A/N: Hey! So for those of you following Thieves, I know I have mentioned working on it, and I am... furiously. I have the next chapter done and SHOULD be posting within the next few weeks. It's been a real headache combing back through everything I've written to make sure I'm not accidentally contradicting myself (ah, returning to a story FOREVER later...). But, in the meantime, I had been working on this once-a-month story, and then all of a sudden it was JULY, and I had planned to post a chapter on the first of each month, to correspond with the month featured in that chapter of the story.

So! I hope you enjoy this fic, and I apologize for the insane length of it. I hadn't intended to write 6K - 7K chapters, but apparently, that's what's happening for this!

Also, if you enjoy a bit of music with your fic, check out Lykke Li's "Sleeping Alone," which is the song I paired up with this chapter in a playlist I made over on Spotify for it.

Oh, and I realize this story isn't rated M, so far, but I have labeled it M because the fic does eventually go M... so there's your warning.

July 1998

It had taken three weeks to find her parents. Ron and Harry had shared the room next to hers in a Muggle hotel, but she had found herself regretting her decision not to bunk with them, almost immediately. She wasn't sure if it was the learned familiarity of sharing the tent, the fact that she now missed Ron if they were apart for more than an hour, or a simple unwillingness to be alone.

When they'd finally come home, she'd set her mind to the guilt-ridden task of helping her parents start their lives again. The fact that she'd spent the last few years growing apart from them didn't help.

And so, as she kept busy working at repairing the damage, it didn't surprise her when Harry and Ron began their Auror training mid-July. But what did surprise her were the owls she began to receive on a near daily basis, summoning her to Ministry hearings for cases involving deaths during the war, stolen property, and fact-checking for historical texts. With her own memories of the war still much too fresh, she wanted to be doing absolutely anything else. But she found herself dragged in and out of windowless rooms nonetheless, sat on long benches for hours to wait, and called before terrifyingly official people to give testimony.

She was sat on one such bench at present, trying to work out why she'd been called for a case that had taken place before she'd even left the Burrow, the previous summer...

"Hermione!" Ron bellowed as he sprinted down the long hallway toward her. He'd been out on a raid as part of his training, and she hadn't seen him in nearly a week. God, she'd missed him.

She smiled with relief and slowly stood as he approached her.

"Why the bloody hell have they got you down here?" he asked, glancing from the bench on his left to the closed hearing room doors on his right.

"Hello to you, too."

He froze and smiled down at her.

"M'sorry," and he tilted forward to kiss her. He was blushing when he pulled away again, and she couldn't help smiling. "Blimey, I missed you. But honestly," he continued.

"I don't know," she sighed. "They've been owling me for all sorts of things I've no knowledge about. So, they're wasting time, really."

"They haven't owled me... or Harry, either, as far as I know."

"Well, you've been gone with the Aurors since they started owling me, haven't you," she reasoned.

"Right."

"Don't know," she continued. "They've seemed a bit disorganised, honestly, but I imagine they have a lot to sort through."

"Well," he sniffed. "I apparated straightaway to your parents', once we'd got notice to return to the Ministry to file reports. Wasn't exactly supposed to do that, but I wasn't gonna wait for the whole bloody department to finish paperwork before seeing you. Your parents told me you were down here, but they didn't know where. Spent the last hour trying to find you."

Concerned, she widened her eyes at him.

"Will you be in trouble? You should check in..."

"Yeah," he shrugged. "It's alright."

She felt a bit fluttery that he'd risked being reprimanded, or even suspended, just to find her, despite her stern disapproval of his breaking of the rules.

"Go on, then," she said, trying not to smile. "Better do it now before you make it any worse."

"Alright, mum," he teased. "Can I come by your house tonight?"

"Please."

He grinned and reached for her wrist, cheeks pink and averting eyes. He tugged her gently, and she stepped closer, tilting her head back as he bent to kiss her again.

