She looked up from her notes and saw Hermione asleep on the blanket, softly snoring. Let her sleep¸she she might be grieving, no one else mattered at the moment except Ron. The lad in the bed, whom Audrey had come to appreciate in the last few years for how much a foundation he was with the family, and also the steadfastness that they all somehow depended on to continue living after losing one of their own, was the focus. Yet she also knew that it was a roll of the dice when it came to whether he was going to pull through this. Even if she believed in luck and burning incense and praying to her ancestors, she wouldn't put a galleon on whether he would come through. And while she knew that it was a critically poor prognosis from all of the medical notes, if anyone could pull through this ordeal and survive the worst, it was the one in the bed, clinging to life and potions to hopefully help him heal, surrounded by passionate people who loved him immensely, to pull him out of his ordeal.

She hoped. The brain was the last frontier in the medical field. There were no guarantees he would even wake.

Audrey looked up from her notes and saw Hermione lay her head down on his hands, weeping into the blanket covering her comatose husband.

'You're home!" Hermione leaped up from the oversized chair she curled up in to read in the evening, a table for her tea next to her along with a stack of books knocked over. "I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow night!" She snuggled up next to Ron, giving an enormous hug. He immediately stiffened under her crushing hug.

"You're hurt."

"Somewhat but I've been cleared by a Healer. I'm off duty a few days and if you're game, I'd love for you to take a day off to spend it home with me."

"I will," She hugged him again, inhaling his particular scent, mixed with some healing balms, sweat, dirt, and some residual smoke. She pulled back a smidge and felt his hands caressing her face and back of her head. Long fingers threaded into her loose curls up under her evening bonnet before melting into a much-awaited kiss, renewing their vows of promises of return, of accepting however he returned, asking no questions until he was ready to share if he could. And if not, giving him anything he needed to open up to her, even if it was with a particular form of non-verbal communication that they loved sharing.

He pulled back one inch, placing a gentle kiss on her nose and forehead before capturing her lips once again.

Two tears leaked out, washing down her face and across his lips.

"I missed you too, love."

"You were gone so long, too long without you."

"I know. The bugger was moving every night and it was sod all trying to track him down. While he escaped, we also captured his partner and released a dozen muggles they had trafficked in from Morocco. Between that and some contraband potions that were highly dodgy, we broke up a major criminal ring."

"How did, I mean, um, "

"How did I get hurt?" His smile was infectious and Hermione smirked back. "Well, Jones and I were dueling Dolohov – "

"You saw him? Antonin Dolohov?" Hermione blanched.

"Yeah. The two finest duelers in the department and we couldn't take him down. Bugger nailed her but I'd tripped him right before he got his spell off, she wasn't hurt bad. Sure it's enough to make her sore and angry for the next week – "

"You mean?"

Ron laughed. "Well, when he tripped, he nailed her right on her arse. She got hit with a massive stinger and it was like getting stung by a Firecrab. I tried to apprehend him when she went down but he escaped, the bastard."

"And you're hurt because – "

"Well, he'd nailed me with a curse earlier."

Hermione gave him a dirty look. "How bad did he hurt you?"

Ron looked down at his feet. "Well, it's not a big deal, but it felt like someone knocked a bludger into my wedding tackle."

"Oh honey," Hermione hugged him again, patently avoiding the front of his trousers. "I know you're in agony."

"I was. It was almost as bad as catching your boney arsed knee in the bits."

"I'm not that bad!"

Ron smiled down at his wife. "Yeah, you are, especially at 8 am after I've been asleep for 2 hours and you shift to get out of bed after a lie-in."

"I don't mean to," She cringed and Ron laughed again.

"I know, love, but you do anyway. It's a barmy way to wake up from a good sleep." Ron smiled down at his lovely wife. "So if you're looking for some fun tonight, I'll be happy to take care of you but I dunno if my cock will be up for the task."

"Well," Hermione dropped her eyes a bit, tinkering with the belt holding up his trousers, "Maybe a hot shower and some tender loving care will change your mind?" She looked up at him and saw his eyes had grown wide and dark.

"Are you offering, love?"

She reached for his hand, her face blushing hard, pulling him towards the stairs leading to their loo.

Give me my demarcation line

Director Gawain Robards sat back in his ancient chair, the springs squeaking under his girth. "Merlin's saggy bits. Quit begging me for information. I know you're married but I'm not breaking mission protocol to tell you where he is."

