Story Notes:
Oh my god. I can't even believe I finished this. I had an amazing amount of fun writing this, even if I had to stick through the horrible blocks and the ups and downs of the fic. There were times when I wanted to take it around the neck and strangle it (I'm glad I didn't) and then there were others when I wanted to take it to bed just so I could keep the ideas rolling around inside my head.
My beta, you are a miracle. I can't even imagine having this ready without you, much less being able to push forward to the end. We were so excited about this and if I didn't have you to happily supply, I don't know if I would have finished it.
Somehow I feel like I have a special relationship with Hermione because of this. If I stuck with her for a week when she gave me nothing, she would give me four entire days of words and ideas. This is my first Big Bang ever and I can honestly say I'm so glad it was this one, I feel safe with these Mods and with this character. That Hermione.
Mods, thank you so much for all the time, effort and sanity you put into this. We all know it isn't easy work and all of this would just be a dream without you. Thank you so much for the beautiful experience and I hope that this event is everything you were looking forward to!
Battle - A combat; struggle, as between armies.
Oh yeah, this was one hell of a struggle, all right.
There was, of course, struggle between the Dark Lord's followers and those who did not cause death; not only among both parties, but a third party as well. Muggles were massacred endlessly to spread a wordless message. It was a memorandum of power and destruction that needed neither blood nor pain. The thirst for such things drove Death Eaters over the edge and they succumbed to their most sinful desire.
Wizards and witches alike were driven to that edge as well, even if they did not stand for the Dark Lord. The yearning for victory brought out the very worst of every person who stood on the battlefields. Curses and their counters soared over heads, under heels, and rarely hit their destined target. Charms confused the ignorant, hexes were aimed at those who were trying desperately to escape and the most unforgivable were cast by the most unforgiving themselves. Allies were turned into enemies within moments, innocent souls tortured to dementia and the prevailing lives taken before they could realize they were a victim.
But the battle was only the beginning.
After so many friends were lost, so many strong allies, so many phenomenal witches and wizards, it was difficult to pick up the pieces again. Things did not become easier at all, really, because it was like we had finished a stain glass window and then decided to smash it.
"Difficult" is probably the poorest word to describe life after the war, but seeing as none of the shards have been located, "difficult" will suffice.
At first it was just funerals, services, apologies and wishes for more time. At first there were just mothers crying and fathers giving speeches and children getting wasted to avoid the reality of losing their siblings. At first it was just passing people on the street, keeping the head bowed to evade the sorrowful eyes and recognized gazes, and mainly, the lack of emotion.
At first, all of that was manageable.
But soon, 'at first' became nothing more than two little words, nothing more than a memory not worth remembering, a memory entirely too painful to remember, and a memory that was necessary for continuation.
As the months passed following Voldemort's demise, all parts of the world grew frantic. There was no cheerful celebration on the streets of London and Diagon Alley, no free drinks despite all the open pubs. There wasn't a witch or wizard who wasn't overruled by fear, and it was only a fear of the unknown. Without Fudge's poor rule or Dumbledore's wisdom, the Ministry fell apart.
Of course, that also meant that the Wizarding World had almost self-destructed. So many Death Easters had escaped, so many Aurors had been killed. There was no balance anymore, just a bunch of worried and scared kids running around with sticks in their hands. The fact that we were corrupted was a downfall within itself, but so many had experienced it, so many had witnessed and so many had fought.
Battle was a hard thing to forget.
Life was a hard thing to forget.
--
"Mr. Weasley, please share your statement on the case of the... Convergences." The Minister peered at the youngest Weasley son over his quite dirty and crooked glasses. They looked as though they might fall off the perch of his nose at any given moment.
Ron stood, wiping his sweating hands on his freshly ironed pants and clearing his throat. His expression was nothing like it used to be; he was now Auror Weasley. Auror Weasley shared nothing except case reports.
"Three years ago, the Dark Lord, Voldemort, declared war on all non-pureblood wizards and witches. In doing so, he gathered followers he named Death Eaters. These followers wiped out entire cities of Muggles and took many prisoners. When this first happened, there was nothing to do but instantly kill the Muggles. After an estimated six months, Lord Voldemort began setting up secret locations around the world for Muggles. He named these locations the Convergences.
"The Convergences first started out as quests to retrieve Muggles and non-pureblood wizards and witches from around the world. These prisoners were taken from small towns and villages--places that wouldn't miss them. There were small farming Muggles taken from Asia easily and non-pureblood wizards and witches taken from inner Europe with a bit of a struggle. However, many of the witches and wizards were not prepared for combat against Death Eaters and were therefore taken prisoner.
"Many of the Northern American Muggles and non-pureblood wizards and witches were sent to a desolate island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Approximately all of the European captured were led into Scotland and kept outside the very walls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Australians were sent to colder regions, such as Greenland or, very rarely, Antarctica.
"In the magical and invisible walls of these secret locations, all Muggles were tortured with the Cruciatus Curse. Their loved ones were forced to watch them while they were driven into insanity. The Death Eaters taunted the Muggles, asked them to reveal their secrets to their families before they were killed. Muggles, or Muggle-borns? What secrets would Muggles have from their families that Death Eaters would know about? Most Muggles did, but the strongest or stupidest refused. This gave them instant death or a longer torture. The consequences depended on the Death Eater and his or her sympathy."