She really wished her parents would go to bed. As much as she wanted to be there for them, to help them readjust to their real lives here, she was finding it increasingly difficult to get any time alone with Ron. Her father always had something to talk about that Ron didn't particularly understand - Muggle sports like tennis or football, techniques he was trying in the garden he'd recently planted, or the types of coffee he was brewing in his new French press. She wasn't sure if her father really did just keep forgetting that of course Ron wasn't familiar with the intricate details of Muggle life, or if he kept bringing up inaccessible topics to test Ron's ability to keep smiling and nodding for an indeterminate length of time.

She had to congratulate Ron on feigning interest for far longer than she thought she would be able to, if the situation had been reversed. But she couldn't think of a way to extract Ron from these sorts of conversations while simultaneously maintaining her penance for completely altering her parents' lives for the duration of the previous year...

By the time her mother switched on the telly to watch a late night news programme, it was half eleven, and she was beginning to doubt that her parents would be turning in before Ron felt obligated to shove off home. But then, he scooted closer to her on the sofa, catching her eyes with the tiniest of smirks, twitching an eyebrow as she pressed her lips together to keep from laughing.

She linked her arm through his and felt him tense for a second before relaxing, sliding a few inches down the back of the sofa to reduce their height difference, bringing his head closer to hers as he smiled. He was always nervous to be openly affectionate in front of her parents, but, at the same time, he always seemed happy about it when she'd get closer to him in public. She suspected he felt that if she was the one who moved closer, it was alright to do it, and that she really wanted him, consciously stamping down the part of him that held onto the doubt that had poisoned him for so long.

After a few lazy minutes, he stretched his legs out along the rug in front of the sofa and reached across his stomach with his free arm to lace his fingers with hers, rubbing a thumb absently across her knuckles. She closed her eyes, goosebumps rising up her arm.

"Hermione," her mother began, "you should turn in. Haven't you got an early appointment? And Ron has work."

She slowly opened her eyes, annoyed.

"Mum-"

"We'll just finish this programme and lock up. You go on," her mother continued, interrupting.

Hermione sighed, frustrated as Ron let go of her hand and stretched.

"Thanks for the tea," he said, nodding at her parents as he stood.

"Of course," her dad said, smiling, "but consider less sugar next time. Teeth rot, you know."

"Dad," Hermione protested, but she cut off whatever she'd been planning to say next, standing to follow Ron to the entryway.

When they reached the front door, she stepped through after Ron and shut it behind them, standing with him in the porch, finally alone.

"Pretty sure I'm out of acceptable responses on growing tomatoes," Ron grinned.

She sighed and rubbed a knuckle between her eyes.

"I'm sorry."

"Nah," and he nudged her with his elbow, still smiling.

She looked up at him, tired but happy that he didn't seem at all bothered by the uncomfortable situation she kept putting him in, seeing him here. She wanted to explain to him how much it meant to her, to apologise again anyway for the way things were... for making it complicated by her need to be present for her parents now. But before she could say anything else, he swept an arm around her and hugged her, dropping his face to the top of her head.

"For the record," she mumbled against his chest, hugging him back, "I love it that you over-sugar your tea."

"Yeah?" he laughed into her hair. "That's specific."

"Want me to list all the specific things you do that I love?" she grinned, face still hidden against him as her cheeks flushed.

"Go on."

She lifted her head to narrow her eyes at him.

"I don't think we have that kind of time."

His eyes widened a fraction before relaxing shyly again. He smiled down at her in that sort of way she couldn't explain, like he couldn't quite believe she was with him... that she could say the things she would say about him, and truly mean it. Funny, when she felt all of those things in return, about him. It nearly made the years they'd spent dancing around each other seem insignificant, knowing that even though it had been for nothing at the time - a shared unnecessary fear of rejection - it certainly meant a lot now… now that they were together.

"Come to the Burrow on Sunday, and we can swim in the lake," he requested, cheeks going a bit pink.

"Love to," she breathed, standing up on her toes to kiss him. The thought of spending most of a day in bathing costumes, away from her family... She didn't want to admit how excited the thought made her, able to push aside her self-inflicted obligations so easily...

When they parted, a moment later, Ron brushed a finger along her temple, freeing a strand of hair that had stuck to her eyelashes.