"Do you really think I am going to tell anyone?"

"It's not about you. It's about rules for everyone. You probably can keep your gob shut but Smythe? Get him pissed on Firewhiskey and he'll natter all night to Hannah at the Leaky and every sodding bloke who barters in information will be rich – and my Aurors will be dead. So I'd love to let you in on everything but – "

"Rules are rules and for everyone," she lamented. "Well, these rules are crap."

"And I agree but protecting the Aurors out on a mission is paramount. Even you realize that. Do you think Jones likes going away from Aurora and not telling her? She makes you look like a piker when it comes to worrying."

"Rubbish," Hermione crossed her arms while regarded the grizzled Auror Director. Gawain Robards was considerably older than most in the Ministry, having survived both wars and somehow still trusted. "I know Professor Sinestra. She is nothing short of a walking example of a British upper lip."

"You've never gotten a firecall at 3 am from her then. She's ripped my bollocks off me wondering where Hemera was, why she was late returning."

"And yet with all of us honorable people, we still can't be afforded information to know where our partners are at." Hermione stood on the other side of the desk, appearing as a 1.6m towering ball of impotent rage. "This is bullshit, Director."

"I see Weasley's finally rubbed off on you. Good. But that's the thing about rules, Granger. They aren't in place for the honourable people. Those who are find it stifling. The rules are for the ones with little common sense, who would natter about sensitive information to any walking cock and blow investigations or give a tip to someone who is under surveillance.

"We still have a few Death Eaters in the wind, stirring up trouble and causing problems. That is who I send the best out to hunt down." Robards gave her a long, non-blinking look. "So any information that would be shared outside of me and the Aurors in question could have deadly consequences. That's why I am not telling, and why your worries are legitimate but also under mission orders, from me and Kingsley himself."

"Well it's crap."

"I'll take your opinion under advisement."

Hermione picked up her purse and satchel. "So maybe he'll return by the end of the month?"

"It's the 2nd of the Month, Granger. He's only been gone a week."

"I know. I'm asking whether I need to work long hours while he is away."

Give me my demarcation line

Their home was quiet - entirely too quiet. Harry was at work. Ginny was off at Holyhead. Ron was on day 3 of his mission. The fire crackled and her tea steamed for the fifth time. But the house was cold. She was cold. Her world was subdued, like someone turned down the color in a photograph from full color to sepia or even greyscale. Work was satisfying but it wasn't her life. Even the enormous grumpy fuzzball known as Crookshanks, asleep on the footstool by the fire enjoying the warmth, too, was the only real colour in her life. Nothing tasted good and she barely slept, missing his snoring and long arms around her when they shared sleep.

No, her life was off somewhere, on a mission she wasn't privy to, trying to track down the remaining criminals who were responsible for the coup years gone by.

This wasn't the first night she was left home alone while everyone else was out living, working, flying. And it probably wouldn't be the last one, with Ginny flying for the Harpies and Harry and Ron working with the Aurors. But it wasn't like she was going to beg him to stop working in the job he seemed naturally suited to. She shared so much pride in him finding an occupation that he seemed brilliantly suited for.

Soft footsteps drifted to her ears behind her.

"Miss Hermione, is there anything you need this evening?"

She pointed to the plate of croissants and jam on her plate, her dinner when everything tasted like chalk and mouldy cheese, much less sleep. "I wish Ron were home," She said wistfully. "But I don't think you can make him appear right now."

"Well, Miss Hermione, I could fetch Master Ron for you." Hope erupted in her chest. She wouldn't need him long – only 5 minutes to snog him breathless and just know down to her bones that he was alive, healthy, and whole. Maybe she could sleep tonight if she just knew he was fine instead of worrying herself sick. "Kreacher can do that for you." The diminutive elf looked upon her with his watery green eyes, droopy ears, the well-tailored trousers held in place with suspenders and his cravat, emblazoned with the letter B on it and waited.

Ever since he chose to work for Harry for wages and choose his own livery, he had perked up, seemed to grow confident and even taking to being almost polite to her. Almost. She did catch him muttering under his breath on occasion, usually when she was being short-tempered. She took the time to make amends to him later in some way that he appreciated. The last one was finding some old photographs of Regulus Black in the archives. That photo was on the wall of his small room, the one he chose off the kitchen.

