meg

The-Boy-Who-Lived ignored him and spoke gently to Hermione, as if she were the most fragile thing in the world. 

“Hermione, they’re letting you go home.” 

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. 

That’s all she keeps telling herself. 

She’s done enough crying to last a lifetime. 

This must be one of those dreams. At the drop of a hat Harry will grow dark curly hair and manic eyes. Soon enough the words she’s been hoping to hear for months will be turned into a twisted cackle. The swell of hope in her chest will soon be replaced by the pain of the Cruciatus Curse. 

That has to be the only explanation. 

“It won’t be for long.” He says next, avoiding Ron’s watery eyes. “They don’t know how safe it is, but you’ll be able to get what you need, get your parents stuff.” He whispers the last part quietly.

 She just blinks. 

“Mrs. Weasley is putting something together. Dumbledore- he knows a lot about-” Harry swallows past the bile in his throat, “about muggle funerals.” 

A silent tear streaks all three of their cheeks. 

“Would you- would you want that?” Harry chokes to Hermione through hooded eyes. 

‘My name is Hermione Granger. I’m seventeen years old. My parents were Hugo and Jean Granger…’ 

She repeats it over and over in her head, much like she had in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor. She knows it’s the only thing besides these two lovely boys and Cissy- her family, that’ll keep her grounded. 

And as she looks into Harry’s gentle green eyes and feels the warmth of Ron’s calloused hands around her waist, she knows this is real. 

She knows this is what she wants. 

What she needs. 

“Yes.” She answers Harry softly. 

...

She tells them she wants to go in the morning. That she wants the funeral as soon as it can be arranged. 

That she’s already waited too long.

Sure it’s not in so many words but Harry and Ron understand her like no other, so when the latter tells Hermione he’ll relay the information to his Mum she offers a tentative nod and a sad half-smile. 

The drive to Hampstead is spent in silence. She requested both Ron and Harry come with her. Bill and Lupin accompany them on behalf of The Order, but they don’t dare utter a word. Acting as shadows more than anything else. 

The entire car ride her head is propped on Ron’s shoulder, while her hand clings to Harry’s.

Thoughts race through her head at their own volition. 

Would this be the last time she ever made this trip? 

What condition was the house in? 

Was there anything left? 

Was this a good idea? 

Thousands of questions bounced around her already aching head, that and memories. 

Memories of growing up in her home. Memories of the holiday’s they spent as a family. Memories of the vacations they took as a family every year. Memories of her parents' brilliant smiles. 

Because that’s all they were now, memories. 

Her parents were nothing more than photographs and thoughts. No longer the physical beings they once were. 

She couldn’t write to her parents and expect a response. Her Mum would no longer hold her when she was sad. Her Dad would never finish teaching her to drive before she turned eighteen. 

There was so much the three of them had left to do. 

So much the two of them had to do on their own. 

And it was all gone. 

Because of Bellatrix. 

A chill dances its way up her spine at the sickening thought of the mad witch being in her home, waiting for her to come back. 

And like before, she was stupid enough to walk into her cluthes. 

Magicless, no less, and with the people who mean most to her in tow. 

She took the two people she loved most from her once and Hermione knows she would not hesitate to do it again. 

And Ron must notice the sudden shift as he turns his head and opens his mouth to mutter the first words anyone has spoken since they left. 

But they never come out. 

Instead, the car stops and Hermione’s stomach lurches. 

She’s going to be ill. 

Suddenly she’s pushing Harry as hard as she can out the door. He looks panicked, but tumbles out. 

As soon as he leaves the seat she slides over and doubles down. Her head is down toward the grass and she gets sick all over The Chosen One’s beat up trainers.

She wretches for two minutes straight until there is nothing left to come up. She just continues heaving as Ron rub’s small circles on her back and Harry coo’s softly by her side. 

But she doesn’t feel Ron, doesn’t hear Harry. Her body is numb to everything, her ears are ringing.

She doesn’t remember being taken out of the car, but she finds herself being supported atop the dying grass, staring at the crumbling bricks ahead of her. 

The roof has holes. The sides look charred. Small piles of dust and debris pile where her mother used to grow flowers. 

The garage with the car she drove with her Dad has collapsed in on itself. 

Vaguely, she hears Bill whisper something to Harry about a staged fire. 

She doesn’t have time to be upset about the fact her parents are nothing more than the local tragedy in her town's newspaper that’ll be forgotten in a month. She’s too focused on getting inside. 

She tugs harshly at Ron’s coat, begging him to help her forward. 

Her eyes say it all and he can’t deny her anything as he begins to support her weight and move across the lawn. 

“Wait.” Lupin says, for the first time since he arrived at The Burrow that morning. “Bill and I will need to go first. Just to be sure.” 

Hermione’s face remains blank and empty. 

Ron thinks he’d rather see her cry then resort back into this shell of a person. 

He simply nods on her behalf and pulls her closer. “If it becomes too much darling, you let me or Harry know, alright?” he whispers to her tenderly. 

Nothing. 

Fuck! How could he have been so stupid? 

A selfish part of him. The part of him that feels like there’s been progress made, berates himself for even suggesting and being so adamant on bringing her here. 

His other half, thought quieter, knows she needs this to heal even further. 

Neither option is easy. 

Nothing is anymore. He doesn’t think it’ll ever be again. 

Heads of red and brown make their way outside minutes later. They silently open the door, not saying anything else. 

The pictures are gone. 

It’s the first thing she notices. 

Not the fact the stairs look as if they’ll fall at any second or even the blood someone tried to poorly clean up smeared along the furniture. 

The pictures are seared. The only evidence is the charred frames, the wood splinting apart. 

The mahogany frame with carved vines was the photo of her parents' wedding. 

The sloppily painted, cheap popsicle sticks, lined with macaroni was a project she did in muggle elementary school. It was a drawing of her parents and her feeding ducks at the park nearby. 

The glass frame, which is now a pile of shards, was of her Grandmother and her cake from when she turned eighty. 

She notices a torn piece on the floor that managed to survive. It looks like an image of white fabric, but when she turns it over she can see the frayed edges of her mother’s gorgeous handwriting. 

‘Born’ is all her loopy script says. 

Hermione knows it to be a photo of her as a newborn, swaddled in her fathers arms. 

She tucks the remnant into her pocket. 

No one speaks. Not even once. 

Not when Hermione finds her Mum’s favorite teapot. One with hand painted cherry blossoms, shattered on the ground. 

No one utters anything when she places a chipped piece into her pocket. 

She spots A Winter’s Tale slightly burnt on the shelf in the living room. 

Ron doesn’t say anything when she pushes it into his free hand. 

The coat closet is practically untouched. 

The silence is loud as she loops her fathers woolen scarf around her neck and when she pushes her mothers snow boots into Harry’s arms. 

She spots drops of red by the welcome mat. 

She tells them she can’t be here anymore, that she needs to go upstairs. But not with her words. 

Hermione simply pulls best she can toward the stairwell and says nothing when Ron scoops her into his arms and carefully walks up the steps that are only supporting them because of a reparo Bill performed. 

No one comments when she rips a piece of the blue striped wallpaper from next to her and clutches it in her palm. 

Ron places her down at the top, letting her decide where to go next. 

She guides him down the hallway into her parents room. 

And the second she opens the door, she wishes she hadn’t. 

It’s evident this is where they were when they died. 

When they were murdered. 

She wants to crumble, to fall apart and demand they leave. 

Instead, she quietly makes her way to where the dresser once stood. 

It’s a pile of wooden legs and knobs, but as she sits she finds what she’s looking for. 

Her mother’s jewelry box. 

She doesn’t bother inspecting the contents and condition of them, instead she places it on top of the worn book Ron holds. 

The crisp white sheets are tousled and have holes burnt into them. She sees the blood coating the pillows. 

And she knows, somewhere deep in her bones that her father died in that very spot. 

That he died protecting her mother as she ran downstairs to safety, only to be caught and killed the same way. 

The room feels incredibly small as her vision blurs into nothing but red. The same dark red covering her Dad’s side of the bed- to the right, under the window. He also got hot at night, but her Mum never wanted to get rid of the blankets, so he’d crack the window to stay cool.

The window’s shut tight. 

It’ll never be opened again. 

The thought makes her dizzy. 

Apparently so dizzy, she nearly falls over, only to be caught by Ron. 

She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to. 

He takes her back into the hallway. 

She stumbles into the room next door. 

It’s her room, the very one she grew up in. 

As she opens the door she expects to find it absolutely obliterated. Crumbling walls, broken furniture, bloodied floors. 

But what she does find is almost worse. 

Her bed is pristinley made. The walls are vividly blue. Not a single speck of dust seems to coat her desk. All of her photos are pinned exactly where she left them. 

It is completely untouched. 

The silence is broken by an earth shattering, horrifying, gut wrenching scream. 

The sight of her clean sheets and the thought of her parents' bloodied ones stand out in her head. The fresh paint on the wall in contrast to the word Muddy burnt into the living room’s white coat. The destroyed memories of their entire lives sitting in the foyer next to her neatly organized cork board. 

It makes her scream. A terrible, terrible sound. 

She can almost hear Bellatrix commanding the likes of Greyback and whoever else she brought with her not to touch her room. A final mockery of the Mudblood. Another way to break Hermione to her very core. 

Bloody the entire house, except her room. 

Let her know that she caused this. 

‘It’s all your fault Muddy! You did this!’ Lestrange’s voice rings so loudly it's able to drown out her banshee-like wail. 

She screams and screams and screams. Straining her voice like no other. 

As the exhaustion and emotion of everything kicks in she begins to crumble onto her shaggy area rug. Not so much as even dirtied. 

Just as her world goes black and her head nearly hits the floor, someone catches her. 

Ron holds her close to his chest, rocking her gently back and forth. 

Right after the words leave his mouth he feels Hermione shift against him, sitting up to face hom. 

His words all but shatter her heart into a million pieces. 

She can barely bring herself to imagine him in that place, what they would do to him. The thought of it is just about the only thing worse than living through it herself. 

It was never supposed to be Ron. She made sure of it when she stunned him into the snow that night. 

It would never, ever be Ron. 

“No.” She is surprisingly strong and quite commanding. Ron even furrows his brows in shock at the crisp nature of her voice. 

When he just stares back at her she begins to frantically shake her head, using one of her shaking hands to swipe away at the tears on his cheeks. 

“No.” She reiterated her voice cracking, not from weakness, but from emotion. 

“Hermione-” He begins to argue. 

“No.” She says for the third time, because there was nothing to argue. It was Hermione, they couldn’t change that, but he needs to understand that she didn’t want to change that. 

She notices his blue eyes become glassy again, “you saved me.” he cries out, “why?” 

Because I love you. 

She thinks instantly.

“B-because…” she takes a deep breath. No words were adequate enough to try and make him understand why she had done it, nothing besides that four letter word, but she can’t bring herself to say it. 

She wants to so badly. So much so that her tongue feels like it's burning with the need, but she can’t. And it’s selfish of her, but she doesn’t want to be hurt anymore then she already is and she doesn’t think she’ll survive if she loses Ron. 

That one word would surely drive him away, right back to his girlfriend no less. 

“I care.” She whispers slowly. “I a-always have.” The brunette admits in a tiny voice. 

All those months spent ignoring him, running from him, she wishes she could take it back. 

Sure, seeing him with Lavender hurt her, the thought of it still stings, but after coming so close to losing Ron forever, she’d rather have him as her friend then nothing at all. 

He seems to pick up on the implication which for whatever reason shocks her. 

“I’ve always cared for Mione. I never stopped.” He promises, voice so tender, face full of sadness. “I hated myself for months- I still do, thinking you ever thought otherwise. You don’t get it but when you were gone that-it-it killed me. I felt like everyday without you it became harder for me to breathe. It was like I was dying slowly, painfully. It felt like I deserved it too.” He admitted with a vast amount of vulnerability. 

He sees her open her mouth to respond, but he’s not done. 

“I feel selfish even telling you how I felt knowing what you went through.” Or most of it, he thought. “But you have to know how much I cared- how much I still do. I never stopped, I never could.” 

“I-I couldn’t if I-I,” she paused and cleared her throat, “tried, a-and I t-tried to.” she admitted almost shamefully. 

“Mione.” He practically moans in pain at her words, hating himself now more than ever. 

She put a finger to his lips to silent him. “I-I’m sorry.” she squeaked. 

I’m sorry I ignored you. 

I’m sorry I wasn't the friend you needed. 

I’m sorry I couldn’t be happy for you. 

I’m sorry I can’t tell you how much I love you. 

He takes one of her hands and squeezes it with his much larger and calloused ones. The warmth emanating from them feels like home. She melts a little at the feeling. 

“I’m sorry.” He begins, but this time he presses a soft finger to her mouth, knowing she was bound to interrupt. “I’m sorry about everything before what happened and for not finding you sooner- for not letting them have at me instead. I relive that night every night in my head, every single night Hermione.” 

“I-I do too.” She admitted, this is the first time they’ve talked about her nightmares. “Except they-they take you.” The last part is said so quietly he has to bend his head to even hear her. 

The confession makes him go stiff. 

All those nights she wakes up screaming bloody murder, tears streaming her hallowed cheeks, and sweat sheening over her bruised body is because she’s so terrified it was him instead. 

Chills work their way up his spine. He knew she cared, that she always has. Even when she was ignoring him, he knew, no matter how many times he tried to convince himself otherwise. 

It’s hitting him all at once, that she’d die for him, just as he would for her. Hell, she nearly did. 

Could it be? Could she really feel the same things for me as I do for her? No, I’m sure she’d feel the same for Harry, yes. But, she didn’t mention him? He isn’t the one calming her down. It isn’t his name she’s yelling out… 

“I broke up with Lavender.” He blurts out, feeling like a complete tosser after the fact. His fling with the blonde was so insignificant now compared to everything, so frugal, he wishes he kept his mouth shut. 

Hermione’s brown eyes look to him, her brow furrowed in confusion and he swears he sees a little spark of something behind her eyes. 

Hope. 

He gulps. Feeling her gaze beckoning him on. “It wasn’t a lie, I had been trying to for weeks. I even planned to the day after the match, I swear it. She made it bloody hard. That day we left, after everything with your grandmother, Ginny- she came and yelled at me for being such an arse. I knew I was being one too, it just didn’t hit me until then, you know? Like everyone was avoiding the topic, so after I tried to break up with Lavender the next morning. She-she thought I was trying to tell her I loved her.”

And it hits Hermione all at once. The day in the corridor outside the Great Hall when she heard Lavender claim she loved him and when Ron chased after her. She didn’t even give him a moment to speak- she was so stupid! 

“I tried again on the train home, I told her it was done. The words left my mouth but she just refused. I had this whole plan, stupid really. I was gonna explain it all to you, that night, under the oak tree.” They both shivered at the memory. “I’d give you your gift, I’d explain what happened and I hoped you’d forgive me. When we went back to Hogwarts I’d just go on ignoring Lavender. You and I would be friends again.” He says it like it’s an absolute fantasy, a barmy dream. 

I’ll play for the Cannons. 

I’ll have my own Chocolate Frog Card. 

I’ll be the richest wizard in the world. 

Hermione will be my friend again. 

And though there was nothing to forgive. If anything Hermione should be apologizing, but she knows Ron and she knows how he can get. Hopefully in the distant future there will be a day where she will talk her heart out about how sorry she is that he’ll be begging her to shut up, but for now, she knows what he needs to hear.  

“I forgive you.” She gets out horsley despite the burning sensation in her throat. “I a-always have.” And it makes little sense, but she really hopes he gets it. 

A small smile creeps its way onto his lips. It’s sad looking and shaking slightly, but he looks so hopeful, she even notices his shoulders drop in relife. “Thank you.” He croaks. 

He feels Hermione softly nudge him backward until his head hits his pillows. Instantly he feels the warmth of her small body and she lays softly against his chest, her hand resting right where his heart is. 

The soft thrumming of it gives her the comfort she needs. 

Absently his fingers find her soft hair, still twisted into a plait, but he runs his fingers over it slowly, just loving having her so close. 

They sit like this for a long time. Their eyelids become droopy as exhaustion begins to creep over them, but this time it’s not unwelcome. 

They both know this sleep will be different. It won’t be full of mad witches and dangerous werewolves. 

It’ll be calm. 

Just as Ron is about to let the sleep take over he feels a pair of soft lips on his cheek, ones much like the ones from the day of his first Quidditch match. 

When he peers down he sees Hermione’s beautiful brown eyes glistening. 

“I’d- I’d let them take me all over again.” She claims sleepy. 

And he wants to protest. Talk some sense into her about such a careless thought, but she goes on. 

“I know you’ll always find me.” 

And the softness of her voice, the look of pure adortion on her face, he can't ruin this moment. 

Instead, he pushes her head gently back onto his chest and pulls her tighter. 

I’ll always find you. His actions tell her. 

The beating of his heart picks up after her proclamation and Hermione hears as much from where she’s perched on his chest.

She let’s the thumping lull her to sleep. 

It’s not the beating of Hermione’s heart that finally puts Ron into the depths of slumber. 

Instead it's the tingle on his cheek where her lips were, the warmness of her body surrounding him, and one single thought. 

“Mione.” He says sadly, placing his hand gently on her uncasted calf and giving it a small squeeze. 

Suddenly her nose scrunches as a small sniffle sounds. 

“No, come on, please don’t. It’ll be alright I swear.” She tips her head down, “Hey, you’re still as much of a witch as you ever were.” 

Hermione’s eyes remained trained on the orange quilt. Gently, Ron reaches out and tips her chin up with two fingers. 

“How many witches or wizards, for that matter, can say that they’ve gotten all O’s? Or how many underage wizards have apparated without a license, without so much as a lesson? Not even Dumbledore.” 

At this she lets out a watery chuckle. It sounds strangled, but it’s something. 

“There she is.” He smiles as her eyes finally meet his. His face turns serious, as he goes on, “No witch or wizard can say they’ve endured the Cruciatus Curse as much as you and still be alive, to still be brilliant. And besides Harry, not many can say they even survived You-Know-Who.” The voice grew quiet hoping his words wouldn't upset her, but help her realize how special she is. 

A few tears leak out of her eyes but after a moment she bites her lip hard and slowly nods. 

“Brightest Witch of Our Age.” He whispers softly as he leans in close to her. 

At the feeling of his breath tickling the loose strands of her hair she allows her eyes to flutter shut as she revels in him. 

The smell of him, the feel of him. 

The feeling of the boy- no man she’s come to love. 

It’s strange really, when did her brave Gryffindor keeper, once a little boy whose biggest fear was spiders and greatest desire was to be locked alone in Honeydukes, become a man?

Somehow it just makes her realize she loves him even more than she thought possible. 

That’s why this appointment was so important. 

It was the one thing giving her hope to one day talk again, so that she could talk so much he’d get tired of her. That she could work up the courage to share her experiences, but also tell him thank you. 

Tell him “I love you’. 

Sighing, so her breath mingles with his, she leans forward and presses her forehead gently against his. Letting him know she hears him, that she’s grateful for his words. 

In turn, he presses against her, shifting one hand to her hair to hold her more firmly, but still gently against him. 

One of her shaking hands works its way to his cheeks as she speaks, “R-ready.” She promises. 

They wish they could stay in this moment forever. 

...

Mr. Weasley had taken some time off of work to drive Hermione and Ron into London. 

She felt terrible she drew him away from such important duties on her behalf, only growing her frustrations about not being able to travel more efficiently. 

Of course Ron had sensed her guilt when his father mentioned as much. He was becoming rather inquisitive these days. So, he took Hermione’s hand in the back seat and whispered to her that she was the most important thing right now to him and his family. 

Though the comment made her blush like mad and didn’t do a whole lot to ease the fact she felt like a burden, she just nodded. 

It’s not like she could say much anyway. 

However, what it did make her think of was something else. A terrible thought, if you ask her. 

The fact of the matter is, it shouldn’t be Ron’s father driving her to St. Mungo’s, it should be hers. 

And if they were alive right now, she’s sure that would be the case. Her father behind the wheel and her Mum in the passenger seat. She was never one for driving through London traffic. 

God she missed them. 

She missed them so much that they seemed to be everywhere. 

When they pass a fabric shop on the way in, she’s reminded of how much her Mum loved to sew. Or when they were at a stop light and on the corner was a father buying his young daughter an ice cream cone, she’s reminded of when her father would do the same with her at the park by her house.

Her house. She misses that too. 

She misses the memories there. She misses what she used to know she was coming home to. 

Her parents. 

Now it was just full of things. 

Full of things that she wanted. Things that represented her parents and things that they loved. 

Things that would help her feel closer to them. 

If she even deserves to feel that way. Wherever they are, they’re probably ashamed to have her as a daughter. 

She’s a liar. She got them killed. They died because she was caught up in the magical world and now she can’t even cast a bloody charm anymore. 

None of this was worth it. 

Hermione’s doing her best not to cry. Knowing if she does, Ron will surely comfort her, something she doesn’t deserve. 

She doesn’t deserve to be told her parents loved her and that they’d be proud of her and everything she’s done. Because even if that were true, her parents shouldn’t think that of her. 

Not after all she’s done. 

Whether it's a good or bad thing, her thoughts come to a stand still, as does the car, as it pulls up to St. Mungo’s. 

Arthur turns in the drivers seat to look at the teens, “Alright, Ronnie you help Hermione out, I’ll open the door.” He instructs his son. 

Complying, Ron unbuckles his seat belt and goes to the boot to take out her chair. At first he struggles to unfold it, but soon he gets it as he wheels it to her now open door, thanks to his Dad.

Bending down and into the back seat he looks at her, noting the far off look in her eyes, but choosing not to comment. He’d fear this would happen. 

“I’ll lift you alright? Only for a moment, just don’t want you to get hurt.” He tells her, knowing how much she must hate needing all this help, even though no part of him minds giving it to her. 

She nods slowly, awaiting his embrace. 

When it comes, she grips onto his jumper tightly during the transition before being placed down effortlessly on her new companion, which she loathed. 

Hopefully this visit won’t be a total bust and they’ll give her crutches at the very least. 

Ron grabbed the handles and began guiding her through the front doors as his father followed next to them. Once inside, Arthur stopped, turning to face the pair. 

“Would it be alright if you guys headed up on your own? Kingsley told me earlier he’d be here to help work on an appeal for Hermione’s apparating underage and unlicensed fine. He needs some of your records to prove it was a necessity and I’ve got to sign off on it.” He told the pair. 

Great, just another thing the Weasley’s and now Mr. Shacklebolt had to worry about. 

Hermione just nodded. If the poor man was missing work to take her, at the very least she’d let him get some done here. 

“Very well. Good luck. Remember, third floor Ronnie. I’ll come up when I’m done.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Ron said, shooing him off as he made his way to the lift. 

When they finally reach the Spell Damage ward, Ron looks as if he may be ill. Hermione supposes he spent a lot of time in this waiting room, worrying himself sick. 

She contemplates reaching out and grabbing his hand to let him know it was okay, that this time she was here with him. 

Just as she’s about to go through with it, she becomes distracted by two voices across from her. 

A woman and a man. They look to be middle aged and the matching rings tell her what she needs to know. They’re clearly married. 

“Your Mum’s signing some paperwork now, your Dad’s with her as well.” The man told her gently. 

The shorter one, with glasses, nods, “I reckon we’ll need to start the arrangements won’t we?” She sniffles. 

“Arrangements? What arrangements Delia?” 

“The funeral for Gran. Mum will be a wreck, we should help…” The words fade as she stops listening.

Hermione’s eyes grow wide at the words as she peers up at Ron, gently tugging on his sleeve. 

He looks down at her, she looks so small, so fragile, yet so gorgeous. 

“W-want th-at.” She croaks with doe-like eyes. 

Could this be it? Could this be the moment? She was just watching that couple snogging in the corner, after all. 

“What do you want darling? Anything you need and I’ll give it to you.” 

And he means it. 

Weakly she points to where the two of them stood, now embracing, rather than engaged in a lip lock. 

A hug? Does she want a hug? 

Merlin, just ask! Don’t eff this up. 

“I’m not sure I understand.” He tells her softly, definitely not the first time he’s said that to her. 

“A-a,” he can tell she’s getting emotional as his stomach pulls in anticipation, “fu-funeral.” She whispers brokenly. 

And shite, he wants to punch himself in the face for being such a prat and getting his hopes up in a hospital of all places, while she's grieving on top of that all!

“For your parents?” He asks knowingly. 

She nods slowly, moving one hand to wipe at her eyes. 

It breaks his heart. 

“Alright, we can do that.” He promises her, reaching out to squeeze her hand. He would do anything she asked. “I’ll talk to Mum about it when we get back. We’ll prepare it just how you want. Something to honor your parents… and your grandmother.” 

Okay, now he really wishes he punched himself in the face! That really was not at all how he intended to break that news to her, but it just sort of came out. The couple in the corner was whispering about their own grandmother and he just- ugh! He hates himself. 

Her bottom lip quivers before the floodgates open. 

Instantly, he crushes her best he can to his chest, quieting her cries with the front of his jumper. 

“Sh, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it- I-” He inhales a shaky breath, “I have the letter at home that your parents sent. They said it was peaceful, that she thought of you and that she’s with your grandfather now.” 

At his words her glassy eyes grow wide again. The words offer a little comfort to her. To have something from her parents and something about her grandmother waiting for her. 

Something she knows she can have. 

“I’ll give it to you first thing when we get back to The Burrow.” He swears, unashamedly pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. 

Thankfully, he feels her nod into him, taking it as a good sign that she’s still receptive to his words. 

“Hampstead.” It takes her a while to say as her voice shakes over every syllable. 

“You wanna have it in Hampstead?” He tries. 

She shakes her head. 

“G-go.” She feels stupid, honestly. Babies can form fuller sentences then she can but she really is lacking the energy to have at it right now. 

“You wanna see your house?” He whispers slowly into her ear. 

Thank god Ron knows her as well as he does. 

She nods. 

Without a thought, he pulls her closer and responds. “Of course. I’ll talk to Dad about it. I’ll talk to my parents about everything you want, it’s the least I can do. And if they say no Mione, I promise I’ll bring you there myself darling.” 