"They're doing alright," he said, reassuringly, possibly reading her mind. "You've done loads for them. I know they're grateful for that, even if they seem a bit... testy sometimes."

"I know. Thank you. I just... I don't know, Ron. Mum's treating me as if I'm thirteen again, telling me when to go to bed and reminding me of my own schedule..."

"Speaking of, are you expected at a hearing again?" he asked, concerned.

"Yeah," she shrugged. "It'll be alright."

"It's weird, yeah? What's this one even about?"

"Fact checking, for official records, actually."

"Well," he admitted, "at least that's relevant. You'll be great for that."

She smiled at him as he finally extracted himself from her, yawning.

"Reckon I should get back before I fall asleep in your front porch."

"I wouldn't mind," she smiled.

He took her hand, looking down as he scuffed his feet against the concrete.

"I love you, Hermione."

Her heart skipped.

"God, I'll never get tired of hearing you say that," she shivered. "I love you, too."

He grinned at her and pulled their joined hands to his lips, kissing the back of hers.

"Wicked."

He let her go then, turning and walking down the front stairs, taking two more steps away before turning round again, hands in his pockets.

"Night," he called up, still grinning.

Her stomach fluttered as he stepped slowly backward.

"Goodnight."

And then he turned once more, disappearing into the bushes, pausing silently for a moment before she heard the soft crack of him disapparating.

She breathed in the night air for a moment before sighing and going back inside. The telly was still on, chattering voices drifting from the sitting room. But she remained, frozen for a moment, in the entryway.

She had to do it. She'd been thinking, lately, that although she could tolerate the undertone of disappointment, disapproval or general lack of understanding that had come from her parents since they had returned home, she wouldn't let them direct it toward Ron. And something about the way they had been... It seemed as if they were actively trying to block her from spending time with him. They knew how hard she was trying, to be there for them, and yet...

She walked back to the sitting room before she could change her mind.

"Mum," she announced, as she approached the settee, "you know I've never overslept for an appointment. And it's been years since you told me when to go to bed. Tell me the truth - are you being like this because- ...because of what I did to you? Or do you have some kind of a problem with Ron?"

Her mother glanced at her father before addressing her.

"Hermione," she began, "we really don't understand what happened when you sent us away. We know you've said it was for our own safety, and of course we believe you, but... from our perspective, surely you can see how it comes into question that you've spent so much time with Ron and Harry, and how that friendship could have endangered you-"

"You're right that you don't understand," Hermione interrupted, trying to keep her voice even. "I love him, Mum. And you don't really know him… apparently. He saved my life. We protect each other. We're alive now because of that. And it's not me being naive about it, before you suggest that. I've known how I've felt about him for ages. And it's not going to change."

Her parents looked across at each other again.

"You don't trust me because of what I did," Hermione continued, in a much smaller voice, "and I'm so sorry for that. You have no idea how sorry I am. But I know that I did the right thing, even though it hurt so much to do it. I'm going to be here as much as I can, and I love you both. But I need you to understand what I have with Ron - and my friendship with Harry, too - and how important those things are to me."

"Alright," her father said, smiling briefly at her and nodding. "We know."

Her mother finally nodded as well. And it was about the best she could expect, for now. At least she could hope that they'd be more understanding when she spent time away with Ron, which she almost instantly began plotting, as she ascended the stairs to her room...

Her hearing had taken most of the morning, and she had been told that Ron was to be in meetings all day, so she had just about given up seeing him before supper when she cut through a narrow corridor toward the main hallway back down to the lifts and spotted him, heading in the opposite direction.

"Ron!"

But he hadn't heard her. So she reached out quickly and tugged his shirt sleeve to stop him from passing her.

"Oi!" he started, stumbling back. But his startled expression morphed into a grin as he spotted her. "Oh! Hey!"

"Where are you off to now?" she asked, smiling as he ducked down the side hallway to join her.

"Another bloody meeting. What's up?" He tilted his head over her a bit, bringing their faces closer together, searching her eyes.