"Mr. Weasley, if I may interrupt," the judge drawled. "But we already know all of this information. Please explain the part of the case that will be most intriguing to the council."
"Yes, sir." Ron replied sternly and cleared his throat again. "Three days ago, one non-pureblood wizard managed to escape. Upon entering the Ministry, he was thought to be a distraught Muggle and was Obliviated. However, judging by his bodily state, he escaped physically and with no magical purposes."
"And what was his bodily state, Mr. Weasley?" The judge leaned forward just the slightest bit.
"There was an accumulation of dirt under his fingernails, a very large bruise on his right arm as if he had been ramming into something for a long period of time, and a fracture in his skull. Remarkably he did not fall unconscious upon this event. We still do not know how exactly he escaped, but we are theorizing that he found a weak wall and beat it down, or he was put in a locked location and threw his body against the door to escape. The Healers at St. Mungo's are slowly bringing back parts of his memory, though it will definitely take a long time."
"Mmhmm..." the judge muttered under his breath and took a few looks at his papers in front of him. "Well, thank you, Mr. Weasley, for preparing that case for us. We will return when there is more information on Mr...?"
"Calhoun."
"Mr. Calhoun's escape. Court adjourned."
--
If only Neville hadn't Oblivated Calhoun... Hermione would be so close, Ron thought as he let firewhiskey burn down his throat. His routine had been something of the same for the past few years: research the Convergences for a while, write a case, present the case, be told it wasn't enough and go back to researching. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.
And now, with Calhoun recovering, I may just have enough. Ron swirled the ice in his glass.
But is Hermione still alive?
"Ron?" Ginny's hand was warm on his shoulder. That's right; she and Harry were meeting him here for dinner tonight to catch up on the case.
"Hey, Gin," he said, trying to put on a cheerful face as he rose and put a gentle arm around his sister. Harry smiled at him when he turned around. "Hey, Harry. How's it been?"
"Pretty well, though I can't say the same for you, I suppose? C'mon, let's get seated and we can chat." His voice had grown softer, gentler. Ron suspected Ginny's tenderness had had some kind of effect on him.
"So how did it go today?" Ginny asked, taking a look at the menu and quickly closing it. Ron rolled his eyes; she was on that silly Quidditch diet. She always tells him that if she thinks too much about her diet, she'll stray. Both he and her faithful boyfriend, Harry, told her that she should be able to eat whatever she wants since she plays Quidditch at least ten hours a week.
"Same as always. I presented the case, the judge wanted to know what would "intrigue the council" and then decided to postpone the case until I had more information about Calhoun." The waitress came to the table and looked at Ron fondly. He had been coming here often, not having enough time to go home and cook with all the time he put into work. They often chatted while she was on her break and he was at the bar. He tried to be somewhat standoffish every now and then, but she didn't have a clue. She was cute and her name was Julie, but he didn't have time for relationships. It's not like he could bear one anyway, with Hermione so far gone.
"Yeah, how is he doing?" Harry asked, taking a sip of the wine he had ordered.
Ron shrugged in response. "I haven't been by St. Mungo's since the day he was put in there. I'm going to go visit him tomorrow and see what the Healers are saying. I'm hoping he'll make a fast recovery so I can have those memories. If he was able to break out of a Convergence physically... Imagine what we could do with magic."
Ginny said, "I didn't know they could retrieve memories."
Harry answered, "They can now, but it's a dangerous and complicated spell. It takes a lot of practice and only a few Healers know how to do it, I hear. Most don't want to learn because of all the time it takes. Apparently it gets the patients well faster, but they need a family member to agree to it for them."
"Thing is, all of Calhoun's family is in one of the Convergences. He was a Muggle-born," said Ron.
"So how do they resolve it?" Ginny asked.
"The court decides. That's our next presentation, actually. It should only take a couple of days to draw up, and I'm hoping we'll have the judge's favor--he's sick and tired of this case too. Most of the council is even personally chipping in, offering bits of this and that they hear from other members or something of the sort. Some of them have gotten involved deeply, like me, but not many," he answered, reaching for the firewhiskey again. Harry handed him water instead. He grinned at his best mate.
"Well, what've you two been up to, eh?" He veered from the court talk. A little Weasley news would do him some good.
Ginny said, "Mum wants you to come back to Sunday dinners. She says you've been working too hard."
"We, of course, told her it was pointless and that'd you would only add hours to your work schedule, especially with this Calhoun fellow," Harry added. Ron nodded.
"I might have to drop by on Sundays again. I really have missed you guys. Gets lonely in my flat sometimes."
"It also doesn't help that you're searching for her." Ginny mumbles, looking down into her lap. She isn't crying or blushing, but she refuses to meet her brother's eyes. She knows that they are full of pain.
"No, it doesn't." Ron mutters, turning back to firewhiskey. Harry doesn't stop him.
No one does anymore.
--
Ron's office consisted of nothing more than a few file cabinets, a measly desk and a chair. There were papers puddled on the floor, papers decorating his walls, and papers that scattered themselves as they pleased, almost as though they were enchanted. It soon grew to be very frustrating, seeing papers, papers, papers all day long.
