A Dish Best Served Cold

When Ron arrived at the Burrow, the first thing that occurred to him was that it was like a bad case of déjà vu. The house was quiet, the windows were closed, and the chickens were penned. Ron reached down and turned the handle on the front door, it was locked. Never, in his eighteen years, could Ron remember a time when the front door of the Burrow had been locked. In their backwater part of the world they had always been safe, always been far from the attacks and the danger. With an old favorite, he unlocked the door and entered the still and quiet house.

"Mum? Dad?" He stubbed his toe on something lying on the floor behind the couch. He looked down to see a brown travel bag, stitched on the handle was the name William H. 'Bill' Weasley. "What are you doing home?" he asked the bag. "Oh, never mind." The last time Bill had come home was eight months earlier, for Charlie's funeral. Ron walked on through the house looking for signs of life, or at least habitation. On the table was a pile of old picture-albums, many of them opened to pictures of Ron with Harry and Hermione. He flipped through them for a few minutes, then stopped.

He reached into one of the albums and nicked his favorite picture. Hermione was standing between Harry and Ron; they were all waving to the camera, Hermione showing off her Prefect badge. Suddenly she jumped, turned and slapped Ron on the arm. Ron tossed something silver and shiny to Harry who took off running with Hermione hot on his tail. Finally she tackled Ron just as he caught the item being tossed to him. She pummeled him for a bit, finally taking back her badge and stalking out of the picture. Ron slipped the picture into his pocket and headed upstairs to grab a change of clothes.

In his closet he found a pair of blue slacks and light gray shirt that Hermione had bought him the previous summer for a trip to the symphony. He held the pants up, they looked like they would fit reasonably well; if not he was sure Hermione knew a charm to lengthen them. He headed back down to the kitchen and was about to leave when it something caught his eye. On the table, half buried under the picture-albums, was a copy of the Daily Prophet. The first thing that caught his eye about the cover was the fact that the picture was in color. He looked closer at the picture; suddenly he turned and threw up in the kitchen sink.

It was quite one thing to hear somebody say you were dead, it was something else all together different to see yourself dead. He read the caption underneath the picture. "Grief of a Nation. Molly Weasley, mother of Ron Weasley, cries over the caskets of Harry Potter and her son in the main hall at Hogwarts." The picture had been shot from a high angle and he could see the "dead" forms of himself and Harry, both dressed in their black school robes and lying in white-satin lined caskets, as his mother stood between them. She had a hand resting on each of the boys' chests and her shoulders heaved and shook as she cried. After a moment his brother Bill came up and rested a hand on Ron's forehead and ruffled his shock of red hair. Ron shivered as he imagined the feeling of his brother's fingers in his hair in that familiar gesture that had been learned from his father.

On the table lay another issue of the Prophet; this one with the headline, 'Lucius Malfoy sworn in as Minister of Magic.' "Bugger," Ron breathed. He grabbed the two papers and tucked them in amongst his clothes, then Apparated back to the home of Marcus Granger.

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Hermione sat on the bed, her hair up in a towel as she looked at the depressing black dress she had chosen two days before. She would only wear it once; she couldn't bear the baggage that went with it more than that. Not only did it mark the death of her parents, which would be enough to warrant burning it, but as she had bought it Ron had been sitting in a police station being told that he was the one who had killed them. It wasn't true of course, but it had burrowed into his soul and corrupted him. Now he wasn't the same Ron he had been before. He was hesitant to touch her, like he was scared of her, or what he would do to her. She had felt it in his hug just a little while before. He was holding her and saying all the things that needed to be said, he may have even meant them, but he was somewhere else.

Her thought was broken by the sound of her uncle's heavy footsteps coming up the stairs. "Who was on the phone?" she asked, knowing it probably wasn't any of her business.

"The magistrate's office." His voice was even, shaded with a bit of disappointment she thought. "We've come to an agreement on the settlement if Ron's willing to take it." He paused as though waiting for her to say something; she simply made a small sound of curiosity so that he would continue. "Forty thousand pounds."

"What?! That's it?" Hermione was incensed, "They destroyed his faith in who he is and all that's worth is forty thousand pounds?" Forty thousand pounds would never replace what they had taken from him, his friendly smile and reassuring presence. No amount of money would ever replace that. The amount was a pittance. She knew for a fact that her uncle made more than that in a year as private practice lawyer. "It's not fair," she said, her voice more quiet now. "He's worth ten times, a hundred times more than that, easily."

"I know he is sweetie. But all things considered, it was the best I could do. As far as the British Crown is concerned, Ron doesn't exist. There's no record of him anywhere before he walked into that police station." He rested a hand on her shoulder. "The only way I could win this case would be to try it in the court of public opinion. Then all it would take is one reporter to question who he is, and the whole house of cards comes down." He crouched down in front of her and took her hands in his own. She noticed that whereas her father's hands were smooth, Marcus's were large and thick, and had many small scars on the backs of them.

"It will never replace what the two of you had; but I think given a little time and a little peace and quiet you two can rebuild your relationship. You both love each other very much. It's almost liking watching your mother and father again."