He supposes it really is a conversation he and his parents need to have, not only for travel purposes but also for Hermione’s own sake. Arthur saw her house after the attack, he needs to make sure nothing there will set her off in any way. And if there is something, he wants it gone. 

Because Hermione wants to see her house and if he can give her anything, he was sure as hell going to. 

And maybe because she’s exhausted both physically, from traveling, and emotionally from all she’s just found out, but she can’t bring herself to verbally thank Ron. 

Instead she snakes one hand to rest on his cheek and gently places her lips there. 

Her lips on his skin makes him feel warm and tingly inside. He’s briefly taken back to the first time she’s done this, before his fifth year quidditch match. 

He remembers a time not too long ago where he thought that would be the closest he ever got to kissing Hermione. 

Having her here like this again, he knows to never take advantage of that again.

Of her. 

When she pulls back a pretty blush is on her cheeks, as he feels his own face burn red. 

He offers her a grin, one that Hermione could only describe as purely Ron. 

She has no choice but to offer a small, real, genuine smile in return. 

“Hermione Granger!” A shrill voice calls out, ruining the moment. 

He sighs, but stands up, maneuvering her chair to the mediwitch. 

“Hello.” He tells the woman. 

“You’re Hermione Granger?” She asks, not looking up from the clipboard, not bothering with a hello. 

“Well no, she is.” He says, as if the wheelchair wasn’t a dead giveaway. Oh yeah and the fact he was a bloke. 

“Will you be coming in with her?” She asks next, scrubbing something onto the parchment with her quill. 

“Uh…”

“Well?” The woman finally looks at the pair, glasses pushed down to her nose as she taps her nails against the board impatiently. 

Hermione nods for Ron, making him breathe a sigh in relief, he didn’t want to assume anything, but he hoped. 

“Very well. This way please.” The witch says next as she walks along the corridor. 

Soon enough the witch leads them to a room, which much to both Ron and Hermione’s relife, looks nothing like the one she was staying in for so long. 

It’s more of a standard exam room. A high up table with a thin sheet pulled over it, a chair next to it, as well as a scale in the corner. It reminded Hermione a lot of her Muggle physician’s office. 

Hermione sat idly in the chair, not even bothering with mounting the high table, waiting for the mediwitch to check her vitals, or something. After all, this was her first healing appointment. 

Instead, the woman places the clipboard down and turns to them. “Healer Jamison just finished with another patient. He’ll be in soon.” With that, she leaves. 

In her wake, Hermione can’t help but find the fact she didn’t examine her at all very odd. It soon dawns on her that if the unhealed bruises and cuts aren’t enough of a reminder, that her body can’t handle magic. 

Before Ron can even speak to her, ask how she is, things like that, a knock sounds on the door. 

After a moment, the door is pushed open. Hermione doesn’t remember him all that well, but she knows it's Healer Jamison. He’s a plump, older man, with a scruffy white beard and thin white hair to match. 

“Hello Miss Granger.” He says before turning to Ron, “Mr. Weasley.” he nods. 

“Hello sir.” Ron says, knowing Hermione probably felt rude for being unable to properly greet the man. 

“Before we begin with anything else, I have to ask, have you been able to speak?” 

Hermione gulps and shakes her head, almost in embarrassment. 

“That’s alright.” The healer assures, “I’m just going to take a look at your throat. Better for us to be safe.” 

In acknowledgment, Hermione nods, knowing what this entails. However, instead of pulling out a flashlight, the man lights a lumos on the tip of his wand. 

“Open.” He tells her. 

The brunette does as she’s asked, sticking her tongue out as far as it can go so he can get a good look. After a moment, he seems satisfied, because he pulls his wand away and she closes her mouth. 

“There’s a bit of phlegm building up in there. Have you been having trouble breathing?” He asks her. 

She shakes her head. 

“Alright, if you notice, please come in immediately. Also, keep an eye out if you begin coughing every now and again, but there’s nothing to worry about right now.” 

Yeah, except for the fact I can’t even string along a sentence. 

Next, Jamison checked her cuts and bruises. He redressed a few wounds and put new bandages on the nastier ones. After, he asked her about her leg and arm, both in casts, asking her to hold up a number from one to five on how bad the pains were. 

Ron’s chest tightens when she holds up a five. 

“Now, for the next part of the exam, I’m afraid this is going to be a bit of a risk.”

“Risk?” Ron asks as Hermione goes stiff. 

“Yes. I need to perform a scan to check on the remnants of dark magic in her system.” He says to Ron before directing his attention back to Hermione. “Our hope is that some of your cells killed it off, but we can’t be sure. The scan doesn’t require a lot of magic on my end, therefore a lot won’t be put into your body Miss Granger, but there is a possibility it could do a lot of damage. Do you consent to a scan?” 

Ron turns to look at her, hoping she’ll refuse. 

Of course she doesn’t. 

“Y-yes.” She chokes out. 

Jamison seems pleased with her words and the fact she spoke aloud. 

“Very well. Give me a moment to page Healer Evangeline. We’ll need another professional in the room just in case.” With that, he exited. 

“Mione.” Ron moaned painfully, not even being able to fathom the thought of her hurt or worse again. 

She looks at him and frowns. 

She had to say yes. He knows that. He knows how much her magic means to her, he just wishes things were different. 

“I know. I know, I just- I don’t wanna see you hurt love, not again.” Never again. 

Hermione reaches over and squeezes his hand. Trying to let him know she’ll be okay. Deep down he knows she will be too, she’s too strong to let a medical scan best her. 

At least he hopes. 

Not even a moment later another knock sounds as Jamison walks in with a younger looking woman with dark brown hair and glasses perched at the end of her nose. She looks vaguely familiar. 

“Hello Miss Granger. I’m Healer Evangeline, we worked a bit together but you were pretty out of it.” She tells the girl. 

Hermione likes her, she seems sweet. 

“Hello Ron.” She adds after the fact. 

Ron waves weakly, too stressed about what could happen to form coherent words. 

“Now, we’ve discussed the risks, but one thing I can assure you is that you’re going to feel very tired after, alright?” Jamison informs, making Hermione nod weakly. “Mr. Weasley, would you mind laying Miss Granger down on the table?”

Ron complies, gently lifting her onto the scratchy sheet. Once he sets her down, he grabs her hand, and she accepts by weaving their fingers together and trying to offer a smile. 

He sees it falter, he knows she’s as scared as he is. 

“Alright, are you ready for me to begin?” The older man asks. 

Reluctantly Hermione nods, as her grip on Ron’s hand tightens. 

The edge of Jamison's wand lights a tealish color as the light stretches forward and works its way up Hermione’s body. 

Upon the impact she jumps slightly as her eyes shut tightly and her face contorted in pain. 

“Stop!” Ron roared. 

Evangeline placed a hand on his shoulder, “it’s almost done. She’ll be fine. She’s strong.” The woman reminds him. 

Trying to ground himself, Ron focuses on the feel of her hand as he begins whispering to her quietly, “Come on Mione. You’re okay, love. You got this.” 

It’s eerily similar to when he’d talk to her whilst she was unctuous, when he was unsure she would ever wake again. 

The thought makes him sick. 

Thankfully, the light soon goes back into Jamison's wand as the room fades back to normal and Hermione’s body visibly relaxes. 

“Very good.” He praises. 

Meanwhile, Ron wipes some sweat from her forehead, placing a light kiss in his hands wake. “You’re brilliant.” He whispers. 

Tiredly, she looks up at him. 

“I’m going to go read the results.” Jamison interrupts. “It’ll just take me a few minutes. In the meantime Healer Evangeline has some of her own examinations to perform on Miss Granger, yes?” 

The woman nods, “Yes. Ron, would you mind giving us some privacy?”

While he didn’t love the idea of leaving her alone he understood some things he shouldn’t see. Like if she was checking any cuts on her chest or ribs, knowing she had broken a few. Or maybe in more personal spots.

Though she surely didn’t have an injury down there. Right? Wait, what even was Healer Evangeline’s title anyway?

“Right yeah. I’ll be right outside.” He tells Hermione more than anyone else, as he follows Jamison out of the room. 

In the waiting room, he can’t help but let his curiosity get the best of him as he walks over to the information desk. 

“Excuse me.” He says to the little wizard behind it. 

“How can I help you sir?” He asks politely, large improvement from the mediwitch. 

“Hi, I was wondering what Healer Evangeline specialized in?” He gulped, wow he sounded like a right tosser. 

“Evangeline is our leading gynecologist here at St. Mungo’s!” He praised.

Ron went pale. 

“Is your girl pregnant? She’s the best with stuff like that.” 

“Uh- uh.” He stutters unsure what to say. 

“I won’t tell, don’t worry. Good luck kid.” The man smiles before returning to his paperwork. 

Slowly, Ron sauntered back over to the door. He pressed his back against the wall next to it and hunched over. He placed his hands on his knees and took a few deep breaths. 

He wasn’t daft, he knew what women's healers did. 

It was just standard, wasn't it? Relax Ron. Nothings wrong. You’re overthinking. Death Eaters aren’t that bad right? 

Part of him knows he’s kidding himself. 

Images and thoughts flash in his brain that make him think of nothing but pure murder. His fists clench at his sides as his jaw tightens. 

Deep breaths Ron. Deep breaths. Just ask Mum when you go home if it's routine. Don’t freak out. Not here. Don’t do that to Hermione. 

Over and over Ron told himself it was procedure until Jamison returned. 

“Alright my boy?” He asked, noticing his heaving. 

Taking a shaking breath Ron nodded. 

Jamison furrows his brow but doesn’t say anything more. Instead, he knocks on the door and after hearing a ‘come in’ from Evangeline, the pair enter. 

Upon seeing Hermione again Ron eases a bit knowing she’s okay. That she’s here. That whatever they did to her they will never be able to do again. 

With a flick of his wand a large image is projected of what seems to be a white outline covered in black blobs. 

“Here’s your scan.” 

Ron tenses, now focused on an entirely new problem. 

That’s a lot of dark magic. 

“Not much has changed, just the magic moving throughout your body. There has been slight improvement and it’s good news that you were able to withstand the scan today. The hope now is that as your external cuts heal, your body will then be able to exert its energy on internal matters. So while it isn’t the best news, it’s not bad either. Keep taking it easy. It is crucial that you heal in order to do magic again, alright?” 

The news upsets Hermione. Like Jamison said, it's not terrible, but it’s not great. She wants to cry at the imprint Bellatrix left on her. 

At the fact that she’s essentially made her into the thing she always taunted heart as being, magicless. 

But right now, she’s too exhausted to even think properly, her body so spent from undergoing magic. 

“I can tell you’re exhausted. If any questions come up please floo me.” Jamison comments, signaling Ron to move her to the chair. 

She’s so limp in his arms, clearly fighting off sleep. Once he places her down he squats and brushes some of her hair back. “Rest now, love. It’ll be okay.” He promises. 

Weakly she nods as her eyes flutter shut as her head luls to the side. 

“Thank you both so much, but I reckon we should get going. I know my Mum will want to floo you Jamison so you’ll hear from us soon. I know this one will have a lot of questions as well.” he says weakly. 

“Of course son, let me get the door for you.” 

With another exchange of thank you’s, Ron leaves. He finds his Dad in the lobby as they walk together to the car. On the way he fills him in best he can, biting his tongue about the questions he has about Healer Evangeline. The good news is, his father says the fine for Hermione apparating without a license should be dropped within the week. 

Other than that they don’t speak.

Ron just enjoys Hermione’s sleeping form across his lap as he strokes her hair. Letting the feeling be a reminder that she’s here with him. 

The whole way home his thoughts are plagued by the things Hermione probably underwent in that place. Unforgivables. Starvation. Physical torment. Torture. Maybe even worse things. 

It makes him sick. 

He supposes the thought of not knowing almost makes it worse, like he has no choice but to theorize the worse. This is certainly something he and Narcissa will need to discuss. 

Then he thinks of her wish to have a funeral. 

The promise he made her of going to visit Hampstead. 

He knows he should do it before Hermione wakes up, hoping it’ll take one thing off her plate. Like Jamison said, she needs to rest. To heal. 

Soon enough he sees the crooked shape of The Burrow come into view as his father pulls up onto the grass. 

Ron opts for carrying her into the house, not bothering with the chair. It worries him a bit that she doesn’t even stir. 

“Go put her upstairs, then come down. I’m sure your Mum will want to know about the appointment.” Arthur says, clapping him on the shoulder. 

Ron nods and takes the steps two at a time. 

He lays Hermione in his bed gently, tucking the quilt around her. 

“I’ll be back soon, darling.” He promises before going back down the steps. 

When he arrives back in the living room he finds his parents talking in hushed whispers and his Mum, for whatever reason, looks right pissed. She has her arms crossed against her chest and a scowl on her face. 

“Mum, Dad I need to talk to you about something.” He says gently, hoping that her anger wasn’t directed at him. 

“Conveniently, I need to discuss something with you as well. Shall we go to the kitchen.” She’s not asking as she’s already pushing her way there. 

Ron isn't sure why she’s so angry. He was surprised and almost a little embarrassed that she didn’t even ask about Hermione’s appointment. Nevertheless, he follows, trying to recall whatever the hell he did to piss her off. 

Just last night she was praising him, telling him how proud she was of him. 

His eyes bulge at the sight he’s met by, as do his fathers. 

“You wanted to talk to Ronald? Let’s talk.” She bites out. 

Ron’s eyes flick over to where Harry is standing, looking uncomfortable and apologetic. 

Missing, the headline reads. 

Prominent witch Narcissa Malfoy, a part of the Noble House of Black has allegedly been missing from the Malfoy estate, sources say. There is speculation as to what happened. Some believe it to be the work of avid Muggleborn supporters starting a war on Purebloods, while some close to the family believe Narcissa herself may have run away. 

Either way, Mrs. Malfoy has not been seen or heard from for a week. A ministry representative says that many have been working tirelessly to find her. Corban Yaxley, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement stated the following “We will stop at nothing to bring her home to her husband and son. Narcissa is a friend of mine and a very respected woman amongst the wizarding world. For someone to jeopardize her status and safety would be foolish. If we discover this was a deliberate act, then people will surely get the war they’ve been talking about for years.”

If you have any information please owl the ministries emergency post. 

In the middle of the page is a portrait of Narcissa Malfoy. One that seems to have been shot the same day as the picture that helped him find Hermione. 

She looks stoic and cold. Nothing like how she is now, soothing the girl he loves. 

“Shite.” Ron whispers. 

This isn’t good for any of them, most of all Hermione. 

Narcissa and Hermione glance at him curiously. 

“Fuck!” He yells kicking his dresser as he drops the paper. 

Cissy picks it up and scans the contents as Hermione joins from over her shoulder. 

After a moment he hears the woman scoff, “Seriously? ‘Narcissa is a friend of mine’, please!” She sounds scandalized, “Yaxley is nothing but a no good, arse k-” 

“As much as I’d love to discuss our hatred toward Voldemort supporters, we have a bit of a bigger problem on our hands, yeah?” Harry interrupts crossly.

Narcissa shuts her mouth tight, but scowls briefly at Potter’s tone. Ron ignores the pair and focuses his attention on Hermione. 

She looks pale and her eyes are wide, gaze perfectly fixed on the front page of the paper. Ron’s large hand on her shoulder breaks her from the trance, making her jump. 

“You alright love?” He whispers tenderly. 

Her brown eyes are glossed over with tears. 

Hermione is brilliant, Ron has always known as much and he didn’t think the past few months changed that, but in a way, that was sort of the problem. 

If he, daft, brainless Ron Weasley easily deduced the subtext of such an article, he’s sure Hermione’s already come up with loads of theories on all the ways this news could go south for them, for her. 

“Be-” She stops speaking, the name is bitter on her lips, “S-sister” Hermione said quietly to Narcissa, tears finally leaking from her eyes. 

Instantly, she engulfs Hermione in her arms, a look of surprise on Harry’s face as she does so. 

“I know dear.” She hushes her cries, “It’ll be alright, I promise.” 

Harry eyes Ron suspiciously, before speaking, “I know this isn’t great news considering we’re harboring a missing person who happens to married to Voldemort’s more loyal supporter-” 

“Harry.” Ron grumbles at his brashness. 

“-But I don’t quite understand what this has got to do with Bellatrix.” 

The name alone makes the brunette’s skin crawl. 

 “While some close to the family believe Narcissa herself may have run away.” Narcissa quotes. 

“I still don’t-” 

“My sister likes you, doesn’t she pet?” Hermione said before her mind could even comprehend the thought of Bellatrix’s words. 

Harry stumbles back at the sudden change of her tone, at the clear spoken venomous words that leave his best friend's lips. Ron suddenly felt sick again, like he did the first time this happened. The only thing stopping him from running to the toilet is the look of utter fear and disgust across Hermione’s own face. 

Who am I? What have I become? I didn’t even want to say that. I can’t control my own mind. It feels like someone- no, Bellatrix, scrambled every thought inside my head and is somehow still bending it to her own will. Maybe I am crazy, maybe I’m becoming a monster… 

She covers her mouth instantly and begins sobbing into her hand, heaving for air. 

Harry is still in stock, but Ron moves to comfort her, when a hand on his arm stops his movement. 

“Go. Let me handle this.” Cissy whispered. 

“I-” Ron stutters, unsure what to say. 

“Take Harry outside, talk somewhere no one will hear. I know you’ve figured out by now that Bellatrix is bound to figure out what happened. Let me help Hermione. I’ve-” She swallows, “I’ve dealt with this before.” Ron can see the heartbreak in her own blue eyes. 

“Please take care of her.” Ron struggles to get out after a moment. 

“Of course.” Narcissa nods, “you have dreamless sleep?” 

“First drawer on the side table.” He whispers, eyeing Hermione’s shaking form, using all his strength to not walk over there.

The blonde nods and begins to go to work. 

“She has to see the healer in an hour, make sure-”

Harry pulls a reluctant Ron out the door, interrupting his attempts at stalling.  

Molly of course questioned them, to which Harry said Hermione was resting so they were getting some fresh air. The matron didn’t ask anything further, but she did eye Ron longer than necessary as he stood silently. 

Once they make it to the garden, it’s the Chosen One who breaks the silence. 

“That’s happened before?” He whispers sadly as guilt seeps into every fiber of him. 

“Once.” Ron replies, voice strained, “in the hospital. Dunno how many times before that only she would.” His gaze is focused on the ground as he speaks. 

“Are you sure we can trust her?” The dark haired boy asks next, his green eyes trained on Ron’s attic window.

 “Hermione does.” Is all he says back. 

And that’s enough. 

For both of them. 

They fall into a tense silence again. Harry doesn’t push it because he can tell the ginger is trying to find the words to say something. 

“Bellatrix. She knows.” Ron eventually whispers. 

“Where Hermione is?” Harry asks fearfully. 

He shakes his head, “No, but it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out she’s come here. Dumbledore did strengthen the wards, though.” 

“Oh.” 

“She figured out Narcissa is the one who got Hermione out of the Manor. If she finds Narcissa, she’ll find Hermione next. Doesn’t help either that the two of them are in the same place at the moment.” 

“Malfoy’s Mum helped Hermione escape?” Harry questioned doubtfully. 

Ron nodded and rubbed the back of his neck, “That’s why Hermione’s been calling for her. Narcissa kept her sane.” He paused, his blue eyes boring into Harry’s, “I reckon if it wasn’t for her Mione wouldn’t even be herself or she’d be de-” He choked on the word. 

His best mate brought him into a fierce hug as he clapped his back. “That didn’t happen though.” Harry pulled away, catching his eyes, “alright?” 

After a sniffle, Ron nodded, “alright.” he breathed shaikly. 

“We’ll work it out, we always do.” Potter said next. 

“Somehow.” Ron whispered. 

“Ron,” Harry began seriously, “I reckon we need to tell The Order about Narcissa, they can move her to Grimmauld Place or something. They have safe houses, aurour’s, it  may good, she could help us.”

“I know.” he breathes in response, “It’s just Hermione, she needs her right now, I don’t wanna-” 

“We’ll tell Hermione first, see what she thinks, go from there.”

Weasley doesn’t answer, but offers a feeble nod. 

They stand in silence for a few minutes. Nothing but the cool breeze ruffling the trees can be heard as they eye the still landscape of snow covered hills.

“There’s talk at Hogwarts you know.” Harry whispers when he can’t take the silence anymore, his thoughts building up. 

“Talk?” Ron questions anxiously. 

“Yeah I reckon that Lavender isn’t exactly over everything that went down. The rumors are even worse than they were before.” 

He groans. Ron had way more important things to worry about then whatever shite Lavender Brown was spewing to the rest of Gryffindor. He couldn’t focus on that, not when the headline in The Daily Prophet this morning could jeopardize both his and Hermione's safety. 

“What’s she saying now?” Ron asked hesitantly. 

Harry scrubbed a hand down his face, “Rubbish really.” He tried nonchalantly, suddenly regretting bringing this up. However, the glare from the ginger probed him to go on. “It’s all bollocks. Lavender’s saying that you cheated on her and got Hermione pregnant so they kicked her out of Hogwarts. Some shite about how you went to set everything straight, that you didn’t want your pureblood values tarnished by muggle blood.”

And look, any other thoughts Ron had about Hermione being pregnant with his baby were admittedly delightful. Sure, it isn’t something most seventeen year old blokes dream about when they're still in school, not to mention the fact he hasn’t even kissed said woman of his dreams, but it helped him keep some hope on the harder nights. 

That and thinking about the making of a hypothetical baby wasn’t one he’d shy away from… 

However, Lavender Brown spreading these vicious rumors about Hermione, nevermind him, but his Hermione, well that wouldn’t do. 

“Muggleborn blood.” Is all he could say to keep from exploding. 

“What?” Harry asked bewildered. 

“You said muggle blood, it would be Muggleborn blood, she is a witch.” He bit out, though Harry knew the anger wasn’t meant for him. 

“Yeah, I know.” Harry whispered quietly, “That’s part of it, that Hermione was actually getting her magic you know from uh, sleeping with you, so Lavender reckons she’s not actually a witch, or at least not a powerful one.” 

“That’s shite!” Ron boomed, causing a few birds in the nearby trees to fly away in a hurry, even the other boy flinched at the volume. 

“Ginny hexed her pretty badly, has detention for the next two weeks. Says it was worth it though.” 

Ron feels a swell of pride in his chest for his little sister. 

“And what do the others say? What do you say?” He asked next, knowing how one rumor could be spun out of control. 

“Ginny, Neville, and I just tell them Hermione’s had a family emergency, Ginny says you’re helping her out. It’s not the best solution considering it does sort of match Lavender’s story but most of Gryffindor knows she was desperate. The other houses don’t care, not really, even Slytherin’s been rather quiet with Malfoy not in the mood for his usual taunts.” 

Then something dawns on Ron. It’s so sudden, it feels like someone’s flushing his veins with ice cold water and he’s just woken up. It shouldn’t be as shocking as it is, but for some reason it just doesn’t sit right with him. 

Malfoy is still at Hogwarts. 

He’s still attending lessons, going to quidditch matches and eating in the great hall. 

His house, the very one he grew up in, is now the place Hermione dreads most in the world. 

He knew she was there. 

And yet, he’s still at Hogwarts. 

“Ron?” Harry interrupts his thoughts, sensing his unease. 

And no matter how badly he wanted to bring these concerns to light, he knew right now wasn;t the moment. They’d handle Narcissa, then Draco. 

One Malfoy at a time. 

“Yeah sorry, just thinking about how I carried on with Lavender so long. Embarrassing really.” It was half true, it wasn’t on the forefront of his mind, but definitely something he felt. 

Harry wanted to agree with the utmost enthusiasm, but decided to spare Ron seeing his mood was already pretty down, so he settled for a mere nod. 

“Well I reckon I should go get Hermione ready for her appointment. Dad is taking the car since she can’t floo or anything right now. Would you mind staying behind just to be sure my Mum doesn’t poke around? Tell her you have homework or something.” The ginger asks, already knowing Harry would agree. He’d do anything for Hermione. 

“No problem mate.” He answers without hesitation. 

“Thanks Harry.” He replies with a small grin, grateful for his friend now more than ever during times like these. 

Obviously both of them would do anything to take back what happened on Christmas night, but they both knew that this whole thing brought them closer together. 

Seeing as there was nothing else to say, Ron turned to head back into the house and did just as he said, prepare Hermione for the trip to Mungo’s. 

“Ron.” Harry says, making him stop. His voice is soft, almost hesitant. 

Weasley turns, eyes faced on Harry’s back who's staring at the rolling hills in the distance. 

“When are you gonna tell her?” He asks, turning so his green eyes pierce, full of so much hope, peer into Rons. 

Where was this even coming from? What did he mean? 

“Well I thought we’d clear up the Narcissa business when we got-” 

“No I mean-” he sighs, “when are you gonna tell Hermione you love her? That you’re in love with her.” He whispers. 

Ron closes his eyes, “It wouldn’t be right.” He admits sadly. 

Harry’s brow scrunches. 

“Hermione’s nearly lost everything and though she’d never admit it, she needs the two of us right now. I’m not gonna take myself out of that equation because if I tell her and she doesn’t feel the same… well… I doubt she’d be comfortable around me.” Ron’s voice is hoarse and thick with tears he’s trying not to let fall. 

“You’re right about one thing, Hermione would never admit it but she does need us.” 

For a brief moment the two smile. Hermione, just as she was before, would never try and put her well being before the two of them. She would insist she’s fine and resist help. Not exactly a healthy way to cope, but it was so Hermione and it shows she’s still her. 

“But while Hermione may just need me, the difference is she wants you Ron.” 

The words go straight to his heart, making it beat at a rapid pace. 

Harry, the very same Harry who wouldn’t know if someone was interested in him had they written it across their forehead was saying this. 

The same Harry Potter who grew up with both him and Hermione. Who knew the two of them better than anyone else in this world. 

His best mate, the sodding Chosen One, the Boy-Who-Lived, who is absolute rubbish at emotions and feelings thinks that Hermione Granger, Brightest Witch of Their Age, doesn’t only want Ron, but needs him. 

Coming from anyone else, he’d brush it off, take it as pity. 

Coming from someone who knows the both of them as well as he does, it’s different. 

