A/N: I suck. I suck so much for taking forever between chapters. Please forgive me.

That being said, if you are new to my story, thank you for your patience and I love you dearly. And as for those of you who read my original, unfinished version of Tangled when I first published it here many years ago, I love you, too, but a little warning as well: this chapter is where the story starts to change. The main storyline is definitely the same, but the major rewrites I've been making start to appear here. It's part of the reason why I took so long between chapters - I'm not just writing the story, but rewriting, editing, writing more, and then editing again. It's painfully slow for me, especially because I'm trying to flesh out the characters and the story a bit more, while also really digging into the deeper motivations and feelings of our Romione babes. Overall, I'm really, really, really excited about what's coming up (as well as absolutely terrified, but you'll see what I mean in due time). Anyway, please enjoy and thank you all for being so lovely and patient with me :)

Chapter 5

A Very Normal Dinner

"You know, if someone had told me being an Auror was mostly writing loads of reports, I reckon I'd have seriously reconsidered taking the job."

Ron collapsed into the chair behind his desk at the Ministry, placing a report atop the mountain of paperwork stacked precariously in front of him. Harry, who was seated at the desk across from him, glanced up from the letter he was reading.

"If it's any consolation, everyone's buried in work. Ever since the explosion at Mr. Mulpepper's, all Sean and I seem to do is paperwork. Well, that and dodge angry letters."

"Bloody Rita Skeeter…" Ron muttered darkly as he pulled another report towards him.

Two weeks prior, an attack on one of the apothecary stores in Diagon Alley had resulted in the disappearance of the shop owner and a fire at the store. While no one else had been hurt and the Ministry had jumped to action straightaway, the ripple effects on the community had been immediate and widespread.

Shortly thereafter, the Ministry received a letter from the I.W.P. claiming responsibility for the attack, and as a result, all Aurors had been putting in double time as they sifted through evidence. Their efforts to unmask and arrest members of the group intensified, as well as security in Diagon Alley and other Wizarding enclaves, though to seemingly little benefit as of yet. And aside from a few dead-end leads and a steady stream of nasty articles in the Daily Prophet written by a venomous as ever Rita Skeeter, not much more had been accomplished.

For Tony and Ron, the extra work mainly translated to heavier supervision of all of Rhiney's business dealings, involving extra Aurors more often, as well as becoming more involved with Hermione's day-to-day work, much to her chagrin. On this particular day, the two had split their duties once again; Tony was leading a small team of Aurors to oversee a warehouse walkthrough with Chris at the Port of Blyth, while Ron was tasked with supervising Hermione as she worked.

Usually, just the thought of sitting idly in an office was irritating. However, as he was already horribly behind on his paperwork and had absolutely zero interest in spending the day following a preening Christopher Rhiney around, it had worked out in Ron's favor to be stationed at the Ministry. And, although he had initially been reluctant to agree, Hermione had finally convinced Ron to stay in the Auror offices so he could catch up on his work. Ron knew she was mostly eager to have the chance to work without the constant, hovering presence of a bodyguard, though, to her credit, she had refrained from saying so outright. And although Ron had made her swear, albeit grudgingly, that she would let him know immediately if at any point she was planning to leave the safety of her office, Hermione had agreed, but only as she hurried out of the lift and down the corridor to her office earlier that day.

Ron massaged his cramping hand as he finished another report before placing it on the much smaller pile of completed work. Reaching for his wand, he tapped the papers, causing them to reshuffle into a neater stack.

"The other day, Rhiney had a meeting at the manor that both Tony and I sat in on and, I mean it, Harry, I honestly thought, 'This is it. This is how I die. I survived being poisoned, splinching, a war, and bloody Voldemort himself, but now I'm gonna snuff it writing reports on importing and exporting regulations.'" Harry chuckled as Ron ran a freckled hand through his hair, then frowned. "I don't see how you can sit there and laugh. You and Sean must be going through hell, too, since you're heading up the investigation into the explosion."

Harry shook his head and looked up from the parchment he was reading. "Sorry - what'd you say?"

Ron narrowed his eyes. "What are you reading?"

"Nothing," Harry said unconvincingly.

"You're a terrible liar."

"It's nothing, Ron, I swear," Harry said as he folded up the letter and shoved it in his back pocket, shrugging.

"Then why are you being so shifty?"

"I'm not being shifty – you're avoiding your work."

"Oh, come off it!"

"I… all right, fine! It's from Ginny—"

Ron pulled a face as he put his hands up quickly. "Urgh, okay - never mind! Forget I asked."

Harry laughed. "See? I told you it was nothing. And as a side note, I can't believe that it's been three years and yet you're still weird about me and Ginny."

"I'm not weird about you two. But there're some things I don't need to know."

"Like letters…?" Harry said slowly.

"More like what's in those letters," Ron muttered.

"Considering how fast you and Hermione moved when you two got together, you'd think you'd be thrilled at how Ginny and I practically took a snail's pace by comparison."

Ron opened his mouth to argue, but a knock at the door interrupted him. Harry, sensing an opportunity to change the subject, quickly called out, "Come in!"

Sean strode into the room, a stack of purple folders under his arm. With a quick nod in Ron's direction, he placed the pile on Harry's desk. "These are the witness statements from the fire. I need you to go through them and look for any corroborating information."

"I thought we already checked them over," Harry said as he began thumbing through the folders.

"We did, but we have a meeting with the Minister and a team of Aurors in an hour, so we have to be thorough." Sean turned towards Ron. "By the way, Weasley, I know Tony's out in the field today, but I thought you should know we got the final report back from Magical Accidents and Catastrophes about their findings at Ms. Granger's flat."

"What did they say?" Ron asked eagerly as he pulled another piece of parchment towards him.

"Nothing helpful, I'm afraid. They couldn't detect any dark magic and the remnants of spellwork they did find couldn't be distinguished from what she may have used while living there."

"So, another dead end? Perfect," Ron grumbled as he leaned back in his chair and ran his hands over his face.

"How is that possible?" Harry asked. "I read the report Ron wrote when he and Tony interviewed Hermione and there's clearly a pattern forming with the increase of violent attacks and the fires in particular. And the letters being sent to Rhiney–"

"I know," Sean sighed. "Nothing's adding up, which is why Kingsley's staying involved and why I need you to look through those statements again. It might not seem like much, but it's all we've got." He glanced down at his wristwatch. "I need to go prep, but meet me in my office in an hour. And bring notes!"

He hurried out of the room, closing the door behind him, and Harry groaned.

"This doesn't make any sense! It's like all the pieces are right in front of us but we can't figure out how to put them together. It's infuriating."

"It's times like these I really wish Hermione were an Auror," Ron said as he gave a lazy flick of his wand and the stack of unfinished reports floated to the seat of a chair in front of his desk. "Spending hours studying witness statements, writing exhaustive reports, and taking copious amounts of notes? Sounds like her dream afternoon."