But he had long since decided that it was necessary to have all these papers. The closer they put him to Hermione, the better. His thoughts often drifted to her when he was working now. During the first few months, he swore that he would keep his mind from her. It proved to be impossible.
Now he recalled the thickness to her brown hair, the furrow of her brow, the slenderness of her legs. It was easy to imagine the purity of her eyes, the ink-stained fingers, the sometimes bitter and sometimes soft voice. He clearly remembered the ease of her kiss, the velvet of her tongue, the--
"Ready to go, Ron?" Dean's voice alerted Ron out of his daze.
"Erm, yeah," he replied roughly as he gathered yet a few more papers and followed Dean through the doorway.
--
"We're here to see Mr. Calhoun," Ron stated promptly to the receptionist at St. Mungo's. She looked at him a little oddly, but when he started to reach into his pocket, she said, "No, no, it's just... Your face. You look very familiar."
Ron shifted his weight from one foot to another. Of course she knew his face; he'd been all over the Prophet when the war ended. "Um, my name is Ron Weasley, miss." A look of surprise and realization came to her features, but before she could reply he said, "Now please, I need to see Mr. Calhoun. I'm on Ministry business." She nodded quickly and gave him directions to the room.
"Amazing what a name and face can get you, eh?" Dean said as they marched down the hall. Ron mumbled something in response but kept his eyes on the tiles before him, scanning the room numbers until he landed on it; 1167. He pushed the door open without knocking.
Edward Calhoun looked the entire opposite of being Obliviated four days previous. His face was bright and full of color, his body propped up against some pillows while he read a book. He bore no wounds anymore; the Healers took care of things quickly here.
"Hello, Mr. Calhoun, my name is Ron Weasley. I need to ask you some questions about your... incident." Ron held out his hand but Calhoun did not shake it, just merely looked at him with a very Luna Lovegood type of expression. Ron took a seat without a word, wondering faintly if Luna had any distant relatives she hadn't bothered to mention. It would have been typical for her.
"Is this for a medical report or something?" Calhoun asked, marking the page in his book.
"No, we're on… political business. The place that you escaped from has prisoners whom we're trying to retrieve. Can you tell me anything at all about the Convergence you were kept in?"
"Convergence? I don't know anything about a Convergence. I don't remember anything at all from that place except that I was told by a pretty young lady how to get out. And I thought I was in a bank, not some Convergence place. What is a bloody Convergence, anyway?"
"First of all, Mr. Calhoun, a Convergence is a secret location where Muggle-borns and non-pureblood witches and wizards are kept prisoner by the Dark Lord Voldemort. You were taken prisoner because you are Muggle-born. Are you following me?"
"Yeah, the Healers told me all that. But they didn't tell me I was in some prison," said Calhoun.
"Can you tell me anything about the woman who told you how to escape?" asked Ron, trying to avoid telling Calhoun that yes, indeed, he was imprisoned.
"I don't remember her name, but she was real smart. I mean, the kid had brains. She just told me how to get out of there, so I did. Dunno why she told me of all people. Can't remember why she didn't escape herself, probably something to do with being noble or the like. Anyway, call in a Healer. I need some pudding."
"No, Mr. Calhoun, you don't understand. You really can't remember anything else about the woman?" Ron felt no need to ask. He was sure he knew who it was by now.
"No, I bloody well can't. Please leave." Calhoun grew irritated quickly, so Ron and Dean left the room.
"Hey, sounded like we got some valuable information back there. And he gave us a good idea who the witch was, eh?" said Dean as they walked down the hallway.
"The perfect idea," Ron replied, grinning.
"Want to go get a drink with Seamus to celebrate?"
"Celebrate? I haven't got time to do that. I have to get back to work. I could have the presentation ready in two days!" He turned to face his coworker.
"Well, then, I'll see you tomorrow. Spending five hours in that office with paperwork calls for a drink. Have fun, mate." Dean spun on the spot and he was gone.
Two days, Hermione, Ron pleaded. Please, just be okay for two more days.
--
While she was sure there had been worse times in her life, Hermione Granger wanted nothing more than to die.
Her holding cell was occupied with nine other Muggle-borns, two of whom were dying and one who was going insane. She had tried to will whatever magic was left in her to save them, but without her spirit or wand, there was nothing she was able to do. She's been listening to them cry for two days. It would be devastating when the weeping stopped, and then she would start anew.
Every month, or so it seemed, the cell-mates were replaced with a new group of Muggle-borns. She was the only witch to stay in one cell. Hermione didn't know why, but she assumed it was because of her status and rank with Harry Potter. She knows his strengths, his weaknesses. And she knows that at least one of them is searching. She knows that despite her wish for death, she will live; she has to. She knows that if she can survive long enough, Ron will find her and she will recover.
She also knows how to get out of this fucking place.
But the Death Eaters don't know that.
She told one man who was kind to her and who had enough physical strength to do it. Without access to the Daily Prophet, she had no idea if he made it out alive or not. What was going on in the world now? Did Harry and Ginny get married? Did George settle down? Are elves being treated correctly? Will she be able to return to Hogwarts for her seventh year after all this is done?
Will she be alive for a seventh year?
Not here. She promised herself. I will not live a seventh year here.
