg to allow Ron to remove the rather damp looking parchment. The handwriting was that of his mother's.

Ron Weasley

Front Bedroom

Fifth Landing

The Burrow

Ottery St. Catchpole

Devon

Ron,

I have just had a strange letter from Hermione. She says you have not replied to her note. Please speak to the girl. I know you are upset about what happened in September, but I am worried about her.

Let me know how you get on.

Yours lovingly

Mum

Hermione Granger had been Ron's best friend throughout his school life. They were also best friends of Harry Potter, who was killed in the last battle of the war against the darkest wizard ever, Lord Voldemort. But Hermione was more than just a good friend to Ron. In the last year of school, Hermione let her true feelings for Ron slip during Christmas lunch, and Ron couldn't believe what he had just heard. He remembered falling backwards off his chair, throwing the hot roast potato from the end of his fork, which landed with a splash right into Draco Malfoy's soup. Ron had been in love with her since the beginning of the previous year, but because she was beautiful, intelligent, and very mature, he thought they could be nothing more than friends. He couldn't be more wrong. After letting each other know how they felt, they became inseparable, and it was this love that had enabled Harry to finally kill Voldemort, but taking Harry from them in the process. However, the end of Harry had signalled the end of their relationship, seemingly forever.

In his head, he replayed the last time they had met. It was the middle of September and it was Hermione's eighteenth birthday. It was also three months after the final battle of the war that had taken their friend. Hermione couldn't cope with her grief, and Ron couldn't cope with so much raw emotion. He first distanced himself from her mentally, and then physically as he struggled to cope with his own grief without taking on hers. This resulted in one final argument. He had visited her at her home to bring her a gift for her birthday and to try and patch things up somehow. When he knocked at the door, a pale-faced, red-eyed Hermione opened it. She had been crying again.

"R-Ron. Hello," she stuttered, and started to weep again.

"S-sorry, Hermy, I-I don't know what to say. You still can't be upset over Harry, can you?"

"Wh-what? WHAT?" Hermione was incensed at the insensitive comment. "How can you say that? Harry gave his life so we can all carry on! I really hate you for saying that! You want me to forget him don't you? Well I can't!"

"I-I'm sorry, but I am upset, but I am getting on with my life. I don't know what to do!"

"You never call me any more," screamed Hermione through her tears. "You never write to me any more! What have I done to deserve you?"

"It's me, I'm sorry," replied a terrified Ron. "You are so upset, I don't know what to say or do any more."

"All I want is for you to hold me," she cried, and took a step towards him.

He backed away, only slightly but it was enough.

"See! You see! Am I that repulsive to you? You don't want me anymore! Doesn't anything mean anything to you any more?"

"I-I," was all that Ron managed to get out.

WHACK! Ron fell to the ground holding the side of his face and she stood over him with her fist clenched. Hermione ran back into the house, slamming the door shut behind her and he could hear her running up the stairs, shortly followed by the sound of her bedroom door slamming. Below her bedroom window, Ron heard her scream as loud as she could, then the sound of glass breaking and other things being thrown around her room.

"That's it then," Ron shouted through the letterbox. "Stuff you and stuff your crying! It was making me sick anyway!"

He kicked the present up the door and stomped away down the drive.

I am not going to think of her ever again, he thought as he pulled out his wand.

As he approached the main road, he stuck out his wand and the Knight Bus arrived.

"Where to then, Mr Weasley?" asked the conductor, looking a little puzzled as to why Ron looked so angry.

"The Burrow, and make it quick," Ron snapped back.

The conductor offered him a ticket, which Ron snatched off him and stomped off up to the top deck.

"Ah. Nice, polite passengers. Aren't they wonderful," the conductor grunted.

"GET STUFFED, TOAD FACE!" Ron shouted from the top of the stairs.

"That's not very nice. I give out the tickets, try to be polite and converse with the passengers and you get called names. I ask you," the conductor replied, and rang the bus bell.

With a crack the Knight Bus disappeared.

*

That was the last recollection of his former girlfriend he had. It still hurt him to think that he could have played the situation a little different, but now this young girl is asking him for help. Subconsciously, he rubbed the right side of his face where for a couple of weeks after she hit him, he sported quite a nice black eye. What note? He suddenly remembered the letter he found on the kitchen table and ran out of his room and down the stairs, missing two or three steps at a time. Upon arriving in the kitchen and looking around frantically, he located the letter underneath the kitchen table. It was damp in one corner and he thought it was because his cloak was still dripping when he picked it up earlier. Opening it very carefully (he thought it might be jinxed or something) he took out the folded piece of parchment and unfolded it carefully.

Ron Weasley

The Burrow

Ottery St. Catchpole

Devon

Ron,

Please help me!

Hermione x

On the reverse of the note was another address:

Flat 42

12 Forth Street

West Ham

London

Why has she chosen him to help her? She could have called on loads of other people, and why does she need help. A squawking noise from upstairs made Ron realise that Pig had found the visiting owl and was trying to start a fight with it. Stuffing the note into his trouser pocket, he ran back upstairs to find Pig flying wildly round and round the room, trying to intimidate the much larger owl on the floor, which had dozed off. Ron had an idea. He grabbed the bird and shook it.