Harry cocked a brow at Ron. "You sure that's the only reason why you wish she were an Auror?"

Ron shot Harry a dirty look. "Would you shut it? If anyone caught wind that something was going on between me and her–"

Harry's eyebrows flew up into his messy fringe. "Is there something going on between you two?"

"No! I just meant –" Ron spluttered as heat crawled up the back of his neck. "We're talking. And she seems happy when I'm around, even when it's just the two of us," he said, picking at the corner of a report, "Things are…good."

"Good?" Harry repeated. "That's all?"

"I dunno," Ron said as he stared at the paper in front of him. "We're cautiously friendly."

Harry nodded as he shuffled through the stack of folders on his desk. Finally, he said in a rush, "Ginny reckons you still have feelings for Hermione and that you should come out and tell her already."

Ron gawked at Harry, his ears burning. "Oh for the love of – is that what my sister is writing to you about? She's not sending you sappy love letters, she's sending notes on my relationship status with Hermione?"

Harry shrugged sheepishly. "I'm just passing along the message."

"Yeah? Well, tell my baby sister to mind her own damn business."

"If you think I can, or want, to have any control over the thoughts and actions of Ginny, then you clearly don't know your sister," Harry laughed.

Another swift knock sounded at the door, and as it swung open, Gemma walked in holding another stack of folders in her hands. Ron groaned.

"It's nice to see you too, Ron," she said, a perfectly arched eyebrow raised as she placed them on the end of his desk. "Relax. These are all Tony's, but I'll need yours as soon as you've finished them. Also, he sent an owl from Blyth. Apparently, Mr. Rhiney's moving forward with his plans for expansion, including purchasing the warehouse they're visiting now, and he's adding business trips abroad to his calendar in the next few months."

"Business trips?" Ron choked, his eyes wide. "Please tell me you're joking."

Gemma leaned her hip against Ron's desk, crossing her arms under her bust. "Tony mentioned that he would likely be the one to travel, but said he'd talk to you about it tomorrow morning. And I've already spoken with the Minister; he said he's comfortable with only one of you accompanying Rhiney on these trips." Gemma flipped her silky blonde hair off her shoulder, shrugging, "Regardless, there's going to be a lot more work, especially with Christmas and New Year's around the corner. Speaking of which, Tony's also informed me that Rhiney is planning a New Year's Eve party – he said something about it being a tradition?"

Ron shook his head in disbelief. "That prat Rhiney wants to throw a party? Now? We're over here dealing with disappearances and explosions, and putting in overtime to cover him and his work, but all he cares about is showing off for his famous friends."

Gemma leaned closer as she slid her hand over his, gently intertwining their fingers.

"You'll get used to it, Ron. Being an Auror isn't always glamorous, but most of the time it's worth it." She smiled brightly as her cheeks flushed and she squeezed his hand. "You know, I feel like we've barely seen each other. I've missed having you around."

Ron's ears burned red hot. "Oh. Erm, right…"

Harry cleared his throat noisily from across the room. Gemma, who had been seemingly unaware of her audience, startled as she straightened up off the desk.

"Oh! Hello, Harry. How are you?"

"Fine, thanks."

"And your girlfriend? Are you two still together?"

"As far as I know."

"Good, good," she said dismissively as she quickly made her way back across the room. "Don't forget to finish those reports and get them back to me as soon as possible. And Ron?" Gemma turned, her grey eyes trained on him, "It really is nice having you back in the office again. It's been much too dreary with you gone."

She blushed again as she smiled, then closed the door behind her, leaving Ron and Harry in a stunned silence.

"So," Harry said after a pause, "that's still going on, is it?"

Ron coughed as he pulled another report towards him. "We haven't – I mean, I haven't–" he stuttered, then gave an exasperated sigh. "Gemma's nice and all and for a while there, we were sort of…" he trailed off, his ears burning. "But I'm living at the manor now and drowning in work. I'm not exactly seeing anyone. I'm focused on other things."

"Right," Harry said innocently, "Other things; other people."

"There's nothing going on between Gemma and me or anyone else," Ron growled.

"Fine," Harry chuckled as he rolled his eyes. "So, what was she saying about a party?"

Ron sighed. "Apparently, Rhiney throws some big New Year's gala every year. I was really hoping Kingsley would push back on it, but it sounds like we might be stuck having to set that up, too." He stared miserably at the pile of unfinished work sitting on his desk and rubbed his eyes roughly.

Harry blew out a long, low breath. "That's going to be a nightmare."

"And there's going to be loads more paperwork."

Another knock sounded at the door and Ron, face still hidden in his hands, shouted irritably, "GO AWAY!"

"Well, if you're going to behave that way…"

At the sound of Hermione's voice, Ron's head snapped up and he shot out of his chair, grabbing her arm.

"Sorry! I didn't mean– we keep getting interrupted." He smiled, but she frowned back, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

"If you're busy, I can come back another time. I don't want to disturb you—"

"NO! No, it's all right. Here, sit." Ron hastily moved the pile of reports off the chair as he offered it to her.

"Ignore him," Harry teased. "Ron's just having second thoughts about his choice of career."

"Oh!" Hermione squeaked as she turned to look at Harry. "I'm so sorry, Harry! I didn't even see you there."

"Seems to be a theme for me today," Harry quipped as Ron shot him a pointed look.

Hermione eyed them suspiciously as she slowly sank into the chair. "What are you talking about?"

"Nothing," Ron said promptly, cutting Harry off. "So, what are you doing here? Is everything okay? I didn't miss a note from you, did I?"

"No, no, everything's fine," Hermione said soothingly. "I didn't bother with a note."

Ron frowned. "Hermione, we agreed – that's part of the deal. If you decide to leave your floor, you have to let me know."

"I am perfectly capable of taking a lift two floors on my own. And," she said, raising her voice slightly as Ron opened his mouth in protest, "as you can see, I'm fine. Besides, I'm here now, so does it really matter?"

"What happened to the bit about you not wanting to make my job harder?"

"You're not honestly going to lecture me for leaving my department unsupervised, are you?" Hermione bristled.

"I mean, I'm definitely trying to, but clearly it's not working," Ron said, his mouth curling into a lopsided grin as he leaned forward across the desk. "Obviously, I'm not as good at it as you are."

"It's nice to know some things don't change," Harry said loudly as Hermione grinned and attempted to swat Ron's arm. "Like you two fighting. It feels just like old times."

"We're not fighting!" Hermione cried and Harry snickered as he caught Ron's eye.

"Fine. But if you're not fighting, then you're definitely flir–"

"So, Hermione!" Ron all but shouted, the tips of his ears burning. "If you've willingly walked away from your work, I'm assuming there's something you need since I doubt this is just a social call."

Hermione shifted in her chair, gently smoothing the fabric of her skirt. "As a matter of fact, I have a bit of a favor to ask of you."