Hermione snapped her eyes open. "What?" She shook her head a little. "No, it's not like that at all. Ron and I are just good friends." She noticed her uncle was nodding with that sarcastic I-believe-you look on his face. The same one that Harry used to give the two of them late in their fourth year and into their fifth. She sighed, "Maybe once we could have been more; but things happened and we lost it along the way."

"Then maybe it's time to find it." He stood up and walked to the door. "Finish getting ready sweetie, we need to leave soon. I still have to swing by the magistrates office and sign some paperwork." After he left Hermione stood up and started getting ready.

"Hermione," she let out a small scream as Ron appeared right in front of her. She grabbed the robe she'd dropped on the bed and clutched it to her chest. Ron spun away instantly. She wasn't sure who was more embarrassed, him or her. "Right, don't mind me. I'll just be leaving now." Ron tripped over her bed and scrambled for the door. She supposed that if she hadn't been so embarrassed by him seeing her without a stitch on, she would have laughed at his embarrassed clumsiness. He slammed the door as soon as he was out in the hall and Hermione quickly dressed.

Twenty minutes later there was a soft, nervous knock at her door. "Hermione?" She would have laughed, or at least smiled, if she hadn't been seeing herself in a black dress at that very moment.

"Come in, I'm decent."

"I'm really, really sorry about that. I didn't... well I... it's just that... Why didn't you have any clothes on?" She had been fine until he mentioned that he had noticed that she was naked. She pulled the towel she was drying her hair with over her face and sincerely hoped that she wasn't blushing to the base of her skull like she thought she was. "Never mind. I found something you might find interesting. I'll warn you, it's a little disturbing." She dropped the towel on the bed and took the rolls of parchment he was offering. She noticed that the tips of his ears were an alarming shade of red, but said nothing.

She unrolled the parchment and let out a scream as she dropped down onto the bed again. "Ron, you're..." she brought her hand to her mouth, then pointed to the picture.

"Yeah, I threw up when I saw it."

"Saw what?" Ron turned to see Marcus standing in the doorway putting on a black tie. Ron reached over and slid the paper out of Hermione's hand and presented it to her uncle. Marcus looked at it for several seconds, turning it first one way, then another.

"They're wizarding photographs, they move."

"Yeah, I know," Marcus said in a nonchalant tone. "I actually have a wizard photograph of Hermione in my study. I was trying to figure out how to make it move a particular direction." Hermione stood up and walked over to Ron.

"Why?" Ron asked.

"Here," Marcus turned the picture to Ron. "I'd like to see what this is." He was pointing at a dark shape on the left side of the picture.

"That looks like..."

"Uh huh," agreed Marcus. "Another coffin." Hermione snatched the picture out of his hand and looked. On the opposite side of Harry's coffin was a long dark panel that looked like it could well have been another coffin. She watched as Mrs. Weasley entered the edge of the frame and seemed to lean over the shape. After a second she stood again and walked around to her son's own coffin, and bestowed a kiss on his forehead. She could hold back no longer. The tears welled up and sprang from her eyes, leaking in torrential rivers down her cheeks. This time, Ron was there for her, holding her and stroking her hair. She felt the papers removed from her tenuous grip and as soon as they were free she wrapped her arms around Ron as though he were the only solid land in a storm tossed sea.

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Ron wasn't sure he could take anymore. To add insult to injury, the other articles had told a story that differed significantly from what Ron remembered happening in the Chamber of Secrets. According to the articles, Draco had done all he could to save Harry but the Dark Lord's power was simply too great. Harry had finally defeated Voldemort by sacrificing himself after the death of his two friends. Draco talking about how saddened he was by the loss of such good friends made Ron physically ill.

"Ron," Hermione's voice was quiet and melancholy. Ron was amazed by her strength. A few hours earlier she had delivered a eulogy to her parents that had reduced the entire assembly to tears. She herself had cried several times during it, but somehow she had pushed herself on. He looked up to where she sat curled up in a chair reading the Special Issue. "Do you realize that we are going to be cremated by Dragon fire in a little over an hour?"

"Yes."

"We have to stop it. If we leave right now we can go to Hogsmeade and be at the school before the ceremonies start." She got up out of the chair.

"I'm not going." He didn't look at her as he said it.

"What? What do you mean you're not going?" She had her hands on her hips and was giving him the glare.

"I'm going to let the world think I'm dead. It will make it easier to do what I have to do if nobody believes I'm alive." He had made up his mind; he would take his revenge on Draco. Once Draco was dead, then he could reclaim his life. For now though, he had something to do.

"You're leaving." Hermione sat down next to him on the sofa. The silence stretched out between them like a dark canyon for long minutes. "I'm going with you. I'm going to help you kill Draco Malfoy."

Ron turned and looked at her. His worst fears had been realized. The darkness in his soul had corrupted her. He grabbed her by the shoulders and forced her to look at him. "No you're not. Where I'm going I cannot allow you to follow." He could see that she wanted to say something. He kept talking though. He couldn't allow her to get caught up in murder. "Hermione, you were always the best of all of us. You were everything that was good and right about the four of us. You're loyal, compassionate, honest, caring, and so many other good things. You're the embodiment of everything we stood for. You're too good to follow me down this road to perdition."