"Wake up you flying ferret," he shouted.

The bird woke up with a start and snapped its beak at Ron for waking it so roughly, but it ruffled its feathers and sat back down to preen itself a little more. Grabbing a quill and a piece of parchment, he scribbled down a note to his mother explaining he was off to find Hermione. He wrapped the letter round the bird's leg and told it where to go.

"Mrs Weasley, Cairo, Egypt."

Within seconds, the owl was ready to go so he opened the window and it took off, knocking a scent bottle over spilling some of the contents onto the table. The wind had increased and he had difficulty closing the window.

"I wish they would stop knocking my stuff over," Ron muttered as he picked up the scent bottle and mopped up the small pool of liquid from the table with the sleeve of his jumper.

Looking at the label on the bottle, he realised it was a gift Hermione had given him shortly after they had started going out together, and a lump came up in the back of his throat. He took the letter from his pocket and read it again. It still did not make sense. Please help me is all it said.

"Okay, where the heck is West Ham," he said, scratching his head.

He took a large old map-book of England off his bookshelf and set it down on the table.

"Right, where is twelve Forth Street, West Ham?"

The map opened automatically at the right page, and a red line pulsed along the page, showing the path of the street. Along the street, little numbers glowed in blue along each side of the line and he quickly found number twelve, which was about half way along, opposite a large building with the words Warehouse printed across it. The area did not look very good as there appeared to be a lot of factories and warehouses surrounding it, but it might look better when he gets there.

"What am I thinking of," he muttered sounding a little worried. "She gave me a slap the last time I saw her, do I want another one? I don't think so."

Ron gave a shudder at the thought of seeing Hermione again after all these months.

"I shall go. Why not? I have to help her now, after all, I still love her, don't I?" he said out loud.

He looked at himself in the small mirror behind the table and hoping that the face looking back at him would provide a better answer. But, as usual, it didn't. One more look at the note revealed nothing more, so it was stuffed back into his trouser pocket once more. Pig twittered loudly at the thought of going to London with him and seeing Harry's old owl, Hedwig.

There wasn't much time for Ron to properly prepare for going away, so he grabbed a large cloth bag from under his bed and stuffed some clothes into it. Suddenly realising he will have to use Muggle transport and that it had to be paid for, he took a brown paper bag from his draw, and tossed into the top of the bag before snapping it shut. Walking down the stairs, he paused for a second to look around.

"Its not much, but at least it's home," he said.

He recalled explaining that to Harry on his first visit, and yes, the Burrow might be cramped, cluttered, and at times very busy and noisy, but at least it's home. His boots were now lying on the floor in front of the fire, so he sat down on the floor to put them on.

"Urgh, they're still damp. I hope its water anyway," he muttered as he tied up the soggy laces. He could have sworn he heard the mop snigger.

He got up and threw his cloak round his shoulders. Pig was eager to be off, so Ron told him the address to go to as was easier for Pig to fly there, than try and keep hold of him on busy Muggle transport, which would have attracted some very strange stares. When Ron opened the door, the wind rushed in, and Pig was blown straight into the cleaning bucket in the corner of the kitchen. Thinking that the downed bird was some dirty item, the mop jumped straight in on top of it and started to jump up and down on the frightened bird. Ron rushed over to the bucket and pulled the mop out, but it didn't come out without a fight. Eventually Ron recovered the bedraggled bird from the bucket and sat him down on the table. Pig gave a couple of coughs and sneezed.

"Ah, well. You'd better stay here then," Ron said to his soggy bird.

The bird just turned his head towards Ron and gave a feeble twitter. Looking at his watch, he realised he only had a few minutes to catch the train to London. He pulled the hood of the cloak over his head and pulled out his wand, tapping himself on the top of the hood with it.

"Impervious," he said, and a bright flash appeared at the tip of his wand to connect with the top of his hood, putting the repelling charm onto the cloak.

He put his wand into the special pocket stitched inside his trousers, which made sure he could get to it in a hurry, but would not cause any injury if it went off accidentally. Many people have lost a buttock putting it in their back pocket he recalled a professor saying one day when he put his wand in his back pocket. The thought made him laugh.

"Ha, ha, ha. LUMOS! AARRGH, me bums on fire! Ha, ha, ha."

Picking up his bag, he slung it over his shoulder, and left the house, closing the door tightly behind him. Once outside, Ron pulled the key from his cloak and turned to place the key over the doorknob again. The house magically locked all the doors and windows, finally putting a spell over the house to keep people out. Inside, Pig looked at the door and twittered mournfully before hopping off the table to sit in front of the fire and preen himself. On the clock, the hand with Ron's face on it moved from "Home" to "Mortal Peril".

Ron trudged his way to the train station through the mud and the Impervious Charm was doing its job keeping him dry, but the wind was still very cold. He had to walk to the bottom of the muddy lane where the railway station was and he waited for the train to London half way down the platform. One form of transport he could have used was the Knight Bus, but the last time he used it he was a bit nasty to the conductor and he ended up with a howler from his mother. Howlers are letters that shout at you, literally, and some shouts can be heard from miles away. He could have Apparated to Hermione's, but even though he got top marks in his Apparation exam, and his license was up to date, he didn't want to risk frightening the girl, and he didn't know if she had put a hex on her flat causing anyone Apparating into her flat to change into a Blast-ended Skrewt or something as equally horrible. So Ron decided to stand on the platform, in the rain, and wait for the Muggle transportation to arrive. The station manager came over to him. He was holding a newspaper tightly over his head with one hand to stop what looked like an ill-fitting wig from being blown off. In his other hand he held a green flag.