"A favor?" Ron asked and Hermione nodded as she began to jiggle her foot gently.

"My parents invited me to come over for dinner tonight. They just got back from a trip to Paris and since Chris is out in Blyth, and I haven't seen them in a while, it seemed like perfect timing."

Ron looked at her uneasily. "I don't know, Hermione. With everything that's going on… it doesn't seem safe letting you go out to an unprotected Muggle neighborhood. And I'm pretty sure Kingsley and Tony wouldn't be too keen on it, either."

Hermione looked slightly deflated. "My parents have nothing to do with what's going on with the attacks on wizarding businesses. If anything, I could make the argument it's safer being with them than it is even being here at the Ministry."

It was a hell of a stretch, and despite the defiant look on her face, Ron was sure Hermione knew it, too. But as her expression melted from confident to apprehensive, he felt his will begin to soften. He watched as her cheeks bloomed a delicate pink, and she quickly wetted her bottom lip.

"Please, Ron?" she quietly pled, and in an instant, his resolve evaporated completely.

He swallowed hard and cleared his throat. "Fine."

Hermione's face lit up as she smiled. "Really?"

"Yeah," he nodded, ignoring the faint fluttering inside his stomach as she beamed at him, "but I'll have to let Tony and Kingsley know first. And we'll need to arrange for a van so I can drive us there."

Hermione's smile faltered slightly. "Us…?"

"Well, yeah, of course." Hermione and Harry exchanged a quick, sidelong look, but Ron continued. "Look, I know you hate having someone constantly shadow you, but it's too dangerous to have you go anywhere alone right now."

Hermione stared at him, wide-eyed. She blinked, then nodded slowly. "Oh. Erm… okay. I'll let my mum know it'll be four of us for dinner." She stood, her dark green robes swaying as she moved and as Ron watched her head towards the door, he jumped to his feet and followed after, stopping her just as she reached the exit.

"Hey, are you going to change before heading over?"

"Yes," Hermione answered, totally bewildered. "Why?"

"I remembered that the day you went shopping with your mum you were wearing Muggle clothing; I figured it might be less awkward if you weren't wearing Wizard robes," he said. Hermione gave him a curious look, and he added hastily, "Not that there's anything wrong with what you're wearing, you look great–" Ron stopped mid-sentence, his ears burning. "What I mean is, you look great in your robes, but it would be better if you were out of them." His eyes widened in horror, and the heat from his ears shot down his neck. "I mean, if you were changed into Muggle clothing, not out of your clothes altogether– "

Completely frazzled, Ron's face flushed deep scarlet. He snapped his mouth shut, terrified that if he said one more thing to her, he would dissolve into thin air. Hermione, whose cheeks were now vibrant pink as well, looked anywhere but at him as she wrung her hands in front of her.

"Whatever you choose to wear is fine. It's a casual sort of dinner," she said breathlessly.

From the corner of his eye, Ron saw Harry stifle his laughter with his fist.

"Er– great. No problem. I have a change of clothes here. When should I meet you?"

"In the Atrium at five," Hermione said, still carefully avoiding Ron's eyes. "I'll talk to you later, Harry."

She began to move backward towards the exit, but in her haste to leave, she smacked straight into the doorframe with a loud thump! As she stumbled, Ron immediately caught her in his arms, helping to steady her as she righted herself. Hermione, now the color of a ripe tomato, gave a tittering, high-pitched laugh as she shook her head and hurried out of the room and down the corridor.

"See ya, Hermione!" Harry called out after her and once the door finally shut again, he roared with laughter. "Oh my God, all I want for the rest of my life is to witness every single awkward exchange between the two of you." Harry wiped at his eyes, still chuckling. "Merlin, that was brilliant. 'You look great in your robes, but it would be better if you were out of them.' Ginny's gonna love that." Ron gestured rudely at Harry, who shook with laughter. "Hey, you can be as hacked off as you want, but you do realize you just agreed to have dinner with your ex-girlfriend and her parents, don't you?"

Ron stared blankly for a moment before his eyes went wide and his face fell.

"Oh, God… I hadn't thought of it that way…" he said slowly as he blanched.

Harry chuckled, then said reassuringly, "I'm sure it'll be fine."

"Shit. Shit! Why did I say yes?" Ron said as he began to pace, a wave of panic rising in his chest.

"Because apparently when Hermione's around, you lose your head."

"I can't go to the Grangers' house. They'll murder me!"

Harry snorted. "You're there to protect her and them – they know that."

Ron stared at Harry, his gaze accusatory. "You can't seriously sit there and tell me her parents don't think I'm a wanker. "

Harry, who had finally stopped laughing, stared steadily at his friend as he spoke. "Hermione's parents know you're working on Rhiney's case. If you and her are on good terms, then I imagine they'll be fine with you, too. Just take a deep breath and be yourself." Harry grabbed a file from the stack Sean had left and begun paging through it. "And, you know, maybe try not to crack too many jokes."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ron asked as he jerked his head in Harry's direction.

"It's nothing," Harry said quickly, shaking his head. "It's just…you get kind of joke-y when you're nervous."

Ron stopped pacing. "I get joke-y?"

"It's not a big deal," Harry shrugged, "It's just something Ginny pointed out–"

"Oh, well, please tell my brilliant sister that I'm so glad she shared that bit of advice," Ron spat. "Clearly, I'm completely cured of all my stupid, embarrassing, joke-y tendencies now that she's pointed that out. It's not like I'm going to fall into a massive spiral of bad jokes in front of Hermione and her parents until I finally collapse in on myself. There's no way I'll make a complete arse of myself tonight now that I know all this! Seriously, cheers, mate!"

Ron, now equal parts embarrassed and angry, collapsed back into his chair. Harry stared sheepishly at him and cleared his throat.

"You know you just–"

"I know I just proved your bloody point!" Ron snapped. He sunk low in his seat and threw his head back in frustration as he covered his face with his hands.

From across the room, there was a squeak of hinges followed by a brief, muffled noise like that of shifting paper and a click of something being shut. A sharp, short scraping of chair legs on concrete floors pierced Ron's eardrums but was immediately replaced by the sound of shuffling footsteps. Finally, there was a creaking of wood only a few feet from him, punctuated by a short huff of breath, and then the sound of heavy glass hitting the metal tabletop of his desk.

Ron slowly lowered his hands from his face and brought his head forward again. Harry, who was now occupying the chair Hermione had previously sat in, watched him expectantly, a dark bottle of wine sitting between the two of them.

"Are you trying to make up with me by getting me drunk?"

"Not exactly," Harry said, nodding at the bottle. "This was given to me ages ago. I don't really like wine, but I know Hermione does, and my guess is her parents do, too."

"So, you think a bottle of wine is going to make them forget I'm the joke-y idiot who used to date their daughter?"