"Nothing, really," she admitted. "Just haven't seen you today."

"Oh, yeah," he sighed, slowly leaning even closer. "I'm sorry. Reckoned I'd come round your parents' place at the end of the day again."

She nodded, chewing her lip nervously as she looked down. This was the moment. She had to ask him before he disappeared back into the fray of the Auror department, not to be seen again until supper time.

"What?" he asked, in that adorably almost-panicked way he had done so often around her lately. Could he really still be worried she'd ever want anything but him?

She lifted her eyes back up to his, finding them slightly wider and darting. But of course he was.

"Ron," she breathed, leaning into him. He slung an arm around her and pressed his nose to the top of her head.

"You gonna tell me what's wrong, or do I need to start guessing?" he muttered into her hair, his heart pounding against the side of her face.

"Nothing's wrong! Promise," she assured him, pulling back so she could look up at him, but not far enough that she'd give him any reason to remove his arm. She quite liked the position she found herself in... "It's just that it's not the best, seeing you at my parents'. You know that. Aside from dad stealing you all night to chat about everything, I always feel guilty when I'm there, like I should be doing something for them. And it's so crowded at the Burrow, not to mention your mother still won't let us shut your bedroom door... ever."

Ron grinned down at her, his fingers trailing down her spine before he removed his arm from around her to rest his elbow against the wall, over her head, to his right.

"Yeah, I've never figured out how she even has time to notice what I'm doing, but she always does..."

"I was thinking," and she chewed her lip again, for a moment, working up to it.

They had never spent the night together before. And as the weeks had passed, she had started to feel something she couldn't quite explain. She wanted him with her, all the time, not just during the day when he could get away from training. Not just in front of their families while they shared a meal, trying to find a secluded place after to snog before the other had to go home. She had been pondering how to ask him all day, but there really was no other way than just getting on with it.

"Tomorrow's Harry's birthday, and anyway, you won't have training. So maybe, instead of my house, we could go to the Leaky Cauldron or something, you know, for the night... just to get away. Then we can go back to the Burrow together later tomorrow, for Harry's party..."

His eyebrows lifted almost imperceptibly.

"You mean... stay overnight? Me and you? Just me and you?"

"Well, yes," she said, voice quivering a bit with nerves.

He stared down at her for what felt like a full year.

"It was just an idea," she mumbled, breaking eye contact and wondering how to best escape the narrow corridor without shoving him out of the way.

"That's brilliant," he said quickly, and her eyes darted back up to his. His ears were quite a deep shade of red, eyes a bit wider than before, corner of his mouth lifted in a half-grin.

"Really?"

"Bloody hell. Can we go right now?" he teased, tilting his head to the side to run his fingers through his hair.

She laughed, relieved.

"Merlin, that was scary," she admitted.

"Why?" he asked, incredulous.

She shrugged.

"No way you thought I'd turn that down."

"You might have..." she mumbled.

He shook his head as if trying to rid himself of a cobweb.

"Blimey. Trust me, you don't ever have to worry about that."

She blushed as she smiled, feeling a bit lightheaded.

"What are you doing now?" he asked.

"Nothing, really," she sighed. "But… I expect it's a good time to go home and get some clothes for tomorrow, leave a note for my parents so they won't expect me home for dinner when they get back from work..."

He grinned at her, and she felt her stomach flip excitedly.

"Reckon you could pop round the Burrow for me, too? After last year, I think you've been thoroughly enough through my clothes that you'll know what to grab… Just forget the tight jeans though, yeah?"

She laughed, cheeks burning to match his ears.

"What about your mum?"

"Ah. I'll get Harry to mention to her that I'm not coming back tonight. That'll keep us from getting stalled at the Burrow, explaining til dawn..."

Hermione raised a questioning brow.

"Won't she hex you tomorrow?"

Ron grinned at her again, scratching the back of his neck before reaching out to tangle his fingers in her hair.

"Eh, worth it," he said, and he bent, covering her with his shadow before kissing her.