Long ago, Hermione had promised herself that she would not fall into the claws of insanity. She has only managed to keep this promise by thinking of her life outside of the walls, the one that seems like another life entirely, one that didn't seem to belong to her. She often thought of Ginny's laughter, George's jokes, Molly's cooking, Charlie's tales, Percy's pompous ways, her parents who were still lost in Australia. Had they been killed, too? She might never know.
But most often, she thought of Harry and Ron. It was Harry's raven hair and green eyes, those broken glasses that kept her from pulling out her hair in the middle of the night. It was Ron's blue, blue eyes, his blazing red hair and his interwoven scars that told her to keep prevailing onward, to ignore all other pleas. They were her family, her only reason to fight any longer; they were her absolution.
Hermione's thoughts usually stray to how awful were the roommates she always received, always the too talkative or too quiet. Always the dying or always the crazy. Always the crying, always the afraid, always the pleading and aching, shaking, breaking, surrendering to a gunman who would not shoot. She seems to be the only strong one left.
Calhoun hadn't been so weak. He had complained about the lack of blood in his arse when he had to sit too long sometimes, but he kept up a nice conversation for the most part. He was interesting and fatherly. The first weeks here would have been hell for Hermione had it not been for him. He kept her mind buzzing, still thirsting for the knowledge she was used to having by this point in the year. Is it snowing at Hogwarts now?
If he had not been there, she wouldn't have continued thinking, and she wouldn't have figured out how to escape. That's why the first escape was his.
I wouldn't have been able to make the escape anyway, Hermione reasoned with herself after Calhoun had gone. They're keeping me in one cell for a reason, and that's not to make me lose my mind. They want something from me. But what is it?
Do they want me to plan something for them? A plan to capture the world? A genocide for my own people? Though she had gone over these options countless times, she reviewed them each day.
Today was the marking day, the day to change cells. Hermione had long since lost count of how many changes had been made since she arrived, but someone always seemed to have the dates stuck in their head.
"This is the twentieth rotation I've got and still, they haven't killed me." A young girl, probably fifteen or so, walked into the cell. Pain struck Hermione's heart at the girl's boldness and strong sense of will. She reminded her so much of Ginny.
"Are you a Muggle-born?" Hermione asked the girl, who turned around quickly at the voice speaking to her.
"Nah, I'm half blooded. I'm from America, too, so I can't figure out why they're keeping me with a bunch of British kids." She looked around. "No offense or anything. It'd be nice if I could be around someone who might have a clue of what's going on in America rather than Europe."
"And you've been through twenty rotations, you say?" Hermione pressed.
"Yeah, as of today. How many have you been through?" She took a seat next to the bright witch.
Hermione shook her head. "I haven't moved since day one. They've kept me in this cell since these places were started. I was one of the first prisoners, actually." She felt like she was gloating, despite the downward tone to her voice.
She observed the girl; shoulder length brown hair accompanied by striking green eyes fell loosely around her shoulders. She wasn't tall, only reaching Hermione's collarbone but the air she had about her made her seem like one of the biggest people in the room. Her hands often rested on her hips when she stood, as she was now, pacing the room while the other eight prisoners cowered together in a corner.
"So you're the one of the kids with that Potter guy." She stated, her eyes falling on Hermione's forehead for some strange reason.
"Yes, I was. Is that of any interest to you?"
The girl shook her head. "Oh, no, it's just that one of the people that helped the Boy Hero almost kill Voldemort is standing in my presence." She made a sort of flattered gesture, sarcasm heavy in her voice. "You know, all that shit that Muggles do." She turned around and made a very nasty gesture to one of the people who scoffed from the corner. "I'm Amanda."
"Nice to meet you. I'm Hermione Granger." She didn't bother extending her hand.
"So you say you were one of the first here, eh?" Amanda asked, taking a seat next to her. She smells like fresh flowers despite her number of rotations. Hermione is sure she smells something like a troll, really, with this no bathing nonsense. She makes a mental note to not raise her arms unless asked to.
"Yes. I don't know exactly why I'm here, but I'm sure it has something to do with helping Voldemort conquer the world. Something of that matter."
"They say you're the brightest witch of your age."
"You tell me." Amanda nods approvingly.
"So if you're one of the smartest kids around, they're gonna want you to invent something. Or help them invent something. I dunno. Maybe they just want to keep you so that you can't help out the other side."
"I don't think I'd be any good at inventing anything," Hermione said.
"I've heard all you did for the first few years in school was read and help Harry Potter fight Voldemort. You've obviously got some kind of talent for quick learning." Amanda says and Hermione thinks that her hands should be on her hips again, with the way she's talking to her.
"I suppose..." She replies and she looks away. She looks away from the grey, grated walls of her cell, looks away from the cold stone floor, looks away from the terrified prisoners. She turns away from the dirt on her feet, under her fingernails, turns away from the lack of light and the unbrushed hair she hasn't managed to keep tame. She turns her back on it all and thinks of home.
Home was red hair and freckles. Home was backyard Quidditch matches at the Burrow. Home was waking up to a family of six or more, waking up to the smell of eggs and bacon cooking themselves in the kitchen. Home was books and quills and ink. Home was learning, studying, casting, hexing, cursing. Home was magic. Home was Harry, Ginny, George, Molly, Arthur; home was even Percy.
Home was Ron.