"I think it's going to win you points with her parents and her. I'm told it's pretty good, so it should go over well," Harry said as he tilted the bottle forward and peered at the label before placing it on the desk again. "Look, I know you're freaked out. But it's like you said; things are good between you and Hermione. And from what I saw, she is really happy when you're around. Hell, she didn't even fight you on coming with her to dinner, and you know if she were worried, she'd have said something."

Ron considered Harry for a moment and sat up a little higher in his chair. "Yeah, okay…"

"You're going to be fine. It's like you said, you've dealt with way worse before and come out the other end. Just bring the wine and try and keep your nerves steady."

Ron nodded as he took the wine from off his desk. "Yeah… it's just dinner, right?"

"Right," Harry said as he stood and walked back to his desk. "And as long as you don't tell Hermione you think she looks good starkers, you'll be golden."

As Harry reached his desk, a crumpled wad of parchment whizzed past his ear, just missing him by a few centimeters.

The sky was dark and gloomy and raindrops the size of Snitches splashed on the windshield as they rolled down the darkened streets. Ron squinted against the black sky as he peered through the rivulets of water running down the glass, looking for the hint of anything familiar.

He had only one memory of the Grangers' house: the summer before fourth year when he had accompanied his father in retrieving Hermione for the Quidditch World Cup. That day had been warm and sunny, and he had told himself his uneasiness could be chalked up to a mixture of excitement at the upcoming match and concern that his father would say something embarrassing in front of Hermione's Muggle parents.

But tonight, there was no question about the source of his discomfort. And as they slowed to a stop at a traffic light, Ron hastily wiped his palms on his jeans before gripping the steering wheel tightly.

"At the corner, take a left."

Hermione's voice jolted him out of his quiet mental spiral and he nodded in return, his mouth suddenly too dry to form words.

Up until only a few moments prior, Ron had been pleased with how pleasant the car ride had been. He and Hermione had been alone together for almost a full hour and had filled that time with easy conversation with almost no breaks in between. In fact, in the two months Ron had been working at Rhiney Manor, things between him and Hermione had become warmer and much more comfortable, and he sensed they were falling into old, forgotten patterns from their youth. He was more at ease around her, joking and gently teasing like when they were young, and he noticed a change in her as well. She was much less guarded around him and talked about her work, as well as asking him about his time training to be an Auror, listening to him fastidiously as she drank in every word. She laughed openly and often at his stories in a way that made his heart race and on the rare occasions where they were completely alone together, like today, Ron felt as though he and Hermione were almost right back to where they had been before in their friendship.

Before he had torpedoed it, of course.

But as Ron sensed they were closing in on the Grangers' home, their comfortable banter started to wither away, and a thin layer of tension took its place. Hermione, who was busy trying to decipher street signs as they drove, had stopped speaking other than to give directions, her foot tapping rapidly on the floor. And Ron, who was becoming more and more nervous with every passing moment, was no longer sure of where they were and was now secretly convinced they were lost.

"Take a right up here, onto Oakfield Gardens. You can park in front of the house with the blue gate."

Oakfield Gardens? House with the blue gate? None of what she said sounded familiar to Ron, but as he rolled to a stop and parked the car, Hermione unbuckled her seatbelt and turned to look at him.

"I need to tell you something," she said, and for the first time since they had gotten in the van, Ron could see just how nervous she was. He almost burst with relief.

"I'm really glad you're going to say something because I didn't want to be the first to admit it," Ron said in a rush. "And it's not a big deal; it's dark out and I got turned around, too. We'll just hop out and walk a bit until we're in a private area, and then we can use Side-Along Apparition–"

"What on Earth are you talking about?" Hermione asked, her brows knitted together in confusion.

"We're lost," Ron said slowly, but when she didn't respond, he continued, "I can't really tell if we're close or not, but nothing around here looks familiar, and that's definitely not your parents' house."

Hermione pointed. "My parents' house is that one just there, across the street."

Ron looked at the small, white house with its stone walkway, outlined by tidy shrubbery and tiny, white flowers sprouting alongside it. Just beyond the windows, he could see the inviting glow of lamplight and he reckoned it was warm and lovely inside.

But it was wrong. The Grangers' house, as he remembered it, was made of brick and had a red door with a stained glass window. Outside, there had been a large birch tree that brushed against the bottom of a first-floor window, which led to Hermione's bedroom. When she was little, Hermione had once told him, she had tried climbing up it so she could read while sitting on one of the branches, but had slipped and fallen, breaking her arm in the process and making her fearful of heights ever since.

This house, however, was markedly unremarkable. There was no stained glass window set inside a cherry-red door, no multiple levels or tall birch trees; no memories of a tiny Hermione who would sit and daydream as she stared out her window.

Simply put, this was not her house.

Hermione, who was still watching him, seemed to read his mind and for a moment, Ron thought he saw a shadow of sadness pass over her features.

"Ron, that's not my childhood home, but it is where my parents live," she said slowly. "They moved, remember? I told you they–"

"Sold their house. You told me back when you showed up at the Burrow before Bill's wedding," Ron said, his insides plummeting and his ears burning red. "Shit, Hermione, I can't believe I forgot."

The memory rushed back to him in an instant; Hermione had surprised him at the Burrow late one evening after sending a short note, only a few weeks after school had let out. Ron had jogged outside to meet her just beyond the safety enchantments, his heart thumping in his chest as he saw her outline against the dark sky. But as he drew closer, he had been alarmed to see she was crying and the moment she had seen him, she'd dropped her things and sank to the ground, her whole body trembling with sobs. Instantly, he had fallen to his knees beside her, cradling her as she wept into his chest.

Later, after she had calmed down somewhat, she had told him everything: about the memory charm and her heart-wrenching decision to send her parents away in an effort to protect them; about her fears and the pain of losing her family and the only home outside of Hogwarts that she had ever known. And Ron had sat with her, his heart aching in his chest as he stroked her hair, promising her that she wasn't alone and she would always have a home and a family at the Burrow and with him.

Ron swallowed roughly, suddenly feeling ill.

"I am an idiot," he croaked.

"Don't do that," Hermione commanded as she shook her head, "It was a simple mistake. Anyway, I wanted to ask if you could do me another favor."

"Another one? Do I need to start keeping tally?" Ron tried to tease, but his heart wasn't in it.

Hermione pressed her mouth into a tight smile as she shifted slightly. "While we're here, I would like it if you didn't use magic. At least, not while around my parents unless absolutely necessary."

Now it was Ron's turn to frown. "Since when do your parents have an issue with your being a witch?"

"They don't; they're both wildly proud. It's just… I feel like when I use it around them, I, well–" she sighed. "I'm not asking for you to understand why. I'm just asking if you can do that. For me."

Her cheeks had turned a soft pink again as she stared up at him and Ron found himself suddenly overcome by the desire to cradle her face in his hands while gently brushing his fingertips across her smooth skin.

Instead, he nodded.

"Whatever you need, Hermione," he said earnestly and watched as her lips turned upwards into a small smile. Inside his chest, his heart missed a beat.