Coming from someone who he knows would rather hex their bollocks off then talk about this, well, it means something. 

Instantly, the pair's eyes snapped to the occupant of the voice. 

Ron Weasley was towering over them, standing tall at a scary six foot four. His wand is drawn as deep raspy breaths escape him. Chest rising and falling at an intense rate. Hermione thinks she can see his knuckles whitening from the tight hold. 

At his words, Narcissa pulled away from Hermione and held her hands in surrender as the young girl shook her head vigorously. 

“Move away. Move.” He spat. 

“Look, I’m not here to-“

“I don’t care! Move!” He screamed. 

“R-Ron.” She cried. 

When his blue eyes found her, he swore she was looking at him almost longingly. He couldn’t help but scrunch his brow in confusion. 

“Please.” She mouthed. 

“I won’t let her touch you love. I won’t.” He promised with such ferocity no one would dare challenge it. 

“N-no!” She tried to exclaim. 

This made his hold on his wand falter a bit as he grew puzzled. 

It was Narcissa’s name she was groaning in her sleep. It was this woman, a Malfoy, who was causing her anguish. Probably the same haunting face that woke her in a fit of screams. 

“I don’t understand.” He said to Hermione, feeling stupid for it after the fact, knowing there was a threat standing in between him and her. And now said threat would see him as some bumbling idiot. 

Merlin he can’t fail again, he can’t. 

“I’m not here to hurt any of you. Least of all Hermione, never Hermione.” Narcissa spoke up, standing from the bed, hands still raised. 

“Shut up! Don’t say that, you hurt her! You’re a monster!” He doesn’t realize, but hot, wet tears are leaking out of his blue eyes. 

“Hurt her? You think I’d hurt her? I’m the one who got her out of there, how do you think my wand-” 

He let out a bitter laugh, “If you’re so helpful then why did it take four bloody months, eh?” He taunted. 

Narcissa was growing angry, more at herself then this boy, because in a lot of ways, he was right. It had taken her too long to get Hermione out. So much had happened to her in those four months and her pain could be cut in half had she acted faster. 

She stepped closer to speak, but in response, Ron lifted his wand to her nose. 

“Don’t you dare!” 

“Hermione, disarm him so we can have a civil conversation.” Cissy says calmly, though her voice shakes. 

“No w-wand.” She squeaks. 

“No wand?” Narcissa says, eyeing Ron, who now looks nervous. “Is it because-” 

A sudden knock on the door brings everyone in the attic to a standstill. 

“Ronnie?” Molly Weasley’s voice broke from behind the wood door. 

Narcissa hurriedly tip-toed to the left of the door, looking to Ron’s conflicted eyes and bringing a finger to her lips. Next, his gaze found Hermione who seemed to be mouthing ‘please’ over and over, her eyes glossy under the moonlight. 

“Ronald open up or I’m coming in.” She said from the other side. 

Sparing one last glance at Hermione, he tucked his wand into his waistband and with a deep breath flung open the door and stepped into the hallway. Carefully he shut it behind him. 

“Is everything okay dear? I thought I heard voices.” 

He gulped, “Y-yeah.” He swallowed hoping to wet his dry throat, “Hermione she-uh, she had another nightmare.” 

“Oh no.” Molly began to push past him until he jumped in front of the door knob. 

“No!” He said a bit too harshly, “I just mean, I think she’s overwhelmed, you know? I think I can handle this Mum.” He said gently. 

And surprisingly, his mother doesn’t disagree like he expected her to. Instead, a proud smile struck her lips as her eyes softened considerably. 

“I’m so proud of you Ronnie.” She whispers, hands reaching out to cradle his face. “You’ve taken tremendous care of Hermione, you’re just so grown up I suppose. The way you are with her- I’m just beyond proud of you dear.” Molly says misty eyed. 

“Thanks Mum.” He says with red cheeks. 

Behind the door, Narcissa Malfoy is smiling. 

Mrs. Weasley squeezes him tightly before pulling away and wiping at her eyes. “I’m downstairs if you need anything, okay? I love you Ronnie, Hermione too.” With that, she kisses his cheek and walks down the steps. 

He waits until he hears the faint sound of his parents door clicking close before pulling out his wand again and entering his bedroom. 

There he finds Narcissa standing in the middle of his orange room, her eyes looking like they're full of love with tears threatening to spill over. She looks like anything but a Malfoy, such a stark contrast from Bellatrix. Looking at her here he’s more reminded of Andromeda, a soft spoken soul full of love. All things he would never associate with the mother of the greatest git at Hogwarts and wife to a Death Eater. 

“Now I understand what Hermione was trying to tell me.” She whispered with a ghost of a smile on her lips. 

Momentarily his grip falters as he begins lowering his wand, but then he remembers. This is probably a part of her plan. Gain his trust then kick his legs out from under him while he’s weak and more importantly, go at Hermione while she’s weak. 

Still, he does want to know what she means… 

“Nevermind that! Tell me how you got here.” He demands. 

...

“The Burrow?” Andromeda questioned, “that’s… no! I can’t Molly and Arthur- no Cissy, I’m sorry.” She began pacing as she shook her head frantically. 

“Please Andi, I need to see Hermione.” She begged.

“Hermione? Hermione Granger?” She questioned, even more confused than she was before. 

“That’s right.” Narcissa nods confidently. 

“But why?” 

The younger of the two sighs. She nervously begins to wring her hands together as she paces the expanse of the room. 

Then something dawned on Andromeda, “Hold on, does Hermione Granger have your wand?”

The look on Cissy’s face says it all. 

“Narcissa what in the bloody hell is Hermione Granger doing with your wand? The girl is off at Hogwarts and the wards there- they’re impossible to get through!” She rants. 

“Is it safe for me to assume you haven’t been in touch with Nymphadora?”

“Dora? What’s she got to do with all of this?” Andromeda questioned, but the look on her sister's face told her that the answer was crucial to the story, so she carried on. “Her and Remus were supposed to spend New Year’s with Ted and I but she got sent off on an assignment. She said it was for the Auror’s and not The O-” She caught herself. 

Narcissa huffed with a roll of her eyes, “I know about The Order Andi, I’m not daft! Just carry on.” 

The brunette rolled her eyes in return. It was almost nice to bicker. It felt normal. It felt like it did so long ago. 

“Right so she said she had a case down in Cornwall. Some investigation, we owled of course, but she didn’t come back until February. Ted and I traveled to Amsterdam for our anniversary which is in late February, we were there for a few weeks. Dora is meant to come to dinner here within the week.”

“Alright.” Cissy nodded, “Alright that makes sense.” 

“Sense with what Cissy?” Andromeda asked impatiently. 

“Christmas night Hermione Granger was kidnapped from the Weasley’s home.”

The other woman grew pale, horror striking her features. 

“It was Bella. Bella took her back to my estate in Wiltshire.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, tone filled with nothing but shame. 

“Kidnapped? She’s just a child, Narcissa! Merlin- how long?” Andi asked, pinching the end of her nose. 

“Three, four months.” Andromeda had to strain her ears to even hear the response. 

“Months? This went on for months and you knew!” 

“I know okay? I tried- I swear, I tried to get her out.” Cissy promised with tears brimming her eyes. 

The brunette took a deep breath, calming considerably. “At least tell me she’s not there anymore. Tell me the girl is okay.” 

Narcissa wiped almost violently at her eyes and took a big sniff, “That’s why I’m here, I had nowhere else to go. They’re bound to figure it out eventually. Lucius is too caught up in himself to realize I was lying but Bella- if she doesn’t know yet, she will soon.” 

“Know what?” Her brown eyes were swimming for answers. 

“That I was the one who helped Hermione escape. That’s why she has my wand.”

Andromeda gasped. When Narcissa turned up at her door she was so overcome with a sense of familiarity and love she didn’t even spare a second to think what kind of trouble she may be in. Or the possibility that she was done with that life. With her awful husband and his awful beliefs. 

Could it be? 

“But why?” It’s all Andromeda could come up with. 

As she peered at her sister's weathered features, she saw tears running out of her blue eyes. 

“Because it was so wrong Andi.” Narcissa practically blubbered, succumbing to sobs. 

And like they were little girls again, Andromeda knew all Cissy needed right now was a hug from her big sister. 

She engulfed her slender frame and slowly began stroking her brunette-blonde hair. Telling her everything was alright and ensuring she did the right thing. 

After a few moments, Narcissa gathered her bearings. 

“You were right.” She choked, “I’ve known for years but part of me always held out some hope, Bella… she's gone.” Her voice cracked over the nickname. 

Andromeda just frowned, she accepted the fact during the first war, but she knew that part of Narcissa always thought that maybe somehow, someway, they could all become the family they once were. That they could all be sisters again. 

“She ordered them to do terrible- unspeakable things to a young girl.” Suddenly her features stiffened into that of anger, “And when she wasn’t laughing at those inhumane acts, she was firing curse after curse at Hermione. The cruciatus, she- she doesn’t even speak anymore.” 

Tears began leaking again out of both womens eyes. 

“I took care of her every night. I snuck her potions. I read to her. I fed her. I held her. I made sure her brain wouldn’t turn to mush. I even told Bella to stop.” She inhaled, “But none of it mattered. I took too long. They killed her parents! I should’ve got her out sooner, I’m just as bad as the rest of them, I’m-” Her words caught in her throat as she grew hysterical. 

Andromeda gripped her shoulders, “Stop.” She said a little forcefully, but Narcissa just continued to cry. “Cissy look at me.” She demanded. 

Thankfully, her sister stopped shaking momentarily to fulfill the request. 

“You never have and will never be a monster, okay? You did what was right in the end and that’s all that matters. Hermione isn’t there anymore.” 

Narcissa closed her eyes and began trembling under Andromeda’s hold. 

“Hey.” She called, causing her to open her eyes again, “you’re my sister. You always have been and you always will be. If I thought you were anything like Bella I wouldn’t have let you in. I know your heart is good.”

Slowly, Cissy nodded, calming a bit at the sentiment. 

“I love you.” Andi said. 

“I love you too.” Narcissa responded, “You’re my family and it's just-” she swallowed, “I’m so happy to be here with you but Hermione she- she’ll never have that again.” Cissy hoped the statement conveyed what she met as if she said more, she would’ve probably broken down again. 

“That’s why it’s so important I get you into The Burrow, huh?” Andromeda smiled. 

Cissy smiled back. 

Even after all this time, they still knew each other so well. 

...

“Tell me.” Ron Weasley demanded of her. 

Cissy shook her head. She was briefly lost in a daze remembering all the details of the past few days. 

“My sister, Andromeda, has access to the wards. She comes to have tea with your Mother a few times a week.” She like it was simple. 

Ron scrunched his brow, not connecting the dots. 

“We apparated outside of the wards so no one would hear. Andi and I performed some old blood spell we found in one of our mothers old books. Did it when we were younger, it connects you for a finite amount of time only works if you’re blood related. She stepped through the wards and I held onto her, we had no issues. I reckon she’s still crouching behind that old tree in your orchard.” She explained. 

“So your sister, she doesn’t well-uh-” 

“Hate me?” Narcissa asked knowingly, “No.” She answered. “It’s always been different for us than it was with Bella.”

The mention of the name involuntarily made Hermione shutter as a whimper escaped her. 

At the sound Ron turned to envelope her in a hug, just to find Narcissa already doing it. He was about to pull out his wand to do something, but to his surprise, Hermione was welcoming to the embrace, burrowing into her robes. 

He notices Narcissa holding her closer and he opens his mouth to tell the woman to take it easy, but Hermione winces instead, making her jump away. 

The young witch moves her hand to her ribs hoping to ease some pain. 

“What did you do? Ron accuses, sitting down next to Hermione, gently rubbing her back. At the action the brunette tries to offer a small smile, but the keyword here is tries. 

He wonders if he’ll ever see a proper smile from her again. 

“I have a book for Hermione in my robes. The corner must’ve dug into her ribs. If they’re still sore you should consider casting a-” 

“No!” Ron yelps, making her jump, “sorry love” He whispers after the fact. 

“So I was right then?”

The ginger eyes the woman, unsure what she means. 

“She can’t use magic.”

Before he can even react Hermione musters all of her strength to shrug his arm off of her.

“L-liar.” She said saldy. 

Technically he didn’t lie because it never exactly came up, but he knew that wasn’t an adequate response or excuse. Ron from five months ago might’ve said that, but he’s done a lot of growing up in that time. 

And the look of pain on her face breaks his heart, especially knowing he caused it. Especially after he swore to himself and to her all those nights in St. Mungo’s that he’d never hurt her again. 

“I don't know how to tell you Mione. Please believe me, please. I just- I didn’t want to hurt you anymore then I have already, okay? It fucking kills me seeing you like this darling. Please, I’m so sorry. Don’t let me lose you again.” He pleaded, forgetting Narcissa was even in the room.

A tear fell down her cheek, he swiped it gently with his thumb and relaxed the slightest when she allowed him to do so. 

“It’s not forever, I promise. You’re still a brilliant witch, it doesn’t make you any less magical, okay?” 

He watched as her eyes slowly roved to her bandaged arm, thinking about the vile term underneath. 

Mudblood. 

Anger momentarily bubbled within him thinking of the scar, but he pushed it down. He tilted her chin to look into his eyes, “Don’t think about that, please. You’re the Brightest Witch of Our Age. Nothing will ever change that, believe me alright? It’s just for a little while, I’m so sorry I lied Mione. I just- I hate to see you upset. I was being selfish and-” 

Hermione cut him off by placing a gentle hand over his mouth. 

It was so much to take in, but Ron has been  so lovely. Her moment of hurt was overshined by all the tender moments they’ve shared lately. And right now her brain is working in overdrive. 

Hatred for Bellatrix and all she’s taken from her. The thought of never performing a spell again. Would they kick her out of Hogwarts? 

Then she remembers Narcissa is here, Ron too, and right now she needs to focus on this before she explodes. Maybe Cissy has answers. She prays she does. 

When she moves her hand a ghost of a smile plays on Ron’s lips, thankful for the sign of forgiveness. 

“L-later.” she mumbled. 

He nodded in understanding, hand reaching for hers. 

Cissy watches the scene feeling her heartbreak for Hermione but also swell at the evident love between them. Then she remembers what event sparked the conversation in the first place. 

“I have something for you. Something you left behind.” 

Ron opens his mouth to protest, she needs no reminders of Malfoy Manor. Ever.

“Trust me.” Cissy whispers. 

From her black robes she pulls out a large book. 

The words Hogwarts, A History are printed on the binding. 

It looks a lot like the copy Bill and Charlie gave him. There’s even a tea stain on the- shite. 

With watery eyes, Narcissa places it in front of the pair. “I don’t believe you ever got to properly read this, huh dear?” She asked with a watery smile. 

Ron glances to gauge Hermione’s reaction. Her bottom lip is quivering and he sees a lone tear escape her brown sparkling eyes. 

But for the first time in a long time, he knows those tears weren’t ones of pain. 

As her shaking hand skims the leatherbound book she suddenly feels different. 

She’s not thinking of Bellatrix or Greyback or her parents. She’s thinking about how she’s here with Ron and Cissy and she feels an overwhelming sense of love coming from them. From this book, what it means, who gave it to her and who brought it back to her. 

When she opens to  the text, she spots the familiar scrawl in the front, running her fingers over the worn out ink and splotches from her salty tears. 

Hermione, 

I’m so sorry for everything that's happened. I’ve hurt you and for that I’ll never truly forgive myself. You know I’ve never been good with words, but I once told you I wouldn’t read this book for anything, but I did. For you. I hope you enjoy my rendition of Hogwarts, A History and I hope this can help show you how much you mean to me, how much I miss you, if only a little. I hope one day you can forgive me. Until then I’ll be waiting. Always. 

Happy Christmas 

Yours, Ron.

She spent the worst nights of her life bent over this book. It gave her hope to someday get back to Ron. To make things right.

But reading it this time was different. 

Instead of longing to see Ron again she turns and he’s there. 

His arms tighten around her and she swears she hears him sniffle and feels him press a light kiss to her hair. 

And she knows that this is what healing feels like.

“Thank you.” Her voice is cracked, but it's the strongest she’s sounded in months. 

Ron’s heart swells in his chest. He peers over at Narcissa Malfoy, who like him, is crying, and the two exchange soft smiles. 

In that moment Ron decides: maybe Narcissa Malfoy isn’t so bad after all. 

...

Hermione falls asleep on Ron’s chest, the book slanted in her lap. She’s calmer than she’s been in a while. No furrowed brows or pained groans. He keeps a gentle hand running through her hair, telling himself it’s keeping her sound asleep and it’s not just because her hair is so damn soft. 

“I wish I could have gotten her to sleep like that in the Manor. I wish I would’ve done more.” Narcissa’s voice breaks from where she sits on Harry’s camp bed. 

Ron just stares at her for a few moments before coming to a decision. One he’s reluctant about, but knows it's best for Hermione. 

“You can stay here.” 

The woman looks in shock. 

“Hermione would be upset if you left without a proper goodbye and I reckon there’s a lot you need to tell me, but not now. The sun will be up within the hour and I’m knackered.” He tells her, eyes averted to his Chudley Cannons poster. 

“I’m sure your parents wouldn’t be pleased with someone so closely involved with the Dark Lord under their roof.” She says quietly. 

“You’re done with that though?” He snaps, hand moving for his wand. 

“I am.” She assures with a nod, “I have been for a while.” 

Ron relaxes and lets out a breath. “Alright then. I’ll explain it to Mum and Dad eventually, but now isn’t right.”

Cissy nods again, “I’ll send a patronus to Andromeda, she’s still waiting in the orchard.” She explains taking out her wand, her true wand. 

A wispy swan glides elegantly from the tip of her wand and disappears as blueish white hues disappear out his window. 

“I’m going to bed.” Is all he says before blowing the candle on his bedside out and throwing the covers over both him and Hermione. 

He stays awake for a while though, worried Narcissa may try something. But eventually her breathing evens out and he’s too exhausted to stand guard any longer, so he succumbs to sleep knowing he’ll need his rest for all the answers to come tomorrow. 

Ones that are sure to break his heart. 

...

Green flames explode in the fireplace as a figure stumbles out. 

They brush the ash off and step into the Burrow’s living room. 

“Oh you’re early!” Molly exclaims as she comes near the fireplace, still in her slippers. “Hermione had a nasty nightmare so she’s up in the attic with Ron. It was a long night, so I reckon they’re still asleep. Go wake Ronnie at least, let Hermione rest.” She told them. 

With a nod, the figure took the familiar trek to Ron’s bedroom, not even bothering to knock before entering. 

Meant by the sight of Ron and Hermione curled around each other and an overwhelming sense of heartbreak and warmth flooded them. Heartbreak of knowing why they ended up that way, because of the nightmares, but warmth at seeing the look of content across their serene faces as they laid in one another's arms. 

But then he saw something. 

A third figure laid atop of the sheets of the camp bed tucked against the wall. 

Pulling out their wand they steadily positioned it, ready to curse whoever the mysterious occupant may be. 

But before they make it across the room, the figure bolts upright, seeming to have heard the heavy footsteps. 

Jumping for joy and thanking his lucky stars that she’ll no longer be confined to these stark white walls and sterile smelling room. 

But for some reason he can’t be, not completely anyway. 

Like this entire experience, he felt bittersweet. 

A good thing constantly eclipsed by pain, hurt, and a hundred other worries. 

‘She’s going home.’ 

That’s what his father had said. 

But where is home now? 

“She can’t go home Dad.” He reminded me. 

“But Ron, the healers-“

“No, I mean, her home, her house in Hampstead, she can’t go back there. She can’t go back to her parents. If I don’t even know where home is for her, then I doubt she does either. Her mind is probably working faster than usual dealing with all this shite. I just-“ his words catch in his throat, “I’m happy she’ll be out of here, but I don’t want to hurt her anymore by reminding her of things she doesn’t have anymore.” He whispers sadly. 

The older man's heart breaks for both his son and the orphaned girl in front of him. 

“Haven’t your mother and I taught you anything Ronnie?” He stepped forward and clapped a hand onto his son's shoulder. “Home isn’t a place, it’s a feeling.”

Ron became breathless at the words, because his dad was right, of course he was. 

“Sometimes it’s hurt, or it’s comfort. It’s growing and learning. It’s tears and laughter. But above anything else, it’s love.”

He stays silent, taking it all in. 

“Think of Harry. Home to him isn’t Privet Drive, it’s the Burrow or Hogwarts, because that’s where the people who love him most are. Me, your mother, your brothers, Ginny, Hermione.” 

Ron nods after a moment, “you’re right dad.” 

A small smile ghosts over his lips, “and if there’s one thing good I’ve come to realize through all this pain, it’s that I know there’s no shortage of love you can give to her.” He pauses, eyes boring into Ron’s. “So give it.”

Ron’s hand absently squeezes Hermione’s. 

“Give it everything you have.”

...

It’s when Ron sees a tear slide down a sleeping Hermione’s face that he’s decided he’s had enough. 

He silently slips away and calls for a healer. 

“Hello son, I heard someone called for Jamison, but he’s attending to other matters. I'm Healer Evangeline. I’ve been working closely on Miss Granger’s case.” The brunette woman says, extending a hand to Ron. 

He takes it quickly, “Ron Weasley.” He says. 

“Okay Ron, what seems to be your concern?”

“Jamison told me they’re starting to lower some potion doses, getting ready to discharge her, but she isn’t sleeping well, you see?” He points to her scrunched up face, “she’s been whimpering and crying and I-I don’t know what to do. I just- please- I can’t-“ 

Evangeline can sense him becoming hysterical, “relax son.” She soothes, patting his shoulder momentarily. “We’ve lowered her dreamless sleep a bit, but I reckon the look of pain is from something else.” 

“What’s that?” He asks anxiously. 

“A lot of pain relieving methods require spell work you see, something Miss Granger cannot undergo. Therefore, we’ve been giving her some Muggle medication, painkillers they’re called.” 

“Painkillers?” He whispers questionably. 

“Yes, I assure you, they’re not dangerous, only if she’s one them too long. That’s why it’s important we continuously lower the doses until she can get off them safely. It’s unfortunately a very painful process.”

“Okay.” He breathes, but still isn’t satisfied, “okay, so what can I do? What can we do?” He asks next. 

“I’m sorry Ron but it’s out of our hands, she'll have to fight. You’ll have to be there for her. But from what I’ve heard, there’s no shortage of fight within her.” 

“That’s right.” Ron whispers, caressing Hermione’s calf gently. 

“I’ve also heard, there’s been no shortage of you attending to her. She appreciates it. We all do.” Evangeline smiles softly. 

He offers a slightly pained smile in return. Focus never drifted from Hermione. 

“Wake her son. Tell her she’ll be leaving soon. Ask her how she feels. She’ll want to talk to you rather than some healer. I’ll be back in an hour.” The healer tells him as she walks to the door. 

“Thank you.” Ron says, “what did you say you specialized in again?” But when he turned the woman was gone. 

He supposes it was a question for another time, because right now he had to wake Hermione. Tell her she was leaving. Make sure she knows everything will be okay, even if it takes some time. 

He knows that now, it’ll take time. He’ll have to wait. 

No matter how sick and tired of waiting he is. 

“Darling.” He whispers gently, hand on her cheek, shaking her lightly. 

A groan escapes past her lips, giving Ron the go ahead to continue trying to wake her. 

“Mione.” He says a bit louder, thumb making its way down her jaw. 

She whimpers again, making concern etch it’s way onto Ron’s face. Behind her closed lids he can see her eyes moving behind them as a tear escapes. 

There’s no doubt she’s having a nightmare and he just can’t bear to see her in any more pain. 

So, he leans in close, lips almost brushing her ear and promises her everything’s okay. 

“Wake up Mione, it’ll be alright when you do. You’re not there anymore, come back, here, with me.” He tells her. 

Thankfully, she shoots open seconds later as she sits up, stiff as a board in bed. 

The gasp that leaves her pierces his heart, Ron can’t be sure if it’s from the jolting movements or the dream itself. Maybe both. 

Instantly, he reaches for the water at her bedside and coaxes her into taking a few sips. She does, then collapses back onto him. Her back pressed against his chest. 

As Ron holds her, so lovingly, so tenderly, Hermione does her best to forget the things plaguing her mind. 

She feels she’s on an endless loop of a never ending battle. A losing one at that. 

Awake, she’s overcome by a sense of loss, emptiness, and pain. When she’s asleep, her mind is overcome with horrible memories. Those of mad witches and painful spells. 

There’s no escape. 

When she’s with Ron she feels different though. It doesn’t go away, not completely, and she doesn’t think it ever will. But she feels almost lighter in a way. 

“I need to tell you something.” She hears a gravely whisper in her ear as he squeezes her tighter to his chest. 

She nods, letting him know she’s with him. 

He stays silent for a moment, but soon speaks, almost reluctantly. “They’re letting you leave Hermione. You’re being discharged you can-“ he stops, “you can get out of here.” He says shakily. 

And she’s not daft. 

Even with the dark clouds rolling through her thoughts, she’s still insightful, always searching for answers. 

She notices how Ron purposely doesn’t use the word home because where was home to her anymore? 

Did she even have one? 

Did she even deserve one?

She wonders if her parents know. If when they moved on to the great beyond they somehow found out who their daughter really was. 

A liar. 

She lied about Ron’s rat. She lied about Cedric. She told her parents that she needed to miss their ski trip in fifth year because of exams, not because Mr. Weasley nearly died at the hands of a muggle-born slayer. She had written to them that Harry’s godfather was well. She even lied to her mother, saying the reason she was wincing so much the summer before sixth year was because of a broom accident and not because she avoided a fatal curse. 

Wherever they are, they probably hate her, and don't even know who she is. 

But to be fair, Hermione isn’t exactly sure who she is either anymore. 

“W-where?” She mutters. 

She isn’t sure where she belongs. 

“The Burrow. I’ll be there, alright? I’m not leaving you.” Ron tells her softly. 

She nods into his shoulder as his grip tightens around her. The action makes her wince before she can help it. Ron abruptly pulls away, like he’s been burned. 

“P-pain.” She says, biting her lip to suppress a cry. 

She wishes she could say more. 

