Head of Gringotts’ Curse Breaker Division, Geneva

Bill stared at the letter, not sure what to make of his reaction. Hope and resistance rose up in him all at once.

He had been staying with Charlie for a week now, taking a pit stop with the dragon keepers in Romania, hoping to get a little rest with his brother before returning to business. But he’d realized in just a week’s time that the idea of returning to business made him a bit sick to his stomach. He wasn’t ready to go back to Egypt.

Usually, Bill loved Egypt. He loved the heat and sand, loved the challenge and isolation that his job brought every so often, loved being on his own in the world and making his way in it. But circumstances lately made him pine to stay at home. His body was tired from war and his mind was, too – the idea of returning alone to his flat, and working in his office as though everything had gone back to normal... well, it just didn’t sit right.

But this temporary transfer to London would only prolong his return to Egypt, making it more difficult in the long run, and Bill wasn’t one for taking the easy way out of a hard road ahead. He rolled the letter up carefully and tapped it on his palm. If he didn’t accept the transfer, then he was scheduled to return to Gringotts of Egypt in the morning.

"C’mon, Bill, Dad’s waiting to speak to you." Charlie hollered.

Bill nodded. He could talk to his father about it right now. He dragged his feet into the front room of Charlie’s bungalow and stood before his father, roll of parchment in one hand, scratching his head with the other and yawning. "Hi, Dad."

"Bill." His father looked at him, a mixture of amusement and pride showing in his tired face. "It’s good to see you."

"You, too – what’s happening in London?"

At his simple question, his father’s face tightened. Arthur swallowed hard and Bill felt himself stiffen, slightly. His father looked almost... afraid.

"Did both of you see yesterday’s Prophet?"

Bill exhaled and nodded at Charlie. "Sure we did. Was that all factual? The Dementors really won’t act as guards anymore?"

Arthur shook his head gravely. "They won’t."

"You know, there has to be a way to destroy those things." Bill looked at Charlie. "What d’you think?"

Charlie shrugged. "Dunno. I’ve got a mean Patronus, but that’s it."

"Boys..."

Both Bill and Charlie turned to their father. His voice was quiet and defeated.

"It’s gotten worse."

The hair on the back of Bill’s neck stood up. "What d’you mean? What’s happened, Dad?"

"I..." Arthur paused, and drew breath. "It’s going to be in the papers today, and on the WWN in a few minutes but I wanted to..."

"Tell us." Charlie sat on the floor in front of the fire.

Bill crouched beside him. "Go on."

Arthur appeared to brace himself - only his head was visible in the fire, but Bill knew his father’s face so well that he could anticipate him somewhat. Whatever was coming next, it wasn’t good.

"Do either of you remember the name Ida Dunnes?"

Bill nodded immediately. "Auror in Dumbledore’s heyday, wasn’t she? Around the time Grindelwald was taken down."

Charlie turned to him, his face incredulous. "You remember everything you’ve ever read, don’t you?" he muttered.

Bill shrugged. Arthur continued. "She’s retired now, and living on Lewis Island in a town called Stornaway, about forty miles south of Azkaban. Very mixed town - high wizarding population in an area where there are a lot of Muggles. Though of course the Muggles don’t know it, for the most part. A lot of intermarriages in that area, though, which is... interesting..."

Arthur trailed off, his voice flat, and for the first time, Bill realized his father’s eyes were bloodshot. He exchanged a brief, worried glance with Charlie. Their father was nothing if not easily sidetracked by the meeting points of the Muggle and wizarding society, but today the subject seemed to be giving him no joy.

"Right, Dad, go on. What happened to Ida Dunnes?"

"Nothing." Arthur sighed and pressed his eyes shut. "Ida is alive and well. She was in her local pub last night when a few Muggles came in complaining of a sudden chill and saying it was a bit cold for July. Ida didn't think much of it, until her little grand nephew came running in from outside, pointing and looking frantic, going on about a Dementor down the road."

Bill felt his breath catch. "No," he muttered quickly. "No."

"Well, Ida took off at high speed in the direction her nephew was pointing, and came right across it. It was descending on a small boy outside the boy’s home."

"Is he –" Bill couldn’t bring himself to finish the question.

"The boy is fine. But his mother was destroyed. She’s soulless. She was lying at her son’s feet by the time Ida arrived, and Ida told us that the boy was sobbing. Too young to do anything else. Watched his mother get Kissed right there in front of him." Arthur’s face was very nearly gray.

Bill felt his bones go cold at the idea of such a sight. He remained crouched next to Charlie, but could think of nothing to say.

"I thought that Dementors... didn’t have the same effect on Muggles?" Charlie attempted weakly.

"Muggles can’t see them, though I’d reckon they could still get Kissed if they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. We don’t know. I don’t want to know. In any case, this woman was a witch. She was obviously caught unawares. Just playing with her son, not expecting..."

Arthur’s head gave a slow, miserable shake.

"Ida drove the thing back across the water to Moody, who’s now established a tally of sorts so that we know how many Dementors there are. We need to know right away if one gets loose. It’s just so damned difficult to count them – we think we’ve got them all, but how to be sure? Even if we do, they can’t be counted if they keep on hiding in the shadows. Not only that, but we’ve got to get those prisoners out of there. I knew it was bad, but this is far worse than I’d expected. They’re all in immediate mortal danger, where they are."

"Where will you put them?" Charlie asked at once.

"Damned if I know. Anywhere that they can’t get out. Which is nowhere that I know of."

"And where’s the boy?" Bill demanded.

"With his father. His father was indoors. He’s a Muggle. Blaming himself for not being outside to do anything about it – as if he could have." Arthur sighed. "It wasn’t his fault. As far as fault goes, you should be aware that his wife’s predicament will blamed on me in all the news. I just wanted you boys to hear it from me, first. Now I’ll need to go speak with –"

"Blamed on you!" Bill found his voice at once and shot to his feet in outrage. "I’d like to know why!"

