Dragon-ridden Days

Dragon-ridden Days

"I swear, Kreacher's cooking just gets better and better," Ron said, reaching for a second serving. "This salmon's the best I've ever had."

Hermione raised one brow. "Better than your mum's?" she asked.

"Yeah, but don't tell her or anything," Ron pleaded, feigning a look of horror.

"Oh, yes, tell Molly Weasley that her baby boy prefers a house-elf's cooking to hers..." she laughed. "I think I'd rather find myself on the wrong end of a wand."

"You just might find yourself on the wrong end of a wand if you insult my mum's cooking to her face," Ron muttered.

Hermione smirked wickedly. "I could tell her tomorrow, you know. At Harry's birthday party."

Ron gulped and looked bashful. "I really hope you'll have other things to talk about," he mumbled, his mouth full of fish.

She wondered briefly what he was talking about, then shrugged it off. She took another helping of haricots verts. Admittedly, Kreacher's culinary expertise had grown significantly since the war. Tonight's feast took the prize, however.

Before presenting the sumptuous fish, Kreacher had served them an assortment of delicate appetizers: asparagus spears wrapped in flaky phyllo, tiny herbed cheese tartlets, and marinated artichoke hearts had whet their appetite marvelously without dulling their appreciation for the main course.

Ron smiled at her and wiped his mouth carefully. She noticed with some amusement that he was trying valiantly to keep his elbows off the table.

"So!" he said cheerfully. "What had you so riled back at St. Mungo's?"

Hermione's latent rage over the Prophet articles and Snape's hate mail roared to life once more. She lost herself as she recounted the last events of the day, from the discovery of the flowers, to the spiteful letters, and finally, to the innuendo-laden articles that so infuriated her. She did not notice until she finished how quiet, how unusually attentive, Ron had become.

She looked up to find him staring at her with an unusual gleam in his eyes. An uncharacteristic flush spread over his face and neck.

Just as she opened her mouth to question him, Kreacher appeared with a loud pop.

He bowed deeply to Ron, then jerked his torso awkwardly at Hermione.

She fought the urge to smirk. Old habits die hard, she thought.

"Is master's friend liking the food?" Kreacher asked. "Is the miss liking the young master's dinner?"

Ron's blush deepened to a dark burgundy as he looked from Kreacher to Hermione and back again.

"Uh, the food is really good, Kreacher," Ron said. "Hermione likes it too, don't you, Hermione?"

Hermione eyed Ron quizzically. His entire affect was different. As she reflected, she realized that he had been behaving oddly all evening. She could not imagine what kind of collusion he had arranged with Kreacher, but the house-elf seemed to be just as tense as he.

"Hermione?" Ron ventured tentatively.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Yes, Kreacher, the food was excellent," she said enthusiastically. "Thank you so much for this lovely dinner."

Kreacher shifted from one foot to the other and turned to Ron again.

"Is young master wanting dessert now? Kreacher found a nice bottle of wine to go with the torte. Kreacher hopes it is to young master's liking."

"Yeah, Kreacher. Dessert would be great." Ron flashed Kreacher a crooked grin before the house-elf disappeared.

When he faced Hermione again, she was taken aback. He seemed to be steeling himself for something. He radiated determination.

Ron fidgeted nervously and cast his eyes downward. "Uh, 'Mione?" he began softly.

They both jumped when Kreacher reappeared with a loud crack. The elf eyed the pair cautiously as he set a rather large Sacher torte and a bottle of sparkling wine upon the table.

"Is Kreacher interrupting master and miss?" he squeaked. "Kreacher is not wanting to interrupt the master's nice dinner with miss! Kreacher is sorry, very sorry!"

Ron threw out an arm to restrain the elf, who was preparing to bang his head on the table. "Don't worry, Kreacher," Ron soothed through gritted teeth. "It's all right. You haven't interrupted anything. Yet," he finished sotto voce.

Hermione frowned as she observed their interaction. Ron and Kreacher had definitely been plotting.

Kreacher wasted no time disappearing, and Ron turned again to Hermione with an uncomfortable grin plastered on his face. The blush had receded; now his face was almost as pallid as Snape's.

"So, uh, Sacher torte, milady?" he offered nervously.

"Sure," she accepted, continuing to survey him warily.

Ron's hands shook as he cut the torte, grinning broadly the entire time.

The slender wedge of torte slipped as he lifted it, landing upside down on Hermione's plate. "Bugger-wanker-shit!" he cried, wringing his hands.

"It's OK, Ron, really..." Hermione started.

"No! Fuck all, it's not OK!" Ron shouted, his voice creeping higher and higher. "It was supposed to be perfect! The flavor comes from biting into each layer bit by bit. It's... ruined!"