--
Ron snapped his eyes open, sitting up abruptly and breathing heavily. What had he just been dreaming? Sweat covered all parts of his body, making the sheets stick to his back in the most unpleasant of ways. He peeled them off his skin, trying to slow his racing heart. He looked around the room with timid and fearful eyes.
Light hadn't traveled over the horizon just yet. His clothes were hanging on the chair where he'd put them the night before, all set for work in the morning. Nothing was out of the ordinary. Ron shook his head and tried to get the emptiness of the dream out of his mind and stood, heading for the shower. Might as well start getting ready if I can't go back to sleep, he thought, the water coming out of the spout with a flick of his wand.
As the warm water ran over his tense body, Ron tried to collect what little of the dream he could. What had it been? Snake eyes and... a door? What about a door? That didn't make sense. There weren't doors that looked like the one in his dream, with big brass handles and black paint, a small doorknob and the most intricate of patterns. A snake coiling around a skull? Only one man--being--would have that on his door, but what did it have to do with his dream?
He'd been running, that much he can remember. Running towards the door? Running away? Voldemort held prisoners; was that one of his torture chambers? But did he torture prisoners directly, or was it just his followers? What pleasure would he have in torturing if it wasn't Harry, or Harry's loved ones?
Hermione.
Was Hermione being tortured?
Ron shut off the water as quickly as possible, enchanting himself dry and throwing his clothes on as fast as he could. A spell here to clean his teeth; another there to apply cologne. He managed to run his hands over the red mop of hair before he slung his tie around his neck. It was still loose as he Apparated to the Ministry.
Auror Weasley sprinted down the corridors to his office and filed through the endless mounds of paper. Case 3 Convergence 12. No good. Case 1 Convergence 1-4. No, what was the number? Shouldn't he have remembered this by now? Hermione, think of Hermione, he told himself. Telling himself that was unnecessary, he knew, but nevertheless he found what little information there was on the case.
Of course, it was Case 2 Convergence 7.
With the most determined expression on his face, he gathered a briefcase full of sloppy handwriting, crumpled papers and proposals and made his way down to Kingsley's office. The Minister's office.
The corridors seemed eerily bare for the time of day, but Auror Weasley paid it no attention as he rushed past the chilled, black stone of the walls, the sounds of his footsteps echoing behind him.
"I need to speak with the Minister." Auror Weasley's voice was hard, cold as he spoke with the secretary. "It's urgent."
"I'm sorry, but the Minister is in a meeting at the moment. You may wait over there if you please, or make an appointment and come back later this week." The secretary's voice was too soft, too sweet, and Auror Weasley wanted nothing more than to grab her by the collar and shake her.
He turned around and headed straight for Kingsley's door, opening it with only the thought of getting closer to finding Hermione.
The Minister of Magic looked up from a copy of the Daily Prophet and smiled slightly at the sight of Auror Weasley. He gestured to one of the seats near his desk and Auror Weasley sat down quickly, his words coming in a rush.
"There's a door, see, and it's got to be the torture chamber. The personal one, you know, for Lord Voldemort. It's got the Dark Mark on it, it's got to be his. He's got Hermione, Kingsley, I've got to get her. I know he has her and he's doing horrible, horrible things to her. I can feel it. Please, let me go on the field expedition." Kingsley put up a hand.
He looked at his Auror for a moment. "Do you have evidence of this door and chamber?" Of all the papers Ron had brought, not one mentioned anything about a door. He had only his memories to back him up. He rifled through everything he had brought, lifting the impressively full briefcase onto his Minister's desk. Nothing was going to work.
"I... No, I don't, but--"
"I can't let you do anything without solid evidence, Ron." Kingsley spoke with a soft voice, trying to ease the tense posture his Auror had.
"But, sir, I really--"
"Auror Weasley, I cannot let you do anything as an Auror that will give you permission to search for Hermione Granger." Ron choked on the words that were curling up his throat. He looked at his Minister, surprised.
"You mean, I can go looking for her as a wizard?"
"As a wizard, with no proof that you are an Auror. If you meet anyone who would potentially threaten you, you cannot release the information that you are an Auror. You may use all spells we have taught you in training, but do not, by any means, let your enemy know that you are an Auror. This could cause a great danger to our department. I would love to have some others help you, Ron, but I can't put any of my employees in a more life-threatening situation than they are in now."
Auror Weasley was cold again, just as he always was, as he took in the information. No help, but he could use the curses, hexes, defensive spells? They had come in handy over the past few years, that was for sure. If he was properly prepared, it was clear to him that he would be able to find the main Convergence. He would be able to find Hermione.
He nodded quickly, shortly, tuned back into his inner self. He was only with Kingsley, after all. "Thank you, sir. Should I file a report of my absence to look less suspicious?"
"It would be of no use, as everyone here knows who you will be looking for. I will have my secretary fill everything out for you if it becomes necessary." Kingsley stood, offering his hand to Ron. "You better be safe, understand? The last thing I want to do is report to your family."
"You don't do reports for families, sir." Ron replied, shaking the Minister's hand roughly.
"I do for the families I'm fond of." He winked, grinned, then added, "Feel free to go through the supplies we have in the storage closets. Your brother, George, is also adapting a new form of Shield Cloaks for your department. Drop in on him and let him know that you need one of his prototypes." His gaze became stern. "You are telling your family about this?"