Arthur gave a brief, unnatural laugh. "Because I’m here. Because it was my responsibility to keep those creatures out on the island. If we’d just known a day sooner - just a day sooner - that they weren’t going to stay put with the prisoners, then we could’ve had an eye out. But as it was, they didn’t get noticeably restless ‘til Friday and Moody didn’t establish a watch system until Friday night, and by then the thing must've already escaped. We’re just lucky it had to travel over water to get to Lewis. They travel more slowly over water. Otherwise it might’ve done much more damage, in a wizarding community of that size."

"This isn’t your fault," Bill averred, his teeth clenched. "You didn’t know and you’re doing what you can. I’m coming up there."

"Bill, now, that’s not why I –"

"I’m coming too." Charlie was on his feet. "And I’m bringing my team, Dad. I know they’ll want to give a hand."

Bill stared at his brother. "What? You’ll leave dragon keeping? You can’t be serious."

"It’s no more shocking than you leaving your curse breaking is it? And anyway, d’you think I’d pass up an opportunity to work for the Minister of Magic?" Charlie made a mock-bow to their father. "Not a chance."

Arthur shook his head swiftly. "No. Don’t get big ideas, boys. Somebody had to step in for Fudge and there wasn’t time for proper procedure after that strike on Diagon Alley last year. I’m just here when no one else wants to be, that’s all." He fixed Bill with a serious stare. "And I don’t want you feeling pressured to relocate. You’ve both got your jobs and we’ve all got to move on with our lives."

"I know." Bill toyed with the roll of parchment in his hands for a moment. "But Dad, if you don’t get help up there, then everybody’s getting to move along with their lives except for you." He held up the parchment. "This is from Gringotts. They want me to accept a temporary transfer to London. Effective immediately."

"But that’s brilliant!" Charlie cried at once, clapping Bill on the back so vigorously that he nearly sent him into the fire. "Are you serious? Oh, we’re definitely coming, Dad. We can take a flat in Diagon Alley, the two of us. And maybe Mick’ll be interested in coming along – and a couple of others from my staff would be great help, I know it. The apprentices’ll have to stay and train where they are, but I bet I could talk my assistant into coming back to England for at least a little while - "

"Crowd the flat all you like, but you can sleep on the couch," Bill jested, reaching around to rub his lower back, where it was a bit sore from having spent the week on Charlie’s sofa. "Dad, if you want us, then I’ll accept this transfer today. We can be there as soon as I get my new identification."

Their father clearly did want them; he was smiling, and it was the first time Bill had seen a real smile on his father’s face in quite some time.

"Are you sure you want to accept it, Bill?" Arthur asked, not quite managing to conceal the hope in his voice.

Bill weighed his options briefly. He could go back to Egypt and continue to live his life as it had been before the interruption of war. Or else he could go back to England and assist with the rebuilding of Diagon Alley, possibly giving some help and comfort to his father at the same time.

He met his father’s eyes and felt his decision come swiftly and clearly, bringing him comfort, too.

"Absolutely," Bill replied, smiling. "I’m coming, Dad."

Relief flooded Arthur’s expression as he turned his eyes on Charlie. "And are you -"

"Dad, I’m sure," Charlie interrupted, grinning.

"Well," Arthur said quietly, "since you’ve made up your minds, I don’t mind telling you I’m glad you’re coming. Both of you," he said, his voice a bit raw. "And your mother – well she’s going to love knowing that you’re both nearer home, for a while at least. She’ll be so happy when I tell her, it’ll be hard to keep her quiet."

"Well then don’t tell her!" said Charlie suddenly. "We’ll go home with you to the Burrow the day we get to London and surprise her!"

Bill was on it in a flash. "Only, do tell her you’re bringing home a couple of colleagues. That way she’ll be prepared, and not spend the whole time cooking when she’ll want to be fussing over us and telling me to cut my hair."

Arthur beamed at the two of them, his eyes now slightly wet. "You’re good boys," he said, in the same raw voice. "I’ll see you when you get here. I’ve got to get to Ron and Ginny at Remus's before they hear about this on the wireless. And I’ve got to get to the twins. And then –"

There was an abrupt pause. Bill knew that his father had been about to say Percy’s name. It was only natural, after all. There had always been seven of them.

"I’ve told Penelope already," Arthur finished quietly. "Talked to her when I spoke with your mother."

Bill nodded. "See you tomorrow, then, Dad."

"Good." His father’s face cheered, a little. "When you get here, come straight to the Ministry."

"To the Minister’s office?" Bill asked slyly, raising an eyebrow at Charlie, who grinned expectantly.

Their father chuckled. "All right. Yes, that’s where I am, say what you want to say about it. Just get here."

With a ‘pop’ Arthur was gone.

"Hard to believe, isn’t it?" Charlie asked, still grinning into the fire. "Our dad."

Bill laughed. He, too, was unused to the fact that his own father was in a position of such high authority. But even if Arthur made light of his situation, Bill knew he was the Minister of Magic. It made sense to Bill to know that the remaining Ministry officials answered to his father. They all trusted him after what he had done in the war. He had organized the Ministry from the inside for Dumbledore and then for Sirius, and he had made the way clear for the Order of the Phoenix to operate without interruption for as long as he could.

Of course, that hadn’t always won him approval; many people had been against the Order, during the war. Many had been advocates of Cornelius Fudge. But now that the war was over and the Order had proven instrumental in ending three years of strife, its naysayers were few and far between. Moreover, everyone knew that Arthur Weasley had been present at the moment of Voldemort’s defeat. Everyone knew what had happened to Lucius Malfoy. The fact that people were now looking to his father for their cues, Bill reflected, was only natural. His father had always been willing to do what others backed away from, and that was especially apparent now, as he headed up a Ministry in ruins.

"Dad was always right for it," Bill mused, "it’s just that he wasn’t ambitious like Fudge and the rest of them. And Mum was right, thinking that Fudge was prejudiced against Dad just because of his concern for Muggles..." Bill trailed off and hesitated before continuing. "You know, it’s probably wrong to say this, but we’re far better off without Fudge in there, now that everything’s got to be rebuilt. The Death Eaters weren’t doing themselves any favors when they got rid of him."