Try and tell Ron that it feels like someone is stabbing her with a million tiny needles poking their way from underneath her skin. Or sometimes it feels heavy, like Grawp is sitting on her body, crushing and suffocating her. On occasion it’s so bad she feels like she can’t see, can’t even think. Like the physical pain has nowhere to go but claw its way into her brain. 

Times like those she likes to believe her parents are alive. That she and Ron have been in a relationship since fourth year. That Voldemort never returned, that Sirius and Harry’s parents were alive. 

That’s what her comfort is now. Ron. Harry. Delusions. 

And if Hermione Granger was one thing before all this, she was very practical. Never one to waste time daydreaming, fantasizing, but now, it’s her only escape. 

...

They take a car to The Burrow. 

Hermione knows enough to know she isn’t in the right condition to apparate or floo at the moment, but one thing she can’t help but wonder about is the bruises on her arms. 

They could easily be expelled with a simple spell. One she could perform herself if she had her wand. 

She’ll need to ask Ron about that later. 

Upon her arrival, Molly had a space set up for Hermione in the corner of the living room.

There’s a floral curtain drawn, giving her privacy. There’s a cot tucked in between a bookshelf and chair. There’s water on the bedside table and a few tablets. 

They’ve stuck Hermione in a wheelchair. Saying crutches aren’t doable with her arm broken as well. Again, it dawns on her why they don’t just use skele gro, but she does know the potion isn’t all that effective anyway. 

“I thought it best you stay down here. Arthur and I are just down the hall and it’s close to the kitchen and the loo.” Molly told her. 

But while Mr. and Mrs. Weasley would be on the same floor, Ron was in the attic. 

So far away. 

However, she doesn’t want to appear weak or clingy so when Molly asks if that’s alright, she nods, and sits on the cot. 

Hermione doesn’t even realize it’s nightfall until she peers out the window and sees hundreds of glittering stars shining back at her. It’s a comforting sight. 

At the Manor she was caged in like an animal. No windows. No fresh air. No light, save for the candle Cissy had set. 

Ron lingers by the window sill, seeming to not know what to say or do, but not wanting to leave either. 

And she doesn’t want him to go. The way the moonlight is hitting his face, making his blue eyes sparkle and copper hair shine, well, she wouldn’t be surprised if it was a dream. 

“You must be exhausted dear. Take these,” Molly drops a few tablets onto the table next to her, “and get some rest. You deserve it.”

Hermione opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out, of course. 

“Hush, there will be plenty of time for that tomorrow. I know you must have a hundred questions.” 

And she does. 

Did they get Bellatrix? Greyback? Her home? How long was she gone for? Where’s Harry? Lessons? Was Cissy alright? Did Draco ever tell Ron or Harry about her? Why is she in so much pain? Did they forget the pain potion? Why was she on muggle medication? Where’s her wand? Is it stupid that she’s thinking about Lavender? 

Mrs. Weasley nudges her back and begins to tuck her in like she’s a small child. Next, she holds out the glass of water and coaxes her into taking the pills. After, she kisses her brow and bids her ‘goodnight’. 

Ron lingers by the window. 

“Come along Ronnie, Hermione needs her rest.” And the tone of Mrs. Weasley’s voice, the lifting of her eyebrow, Ron knows it isn't a suggestion. It’s a demand. 

He looks longingly at the brunette, not wanting to leave her, but he knows there’s no way his Mum would let him stay down here with her. It’s silly to think that sitting vigil at her bedside in St.Mungo’s was a better alternative than this. 

“Ron.” She scolds again, drawing the curtain. 

“Goodnight Mione. You know where we’ll be if you need us.” He says gently, squeezing her hand on his way around her bed. 

There’s more he wants to say. Wants to tell her he wants to stay, tell her he’ll be down soon once his parents have gone to bed, but his Mum’s right there. 

He just hopes the longing look he throws to Hermione before he leaves is enough. 

But if there’s one thing Ron knows, he doesn’t think anything he does will ever be enough for Hermione to know how much he loves her. 

...

The Burrow is quiet. 

Too quiet. 

Hermione doesn’t remember falling asleep, but right now she's awoken by complete and utter silence. 

She supposes it’s better than being startled out of sleep by nightmares. 

“Hermione.” She hears a familiar voice call. 

“Mione.” 

It’s unmistakably Ron, but when she looks around, he’s nowhere to be found. 

Standing from Ginny’s bed she peers out the window and notices a silhouette outside, underneath the old Oak Tree. Looking to her right, she sees Ginny sound asleep under her mass of blankets and decides to slip out of the room. 

She takes the stairs one by one, mindful of the creak on the fifth one from the bottom. Successfully skipping it, she soon slinks out the kitchen door, closing it softly behind her. 

“Ron?” She calls out, she can’t see him in the dark. 

“Over here!” She hears his faded voice call out. 

Hermione works her to his general direction, ignoring the chill that runs up her spine. 

Finally, she reaches the old Oak Tree, but there’s no Ron in sight. 

“Ron?” She whispers. 

“Other side.” His voice calls, sounding like it’s right behind her. 

Working her way around the trunk, she finally makes out a silhouette. 

“Now what have you possibly called me all the way out here for?” Hermione asks, but she amused more than annoyed. 

“To play of course.” 

The voice isn’t Ron’s. 

“You still like to play, don’t you Muddy?” 

Suddenly, Bellatrix Lestrange morphs from Ron into herself, like she was polyjuice as him. 

“Your parents had so much fun! I think it’s time they tell you about it. Crucio!”

A terrible pain rips through her insides as she expels an ear piercing scream. 

Ron reaches her before his parents do. He practically flies down the attic steps. 

It’s been what, forty minutes? And the nightmare’s have already started? He thinks. 

In the small time he sprints to the living room he does take a moment to curse himself out for not sneaking out sooner. He was planning on giving it an hour. 

“No! Please no!” Hermione is sobbing as she trashes wildly in her bed, screaming escaping her mouth between words. 

“Hermione!” He yells, pushing past his parents and sliding behind her on the bed. 

He grasps her from behind, crashing her into his chest as he stills her movements. Her cries don’t silence, but her screams turn into whimpers. He begins stroking her hair as he leans in close to her ear, much like he would at the hospital. 

“You’re okay. You’re safe. We’re at the Burrow, no one is going to hurt you, love.” He whispers. “Come on Mione.” He pleads. 

And maybe she can hear him, because she stills as her eyes flutter open. They’re red and bloodshot, but he still thinks she’s beautiful. 

When her brown eyes connect with him she begins to sob, succumbing to the mental exhaustion and falling back onto him. He holds her tighter and silently shoo’s his Mum and Dad away, who thankfully oblige. 

After she cried for five minutes with no stopping, he decided he had enough. 

“We tried Mum’s way, now we try mine.” He said to himself as he lifted her up. 

And she must’ve been out of it because she simply burrows into his chest with no questions and he carries her up the stairs. 

He places her on his orange blankets as he pushes Harry’s camp bed from Christmas so it’s touching his own.

He tucks her in nicely as he settles next to her and grabs her hand. 

“Please try and sleep, I’m here now.” He whispers so softly it makes her insides melt. 

She closes her eyes, suddenly feeling an overwhelming sense of security and comfort. Something she hasn’t felt in ages. 

As sleep overcomes her again she can’t help but whisper one thing. 

“Th-thank you.” 

‘Listen here Muddy…’

‘Listen to the Dark Lord filth!’ 

‘Listen to Bellatrix and stop fighting me! We always know I get what I want.’

‘Listen to me Hermione, I’m going to get you out of here.’ 

‘Listen to me love, you’re going to be okay.’ 

She’s broken from her thoughts when her ears are able to catch something familiar. 

The creaking of a door. 

Unconsciously she mumbles Cissy’s name, like a reflex she can’t help. 

Next, she swears she hears the whispers of familiar voices. 

“-the door.” Someone who sounds like Arthur Weasley says quietly. 

Then Hermione can’t shake the feeling that eyes are burning into her and she just needs to make sure one of those penetrating gazes isn’t someone who stands with the Dark Lord. 

Mustering the little strength she has left, she lets her lids flutter open. 

And before she can take in anything else her eyes hone in on the slim piece of wood between someone’s fingernails. 

The unmistakable sight of the very wand that got her out of there. 

The very one that belongs to, “Cissy.” She barely grumbles before she can realize it. 

“Put it away Tonks.” She hears Ron bark at the auror, making Hermione flinch at the sudden noise, one that brings her back to memories of screams directed at her, curses, demands-

“Ronnie.” Mr. Weasley scolds, sensing her discomfort. 

The man's voice breaks her unwanted interruption as she vigorously shakes her head. 

She wants- no needs the wand. It’s a reminder that she’s gone, that she got out. It gives her purpose too. 

The incessant need to return it to its rightful owner and to thank her for all she’s done. 

Shakily, Hermione holds out a hand, fighting the terrible pain in order to grab the wand from Tonks. 

The purple haired woman looks confused on what to do. Ron is about to snatch it away when Arthur stops him, letting Hermione grab it. 

“Dad-” Ron’s voice fades. 

Hermione can’t focus on that. Just the cool sensation of the sleek wood in her palm. 

She imagines another version of herself, a stronger version, that twirled the wand and got her to safety. 

God where was that girl now?

“Ap…” The word died in her throat. 

Her brown eyes fell on Ron’s silently pleading for him to understand. 

He senses the urgency and pushes past the other two to cover her hand with his own. Aiding her in holding the wand. 

“What is it Mione?” He whispers tenderly. 

So tenderly it almost makes her melt, Almost makes her forget all the bad. 

Almost. 

“App-” It dies again, the word almost painful on her tongue. 

And she isn’t one for foul language, but fuck Bellatrix Lestrange. If only Ron could hear her now. 

Looking into his concerned- but dare she say, loving eyes, she wants to do this for him. 

Slowly and painfully she pries his hand off and begins to mimic a twirling motion, ignoring the daggers the action sends through her wrist. 

“Ap…” She tries to no avail. 

And like Hermione just told Ron he’s won all the gold in Gringotts, his eyes light up as he beams at her. 

“You apparated out of there?” He asks hopefully. 

Almost excitedly, the most excited Hermione’s felt in a long time, she nods. 

At this, Ron let’s out a boisterous laugh as nothing but pride consumes his features. 

Gently, he pulls her into a hug, mindful of her injuries. 

“Brilliant. You’re so brilliant darling.” He whispers so only she can hear. 

All she can do in response is try and squeeze him tighter. 

This feeling is one that used to be nothing but a dream. 

However, the feeling is soon cut short when her decent arm presses a little too hard against his back, making her feel like tiny daggers were being poked into it. 

Then like a tidal wave, memories came rushing back to her. 

The very pain from when Bellatrix carved her was happening again, all over again.

With a sharp cry she fought the pain in her other hand and clunked the heavy cast over her forearm and frantically began rubbing at it. 

She wanted it gone.

All of it. 

The words. The feeling. The memory. 

She didn’t want to ever have to look or think about it again. She didn’t want Ron to see it either. 

The last thing she needed was a reminder to herself and everyone else of exactly what she is. 

A mudblood. 

‘That ought to teach you your place, now you shall never forget! Wait till the Dark Lord sees you!’ Bellatrix had praised her handywork, even going far enough to brand the wound with a proud kiss. 

God her stomach was flipping at the very thought. 

Hermione would’ve been sick had she eaten something. Instead, her attempts turned to painful heaves as she began scratching at her arm with the plaster thing, ignoring the pain, uncomfortable sensation, and red blood staining her cast. 

And while Hermione was ignoring these things, Ron couldn’t. 

“What is she- What’s going on?” Tonks had said to Arthur from behind. 

“We must get the healer.” The old man said, as calm as he could manage before they split up to find Jamison. Arthur didn’t need to tell Ron to take care of Hermione in the meantime, without a doubt his son would. 

“Mione, hey, hey.” He tried calling to her softly at first, worried if she was in a state that physical contact may set her off to thinking he was someone he wasn’t. 

However, when his pleas didn’t work and Tonks nor his father turned up with help, he knew he had to do something.

Then, he saw tiny streaks of red along Hermione’s arm. 

Yeah, fuck waiting. 

He’d done enough of that. 

Lightly, but with enough force to stop it, he grabbed at the large cast wrapped around her arm. Setting it back into the sling before she could protest. 

After the limb was settled comfortably back into its support, she seemed to break her daze. 

Quickly Hermione tugged at the scratchy hospital sheets and buried her arm under them, so embarrassed and ashamed. 

“What are you doing, love?” He asked steadily, not wanting to let his own fear scare her anymore than she already seemed to be. 

In response all the brunette did was shake her head frantically. 

Ron leaned forward to inspect, causing Hermione to shift uncomfortably to semi block his path. And sure, he could have easily still torn away the sheets, but he wanted to respect her and not take advantage of her weak state. 

“What are you hiding? Please don’t hide from me.” He begged, finally catching her eyes as she stopped shaking her head. 

Behind the pools of brown Ron could sense the conflict. He knew her well enough to know that she was so badly aching to show him whatever it was, but for some reason she couldn’t. 

When his gaze flicked back to her covered arm, he noticed the sheets pooling with a crimson red. 

Instinctively, he stood up and grabbed some gauze from the counter before rounding to her other side. He crouched next to the bed and put his hand gently next to hers, making Hermione jump. 

“N-no.” She cried. 

“Darling, I have to lift the sheet. I can’t let you be in pain like this, alright?” He approached gently. 

Hermione’s chin continued to quiver but he noticed her hold loosen considerably as she turned her head away from him, unable to meet his eyes. 

Thanking Merlin that his Hermione wasn’t feeling stubborn at that moment, he peeled the sheet back. 

As he moved the fabric, he felt hesitant, like maybe she was right and he shouldn’t see whatever this is, knowing it’ll cause him more pain. 

No, he told himself quickly. This isn’t about you, this is about her, you can take suffering, imagine how she feels, he told himself. 

There was red all over her arm, but he could see where it was coming from. Clear as day. 

His left hand, the one not attending to her, twitched near his back pocket. 

His body at its own accord was itching to dissapparte and murder Bellatrix. 

How dare she do this. What a sick fuck. Twisted, maniacal, horrid, scum of the-

Ron’s thoughts are cut off when he feels something on him. 

Two eyes, round as saucers boring into him, gaging his reaction.

“U-ugly.” She whimpered in shame, trying to pull her arm away, but found herself too weak. 

In response, his own eyes bulged. He shoved his fury aside best he could, not wanting Hermione to think his reaction was because of her. 

Sure, he would never want that on her skin, but it was because she didn’t deserve it. It didn’t make her any less beautiful or any less magical. He just hated the pain and story behind it. He hated that awful word. 

Hermione Granger was the Brightest Witch of her Age, she was beautiful, she was brilliant, brave, and he loved her. He never wanted her to be associated with anything else. 

“No, no, no.” He said, bringing up the hand from his back pocket to cup her cheek. 

Tears fell out of her eyes. 

“Come on Mione please, look at me, hey.” He tried. 

Slowly, her watery eyes found his. 

He pulled away momentarily, to roll up the sleeve of his jumper revealing the swirls the brain left him. 

“Look, me too, I’ve got some too, okay?” He knew it wasn’t the same. Not at all. But he was desperate to make her feel alone. 

‘Miss Granger is just as sane as you and I, she just has less to be sane about.’ 

Dumbledore’s words rang true at this moment. He couldn’t afford to let his Mione get lost again, never again. 

This seemed to work a little as her breathing slowed, “You’re still gorgeous, please believe me. I’ve got them, Bill, Harry-”

At the last name she whimpered. 

“Harry?” He repeats. 

She nods, “O-okay?” Hermione questioned worriedly. 

If her blood wasn’t staining his hands and if he wasn’t so determined on killing Bellatrix, he’d smile at how big her heart is. 

“He’s fine, I promise. How about when the healer comes I get him, alright? Would you like that?” He coaxes her. 

Slowly she nods, but her eyes are still trained away from him in embarrassment. 

“Please Hermione, I promise you that-” 

“I’m sorry, I came as fast as I could!” Jamison called from the door, “What seems to be the problem?” He asked, stepping closer. 

Hermione visibly shrunk at the sight of yet another person, a stranger at that. 

“Hey, you’re safe. I promise.” Ron whispered, leaning in close so his lips brushed her ear. 

It made her shiver. 

The most wonderful, lively sensation she’s felt in months. 

And she believed his every word. 

Ron was explaining to the healer something, but she didn’t listen, too focused on the pain now registering in her arm as the old man pressed onto it. 

“I’m gonna get Harry, I’ll be right back.” He told her softly as he subtly flicked his eyes to where his father was standing, letting her know she wasn’t alone. 

She wasn’t sure how long the healer stood there wrapping her wound. He must’ve sensed she wasn’t feeling conversational and thankfully did so in silence, nodding to her with a small smile and promise to be back as he left the room. 

Some more time ticked on. What was only really an additional two minutes had felt like hours to Hermione when she was alone with her thoughts. 

There was so much to think about. So much that went wrong. So much that could still go wrong. Maybe if I had just-

The sound of nearby footsteps broke her trail of thoughts, but she attributed it to the sound of the returning healer, as he never shut the door. 

But it was Ron who called to her, “Mione.” His tender voice called. 

Her eyes snapped up to see blue ones and then green. 

A green she knew so well. One she had missed dearly. 

“Hermione.” Harry practically whimpered as he took long strides to the bed, pulling her into his arms none too gently. 

Ron nearly interjected to tell his best mate to be careful, but he didn’t have the heart once he saw the trail of tears falling from beneath the lenses of Harry’s glasses. 

“I’m sorry Hermione. I’m so sorry.” He sobbed. 

Hermione ignored it. She just figured it was something to say. Something she was guilty of saying to Harry after all the tragedies he’s endured. As to say ‘I’m sorry this happened to you.”

But that wasn’t what he meant. 

“I’m sorry I ran after her that day. I’m sorry it wasn’t me.” 

Vigorously Hermione shook her aching head on his shoulder, letting him know his words were not to be tolerated. She even heard Ron say Harry’s name as if warning him. 

She pulled back and gently ran one of his fingers over the scar on his forehead. Feeling the rough patch of silvery pink skin. 

He sat still in confusion as Ron watched with pain in his eyes, knowing where the action was stemming from. 

Harry’s scar was a terrible reminder of a horrible night, left by the mark of a horrible man. However, it was also imprinted with the reminder of the love his mother shared for him. The protection it provided. 

Ron’s scars were a mark of bravery. One’s he could tell someone he donned during a battle trying to protect his friend. 

And the awful word branded on Hermione represented cowaridice. There was no elaborate story of throwing curses and being a hero. There was no trace of love to be found in the pitiful thing. Instead it was a disgusting act used against her as she finally succumbed to her captors. 

“Are you okay?” Harry’s asked raspily, immediately feeling stupid for asking such a thing after. 

Hermione deserved a break. Everyone in that room and outside in that hallway knew it. 

Except her. 

Needing to be strong to sooth Harry’s guilt and Ron’s evident worry she pulls back and places one shaky hand on the Chosen One’s shoulder, making sure his misty green eyes are trained on her. 

What she does next shocks them all, especially herself. 

By some strength from within she attempts to stretch a smile on her dry cracked lips, ignoring the pulling it does on her cuts and bruises. 

She feels it falter and shake in its place but she knows to keep it on long enough to hopefully convince Harry and maybe even herself. 

Ron however saw right through it. Her eyes weren’t lit up like he knew them to be. Her lips were quivering and her hand was shaking on Harry’s shoulder. Almost like it was painful to keep up with the facade. 

The black haired boy seemed too transfixed to notice, letting out a wet chuckler and pulling her back to him. 

“You’re brilliant Hermione. You’ll always be brilliant.” He whispers into the depths of her hair, practically overcome with relief at her feeble attempt to indicate she was okay. 

Harry loved Hermione. Not at all in the same way that Ron did, but he loved her nonetheless. She was the sister his mother never had the chance to give him, she was his best friend, his support system. She was his family.

So no, he didn’t believe her phony smile, but what he did know now was that Hermione was still in there. The Hermione he knew and loved would always put everyone before herself. And while the notion wasn’t comforting, it assured his aching heart that there was hope. 

With that thought he mindlessly moved his hand and gave her another squeeze being not thinking twice about her sore body and countless injuries. As his hand absently roams, she jumps as he hits a particularly tender wound. 

She groans loudly, making him jump away and Ron lurch closer to the pair. ,

“Hermione, I’m so sorry. I didn’t-” 

He stops when he notices what her eyes are focused on. A thick white bandage on her arm. 

His green eyes turn to Ron who watches the scene in anguish, a pained look across his face at her reaction. 

Soon Hermione lifts her casted hand and Ron fears she may pick at it again. 

“Mione.” He begins softly. 

Instead, she nudges one of Harry’s hands from where it’s pulled fearfully in his chest. Briefly exchanging a look with Ron, he complies and lets her lead his fingers to graze the edge of her bandaid. 

“L-look.” She chokes.

“What?” Harry splutters. 

She nods to him, reaffirming her words. 

As his shaking fingers begin to peel away the gauze, Hermione looks at Ron longingly, imploring him to come over. 

Thankfully he understands and walks over and sits himself next to her, diagonal from Harry, placing a gentle hand on where her neck and shoulder meet, rubbing it gently. 

When she feels the cold air hit her open wound, she gasps, and so does Harry. She never feels Ron’s blue eyes stray from hers, not wanting to be reminded of her pain anymore than he already has been today. Instead, just be there for her. 

A tear escapes Harry’s green eyes and drips its way down his nose. At the sight Hermione begins to shutter beneath his hold as multiple tears stream her face. 

Broken at the sight of her and at what they did, Harry thinks back to a moment they shared just minutes ago, now having an entirely new understanding of it. 

Lifting her scarred arm gently, he pulls at her fingers and places them over the jagged lightning bolt on his forehead. Next, he rolls up the sleeve of Ron’s jumper and places her casted hand over his arm, making sure her revealed finger tips graze the swirls running along the length of his best mates freckled skin. 

Seeming to understand what he was doing, Ron then moves his own hand to rest along Hermione’s free wrist as he scoots up so her head can rest along his shoulder. 

She complies and drops her head in the crook of his neck, eyes flicking between Harry and Ron as more tears find their way down her face. Her vision is so blurred that she barely notices the boys are crying now too. 

They sit like that until the sun goes down. 

And no words were passed, there didn’t need to be any. 

This moment was one for understanding. 

In this moment between the only family she has left, Hermione realizes who she is now. 

As long as she’s known Harry, he’s been the very thing she’s become upon waking up in St. Mungo’s. 

For a horrible moment he thought Bellatrix Lestrange polyjuiced into his Hermione. 

He knows this isn’t the case as she soon twitches again and silent tears streak her face. Her lips begin to quiver as her brow furrows, clearly showing how distressed she is. 

It makes him ill. 

Literally ill. 

Before he knows it he’s sprinting to the loo, a door in the corner of her room. He slides on his knees to the toilet, coughing up the bile and dry heaving after the fact. Hot tears stream his face from the discomfort of the action and fear for Hermione. 

Soon enough he feels a familiar hand rubbing circles on his back. 

Turning to his older brother he suddenly feels small again. Like a curious child wanting to know the inner workings of quidditch. Like he was completely innocent and oblivious to the world. 

“W-what was that?” Ron asks groggily, wiping at his mouth. 

Bill sighs and waves his wand, casting a cleansing charm on Ron. As he looks up from his work, his eyes become glassy after looking at his little brothers. 

“That was dark magic Ron.” He informed regretfully

Ron of course knew that Hermione had been affected horribly by many spells, jinxes, curses, and unforgivable, but he had yet to see the severity first hand and how it impacted her. 

It tore him up. 

After a moment Bill whispers something else. Something they’ve all been thinking, but aren’t brave enough to admit yet. 

“That's some of the darkest magic of all.” 

...

After the incident Ron joined Hermione’s side again. Watching over her as she slept, prepared for when she left the horrors of her mind, to the terrible reality of this world. One without her parents. One where she couldn’t perform magic. One where it seemed a part of her mind was inhabitated by Bellatrix Lestrange like a fucking parasite. 

He would kill the witch if it was the last thing he ever does. 

He’s broken from his angry thoughts when Bill saunters in, “I told the healer about what happened. Says he needs to check a few things out.” He said nervously. 

“Dunno how if they can’t use any bloody magic.” He grumbled. 

His older brother’s lip twitches, like he wants to smile but doesn’t know if it’s appropriate. “They said it could mean good things for her mind.” 

Ron just knew Bill wasn’t here for that, not after his explosion earlier. 

“Why are you here Bill?” He asks knowingly. 

He sighs, “Someone’s here to see you. He sent me to ask if he could come in.”

The younger of the two scrunches his brow. Surely his family, Harry, or Neville didn’t need his permission to come in and see him. He doesn’t own the bloody room. 

Bill breaks the silence, “I’ll send him in.” He said before vanishing out the door. 

“It’s a bit hypocritical isn’t it?” Ron whispers to Hermione once he’s sure no one can hear them. “I’m so effing annoyed everyone is treating me like I’m gonna lose it at any minute, but I reckon I’m doing the same to you. I just want you to be okay Mione.” His voice breaks. “I could give a shite less about me right now.” He whispers, stroking the back of her small hand with his thumb. 

“You have quite the colorful vocabulary Mr. Weasley.”

His head instantly whips around to the door at the voice. 

He internally groaned at who was standing there. Not really in the mood for cryptic riddles at the moment.

“I talked to Harry on my way in. He tells me you haven’t left this room.” Dumbledore points out, stepping further inside. 

“With all due respect sir, if you’re here to bring me back for a potions lesson, I’m not leaving.”

The old man chuckles, “That’s not what I’m here to do Ronald.”

“Then what are you here for?” He can’t help but ask. 

“To see you of course.” Dumbledore says without missing a beat. 

He can’t help but just stare at him in utter confusion. 

“I’ve heard a lot of things and I thought to myself, who better to ask about it than you?” 

“Well I’m not sure what you want to know sir.” 

“How is she?” The headmaster asks, stepping next to Ron’s chair. 