"Of course. It would drive them mad if I went off somewhere without letting them know where I'm going... I've done it once before. I almost regret that I have to do it again. At least this time they'll know what I'm looking for." He met Kingsley's gaze. "But sir, I have to find her. I just... I have to."
"I understand, Ron. Now go, get ready. Let me know when you're leaving so I can ring in with Mr. Thomas. I'll have someone replace you temporarily while you're off."
"I'd like to have the Burrow be the last place I leave, if you don't mind." Kingsley only nodded and waved off his Auror as he grabbed a quill and a fresh piece of parchment.
And just like that, Ron was sure he could fly.
--
I've never felt so broken. Hermione thought as darkness swelled around her cell. Amanda lay next to her, the easy pattern of her breathing soothing her. She'd not yet been able to find sleep in this rotation, and while this was common, Hermione was growing irritated. Amanda's head rested near her thigh and Hermione briefly recalled the afternoon conversation they had shared.
"What
did you do in America?" Hermione had asked while her hands
worked diligently on braiding the young girl's hair. Keeping her
hands in motion was a good way for her mind to keep off of other
things, she had long since decided. "I was still a
student, but I studied the Convergences more than other students did.
I understood them far more than any of my classmates could
comprehend." Amanda had grown silent for a moment or two. "My
father is in here, somewhere. I vowed that I would find him if I ever
could. Those chances... they seem slim now. But I still have that
faith. I'll find him. I just know I will." If only she
could fly.
"I'll get you out of here," she whispered, a hand going into the short brown hair. She was positive that she felt the young witch stir in response.
"I promise."
Hermione knew that dawn was approaching hours later. The walls turned from their distinct shade of grey to a lighter tone of such. She had spent many nights awake while she was here during the first few rotations. Finding comfort among the other prisoners was nearly impossible, as they kept huddled to themselves or within their rotation groups. Of course, they were lucky to stay within the same rotation. The more sympathetic Death Eaters let them stay just like that, keeping their fear to a heightened level. They become family, eventually. If they die, it causes more fear, more fright and gives the Death Eaters all the more reason to keep them with the same people.
Hermione had long ago figured this out. It was exactly the reason she befriended few, kept to herself and tried to remember anything and everything she had learned at Hogwarts that might aid her in escaping.
Keeping to herself had led her to the discovery of escape, believe it or not. Reviewing all the adventures with Harry and Ron, all the strategic and nonstrategic methods of dodging death, relearning the twelve uses of dragon's blood, remembering all that McGonagall and Lupin had taught her had led to the simply complicated enigma of getting out.
Lupin, who had taught her how to fight off a boggart. McGonagall, who had taught her to turn eyebrows yellow. Snape, who had taught her how to manage a bezoar. (Although, she had already known that, but being taught was... something else.) Binns, who had taught her the dates to all medieval battles of wizards and witches. Trelawney, who had taught her how to read tea cups, even if she had never mastered the art.
Was there nothing she could use to escape? Was pure Muggle knowledge all she needed?
The adventures with Harry and Ron were different. With Harry, she had learned to conjure a Patronus, learned to fight off opponents that were ten times stronger but stupider than she. With Harry, she had learned to stay alert, how to battle in real combat, how to survive against the odds. With Harry, she had learned to work without books, without words, without directions and to merely improvise as if she were a musician in the most dangerous of performances.
With Ron, she had learned to love.
--
"We've
got to be quiet," he whispered, opening the door to his room as
quickly and quietly as he could. Hermione followed him in swiftly. "Where's Harry?" she asked. "Fred and George's
room. I've been giving him more space since his and Ginny's thing
ended." He shrugged. "If I just had to break it off with someone
I didn't want to, I'd be that way too." "Well, it was
thoughtful of you." Hermione commented and sat down on his bed,
admiring the small knick knacks that covered his shelves, and even
though she didn't care much for Quidditch, she loved all of Ron's
posters. "I remember Harry telling me about these," she
said, fingering the bedspread, pointing at his decorations. "When
did he tell you about them?" "First year. Sometimes he
would visit me in the library to, you know, comfort me. It was when
you and I were still…" "Rough?" he offered, taking a
seat beside her. She smiled. "Yeah." They were
silent for a moment or two, but then Ron moved his hand under hers
and their fingers twined together. Hermione was vaguely reminded of
the battle at Hogwarts during their sixth year and how she had been
so frightened, so scared that she would lose him… "I'm
glad things aren't like that now." His voice came back to her
ears. She noticed it was a bit stronger than it usually was when they
talked about things like this, the more special, more intimate
things. "Me too, Ron. Me too." He smiled softly and,
without warning, leaned over to kiss her cheek. She was startled, she
admitted, but the feeling of his warm, sweet lips caressing her
cheek, if only for the smallest second, was enough to make the world
disappear for a while. "I'm scared." She whispered to
him, closing her eyes. His grip tightened on her fingers. "Why?"
he asked, his tone curious; he knew why, the git, but he wanted to
hear it, wanted to hear her confessions. Her voice quivered
as she spoke, in the quietest words, "I could lose you." Ron
moved so that he was kneeling in front of her, his hands in both of
hers. His blue eyes sparkled intensely, much like they did when they
were battling for their lives. Hermione wondered briefly if he found
this to be of the same difficulty. "You won't lose me,
Hermione." He said. A tear slid down her face and she moved
forward, putting her arms around his neck. She sobbed quietly into
the shoulder of her best friend, of the boy she had loved since she
had been saved from the mountain troll when she was eleven years old.