Charlie nodded in quiet reply. "Still, it’s not right what happened to him."

"No. I didn’t say it was."

Bill’s stomach still lurched when he remembered getting news of the Diagon Alley strike. Under pretense of agreeing with Fudge that peace talks were a necessity, Death Eaters had been admitted into the Ministry buildings. Many of those buildings now stood in shambles. Fudge had been murdered without ceremony, and his offices raided for information. The Diagon Alley post office had been entirely blown apart in an effort to slow wizarding communications, and many owls and people had died. And in that terrible chaos, the Death Eaters had managed to force their way into Gringotts – slaying goblins as they went. They’d broken apart the upper vaults with Dark magic, corrupting a magical protection system that would be ridiculously difficult to restore.

Bill sighed at the mere thought of what it must be like now, at Gringotts of London. Knowing goblins the way he did, he assumed he’d be in for a rough time of it in his new position. Goblins weren’t trustful creatures to begin with, and now that they’d been personally attacked, Bill imagined that they’d be positively murderous toward anyone new in their midst. The fact that he had worked for years at the Egypt branch of Gringotts wouldn’t mean a thing to the London goblins. In London he would be treated as a stranger and eyed with suspicion and contempt.

Still, he was going. There was no question. He was going to be whatever help he possibly could be to Gringotts - and to his father.

"Hey, Charlie," he asked suddenly, remembering what his father had said about the news, "where’s that wireless? I want to hear what they’re saying about Dad."

Using his feet, Charlie shoved aside an enormous pile of clothes to reveal a rickety little wizard’s wireless. He flicked his wand at it, and a small, badly received female voice buzzed from the hole in its center.

"... that Arthur Weasley, unofficial and apparently incompetent Minister of Magic claimed yesterday to have the Dementor problem well in hand. Be advised that this is not the case. Last night, retired Auror Ida Dunnes -"

"Idiots," Charlie muttered, giving his wand a violent flick and shutting down the wireless in mid-sentence. "I’m not listening to that. Write your goblins, Bill, and get your papers. We need to get to London."

"Right." Bill Summoned his parchment and quill, trying to ignore the anger he was experiencing on his father’s behalf for a moment, in order to be productive. "Go round up your team and see who’s coming with us."

As Charlie yanked on his robes, Bill began to scratch out his reply to Geneva. If he sent out this owl before noon, he’d have identification in the morning. They could leave for London tomorrow afternoon.

Though suddenly, tomorrow didn’t seem nearly soon enough.

Chapter Three

Morning News

Morning sunlight spilled into the front room and the air was warm, but light and fresh, as it circulated in through Lupin Lodge's open windows. Lupin Lodge was the name that Remus’s parents had given it years ago, and it was rather lodge-like with all its wooden walls and floors. It felt entirely different from the Hogwarts stone dormitories, and had nothing like the precarious tumbledown comfort of the Burrow. Still, it felt really natural here. Ron liked it. He stood on the stairs, sleepily surveyed the front room, and grinned for no reason at all.

Ron imagined he’d like Stagsden, too, though he hadn’t had a chance to check out the village yet. He’d only been here a night, after all. But Remus had told them all about it at lunchtime yesterday and it had sounded pretty perfect. This wasn’t solely a wizarding settlement - Hogsmeade was the only one of those in Britain - but Remus had assured them all that they’d be fairly safe using their magic in public, and that they could go ahead and order butterbeers at the pub without getting stared at. Most of the Muggles in town that he knew of, he’d said, were married into wizard families, and there was even a field at the other end of town that locals sometimes used for impromptu Quidditch matches.

Quidditch. Ron grinned to himself again, and padded down the rest of the stairs and through the living room, making his way towards the kitchen. It was shaping up to be an excellent summer if there could be Quidditch. It had been a long time since he’d been able to stay up in the air and play without fear of being attacked - or at least, without fear of an attack on Harry. But that was over now. It was all over now. There would be time for the important things. Like Quidditch.

Like Hermione.

Ron stopped and stood outside the kitchen door. From inside, he could hear a faint muttering and turning of pages, and he smiled, feeling a bit of a flutter in his stomach. Hermione was in there, and she was probably by herself - he hadn’t heard anyone else get out of bed yet. He paused for a moment before going through the door and looked down at himself - pajama bottoms, T-shirt, bare feet - and he ran a hand through his hair. It was a mess. He had half-turned back to change clothes before he came to his senses and laughed at himself for being self-conscious. It wasn’t as if Hermione hadn’t seen him looking terrible. That was part of what made it so amazing. She didn’t care.

He pushed open the door and his grin broadened. She was standing with her back to him, still wearing her nightdress and dressing gown, and her brown hair was a big mess on her shoulders. She was holding up her wand and peering at a cooking spellbook that lay open on the counter, talking softly to herself.

"Isn’t it...? No, that’s not it. Is it? Index, index..."

She hadn’t heard the door. She was utterly absorbed - as she always was when a book was open in front of her. Ron took the opportunity to pad silently up behind her, pause, and lean close to her ear.

"You’re up early."

Hermione shrieked and spun around with her hand on her heart, holding out her wand.

"Ron! Don’t scare me like that!"

"No problem. How d’you want me to scare you next time, then?"

She huffed. He grinned. This was his favorite thing in the world; this was what he was good at. Getting to Hermione. He couldn’t think of a better way to start the morning, and he reveled in the fact that they were all alone - not in the Gryffindor common room and not in the Great Hall - but alone and still in their pajamas. Together. First thing in the morning. It was incredibly liberating.

"Seriously, though," he said, stepping up and putting his hands lightly on her waist. It was odd, doing this - he felt very daring. Even though he knew he was allowed to do it, even though they had this trust together, and even though she was putting her own arms up around his neck and looking in his eyes... it was still very new, and very surprising. Especially since he found that it was difficult to make jokes with Hermione looking at him dead-on like this. He couldn’t always find his voice. And now, she was playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, as she had done only once or twice before. He shut his eyes and hoped there’d be more time for it now.