Moving quickly, they both hopped out of the car, trying to shield themselves from the sheets of rain now pummeling against the pavement and ran up the stone walkway to the front door. Hermione knocked three short, sharp wraps, and bounced in place as she waited. Inside his coat pocket, Ron gripped the bottle of wine Harry had given him as if it would disappear if he let go. As the sound of footsteps from inside the house grew louder, Ron's stomach churned, but with no time left to prepare, the door swung open.

"'Mione!" Mrs. Granger cried, beaming at her daughter.

"Hi, Mum," Hermione said as she smiled.

"Darling, Hermione's here!" Mrs. Granger called over her shoulder as she stepped to the side and ushered them in. "Come in, come in! Good Lord, it's absolutely pouring out there!"

They shuffled into the front hallway, dripping water but happy for the blast of warmth from the house. Ron felt his chest constrict faintly as he looked around. Walking into the Grangers' home flooded his senses with an odd sense of familiarity and he was keenly aware of the fact that he was as nervous as he would have been if he were meeting her parents for the first time.

As he pulled off his coat, Mrs. Granger enveloped Hermione in a crushing hug, her own bushy hair momentarily obscuring both their faces. "We're so happy you were able to come over. It feels like it's been ages since we last saw you."

"I know," Hermione said with a guilty smile. She pulled away and shrugged off her coat. "How was Paris?"

"Oh, beautiful, of course. We went everywhere: the Louvre, the Champs Elysées, the Eiffel Tower, a cruise on the Seine. I drove your father absolutely mad."

"I imagine he wanted to spend the whole trip at the Louvre," Hermione laughed and Mrs. Granger shook her head.

"Of course he did, the stubborn prat. Though I imagine you would have had quite a similar reaction, had you been there." Mrs. Granger said knowingly before sighing loudly as she stared down the hallway towards the kitchen. "Would you hurry up and come greet our daughter already?" she called out. "By the time you finish fussing over that silly roast, she'll have to leave!"

"I'll be out in just a moment! No need to get shirty!" came Mr. Granger's curt reply.

Mrs. Granger rolled her eyes. "He's started reading every cookbook he can get his hands on and now all he wants to talk about is how to properly braise a lamb shank or what it takes to bake the perfect Victoria sponge. Next thing you know, he'll be looking to close the practice and open up a restaurant. Meanwhile, I'm left to say hello to our daughter all on my own–"

"I'm coming right now!" Mr. Granger called out before quickly coming through the kitchen door. "Honestly, the way you carried on, you'd think I'd been gone an hour…" Ron watched as Mr. Granger quickly strode down the hallway, hastily adjusting his tortoiseshell glasses as he walked. As he caught sight of Hermione, his brown eyes twinkled and he grinned toothily.

"Hi, Dad," Hermione said, beaming.

"There's my brilliant daughter!" he smiled as he hugged her tightly and kissed the top of her head. "Sorry to have kept you waiting."

"Mum says you've decided to become a chef."

"Your mother exaggerates," he said and Mrs. Granger made a tutting noise beside him. "I still can't believe we were able to get you over here tonight. I must say, I was quite happy to hear that boyfriend of yours was away on business for the evening. He seems more than happy to keep you all to himself–"

"Mum, Dad, you remember Ron?" Hermione interjected, her cheeks bright red.

There was a small beat as Mr. and Mrs. Granger glanced surreptitiously at one another, then Mrs. Granger smiled warmly. "Of course! Ron, it's lovely to see you again. I don't think we've seen you in person since you were fourteen."

Heat traveled up Ron's neck and ears and he took a steadying breath in. "It's good to see you, Mr. and Mrs. Granger. Thank you for having me over tonight. I, er, know you weren't expecting extra company–"

Mr. Granger coughed loudly, and Mrs. Granger elbowed him in the ribs.

"–but I appreciate it all the same. I'm just glad Hermione could see you both."

"And we appreciate you accompanying Hermione so she could come over," Mrs. Granger said, as Mr. Granger rubbed his side. "From what she's told us, things have been quite hectic for you and the other… er, what are they called, sweetheart?"

"Aurors, Mum," Hermione said patiently. "Ron works at our Ministry as an Auror along with Harry."

"Well, that's quite impressive, isn't it, dear?" Mrs. Granger said to her husband, who sniffed in response.

"I, erm, brought wine," Ron said quickly as he offered them the bottle. To his side, he could feel Hermione's eyes on him, and he fought the urge to look at her.

"Oh!" Mrs. Granger said as she took it from him and glanced at the label. "That was very thoughtful of you, Ron." She smiled as she turned to Mr. Granger. "Why don't you go open this so it can breathe before dinner? I'm sure we would all love a glass with the roast."

Mr. Granger eyed Ron from across the entryway. "Normally, I wouldn't think to pair a cabernet sauvignon with a pork roast," he said as he took the bottle from Mrs. Granger and looked it over appraisingly. "And will you be drinking, Ron?"

Ron swallowed and shook his head. "I, er, don't usually drink wine–"

"So, you brought this because you don't want it?"

"No! I, erm, heard it's supposed to be good. I mean, I'd be happy to have a glass if–"

"So it's normal, then, for you to drink while on the job?"

"Dad," Hermione hissed.

"Shall we move into the drawing room?" Mrs. Granger interrupted, her voice louder than before. "Dinner should be done shortly and we have pictures from our trip to Paris I'd love to show you both."

Mrs. Granger led the way out of the hall, pulling her husband's arm as he followed suit. Ron, who was now sweating, fumbled with his coat as he hung it on the coatrack. As he went to rub his hands on his jeans again, he felt a hand wrap around his wrist and turned to see Hermione looking at him curiously.

"You brought wine?" she asked incredulously.

Ron peered quickly down the hall where Mr. and Mrs. Granger had just exited. "It seemed like a good idea at the time, but I'm kinda regretting it now."

"No, no," Hermione said quickly, "It was a lovely gesture. I can tell they're impressed."

Ron snorted. "Your dad definitely isn't."

"Don't worry about him. He's just… he'll relax as the night goes on. You're doing great," she said as she smiled and squeezed his wrist. Then, realizing what she had done, she pulled her hand away, her cheeks turning pink once more. She tucked a wet curl behind her ear and began to walk down the hallway towards the sitting room. "I can't believe you brought wine."

Ron watched as she walked away, his head buzzing. Silently touching his wrist, he quickly gathered himself and followed after, suddenly feeling much less anxious than when he first arrived.

It was definitely awkward; there was no denying that.

Thankfully, Mrs. Granger and Hermione led most of the conversation, talking about the trip to Paris and the latest work Hermione was doing at the Ministry while Ron quietly ate his roasted pork and glazed carrots with mash. Every so often, he could feel Mr. Granger's eyes on him, as though he were trying to burn a hole through the side of his head, but Ron tried to ignore it.

