Chapter 1

Big thank yous to Wildcatcdc and Sc010f!

Hermione was having a bad morning. Her work robes hadn't come back from the cleaners, Crookshanks had used her closet as a litter box and, to top it off, she was out of coffee.

Not that magic couldn't fix things, of course; but living in a Muggle neighborhood, while quiet and peaceful, had its disadvantages: she had to limit her magic during peak energy times due to interference. She'd received a nasty surprise last month when she attempted to repair a broken plate: the shiny, silver scar on her thumb was a reminder to limit her more complex magic to evenings and weekends.

Heaving a sigh, she donned a pair of dove gray wool trousers and a green cashmere turtleneck. Her hair, no longer a bird's nest of tangles and knots and riotous curls, was cut pixie short, framing her face in soft fringes, her bangs nearly covering her eyes.

Ronald had stayed late last night. Lately he'd been distant, and she'd no idea of how to approach him. Or if she should. The thought sent a sharp stab in her chest. One more dilemma to work out, she thought as she locked her house located south of London. Walking down the path, she climbed into her 2000 Benz SLK and slowly backed out of the drive. Reaching the entrance to the estate, a Ministry-approved Apparition point, she checked her mirrors then pushed the Dissapparition button on the gearshift. With a sharp tug, she and the car were gone.

Moments later, she was parked in her assigned parking slot in the Ministry car park. The Apparition Car prototypes (AC, for short) were expensive, but for those commuting, it was faster and cheaper than building an Apparition room in one's home. Complete with Muggle repelling devices and the installation of the complex spells and charms needed to contain the magic so as to not throw the Muggles' electric grid into a state of flux, the AC was the sound choice.

And it was better than disillusioning oneself every morning and flying to work, she remembered with a shudder. The flock of geese that had been heading straight towards her because they couldn't see her and then having to perform evasive maneuvers so as to not get knocked off her broom, all the while praying to whomever would listen that she wasn't killed from fright, or worse, having Ron or Harry find out, was not something that she wished to repeat. Better to drive.

By lunchtime, Hermione realized her morning had been as easy as sin.

Ronald stood her up for lunch, and she had confronted Professor Snape. Again. She couldn't understand his reluctance to sit down and talk with her. She wasn't asking for a blood oath or an Unbreakable Vow, for goodness sake. All she wanted was the information Harry so nastily refused to share with her. She would be the first to admit that perhaps a bit more tact was needed with the man. After all, their history was not an easy one.

Her book was important to her; surely he could understand. Her need to share the experiences of the war with the public, as told by those who lived and fought and died, was an important endeavor. She didn't understand her restless need to complete this project. It was not as if others hadn't written about the events of the war, ad nauseam. Hers wouldn't even be the most comprehensive, for it was to be mainly told as a collection of stories, instead of told in a timeline. She wouldn't dwell on her elusive reasons for writing the book. Suffice it to say, she was eager to finish her work so that she could regain some normalcy in her life.

Normalcy, yeah right, she silently scoffed. Her life hadn't been normal since she was three years old and made the turnips her mum had been preparing to boil for supper dance across the kitchen counter.

By the end of the day, Hermione was ready to crawl into bed and weep. She was tired. Tired of working, tired of struggling with the endless amount of paperwork her job entailed, tired of trying so hard to do so little.

The day that followed was the same as the last. Ronald promised to stop by with take away, and Hermione was grateful. She felt it was time to have a heart-to-heart chat, although she quite hadn't wrapped her mind around what she was going to say. Her life felt very much off-kilter, and she was desperate to find an even keel.

Ronald rang the bell a little after six that evening, and she smelled curry as she neared the door. She opened to door to find him shuffling brown bags full of food. A small smile flitted across his face before he leaned in to offer a gentle kiss on her cheek. They made short work of their dinner. Conversation was saved for afterwards; Hermione learned long ago not to engage Ronald in conversation while his mouth was full of food.

Later, they snuggled on the couch. For once, Hermione didn't feel the need to talk right away; she was content to just be held.

For his part, Ron was gathering his courage. He knew they needed to have a heart-to-heart, and he knew what he had to say to Hermione was going to hurt her. Probably not terribly, but he already felt the sting of it, himself. He was convinced this was the proper opening move however... the Knight paving the way, clearing obstacles in preparation what is to follow.

"You're not falling asleep, are you, love?" he asked gently, rubbing Hermione's arm as she snuggled into his side.

Hermione sighed. "No, just content, for the moment."

Ron leaned down to kiss her hair. "Feels good, doesn't it? A belly full of curry and wine."

"Hmmm..." she agreed peacefully.

"Speaking of curry and wine," Ron began, mentally girding himself for what was to come. "I dropped by your office yesterday to take you to lunch, but you weren't there. I saw you and Professor Snape by the elevators at the end of the hall. Arguing, from the looks of it."