Hermione bit her tongue to avoid laughing. The anxiety that swelled within her, combined with the hilarity of Ron's discourse on the proper enjoyment of Sacher tortes, was demanding release at all costs.

She squeaked as her laughter bubbled up past her defenses. Her body shook uncontrollably, and Ron looked at her in horror. Finally, she conceded defeat and doubled over.

As her laughter died down, she glimpsed the thwarted look on Ron's face. She sat up, chastened.

His hands hung, palms out, at his sides. He looked utterly helpless.

"It's chocolate, Ron. How could it not be good?" she said with a cheer she did not really feel.

"I wanted it to be perfect," Ron groaned, "for you. I wanted it to be perfect for you. Because... well, because... you're... perfect." His voice became a whisper as he finished, and he blushed lividly once again.

The simplicity, the utter guilessness of his words, left Hermione feeling strangely naked and guilty. "Ron," she groaned tiredly, unable to think of anything else to say.

She watched as he poured himself a glass of sparkling wine and downed it swiftly. He belched loudly. "Sorry," he mumbled and poured her a glass.

She resisted the urge to down it just as he had. The bubbles fizzed riotously upon her tongue. She felt inexplicably old and tired and sad.

This is my life, she thought, surprised by the metaphor. This is youth. Bursting bubbles that end in headaches.

She swiftly derailed her morose train of thought. She knew how her face...her traitorously honest face...must appear to Ron. Not wanting to disappoint him more than she already had, she carefully trained her features into what she hoped was an expression of contentment.

Then she noticed.

Ron wasn't looking at her. He was lost in thought, gathering his resolve.

Screwing his courage to the sticking place.

No.

No, No, No.

He was not...

... He was.

Fishing about in his pocket.

Before she knew it, he was kneeling clumsily before her with a tiny, velvet-covered box in his hand.

She began to quake as he opened the box, displaying a modest, marquis-cut diamond set in a platinum, goblin-wrought band.

"Hermione Granger, will you... I mean, would you... marry me?" he breathed.

He beamed. He thought she was crying with joy.

This is the way it's supposed to be, this is the way it's supposed to be, this is the way... her mind chanted helplessly. It was. It was her dream. Or it had been, in that happy world where she'd had school, and mischief with Ron and Harry, and ice cream, and a future...

She wanted this. She did, she really did. If she didn't, it was because something was direly wrong with her. What could be more natural than marrying your childhood sweetheart?

This is the way it's supposed to be.

"Yes," she whispered.

Her voice, brittle and unexpected, called down an avalanche, and she was swept away into cold inertia.

His eyes glistened as he stood up and pulled her into a crushing hug. Stunned by his proposal...and even more stunned by her own automatic acceptance...she woodenly opened her arms to the embrace.

Moments later, they stood outside Hermione's bedroom. Ron stared adoringly into her eyes. For a single moment, she was a year younger, reveling weak-kneed in the attentions of a boy she had loved since she was eleven.

He slipped his hand into hers, and she felt a tremor of anticipation. This was how it was always supposed to turn out. How she had always wanted it to turn out. His other hand reached up and caressed her face gently before he bowed his head and pressed his lips to hers.

This is how it's supposed to be.

The kiss...by no means their first...was tender and restrained. She had always enjoyed their kisses. They had made her feel special, desired. But the special feeling dissolved as something icy enfolded her, and she was millions of miles away...

Ron pulled away. Wordlessly, he pushed the door open and led her by the hand to the side of her bed. He leaned down and kissed her again, and this time, it was a deep, searching kiss. Their tongues intertwined and teased each other, and the icy sensation faded briefly as she melted into the familiar warmth of his embrace.

She felt it, then...his hardness, the inescapable evidence of his manhood...pressing against her abdomen. Her stomach churned and she was frozen again.

From worlds away she felt their bodies intertwine. Felt him unhooking her robes. Felt them sliding away from her skin.

Her body felt as if it belonged to someone else as he kissed her neck and shoulders. She stood rigidly as he took first one nipple and then the other gently into his mouth. He was laying her down, pressing against her, his hands roaming over her breasts, her thighs, her bottom.

She lay still as his lips and hands roved over her body. I should be enjoying this, she thought. From her distant observation point, she felt him position himself at her opening and push gently.

The distance between her mind and her body evaporated in one sharp instant. She cried out in pain.

Bewildered and frightened, Ron stopped moving, and she read the confusion in his eyes. She looked away as he withdrew, trying to ignore his limply hanging member and its indictment of her performance.

"Hermione?" Ron whispered.

She began to cry silently.

"Oh, god, Hermione, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean... Shit, I'm a smeg-head."

Ron looked as if he, too, would cry, and Hermione hated herself.

"It's not you, Ron, I don't know why... I don't know..." she cried.