"This is going to be a peaceful summer, for once," she sighed. "Isn’t it?"

"Yeah, it is," he answered determinedly. They deserved a peaceful summer. A nice, long break from everything. They could talk about normal things - they could relax, finally. Ron looked over Hermione’s shoulder at her spellbook. "What are you doing in here?" he asked. "Cooking or something?"

Hermione frowned a little. "Well, I was going to make breakfast, and I’m sure it’s very simple, but - you know, Ron, it’s so strange, I was Petrified when the rest of you did the practical applications of basic Cooking Charms in school, and I thought I’d practiced on my own, but I was never tested... and I suppose it’s because I’m Muggle-born and never saw it all used at home, but.... I don’t know how to do any of it."

"Never thought I’d hear you say anything like that."

"Oh, be quiet."

Ron kept hold of her waist as she raised up on her tiptoes, holding his shoulders for balance. She kissed him quickly. He tried to engage her in a fuller kiss, but she broke away and peered over his shoulder at the door. "Not in the kitchen, Sirius will be down soon - I think I heard him up."

"Where, then?" he said meaningfully.

"Ron."

"Hermione." He raised an eyebrow at her. She bit her lip, and glanced over his shoulder again.

This really was going to be a good summer, and Ron could think of very little that he wanted to do with it, other than find somewhere quiet with Hermione and make up for lost time. There was a lot of lost time. And if she was going to be staunch about the girls sleeping in one room and the boys staying in another... Well. Ron hardly disagreed with that, really. Even if it would be nice to stay in a room with Hermione, it would also be... weird. Especially with everybody knowing all about it. Not to mention that it wouldn’t have left Harry and Ginny with much of an option, and although Ron had a funny feeling that the two of them had more going on together than Harry had ever let on....

Well, he reflected, even if they did, he didn’t really need to know about it just now. It was better that the rooming arrangements stood as they did.

But that didn’t mean he had to stay away from Hermione all day, as well. She was still standing right there, with her lip between her teeth, looking very much as if she couldn’t decide whether or not to let him kiss her in the kitchen. He made up her mind for her, bending his head to softly kiss her bitten lip. She made a funny little noise - a noise he loved. And then, seeming to make up her own mind about the situation, she pulled away swiftly and turned in his arms to face her spellbook again.

Ron sighed loudly, but gave up on kissing for the time being, and remained standing behind her, holding her around the waist.

"So it’s Fluos..." she continued in a moment. "Oh, of course it is, it has to be - this is ridiculous, this shouldn’t be difficult, I’ve done millions of harder Charms on the first try."

"What are you trying to do?"

"Just coffee."

"You drink coffee?"

"No, but..."

Ron felt her lean back against him. He watched as she lowered her wand. When she continued to speak, her voice shook a little. "It’s probably silly. I know it’s silly... but I suppose I just wanted the smell of it. My house always smelled like coffee, in the mornings, in the summers..." Her voice grew very small until it disappeared altogether.

Ron tightened his arms around her and put his face in her hair, wishing there was something he could do. Of course Hermione missed her house. He knew how much she missed her parents.

"They’re going to be okay," he told her, his voice low and adamant. He’d told her that a thousand times, but he still didn’t know if either of them actually believed it. Thanks to a very deliberate, very particular attack by Lucius Malfoy, the Grangers had been in the same state as Neville Longbottom’s parents for the past year and a half. Ever since the Christmas of their sixth year, Mr. and Mrs. Granger had remained incurably insane in the wizard hospital. St. Mungo’s was no closer now to finding a remedy for those mentally damaged by the Cruciatus Curse than they had been sixteen years ago, when it had happened to the Longbottoms.

Hermione nodded. "I hope so," she said quietly.

"D’you want to visit them soon? I know there hasn’t been much time these last few months."

"Yes, I do. I do. Of course."

But though Hermione’s words were adamant, her tone was unconvincing. Ron thought that he knew why. Hermione had told him once last year that though she wanted to be with her parents, it felt futile to visit them. It made her angry. She’d burst out that it made her feel so helpless to see them frozen in their fear that she never wanted to go back to visit them again. "Of course I’d never just leave them," she’d told him rapidly, through tears. "But Ron, I never want to see them like that again."

And all he was ever able to do was stand there and rock her, as he was doing now. Stand there, and rock her – and hate the Malfoys with all his heart.

"As soon as we get our Apparition Licenses I want to go," she was saying. "But you don’t have to come with me if you don’t -"

"Of course I’m coming with you." He’d gone with her, back and forth, dozens of times last summer. Toward the end of summer, Harry had come along as well. Because of her parents’ condition, Hermione had spent the last summer entirely at the Burrow with the Weasleys, sharing Ginny’s room. Ron had never let her go to the hospital by herself then, and he didn’t plan on it now. She was in tears after every visit. "We can go down, stay with Mum, whenever you want. Every week, if you want. Every day. You just let me know. And we don’t have to wait for our licenses - if you want to go by Floo powder we can go today."

"Thank you," she said in a muffled voice, turning her head quickly toward him. He leaned over her shoulder and kissed her swiftly, comfortingly. She kissed him back, with as much comfort for him. "But I want to wait. There’s no... there’s no point in being there. They don’t know I’m there. I... I just want to wait." She paused, and pulled his arms more tightly around her. "And I’ll go with you to visit the memorial stone, while we’re in the south. We can do that as often as you need. You just let me know. All right?"

Ron kissed her again softly, in lieu of a thank you, and pressed his face into her neck. The memorial stone was for Percy. After the Death Eaters had murdered Percy in February, his body had gone unrecovered. It was still a shock. Ron had never been close to Percy, but it didn’t matter. Percy was his brother. Had been his brother. And it was painful work to put a brother in the past tense every single time he came to mind, especially when Ron could never think of Percy without remembering the way in which he’d died.