"Its very wet out here," shouted the manager over the wind. "Would you like to wait in my office?"

He hadn't noticed that Ron was actually quite dry, despite the lack of an umbrella.

"Its okay," replied Ron. "Here comes the train now."

The train heaved and rolled, as it pulled level with the end of the platform, brakes squealing and engine growling as it shuddered to a halt. Ron got into a middle carriage and pulled his bag into the doorway. The manager slammed the door shut, blew his whistle, and waved his green flag vigorously. As the train lurched out of the station, Ron fell forwards into the wall, and bumped his head.

"Ow! Another lump!" Ron muttered as he rubbed the front of his head.

He wandered down the corridor to find an empty compartment, which he found halfway down the corridor. Dropping his bag on the floor, he sat down near the window and stared out at the countryside flashing by. It was starting to get dark and car headlights could be seen wandering through the country lanes on their way back home from work, visiting friends, or going to parties, anywhere but going to who-knows-what.

"Come back here!" shouted a voice from the corridor and a little boy of about two years of age ran into the compartment and stood there looking at Ron.

The child looking at Ron had a familiarity about it that startled him a little. A young woman appeared behind the child who also looked very familiar, but he just couldn't place her face.

"Sorry about that," said the woman in a girly voice. "Come on Neville, back to our compartment."

And with that, both people walked out of the compartment and back down the coach. The door to the compartment slid shut.

Before long, the train started to make its way though the suburbs of London. Brightly lit streets replaced dark county lanes and more cars were evident. Some stuck in jams, others racing along wide roads. A road appeared to rise out of the ground and run over the track as the train went beneath a bridge. Ron was becoming sleepy and his eyelids became very heavy. Suddenly he was aware of a face staring at him through the window. He jumped back in surprise and pulled out his wand as he stared straight into the face of a hideous goblin which seemed to be hanging onto the outside of the carriage, flying like a flag in a high wind and laughing wildly. Ron blinked once, and the figure disappeared.

"Bloody hell! What was that?" Ron said, and rubbed his eyes. "Who could have? Oh, it couldn't have been. Naah, musta been dreaming."

He dropped back into his seat and looked back out the window, but then he moved away from the window a little, just in case. Very soon, he was feeling drowsy again and watched the London skyline through the rain-streaked window. The goblin had disturbed him a little, even though he thought it was a deep memory coming to the surface in his state of weariness, he kept tight hold of his wand in case it appeared again.

The train plunged into a tunnel and started to slow down, ready to enter Waterloo station. Ron got up and stretched widely before re-pocketing his wand as the train growled smoothly to a stop at a platform. He waited until the train had finally stopped before he picked up his bag, and made his way back towards the door of the carriage. The young woman and the child who he had met earlier before were just coming out of their compartment, and the child looked up at Ron then made a strange squeaking noise, which made Ron jump. He had heard this noise somewhere before, a long time ago whilst at school.

But how can that be the same noise, he thought.

He shook his head and stepped out of the door onto the platform. Behind him, the woman was telling the child off. The child cried a lot and reached out for Ron, but he had his back to them, so didn't see the imploring look on the child's face. As he reached the front of the train, a mechanic was talking to the driver.

"Jus' came out of no-where," the driver explained. "I thought I had hit it, but it went straight round the side."

He engineer wrote something on the paper on his clipboard.

"Well there's no damage on the front, Ern. I shall check it out later," was the engineer's reply and returned to look at his clipboard.

Curiosity took hold of Ron so he slipped by the two men, and walked round to the other side of the train. What he saw made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Along the whole length of the train there were two sets of four parallel scratch marks that looked like claw marks. At each window, a small piece of rubber had been pulled out by who, or whatever, had made the scratches. He followed the scratches to where his compartment had been and found a small piece of metal had been pulled out from the side of the coach, which looked like it had been used as a handhold. On a jagged part of the hole, a piece of material had been left behind, and more disturbingly, spots of blood. Looking round, he pulled the material from the hole and saw it had on it a small crest.

"Blimey! Look at this, Ern!"

The voices made Ron look towards the front of the train to see the driver and the engineer staring at the long scratches. Thinking he might be suspected of doing the damage, he shoved the piece of material into his cloak and walked back off up the platform. Once out of the building, he walked quickly across to the taxi park climbed into the nearest cab.

"Where to then, mate?" the driver asked.

"12 Forth Street, West Ham please," Ron replied.

"Okay, hang on then."

The driver crunched the car into a gear and pulled straight out into the path of an oncoming bus, which swerved to avoid the speeding taxi.

"Bloody hell!" Ron exclaimed as he struggled to do up his seat belt.