She closed her eyes and clutched the collar of his shirt, moaning lightly against his lips as he moved his hand through her hair to hold the back of her head. He slid his tongue along her bottom lip, shivering. She balanced on her toes to reach him until he pulled back just enough to breathe.

"God, you taste amazing," he rasped against her parted lips. "What is it? Reminds me of that ruddy perfume I got you, fifth year..."

"Earl Grey tea," she laughed, stomach butterflying. "And you're right. That perfume smells pretty strongly of bergamot..."

"Ah," he breathed, nose brushing hers. "Reckon I know what I love."

"Weasley, come on!" shouted a passing voice, from the main corridor, behind him.

He rolled his eyes, leaning down quickly and kissing the side of her nose before backing away, dropping her hand with a nod.

"Six o'clock, outside the training rooms?"

She smiled and nodded her reply, and he ran a hand across his stubbly jaw, smiling back and watching her with glistening eyes, until the last possible moment, until he was finally forced to turn away as he cleared the corner of the hall.

She had returned home and packed a small bag before apparating to the Burrow and packing for Ron. It was oddly affecting, though she'd packed for him before when they'd been planning to leave the previous summer. But this was different now, because it wasn't for necessity, this time.

Returning to the Ministry half an hour early, she'd wandered the corridors on her way back to the Auror department, crossing several halls of archives and a records room. Curiously, she'd turned down a long passageway, marveling at the stacks of books on high shelves overlooking rows and rows of desks used for research. Locked rooms beyond revealed bulky filing cabinets through thick glass walls, and she wondered absently what they held.

Several witches passed her on their way to the loo at the opposite end of the hall, and a wizard brushed the hem of her cloak as he ducked through a narrow door to her left, disappearing out into a bustling corridor beyond. Checking her watch, she decided to abandon her wandering and search for Ron a few minutes earlier than they'd planned, realising that the corridor to her left must be one of the main ones that led back down to the lifts.

Stepping into the hall, she followed the flow of traffic, having no other choice. People moved back and forth quickly, arms weighed down by stacks of heavy texts, clutching files, and hovering the occasional full filing cabinet before them.

All at once, there was an odd sort of sound, like the cracking of thunder, very close by. She briefly wondered why it sounded so loud, so far underground.

And then, she was stumbling to the floor.

Screams. All around her. The walls seemed to vibrate, crumbling as she looked up. Comprehension dawning, she understood only one thing... Danger. Right now. And right here.

Gasping, she crawled right and pressed herself to the wall as people began to fall, all around her, some toppling over completely, spilling files and books, wavering mid-air and booming to the floor. One wizard close by was staggering, attempting to hold up his load, but failing, crushed to the wall by the weight of a cabinet.

Panic began to fill her as the ground quaked, a jagged, heavy crack trailing along from one end, so surreal it almost felt impossible, as if she was watching it happen in a Muggle film. And then, the shouts resumed, controlled this time, issuing commands from the opposite end of the corridor. Several Aurors were running toward the scene from the stairwell by the lifts, fifty metres or so straight ahead.

Something significant was happening... something they must have prepared for.

Masks. They were handing out masks, frantically distributing them to the workers who littered the corridor now, some gasping and pressed to the walls, others half-lying on the floor and attempting to rescue their files as they were approached, heavy black masks pressed to their faces by the Aurors who, she could now see, all wore the same ones.

The Auror closest to her ducked quickly through a door to her left, one that led back into the large library and files rooms she'd come from moments ago. Without calculating her decision, she felt she needed to follow him, and she was certain that whatever it was that was happening, she needed one of those masks. Now.

"Wait!" came a shout, from much too close.

A large wizard careened down the corridor behind her, wand raised to summon a mask as another Auror passed them, too far away to reach.

"Accio!" and a mask flew toward the wizard's outstretched hand. He just barely managed to catch it, slipping it over his nose and mouth. But, as if in slow motion, she watched as a chunk of the ceiling ripped away, falling too fast for her to warn him. It struck him, hard, over the top of the head, and he fell, like a lead weight, directly on top of her, passed out, flattening her to the floor and trapping her, pressed halfway against the wall.