Ron shivered. He knew a little something about being in the company of Death Eaters. He knew about fear and torture. He’d never given Harry or Hermione all the details of his time as the Death Eaters’ prisoner – they’d had enough to deal with – but he knew precisely what his brother’s last moments had been like. Perhaps that was why he couldn’t stop imagining the scene in his mind. Percy, bound and surrounded. Percy, suffering the Cruciatus Curse. Percy, realizing what he had to do and squaring himself to do it. And Percy had stood up bravely; they knew that much. Snape had answered all of the Weasleys’ frantic questions and given them every detail that they wanted. Percy had died with his head up, buckling only when hit by the flash of green light that had taken his life.

Ron had damned Pettigrew bitterly in his mind every day since it had happened. It still stunned him that the rat that he had carried around in his pocket for three years and who had lived with his family for twelve had betrayed Harry's parents and been responsible for his own brother's death. And even as satisfying as Pettigrew’s death had been, it didn’t change the fact that Percy was gone. Not to mention that Percy’s death was also one more reason to hate the Malfoys. Because Lucius Malfoy had been there then, too. Snape had told them that. Pettigrew had tortured and murdered Percy while Lucius had looked on.

He shivered again. It could just as easily have ended that way for him, and he knew it, though he tried very hard never to think about it. He’d just been a hell of a lot luckier than Percy.

He lifted his face from the skin of Hermione’s neck and rested his chin on the top of her head. He had Hermione to thank for his lucky escape. He had Hermione to thank for a lot of things – Hermione and Harry. He owed them both his life and he was proud to be able to say that he would give it for either one of them.

But, proud or not, he hoped that none of them would be called on to offer their lives again. Hopefully, they could just recover for awhile. Ron rocked Hermione for another moment in silence, knowing that there was relief in this closeness, for both of them. He was grateful to have this. At least it lent a sort of wholeness to the grief.

"I hope your mum is all right," Hermione murmured finally, lacing her fingers through Ron’s. "If we visit anybody, it should really be her. She and Penny could do with company. Penny looked terrible at Percy’s service."

Ron started a little, and felt his stomach squirm guiltily. "Yeah. I know."

"Is your mum upset that the four of us came here, instead of going to the Burrow?"

"Yeah."

Hermione craned her head a little to look at him. "She said something about it?"

Ron shifted uncomfortably. "She wrote and said we should do whatever we think is the right thing," he ventured. Ron never knew what his mum meant by that, and it always made him feel terrifically guilty, no matter what he decided.

"And you don’t think you are? Why not?"

"I don’t know if I am. I don’t know who it’s right for."

"Well, I think it’s right for us all to be together."

"Me too."

"And I think it’s right if we stay with Harry right now."

"Mum wanted him at the Burrow."

"Sirius wants him here." Hermione frowned, thoughtfully. "I think it’s fair to Harry and Sirius, more than anything. They’ve been waiting so long for a little time together. And I suppose that they don’t need us here – you and Ginny and I could all go to your house instead – but I just don’t want us to separate."

"Well, Ginny could go to be with Mum."

Hermione looked at him severely. "That’s not fair and you know it, after everything she’s done. And you know she wants to be with –"

Ron waited for the inevitable end to her sentence, but Hermione had stopped talking and was looking over Ron’s shoulder again. When she continued, it was in quieter tones. "You know she wants to be with us. I want her with us. And I know that all my reasons are selfish, but this is our first summer really together and honestly it’s probably our last one – "

"What?" Ron turned Hermione around by the shoulders. "What are you talking about, our last one?"

Hermione turned a bit pink. "Nothing," she said quickly. "I just meant that we’ll all end up taking jobs and things, by the end of the summer, won’t we? And then we’ll be apart for a bit."

"We’ll be able to Apparate to work. We can all still be close together when the summer’s over. It’s not like we’re going anywhere."

Hermione shrugged, and turned around again to face her spellbook. "You know," she said briskly, "I’m not much in the mood for learning spells. I guess if I can’t work out the coffee, I’ll just make tea. At least I know the Boiling Charm."

Ron raised an eyebrow. Whatever she thought she was hiding, she wasn’t doing a very good job of it. Her abrupt subject changes were as old as the hills and there was always something behind them. But he knew her too well to push the subject right now. He’d have to get it out of her later. And in any case, she was now very busily Summoning tea from the far cupboard, when what she really wanted was the coffee.

He pulled his wand from his waistband. "No, don’t bother. Unless you want some tea, that is – Fluos Fabas," he said, holding the wand up over the pot and coffee that Hermione had already set out. Coffee began to brew at once, and Ron had to agree that the smell was heavenly. He thought he might even give it a try.

"Ron! You drink coffee? I never saw you drink it at school."

"I never did."

"Then when did you learn to make it?"

"If you knew how many times I’d heard my mum do that spell," he replied with a laugh. "I can probably actually cook a lot of things, though I hate to admit it."

"You can’t!"

"Right, of course I can’t. Good looking coffee there, isn’t it?" He grinned and waggled his eyebrows at her. "Seems you might need a bit of help, though. Maybe you should go live with Mum. Learn a thing or two."

Hermione broke free of his arms then, wrapped her dressing gown around herself importantly and made a show of stomping across the kitchen to the bread-box. "Ha, ha, ha. I’m sure that I can cook without any trouble, after a bit of practice."

"Sure you can. So, what are you going to do with that bread there?" He leaned back idly against the counter and watched her.

"Toast it, of course."

"How?"

Hermione looked at the bread, and back at Ron, clearly chagrined. "Well, if you would just give me the spellbook, I’m sure I could - "

But Ron was holding it up above his head. This was another game he rather loved. She couldn’t reach it. "Sure, come and get it, here it is."

Hermione abandoned her bread on the countertop, stepped up close to Ron and tried to bring his arm down manually, but to no avail. He was much stronger. After struggling for a few seconds in this way, she stepped back, raised her wand, and pointed it at the book.

"Accio!" The spellbook flew expertly into her hands. "Ha! Got it."

"What is going on in here?" The voice in the door was highly amused. Ron looked over Hermione’s head to see Sirius standing there, shaking his head at them and grinning. Ron grinned back; wondering how much Sirius had seen and heard of their sparring. He found he didn’t care too much either way.