The journey was scary in parts as the driver ran through red lights, cut up other road users, and hung out the window shouting obscenities at other drivers. All the time the driver kept up a continuous stream of babble about the government, explosions, rioting, cost of living, and other bits of waffle Ron didn't care about. While hanging on for his life in the back of the cab, Ron thought about the note. Teenage emotions are not something Ron handled easily and at the moment, there was a million of them running around his head. He was still in love with Hermione but he thought she hated him, so he was curious as to why she had written to him. The letter contained the address of her flat, and the message contained just three words: Please help me! Why does she need help? He knew that she had taken Harry's death very badly, spending all her time crying, and when she was not crying, she slept, but still cried in her sleep. But the biggest emotion he felt at the moment was fear. Not fear from getting another black eye, but fear as to what he might find when he reached his destination.

Suddenly, the cab stopped violently and the driver announced that he was at the address. Ron had slid off his seat and landed on the floor with a bump. Rubbing his backside, he opened the top of the cloth bag and pulled out the bag containing the Muggle money. After sorting out a paper note, he handed it to the driver telling him to keep the change.

"Thanks a lot," the driver said, "an' 'ere's me card, an' if y' ever need to go anywhere, jus stick out ur wand and yell TAXI. I can get to ya much more quicker than Ernie Prang can."

The driver handed Ron a card, and on it was a moving picture of a stout man, grinning like a ninny with the name Arioch Frith handwritten beneath it. "Any chance of changing this fiver for two Galleons?"

"You're a wizard?" Ron enquired, giving the driver two gold coins and taking his Muggle money back.

"Yup. Funny that, 'aint it?" Arioch replied, chuckling.

"How come you are driving a taxi cab then?" Ron was a little puzzled now.

"Gotta keep 'urself busy these days, and there 'aint much call for a Purger anymore."

"A Purger? What's that then?" Ron asked, trying to sort this revelation out in his head.

"Used to hunt Death Eaters. Tracked 'em down and BAM." He hits his clenched fist onto his other open hand. "Quick and easy. Fourteen Galleons a wand I used to get. Then that Voldemort got the chop from that Potter fella, and I was out of a job."

The driver took out a bottle containing what looked like custard from under his coat and took a large swig from it.

"Never mind. I likes running about in this," he patted the top of the steering wheel gently, "and it's just as quick as the Knight Bus any day. 'Ad a race with Prang the other day, but he ran straight into the river."

The driver laughed loudly and started to choke, so he took another gulp from his bottle.

"Yeah." Ron was chuckling now. "I can imagine. That drivers got to be the worse one I have seen. Who'd give someone with glasses that thick a driving job! Anyway, I have to go. People to see and all that. Oh, by the way. How did you know I was a wizard?"

Arioch lifted the flap of his Deerstalker hat to reveal what looked like a piece of broccoli where his ear should have been.

"I can hear yur wand," he explained. "Lets see, twelve inches, ash, dragon heartstring. Needs a bit of a clean."

He coughed loudly into a red polka dot handkerchief. Ron went a little red.

"Gimme regards to that 'Ermione sort," Arioch said after finally stopping coughing. "In a bad way from wot I can gather."

"I will," Ron muttered, wondering why the driver knew what was going on and he didn't.

With that, he returned the rest of his money to the top of his bag and closed it. The wind was just as strong in London as it was back home and he struggled to open the door and get out. With the pavements awash and the drains overflowing, the smell of leaking sewers reached his nose as he walked up to the front door of the block of flats. Behind him, the taxi raced off almost hitting another car coming in the other direction, which had to swerve to avoid having an accident. Ron turned to look down the long street to see what was happening, but the taxi was gone. There was nothing really spectacular about the building as it looked like many a block built in the nineteen thirties with yellow brick and white metal windows frames. A large number twelve in gold numbers was above the large front door. Ron approached the door and looked at the panel set in the wall containing the door buzzers for each flat. Each button had a name next to it, with several blank ones, but none of them had Hermione's name on it, or any other name she cared to be called. He took out his wand and pointed it at the panel.

"Reveal," he said, but nothing happened.

He thought for a moment. "What would she have done to cover her identity?" he muttered to himself.

Then an idea struck him. Counting the bricks above the panel, he counted three up, then two across, and tapped the brick with his wand. As he watched, the panel moved outwards slightly then rotated, exposing a handle on which it had the words "Hermione Granger" engraved. He took the handle, and pulled. After a few seconds, the front door swung open slightly. As soon as he let go of the handle, the panel returned to its original position. When he pushed the door open, it seemed to have something jammed beneath it as it made a crunching sound as he pushed it wider. In front of him were some stairs and to the left was a corridor leading to the ground floor flats. From somewhere down this corridor came the sounds of gunfire and someone shouting, obviously from a TV set, he hoped. Some numbers were displayed on a board next to the stairs with an arrow pointing upwards, and on this list was the number forty-two. Shifting his bag on his shoulder a little, he began to climb the stairs. Each landing was a similar layout to the ground floor, except the corridor leading to each flat was blocked by a heavy fire door.

"Trust her to have a flat on the top floor," Ron gasped as he arrived at the top landing.