She cried out, the sound of her voice completely lost in the chaos. Desperately, she attempted to push the man off of her, struggling to free her wand from her jeans pocket.

And then, she saw it. Seeping out from the cracks in the wall, the ceiling... the floor... from underneath the now-closed doors that led through to the file rooms. A thick, yellow smoke, oozing closer toward her with each breath.

She screamed, hardly able to hear the sound of her own voice through the madness around her.

But he heard her.

"HERMIONE!"

Ron bolted down the corridor and skidded to a stop, collapsing to his knees and hovering over her. With a frantic swish of his wand, the unconscious wizard was lifted off her aching body, hovering and sliding away from her. Ron ducked underneath him to find her gaze, eyes wide, over the mask he wore.

"Ron! Oh, thank Merlin! What's happening?!"

But he shook his head, eyes round and terrified. Behind him, the yellow smoke moved, like icy fingers slipping over his shoulders, reaching out for her.

"What is that?! Ron, what-"

But with seconds before it would surely reach her face, he ripped off his mask and covered her nose and mouth with it instead, gasping as he grabbed her, pushing her flat to her back on the floor again, covering her with his own body. He pressed his face to her neck as she shut her eyes tight, arms flying around him as she held on, the floor cracking sickeningly around them.

She was lying on a white cot, with the soft sounds of murmuring voices nearby. Her head was throbbing, and she had no recollection of how she had come to be here. She sat up slowly, blinking. The room was dimly lit, and she quickly realised that she was alone. The voices she was hearing were drifting from an adjoining room, through a half-closed door.

She froze, suddenly recalling. She'd been pushed to the ground, her nose and mouth covered, that terrifying smoke moving overhead as she'd closed her eyes and-

"Ron!"

An elderly wizard ducked his head through from the adjoining room, eyebrows high.

"She's awake," he announced, fully opening the door and moving quickly into the room. Two female healers followed close behind, as well as another gray-haired wizard with wire-rimmed glasses, holding a tea tray.

"Please," she coughed, sitting up on the edge of what she now realised was an infirmary bed, as one of the healers knelt in front of her, "I need to see Ron Weasley. Do you know where he is?"

"Ms Granger," the healer began, ignoring her question, "do you remember what happened to you, in the corridor?"

"Yes, yes," she started, impatiently, "an explosion, and Ron- he..."

The healer gently touched Hermione's neck and looked into her eyes. The others formed a small semi-circle around her, and she caught the second healer whispering something discreetly to the wizard holding the tea tray.

"What's going on?" she demanded, suddenly filled with panic.

She pushed the healer away and stood on unsteady legs, quickly regaining her balance and searching for her wand. It was there, on a small table next to her bed. Removing it swiftly, she looked sternly up at the four faces that were now watching her carefully.

"Tell me where he is!"

"Mr Weasley is here, and he's safe. Don't worry, now," said the wizard with the glasses, calmly.

"I need to see him."

"Come with me, Ms Granger," the wizard continued, turning away from her and expecting her to follow him.

"You've got to take me to Ron," she demanded, taking one tentative step to follow him, wand shaky in her hand.

"Of course. I will," the wizard said, turning back. "But please, follow me."

It quickly became clear to Hermione that Mr Anson, which she had learned to be the name of the wizard leading her through the corridors, was not taking her directly to Ron. She became even more agitated when he opened the door to a small office and ushered her inside, ahead of him.

"Sir, what-"

"Ms Granger, please, have a seat," and he gestured toward a chair in front of a walnut desk as he moved round to sit on the other side.

"Sir, with respect, I'll speak to you once I've seen Ron Weasley. You told me you were taking me to him, and-"

"I will take you to him, absolutely. But he's being discharged momentarily, so if you will speak to me now, I believe they will let you both go once you've seen him."

"Oh." A bit of relief washed over her, and she sighed out a heavy breath as she consented to sit where she had been instructed.

Mr Anson studied her for a moment before speaking.

"I expect you'll be wondering what happened in that corridor this afternoon," he began.