"Nothing. Hermione’s going to toast something. Come on and watch."

"Ron, I swear..." she was flicking furiously through the book now, finally reaching the page she wanted. She pointed her wand at the two pieces of bread that lay on the counter and muttered something. Nothing happened.

"Are you sure that’s a real spell?" Ron asked innocently.

Hermione glared at him. "Let’s see you do it, then, if you’re so clever," she shot back.

Ron knew that the smile on his face was probably insufferable, but it was really too good an opportunity to pass up. In a shake of his wand, the toast was perfect, and the only thing more perfect, in Ron’s view, was the look on Hermione’s face. She looked horrified. It was probably the first Charm he’d bested her at in the entire time they’d known each other.

"Here, Ron," Sirius tossed the rest of the loaf across the kitchen and Ron caught it easily. "Want to do the rest of it up? I heard some noises upstairs; we’ll probably have everyone down here hungry in a minute."

"Sure, I’ll do it, no problem - and Hermione, here’s something you can do until you know better: set the table."

He knew she’d ignore that suggestion in a hurry, and she didn’t disappoint him. "Good morning, Sirius," she said graciously. "Would you like a cup of coffee?"

"Would I like one?" Sirius laughed. "I need one. But you don’t have to do that."

"Oh, don’t worry. She didn’t," Ron couldn’t resist saying, as he toasted the bread and piled it on a plate. Hermione looked at him as though she wanted to put a hex on him as she went by, carefully carrying a cup of coffee to the table.

Sirius took it. "Is this what it's going to be like? You all cooking and cleaning up and taking care of us old men?"

Ron snorted and looked him over. Sirius was hardly as old as his parents. "What are you? Fifty?"

Sirius spat out some of his coffee. "Not yet forty!" he spluttered. "Do I look that old?" He recovered and took another gulp of coffee, then nodded at Ron, a wry smile twisting at his mouth. "You may be an insulting git, but at least you make strong coffee. Thanks. Remus makes it like tea, it’s disgusting."

"Remind me, would you, never to make you anything again?" Remus approached the table, bleary-eyed. "Good morning Hermione. Ron."

"Morning," they chimed in at the same time. Still laughing over Sirius's distress, Ron threw Hermione a grin. She returned it. He flew the toast through the kitchen doors to the table and sat down beside her, holding his own cup of coffee. He tasted it, deciding that coffee wasn’t half-bad, though it was rather bitter on its own. Quickly he added a bit of milk and tried again. Finding that more to his taste, he grabbed a piece of toast, then sat back and looked out the window.

"Perfect day."

"What are you going to do with it?" Remus looked at Ron, and then at Hermione. "Any plans, for the summer?"

Ron shook his head. "Nope. No plans, no troubles, no nothing. I mean, I’ll look for a job or something, make a bit of money...but that’s about it."

"What kind of job?" Sirius asked, grabbing toast.

Ron shrugged. "Dunno. Haven’t had much time for thinking about that sort of thing." He looked at Hermione. "I know you found the time somehow, but you’re completely mad, so that’s different."

"Have you been putting in applications, Hermione?" Remus looked interested. "Do you know what you’d like to try doing?"

Hermione looked at Ron – somewhat timidly, he thought - and when she gave her answer, she did so slowly. "Well... there are a lot of things that interest me..."

Ron nudged her with his elbow. "Go on, tell them how many positions you applied for."

"Ron, no - I don’t -" Hermione protested, making one of her modest attempts not to look pleased.

"How many?" Sirius asked keenly.

"Oh, not that many, really, it isn’t-"

"Twenty-seven." Ron shook his head and grimaced. "Can you believe that? Fighting Voldemort, making up giant sacrifice spells, getting about a hundred thousand N.E.W.T.’s, and she found time for twenty-seven job applications." He sighed and clapped her on the back affectionately. "Someday, we’re going to get her to take a holiday."

"Proud of her, aren’t you?"

Ron’s head snapped up. Ginny was in the kitchen, already dressed, pouring herself an orange juice. She smiled at him impishly and he felt his ears getting a bit hot. The truth was, he was proud of Hermione. How could he not be proud of her? He’d never understood how she made so much time in the day for all the things she wanted to accomplish; her mind and her focus continually impressed him. But he hardly wanted to make a big speech about it in front of everybody else, especially Remus and Sirius, who were now exchanging a knowing glance that made Ron feel a bit stupid.

Hermione, however, was looking at him with a shy little smile on her face. A moment later, under the table, Ron felt her hand briefly on his knee. She didn’t mind if he was proud of her, it seemed.

He slipped his hand under the table and covered hers with it, lacing their fingers together. She looked back down at her toast to hide a blush, and Ron’s heart leapt to see it. Maybe Ginny’s comment hadn’t been such a bad idea, after all.

Still, turnabout was fair play.

"Where’s Harry?" he asked, too casually, raising an eyebrow at his sister. Under the table, Hermione squeezed his fingers hard. She didn’t like for him to tease Ginny about Harry, and though Ron knew it, he generally ignored her advice on the subject. Hermione might've known about a lot of things, but sibling raillery wasn’t one of them.

"Asleep, I imagine," was Ginny’s cool reply. "Anybody else want juice?"

Before Ron could think up a good retort, there was a swishing sound and a blur of gray feathers in front of his eyes. An owl had come in the window, and it was now hopping up and down next to Hermione’s napkin.

Quickly she untangled her hand from Ron’s, untied the letter and read it. When she looked up again, she was shining.

"From one of my applications," she said, her voice shaking a little. "I got it."

"A job? You got a job?" Ginny squealed, running over to read over her shoulder. Ron leaned in and did the same.

"At the Ministry?" he asked, a bit awed upon seeing the letterhead. "Damn, Hermione."

She turned to him, excitement written all over her face. Ron silently added a notch to the tally he was keeping of swear words that he could get past Hermione's notice, as she began talking very rapidly. "I can’t believe it. I never thought I’d get this. I shouldn’t have gotten this, I don’t have the experience for it - I’ve hardly traveled and I -"

"What, France and Bulgaria don’t count?"