Would his appearance compromise mission safety if he showed up at the wrong moment? Would Ron get hurt if he showed up? Face an inquiry? Made redundant? Decisions tossed back and forth in her mind, one as important as the other. A decision erupted in her mind, one that would suffice.

"Kreacher, would you do the following? Would you ask Ron? If he says he is busy, then no. I miss him terribly but not to risk their mission. I know you can apparate silently and that would help him and you."

Kreacher departed in a lightning crack, leaving Hermione alone in the parlour, curled up in the chair by the fire, Crookshanks asleep on the footstool in front of the fire, staying warm, while she waited as each second ticked by on the clock in the foyer.

Tick, Tock, Tick, Tock.

She turned to stare at the ancient grandfather clock at the other end of the parlour. It had been in the attic, banished decades ago, according to Kreacher. Harry thought it would be useful once Mr. Weasley fixed it to show their own family – the five of them under the roof, along with Luna and Neville. That present had been a gift from Ron – Kreacher's own arm on the clock, either at home or Hogwarts, and one minuscule location known as the Hog's Head – since Aberforth had taken a liking to the wizened elf and kept half-pint mugs on hand for him – and a few dusty bottles of elf made wine.

Tonight was one of the many nights where she wished that bloody clock had been relegated to the rubbish pile or left in the attic.

A sharp crack exploded across the parlour, frightening Hermione up from her chair. Kreacher, still looking rather dapper, stood before her, his ears hanging down along with his proboscis nose. "Master Ron says he can't leave, that it's too important. And in his words, Kreacher blushed, or what passed for blushing for him, 'Don't believe I don't want to come home and give it to you. I do.' Those are the words he used, Mistress Hermione."

Hermione swallowed down the salty tears that flooded her nose and throat. "Thank you for asking, Kreacher. I appreciate you taking the time to ask. I will see to the dishes if you wish to retire for the night."

Kreacher stood up a little taller – which was not quite 1 meter in height – and straightened his suspenders holding up his dapper trousers. "Master Harry has paid my wages this week and Aberforth has asked that I come to visit him this evening." He made a noise which she had learned passed for a laugh. "But if you need me," he croaked.

"Yes, I will call for you straightaway. Have a good night, Kreacher. Enjoy your half-pint."

"Good evening," He croaked one last time before toddling away to the kitchen doorway, another lightning crack telling her that she was now utterly alone in the house, not including Crookshanks.

Hermione looked at the footstool and saw it empty, too. Crookshanks had left when she wasn't looking, either plodding down to the kitchen to eat or to chase the vermin that infested the second basement. No matter how hard she tried, various bugs and rodents made their way into that damp space. That was the only downside to having a shared home in central London.

She looked at the tome in her hands, something dry and related to work that she couldn't be arsed for the moment, not when she was completely alone in the enormous home the five of them shared. She couldn't even ring up her parents, not after the last exploding row she had with her mum a fortnight previous.

She looked at the small table and saw her forlorn croissants and jam. She cringed, the thought of that meal making her gag. Hermione pulled her wand from her curls and pointed it towards the other table, a silently accio towards the basket containing the takeaway locations in their neighborhood. Like most nights when she was home alone with no one else to share a meal with, she put it back down, sighing to herself. She replaced the book in her work satchel, locked down the fireplace for the night and slowly walked up the stairs to the second landing, going to bed at half seven without her dinner or her lover.

Give me my demarcation line

Hermione raised her head with a start. "Audrey?"

The older witch stopped packing her satchel. "I was about to leave to do my rounds. Do you need anything?"

"No, I don't think so. Something woke me, I think. Did I doze off?"

"I do think you took a kip. You were pretty quiet for about half an hour." She glanced at Healer Cattermole and saw her put her nose into her parchment – a Healer sign that they weren't paying attention. "You were crying earlier and I think you cried yourself to sleep."

"Well, um, I might have," Hermione lifted her face up and rubbed it, moving the bonnet around on her hair and showing a few escaped curls. "I am exhausted."

"Well, if you need me, I'll be around the hospital. I have rounds to do and patients to check on."

Hermione gave her a pointed look. "I need my husband awake, healed and completely healthy."

"We're working on it." Audrey collected her satchel along with her purse and went over to Hermione. She gave a hug and whispered words of encouragement and she left, leaving Hermione with Healer Cattermole.

Mary stole a glance at the couple on the other side of the room. Maybe Mrs. Granger-Weasley would settle in rather than acting as an impatient owl. She put her head back down to continue writing.