His warm embrace helped her, moved her along to meet with the fear
she was unwilling to acknowledge. Hermione looked up, looked
into the pale blue eyes for what she hoped would be one of just
millions of more times. She leaned forward, pressing her lips to his
with so little pressure. Their first kiss was tender, sweet,
and it removed all fear that Hermione had previously had before. She
wouldn't lose him. She wouldn't ever lose Ron. Their first
kiss was home.
--
"Fuck," Amanda moaned from beside her, beginning to wake. Her hand moved to her head, small fingers grazing a certain spot over and over again on her scalp.
"Good morning," Hermione said cheerily, glad to have the company she had long desired awake. Amanda looked at her with groggy eyes and sat up, stretching her arms, flattening her hair.
"Don't you ever sleep?" she muttered, brushing off some of the dirt that had accumulated on her ripped clothes.
The older woman didn't answer her question, but said, "Did you do something do your head?"
"I always wake up with morning headaches. They hurt like fuck." Hermione didn't understand such a synonym, but discarded it as useless. In the time she had been with Amanda, she had found out that discarding sayings like that were best, rather than questioning them.
"So tell me something," Amanda said, looking at Hermione. She raised her eyebrows in response. "Who's Ron?"
"What?"
"Who's Ron? You mumble about him sometimes. Who is he?"
"Oh... Ron..."
Amanda smirked. "I see."
Hermione shook her head. "It's not like that. Well, it is, but--well, we've never--there wasn't any--we aren't together. I've known him since I was eleven and he's saved my life on more than one occasion. He's my best friend."
"Are you in love with him?"
Hermione paused. "I don't know. But I have this feeling that he's looking for me. Sometimes that's the only thing that keeps me from going insane in this wretched place."
"Tell me about him," Amanda said, stretching again. Her voice hinted interest.
"Erm, well, he's got red hair and a lot of freckles. Everyone in his family does, but his little sister Ginny has the most. Ginny is probably the closest female friend I've got since I've known her for so long. He has five brothers; Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred and George." She frowned. "Well, he had five. Fred was killed during the war, but he and George were twins."
"Wow, big family. Two parents, I assume?"
Hermione nodded. "Yeah, Ron's... he's a bit lazy. I ended up writing most of his essays while we were at Hogwarts. He and I were in the same house, had a few classes together in first year. We didn't get along at first, but then he and Harry rescued me from a troll and we were... we were best friends after that. We have been ever since."
"No conflicts with other girls?"
"There was one... when we were sixteen. But he admitted that he was a git and... well, he came back to me."
Amanda just smiled.
--
Ron, while he was sitting at his desk, felt the slightest breeze rustle his clothes. He lifted his head and the smell that had wafted into the room was fresh parchment.
Fresh parchment only made him think of one person.
--
"How many weeks have we been in this rotation?"
"Three. I'll be gone in nine days."
I've only nine days before she leaves? Hermione thought.
"Amanda, I need you to listen to me." She said, turning towards her and putting a hand on her shoulder. Better now than ever. She dropped her voice down to a whisper. "Did you ever hear about Calhoun?"
The American nodded quickly, said, "Yeah, he was the guy who escaped. What about him?" Hermione paused, waiting for the information to ripen. This was her secret, her final ingredient to the potion that would save her life. Would she be able to turn the flames just a little bit higher to see what would result? Could she experiment just once more?
"I told him how to escape."
Amanda blinked. Once, twice, three times. She grabbed the rags Hermione wore, right near where her collar would be. The look her eyes were fierce, hard, determined. It was frightening. Hermione put her hands on the witch's shoulders, too timid to do anything more intimate. Amanda's grip grew tighter.
"Get me the fuck out of here, Hermione."
--
Dinner at the Burrow was nothing less than chaotic. Of course, if it was nothing less than such, it wouldn't really be considered dinner at the Burrow. Dishes were always scattered, hands were always reaching for more rolls or soup or roast, red hair was always whipping around as the owner spoke to one person or another. Three conversations could be going on at once and no one would be aware of it.
But it was dinner at the Burrow, so things were always the same.
Ron pulled up his collar as he stepped inside his home, shaking off some of the snow that had gathered during his walk from the Apparition point. Snow covered the backyard now, layering trees like dust and littering the ground in mountains. He flicked his wand and his boots were dry, his cloak hung on the coat rack like his mother insisted.
Ginny turned around from her place by the fire, Harry solidly by her side, and smiled in her warm and usual greeting. George looked up and said a surprisingly chipper 'hello,' giving Luna reason to turn in a peculiar position from his lap and look at Ron dazedly. She smiled her small, gentle smile at him, that glassy look still covering her features.
Ginny moved from her spot on the couch and stood, adjusting her loose emerald turtleneck that their mother had bought ("It even matches Harry's eyes!") her for her birthday this past year. She made her way over to her brother, wrapping her arms around him briefly before saying, "Hey, Ron."
"Hey, Gin," was his reply as he looked around, seeing Bill and Fleur talking with his dad, baby Victoire in Fleur's arms. "Am I late?"