Hermione gave Ron an impatient look. "The Assistant to the British Ambassador of Magic has to be really worldly. Not just book-smart." She sighed at the paper. "But I got it."

"Of course you got it!" Ginny dropped into the chair on Hermione’s other side and beamed at her. "You’re worldly if anyone is, Hermione – think of the things you’ve done! Do you think you’ll take it?"

But Hermione was shaking her head. "I... don’t know," she said soberly. "I can’t say."

Ron stared at her, disbelieving. "You don’t know. The Ministry wants you to work for them and you don’t know?"

"Well it’s hardly the Ministry right now, is it? It’s in disrepair," she replied, laying down the letter and looking very thoughtful.

"It needs people like you," said Sirius, at once, leaning forward on the table. "How else will it get rebuilt?"

Hermione turned to Ron. "And your dad’s practically the Minister of Magic now. I’d be working for him, ultimately, if I said yes."

Ron felt himself swell with pride. He couldn’t get over the fact that his dad – his dad – was finally where he deserved to be.

"Dad would let you get away with murder," Ginny commented, from Hermione’s other side. "You could put magical creatures in office, if you worked for him. You could make S.P.E.W. into a national organization."

Ron groaned. "Oh right, that’s all we need. Don’t give her any more ideas, or this time next year we’ll all be celebrating Elf Awareness Day."

Remus and Sirius laughed at that. Hermione did as well, but she poked Ron in the side with her elbow.

Ron nudged her. "Go on, Hermione, you’d love working there. Who’s acting as Ambassador right now, anyhow?"

"I think it’s Parvati's mum."

"The Patils? Oh, right. Well, see? That’s great, it’d even be people you know."

But Hermione didn’t look convinced. In fact, she looked as if she was suffering some sort of struggle. "It’s all true, and I know that I should be jumping at the chance, but... My parents."

She didn’t have to say anything else. Everyone grew quiet, and nodded. That was a definite consideration, and Ron couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of it himself. Of course an ambassadorial position would take her away from Britain, and away from her parents.

And away from him. Ron sucked in his breath quietly as he realized he’d just been encouraging Hermione to go away for weeks at a time. He tightened his grip on her hand. To be separated now was the last thing he wanted.

There was a short silence, which Sirius broke. "Well, wherever you decide to go, Hermione, I’m sure you’ll be an asset. The Ministry could use your brains, but so could plenty of other places, I’m sure. We’ve all got a duty to help somewhere." He picked up his coffee cup and glanced at Remus, whom, Ron noticed, was suddenly looking strained. Sirius continued. "I’m going to start work up at the Ministry this morning. Arthur needs all the help he can get – he was looking peaked."

"Was he?" Ron looked up. "I’ll bet. Have you talked to him since yesterday?"

"No, but I’m going up there after breakfast." Sirius gulped his coffee again.

"Where to?" Ron asked. "Azkaban?"

"No." The answer came from Remus. His voice was mild, but absolutely adamant, and Ron wasn’t surprised to see Sirius shoot another look at him. Sirius looked a little bit irritated.

"I’ll go wherever Arthur needs me," was Sirius’s abrupt reply. "We’ve got to relocate all those prisoners. Now. And then we’ve got to sort the guilty ones from the innocent."

Hermione was frowning now. "But I thought that the Aurors and the Hit Wizards and the rest of you had only brought in escaped prisoners and Death Eaters - how can any of them be innocent?"

"It’s precisely the same as what happened last time," Sirius said, his eyes dark.

"They’re not all saying they were under the Imperius Curse?" Ron asked, incredulous. In their conversation with Sirius at yesterday’s lunch, he had told them only that the Dementors were trying to escape Azkaban, and then he’d moved away from the subject very quickly. It hadn’t even crossed Ron’s mind that the guilt of the Death Eaters might be a real issue. "They can’t possibly think they’re going to get away with that again!"

Sirius shook his head firmly. "The problem is, Ron, that last time there were a handful of people telling the truth - about that, and about other things. I should know," he said lightly, and smiled. But Ron noticed that it wasn’t a real smile at all. It only existed on the surface.

"In any case," Sirius went on, "we have to establish a place for the current prisoners, and then come up with a way to confine them until we can try them properly. Then we’re going to have to collect evidence, investigate claims, test the wands, hold the hearings, all of it. One by one. It’s going to be..." Sirius trailed off and looked at Remus. "Difficult. To say the least."

Ron raised his eyebrows dubiously. It sounded worse than difficult - it sounded impossible. He remembered the years in his childhood, during which his father had been trying to help sort the innocent from the guilty after Voldemort’s first go-around. It had been something of a nightmare. No one had been able to determine what was actually true, and Ron had a few doubts as to whether Sirius would really be able to do the things he was talking about doing. But he wasn’t about to voice those doubts.

"Good luck, Sirius," Ginny said. But there was audible doubt in her voice, too.

The dining table went quiet for a moment after that. Just as the quiet became a bit uncomfortable, there was another sudden rush of air and feathers past Ron’s face – and another – and another –

Within minutes, there were a dozen owls all vying for Hermione’s attention - it was all she could do to untie the letters from their legs before they covered the table entirely with their feathers.

"Hogwarts timing."

Harry had appeared in the door, and Ron turned to look at him. He was dressed, but badly, as if he hadn’t cared at all what he’d been pulling on, and he pointed at the owls vaguely, a strained smile on his face. It was exactly like the smile that Sirius had given earlier. Beneath it, Harry looked distant, and disinterested.

Ginny nodded at Harry. Ron watched her. She’d treated Harry this week as if he looked perfectly normal, and she always spoke to him as if he were listening, even when he clearly wasn’t.

"Well, these are the Hogwarts owls, Harry," she said.

"Are they?" Harry asked absently. He took a seat and stared at the birds, which were positively fighting to get to Hermione’s hands. She thrust one at Ron.

"Help me, would you, please?"