The door to the corridor seemed quite heavy, but Ron thought this was due to his long climb up four floors. Looking at the door numbers, he saw that flat forty-two was right at the end, so he shifted his bag a little and trudged to the door at the far end of the corridor. On his way down the corridor he could hear people arguing, laughing, and here and there, the sounds of different television shows coming from each flat. Number forty-two had the same door as every other flat, with the exception of an ornate doorknob, which Ron thought very Hermione. He knocked on the door softly, half expecting to get blasted back down the corridor by a jinx. What opened the door was not what he had expected. Hermione stood there, wearing a grubby dressing gown, nothing on her feet, her face looking pale with dark rings round her eyes, and her greasy hair drooped over her shoulders. Behind her, the entrance hall to the flat was cluttered with unopened mail, empty take-away cartons, unread newspapers, and a couple of bags containing who-knows-what.

"H-hello, Hermione," Ron spluttered out, trembling.

"Oh, Ron!" Hermione squeaked and rushed forward to throw her arms around his neck only to start crying again. "I'm so sorry about our fight, I missed you so much," she sobbed.

"Th-that's okay, sweetheart," Ron said quietly and he dropped his bag onto the floor to put his arms around the sobbing girl. "I've missed you too. I'm so glad you're okay though."

His was voice cracking under the strain of trying to stop him self from crying as he stroked her hair affectionately and tried to comfort her as best he could.

"Could I come in then," Ron asked, rocking her gently from side to side.

"Oh, yes, forgive, me. Please, come in."

Ron picked up his bag and walked into the hallway. Closing the door behind him he noticed one of the rubbish bags move slightly before letting out what sounded like a gentle raspberry. He dropped his bag, and followed Hermione into the living room. On the way, he peered into the bedroom and was pleased to see Hedwig's cage sitting on top of a chair. It was evident that the cage had been used, but there was no sign of the bird. The living room was in no better condition than the hallway, with rubbish and clutter everywhere. She sat down on the sofa and Ron sat next to her.

"Thank you so much for coming," she said.

"I'm happy to be asked," he replied, looking a little puzzled as to why she was in such a state.

"I need to tell you what happened," she began.

"No, lets not go over that again," Ron said. "You look in a bad way, and this is the last thing you need."

"No, please, I have to tell you."

She was getting a little panicky now in case Ron decided he still couldn't cope with her. Taking a deep breath, she started to tell her story.

"After the final battle, and I saw Harry killed, it changed me," she explained. "I had you, and you were trying your best to support me, but I couldn't cope with the fact that Harry had gone and you didn't seem to be too upset about it." She blew her nose on a handkerchief before continuing. "I started to resent you. I keep seeing the argument we had on my birthday. It is like a movie playing over and over in my head and I can't stop it. It was driving me mad. My parents decided I needed a change and found this place for me. I moved in about two months ago."

His eyes glistened with tears but he could not look away from her sad-looking face, even though he wished he could.

"I tried to do the place up and my dad helped when he could, but I just couldn't do it," she went on. "We argued all the time and I cried a lot, then even he stopped coming round. I have even driven my parents away, and I am so lonely."

She stared into his eyes and searched them to see if he really cared.

"It's okay," Ron said. "I am not going to leave you now. I realise now that all you wanted was a hug and it would have been all right. But I am here now, and I am going nowhere." He continued to squeeze her hands.

"But it is all getting too much for me," she continued, "and I really wanted someone to explain everything, but no one wanted me! I felt as though I was the only person on the planet and I wanted to end it all."

"Shhh, don't say that," Ron whispered as a tear rolled down his cheek. "I am so sorry for what I have done to you."

She broke down again and put her arms around his neck to cry onto his shoulder. He felt a little strange, having her crying on him, but it made him feel good that at last they were able to speak.

After a few minutes, Hermione went limp and very quiet. Terrified, Ron pushed her away a little, but then breathed a sign of relief. She had fallen asleep, so he lay her down gently on the sofa, and covered her with what he took to be a blanket but turned out to be Harry's Invisibility Cloak, which made it look like Hermione had lost all her body and was reduced to a head. He looked at the sleeping girl for a few minutes and it was then he realised how ill she had become. Listening to her erratic breathing made Ron feel so guilty. Hermione must have been so weak for her to fall asleep so quickly, and that made Ron very nervous. Was he too late? He hoped not.

Looking around he decided to tidy up a little to make her feel better when she wakes up. He had learned a little about the use of charms when it came to household chores from his mother, but he soon realised that he still needed a lot of practice after he sent a bar of soap racing around the bathroom, closely followed by a scrubbing brush. He did manage to get them under control, but only after they had attacked his face several times. The mop and bucket he was reasonably successful with, but ended up using them by hand after the bucket ended up with several holes in it and leaked water all over the floor.

It took him two hours of scrubbing, wiping, polishing, and cleaning up after some accidents, but he at last dropped the last plastic bag into the hallway. The bag he saw move earlier gave another soft raspberry noise, so he opened it up to see what it was. Something small and black scurried out from inside a burger carton and Ron leapt away from it as it dropped to the floor. It made a dash for Ron's leg, and he stamped on it hard. But this didn't stop the thing, so he ran into the bedroom to put some room between him and whatever it was, and pointed his wand at it.

"IMMOBULUS," he cried and the thing froze just as it got ready to jump.

He walked over and picked up the large beetle shaped thing.

"What are Doxey's doing here?"