For dessert, Mrs. Granger brought out a plate of biscuits and tea for the table, which Ron took happily. As she sat back down, she smiled warmly as she poured cream into her cup and looked across the table at Ron.

"So, Ron, how long have you been at the Ministry?"

Ron felt Mr. Granger's gaze boring into him and swallowed his bite of biscuit with some difficulty.

"I started training to be an Auror about three years ago while I was still working at my brother's shop, but I began at the Ministry full time in mid-September."

"And you feel confident you can handle this sort of work already, even with your lack of experience?" Mr. Granger asked, his tone disapproving. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "You've barely been out of training for two months and already you're being tasked with handling this big a case?"

"Erm, well, it's not just me," Ron stuttered, his neck growing hot. "My partner, Tony, has been an Auror for almost twenty years. And it's really important to me to do well and, erm, of course, I would never allow anything to happen to Hermione. Or to– "

"Dad," Hermione chided, her expression stern, "Ron is an excellent Auror. He was hand-picked by the Minister of Magic and I happen to know that he was near the top of his training class in all his studies. In fact, the argument could be made that the only reason he came in second on much of the training was because of Harry and you know how difficult it would be for anyone to try and beat him considering his reputation. "

Mr. Granger took a long sip from his cup, still eyeing Ron carefully. Hermione, cheeks pink, glanced at Ron across the table and gave him an apologetic look. But Ron, who felt as though a bomb filled with butterflies had gone off inside him, gave her a small smile and shook his head.

"Well, I think it's wonderful you're doing so well," Mrs. Granger said genially as she tried to push the conversation forward. "And if the Minister himself picked you for the job, then that's nothing to sniff at. Besides, what with all you, Harry, and Hermione did over the years while you were in school, you must have more experience than at least half the Aurors there."

Ron laughed nervously. "Maybe, but I can't take all the credit. If Hermione hadn't been there, I don't think Harry and I would've made it through half of what we did. I mean, there were times where her quick thinking literally saved our lives. I know she never had an interest in being an Auror, but I always say that she'd have blown everyone away if she'd trained with us, and that's without even trying. She's brilliant."

Mr. Granger had a somewhat pained look on his face as his desire to interrogate Ron was clearly at odds with his desire to boast about his daughter's accomplishments. Finally, he nodded quickly in agreement before taking a bite of his biscuit, while Mrs. Granger hid her grin behind her tea as she took a sip. Hermione, Ron noticed, was watching him curiously from across the table. He felt his heart thump louder as she met his gaze and smiled.

"How's Chris?" Mr. Granger said loudly, forcing Hermione's gaze away from Ron. "Still insisting you stay with him rather than move here until your flat is restored, I assume?"

"Insisting?" Ron asked.

"Dad– " Hermione started as she rolled her eyes.

"Well, he did, didn't he? Showed up to your building the night of the accident faster than any of us could have and made all the arrangements for you without even asking what you wanted. It was like he was just waiting for an excuse to have you move in."

"He was worried," Hermione responded, avoiding Ron's eyes from across the table. "He wanted to make sure I was safe, just the same as you and Mum. Besides, it's temporary – once the Ministry finishes up its investigation, I can find my own place again."

"So, then why not just stay here?" Mr. Granger pressed. "If you're not planning on living with him permanently– "

"Honestly, Dad, can we not get into this again?" Hermione said testily, her voice rising. "You know how much I hate–"

"Hermione," Mrs. Granger interjected, "why don't you help me clear the table and then we can all move into the drawing room to finish our tea." She then turned to Mr. Granger and her expression, Ron noticed, was eerily similar to Hermione's when she was annoyed. "Why don't you take Ron into the other room and show him the chess set Hermione bought you?"

Mr. Granger locked eyes with his wife briefly, weighing his options, then sighed as he turned to Ron. "You play chess?"

"Yes, sir," Ron said carefully.

"Ron's brilliant at chess," Hermione said as she stood and began collecting plates. "I've never met anyone as talented as he is."

"Really?" Mr. Granger cocked his eyebrow at her. "Even better than me?"

Hermione looked from Ron to her father, then said without hesitation, "Absolutely. There's no contest."

"Ah!" Mr. Granger cried theatrically, clutching a hand to his chest, "These words are razors to my wounded heart!" Mrs. Granger laughed as she picked up the tea and biscuits while Hermione shook her head. Mr. Granger, now grinning, stood and walked towards the drawing room, stopping briefly to kiss Hermione's temple before he left. Noticing the puzzled look on Ron's face, Mrs. Granger leaned towards him.

"Shakespeare," she said simply. "You know, he was the inspiration behind Hermione's name." She smiled warmly and walked out of the room towards the kitchen, leaving Hermione and Ron alone.

Ron stood and began gathering plates as Hermione walked around her side of the table, clearing the cutlery.

"Who's Shakespeare?" he asked quietly, his brows knitted together in confusion.

"He was a Muggle playwright in the late 1500s through the early 1600s who wrote 37 plays and 154 sonnets," she responded automatically as she came around to his side of the table and took the plates out of his hands. "Mum and Dad tend to quote him often."

"Okay," he said uncertainly, "But what does he have to do with your name?"

Hermione's eyes went wide for a moment. "I'll explain later," she said quickly. "Go – play chess with my father. Trust me, it is a very good sign he's willing to play with you." Ron opened his mouth to respond, but she nudged him towards the door. "Go."

Mr. Granger was wholly absorbed by the game, something for which Ron was extremely grateful. They had been playing quietly since Ron had joined Mr. Granger in the sitting room, using the beautiful chess set Hermione had bought, and Ron had to admit that Mr. Granger was certainly a formidable opponent. But with a rush of pride, Hermione's words echoed inside his head.

Ron's brilliant at chess. I've never met anyone as talented as he is.

He watched as Mr. Granger moved his rook forward, taking one of Ron's pawns in the process with a small, triumphant smile. Ron, however, countered with his bishop.

"Check," he said, and in an instant, the smile on Mr. Granger's face disappeared.

"How did you…?" he mumbled as his eyes swept across the board and Ron fought to keep his expression neutral. Mr. Granger really was a talented chess player. But just as Hermione had said, there was no contest.

Ron reached for his cup of tea and took a small sip as he looked toward the kitchen. Inside, Hermione stood next to her mother as she washed dishes, a small tea towel in her hand. He watched as she took a glass from off the counter and laughed, her eyes crinkling at the corners, and he immediately felt a powerful rush of affection towards her.

"Ron, I need to ask you something." Mr. Granger's voice pulled him from his reverie and he looked back to meet his inquiring gaze. Mr. Granger shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. "I realize that what I'm about to say may be a bit uncomfortable, especially considering your, well, history with my daughter. But I would be remiss if I didn't inquire nonetheless."

Ron's heart seemed to stop for a moment and he swallowed uncomfortably. "Erm, okay…"

Mr. Granger leaned forward conspiratorially. "I would like to know your thoughts on Chris."