"They’re our old school owls, yes," Ginny continued, taking one of the owls along with Ron, and giving Hermione assistance. "A lot of the Ministry and London post owls were injured or killed, you know, in that Diagon Alley blast. Right before the Death Eaters broke open Gringotts." She paused to caress the wing of the owl she was holding. "Poor things. So last week, Professor McGonagall had me send a lot of the school owls up to Dad. After all, Hogwarts won’t need them this year."

Harry put his chin in his hand and began to pick at a piece of toast. He didn’t eat any of it. "I can’t believe Hogwarts is really going to close."

"Just for a year, Harry."

"It was supposed to be your seventh year, though. Aren’t you upset? I would be."

Ginny shrugged. "I guess I just don’t want to be upset anymore," she said, handing Hermione the note she’d untied, and picking up another tiny owl. "Hermione, how many letters does this make?"

Another handful of owls had come in while they had been talking. Hermione finished accumulating her replies, sent all the owls off with a wave and counted the slips of parchment in her hand. "Fifteen," she said, sounding disbelieving. "That’s more than half of the positions I applied for."

"And what do they say?"

Ron reached over and took the letters, reading them out one by one. "Here we are - ‘Dear Miss Granger, we are pleased to inform you that’... well, you got that one. ‘Ms. Hermione Granger, thank you for your interest in our firm, please contact the following office to schedule an interview so that we may determine your post with us. You will begin in September’... you got that one, too. Let’s see. Yes... yes... yes... yes..." Ron read through the letters. Each one was an acceptance. Hermione’s face grew pinker and more shocked at each one.

"I didn’t really get them all, Ron - you’re having me on."

"I’m not. ‘Dear Miss Granger, we are so impressed with your work that we can hardly express our excitement in a letter’..."

"You made that up!"

"Read it."

Hermione did so and her eyes grew round. "Well," was all she said, when she had finished reading the glowing report of her abilities. "Well. I suppose this means that I have... options."

Remus laughed. "Not surprising, is it? You’re a bright young woman, Hermione. It’s wonderful to see that people appreciate it."

Ron watched Hermione flush even redder, and felt the swell of pride toward her again. She was something, she really was. When a tardy owl flew through the window a moment later, he directed it with his hand. "Over here, this is the girl you want," he said, motioning the owl closer.

This owl, however, had a different agenda. It landed squarely in front of Harry, whose eyes widened slightly.

"What?" He looked at the note and frowned. "It’s mine. I don’t know why. Everyone who’s ever written me a letter is sitting here." He paused. "Except Hagrid."

Everyone was silent while Harry untied the note and read it. Hermione looked worriedly at Ron, who shook his head. Harry’s tone for the past week had been flat and impenetrable. And the comment about Hagrid – well, it was just plain morbid.

Ginny allowed the owl to sip at her juice for a moment, seeming none too upset by Harry’s tone. "What does it say?" she asked momentarily, when the owl had flown again.

Harry finished the letter, laughed harshly, looked up, and caught Ron’s eyes instead. "See for yourself."

Ron reached out and took the parchment. He and Hermione scanned it together. It was an invitation from the Aurors, for Harry to come and train with them. Ron read it aloud for the benefit of everyone else, and then caught eyes with Harry again, whose face was gravely set. He didn’t move.

"Wow, Harry, that’s..." But because of the furious look in his best friend’s eyes, he didn’t know what to say. "I mean, obviously it’s an honor, but, well," he stumbled, coming to a halt.

"Goodness, doesn’t it seem a bit, well, soon for this kind of thing?" Hermione said hesitantly. "Unless of course you want to take it, Harry?"

"An honor?" Harry’s voice was sharp. "Do I want to take it?" He looked from one to the other of them as if they were mad. "What do you think? Do I want to go up to London and help Mad-Eye with the Death Eaters? Use a lot of curses? Practice constant vigilance?" He laughed bitterly. Ron felt cold at the sound of it. Harry was so walled-off lately that it was almost impossible to tell where he was coming from.

Ginny put a hand out toward him, but Harry leaned back to avoid contact with it. "I think I can pretty safely say," he said, crumpling the letter and tossing it into the center of the table, "that I’ll never do anything like that again as long as I live."

More silence followed this avowal, and the quiet frustrated Ron. It seemed that every other moment since the end of the war had been wordless and strained, and he was tired of the tension. He watched Harry fix his eyes on his plate again and continue the systematic destruction of his toast, and Ron felt at once sympathetic that his friend was so obviously destroyed, and irritated that Harry could so callously reject an offer that most people would have been in raptures over. But then, that was nothing new; Harry had always done that. Ron looked to Hermione, hoping that she might offer some comment to break the uneasy stillness. But Hermione was watching Harry with anxious eyes, and she didn't seem to have any more idea what to say than Ron did.

It was Ginny who ended the quiet. She raised her wand and flicked it toward the side table to turn on the wireless, then sat back and returned her attention to her juice and toast. After a bit of static from the wireless, a female voice began to drone in an affected tone of businesslike concern.

"It's set to the WWN news," Remus commented, raising his wand. "But I'm sure you'd all prefer music?"

"Wait!" Ron held up his hand. He had heard the newscaster say his father's name. Everyone in the room stayed still and listened, as the news report continued.

"... that Arthur Weasley, unofficial and apparently incompetent Minister of Magic -"

"How dare they!" Ginny cried, pushing her chair back from the table. Ron waved a hand at her to make her quiet; he wanted to hear the rest of it.

"- claimed yesterday to have the Dementor problem well in hand. Be advised that this is not the case. Last night, retired Auror Ida Dunnes of Lewis Island, was forced to drive a Dementor from a highly populated residential area in Stornaway."

Sirius was on his feet. He stalked to the side table, his wand out before him, as though sending a Patronus at the wireless might become a need at any moment.

"Tragically, Dunnes received news of the Dementor's presence only moments too late."

Ron watched as Sirius gripped the side table with both hands. "Damn it, Arthur," he muttered, "why didn't you just tell me you needed help." He had gone sheet white, and Ron saw that Remus had now pushed his chair back too, and was watching Sirius carefully.

Дата добавления: 2015-10-24