He put the Doxey back into the bag and opened the front door. Across the landing was a large flap built into the wall with the words "RUBBISH CHUTE - RUBBISH BAGS ONLY, NO PEOPLE PLEASE" written across the top of it. One by one he dropped the bags down the chute, which hit the bottom with a bang.

He returned to the flat and closed the door behind him. He noticed that the flat seemed a little chilly so he went into the living room and saw that the fire had died down to a faint glimmer, so he decided to liven it up a little. Taking his wand, he pointed at the fireplace.

"Incendio!" he muttered.

A yellow flame, as thick as his waist shot from the end of his wand, which not only made the fire glow a bit brighter, but also set fire to the carpet and some of Ron's hair. Quickly he stamped the carpet out, and realised his hair was on fire. Hermione woke up at the point where Ron was frantically whacking his hair with the palms of his hands.

"Wh-wh-whats goin' on?" she stuttered, rubbing her eyes and seeing Ron doing some sort of rain-dance in front of a roaring fire.

"It's alright Hermy," Ron replied, rubbing his head to get the singed bits out. "I have just done a little tidying up, but don't tell my mother. She'll go nuts!"

"What on earth has happened here?" she asked, pointing at the burnt edges of the carpet.

"Oh, nothing, much," he replied, looking a bit embarrassed.

She realised what he had done. "What have I always said about using the correct pronunciations? Its In-sen-dee-o, not In-send-eye-o," she giggled. "Would you like me to straighten out your hair, or would you like to burn the rest off yourself?"

"No," he said grumpily.

"The flat looks better than it ever has, thank you."

He looked at her smiling face and saw for the first time since his arrival a bit of the old Hermione coming back.

"Tell you what, why don't I run you a bath, and you can tell me everything that has happened since, well, y'know, since I walked away from you."

"That would be nice. And maybe you could run your head under the cold tap to cool it down a little."

She smiled sweetly at him, and got up to kiss him gently on the cheek. Before he walked to the bathroom, she caught his hand.

"Would you have come for me if I had just sent you my address?" she asked.

He looked straight into her eyes and after a few seconds replied, "Yes, I would."

He let go of her hand and went to the bathroom to begin to run the bath. As he did, something orange shot through the flap installed in the window leading to the fire escape. Crookshanks, Hermione's cat, ran straight up Ron's leg, digging all four sets of his claws in as he did.

"OW! GERROFF ME YOU BLOODY DAFT CAT!" Ron wailed.

Hermione burst out laughing as Ron rolled around the floor trying to stop Crookshanks from licking his nose. Eventually, the cat got bored with this game and ran back over to where he had dropped the half eaten mouse as he came through the flap. Hermione picked him up while he swallowed the last of his evening meal.

"Ooooh, you're all wet and stinky," Hermione said, nuzzling the cat's wet fur.

Crookshanks purred back and licked Hermione's ear.

"Ow, that damn cat's claws want chopping," Ron wailed as he rubbed his leg. Blood had started to seep through his trousers.

"Oh, don't be such a baby," Hermione giggled, "Crookshanks is only a kitten."

"Only a kitten! I'd hate to see a fully grown one!" Ron hissed.

When Ron finally got up, he went back to Hermione and scratched the back of the cat's ear before wandering into the bathroom. Still muttering something about chopping the legs off the cat and using the rest of it as a mop, he began to run the water into the bath. He found a box of bath crystals that had been his present to her on her eighteenth birthday as a peace offering (before she gave him a black-eye), and a bottle of lavender bath soap, which was a gift from his sister, Ginny. He poured the soap and the crystals into the bath and soon the room was filled with the smell of scented bubbles. From a cupboard in the corner of the bathroom he took a couple of towels and placed them on the side of the bath. As the water rose, he tested the temperature of the water with his hand and stared into the bubbles. When he had came back from repairing a fence this morning, he had intended to spend the rest of the day lazing around the house, then spend the evening, well, lazing around the house. That was before he got the note from Hermione and the letter from his mother. That moment had changed the direction of the day, and possibly the rest of his life.

"Your bath's ready," Ron called.

Hermione wandered into the bathroom, minus Crookshanks who had disappeared through the flap back into the rainy night to search for more food. They both stood there for a brief moment, looking at each other.

"I can't remember the last time I laughed," she whispered.

"Glad to have helped," Ron replied.

He bowed deeply and left the room, closing the door behind him. Hermione stood, looking at the door and suddenly felt glad as she realised she had not cried for about ten minutes. The longest time of not crying since, well since Harry had been murdered, saving the world. There she had said it, and no sign of a tear. Well done girl, she thought to herself. One step at a time.

Ron dropped back onto the sofa and rubbed his leg but at least it had stopped bleeding. He sat quietly listening to the people next door laughing at something, and to Hermione, who had started to splash around and humming to her self. He looked around the room and saw that in the corner was a large chest of drawers where he placed some of the things he had found lying around. One of the drawers was slightly open, so he got up to close it. The drawer would not close properly, so instead, he opened it and what he found inside made his face light up. Inside, the drawer was full of wizard photos with him, Hermione, and Harry, all moving around and laughing in all sorts of different poses. He also found the other thing he was worried about : Hermione's wand, which looked as though it had been thrown around a lot. As Ron looked at the pictures, he could see how much they had changed over the seven years of their friendship. There were pictures from when they first met, possibly from their first week judging from the date on the back. There was a picture of Harry being presented with the Quidditch Cup, another of Hermione giving Harry a present at Christmas, and yet another with the whole Gryffindor sixth-year house. Ron and Harry could be seen messing around at the back of the group, while Hermione threw them dirty looks and telling them something that didn't look very nice.