Hermione nodded, still clutching her wand but resting her hands in her lap.

"What I'm going to tell you now must be treated as highly confidential. It must not leave this room until clearance is given, do you understand?"

"Yes."

He nodded and rested his forearms on his desk.

"The explosions you were witness to today were a direct attack on the Ministry's record offices. Your presence in that corridor was unexpected, which is why you were unprotected... until Mr Weasley stepped in. We had received a tip that something was planned for those offices, though that information was guarded, of course, and we did not know when, or in what capacity, such an attack might take place."

So they had known something. The Aurors who had come to the aid of the workers in that department had been prepared, to some extent.

"And," Mr Anson continued, "perhaps you may also be curious as to why you have been summoned repeatedly to Ministry hearings, specifically those that pertained to events outside your knowledge."

Hermione's eyebrows shot up. This was unexpected, a connection between the attack today and her presence at a growing list of official hearings.

"Well," she said, slowly, "I hadn't considered that could be relevant, sir."

"I'm afraid it is. You see, when we were warned of an impending attack, we were informed that the basis for that attack would be to clear the records office of anything to do with specific criminals, still at large, who would soon be brought to trial for crimes committed during the war this past year. As so many things had to be done to restore the Ministry - and all our internal affairs - after the chaos of the last year and a half or so, we were still a bit disorganised, unfortunately, with these wanted criminals' records. When word came through that an attack was being planned, we began a three-fold effort to counter it. The Department of Mysteries and the Auror Office worked together to produce protection - like the mask you were given - against the threat of poisoned gas, in addition to the Aurors' work on fortifying the walls of the records rooms against very powerful hexes and possible explosive potions. In the meantime, our archivists began work on duplicating records and moving unsolved cases to a new office. And, of course, as a final measure, we brought in anyone of prominence who might aid in calling war criminals to justice. We pushed cases weeks ahead of their deadlines to bring in as many suspects as possible."

Hermione shook her head slowly, lots of things falling into place now.

"Why wasn't I told what I was being used for?" she asked, directly.

"Security was our primary goal," Mr Anson explained, "and while, of course, we would trust some people with the information we had, it was deemed unwise to spread that knowledge beyond the select few who had initially received it. Even those in the Auror Office who worked on preventative measures for us didn't actually know why they were doing what they were. Those who rushed to the aid of the workers on that floor this afternoon were given a mask for each person logged into that area and sent down with their own faces covered, their only instruction being never to remove those masks, for risk of suffocation or poisoning."

"Poison..." Hermione echoed, stomach lurching uncomfortably. "Ron wasn't wearing his mask when I passed out. He gave it to me! Sir, you said he was-"

"He's alright," Mr Anson interrupted, in a not altogether reassuring way. "Though we haven't identified the gas he was exposed to, he has been quarantined, as you were before you woke, and his clothing has been destroyed, skin scrubbed of residue. No trace of the gas was found on him after that, and he responded immediately to a reviving spell. So, his healers have deemed him well enough to go home. He must not have inhaled too much of it because the only sign of anything amiss that we could determine was a bit of a cough and some irritability, which is to be expected, under the circumstances."

Hermione nodded, though something about it didn't quite sit well with her. So they didn't understand what this gas was, exactly? How could they know for sure that he was alright? She would have to watch him closely, to be sure.

"Aurors are searching, as we speak," Mr Anson continued, "for the suspect we think is responsible, and-"

"You haven't caught him?" Hermione cut over him, a shiver running down her spine.

"We will catch him."

"How can I help?"

A quarter of an hour later, she was rushing down a narrow hall toward Ron's ward, bursting through the doors even as a nearby healer began to protest her lack of signing in to the front desk. She scanned the wide ward, searching for him, curtains pulled shut around most of the beds nearby.

And then, finally, she caught sight of his shaggy ginger head, bent over what looked like a plate of biscuits. She smiled, relieved, and hurried over to him.

"Ron!"

He didn't look up at the sound of her voice, but the male healer next to his bed was saying something to him, and she assumed he must not have heard her shouting for him.