“Not great.” He says honestly. Someone like Harry or Ginny, he’s willing to try and spare their feelings. However, Dumbledore always knows the truth so there’s no way around it. “I can’t imagine the kind of pain she’s in- she knows about her parents, she can’t seem to escape, not even when she’s sleeping.” 

The old man sighs, “Our most haunting thoughts are those that come when we aren’t thinking.” He interjects. 

This is exactly what Ron did not want to deal with. 

“No you don’t understand,” He begins in a whisper, not wanting a repeat from earlier, “she- it was like she was possessed. It was like Bellatrix Lestrange was inside her head.” 

“She is.” Dumbledore said, like it was simple, like it wasn’t a problem. Sensing Ron’s unease he leans forward, “They all are now. Your job is to help direct Miss Granger to focus on which voices to listen to, which to drown out.” 

“So you’re saying her mind- it’s not okay?” 

“She’s just as sane as we are. The only difference between her and us Mr. Weasley, is that she has less to be sane about, or so she may think. That’s why she needs you.” 

Weasley groans, “Everyone’s talking like I’m this great almighty thing, like I can fix this.”

Slowly the old man shakes his head, “The only person who can truly fix this, is Hermione, but she won’t be able to do it alone. She needs all of you, she needs you, now more than she ever has. Always an independent one Miss Granger is. She’ll think she’s a burden, you’ll need to remind her she’s not.” 

“She isn’t.” Ron says suddenly. 

Dumbledore lets a ghost of a smile find it’s way across his aged face. 

“Hermione’s own worst enemy is herself.” He says before walking toward the door.

Thinking that was the end of that, Ron redirects his attention back to Hermione’s sleeping form, continuing to stroke the back of her hand tenderly. 

“Oh and on that thought about enemies,” Dumbledore begins from the doorway, making Ron turn, “always remember Mr. Weasley, those who you think may be your enemies, you may have more in common with then you once thought. Good day.”

If Ron has learned anything, it’s to never think about what Dumbeldore says too much, it just makes you barmy. Somehow, someway, it always goes back to something. 

But if the old man was implying Ron and Bellatrix or You-Know-Who were gonna sit down over tea and bond about the war, then he was truly mad. 

Choosing to ignore that part for now, he remembers what the Headmaster said about being there for Hermione. He would be until his dying breath. 

“It’s just me and you now Hermione.” He whispers softly. “No Death Eaters. No Lavender. No McLaggen. Just us.” He swears. 

“And I promise you this darling, I’ll never let anyone take that from us again.”

...

It wasn’t until hours later, hours left with nothing but his thoughts and whispered promises did Ron finally break from whatever daze he was in. 

“Here’s the wand back.” He heard a familiar voice from the hallway say. 

Quickly, he glanced at Hermione and noted her sleeping form. Slowly, he unraveled himself from her and stood up, doing his best to not go rushing back when she groaned at his absence. 

“I don’t understand…” Arthur began. 

At this, Ron crept closer behind the cracked door. Concealing his form behind the old wood. 

“The big guy told Kingsley to keep it hush hush within the Ministry for now. He thinks maybe if Hermione sees it, maybe even tries to use it-“ The youngest Weasley male cringes at the statement. Tonks seems to have caught herself as she stopped speaking. “Eventually.” She soon added, “then it may get her talking.”

No words were exchanged, but knowing his father to be a man of few words, he would bet he just nodded. 

“So it’s true then, she can’t speak?” The woman couldn’t help but ask quietly.  

Mr. Weasley sighed, “she’s been in and out. Ron has told me she can’t really string along a sentence, just words that are more like grumbles and she stutters. I witnessed it myself once, the act of talking for her seems so painful, like she’s scared.” 

He chooses to leave out the incident Bill told him about, not wanting to worry Tonks and The Order further. Hoping it was just a fluke. 

“Oh no.” He heard Tonks whisper to what seemed to be herself. 

“Jamison said he’s found no physical injury to her throat or vocal cords that would affect her in that way. He reckons it’s a result of the cruciatus or trauma, or both. We just hope it’ll resolve itself over time.” He explained. 

“I just hope something helps. Your boy hasn’t left? I’m surprised Molly hasn’t dragged him back to Hogwarts.” 

Arthur chuckled, “you and I both, but she knows that he needs to be here right now and that Hermione needs him here. It also helped that Dumbledore said Ron should stay. It eased her into knowing it was the right thing for everyone.” 

What the hell? Dumbledore? He said he wasn’t dragging him back… for now. But he never thought he’d convince his mother of that. 

“He really cares for her. It is what’s right.” Tonks assures

“Mmhm.” The older man hums in agreement. 

“I just hope this wand does something. More harm than good. I’d hate for it to upset her.” The auror says worriedly. 

There's silence for a moment. 

“Any word on Narcissa’s whereabouts?” He asked. 

“No sightings. Cissy is rather…”

Tonks keeps going, but Ron doesn’t listen. 

Cissy. 

That word she’s been groaning. 

“Cissy?” He bellowed, pushing past the door and into the hallway. 

“Ron? How long have you-“ Arthur doesn’t sound angry but startled, but Ron can’t seem to care. 

He shucks it off, “Cissy?” He repeated staring Tonks down. 

And Tonks, an auror who's seen a lot, shrinks a little under this teenage boy's gaze. The look is so fierce, so full of silent commands. 

She slowly nods, “my Mum calls her that, it’s short for-“

“Narcissa Malfoy.” Ron breathes. 

Narcissa Malfoy, who was in that place with Hermione. 

That’s who she’s been groaning about. 

Merlin, if he ever saw her- well, he shouldn’t be surprised given her sister, husband, and son, but to know Hermione mumbles more about her than the likes of Bellatrix. He can’t imagine what might’ve happened. 

And she always groans it when a door sounds, that must mean something. She must think she’s coming for her. 

Bloody hell. 

Arthur seems to put it together as his eyes slightly bulge. 

“What? What is it? Is Hermione alright?” Tonks asked worriedly. 

Ron is still reeling so he doesn’t speak. Arthur was hesitant not knowing if that’s the direction this was headed. 

At the same time Mr. Weasley decided to speak, Tonks decided to take matters into her own hands and check on Hermione with her wand drawn just to be sure. 

“It’s Hermione, she says that whenever someone opens-“

The creak of the door squeaks loudly. 

“Cissy.” The young brunette groans. 

“-the door.” Arthur finishes. 

Tonks stared down in shock, Ron can’t understand why until he peers at the bed himself. Hermione is awake, eyes wide and completely and utterly focused on one thing. 

Narcissa Malfoy’s wand. 

...

The door opened as Narcissa was met by a familiar, but confused face. 

Instantly, that who she sought out, lunged toward her. For a moment the blonde feared it was out of anger. 

But no, instead, she was embraced by nothing but pure love. 

She dropped the book under her arm and accepted the gesture with open arms. Literally. 

“You’ve come home.” 

They were both crying. 

“I am. I’m so sorry it took me so long. I’m so sorry.” Cissy sobbed into the slender shoulder. 

The hug was broken as they stared into each other’s eyes. 

“All that matters is that you’re here now. Nothing else.” They promised, wiping some of her tears and ushering her into the cottage. 

When the door clicked shut, Narcissa surveyed the space. It felt so much like a home. Nothing like that awful empty feeling she got while at Malfoy Manor. 

“They’re looking for you. It’s all over the papers. There’s reports your wand went missing.” Though posed as a statement, Narcissa felt as if she was being asked something. 

“It’s true, all of it.” She nodded. 

“But you know where your wand is don’t you?” They asked knowingly. 

A small smile drew across her lips, they knew each other too well. “I do, I need your help to retrieve it. There’s someone I need to see.” 

“Draco?” 

Cissy shook her head, “no. He’s at Hogwarts, so I can’t risk it. He knows I’m safe, though. It’s someone else.” She explains. 

“Who?” 

Narcissa sighs, not wanting to explain it all. However, she knows what she asks next will warrant many questions. 

“Tell me, you know a way into the Weasley’s home? The Burrow?” 

He hasn’t. 

He’s so tired he can’t even manage to be embarrassed about the fact someone else heard him having this one sided conversation. 

“Of course you haven’t, neither have I.” Ginny whispered as she lurched closer, closing the door as she came. 

“Cissy.” Hermione groans painfully before Ron can answer his little sister. 

And just like that, Ginny springs to life, “Sissy?” she questioned, “What’s that about? Hermione didn’t have a sister did she?” She almost feels stupid asking. 

“No.” He answers quickly, “No she didn’t.” He reconfirmed, eyeing her sleeping form. 

“Odd.” Ginny said quietly as she leaned over to inspect Hermione closer, “Has she been doing it all night?”

“No.” Ron answered quietly. 

And it was true. But all this down time sitting, worrying about her, he has noticed a lot. One thing is that whenever the door squeaks or closes Hermione groans that damn word. It’s like her brain has some sort of unconscious reaction to the sound of the door, no doubt some trigger from that place. 

Merlin, if he didn’t get his hands on one of them soon, he would-

“Ron?” Ginny said, studying him worriedly. 

He shook his head, forgetting his thoughts, “Only when the door sounds.” He told his sister. 

“What?” 

“She only does it when the door makes noise, I dunno, must be something from there, I guess…” Even vaguely hinting at what she may have endured makes his chest ache. 

Ginny seems to be blocking him out, just staring blankly at Hermione’s battered form. He manages to peel his eyes away from the brunette long enough to direct his gaze to his sister. 

She must feel him piercing a hole into her, because she says, “This is the first time I’ve seen her.” Ginny whispers throaitly. 

He gulps. 

“By the time things had settled a bit with the Healer and Mum and Dad, Harry came to say you fell asleep in there. Mum thought it best to let you both rest. We stayed in some stuffy Ministry Overnight Room Kingsley set up. This was the first time I’ve been in.” Somewhere along the way a tear slides down her cheeks. Followed by another. And another. 

They’re silent. She’s not heaving. Her shoulders barely shake. 

Ron knows now that her long ramble about not seeing Hermione was merely a ploy to fool herself into some sort of distraction. 

He slowly places his hand on her shoulder, making Ginny jump a bit, but she soon relaxes, “I don’t think it gets easier.” That definitely wasn’t what he was supposed to say. 

Ginny seemed to realize as much too, face turning to meet him with a scrunched brow.

“Sorry,” He says, pulling away to rub the base of his neck, “I just mean, the longer I stay in here the more angry and sad I get, you know?” He sighs, “I’m angry that this happened to her and I’m even more pissed off that even though she’s here, it feels like the universe is taunting me. She’s here now, but she’s still… not.”

Sensing her older brother's rare outpour of vulnerability, Ginny now takes it upon herself to comfort Ron, “She’ll come back to us, I know it.” Her green eyes move back to Hermione’s closed ones, “You have so much waiting for you, I hope you know that Hermione.”

And it’s true, she does. She has Ron, Harry, Neville, all the Weasley’s, The Order, and so much more. 

But Ron couldn’t help but think, with her parents gone, would it be enough?

...

“Excuse me, can I please talk to you two?” Healer Jamison asked Molly and Arthur. 

Quickly, the woman stood up, frantically nodding, “yes, yes of course.” 

Arthur soon joined them as the caretaker ushered them into a quiet corner. 

“Is everything okay?” Mr. Weasley asked anxiously. 

Jamison appeared to be at a loss for words, opening and closing his mouth, just furthering the pair's nerves. “I’m aware the two of you aren’t Miss Granger’s parents. I’d recognize Weasley’s anywhere.” He settled for.

Molly and Arthur exchanged a quick look before the former spoke up, “no we aren’t Hermione’s parents, but hers-“ she stops abruptly, not knowing what to say, or if she even has the heart to say it. 

“Hermione’s parents can’t be present at the moment.” Arthur finished, giving his wife a squeeze, “she’s of age though, but we are acting as her guardians. If there’s any issues you can contact Kingsley Shacklebolt through the-“

Jamison shook his head, “no, no that’s not the issue. It’s just, there’s no easy way to say this…” he fretted, rubbing at his brow. 

After another moment passed of tense silence, Molly spoke again, “I don’t understand. I thought you said that Hermione was stable, that reassessments on magical healing would be made once she comes to. Please don’t tell us-“ 

“Nothing like that, Mrs. Weasley, as of now I have no concerns that Miss Granger will enter such a state that could be fatal.” He assured, though the ‘as of now’ brought them little comfort. 

Bewilderment was still evident across the pair's faces. Jamison knew he couldn’t put it off any longer no matter how terrible what he had to say would be. 

“Miss Granger sustained a multitude of injuries, broken bones, multiple contusions, deep gashes, internal bleeding. Those were all things we took care of, or did our best to, without magic, upon her arrival. However, once we got the bleeding to slow down, we did some more testing.” 

“And what did you find?” Arthur whispered, sensing this man's dread. 

“It was evident that Miss Granger underwent sexual trauma.” Jamison told them quietly. 

At this, Molly moaned in pain as Arthur’s arm found its way around her. 

“She-she isn’t- right?” Molly asked through tears. 

Hurriedly, he shook his head, “no. There were no signs of…” he gulped, “pregnancy. Even if there was at one time Miss Granger’s body was in no state to support another life. She’s severely malnourished, weak, and wasn't being taken care of properly. It doesn’t seem her body is even in a fit state to menstruate at the moment, but we can only be sure when she tells us as much.”

Molly continued to shake a little with small cries that she was clearly doing her best to conceal. Arthur decided to take the initiative asking questions she’d be sure to have later. 

“I’ve heard some stories you know, about organs, and hers are…” he asked hesitantly. 

“Any damage done to her organs seems to be a direct effect of the cruciatus curse. There’s some bruising on her thighs and hips that were evident as well as some scratches we believe may have been a factor, but our scans only picked up on residual dark magic.” 

“Okay.” Arthur nodded slowly, “okay.” He said again. 

“It’s not so much about the physical effects I’m worried about, it’s the emotional toll something like this has. Especially on someone so young. She was looked at by another healer, a female, who specializes in these kinds of things. The damage indicated that Miss Granger’s virginity was taken against her own will.” He informed sadly. 

Molly cried a bit harder. Jamison himself felt a little blurry eyed. 

“Here, I’ll get you the information to reach out to Healer Evangeline. She can answer any questions you may have better than I can.” He said before writing something down on his pad and handing it to Arthur. 

“Thank you.” He nodded to the healer before ushering Molly to a chair. 

Once he sat her down she spoke, “I’m okay Arthur, I’m fine. It’s just, poor Hermione… she doesn’t-“ she stopped speaking and shook her head. 

“I know Molly Wobbles.” He said, kissing her forehead. 

“I’m gonna go to the loo and freshen up. I don’t want the children to ask questions. Hermione will tell the lot of them when she’s ready.” The older woman said standing. 

“Okay dear, take your time.” He said, rubbing her shoulder “I better go see Ron.” Arthur said throaitly, still not having processed what he just heard, “he'll be wondering about Narcissa Malfoy’s wand.” 

“Have you heard anything?” Molly asked through a sniffle. 

Arthur shook his head, “not yet, but I’m sure that’s what he’ll want to know for now.” He offered her a small smile before they parted ways. 

Mr. Weasley took the sickeningly familiar path to Hermione’s room, doing his best to shove aside the pit in his stomach. 

Horrible isn’t even a word that does the situation justice. No words could measure up to how terrible and vile such an act was. 

Arthur Weasley was a calm, level headed, caring man. But now, now there was hell to pay. 

His anger momentarily subsided at the scene he was met by, his emotions being replaced by nothing but sadness, pity even. 

Ron was hunched over, clinging onto Hermione’s delicate hand. Arthur swore he could vaguely hear his son whispering something to her as his fingers stroked her hair. 

“I’m gonna make this up to you, darling. I swear I’ll try and make this better if it’s the last thing I do Mione. Okay love? So please just come on…” 

From the sound of his voice Arthur would bet he’s been at this for a while. It makes his heart break even more. 

“Son.” He says, doing his best to not let his voice quiver. 

“Dad.” Ron breathes in relief as his glassy blue eyes find his fathers. 

“How is she?” He asked quietly. 

Ron shrugged as his eyes fell back on Hermione’s. Fingers moving on their own accord through her matted hair, “she says something whenever the door sounds. I try to talk to her, hope she won’t hear it. Other than that, nothing.” He informed regretfully

Arthur clapped Ron on the shoulder, “you seem to be doing a good job then, I didn’t hear anything from her when I came in.” 

“Yeah, at least I can do something.” He said miserably. 

His father opened his mouth to speak, but Ron didn’t want to hear someone else’s apology. “Anything about the wand?” 

“It’s definitely Narcissa Malfoy’s, we-“ 

Hermione twitched a little violently, “C-Cissy.” She groaned. 

“There it is.” Ron whispered sadly. 

Arthur’s brow furrowed. Something about it felt vaguely familiar. Like it meant something…

“Do you know how she got it?” Ron asked next, seemingly wanting to avert his fathers pity. 

He sighs, forgetting his prior thoughts, “I reckon that’s something Hermione will have to tell us son, I just don’t imagine it’s a pleasant story.” If she remembers, Arthur added, not wanting to break Ron’s heart anymore than it’s already been fractured. 

Like he can hear his fathers thoughts, he speaks confidently, “she’ll remember. I know she will. She’s right here Dad.” 

Arthur hangs his head sadly in both shame and sadness. 

“If there’s anyone who can bring her back son, I know it’s you.”

...

Ron wasn’t sure what day it was. A weekend maybe? It was a bit shocking no one has pestered him into going back to Hogwarts for his classes yet and Harry, Neville, and Ginny are still around. 

Well, at least he thinks. 

He’s pretty sure his arse hasn’t left the horrid hospital chair in over forty eight hours, save for a trip to the tiny loo connected to the room. 

It’s night again. He thinks tomorrow is Sunday. Or maybe it already is.

“Mione, I’m a little surprised you haven’t woken up yet and scolded me for missing Friday’s lessons.” He whispers to her still frame under the moonlight. 

Ron can feel the water building up in the backs of his eyes. Merlin, what he wouldn’t give to just hear her nag him again. 

“Do you think you can try that love? Please.” He practically begs. “I don’t know how much longer I have here until my parents-”

And it’s like something within her is triggered by his words. It’s almost a bit frightening how it happens, namely, why it’s happening now, he has been prattling off to her for days. But Ron pays no mind to that. 

Her eyes are open and sparkling. Still the same brown they’ve always been. He doesn’t know why, but for some reason, he thought maybe they’d look different. Like he forgot. 

Hermione starts to whimper and move slightly. If she wasn’t as weak she’d surely be thrashing about in the bed. 

Tears coat his cheeks before he can realize it, “Hermione, I’m here love, you’re going to be alright.” Ron swears, gently wiping the droplets streaming her own face. 

At first she flinches at the contact but soon melts into the touch. 

“C-Cissy?” She cries out, her voice mangled and not at all sounding like her own. 

Hermione’s mind is cloudy. All that resonates is pain. 

She swears she hears Ron, but that wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened. When terrible nightmares don’t haunt her, whenever the exhaustion takes over it’s dreams of him calling out to her, Harry playing quidditch, of her parents… 

Ron holds off asking about that, “No, it’s me darling. It’s Ron. You’re back Mione, it’s okay.” 

But his touch, it feels so real, so soft. His hand feels exceptionally large and calloused against her cheek, not at all like Narcissa’s small smooth hand. 

It can’t be real. There’s no way. My mind is playing tricks, but please, let me feel it a bit longer… 

Her eyes fluttered shut and Ron’s worried he’s lost her again, “Please open your eyes love, it’s me. Let me show you please.” He croaks. 

Hermione’s instincts are telling her to open her eyes, but another part of her is saying not to, or else this, this feeling, will be gone. But like always, her thirst for knowledge takes over, she needs to know what’s going on. 

Oh my-

The blue of his eyes. The small scar under his left eye from a quidditch incident as a child. The smattering of copper freckles dotting his face. His hair, flaming and a little more shaggy than when she last saw him. 

It can’t be real. There’s no way. 

But he looks, feels, so real… 

She can feel her chin quivering at its own accord. Next, his large fingers push through her hair, away from her eyes. 

“Hey, sh, don’t do that. You’re gonna be alright.” He promises with a watery smile.

Then with a shaking hand she weakly presses it to his cheek. Ron revels in the sensation of her small hands on him and lightly holds it to him to stop the shaking. 

“R-real?” She cries. 

His eyes flutter open, searing into hers, “Real.”

And she believes him. 

Maybe that makes her stupid and naive. Maybe it’ll make it hurt all the more for when she wakes up and realizes this was all just another dream. But something just feels different. 

At his assurance, Hermione is more than ready to succumb to the sobs building up in relife, but she can’t. Not yet. Not until she knows. 

Dream or not, she needs to convince herself that what Narcissa told her wasn’t real and Ron would never lie to her. And that word, that’s what woke something within her. 

He can see her struggle, “What is it? What’s wrong Mione? Do you want me to get the healer? Or maybe my Mum-” 

“P-p-p,” She stutters. 

“That’s it love, you can do it.” Ron encouraged, squeezing the hand pressed to him. 

“Pa-parents.” She barely manages. 

“My parents?” He tries. 

Hermione shakes her head best she can manage before opening her mouth to speak again. 

“M-mine.” She whimpers. 

He realizes she doesn’t want his Mum, she wants her hers. Her dad too. 

Her parents. 

Merlin her parents- 

And the look in her eyes, the pain in her voice. Ron just knows she knows. 

It makes him feel sick at the prospect that the death of the Granger’s was used as some taunt while she was in that place. 

She can see his eyes drop and the tears glittering in them at her words.

Narcissa never lied to her, but god, she wishes she had… 

And before she can realize it, control it really, Hermione screamed. 

A terrible, painful thing. Something she wasn’t even sure she was capable of when she can barely manage a sentence. 

Without a thought Ron carefully climbed into the small bed with her, mindful of her injuries. He then thought of the best way to embrace her without causing hurt. But, before he could get the chance, Hermione took the liberty.

The small brunette practically collapsed on his chest, placing her less aching hand to clutch as his shirt. 

Quickly, Ron grabbed it and held it tightly, then used his other hand to stroke her hair gently. 

Hermione wailed into him, body shaking at an alarming rate. And Ron didn’t know what to do but hold her, he couldn’t tell her it was okay, because it wasn’t. 

“That’s it love, let it out.” He encouraged, though he was sure his words fell upon deaf ears. 

Hermione was sobbing herself into exhaustion, just thinking over and over why?

At one point, without realizing it, she was muttering the word out loud best she could through her cries. 

She’d rather be in the dungeon being dealt the cruciatus day after day then experience this kind of pain. 

Hearing her whimpers and the strangled words, Ron couldn’t help but let tears slip himself, “oh darling.” He sighed sadly. 

And that’s how it went for an hour, even more. It was almost astounding how she managed to go on that long in her condition. Ron considered calling Jamison for a calming drought, but he knew she needed to do this, that some ruddy potion wouldn’t make her wake up and suddenly feel good as new. 

As minute eighty-four ticked on, Hermione just stopped. He looked down worriedly to see her asleep on his chest. 

For a moment he panicked, until he felt her shaky breath near his neck. He sighed in relief and tightened his hold on her. 

Part of Ron wanted to be happy to finally hold her this way, to have her here, and to know she’s completely safe in his arms. 

But he couldn’t be. 

Not like this. 

Ron has half the mind to pull his wand, just in case, but soon settles as his eyes meet the looming figures. 

“Merlin.” Harry says in the same tone as he saunters forward.

In his eyes is the same look Ron had only moments ago. Heartbroken. Guilty. 

Weasley opens his mouth to comfort Harry, but the words die on his lips. He just can’t. No words fit. Nothing he could ever say would be enough to make the painstaking feeling diminish. Nothing but Hermione herself. 

“What did I do?” The Boy-Who-Lived cried out. 

Now that, Ron wouldn’t take, “No.” 

His glassy green eyes snap to blue ones in surprise at how strong Ron’s voice sounded. 

He shook his head, “don’t say that Harry, please. It happened and even though I’d give anything to take it back, we can’t. We just can’t. That’s not how things work, so please, don’t make this any harder than it is.” He pleads to his best mate. 

The air is silent and tense for a moment. Harry’s gaze never waivers from Hermione’s form, and Ron’s stare never diverges from Potter. 

And what Harry says next shocks him like no other, “okay.” He says simply, walking to the other side of the bed. 

Harry understands too. He understands that Hermione is all that matters now. 

As he plops onto the chair he gently places his finger tips atop the small strip of exposed skin between the cast on her arm and the part of the gown covering her shoulder. 

Ron looks away quickly, unable to do what Harry is at this moment. It’s all too familiar. He can’t lose her again. 

Needing a distraction, he soon remembers his trail of thoughts from whispering to Hermione. He gulps, preparing to share them with his best mate. “Harry, I need to be honest with you right here, right now. I promise on my last breath that I will kill them. Bellatrix, Greyback, Malfoy, Dolohov, all of them. I’ll do it, or I’ll die trying.” He said with so much conviction, eyes never leaving Hermione’s battered form. 

“Ron-“

“Don’t give me that crap. Nothing you say will convince me otherwise. You may be the Chosen One mate, but no one, and I mean-“

“Ron,” Harry said harshly, “I was going to say I’m with you.” He finished a little softer, but still with an edge. 

“You’re with- what?” He questioned a bit taken aback. 

“I said I’m with you.” He repeated steadily. 

“You are?” Ron doubted. Normally Harry would adamantly refuse a claim, fearing for Ron’s safety. 

He nodded after a moment, “yeah I am. Too many people have suffered because of-“

“Don’t say because of you.” He cut off. 

“I wasn’t.” Harry assured, “I was going to say because of all this- him, the war. Something needs to be done, for the future. For Sirius, Cedric, my parents, and especially for Hermione.” 

Ron can’t do anything but nod slightly in agreement as he allows himself to rove over Hermione’s stil form again. Everytime feels like a small part of his heart cracking slowly and painfully. 

His fingers twitch as he physically longs to reach out for her, but again, he can’t. 

Needing a distraction from his own thoughts and from the questioning gaze Harry’s throwing him, he goes on, “They found a wand. Not hers.” 