Quill scratching on parchment was the only noise in the room. Healer Cattermole was writing up what ideas she had for saving the patient and how much risk it was for potential infections, for recovery and therapy to help him if he woke, and how long that might take. The senior healers were glad to have some ideas from the Muggles and how they could help their patients they couldn't heal straightaway. Anything to help the patient without harming him was all on the table. But now it was still a wait and see.

A harsh hiss broke the silence of the room. Healer Cattermole looked up and saw Hermione collecting her small purse. "I, uh, um, I need to run home and change clothes. I'll be back shortly."

The young healer nodded. "I'm on duty until 8 pm." She turned her head back to the parchment, continuing to scribe additional ideas.

"Thanks," Hermione bustled out the door.

Time ticked by and Healer Cattermole continued to work, listening to the even breathing of Mr. Weasley in the bedclothes.

Sometime later, she looked up to see Harry return, followed by Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. "How is he?" Harry asked softly, not to disturb Mrs. Weasley who was tending her son in the bed by adjusting his blankets, rubbing his feet and hands with what appeared to be some sort of lotion and moving his legs in what appeared to be a bicycle movement. Arthur unpacked her large tote, bringing out more potions and lotions and a pillow for Mrs. Weasley. He placed it gently in her chair before returning to her side, looking down at his son and surreptitiously wiping his face occasionally.

"He's not moved since he was placed in the bed, according to my notes," Healer Cattermole looked past Harry and grimaced, "Well, he's not moved on his own since he was put in the bed."

"Notes?"

"Yes, sir," she looked down some to avoid his harsh stare. "Healer Reeves stayed with him while I caught a kip. She said she wanted me alert today so I did as she instructed. When I returned, she left. Mrs. Weasley-Granger left a little after she did, saying she needed to run home and change and would return." She looked back up at him and he tried to smile and failed, instead looking vexed. Worry creased her face in discomfort. "I am a junior healer and I have to follow any Healer's instructions, especially when they will offer an hour's rest."

Harry finally was able to smile. "I know Healer Reeves pretty well, too, professionally. We have to do what she tells us, right?"

The junior healer sighed in relief. "Yes sir, we do."

"It's odd that we didn't pass Hermione or Audrey in the lift or downstairs," Arthur spoke up and Molly silently shrugged. "No matter,"

Harry took a seat in the plastic chair on the other side of the room, facing the door. Some habits were hard to break and having his back to the door was the worst one. But then he didn't expect the worst to happen since it already had, putting Ron in the hospital bed teetering between life and death.

"I think I'm going to go home and change too, and maybe check-in at the office before returning."

"I'll stay with our sons," Molly looked across the room at Harry, too. "I won't leave them alone today."

He felt a rush of affection for Mrs. Weasley for her comment. It still boggled him from time to time how his adoptive family actually liked him and wanted him around.

Harry went to the side table and reviewed all of the potions there, along with the script on each one signifying what he was taking. Nerve regeneration potions, blood replenishing potions, an ampule of clear liquid sealed inside a glass vial, strong pain potions, and two bottles of skele-gro. Harry put the paper down, unread, and really looked at Ron under all of the bandages and protective padding.

"Well, I'll, um, I'll be back at lunch, then, and then after dinner. I can stay the night if you want to go home and sleep." Arthur came over to hug Molly from behind, whispering soft words into her ears and only for her ears. Harry averted his eyes, seeing the ones whom he cherished in a moment of intense intimacy, almost like walking in on them. He didn't look towards his surrogate parents, not while they were having a somewhat private conversation.

The door crashed open and Harry had his wand pointed at the door before Arthur could lift his head. George stood there looking haggard and disheveled. "I came as soon as I heard," he told them. He bent over, huffing and puffing, holding his side like he had a stitch.

He looked at Harry and watched him keep his wand trained on George. "Tell me something that only I'd know."

"Harry!"

"Either tell me or you're going to have a bad headache while in a holding cell at the Ministry."

"You're the reason why the git got new robes his sixth year."

Harry dropped his wand instantly, feeling mortified at following protocol in a hospital room.

Molly toddled over to hug her son fiercely before she let go, letting her husband get a hug in too.

"How bad – " the words got lodged in his throat, looking gaunt. Dark shadows hung under his brown eyes and his clothes looked as if he slept in them. He probably had yet again.