Her lips parted, to call to him again, when she was waylaid by a young, female healer, who took her gently by the arm.

"Ms Granger?"

"Yes..."

"We just got word that you were coming to collect Mr Weasley. But we're just concluding his interview. If you could please wait, only for a moment... You can stand here with me."

Reluctantly, Hermione sighed and stayed put, close enough to Ron's bed now to hear what the male healer was asking him.

"Any other unusual sensations? Anything you don't recall from before the attack?"

Ron's head was still lowered as he cleared his throat to speak.

"Yeah," he said, voice terribly scratchy. "As it was happening, I could smell and taste violets, all around, like I was being suffocated by them."

Hermione froze, the soft scent of violets present in her own nostrils as well.

From her shampoo.

She swallowed and listened carefully as he continued speaking.

"Dunno, something tastes odd just now, too, but it's not the same thing. Can't place it."

"Anything else?" the healer asked, as a hovering quill jotted down their conversation on the clipboard that hovered before it.

Ron shook his head, face still angled down toward his lap.

"Alright. I think that'll be all, then." The healer snatched his quill and clipboard from mid-air and turned, leaving Ron's side.

The female healer who had waited with Hermione now nodded her assent for Hermione to approach.

Without another word, she rushed to his side.

"Ron!" she cried, as she skidded to a stop, legs pressing to the edge of his bed. "Oh, I've been trying to get to you since I woke up!"

He didn't respond, but his head twitched slightly.

"Can you hear me?" she asked, concerned.

"Yeah."

She sighed out a heavy breath of relief.

"Do you feel alright? Are you sure you're-"

"I feel fine."

She nodded, briefly closing her eyes.

"They've probably told you as well, but they say they won't keep you any longer," she continued, thinking that she might need to get more clothing from home, to stay with him beyond just tonight, to make sure nothing would happen that they couldn't predict. "Ron, I was so scared! Do you want to go to the Leaky like we planned? Do you feel up to it? Of course we can reschedule, if-"

He lifted his face, finally.

And she had to clutch the edge of his bed to keep from staggering back.

His eyes. They were no longer Ron's eyes, kind and loving, playful when he was telling a joke, creased with happiness when he was with her. These were the eyes of a stranger. Someone who loathed her, more than anything she could imagine.

"Why would I ever want to go there with you?"

She couldn't breathe. For a moment, her lungs froze solid, her eyes wide as she stared down into a face she had never seen before. Ron's face, altered by a hatred she had never known.

And then, she laughed, a sort of shrill, unrecognisable sound.

He glared, unflinching.

"Cut it out," she heard herself say, heart pounding fiercely in her ears as her knuckles whitened, gripping the edge of his bed unconsciously. "Quit teasing, Ron. Let's get out of here."

"Teasing?" he repeated, cheeks tinged an angry pink. "Who do you think you are to me? You're nothing."

She tried and failed to swallow, limbs going numb. And though a part of her mind refused it - it must be a dream, a hallucination, a twisted practical joke - her body seemed to already know the truth.

"Fucking hell," he spat, suddenly. "Can someone get this bloody disgusting taste out of my mouth?"

She stared at him, not really seeing him, as a healer approached his bed with a glass of juice. He gulped it down, a trickle escaping to run down his chin, over a speckling of ginger stubble.

Her eyes burned. Her chest ached. And her knees didn't work any longer. Clutching his bed to keep herself up, she watched as Ron lowered the now-empty glass and scoffed, averting his eyes from her as if looking directly at her again was too repulsive to him.

"Get. Her. Out." he demanded.

The healer took her arm, and she was jelly, unable to resist. But as she was dragged back through the infirmary doors, his fiery eyes flicked to hers one more time.

"I'm going to fix it," she cried.

His lips curled into a menacing smile.

"Fix it? Nothing to fix, you worthless c-"

And the door slammed shut, cutting off his words, to her shuddering relief.

Edit: Thank you, shocolate, for "on the porch" vs "in the porch"! I had no idea it didn't make sense to use "on," as that is what I would say in the US.