He nodded in response, “Bill said as much. Do you really think she apparated? We haven’t even had lesson yet, even if she did-” 

“She’s bloody brilliant, Harry.” Ron insisted, “so much that she’s always five steps ahead. I mean, I wasn’t even quick enough to save her before she went off and did it herself. Useless.” He mumbles the last line. 

“Hey,” Harry says sharply, “just like I’m not allowed to blame myself, neither are you, okay? We’ll have all the time in the world to feel sorry for ourselves later once we know she’s gonna be alright.” He finished softer. 

And Ron doesn’t have the heart to argue. He’s so mentally drained and he’s so dead set on prioritizing Hermione, that all he can do is nod feebly. 

They fall into silence. Both just watching the subtle rise and fall of Hermione’s chest. They’re almost transfixed by the sight, to have her back it’s almost like a dream. 

But that’s exactly what Ron’s afraid of. 

All while these fears run wild, Harry can see Ron’s hand unconsciously itching to lay atop hers. 

“Go on Ron.” He whispers. He knows he doesn’t need his permission, but he can sense his friend needs a nude. 

He snaps out of his state at his best mate's voice. The ginger seems to know what Harry means and looks like he’s about to break down all over again, “I-I can’t.”

“Yes you can. You won’t hurt her, we both know that.” 

Ron pushed down the urge to fight with him on the topic and spoke, “It’s not that.” He croaked. 

Well, not entirely anyway...

“Then what?” Potter questioned. 

“I’m so scared Harry. I’m fucking terrifed that if I touch her this will all fade away. It won’t be real. Just another nightmare.” He shakes, tears streaming down his face. 

Harry premivley wipes his eyes as he fgeels the moisture build, “It’s not Ron, I promise, please, trust me. It’s real. You found her.”

“No I didn’t-”

“Please.” Harry pleads from across the bed, making a show of taking Hermione’s other bandaged hand gently. 

With a shaky breath Ron extends his lanky fingers as they slowly come in contact with the back of her other wrapped hand. 

He nearly doubles over when he doesn't phase through. 

Her hand is so small in his own. Smaller than it’s ever been before. And it feels almost fragile. 

Though sometimes Ron may treat her like she is, never has he associated Hermione with being fragile. She’s tough as anything and the bravest Gryffindor of them all. But now, sitting here, all he can think is how that’s the very thing that they tried to strip away from her. 

It makes him sick. 

So much so, he feels a bile rise in his throat. 

Not wanting to lose his shit anymore than he already has, he gently caresses the back of her hand, using the soft skin to anchor his thoughts. 

It’s amazing that even though she was tortured, broken down, and beaten, she still was so soft, so insanely beautiful. 

Her cheeks may not have the same flush. Her skin may be paler and dotted with horrible hues of purple and slashed red. Her shape may be disfigured by the protruding bones, but she’s still her. She’s still Hermione and that’s all that matters right now. 

The thought alone makes him break down all over again. 

This time he allows himself to rest his head on the edge of her bed, right next to her thigh. He cries at the feeling of her hand in his own. At the feeling of his head pressed against her. Because she’s real, she’s here, she’s finally here. 

“Son.” A soft voice calls as a gentle hand finds itself atop his shoulder. 

Ron looks up through misty eyes to find his father hovering over him. As he surveys the room he realizes Harry is gone. 

Merlin, he must’ve been blubeering like a fuvcking baby longer than he thought. 

“Dad.” He croaks, wiping at his runny nose with his sleeve, “did you find anything?” 

“How is she?” He averts. Ron notices. 

“Exactly how she looks, I reckon. I’m sure Mum already told you about what the healer had to say.” He shrugs. 

“Yes.” Arthur nods, “yes she did. I just can’t help but wonder-”

“Dad,” Ron cuts off, “Did you find anything?” He repeats surprisingly calm. 

Mr.Weasley sighs, his boy has grown more than he cares to admit. It’s almost frightening. 

“Yes, I did.” he says sitting on the chair Harry once occupied. 

“And?” The younger boy presses. 

“And tonight the Department of Magical Transportation did in fact get a notice that an underage witch apparated to Diagon Alley the same time your brothers found Hermione.” 

Ron huffefd, they all suspected it, but to hear that Hermione really did it. Well, let’s just say he would be more amazed if she was awake to hear his praise. 

“However, while we know for certain it was Hermione, that information didn’t actually show up in the Ministry report.” He informed. 

“What? Why?” Ron questioned with a furrowed brow. 

“Well since the wand she used was registered to someone of age to perform apparition, it could only notify the service that someone did apparate. If it’s not on an underage or unlicensed WIzard’s wand, it's trickier.” Arthur elaborates. 

Ron had no time to focus on the logistics. Only one thing stood out. 

“So you know whose wand it is then? Whose?” He prones. 

His father eyes him wearily before speaking, “The wand-” he stops, voice scratchy, and clears his throat, “the wand belongs to Narcissa Malfoy.”

Ron blinks a few times in disbelief, mouth falling in an ‘o’, “Wha-how?” 

“Only Hermione could tell us that son.” 

If she remembers. The words are unspoken, but Ron can see his father fighting the urge to say it. Like they still think they could protect him from everything.  

“You have to understand Ron, wands, they’re very sacred things. Especially to old Pureblood families, especially to people like the Black’s and the Malfoy’s. Neither will like the idea that a Muggleborn was able to best them and use one.” Arthur spoke in a hushed voice. 

The weight that lifted ever so slightly at the sight of Hermione soon falls back on him. This time ten times heavier than before. 

“So what you’re saying, is that you think they’ll come for her?”

Arthur nods sadly. 

Ron turns red with anger. 

“We’ll do everything we can son. The Order will be around, the wards-” 

“The wards?” Ron yells, “The Order? Please! Where did they get Hermione, where did they get her parents?” He boomed. 

“Ronnie please-” Mr.Weasley tries as he notches Hermione squirm slightly from over his son's shoulder. 

“Everyone needs to do better! Everyone! Do you even-” 

A strangled sound makes him halt. “Mmm…” 

His wide eyes flick to the bed as Hermione’s face tightens into a painful scowl. 

From behind, his father leaves, feeling that he’s intruding. The door squeaks in his wake. 

Ron falls to his knees and grasps her hand, “That’s it love, you can do it. Come Mione. Come back Darling.” He pleads through glassy eyes. 

“C…” The noise sounds like a hiss. 

“That’s it, come on love.” He encourages as he strokes her hand hoping that somewhere inside her brilliant mind she's registering all of this. 

“Cissy.” She barely manages through the pain. 

Ron’s eyes find his fathers in nothing but confusion. Was it just mummers of nonsense or could it mean something? But what?

At the cracking of his voice the old woman feels her chest tighten and stops. “Yes Mr. Weasley, she is.” Is all she can manage before running off again. 

At her words Ron feels a weight he didn’t know was pressing down on him release itself. Harry looks to Ron like he’s expecting him to say something, but instead, he just follows behind McGonagall again. 

Soon enough they reach her office. The three boys stand silently as she retrieves what seems to be a bowl of floo powder. 

“Here you are.” She says passing it into Harry’s awaiting hands. “St.Mungo’s. This will take you right to the Spells Damage entrance.” The professor said whilst nudging Harry into her fireplace. 

The dark haired boy fisted a handful of powder as he got ready to throw it down. Until Ron stopped him. 

“Wait!” He yelled, making Harry pause as all eyes found him. 

“There is no time to waste Mr. Weasley.” McGonagall scolded 

“They found her didn’t they?” The hope in his voice was like nothing else. 

She sighed in defeat and nodded, “yes, they did. I heard your brothers found her.” 

A small swell of pride bubbled up deep within Ron. He knew The Order was raiding the Manor tonight, but the fact that Bill and Charlie played such a hand in getting Hermione home safely means the world. 

“And she’s alright?” He asks next, voice shaking over every word. 

McGonagall’s lips pulled into a tight line, “She’s in St.Mungo’s.” 

“But she’s alright?” He presses. 

“Look Weasley, I know just as much as you do. If you’d like that question answered I suggest you do as I say and Floo over there now, yes?” She said a little testily. 

Repressing the urge to roll his eyes, Ron simply nodded to Harry as he did as she instructed. As the green flames engulfed his best mate, he nodded Neville to go next. 

“You need to tell Ginny.” It wasn’t up for debate. 

She nodded, “I figured you’d rather not wait for me to retrieve your sister and head over there yourself. I Plan on retrieving Miss Weasley once you’re on your way.” 

“Right.” He whispers, stepping into the fireplace and gripping the powder.

Just as he opened his mouth to be whisked away, McGonagall spoke again, “You take care of her.” Never in all his years has he heard this woman sound so choked up. 

Ron looks her in the eyes and nods with so much confidence that no one would dare question him. 

“Always.” He assured before being engulfed by green.

After his body felt thoroughly squeezed and pushed, he finally felt his feet land firmly on solid ground. Ron stumbled a little before his gaze finally fell on an equally anxious looking Neville and Harry. 

“Come on, this way.” Harry says, gripping Ron’s shoulder to tug him along, hoping it’ll help ground him to reality. To assure this was actually happening. 

However, Harry’s touch offered little assurance. Ron was terrified that this time was like so many others. The minute he laid his eyes on Hermione, the world would transform into a nightmare. Bellatrix cursing her, Greyback clawing at her. And Ron, he could never save her. 

Shaking a little at the horrible thoughts, he shook his head and willed himself forward. Soon enough mops of red hair entered his vision as Bill’s eyes snapped to his. 

Maybe this was real. 

“Ronnie.” His eldest brother breathed out before engulfing him in an embrace.

Finally, he allowed tears to stream his face, “Thank you Bill. Thank you.” He cried into his shoulder. 

After a few moments Bill pulled away, shaking his head. “Don’t thank me. I didn’t do anything.” 

Ron’s brows scrunched in confusion as he noticed Charlie joining them. 

“What do you mean? McGongall, she said my brothers saved her.”

“It wasn’t us Ronnie.” Charlie spoke. 

This did nothing but further his bewilderment, “What? But you were-“

“It was the twins.” Bill cut off. 

His mind was spinning. That can’t be right. The twins were all the way in Diagon Alley. 

The sickening feeling that this may be another dream was slowly creeping over him. 

“The-the twins?” Ron stuttered in disbelief. 

Charlie nodded in confirmation as Bill continued to speak, “When the raid started, they all started disapparating. We didn't even have anyone to take in.” 

“But it didn’t matter,” Charlie cut off, “That wasn’t what we were there for.” He reminded. 

“Right.” Bill nodded, “Anyway, after they left, we searched the whole place, The dungeons, the bedroom, and Ronnie, you were right.” 

“Huh?” He mumbled. 

“About Draco. I was the one who raided his room, it really was their house.” 

While this was something they all knew, the direct confirmation made Ron squirm. Malfoy was a foul git, but the fact he could be involved in something so gruesome, his own classmate. It made Ron see red. 

He knew that now wasn’t the moment to focus on that, not when his mind was racing a mile a minute. “How did she get to Diagon Alley then?” He whispered. 

Charlie began to speak, “We don’t know, we haven’t-”

“Ronnie.” He heard George breathe from behind him. 

Whirling around he met the twins' eyes, which were rimmed red and bloodshot. Before he could even question it, the pair was engulfing him in a hug. And Merlin, he doesn’t think he’s ever hugged them, either of them. 

“You found her?” Ron asked through tears into Fred’s shoulder. 

He felt one of them nod, “yeah.” 

At this, the three broke apart. The youngest wiped at his eyes with his hand, trying to pull himself together as he searched for answers 

They seemed to know what he needed to hear, “We were just walking home, Fred, he found her in an Alley.” George began.

“But how did-” 

“Ronnie, we think she apparated.” Fred told him quietly. 

“A-apparted?” He stuttered. 

George nodded, “Dad went to the Ministry to check the records. Look, we found her with a wand, there was no one around. There can’t be another explanation.” 

“A wand? Whose?” His voice rose, demanding the truth. 

However, the twins remained calm, “We don’t know.” Fred answered, “Dad went to look into that too, about an hour ago. Told us to wait.” He informed. 

Ron eased a little, there was no one he would trust more with this than his father. But the sense of calm was short lived as another thought crawled its way into the forefront of his mind. 

“And you saw her?” The words caught in his throat, “She’s real?” More tears streamed his cheeks. 

And after a moment. One that felt like it lasted hours, days, even. The paid nodded. 

“She’s real.” They confirmed. 

At those two words, everything he was trying to hold in poured out. Ron nearly collapsed in sobs before Fred caught him. 

“She’s home now Ronnie. She’s home.” His brother whispers gently into his ear. The soft words calmed him. 

Once he calmed a little he spoke, “She’s really back?” He had to be sure. 

“Yeah Ronnie, she is.” Fred promised, his green eyes piercing into his brother's blue ones. 

“Thank you.” He chokes out, then averts his gaze to George, “thank you both so much. I can never-“ 

“Hey,” George begins, “we didn’t just do it for you. Hermione’s as good a sister to us as Ginny is. She’s family. We’d do anything for her.” He tells him. 

Ron opens his mouth to respond, though unsure what to say. The statement held so much weight, yet somehow made him feel light at the same time. His emotions were running rampant. 

However, an unfamiliar voice cut them off before they could go any further, “Are you the party here for the young woman brought in earlier?” An old man asked in Healer’s attire.

Ron rounded to face him, nodding fiercely. 

The man didn’t look convinced, “you’re her family?” He questioned reluctantly. 

“Yes.” Ron answered harshly. 

The short old man still wasn’t convinced. The teen was ready to explode at the evident doubt until a soft hand gently squeezed his shoulder. 

“Yes we’re her family.” His mother’s kind voice assured. 

At this, the man finally relented and nodded to Molly. Ron turned gratefully to his mother who offered him a small smile through her misty eyes. 

“Being youre her family,” he said the word awkwardly, “I’m here to give you an update about Miss-“ 

“Granger. Hermione Granger.” Harry spoke up. 

For a minute the healer's eyes went wide, seeming to have noticed the Harry Potter in the flesh. And if Molly’s assurances weren’t enough, he wouldn’t dare question the Boy-Who-Lived. 

“Well I am Miss Granger’s healer, Pike Jamison, and I’m afraid I don’t come bearing the best of news.” 

Everyone went stalk still at his words. Healer Jamison took note and suddenly felt guilty. 

“We’ve stabilized her.” He cleared up quickly, making them all slump in the tiniest bit of relief. 

“But?” Charlie asked, knowing it was coming. 

“But,” he began sadly, “Miss Granger, she shouldn’t even be alive, we don’t know how-“

“Then why?” Ginny asked suddenly. 

And while Ron didn’t exactly like the question he was wondering the same. 

Jamison shrugged, “after the first war, research on unforgivable curses slowed considerably. Even today we have trouble understanding their true extent. I do know this though, the residual dark magic in her system is unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. I’ve seen a fraction of that kind of magic killing even the most capable witches and wizards instantly.” 

“I still- I don’t understand.” Molly admits, voice riddled with sadness. 

“I’m afraid I don’t either. Once Miss Granger awakes, I’m hopeful of getting more information on her condition and how to tackle her treatments. Until that time things are rather...complicated.” He settled for. 

“Complicated?” Bill repeated. 

“As I said, the residual dark magic in her body is like nothing I’ve ever seen. The concern right now is that even the slightest bit of magic may send her over the edge. Sometimes if there’s enough dark magic in one's system it can consume any amount of magic and turn it dark. The cruciatus for example, attacks the nervous system at such a rate that the body can’t keep up to regenerate. She can’t afford to fight off anything else at the moment.” 

“So no magic? You can’t heal her?” Ron questioned bitterly. It wasn’t fair. Nothing was fair anymore. 

Jamison shook his head, “I’m afraid for now no magic, healing or otherwise, can be used on Miss Granger. I’m worried so much as a drop of dittany may be a risk at this time.” 

“Dittany?” George questioned. 

“It has magical properties. That’s what sews the skin together.” Bill answered for the healer. 

He nodded, “right you are young man. Until then, we’ve taken a more, uh, Muggle route to healing her. Myself, as well as my team, are trained in non-magical healing as well as magical healing of course. Miss Granger is very weak, malnourished, she has multiple fractures, some internal bleeding, cuts, bruises, you name it. And her mind-“ he sighed sadly, “we won’t know more until she wakes. Her scans show small trace amounts of cruciatus in her brain, but it isn’t enough to do any long lasting damage.” 

“That’s good though, isn’t it?” Fred asked when no one spoke. 

“It’s hard to say son, the magic, it moves through the body, it could’ve already attacked her mind and moved on. We just won’t know until she wakes. I’m sorry.” And at least he sounds sincere. 

Everyone seems to nod in acknowledgment at his words, but that doesn’t make it okay. 

After, everyone stands silent, unsure where to go from here. 

“Can I see her?” He asked so abruptly it made everyone stare at him. He squirmed under their gazes, “I just- I need to see her, please.” He almost whined. 

The healer shook the look of confusion and soon nodded, “Of course, right this way.” 

The door was nearby as the old man opened it and waved his hand for Ron to head in. 

As he walked into the white, sterile room, he felt his stomach sink. The feeling only grew as his eyes fell on the bed. 

There, laying in it was Hermione. She was real. 

But, he couldn’t will himself to focus on the prospect. Not when she looked so pale, sickly, and lifeless. 

Closing his eyes Weasley did his best to produce a patronus despite his shaking hands and whirling mind. 

And by some miracle he does. 

“Between Gambol & Japes and Magical Menageries, hurry!” He said to the wispy magpie as it fluttered away. 

Taking a shaking breath, he dropped back onto his knees and began to inspect her further. She was cold to the touch. Fred soon realizes that she’s not wearing anything, but you wouldn’t know at first glance. Her body is splattered in bruises, marred with cuts, and smeared in blood. 

Instantly, he shrugged off his dragon skin jacket, not giving a shite how expensive it was, and draped it over her. 

“Come on, wake up, please wake up.” He whispers like a mad man, tears stinging his eyes, “open your eyes, alright? You’ll see Ron, Harry, Ginny. Come on.” He begged. 

“Fred!” He heard a voice call from behind him. 

He turned his head to meet George who ran over and observed the scene. 

“Merlin. Fuck. Is that…” It's like he couldn’t believe it. 

All Fred could do was nod. 

The twin dropped to his knees next to his brother, “shite. Hermione.” He cried out. 

George’s hand began to rove around her until he found the side of her neck. The pulse was faint, but it was there. 

Fred heard him sigh in relief and turned to him, “what do we do?” He was shaking his head frantically. 

George shrugged off his own jacket and placed it atop the one already on her, knowing she could use the warmth. 

“We need to go to Mungo’s now.” He said. 

Fred started wiping his hands excessively on his trousers, wanting to get rid of the red on them, “yes. Yes. You’re right. Yeah.” He muttered. Then he turned to his brother, “Georgie I don’t think I can disapparte, fuck, my hands are shaking so much.” 

“It’s okay.” He assured, “I’ll do it, you side along. Hold her tight. Alright?” George’s voice was now nothing but a quiver. 

“We need to tell someone. Send a patronus.” Fred said, now sensing his twin's fear. 

The other nodded and began wielding his wand, until Fred stopped him. “Not to Bill or Charlie. If-if they're still there it could blow their cover and hers. Dad should be with the others waiting for news.” 

Suddenly, a horrible thought came to George, “fuck, what if- what if this is a set up? What if they’re coming.” He began shaking. 

“Just cast the patronus and we’ll get out of here. She’ll be safe at Mungo’s.” Fred said quickly, still trying to figure out the best way to go about picking her up, not wanting to hurt her worse. 

“St. Mungo’s now. Can’t explain in case this is intercepted.” George told the white wispy animal before it disappeared into the night. 

“Merlin, she weighs nothing.” Fred almost whimpered as he settled the witch in his arms. 

George felt a tear stream his face, “just give me a second to focus.” He pleaded. 

His brother nodded in understanding and turned his attention to the witch, “you’re gonna be alright Hermione. You’re gonna be fine. You can’t die. Our baby brother needs you. Harry needs you. We need you too. The whole wizarding world does.” He cries into her hair. 

The words falling past Fred’s lips seemed to ignite something in George. They needed Hermione, the people they love need Hermione. Hell, he thinks if they want to win this war, Wizarding Britain needs her too. So he’ll be damned if she gets taken away from any of them. 

“I’m ready.” He said, grasping tightly onto the pair of them. 

Fred responded by wrapping an arm around his brother while pushing Hermione further into him, holding onto her much like a parent to a sleeping toddler. 

George began turning, pouring all his focus into his movements. 

Destination. Destination. Deliberation. 

Crack. 

They were gone. 

... 

As they landed, they stumbled but wouldn’t let her fall. It was a miracle no one was splinched. Or maybe Hermione was. They wouldn’t be able to tell. 

Rushing through the doors of St.Mungo’s they were meant by the chaos of the waiting room. However, they both ignored it, pushing past the injured people and toward the welcome desk. 

“Help! Somebody, we need help!” Fred cried out in the midst of the crowd. 

No one came. 

“Please help!” George now called. 

A nurse looking at a cliff board huffed, “sir you’re going to-“ then she stopped to look up at them.

At the sight of Hermione, the woman paled. A nurse at a hospital, who's probably seen everything, paled at the sight. 

Merlin this was bad. 

She instantly conjured a stretcher, “quick put her down!” The old woman yelled as the twins did as she said. “Martin! I need you to page Healer Padmore now! Or Jamison! Anyone!”

A small man in blue robes nodded and ran in the other direction as the nurse began floating Hermione away. 

“Where are you taking her?” George questioned. 

“She needs to be tended to immediately!” The woman said without turning, “you two stay put!” She commanded before running off. 

As they watch Hermione be carted away the pair both share the same thought. How the hell did Hermione get to Diagon Alley? What if they were coming? 

Then it dawns on them. 

There’s a war brewing. 

Nowhere is really safe anymore. 

...

Arthur Weasley ran into St.Mungo’s eyes scanning the mass of witches and wizards for a pair of twin redheads. 

Having no luck of spotting them amongst the people, he ran to the welcome desk. 

“Can I help you sir?” A kind young woman asked. 

“Yes, yes, I’m looking for my sons. They’re twins. Red hair.” 

She seems to ponder on it until realization strikes her face, “oh yes, I remember them. Last I saw they were going down the corridor leading to the East Wing. Leads to the Spell Damage ward.” She informed. 

Arthur smiled out of gratitude more than anything else, “thank you. Thank you so much.” And with that he was off. 

He didn’t spot Fred and George until some ways into the wing for Spell Damaged patients. They were sitting in a row of uncomfortable looking empty chairs. 

“Boys!” He called as his shoes squeaked against the floor. 

At the sight of their fathers face the twins jumped up, instantly engulfing their dad in a hug. At his touch they melted, weeping into his shoulder. 

“It’s alright. Everything’s alright now.” Arthur whispered. 

Fred pulled away and wiped at his eyes, “but it’s not dad.” He said croakily. 

The older man's cocked brow silently asked for more. 

George decided to fill in, sniffling as he spoke, “you should’ve seen her. She didn’t even look like herself. Merlin the blood-“ he choked. 

“Hey, it’s okay, you got her here. That’s what matters.” He reminds tentatively squeezing his son's shoulder. 

“What happened at the raid?” Fred whispered. 

Arthur shook his head at the memory. “I got a patronus from Charlie saying that when they showed up everyone cleared from the manor, but Hermione wasn’t there. They said they’d be back soon, I came by to make sure it was really you two with Hermione before I told anyone. Just your Mum knows.” He explained. 

They nodded in understanding, you could never be too sure these days. 

“I should go back to the Burrow, they’ll be back any minute now, they’ll need to be briefed. Everyone will have to be. I’ll send your mother in my place.” 

“Thank you Dad.” George breathed. 

He gave them a proud smile, “no need. Thank you to the two of you, you’ve made me so proud today. You’ve done a brilliant and brave thing.” Mr. Weasley said a little misty eyed. 

They embraced their father one more time before he slowly started walking away, until he abruptly turned. 

“What’s up dad?” Fred asked curiously. 

“You two don’t have any idea how she got there do you? Was there anyone around? Anything?” He asked in a hushed desperate whisper. 

Briefly the twins exchanged a look before Fred pulled something out of his pocket. It was a long dark wooden thing. Delicately carved designs into its handle. 

“You don’t think-“ Arthur began in disbelief. 

George shrugged, “we don’t know. I mean it’s possible right? Can you check at the Ministry?” 

It took him a moment but Mr.Weasley nodded at the idea, “yes. Yes, I’ll be sure to ask Kingsley. Any idea whose wand it is?” 

They both shook their heads. 

“Alright. I’ll figure it out. I’ll be back soon enough.” He promised his sons. 

“Dad, wait.” Fred stopped. 

“Yes?” 

“You’ve gotta tell him- Ronnie.” He gulped. 

“Of course.” Arthur agreed, “I’ll have Minerva alert them.” He had promised Ron to keep him involved after all. 

“No you don’t understand. The sight of her, it’s gonna break his heart. He’ll blame himself.” Fred admits in a broken whisper. 

His dad could sense the anguish in both boys' eyes and stepped forward one last time, “then we’ll have to hope she pulls through. She’ll help him as much as he’ll help her.” 

With that he walked away before offering his sons a small smile. 

It isn’t until Arthur was out of sight until the twins even spoke. 

“They love each other.” George says like it just now dawned on him, “she loves him back, just as much.” It’s not a question. 

At this, Hermione painfully lifted her head to stare into the woman’s eyes. 

“W-why?” It’s all she could manage, but Narcissa understood the weight of it. She’s become good at reading her. 

Why now? What’s changed? What’s coming?

And Cissy expected this. This young witch is the brightest of her age. Even beaten, violated, and under the effects of an unforgivable, she's perceptive as ever. She can sense there’s been a change to warrant such urgency. 

“I’m so sorry dear,” she begins to cry, “your parents, they’re… gone.” Narcissa barely manages. 

No. No. No. No. No. 

She’s been trying so hard to keep her mind busy for weeks to not let the curse take over, but suddenly, she can’t think. 

She doesn’t want to. 

She almost wishes she was insane. 

It’s a trick. It has to be. 

There’s no way it's real. They’re tricking you Hermione, they want to get inside your head once and for all. 

But Narcissa, she wouldn’t…

They’re tricking her too. They have to be. My parents are fine. They’re fine. 