"He's pretty bad. It's stable but it's a wait and see."

"Fuck," he said half-heartedly. He looked up and saw Harry standing on the other side of the bed, looking forlorn. "On duty?"

"Unfortunately."

"Did you do it?"

"George Weasley!"

"No, it's fair he asks." Harry shuffled his feet. "And no, I didn't do it but it still happened while I was with him."

"You're always there when something happens. Why?"

"Hell if I know, George."

The two men shared a long, hard look before George turned away. "So what is wrong with him?"

"Head injury," Molly spoke up first, dabbing her eyes yet again. "They did some barbaric muggle surgery on him to save him but he's like this. They said they will try waking him later today. But if he doesn't wake, it's a race. If he doesn't wake shortly, he – " her voice broke into a gut-wrenching sob.

"They said if they can't wake him soon enough, he might never recover, or wake. But if they wake him too soon, he could be disabled permanently."

"Fuck," George spoke under his breath. "Why him?" George turned on Harry, a few inches shorter but with ingrained anger at the world. "Why did he get hurt? Everyone aims for you. Why him?"

"A walking knob ended excuse of MLS officer cocked up. So blame me if it helps you feel better, but I didn't do it."

George acknowledged Harry's explanation before he turned back towards his brother in the bed. "He looks like a half-wrapped mummy." He huffed. "Brilliant," he said to no one in particular, "the first time in three years I get a weekend off because this prat was gonna cover for me – "

"George!"

" – and he goes and gets himself hurt. I wonder who I made crackers in the universe to make this happen to me again."

"This isn't about you, George. It happened and – "

"I know, Mum," George yelled before muttering sorry under his breath. "I'm complaining and this sucks and I can't cope. Cut me some slack huh?" George turned back to Harry. "You know, I don't want him looking like Moody before he's 25. Maybe you can suggest he retire or get a desk job, huh? Not like I want the tosser sharing space with Fred before I do."

"George Weasley!" Arthur's face was bright red. "That's enough." A sob erupted. "Quit upsetting your Mum."

"Fine," He made his way to the door. "I'll be back later." He stormed out, leaving the door open to the hallway.

"Arthur, why - " Molly's words echoed out from her husband's chest.

"Do you remember how you were after Gideon and Fabian were murdered?"

"Yeah, I do. But after Ginny, I got over it."

"And it took how long?"

"Few years," she muttered. "But – "

"It's only been a few years. This is hard for him. We should give him some distance on this."

"Last time we did Percy had to take him somewhere to dry out."

"Well he has more help now," Arthur saw Harry standing quietly, distracted by the side table of potion vials. "Harry, you know he doesn't blame you for what happened."

"I know but it still bothers me," he shrugged. "Anyway, I'll manage better once Ginny arrives."

"Did you owl her?"

"Well, no. I figured Hermione did."

"Well, we didn't owl her. We did let Fleur know but she's home with the kids since Bill is in Madagascar for the Bank."

"Bugger," Harry grimaced. "I better owl her or firecall the Harpies office to let her know. Last time I checked, they were on a tour of the Far East right now. I dunno if she will be able to take emergency leave. You think we should tell Charlie?"

"I think he needs to know, even if he can't come home because of the expense."

"You stay," Arthur came over to give Harry a much-needed hug. Arthur pulled back, looking slightly down at Harry through his glasses. "I'll see to contacting the others, including Bill. I'd be more comfortable if you were here keeping Molly company while I was away." Arthur quietly left the two behind, to see informing the others.

Harry looked over and saw Molly pull out a skein of wool and set her knitting needles to work. She was immediately engrossed in what she was doing – reading the Daily Prophet and glancing every so often at her work. He'd been in this world 12 years now and seeing how she could multitask using magic always put a smile on his face and warm his heart.

Harry pulled a rigid plastic chair to the side of Ron's bed and sat down, trying to find a comfortable spot before giving it up as a bad job. He leaned in while using his wand to silently spell the area around Ron's bed into a cone of silence, keeping Molly from knowing what he wanted to talk about.

Some habits never die.

"Ron, I should have listened to you. I should have put a stop to the entire mission once I realized Trowbridge was brought on. Damn," He ran his hands through his hair before smudging his glasses, making the person before him even blurrier. "Why didn't I listen to you? Why did I just let things slide again." Harry ran his hands through his hair and fought down to anguish in his heart.