As he continued to look through the pictures, he found one picture that bought a lump to his throat. The picture in question contained Harry, Hermione, and himself, all sitting on a bench outside Hogwarts. Ron was laughing and giving Hermione a tickle round her sides. Hermione looked as thought she was ready to burst with tears of happiness running down her cheeks, and her wild hair flopping madly around. Harry sat there, looking at the two of them. Even though he was smiling, he looked a little sad as though he knew what was going to happen the following evening during the final battle of the war that would see him killed. Harry was happy for the pair of them, as he trusted Ron to be able to look after their friend no matter what happened. Ron sat back down on the sofa and looked at the picture thinking, you got that wrong, didn't you mate. Harry looked straight into the camera and smiled. Hagrid, the Hogwarts gamekeeper and Care of Magical Creatures teacher, had taken the picture of the three friends as there was only one week left before they all went back to their separate lives for the very last time. The little group gathered at this spot had done so much together over the last seven years, and these pictures are all that is left, along with the memories. Ron then started to cry.

In the bathroom, Hermione lay back in the warm water, letting it come up over her ears, deadening the sounds around her. As she looked up at the ceiling, she smiled and realised for the first time in her life, she had someone who truly loved her. Steam from the water rose towards an extractor fan just above her, which made a quiet purring noise as it sent the steam out into the night air. She watched the steam being sucked out and closed her eyes. Harry appeared as usual. But this time, instead of seeing him blown apart as she normally does, he was smiling at her. A single tear ran down her cheek and into the fragrant water as Ron's face replaced Harry's. He too was smiling. Then another face appeared. It was the first time in a long time that anyone else's face had been in her thoughts and it was her fathers, followed by her mothers. The road to recovery was long and hard, but it had to start somewhere and that somewhere was here, in a bath full of hot water with a man she loved just outside.

After a while, she washed her hair and got out of the bath. Putting a towel around her, and wrapping her hair in another, she walked over to the mirror and rubbed the condensation off it. The mirror was not kind, as it told the truth. Instead of a beautiful eighteen year-old girl, a thirty-something woman stared back at her with dark eyes and a sunken face. Another feeling started to happen in her stomach.

"I'm hungry," she said.

"What was that," shouted Ron through the door over the gurgling of the emptying bath.

"I said I feel hungry," she replied.

"GERROFFME YOU SODDIN' MOGGY!" Ron yelled as Crookshanks ran up his back and over his head. "Urrgh, you're wet. Okay, I'll go out and find something."

"NO! DON'T," Hermione yelled as she burst out of the bathroom and flung her arms around Ron's neck, trembling. "Don't leave me alone again!"

He took her by the shoulders and held her at arms length. She was terrified that she was going to see him walk out of her life again and never return. .

"Okay, okay. Do you know if there is anything in the kitchen?" he asked. "I didn't notice anything when I tidied up."

"Take a look in the freezer. There might be something in there, I don't know," Hermione replied in a quite voice.

Ron disappeared into the kitchen while Hermione looked through the window into the rainy night. After a couple of minutes, she could hear Ron clanking pots around in the kitchen and the smell of something cooking wafted into where she was sitting. It had been a strange day up till now, and she was tired, so she wandered back into the bedroom and lazily pulled open a draw and took out some clothes. It was almost as though she was on autopilot as she mechanically dressed herself and then ran a brush through her damp hair.

"Take things nice and slow," she muttered to herself as she attempted to untangle a particularly large knot in her hair.

"Dinner will be five minutes," she heard Ron shout from the kitchen. "I hope you like Italiano food, as that's all I could find. You really need to get out and do some shopping."

She got up and walked to the kitchen.

"Maybe we can do that tomorrow, Ron, but tonight, we have a of catching up to do, if you know what I mean." She raised one eyebrow and winked.

She had that look in her eye that meant trouble, but in the nicest possible way. He remembered that look just after they had become very close, and they had almost shared a special moment in a deserted part of the Hogwarts castle during the Christmas holidays before being disturbed by a poltergeist throwing handfuls of Dungbombs. Ron looked at her and his mouth become suddenly very dry and he took a sip from a glass of water.

Turning back towards the dining table, she heard Ron talking to Crookshanks who had just come back in through the cat-flap. As she sat down, she gazed into the fire and thought about what the future might hold. She was scared, that was true. But maybe, if she played it cool, Ron would come back to her.

Ron came in with some cutlery and a couple of glasses. Under his arm was a bottle of wine and he placed the items of the table before returning to the kitchen. She looked at the bottle for a few seconds and then poured it into two glasses. The liquid span round in the glass and she watched it as though fascinated by the way even still wine contained small bubbles, but her mind was a million light years from her body.

A couple of minutes later, Ron appeared carrying a plate with a lasagne and some slices of garlic bread on it. She lifted her glass and proposed a toast as Ron sat down opposite her.