And maybe it’s because she can’t emotionally or physically bear anymore hurt. Or maybe she really is losing it. 

But she manages to convince herself that it’s the truth. 

For now. 

“Tr-trick.” She squeaks, she's crying despite not believing it herself.  

“It’s no trick.” Cissy whispers back, voice strained. 

“Trick!” Hermione repeats like a small child 

Narcissa pulls her close again. “Hermione, I’m so sorry.”

And the way the woman spoke to her. Voice so broken and tender, she almost has to believe it, but she can’t. Now she needs to hear the plan, she needs to get home and make sure her parents are okay, no matter what the cost. 

“H-home.” she croaks. 

Mrs. Malfoy wipes at her eyes, gathering her barings. She could tell the brunette was compressing the news she just delivered, but she needed to set the plan into motion before anything like this could happen again. 

“Tonight.” She says, voice stronger, “we do this tonight. Bellatrix will be here, as will my husband, but they need to be.”

Hermione’s eyes grow wide at the sentence, surely Bellatrix would hex her into next year if she’s caught. 

“No, listen. I need you to listen.” She turns so her eyes pierce Hermione’s, “you need to tell me if you understand.” There’s no room for a mistake. Again, this girl is brilliant, but she can also barely walk as of late. 

“There’s someone I’m meant to meet with in Hogsmeade tonight. Bellatrix and Lucuius along with everyone else, even the Dark Lord,  will not question this meeting.” She assures. “The issue is that I need to be on time, as to not raise suspicions, whilst getting you out.” Narcissa was partially thinking aloud now.

“H-how?” She was determined to set all of her focus on this. 

“I’m going to send an elf to apparate down here with your tray of food. Elf magic isn’t affected by the enchantments.” She clarified, though Hermione recalls reading about that, or at least she thinks she has. “When the elf comes, you need to grab on as tight as you can. From there, you’ll be in the kitchens.” 

Hermione nodded in understanding, easing the woman. 

“I’ll be in the kitchen, from there I’ll side-along you to Hogsmeade with me. My meeting will not be long, you need to stay hidden the entire time.” 

Narcissa had planned a meeting with Severus Snape under the pretense of checking Draco’s progress. Trouble was if he, or anyone saw Hermione in the village, someone may put two and two together, knowing she got her there. 

“Y-yes.” She promised, sensing ths fear in the woman’s tone. 

“When my meeting is done, we’ll apparte away. Right outside St. Mungo’s then I’ll have to leave, I can’t risk being seen. I’m taking a spare wand we have, I can leave it with you, just in case.” This part was faulty, she was reluctant to leave Hermione alone. 

“D-don’t l-leave.” She cried. 

“I have to dear, it’s for the best. You’ll be safe, they’ll call your friends. They’ll take care of you better than I can.” Narcuissa says with watery eyes. 

And though Cissy has been the closest thing she’s had all this time, she knows she has to go on. For Ron, for Harry, for her parents. She has to know they’re okay more than anything else in this twisted world.

 “T-tonight.” Hermione said as string as she could muster in hopes to convey how ready she was. 

“Tonight.” Narcissa nodded in response. 

...

After that, Hermione sat alone in the corner the rest of the day. 

Sobs wracked her bodies ever now and again at the prospect that her parents were in fact killed. However, she narrowly managed to convince herself it was a lie every time until the cycle repeated. 

She had nothing better to do then to worry herself sick as she waited for the elf. 

As a few tears streamed her cheeks at horrific visions of unforgivable curses being used in her home, her minstraions were cut short by a loud crack. 

But there was no elf. 

Instead, she heard a commotion sounding upstairs. 

Loud thudding footsteps. The yelling of spells and counterspells. The sputter of magic leaving wands. 

She did her best to stand, hoping to get a better grasp on the situation. 

What was going on? 

Bellatrix was taken to cursing anyone. Perhaps some Death Eater crossed her, yes. 

However, this rationzaliation was thrown out the window as Narcissa came hastily running down the steps. 

With a sense of unwavering urgency, she throws open the cell door, not being as cautious as she always is. 

Soon, she grips Hermione’s arm roughly, making her wince, “they’re here, The Order, they’ve found you.” Narcissa helps her stand. 

Any pain shooting through her body was extinguished. Instead, Hermione’s eyes fill with hope. 

“You have to leave. Get out. Now.” 

They soon fill with fear at her hushed words. 

“Bella, I heard her and the Dark Lord, he said if they were to come, that he would kill you. You have to go.” She said frantically as she dragged her up the steps despite Hermione’s whimpers and inability to move. 

At the top, she can vaguely hear the yelling and hurried footsteps. 

“Move quickly. To the kitchens.” She whispers as they reach the top, practically dragging the limp and exposed girl. 

With a deep breath Hermione let’s her aching leg carry her there as the other drags along. 

She knows everyone in the room is distracted by the raid, but for how long?

Once inside the large room, she can see the house elves retreating for protection. Narcissa shuts the door and casts a locking spell. 

Then, she steps forward and holds her wand out. 

“Take it.” 

Hermione shakes her head. 

“Yes, take it. Disapparate. I know you can do it.” She tells the young girl with fervor. 

“N-no.” Sure her mind is fuzzy, but she’s sure she’s never apparated before. Only read about it. 

“Yes.” She assures, curling the girl's small hand around her wand, the very one she’s had since age eleven. “You’re Hermione Granger. You’re the Brightest Witch of Your Age.” 

It doesn’t seem to convince the girl. 

Narcissa hears the curses being thrown. She vaguely hears someone call to retrieve Hermione from the dungeons. 

She needs to think and fast. The first thing that comes to mind is something she knows grounds the girl. She’s heard her whisper it many nights in broken words. 

“You’re Hermione Granger. You’re seventeen years old. Your parents-” she chokes a little, “your parents are Hugo and Jean.” The young girl's eyes begin to water,  “You go to Hogwarts School of WitchCraft and Wizardry. Your best friend is Harry Potter,” someone bangs on the kitchen door, making them jump, “you’re in love with Ron Weasley. And-“

At the words something surged through her. She needed to do this for her parents. For Harry. For the Weasley’s. For Narcissa. For Ron. 

For herself. 

“I’m g-going t-to b-b-be oh-kay.” She finishes shakily. 

She has to be. To see Ron again and Harry and Ginny. And to see her parents alive. God please be alright- 

“Where the hell is she?” Dolohov’s hiss carries from outside the doors. 

Hermione’s scared eyes look where the sound came from beyond the door. 

Narcissa ignores it and softly cradles her cheeks to redirect her attention, “yes, yes.” The banging on the door sounds again. 

The woman squeezes the wand in her hand further.

“Think of a place. Any place. Focus on that.” She encourages. 

And for the first time in weeks she feels like herself. Her mind works wildly to figure this out. 

The Burrow and Hogwarts have wards. I can’t go home. I don’t want to go somewhere and have them follow me. Think Hermione, think-

“I h-have it.” She promises. 

“Okay, do it, you can do it.” She says to the girl as she lifts her weak, shaking arm to hold the wand. 

Hermione shakes her head. She couldn’t leave Narcissa, not like this. Not after all she’s done. “C-come.” She chokes. 

Sadly, she shakes her head and lets a tear fall down her cheek, “I can’t.” 

“P-please.” She whimpers. 

“Quick, undo the locking charm!” A voice called from outside 

“I promised you I’d get you out of here.” She reminds, “Now go.” Narcissa kisses her gently on the forehead and wipes away a tear on her protruding cheek bone. 

“Th-thank you,” she takes a deep breath to say more, “Cissy.” Hermione manages with a pained smile

“This isn’t the end.” Narcissa promises. 

The brunette nods. Willing herself to focus on where she needs to go. 

Destination. Deliberation. Determination. 

She was determined to get out of this hell. 

To go home. 

Closing her eyes, she turns. 

Crack. 

Just as the boom of apparition sounded the kitchen door was thrown open. 

Narcissa stared with an astounded smile at what the young woman just did, but was soon drawn away at the sight of her husband. 

“Where is she? The girl?” He demanded from her. 

Doing what she’s done for years, she decided to put on her best face and continue living a lie. 

“My wand! She took my wand!” She pretended to cry out. 

“Fuck!” He pulled at his hair, “he can’t know. The Dark Lord. No one.” He told her, gripping her shoulders harshly. 

Narcissa nodded, the less people to lie to the easier it would be. 

“I need to get you out of here. I’ll have to side along you.” He told her as he grabbed her hand. 

“It’s not like she could go anywhere right? She can’t even apparate.” He justified to himself just before he twirled his wand. 

Narcissa hid the smile that fell on her face, “no, she can’t.” 

At his words, Harry instantly softened, sensing the seriousness in his tone. 

He braced himself for what was to come next. 

“It wasn’t really Hediwg that woke me up.” At this Harry’s eyes squinted in confusion as Neville sighed, “Fred and Geroge’s owl, it was the one pecking at the window. They talked to Brimblehawk, they know where that place is, with the chandelier.” 

“W-what?” He breathed, never did he think their plan would ever amount to anything, but he hoped it would. More than anything. 

“Harry, when Bill comes today we need to tell him what we know. I know before you and Ron didn’t want to start anything or were scared they’d move her, but I reckon it's now or never.” He pauses, “no matter what happens next, nothing will ever be the same.”

Slowly, but surely, Harry nodded in agreement. The Grangers were gone. It felt like the worst had happened, but he knew deep down, there was potential for worse. 

Who would be next? A Weasley? Neville? Lupin? Hermione herself? 

No. 

No. Harry was through playing this waiting game. It was time Hermione came home, or what’s left of it anyway. 

“Harry?” Neville broke his daze. 

“You’re right.” He confirmed, “I just hope Ron’s awake to help. I want Hermione back more than I think I’ve ever wanted anything, but Ron, it’s like-it’s like it's killing him.” The Boy-Who-Lived whispered. 

“We’ll get her back, Harry. We need her.” 

At this very moment Ron groaned in his sleep, head falling to his other shoulder. Instantly, Harry felt the need to pull the blanket around his best mate tighter. Let him feel protected from the real world for just a little bit longer. 

“You need to come back soon Ron.” Harry whispered low enough that Neville wouldn’t hear. 

He felt Neville’s eyes burning into his back as he watched the scene. Stepping away, Harry swallowed the lump in his throat, “you never told me where she is.” He says, voice cracking, “Hermione.” He adds. 

“Wiltshire.” He responds, “A place called Malfoy Manor.” 

Harry’s entire body erupts with chills. 

... 

It wasn’t until two hours later, around seven in the morning, that Ron began to regain consciousness. 

He opened his blue eyes, doing his best to adjust to the harsh light in the room. 

Everything around him was a blur, he moved his hand to rub at his eyes, but found it to be very weak.  After blinking a few times, it seemed to do the trick as the world became clearer. 

This was not his dormitory. 

Why the fuck was he in the hospital wing? 

“Merlin, you’re alright.” He heard Harry breathe from nearby, though he sounded underwater. 

Suddenly, everything came back to him like a rush of cold water flooding his veins. 

Birthday. Chocolate Cauldrons. Romilda Bloody Vane. Slughorn. Meade. Hermione…

“M fine.” He croaks, trying to sit up. 

Harry gently pushes his shoulders down, “I wouldn’t do that. Neville’s gone to get Madame Pomfrey to give you some potions that’ll sort you out. Though, I imagine she’ll be livid, we aren’t supposed to be here this early.” 

It’s true. Madam Pomfrey shooed him away last night, but he simply returned to his dorm, nicked his invisibility cloak, and came back. 

Neville’s presence was a bit harder to explain. 

“Since you’re technically of age, your parents didn’t have to be informed, but I owled them last night. They’ll be along soon with Bill, I reckon.” He let’s slip. 

Ron could sense his best mates unease. Not only that, but why the hell would Bill be popping in if his Mum and Dad were? Something was a little off. 

“Bill?” He questioned. 

Harry’s mouth flopped open and closed like a fish’s would, before Madame Pomfrey came to the rescue.

Well, sort of. 

“Mr. Potter! Visiting hours do not begin until eight o’clock! You and Mr. Longbottom will be dealt with accordingly after I sort out my patient here! Little regard for following rules. Just like your fathers.” She tutted the last sentence under her breath as she moved to Ron’s side, leaving a blushing Neville in her wake. 

The matron picked up a glass vile and slowly tipped the thick potion past Ron’s lips. 

“Now Mr. Weasley, the bezoar seemed to do wonders for you. Most of the poison has been flushed from your system, but there are still trace amounts present. You’ll be on a few potions the next few days to get you fit as a fiddle. You may feel tired or get aches, but any symptoms besides  those you must alert me, understand?” 

Ron just nodded in response, swallowing the terrible tasting liquid as she spoke. 

“Now how is your knee?” She asked next. 

He thought about it for a moment, but any pain within that region didn’t register, “My knee?” He questioned. 

Harry shifted uncomfortably at Ron’s ignorance, as Neville flushed a bit, seeming to have realized where this was going. 

Madame Pomfrey nodded, “yes you’ve been whining about it since last night. I did a full body scan and there’s no internal injuries to it, maybe just sore?” She thought aloud. 

“My knee.” He repeated to himself, now understanding that he was not groaning about a pain in his leg, but rather, his Mione. 

“Oh, uh,” he began nervously, but cleared his throat, “yes, it’s feeling better now, thank you.” Ron said quickly, red as his hair and avoiding both of his friends' eyes. 

“Excellent. You rest.” She then turned to look over Harry and Neville for a few moments, both squirmed under her gaze. “I’ll allow Misters Potter and Longbotton to stay. The headmaster was quite insistent that Mr. Potter be present for when your family arrives.” 

“Harry?” Ron said aloud, again, getting the feeling something bigger was going on. 

The nurse nodded, “yes. I’ve been told your parents and brothers will be joining us too. I know how the twins can be, but you must remain on bed rest, do not work yourself up.” She reiterated. 

“The twins?” Now he was really confused. He’s almost positive his Mum wouldn’t allow the two of them to see him in this state if she knew how well, weak, he was. Ron didn’t need any added troubles. 

“That’s what I said Mr. Weasley. Someone will also be waking your sister soon I’m sure. I’ve been told William will also be joining at Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore’s insistence.” 

“Did they say why?” He asked next, knowing he wouldn’t get anywhere with Harry, but maybe Madam Pomfrey knew differently. 

“No, but I’m sure your family is just concerned. The Weasley’s have always been a tight bunch.” 

And that’s true! But ever since everything happened during Christmas holiday, Mum, like Dumbledore, has been very adamant that no one draw any attention. To carry on as they were. 

Surely over half of the Weasley clan coming to Hogwarts to speak with Dumbledore would draw suspicions.

And right under Snape and Malfoys nose, no less. 

“Now I must go finish filing your report for the archives. I’ll be back soon with your hourly potion.” She walked to her office before stopping, “stay put.” Madame Pomfrey warned. 

Once she disappeared, Ron was given a second to take in Neville and Harry. Both had bloodshot eyes. Harry was biting the edge of his nails as Neville twisted a piece of parchment in his shaking hands. 

Ron was awake, he was okay, so what were they so worked up for? 

“There’s something else.” He whispered, but the pair heard. 

“Ron-“ Harry began. 

Before he could finish, the hospital wing doors flew open, revealing a mass of red hair, along with Dumbledore and McGonagall not far behind. 

“Ronnie!” His Mum cried out, racing over to his bed and giving him a hug. 

He did his best to respond, but found his limbs feeling heavy, “I’m okay Mum.” He whispered. 

Over her shoulder, he didn’t fail to notice the crowd that came in. And any doubts that something bigger was going on was all but confirmed by the looks on their faces. 

Sure, they were all relieved Ron was alright, but they were not jumping for joy like he suspected. 

Like his Mum, Ginny was crying. Something he hasn’t seen her do in years, save for Christmas. 

Bill was anxiously shifting his weight between his feet, something he got scolded for when he was younger as a nervous habit. 

His father looked solemn. They exchanged a brief nod, but Arthur couldn’t bring himself to smile at his son. Not when he’d have to break his heart all over again. 

The twins weren’t laughing. They weren’t smiling. They weren’t joking. They were stiff, serious, stoic, three words he would never associate with them. 

McGonagall herself looked a little misty eyed as she fiddled with her robes’ sleeves. 

Dumbledore also had an indescribable air of sadness around him. Ron couldn’t put it into words, he could feel it. 

“It’s Hermione, isn't it.” He spoke to the room. He just knew. 

They all exchanged nervous glances, no one knew what to say. 

“Not exactly.” Dumbledore answered, stepping through the Weasley’s to be right at Ron’s bedside. “I’m glad to see you well Ronald.” 

He couldn’t help but scoff, “cheers.” 

“Ronald Billius! You ought to treat Albus with respect. We are all very happy you are alright, you should be too!” His Mum called from his fathers embrace. 

“I am.” He said softer, “but that doesn’t mean I need to be treated like a kid. I feel fine. A little tired, but I am fine. So someone now please tell me what in the bloody hell is going on.” He grunted. 

Molly again made a move to scold her son, but Dumbledore dismissed her with a wave of his hand. 

“Can’t put anything past you can we Ronald? That’s an Auror’s trait if I’ve ever come to know one.” He commented, almost like he knew that was Ron’s dream. 

Well, he probably did know somehow. This was after all Albus Dumbledore. 

“Uh thanks.” The ginger said a little impatiently. On any other day he might’ve flushed at the compliment and thanked his headmaster. Right now, he couldn’t bring himself to. 

Harry can’t let this go on any longer. He just physically cannot allow another moment to pass with Ron laying there, the truth just within arms reach. 

“The Grangers are dead.” He said it quickly and lowly. 

Though everyone, save for Ron, knew the news, all eyes still snapped to Harry in awe at his bluntness. 

Ron made a move to sit up and this time no one made a move to stop him. They simply watched as his eyes widened in a painstaking state of shock. 

“No.” Was all he managed. He couldn’t believe it. 

“Son, I’m so sorry-“ Arthur began, stepping forward. 

“You promised.” He gritted to his father. 

“Ron-“ the old man protested. 

“You promised!” He yelled, voice so riddled with anguish. “You said someone went. That they put up wards.” 

“They did son, I promise you. Someone from The Order was sent, but I’m afraid the wards weren’t casted by someone with Dumbledore’s caliber of magic. They didn’t stand a chance against her.” Mr. Weasley explained, voice almost as strained as his sons. 

“S-she?” He didn’t realize he was crying until he felt a tear drop land on his knuckles. 

“We can’t be positive, but the work matches-“ 

“Bellatrix.” Ron spat angrily. 

He didn’t need to see his father nod in confirmation to know he was right. 

“This isn’t right. None of this is right. She needs to answer for what she’s done to Hermione, to her parents!” His voice was rising again. Anger was easier than the guilt pounding its way into his chest. 

“It’s not that easy Ron, if it were-“ This time it was Bill who spoke. 

“I don’t give a bloody fuck what’s easy and what’s not! This is Hermione we’re talking about, that-that was her family. So when she comes home, she won’t even have a home to get back to! You do realize how fucking preventable this entire thing was? So far The Order has been nothing but fuck up.” He seethed. 

“I understand you’re upset Ronnie, but you know we’re doing all that can be done.” Molly interjected softly. 

“No you’re not!” He protested. 

“Oh yeah? And what have you been doing? Beating up Cormac McLaggen? Getting yourself poisoned?” Bill retorted, not liking his brother's attitude, pain or not. 

“William!” His Mum scolded. 

Ron ignored him, “you can bet your arse I’ve been doing a lot more than planning a fucking wedding!” 

This seemed to set Bill off, “don’t get pissy with me just because I have Fleur and Hermione is-“ 

Whatever he was going to say, no one would ever come to find out. 

Ron summoned all his strength and latched roughly onto one of his eldest brother's wrists. Enough to surely bruise. 

“Don’t you dare finish whatever the hell you’re about to say.” 

At this Bill relented, he knew he was out of line, but letting emotions get the better of you surely was a Weasley trait. 

“He is right Bill.” Fred broke from his place in the corner. 

Ron’s brow scrunched in confusion at his brother's words, but his curiosity only grew as he watched Fred and Harry exchange a nod. 

“What?” Bill voices exactly what Ron’s thinking. 

“I reckon Harry, Ronnie, and Neville have done more than The Order has.” Fred then turns ro McGonagall and Dumbledore, “no offense.” 

“Mr. Weasley, need I remind you that certain things are not to be brought up in the presence of others?” McGonagall scathes, eyes flicking to Neville. 

“He knows Professor.” Harry states. 

“Mr. Potter-“

“I didn’t tell him. He figured it out.” 

At this, the old woman looked relieved and maybe even a little proud. 

“He’s Hermione’s friend too.” Ron added, certainly more calm then the last time he spoke. 

“Plus, according to a letter Fred and I received a few days ago, without Neville’s help we wouldn’t know where Hermione is.” George told the room. 

At this everyone grew shocked, no one more so than Ron. 

“I-it worked?” He stuttered, not able to believe it himself. 

“We have the closest apparition point here.” Fred pulled out a piece of parchment from his pocket before handing it off to Dumbledore. 

He eyed it for a moment before realization struck, “Wiltshire?” Ron swears he hears fear in his tone. 

“I’m afraid I’ll need to be filled in.” McGonagall spoke up. 

“You and I both Minerva.” The old man agreed, though his voice faltered the slightest. 

“I think I’m the reason Hermione’s parents are dead.” Harry piped up. 

“Harry, no.” Ron shook his head, pushing himself upright. 

“He-he told her that someone would die if she spoke to me again and…” he trailed, feeling a bile rise in his throat. 

“You spoke to Hermione?” Ginny questioned. 

“I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you Professor, I just thought- we just-” Harry was growing hysterical. 

“Calm yourself Harry, you can ease my mind by explaining what instance you are referring to.” He encouraged, voice soft. 

Slowly, the Chosen One nodded, “that-that night she was taken, I collapsed, do you remember?” He asked to no one in particular, yet everyone nodded. “Well it happened again, the same night. It was him and he h-had Hermione.” He took a deep breath, “she s-spoke to me through him, it made him mad, r-really mad. He told her if she did it again someone would, someone would d-die.” Like Ron, tears found their way down his cheeks. 

“I don’t follow Mr. Potter. If this all happened at Christmas then why would he wait?” McGonagall couldn’t help but question. 

“Because it happened again. A few days ago.” 

A few gasps echoed in the empty wing. 

“Even before everything, I had my suspicions about Draco Malfoy.” He eyed Dumbledore carefully as he said this, but the old man showed little emotion. “Hermione and Ron thought I was barmy, but then Ron started seeing it too.” 

All eyes soon fell on the bed ridden boy, silently demanding an explanation. 

“Mr. Weasley?” Albus encouraged. 

“It started on the train I reckon, Malfoy, he well bumped into me and apologized. He seemed, I dunno- sorry? But for a lot more than that.” Knowing this wasn't a satisfying explanation he continued, “then he told Katie Bell Hermione was away for a family emergency so she couldn’t fulfill her prefect duties and there was just no way he’d know she was gone. We weren’t even at Hogwarts when he said it.” 

“I see.” Dumbledore said, pursing his lips. 

Ron continued anyway, “Then I had these dreams, really bizarre dreams about Malfoy telling me he knew where they were keeping Hermione. It sounds mental, but I just knew there was something more to it.” 

Harry jumped back in, “When Hermione was able to get through to me, the only thing she said was ‘Malfoy’, that’s when I knew it was more.” The dark haired boy ignored all the astound faces and pressed on, “so we broke into his dorm.” He admitted, eyeing his professors cautiously. 

Thankfully, neither had the heart to scold him at the moment, both too invested in the story. The twins even took a moment to exchange a small smirk. 

“In his room we found a picture. The picture had the same chandelier I saw on Christmas when I first felt him with Hermione.” Harry finished. 

“And I recognized the picture from being in The Prophet and Neville, he recognized the photographer's name.” Ron supplied weakly. 

All eyes then turned to the third boy, “Balthasar Bartolo Brimblehawk. He was a big-“ 

“Wartime photographer.” Bill breathed from his spot. 

Neville nodded, “yeah and he’s got a place in Diagon Alley.” Next all eyes fell on the twins.  

George cleared his throat, eyes locking with Ron, knowing his brother was unconscious when their owl arrived. “Didn’t want to talk to us, not at first anyway. We told him we were sent from The Order and he seemed interested, but not enough to let us in.” 

“Then we told him it was a favor for Augusta Longbottom’s grandson and that’s when he cracked.” Fred jumped in. 

“Don’t tell me you-“ McGonagall began, clearly ready to chasistize the boys for disclosing private information. 

“No.” Fred promised, knowing where she was going, “the second we picked up the photo and asked where it was he wrote it for us. No questions asked.” 

“I reckon he knows exactly what goes down there.” George gulped. 

The room fell silent for a moment until the crinkling of parchment cracked it. 

“So this is where Miss Granger is?” Dumbledore asked, holding up the offending piece.

Harry shrugged, “makes the most sense.” 

“Why hadn’t anyone thought of them earlier?” Ron’s cracked voice asked. 

“Estates like the Malfoy’s and the Lestrange’s are some of the wizarding world’s best kept secrets. Furthermore, we had no reason to suspect the Malfoy’s involvement, not with this anyway. Sources said they had much bigger things going on.” Dumbledore said cryptially, not willing to reveal what Severus told him at the start of term. 

And thankfully, no one questioned it, too focused on Hermione. 

“What now?” Bill asked. 

Everyone turned to the headmaster, knowing he was the one to call the shots. However, the old man's attention was fully on Ron. 

“I believe that Miss Granger has been departed from us for far too long.” Albus watched as the bed ridden ginger’s eyes glossed over. He then turned to Ginny, “Miss Wealsey, why don’t you and Mr. Longbottom make way to the Great Hall for breakfast. Bring some back for Mr. Potter too.” He suggested. 

Though they both wanted to fight to stay, they complied, knowing Dumbledore knew what he was doing, “alright. We’ll be back soon.” Ginny said, pulling Neville with her. 

“As for the rest of you Weasley’s, please join me in my office. I do believe we have a great deal of planning ahead of us, yes?” At his words, Molly let tears streak her cheeks as she let Arthur guide her to the door. 