Hermione sat up and straightened her shirt, her eyes glinting at the mention of the man's name. It must have been on the tip of her tongue to begin lashing out, Ron noted, but she refrained. He reasoned she knew this conversation would not be about the argument or the missed lunch. She reached for her glass of wine.

"You want to talk, don't you?" Hermione asked softly. Ron nodded. Her eyes roamed his face, looking for some sort of clue as to where this would be heading.

This was Ronald,Hermione thought, one of two people I love most in the world. And he wants to talk, which is unlike him.

Ron knew Hermione felt uneasy, her thoughts were written all over her face. He took a breath. "Darling, why is this book so important to you?"

It wasn't what she was expecting, and he watched her struggle with the urge to jump to her feet as if prepared to defend herself and her work. Instead, she took a deep breath and remained on the couch.

To answer his question, Hermione could only shrug her shoulders.

Ron reached out and took hold of her hand. "Can I give you my opinion?" he asked gently.

When Hermione nodded, he drew a quick breath and began. "I think you are looking for something in your own life, Hermione, but you don't quite know what it is. You use your boring job and that book as distractions. Yeah, I know they are important to you," he said quickly in an attempt to stave off her harsh retort, "but you are making both your life while ignoring the important stuff."

"You mean you, don't you? You think I'm not giving you enough attention, then?" Hermione asked, her eyes welling with unshed tears.

"No. No, love. That is not what I am talking about. You are brilliant, Hermione. Too smart to stay at that dead-end job at the Ministry. The answers you need might be tied up with your book, but not in the way you think." Ron quickly brushed at an errant tear from her cheek as it fell. He cupped her cheek and said quietly and gently, "You need to move on with your life, Hermione. You need to move past school and the war and the job and make a place for yourself in this world.

"Your life has been a whirlwind since you were eleven years old. When you were young, magic was new and exciting, and you completely immersed yourself; you soaked up knowledge of this life like a sponge. And then there was the war, and you fought brilliantly! You researched and memorized, and you shared your knowledge so we could defeat Voldemort. And we did, Hermione! We defeated him.

"After the war was over, there was rebuilding and renovations, and once again, you immersed yourself in doing what you do best, for the betterment of us all." Ron paused, gauging her reactions to all that he has said so far and wondering yet again how he was going to get through this and tell her the rest.

"But Hermione, you didn't learn how to live in our magical world." Hermione sat straight at his words and attempted to draw back her hand. It was clear she did not understand. Ron didn't let go of her hand; instead, he tugged her to him and held her. She was stiff in his arms, but he didn't release her. With her where she was, he wouldn't see her face when he finished what he needed to say.

"Harry and Professor Snape have learned how to live, Hermione. But you haven't. Harry had no knowledge of this world, but when he was introduced to his heritage, he knew it was where he belonged. He survived the war; he has put it behind him and has moved on.

"The same with Professor Snape. He never expected to survive the war. But he did. And he has made a life for himself, too. He learned to live in a post-Voldemort world, one he thought he would never get to enjoy.

"I've done the same thing, Hermione. I've moved on as much as I can, but I can't do it with you, not when you're not by my side. I think you need to find a place for yourself, and I don't think it's with me."

Hermione didn't to respond. Ron felt his shirt dampen. He held on tightly. The worst was over, and he released a small sigh. Tucking his finger under Hermione's chin, he lifted her face to his.

"I love you. You are my best friend and my first love, and I want you to be happy. But right now, you're not. Right now, you just exist. It shouldn't be enough for you, but you just accept it. You say your life has a purpose, to write this book. But what happens when you're finished, huh?

"You are angry because Harry and Snape won't give you the answers to your questions. Don't you wonder why?"

Hermione began struggling in his arms, and he released her. She sat up, her eyes fierce with anger. She ran a hand through her hair, a habit from long ago, now useless with most of it gone. She was upset and hurt and a bit indignant, as well, he noted.

"I know why they won't answer my questions, Ronald." Hermione began. "They feel like they would be exposing a part of themselves that they don't feel comfortable sharing. But what they have to say is important, Ronald. To fully understand how we won the war, we need to know what happened between them. Was it secret information regarding Voldemort? Was it a spell or charm? What knowledge did Severus have? What did he tell Harry?"

Hermione was working herself into a right state, Ron thought, and he halted her in mid-sentence.

"Maybe that's none of your business, Hermione," Ron said rather sharply, but took a calming breath before continuing. "Maybe it's not important, except to them. They found a way to get on with their life. Maybe you are asking the wrong questions. Maybe you should be asking them how they managed, despite everything that happened to them, to make a life for themselves."

Ron leaned over to kiss Hermione swiftly on the lips, "Maybe if you asked Severus the right questions, he'll give you your answers." With another kiss, Ron softly said his good-byes and, grabbing his coat from the back of the chair, left quietly.

Hermione sat distracted on the sofa after Ron left, her face unable to mask the whirl of questions for which she had precious few answers. Ron's words left an impression. Ask him the right questions; he might give you the answers you need.