Hermione took her finger and laid it on his lips. "Ron, over the last three days I have lost everything but you. I lost my friends, my family, and even my faith in the goodness of humanity. Draco took all that from me. I owe him. I was going to join the Ministry like we had talked about, only I was going to become Grand Inquisitor and I was going to prove what Draco had done. I was going to bring the full weight of the law against him. Now that his father is Minister, I'll never be able to do that. I'll never be able to get justice for Harry, or for my parents." She removed her finger from his lips, but kept talking in a low voice filled with conviction.

"I lost my belief that people in authority act in the interest of justice. The police took that from me with what they did to you. They took you from me. They took your easy smile and your faith in me and your faith in us. If you leave then I have truly lost everything. I am going with you, Ron; and together we will take our revenge on him. We will take everything from him: his family, his wealth, his standing, his precious reputation, and his life. When we are done there will be nothing left of Draco Malfoy."

Ron was torn. On one hand, he felt guilty that somehow he had contaminated the good soul that he had always admired in Hermione. On the other hand, she wanted her own revenge and she had said they would go together to destroy Draco Malfoy. He couldn't find any part of that idea that he did not like. He looked into her eyes, preparing one final argument against her travelling this dark path. Then she placed her hands on either side of his face and pressed her lips to his own. Her lips were soft, but strong. She tasted sweet, like ripe strawberries. She opened her mouth beneath his own and he felt her tongue drag across his lips. His own tongue came forward to mingle with hers and for several minutes there was nothing in the world but her.

"Wow," was all Ron could say as they separated and he looked into her amber-rimmed brown eyes. It was everything he hoped it would be, and now it was more. Having lost her two years ago, he had given up the idea of ever doing this with her. There had been other girls in the interim, but none of them were ever her.

"Draco came between us once, long ago. It somehow seems right that our shared vengeance against him should bring us back together." She smiled at him; he could feel himself smiling back.

"Hermione Granger, you are the most amazing girl in the world." She gave him a shy smile. He leaned forward again, but this time she put her finger on his lips to stop him.

"If we do that again, I might never stop." Ron understood. Much as he wanted to kiss her again, there was much to do and think about.

"So what do we do next?"

"We get the invisibility cloak out of my backpack and we go to our funeral."

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She and Ron stood hand in hand on a hill overlooking the lake, each drawing strength from the other. Below them Albus Dumbledore extolled their virtues and mourned their loss. It was hard for Hermione to hear the Headmaster talk about what her loss meant when she wasn't really dead, she knew it was a lie. However, if she was going to do what she planned to do, lying was going to be the least of her sins. Secretly she was pleased by the Headmaster's kind words. His admiration had always meant a great deal to her. She glanced over and saw Ron smiling as the Headmaster spoke about Ron's unfailing sense of humor and the value of the lessons he taught about friendship and forgiveness.

Her stomach turned as Draco got up and spoke about how much he missed his friends, and what they had meant to him. "Ron," she whispered urgently, "you can't throw up now. Somebody will hear you. Just remember, he's going to get his." She looked up and saw Ron's mouth was set into a grim line. She imagined her statement was quite similar.

Finally, Draco stepped down and the Headmaster came back up. He offered a final benediction for the safe travel of their souls to the afterlife. She watched as he snapped Harry's wand in half and laid it on his chest. He did the same to Hermione's. Then he called out something in a language Hermione thought sounded like ancient Gaelic. A dragon swept down from the sky and skimmed over the lake. At the shoreline it suddenly banked toward the hill and the abandoned platform where the funeral pyres of the trio stood. She watched as the dragon opened its great maw. Fire streaked from its mouth and scorched the ground in a line toward the platform. The flames crossed the pyres, causing each to burst into brilliant flames of blue and white. The line continued on up the hill directly toward them as the dragon began to climb skyward again. Just below the crest of the hill the fire finally tapered out, leaving a fifty-foot long scorch mark on the ground.

Hermione watched as the Headmaster stared at the flames. He looked old and tired she thought. He didn't stand quite as tall as she remembered and he leaned heavily on a staff he had taken to carrying at the beginning of the year. She heard him cough and watched as he took a handkerchief from his pocket and held it to his mouth. When he was done coughing, he looked at the cloth, shook his head and stuffed it back into his pocket. Hermione sighed heavily, the Headmaster's years had finally caught up to him.

She and Ron stood and watched until the fires burned out. They watched as Professor McGonagall cast a spell that gathered their ashes into three urns. One of which was given to Molly Weasley, one was kept by the Professor, and one given to Remus Lupin, who was accompanied by a large black dog that lifted his head and howled at the gibbous moon. They watched until the last of the students had left the grounds and returned to the castle. Ron removed the invisibility cloak and breathed deeply the cool night air. Then they too walked away from the site and down the road, disappearing like two ghosts in the darkness.