Ron blinked. "Oh," he said, glancing quickly towards the kitchen again. "I, er–"

"Don't worry," Mr. Granger said as he followed Ron's gaze. "Nothing you say will be repeated outside of this room. But I would like to know your opinion, both as an Auror and as someone who knows my daughter quite well. Your honest opinion, if you don't mind," he added, and Ron nodded.

"Well, I don't really know much about him, at least not on a personal level," Ron said and Mr. Granger instantly raised an eyebrow. Ron cleared his throat, then pressed on. "He's very focused on his work, and always seems to be running in and out of meetings. I don't see him spend a lot of time with Hermione one-on-one, though she's quite busy, too." Ron ran his palms down the sides of his jeans before shifting forward to the edge of his chair. "I think… he's more concerned with how things look to others from the outside. Getting what he needs and doing what he wants is more important than the people who are around him."

Ron looked towards the kitchen again and this time found Hermione's eyes on him. He smiled, his lips curling into a lopsided grin, and with another tiny thrill, he watched as Hermione smiled back.

Mr. Granger slid his king out of harm's way on the chessboard. "He seems to me to be the type of person who doesn't accept no for an answer and is accustomed to getting his way no matter what."

Ron watched Mr. Granger carefully. "You mentioned that when Hermione's flat burned down, he told her she had to move in with him."

"Hermione will tell you he was trying to be helpful, but if you ask me, the whole thing doesn't sit right." Mr. Granger sighed. "Perhaps I'm being too protective seeing as she's my daughter and my only child but–" he paused as he glanced towards the kitchen. When he looked back at Ron, his expression was firm. "I know your job is to watch over Chris and his business first. However, I also know that you are the same person who fought tooth and nail in order to save my daughter's life. You offered to hide her, to lie for her, and even tried to take her place when you were captured; no hesitation, and no second thoughts. And, perhaps it's a bit forward of me, but I get the impression that you would still do the same for her, even now."

Ron's mouth was dry and his heart beat uncomfortably in his chest. But he stared back at Mr. Granger, his jaw set, and nodded solemnly.

"I would," he said quietly. "No hesitation. No second thoughts."

Mr. Granger pressed his mouth into a firm line. "Then I suppose I don't need to ask, but I need you to promise that you'll keep Hermione safe," he said, his dark eyes full of intensity, "from anyone who may not have her best interests at heart."

Ron took a deep breath in and returned Mr. Granger's steady gaze.

"You have my word."

Hermione stood at the sink with her mother, a tea towel in her hand. As she turned over the plate she was drying, she discreetly peered into the drawing room and watched as Ron sat with her father, quietly talking and playing chess.

"Hermione, stop worrying. They're fine," Mrs. Granger said, handing her another plate.

"I know," Hermione said defensively. "It's just that Dad was a bit… tough earlier."

"Well, you can't really blame him, darling. He's your father. That's what he's wont to do when you bring home a boy – interrogate him and make him feel decidedly uncomfortable."

"Ron isn't some boy I brought home, Mum. He's here because he has to be." Mrs. Granger looked at her skeptically, but Hermione doubled down. "Ron and I are just–"

"Friends?"

Hermione tucked a curl behind her ear. "Something like that."

Mrs. Granger made a tutting noise as she waved a soapy hand dismissively at Hermione. "If Ron is just your friend, then why did he keep sneaking looks at you all throughout dinner, hmm? And what about the little speech he gave about how brilliant you are and how he wouldn't be where he is today if it weren't for you?"

Hermione's cheeks flushed pink and she stared pointedly at the plate she was drying. "Mum, stop. Ron and I are merely trying to get along and coexist peaceably. He only said what he did because he was being polite and wanted to avoid being cross-examined by Dad."

"Well, I think you're wrong," Mrs. Granger said. She stopped washing and looked at Hermione, her expression soft. "I really don't think he wants to be friends with you."

Hermione turned to look at her mother, her brow furrowed and eyes narrowed. Mrs. Granger placed her hand over Hermione's and smiled.

"Sweetheart, that boy is in love with you."

Hermione blinked once, then a second time. But as her mother continued to look at her sincerely, she felt a laugh bubble up inside her and snorted.

"You're mad. There is no way he's… you're mad!" Hermione shook her head, her laughter almost maniacal as she placed a glass in the cupboard above her. "Ron is here to do his job. He's here purely due to obligation, not because he's nursing some sort of childish crush. There is no way–"

"'But love is blind, and lovers cannot see the pretty follies that themselves commit,'" Mrs. Granger said in a singsong voice as she turned back towards the sink.

"Oh, don't you start quoting Shakespeare, too," Hermione groaned.

"Hermione Jean, don't you be so quick to dismiss me," Mrs. Granger said firmly, placing her hands on her hips. "You and Ron were best friends and you fancied each other for a long time, not to mention that you went through hell and back together. He may have acted like a complete prat when he was eighteen, but who knows? Maybe he honestly did believe you two were better off apart than together. You know as well as anyone that pain and grief can make a person do strange things."

"Mum–"

"All I'm saying," Mrs. Granger said, lifting her hand to silence Hermione, "is that after watching the two of you tonight, it certainly would appear that he still has feelings for you."

Hermione opened her mouth to respond, but her retort died on her tongue. Automatically, she looked into the drawing room again and watched as Ron sat with her father playing chess. Sensing her gaze, Ron looked up and gave her a quick, lopsided grin. Hermione's stomach fluttered and she smiled back.

Mrs. Granger leaned in close as she handed Hermione another glass. "And judging from the look on your face, I'd say you still have feelings for him as well."

The drive back to the Ministry was quiet. Hermione sighed and stared out the window, dark pavement racing underneath them, as she mulled over the conversation she'd had with her mother.

But love is blind, and lovers cannot see the pretty follies that themselves commit...

Was she right? Hermione was certain her mother was reading into things between Ron and her, but what if she wasn't? And, more importantly, what did it mean if her mother was correct? Hermione bit her lip and jiggled her foot as she tried to make sense of everything. Seeing Ron after three years had stirred up many strong emotions: anger, embarrassment, regret, heartbreak. But was there more to it than that?

"Your dad gave me a book."

Hermione glanced at Ron. "He did?"

"Yeah, one of the Shakespeare ones. It's called Hamlet, I think."

"Oh," she mused as her foot tapped gently on the baseboard, and Ron quickly looked at her.

"Is that bad?"

"Quite the opposite. That's one of his favorites."

"Is it the one you're named after?"

"No. I'm named after a character in another Shakespeare play called A Winter's Tale. Queen Hermione," she said as she rolled her eyed.

Ron chuckled. "That's fitting."

Heat crawled up her neck and blossomed across her cheeks. "Is this your way of telling me I'm a snob again?" she asked, grateful for the relative dark inside the van.