"To us, then," she said, and clinked her glass against his.

"To us," Ron replied.

"Are you not having any," she asked.

"No, no. I had something earlier on," he lied, "so tuck in."

He took a piece of garlic bread and watched Hermione shovelling down her food as though she had not eaten for weeks. In just five minutes, she had finished off all the food and washed it down with two large glasses of wine.

"You finished then," Ron asked as she mopped up the remainder of the sauce with her finger.

"Yes, thank you," she replied.

He took the now clean plate back into the kitchen, returning a few seconds later with a large bowl of rice pudding and a pot of jam. She took a spoon and dropped a large dollop of jam into the middle of it and started to eat. In no time at all, the bowl was empty, and Ron decided to ask what was going on as she ran her finger round the bowl to get the last bits of cream out.

"What happened here, Hermione?" he asked quietly. "I mean you were never this untidy."

Hermione thought for a few seconds while she sucked the last of the cream from her finger, before getting up and going to the sofa. Ron got up and turned on a table lamp before turning off the main light, making the room a bit cosier. He added a couple more logs to the fire before sitting down next to her. She took a sip from her glass and stared thoughtfully into the flames as a log settled a little in the fireplace, sending sparks flying up the chimney and making a crackling sound. He looked into her eyes and could see the fire reflected in them as she began to tell her story.

"You know when, well ... when Harry ..."

"When Harry was murdered," Ron finished.

"Yes, when Harry was murdered, I could only think of my own feelings. I cried and cried and cried, and every night, I would shut my eyes and he was there, being blown apart. My mum and dad were brilliant, and so were you. But I could only see Harry and what happened to him. I kept asking myself the same questions over and over: Why Harry? Why not me?"

She paused to take a sip from her glass before continuing.

"When we left your house after the funeral, I thought I could cope, with it all over and all. But when you came over to me and asked if I was okay at the station, I was horrible to you, just horrible."

Ron sat very quietly, watching her pour her heart out, not saying a word. A small tear appeared in his left eye. Their parting at the railway station had attracted the attention of several people around them due to the shouting and yelling coming from Hermione. Mrs Weasley was trying to console her while Hermione hurled a tirade of insults at him. It was not a pleasant sight.

"I knew exactly what I was doing. I wanted to hurt you and hurt you bad for not being as upset as me because I couldn't understand why you were not crying as much as me. Was it only me that loved Harry? Was I the only person who would miss him? I started to hate you for not grieving, and I didn't think that you were trying to be strong for me as I was such a mess. I knew you were missing Harry, but you didn't show it. When I got home, I was unbearable. I was shouting at everyone all the while, ranting and raving all the time, and starting to smash up my things. I was getting unbearable to live with."

She gave a couple of sobs before going on.

"When they put what was left of his wand on display in the entrance hall to the newly rebuilt Ministry of Magic, I wanted to go and see it, but my dad said it was a bad idea. I wanted so much for Harry to come back and I thought his wand would allow me to do it, but obviously it couldn't. We argued and argued, but even though I knew he was right, I started to hate even my own parents."

She drained the rest of her glass and sniffed loudly.

"Then you came round to see me on my birthday. I had been crying again, and when you knocked at the door, I didn't want to see you. My mum made me open the door and I was hoping that you had been crying too, but it was clear you hadn't and I hated you for it. The argument we had was horrible and then I hit you. I was out of control and there was nothing anyone could do to stop me."

Ron rubbed the side of his face again.

"My dad agreed that I should move away for a while and found this flat for me. He said it would give me a fresh start and something else to occupy my mind for a while. Anyway, I moved in about two months ago, and in that drawer," she pointed to the drawer with all the pictures in it, "is all my memories of Hogwarts, and the only pictures of Harry I have. I hoped I could use them to help me get over what happened.

"Things really started to get on top of me two weeks ago when I was reading the Daily Prophet. There was nothing about Harry. Nothing at all. There had been so much about him before; that I was able to think he was still alive. But now, it was as though he hadn't existed. Harry appeared to have died saving the world and now everyone had forgotten him. All my crying had not helped me, so I stopped eating, washing, and let myself go. I thought if I could leave things long enough, I would die in my sleep of a broken heart." She started to cry again.

Ron was mortified at the thought that while he was at home having fun, the girl he loved was pining away, hoping for a quick death.

"Shh, its okay," Ron whispered and kissed her on the top of her head.

"I sent you an owl this morning and hoped to get a reply straight away," she went on, "but when I had not heard anything for a few hours, I wrote to your mum. I sent Hedwig with the note after I found out she was in Egypt. She's great and I got a reply saying she had got in touch with you, but I still had not heard anything from you. But when the doorbell rang, I knew you had come."

"I'm here now, and I don't intend on going anywhere until you're sorted out," he said. "Lets put the past few months behind us, and look to the future. Now, no more talking."

Ron put both his arms around her and kissed her. First he kissed the tear running down her cheek then he kissed her mouth. Not a peck experienced between friends, but a full kiss of long lost lovers. He leaned her back onto the sofa and she dropped her empty glass onto the floor to put both arms tightly around him. They were about to make up for three months of lost time, and they had all night.

The dishes could wait.