"As always. Mum doesn't care, though, she said the roast needed a bit more time anyway."
"Good ol' Mum." Ron looked around the room again, as if to take in everything he would be leaving behind for possibly the last time. There was no telling where his journey would take him, only that he would be searching for her. They would understand. They were his family.
It was a good hour later that Molly called them all to the table. Ginny muttered something under her breath about wonderful timing and Harry sniggered. Luna was speaking to George with that far off voice, the one that normally suited her features but tonight she was wearing a plain blue summer dress that made her look elegant and casual at the same time. George, in his Weasley sweater, looked somewhat feeble compared to her, but he looked at her with such a... Ron didn't know what to call it.
He noticed that very same look on his father, on Bill, on Fleur as she stared down at her baby Victorie, even on Harry. Ron shook his head and dipped into his meal.
Another hour passed and everyone was loosening their belts or stretching their sweaters with a bit of a charm. He found this to be the appropriate time to announce his adventure.
"Erm, I've got something to tell you all." He said, looking down the table. All the red hair turned in his direction, plus the black and the blond.
"I'm going to look for Hermione soon."
"But you've already been looking for her for years, Ron." His mother said.
"No, no... Kingsley said that I can't go looking as an Auror," Ginny stared at him with fearful eyes, an emotion he was willing to forget. "But as a wizard." There was a rustle of protest.
"No! You can't go!" from Bill.
"Are you mad? You don't even know where the bloody things are!" from George.
"Now sweetie, I'm sure there's another way," from Molly.
"Come now, Ron, there isn't a need to rush into these decisions," from Arthur.
Harry, however, looked at him with understanding and nodded, saying nothing and keeping to himself. Ron mentally sighed in relief; Harry would know, of all people. He had been hoping he would be able to back him up on this. With his best mate's support, he would be able to set out on this journey, even if his family wanted to keep him back.
Ron turned his head to his little sister. "Gin?"
All heads turned to his little sister. She sat, her eyes locked on the plate in front of her while everyone held their breath. Her flaming hair fell in front of her cheeks as she moved her mouth to form words. Nothing came out. She tucked the loose strands behind her ear, closed her jaw and looked Ron in the eye.
What he found there was determination.
"If you're going, then I'm going with you."
Several Weasleys slapped their hands down on the table in unison, anger and fear blanketing their faces.
"Ginny, do you realize what kind of risk you're taking if you do this?" shouted Bill.
"Oh, and I suppose that Ron isn't taking the same risks as I would be, is that how it is?" she yelled back, rising from her seat.
"You haven't had the proper training--" her mother said in reply, rising from her seat as well.
"Five bloody fucking years in this fucking war doesn't count as training?" Ginny said, her face matching her hair as she looked at every member of her family individually. "All you lot very well know that I've had more near death experiences than most of those Auror pricks! Why am I not qualified to go looking for Hermione?"
There was a long pause, before, "We can't lose you." Everyone turned to Luna. She was staring directly at Ginny. Their eyes seemed to meet but Ron couldn't tell; he was still shocked by the outburst.
"Isn't it up to me if I'm lost or not?" Ginny asked quietly, still standing.
"Ginny," Ron said, "You can come with me if you like. I have no doubt that you'll be able to help me a great deal and I know you won't have a problem at all keeping up. But here's the compromise." He took a breath. "If one of us gets hurt, we have to come home. From there we'll take the necessary steps to healing. If it's needed, we'll go to St. Mungo's first, but home is the main priority. Got it? If you don't see me eye to eye with this, I'm not going to let you tag along."
The youngest Weasley sat down and nodded slowly. "I understand."
"You two are honestly going to go through with this?!" Bill shouted, his face flushed.
"Bill, if Fleur was missing, wouldn't you do the same thing?" Ron said calmly.
Without hesitating, Bill replied, "Of course, but--"
"Then I don't understand why you don't see the things the way I'm seeing them. I have to find Hermione, Bill. If I don't, then the past three years will have been wasted."
The eldest Weasley looked around hurriedly. His eyes landed on Harry. "What do you have to say about this?"
Harry shook his head. "I'm not taking part in the expedition. What I've been doing for the past few years is still part of my job. I still have to find a way to finish off Voldemort. Ron always said that once he brought Hermione home, we would work on it together. I could really use Hermione right now, with her mind and all, but I still have to keep researching and hunting and doing my own explorations. I can't afford to lose a day. Seeing you lot once a week is the only contact I have with the outside world right now. I'm sure you know that Ginny and I don't exchange owls anymore If she's been supporting me through this without me giving her a whole lot of information, I've got to support her." He met Bill's eyes. "I thought that you would know better than me that if Ginny wants to do something, she'll do it."
Bill took his seat again, his face turned white. "So you're really going to go, Ginny?"
His sister replied, "Yes."
For the first time during the conversation, Arthur spoke. "When will you be taking off?"
Ron turned to face his father. "As soon as possible. I was hoping that I could leave directly after dinner, but now that Ginny is going, we'll be leaving later tonight. I have to contact Kingsley and let him know what's going on." Arthur nodded slowly in reply.
"Well then." He sighed, sitting back in his chair.
Ron glanced at his mother, who looked extremely flustered, and took one last bite of his dinner.
"Great roast, by the way, Mum." he said, cheekily grinning as though the world had never shined brighter.