"What? No-" Ron said quickly and Hermione looked at him warily. "I just mean it's… sort of like chess."

"It's like chess?" she said slowly and Ron shrugged.

"In chess, obviously the king's important, but he's also the weakest and most vulnerable of the pieces. But the queen? She's powerful and does pretty much whatever she wants. You lose your queen, and you'll probably lose the game. And that's like you; you're strong and brave, and without you, the rest of us don't really stand a chance. "

Sparks flared to life inside her chest. "Oh," Hermione breathed and she stared pointedly out the window again. Thoughts raced through her brain and once again her head was filled with the sound of her mother's voice.

Sweetheart, that boy is in love with you.

Hermione shook her head distractedly before clearing her throat.

"Thank you again for taking me to my parents' house."

"It was nice," Ron said. "I think they might even sort of like me."

Hermione smiled. "My father doesn't lend his favorite play to just anyone. I mean, I hate to say I told you so–"

"Well, now you're just openly lying to me."

" –but," she said loudly as she tried not to laugh, "whatever you said to him while you were you were playing chess must have made quite the impression."

The smile on Ron's face faded. "Right," he said and gripped the steering wheel, knuckles flashing opaque. He was quiet for a moment, then finally said, "You know, your dad seems pretty worried about you."

Hermione stiffened slightly in her chair as her heart began to jump.

"My father is overreacting," she said coolly.

"Is he though?" Ron asked carefully and Hermione stared pointedly at the wet pavement ahead of them. "Look, I know you don't like talking about the fire at your flat, but if what your dad said about Rhiney just swooping in and telling you you're moving in with him–"

"Chris was concerned and he wanted to help," Hermione said testily. "Him telling me to come stay at the manor wasn't some sort of nefarious act – he was being considerate!"

"But if he hadn't told you to, would you have gone?" Ron pressed as he struggled to keep his voice even.

"What does that matter?" Hermione snapped, her cheeks reddening again. "Are you suggesting I made a mistake by moving in with Chris?"

"I never said that!" Ron said in a rush, though from the tone of his voice and the way he gripped the steering wheel, Hermione could tell he felt otherwise. "All I'm trying to get at is that maybe your dad has a point. You've been through enough already without now having to deal with threats from a terrorist organization!"

"I can take care of myself, thank you very much!" Hermione spat and Ron choked back a laugh.

"Bloody hell, you think I don't know that?" Ron glanced at her incredulously. "Honestly, if you think for one second I'm not painfully aware of the fact that you could hex me or anyone else into oblivion, then you're clearly not as clever as I thought!"

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest as she made an angry tutting noise. They drove on in silence, Ron stealing glances at her as he drummed his fingers rapidly against the steering wheel and she stared icily out the window, foot tapping incessantly against the floor. After a few tense minutes, Ron sighed.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up." Her tapping slowed and she loosened the grip on her arms. Ron paused, then said in a low rumble, "Come on, Hermione. Please don't be angry."

At his quiet plea, Hermione softened almost instantly. She chewed the inside of her lip and ran her hands along the front of her jeans, internally struggling with what she should say. Finally, she took a slow breath in.

"The reason I don't like talking about the fire at my flat is because every time I do, the conversation morphs into something else," she said softly. She could feel Ron's eyes on her, but she continued to stare down at her hands as they gripped her knees. "People talk about how it's probably connected to Chris and the different kinds of spells that may have been cast and if it was dark magic or if this means I'm now a target as well. And I know it's childish and stupid of me and, quite frankly, I'm embarrassed to even say this out loud because obviously all of those things are important and they need to be addressed. But–" Hermione stopped, her throat suddenly tight.

"But what?" Ron asked gently and Hermione closed her eyes briefly.

"That was my home," she said, her voice shaky and her eyes prickling with tears. "My parents sold the house I grew up in because of what I did to them and they don't even remember doing it, and I have to live with that. And Hogwarts stopped feeling like home the second I went back, alone. But my flat… that was where I started to put myself back together. So, when it burned down, I didn't just lose the place I lived but I lost all the memories and mementos I had saved from over the years. Books, gifts, letters, photographs… everything," Hermione's voice caught in her throat and she turned her face to the side, desperate to hide the tears now threatening to fall down her cheeks. She stared at the rain falling on the window and realized they had returned to the Ministry already. Beside her, Ron shifted in his seat as he turned to face her.

"I'm really sorry, Hermione," he said, his voice soft and low and she took a shaky breath in.

"What do you have to be sorry for?" she replied, discreetly wiping her eyes. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"Well, that's a first," he joked and Hermione gave a watery laugh.

"Yes, well…" she trailed off before sniffling and turning towards him again. Ron's eyes were on her, tender and filled with concern, and Hermione's heart jumped as they locked with hers. "I've never shared that with anyone before."

His eyes grew wide for a moment before he gave her a lopsided smile. "I'm glad you told me."

"Me too," she said, a small smile pulling at her lips as well.

Ron ran a hand through his hair as he cleared his throat. Through the dark of the van interior, Hermione could have sworn the tips of his ears had turned bright red.

"We should probably head back inside," he said as he grabbed their coats from the backseat. Before he reached for the doorknob, he turned back to her again. "You okay?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes. Thank you for asking."

"Anytime," he said as he held out her coat. She stared uncertainly, opening her mouth to say something and then, thinking better of it, closed it again. Ron frowned. "What?"

"Nothing. I–" she stopped as she nervously tucked a curl behind her ear, "I'm just coming to the realization that I enjoy having you around. Up until very recently, I didn't think that was possible. But I'm grateful for it all the same."

Ron swallowed hard and gave a short, breathy laugh. "I think it's nice, too," he said, his voice gravelly. "And I'm happy we're becoming friends again. I've… well, I've really missed you."

It was as if all the air had been sucked out of her lungs. Hermione fought to keep her expression neutral even as her entire body burned as though suddenly on fire. Inside her head, her mother's voice all but screamed at her.

SWEETHEART, THAT BOY IS IN LOVE-

"It's late!" Hermione said abruptly, her voice shattering the air around them as she snatched her coat from his outstretched hand. "We should get back to the manor - we don't want anyone worrying about where we are," she said in a rush as she fumbled with the doorknob before tumbling out. Scurrying up to the Ministry, she briefly glanced behind her where Ron was still slowly climbing out of the van. "Are you coming?" she called out as she reached the double doors that led to the building.

"Yeah," he said, a hint of annoyance edging in his voice.

Hermione watched as he walked towards her. His copper hair, now auburn from the rain, fell lazily across his forehead and the tips of his ears were still bright pink, though she couldn't be certain if it was from the cold or their conversation. But as he approached, he slowed to a stop and grabbed the door beside her, holding it open as he flashed a brief smile and let her through. Hermione stifled a shiver as she hurried inside, Mrs. Granger's words now ringing in her ears.

And judging from the look on your face, I'd say you still have feelings for him as well.