“Minerva, please summon The Order, we shall meet tonight.” Dumbledore said as she too vacated the room. 

Leaving just Harry, Ron, and the old professor, he turned to the bed, “I hope the next time we see each other I can offer you more than just my condolences. Please rest Ronald.” 

With that, he exited the wing as his robes billowed behind him. 

Weakly, Ron attempted to call out but failed. Part of him was overwhelmed and frustrated at not being involved in the planning. This was Hermione after all. 

Another part wanted to sob in relief at the prospect of her coming back to him. Not willing to let himself dwell on her condition. 

However, he could do neither. Not when his stomach was churning terribly as the news of the Grangers death began to settle with him. 

“I promised them.” Is all he said, round, watery eyes finding Harry’s. 

The dark haired boy knew he was on the verge of hysterics. 

“I promised her parents they’d see her again. How am I ever going to-“ he allowed himself to collapse onto his best mate. 

Harry held Ron tightly. Assuring him it wasn’t his fault as he felt his body shake with sobs. 

And maybe from the emotional drain or maybe from the after effects of his poisoning, exhaustion took over as he fell asleep, still in Harry’s embrace. 

“Merlin.”

“Hi.” Hermione said shyly, hand’s smoothing over the skirt of her dress. 

Ron was still too enchanted by her to speak.

She was absolutely stunning.

Seeing her come down the girls dormitory steps rivaled when she entered the Great Hall fourth year. 

She wore a long gown that was funny enough, the same blue as his dress robes. The top was tighter, the entire thing adorned with little navy flowers sewn into it. The flowers cascade down into a belt of sorts, then trickled off into the tulle skirt that just floated above the floor. 

Her hair had obviously been given a light amount of sleakesys, just enough to tame the frizz. It seemed to be in a bun of sorts, but only halfway, a good front of the pieces falling around her face. Some tucked behind her ear. 

Her eyelashes looked longer and darker. Her pink lips glistsend under the flickering fire. Her cheeks were tinged pink, but it wasn’t from blush. He swore he could smell the perfume he gifted her last Christmas. 

And her eyes. Well, if this was the last look he ever saw. He’d die a happy man. 

“Hi.” Ron manages breathlessly. 

At the tone of his voice, the brunette smiles, insticilvey pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, smearing the small amount of lip gloss she put on. 

“You look,” he couldn’t find the words, there didn’t seem to be a singular one that could describe it, “beautiful.” Angelic. Irresistible. Breathtaking. Lovely. Bewitching. Heavenly. Gorgeous… 

Her cheeks darkened, “you look quite nice yourself.” Hermione responded sheepishly. 

“These are for you.” He fumbles with the small bouquet a little before handing them over to her. 

She smiled gratefully as she took a small sniff, before looking at him again, “they’re lovely.” Hermione told him truthfully, “I’ll be sure to display them properly on my table upstairs.” With that, she flicked her wand, sending the bouquet exactly to that spot. 

“Brilliant.” He breathed at her wand work, a grin plastered on his face in admiration. 

Harry, watching the scene from a small distance, knew this could go on all night. This awkward dance of pauses and daring compliments. But he didn’t have all night, he had to get to Ravenclaw tower. 

Clearing his throat, the pair jumped, “you look lovely Hermione, but could we please be on our way? I have to get Luna.” 

A little embarrassed she didn’t notice him before, the brunette offered a flustered nod. Harry didn't spare a moment rushing over to the portrait hole. 

Just as Hermione went to take the final stair down, she stumbled a bit. Almost instantly, Ron caught her arm. 

“Oh, you’ll have to excuse me, I’m not used to these shoes.” She told him sheepishly as his eyes flicked to the small heels on her feet. 

Thinking quickly, he offered his arm to her, “I’ll help you.” Ron told her. 

Both pleased and surprised, she wrapped her arm around his extended one. 

“Thank you.” The witch said as they traveled across the common room. 

“Of course Mione.” The red-haired boy answered without a second thought, “I won’t let you fall.”

After that, they lapsed into a comfortable silence as they followed Harry through the corridors. Not that Ron could speak anyway, he was way too buzzed off the feeling of her being so close. 

It wasn’t until after Luna’s barmy greeting about how the moon was in perfect alignment for tonight did they break the streak. 

“Thank you again for coming with me.” Hermione said in a low voice, Ron thinks so Harry and Luna wouldn’t hear.

It makes him feel warm knowing the words are just for him. 

He dares to give her a small squeeze, “Hey, there’s where else I’d rather be tonight than here.” With you, he adds silently. 

“Me too. I can’t imagine coming here with anyone else if I’m being honest.” She admits shyly, eyes trained on the decorations above. 

“Really?” He asks, surprised, looking down at her. 

Finally, her brilliant brown eyes meet his. She simply nods in confirmation. 

“Wicked.” He breathes. 

She giggles. 

It’s the best fucking sound he’s evr had the pleasure of hearing.

“I will admit, I’m a bit surprised you agreed. I know Slughorn isn’t your favorite.” Hermione tells with a small smile. 

“Well, I didn’t come for Slughorn.” Ron states confidently, “besides, if I wanted to get to know the bloke I reckon I’d get a detention or something.” He adds teasingly. 

She laughs again.

His chest squeezes at the sound. 

“Come on!” Harry calls from the doorway. 

Ron didn’t even realize they had stopped until now. 

“Git.” he mumbles. 

Gently, he places his much larger hand on the small of Hermione’s back to lead her into the source of the music and chatter floating through the corridor. 

Her eyes snap to his at the action, but he just gives her a lopsided grin, which she returns with her own dazzling smile. 

Carefully, he nudges her on and they’re soon meant by all sorts of things. Floating trays of foods and beverages. Drapes cascading the room. Lanterns lighting the scene. A mass of even more Christmas decorations. An even larger mass of people, students and staff alike. 

“Ah Miss Granger!” Slughorn immediately noticed the new presence in the room. 

“Good evening professor.” Hermione said, voice heightening a little over the music. 

“Ah, Rupert, have some mead my boy!” Ron heard’s Slughorn say, though his voice sounded far off. Surely that wasn’t what he said. 

Shaking away whatever the hell that was, he tuned back in. 

“So happy to have you! Whose this young man?” He asked, eyeing Ron funnily, seeming to have noticed his dazed look. 

He suppressed a groan. He’s had Sluggy for potions all year and there’s not exactly a mass of red headed sixth year Gryfindors. You’d think he’d take a little notice. 

“This is Ron Weasley,” she stated produly before pausing for a moment, “he’s my date.”

Never, in his entire life does he think’s heard more brilliant words leave someone’s mouth. 

He can’t help but smile so wide you’d think the Cannons won the World Cup. 

“Yes sir, that’s me,” he holds out his hand as the old professor shakes it. Soon, he averts his gaze to the girl next to him, eyes twinkling as he does, “I’m Hermione’s date.”

Ignorant to the moment, Slughorn releases his hand and smiles, “Lovely! There are some people I’d love for you to meet Miss Granger, I think-” his eyes find the door, “Oh! Excuse me, will you? We can catch up later.” He’s gone before she can answer. 

After Slughorn leaves, he still can’t help but stare at her with pure amazement and adortion. 

She flushes under his gaze before speaking, “I’m sure you’re dying for something to eat, come on.” Hermione grabs his hand and leads him to a table. 

He never wants to let go. 

They soon find themselves at a table with Harry, Luna, and Ginny. Neville comes around and serves food and Ron even takes notice of his manners, as means to impress Hermione. 

Having polished off his plate and noticing everyone else has too, the friends fall into comfortable chatter. 

However, they’re soon interrupted when a fifth year Hufflepuff, who also seems to have gone alone, asks Ginny to dance. It’s only after she agrees did Ron notice the couples swaying in the center of the room. 

Come on you tosser, just ask her. Ask her dammit! He mentally scolds as he watches Hermione pick at the table cloth. 

Just as he opens his mouth to ask, a wispy voice cuts him off, “Oh Harry, I love this song, would you care to dance?” Luna asks softly. 

Harry, whose mind seems to have been elsewhere all night, agrees as he extends a hand to the blonde. Despite the notion, Ron still notices his green eyes scanning the room for someone else. Malfoy no doubt. 

Speaking of Malfoy, I wonder if Fred and George ever did owl back about- 

“I’m happy Harry brought Luna. Much better than someone like Romilda Vane.” Hermione noted from next to him. 

Romilda Vane? Why did that sound so familiar? Sure, she and Dean went to the Yule Ball, but there was something else he couldn't quiet place. 

Ignoring his thoughts he shakes his head, “yeah.” he agrees, still working up the courage to ask her to dance. 

At his words, she offers a small smile, seemingly sensing his nerves. 

At the gesture, he melts. It feels like ages since he’s given her that look. He hasn’t seen it since before Lavender. 

Wait! Lavender? No. He’s here with Hermione. He hasn’t spoken to Lavender about more than homework, right?  

Thinking his flustered nature is causing all these barmy thoughts, Ron jumps to his feet and extends a hand, taking them both by surprise. 

“Would you like to dance?” He asked shakily, any confidence soon leaving. 

Her brown eyes softened, “I’d love to.” Her much smaller hand slipped into his large one as they walked to the dance floor. 

Tentatively, he pulls her to him, reveling in her body’s warmth. He cups her waist with one large hand, letting his long fingers skim the small of her back as he places his other one in hers. She responds adequately, placing one hand on his shoulder and responding in kind by grabbing his larger hand back. 

Ron isn’t sure if it's him or her who initiated it, not that he cares, but suddenly they're closer. Her body is flush against his as she places her head on his chest and he drops his own on top of hers. Resting his chin against the smooth brown curls. 

They sway like this for a while. Neither one said anything. Just enjoying being so close. 

“Come find me.” He hears Hermione whimper, breaking the silence. 

Instinctively, he jumps back a little, “what did you say?” Those words, they were so familiar. 

Hurt washed over her features, “I said, I’m having a nice time, but if-” she began sadly. 

“No!” He assured, confidently pulling her back into their former position. “I’m sorry, I thought you- I heard-” He sighed, “I’m having a really nice time too.”

At the proclamation she visibly eased in his arms, tension leaving her body as she burrowed closer. Instinctively he wrapped his arm tighter around her, peering mometraily over her head. 

For a second he thought he saw a witch donned in black robes with wild curly hair grinning right at them, unmistakably Bellatrix ruddy Lestrange. But when he blinked, she was gone. 

Merlin, what the hell was in that Butterbeer? 

“Oh look Harry, mistletoe.” Luna’s voice broke his thoughts. 

Quickly, his eyes found hers, needing to see the uncomfortable interaction that would ensure between his best mate and the Ravenclaw. However, upon further observation, the sprig wasn’t above them. Not at all. 

It was above him and Hermione. 

“My father says if you ignore the tradition of mistletoe then your crop of dirigible plums will be spoiled by spring.” The blonde told the pair. 

“We can’t have that.” Harry commented with a shit eating grin. 

“No I suppose we can’t…” He was shocked when he realized it was Hermione who had agreed. 

Apparently his look of surprise was evident on his face as she soon looked away, “but we don’t have to, it’s just some silly tradition. It’s not like-” she began to justify, embarrassed. 

“Hermione, there is nothing I’d like more than anything to fulfill this tradition with you.” He promised softly. 

She blinked, “Really?” 

He nodded, “like you said, we can’t be ruining the plums before winter.” 

“No I suppose-” 

Whatever she was about to say was cut off as a pair of smooth lips found themselves over hers. Though taken off guard, she soon eases into it, responding with just enough passion. 

“Mm.” He moans softly against her. 

At this she pulls away for air, pupils blown, lips swollen. 

When he opens his eyes to take her in, he soon realizes they’re no longer at Slughorn’s Christmas Party. 

Instead, his hand is clamped over her mouth as she trembles in fear under the old oak tree at the Burrow. 

Living this night many times, he refuses to let it take over, not again. Not this time. 

Blinking again, he's grateful to have some sort of control as he finds himself back where he needs to be. Her in her navy blue dress. Him in his robes. Under the mistletoe. 

Perfect. 

Knowing he couldn’t have much longer, he practically whimpers her name before diving in for another kiss, “Mione.” He grumbles. 

When she catches her breath a second time he can’t help but speak again, “It’s just you and me.” 

No Bellatrix. No Greyback. No Death Eaters. 

“You and me.” She confirms breathless, before leaning in for the third time. 

He can only utter one thing before his world goes dark again, “Ermyknee.”

… 

“He’ll be alright?” Harry asked for the umpteenth time since being allowed in, making Madame Pomfrey sigh in annoyance. 

“He’ll be fine. He needs his rest.” She fussed over his blankets before turning to face the dark haired boy, “did he hit his knee when he fell?” 

Potter thought about it, Ron fell on his bum. 

“No, why?” He said after a moment. 

“He keeps groaning about his knee.” She shrugs, “I”ll mix a pain potion just in case. I’ll be right back.” Madame Pomfrey says before rushing away. 

As she goes, Harry takes a moment to observe Ron. He looks so serene, so calm. It’s the first time in months. 

His face is usually screwed up as he yells in agony for them to take him instead of her. Night after night Ron begs to be killed so they won’t touch her. 

The weight of the fact he easily could’ve lost him becomes overbearing, too much. That along with losing Hermione, Harry thinks he’d just crumble. 

He feels a tear on his cheek before he knows it, as he moves his hand to wipe it away. 

He quickly removes it from his face when he hears a groan from the bed next to him. 

“Mm,” Ron grumbles, head swaying a bit. 

“Mione.” It’s barely audible, but Harry knows what he’s saying. 

“Ermyknee.” He groans again sleepily.

He can’t help the small smile that grazes his lips at Ron’s words, it must be a pleasant dream. 

And for whatever reason, at this very moment, Harry knows Ron really does love Hermione. 

However, he can’t revel in it for long, because soon enough, Neville comes barreling into the Hospital Wing, parchment clutched in his hand. 

The door benags loudly againstg the wall, causing Ron to stir slightly. 

“Neville! Keep it-” He doesn’t finish, Neville cuts him off. 

“You should stay out of it Cissy. Some things are bigger than you and your poor excuse of a husband.” Bellatrix bites. 

Well, Narcissa couldn’t argue with her on the last point...

“This is my house and I demand you tell me.” She stomps her foot for effect. 

The brunette jumps from her chair, “oh!” She squeals, “you demand it of me, do you?” Bellatrix taunts, like Narcissa is one of her victims. 

She doesn’t waiver, “that’s right.” 

“Why, oh why, should I tell you? And don’t tell me it’s because this is your home.” Lestrange questions, rounding her like a hungry shark. 

Narcissa turns so her brown eyes pierce the other woman’s, “because I’m your sister.” 

Bellatrix stops. 

“You are.” She says, just about as soft as she can physically manage. 

Seeing she’s getting somewhere, Narcissa nods, “you are, so I hope you listen to me when I tell you that what you're doing and whatever you’re planning, is wrong.” 

“Wrong?” The mad woman responds, the word sounding bitter on her tongue. 

“That’s right, that girl down there, she’s Draco’s age. She’s his classmate!” Her anger crumbles into sadness, “they have the same professors and they’ve been to the same Quidditch matches. They’re both prefects.” She says, tears pooling her eyes. “It’s so wrong, imagine if that was Draco.” 

And without a beat, the brunette has her answer, “no.” 

Malfoy thinks she heard it wrong, “no?” 

“No.” Bella repeats, “it would never be Draco. Ever. He’s a Pureblood. He’s sworn his allegiance to the Dark Lord. He never stole someone else’s magic and tainted himself further by befriending Harry Potter!” She shouts. 

“She’s just a girl, like me and you were. We were just her age when you, me, and Andi went down-“ 

“Andi? Andi is it now? Don’t be so naive Narcissa! That woman is dead to me. Dead to me!” Bellatrix shouted, stepping closer. 

“She’s our sister!” She screams back with equal fervor. 

“Sister? Don’t make me laugh!” She cackles a bit for good measure, “the second she married that-that Mudblood, she became the furthest thing from family!” 

“Bella, how can you say that?” 

“What! It’s not like we even speak to her! Not that I’d want to.” 

Narcissa bites her tongue. She’s secretly corresponded with Andromeda more times than one through the years. 

“And if her marrying that disgusting filth wasn’t enough for you, what about when her daughter started seeing that Werewolf? Disgusting half-breeds.” She spits. 

“Why does all this matter so much to you?” She finally asks. 

“Because Cissy, they’re thieves, all of them! We couldn’t do half of what we did had we not come from the Black bloodline. You think we’d even still be alive if we were pathetic Mudbloods? No! We’re all magic. Through and through. I value that. Your sister doesn’t. You should too.” 

Bellatrix steps closer so her breath tickles Narcissa’s nose. 

“Even if that thing in the basement didn’t have dirty blood, it doesn’t change the fact her best friend is Potter. The very boy trying to destroy the very world the Dark Lord is building. A world where people like me and you.” She pauses, “like your son, can have more power then you can imagine. And we deserve it.” She whispers darkly, making the other woman shiver. 

Narcissa gulps, “that girl in the basement, she won’t change this whole war. We don’t need her.” She throws in the ‘we’ for good measure, hoping it’ll give Bellatrix some ease. 

“Maybe not. Maybe so. That’s not for either of us to decide. The Dark Lord wants it to stay, so it stays.” She finishes, then smiles mischievously, “plus Muddy is so much fun. Several people around here agree.” 

Narcissa stumbles back, suddenly feeling sick. 

When did her sister, her own flesh and blood become so vile? She’s known she’s had her problems. She’s always had them. And she’s seen her kill, beat, curse a plethora of wizards and witches, but never like this. 

Never a young girl. Never offering up someone the very same age as her own son up to filthy men to have their way with her. 

Not long ago Bellatrix, Andromeda, and Narcissa were Hermione’s age. Young girls caught up in the brewing storm. 

Now, all these years later, in this very moment, it dawns on Narcissa that maybe she’s chosen the wrong side. 

“How can you even say that?” She manages. 

The brunette huffs, “you better watch yourself Cissy, I see you stalking off to the dungeons. I’ve only let it go on for this long because as you said, we are sisters, but know this,” she leans forward, “after tonight, nothing, nothing, you do in that dungeon will save the Mudblood from what’s to come.” 

“Tell me Bella, please tell me.” She practically begs. 

Bellatrix seems to think about it for a moment, “no, I don’t think I will.” She says venomously before disapparating.

… 

She isn’t sure how long she stands in the now unfurnished foyer for. The crack of her sister dissapparting still rings in her ears, as the heavy weight of what she is doing gets heavier by the second. 

Sighing, Narcissa decides to check on Hermione. Bellatrix is gone anyway, so now's as good as ever. 

Sauntering down the stairs, her eyes flick to the faint glow now erupting from the enchanted candle. Squinting, she can make out the exposed girl clutching that book to her chest. 

“Hello dear.” She says softly, crouching in front of the bars. 

Sighing like she always does when she realizes it’s Narcissa, Hermione shifts to meet her eyes. 

Beneath her nose she can make out fresh blood. 

“Oh she’s already seen you today has she?” The woman asks, despite knowing the answer. 

Slowly, Hermione nods. 

Flinging open the doors, something she used to be weary to do, Narcissa piled in and sat down right next to her. 

“Here, let me see.” She whispered, pulling a handkerchief from her pockets. 

Hermione scooted forward a bit, though she winced as her leg scraped along the floor. A few days ago Bellatrix had blasted her with something that threw her up and across the room, hitting her leg squarely on an old stone statue. There was no doubt to her, or Narcissa, that it was broken beyond a point of magical repair. 

The brunette tilted her chin as the woman began gently rubbing the blood from her face best she could, mindful of all the cuts and bruises. 

“I’m going to be honest with you.” Narcissa whispers after a moment. 

Hermione’s brown eyes widen at her words, scared for what's to come. 

Is this where she says she's done helping me? That she’s no longer on my side? Will she curse me? Wait, no. Narcissa has been nothing but kind to me, but yet again-

Her jumbled thoughts don’t wander long, as the woman breaks her silence. “It’s happening tonight.” 

Dread builds at the base of Hermione’s stomach, but she had a feeling. She should've expected it. 

‘Someone will die.’ That’s what he said to her. 

This morning even Bellatrix mentioned it. 

“Best rest up for tonight Muddy. It’ll be killer.”

“What?” Narcissa says, taken aback, stumbling a bit. 

At this Hermione’s hands flew to her mouth, though the motion was a bad idea. The sudden jolts made them burn as one was surely broken and the other terribly bruised. However, she couldn’t pay any mind to the pain. Not when those words left her mouth unwillingly. 

The first sentence she's managed not to stutter over in weeks. 

What the hell is happening to her?

Seeing the look of fear in Narcissa’s eyes, she pushed back frantically to the corner. Like a scared animal avoiding lingering prey. 

Sensing the fact Hermione was just as confused as she was, Narcissa extended a hand. 

“It’s okay, I know.” She cooed to the crying girl, “it’s the curse, you didn’t mean it. It’s just the curse.” She reminds steadily holding out her hand still. 

Mrs.Malfoy knew that many crucio’s can take all sorts of tolls on one's mind. Never did she think it would live in Hermione as some demented form of her sister. 

Wanting, no needing, to chase those parts from the girl's head, she croons her on, “tell me something, please. Anything.” She departley asks the younger girl, “It’ll help you forget about her, please. You won’t hear her anymore.”

Slowly, Hermione peels her hands from her face and eyes Narcissa with blurry eyes. It takes another comment, but soon, she's gently sliding her palm into the womans. 

“That’s it dear.” She encourages, giving her hand a small squeeze, not wanting to irritate the bruising. “Say something, please.” She didn’t realize until now that there were tears building up in her own eyes. 

‘Rest up for tonight Muddy. It’ll be killer.’ 

Hermione’s voice echoes in her head. So venomous. So wrong. She needs to erase it from her mind. Not only for the young witch's sanity, but she thinks for her own as well. 

“Th-” She starts, sounding as much like herself that she can manage. 

“You’ve got it.” The older woman says gently, leaning forward to wipe her hair from her eyes with the hand not holding the brunette's small fragile hand. 

“Th-thank y-ou,” Hermione says, struggling over the words, but something tells the cell's other occupant she’s not done. “N-Narcissa.”

The tears burning in her eyes flow down her cheeks. There is nothing she should be thanking her for. It makes her sick even the smallest humane gestures are considered large feats to the now prisoner. 

The promise of getting Hermione out of here solidifies more than ever at her words, at these thoughts. At all of it. 

She pushes her head into the crook of her neck and speaks softly, “It’s Cissy to you dear, it’ll always be Cissy.” Narcissa drops a small kiss onto her matted hair. 

“Ci-Cissy.” Hermione repeats softly. 

...

Bellatrix stumbles a little in her heels when she lands. There she is meant by two familiar faces, but frowns as one is missing. 

“Where is Rabastan?” She asks, annoyed. 

“Said he ran into someone from the order, got hit with a natsy curse. He said he’ll be fine, but wouldn’t be any good here tonight.” Greyback exapins, as it was his responsibility to summon the other man.

She curses under her breath, “It’ll take me half the time to take whatever wards down, had he come.” The witch spits. 

Feeling like he needs to make up for his action, the werewolf goes on, “Dolohov will be here.” 

She turns, brown eyes widening, “Antonin?” The taller man nodded in confirmation, “I thought he was to stay behind. This can become much too personal for him. We must be in and out before anyone from the Order gets wind we’ve broken the wards.” She sounds off in a venomous whisper. 

“Yes, but it is my understanding that the Dark Lord himself has allowed Dolohiv to join us tonight in Rabastan’s absence.” 

At the mention of Voldemort’s approval she visibly calmed, “Oh, well I understand now. It’s for the best anyway, I know Antonin is rather good with counterspells for instances just like these.”

As this was all going on Scabior stoof confused, eyeing the two of them funnily. Greyback had approached him earlier that night saying he was needed. For what? He still wasn’t sure. 

“You.” Bellatrix pointed to the mangy man, “Make yourself useful and be sure no one sees us.” She demanded. 

Fumbling a little, he began the incantation that would hide them from any passerbyers, as well as a silencing charm. 

“Should be good miss, do-” 

Before he could finish a nearby crack sounded as Dolhov appeared from behind a nearby tree. 

“Ah come, to join the party, did you?” She said with a small laugh.

The man had a dark look in his eyes as he eyed the house from a distance. 

“The time will come. Soon.” She told him, noticing his expression, “for now, help me with the protective charms. They’re standard for The Order, nothing you aren’t used to. Surely Albus Dumbledore wasn’t casting these.” Bellatrix said as she pointed her wand to the invisible fence. 

Dolohov joined her as he began whispering a few incantations that made small bursts of light emit from the end of his wand. Greyback was perched against a tree whistling to himself, as Bellatrix proceeded to wave her own wand. Scabior however, still had little regard to what was actually happening. 

“What are we doing here? Raiding an old Order Member’s house?” He asked Greyback what he thought was a quiet whisper. 

At this, the werewolf let out a low laugh, “you think they’d send that one,” he pointed vaguely to Bellatrix, “for some old wizard?” 

He shrugged, “Dunno, this is a muggle neighborhood, didn’t reckon he’d send us on a muggle raid, they don’t exactly put up a fight.”

Having heard the conversation the witch stopped and rounded on him, “these aren’t any Muggles, you see.” Bellatrix told Scabior cryptically as a curtain of blue light fell, indicating the dropping of the wards. 

“I don’t understand, miss.” He said back, watching her step past where the veil just was with a smile. 

“Come, come.” She waved the three on, as they stood a little ways behind her. “You see this lovely house here, Scabior?” 

He nodded, still unsure of the proper response, “quite nice, I reckon.” 

“It is, isn’t it.” She agrees with a hum. The witch speaks again after a moment, “do you know who this house belongs to?” 

He eyes Greyback and Dolohov wearily, the pair of them wearing matching grins. 

“No Miss, I don’t.” He told her timidly. 

“Well let me tell you,” Bellatrix  spun around and threw her arms up as if presenting the brick structure, “this house here belongs to Hugo and Jean Granger.” 

The long haired man thinks on it for a moment, but the name draws no realizations. 

“I don’t...” he began quietly.