Ron lay beside her and gathered her gently in his arms. "It's OK, Hermione. It's painful the first time. I mean, that's what I've heard..."

He arose and retrieved her fallen robes and helped her dress. He lay down beside her and embraced her once more. "I'll stay right here as long as you want me to, Hermione. If you want me to go... if you hate me... I'll understand..."

"Don't go," Hermione whispered. She didn't hate him; she hated herself. His touch had severed the thin ligature that tethered her to terra firma, but she wanted him to stay and anchor her, wanted something warm and familiar to keep her from drowning in the icy fear she thrashed against. She wanted her friend.

As they lay together in the darkness, Hermione reflected on all the ways she had disappointed Ron, from breezing past him at St. Mungo's, to laughing as his carefully-planned dinner fell apart. Worst of all was her failure as a sexual partner. Long after Ron began to snore, she lay awake, going over her litany of guilt again and again.

A demonic cackle heralded her descent into a well-traveled world of nightmares.

"Be nice, little girl, and you won't get hurt... yet."

A door slammed, and a woman began to scream. Hermione jerked awake and leapt from the bed. She burst through the door, panting, wand outstretched.

Harry stepped into the light, arms extended over his head. "It's me, Hermione," he whispered.

Hermione trembled as the tension slipped out of her limbs. She looked backwards, knowing that Ron, too, would be awake, wand drawn. She could not count the times that this had happened since the war, the times they would be roused from their slumber by some small noise and descend into the hall, wands trained upon each other. No one even remarked about it any more.

"Are you OK, Hermione?" Harry asked worriedly.

"I'm fine, Harry," she answered tremulously, raking her shaking hands through her hair.

Harry did not look convinced. "Ron?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

"We're all fine here, mate," Ron responded groggily.

Harry looked slyly at Ron, then at Hermione. "Isn't that Hermione's room, Ron?" he asked.

Hermione felt the blood rise to her face. She looked down.

"Yeah," Ron snapped, effectively silencing Harry with a look. "So, where were you all night?"

Harry yawned. "The Burrow."

"With Ginny?" Ron asked pointedly.

"Yes, with Ginny... and George, and Bill, and Fleur, and your mom and your dad..." Harry droned.

Ron's eyes narrowed. "You had better treat my sister respectfully," he growled.

Harry looked at him with surprise. "I do. I thought I might give you two some time alone. Looks like you needed it."

Hermione bit her lip and knotted her fingers, boundlessly mortified.

"Mind your own damn business, Harry," Ron warned.

Harry's brow furrowed, and his mouth gaped in astonishment. "I was trying to mind my own business, Ron. That's why I was gone so long."

"Why the hell are you gone so long all the other nights, then?" Ron demanded.

Hermione slinked backwards toward her door. She knew Ron well enough to know that he was taking his frustration with her out on Harry. Another verse of her guilt-litany slipped into place.

Harry shook his head in chagrin. "Ron, don't start a fight with me tonight. I know neither of us wants an argument."

"Maybe I do," Ron huffed. "Maybe some things are worth fighting over."

"Good night, Ron," Harry said quietly. He began to walk away. "We'll talk or fight about whatever you want tomorrow." He looked over his shoulder and winked. "Nice ring, Hermione!" he called as he slipped through his bedroom door.

Hermione and Ron remained standing in the hall. Hermione knew that if she looked at him, she would see his anger and discomfort. She whispered weakly, "I'm sorry, Ron."

To her surprise, Ron wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her gently to him. "Don't apologize," he said gruffly. "None of this is your fault."

She cautiously peeked up at him. To her great surprise, he smiled. "I'm happy, 'Mione," he murmured. "Very, very happy." He picked up her left hand and caressed her ring finger.

She stifled a wave of nausea as he held her close. "Don't worry, Hermione. I've heard the first time is hard for the girl. It'll get better. I won't be so daft next time. I'll make it better for you."

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut tightly and clung to him. She wanted so badly to tell him he was right. Maybe he was right. Maybe the icy bands that wrapped around her stomach would melt. Maybe if she worked harder, tried something different, she would enjoy what should be a natural expression of love between a woman and a man.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat quietly around the kitchen table. Hermione looked steadfastly at her plate, not wanting to meet the awkward glances the boys each cast occasionally in her direction. She knew Harry was trying to get the measure of what had happened with her and Ron, and she knew Ron would be looking at her with bemused adoration. She did not want to acknowledge either.

"Well!" Harry said cheerfully. "This afternoon at the Burrow!"

"Yeah, Harry, we're going," Ron mumbled around a mouth full of food. "Wouldn't wanna miss your first birthday as a free man."

"It's funny, in a way. I don't know how I'm going to live the rest of my life without Voldemort stalking me."

Harry laughed, but Hermione did not miss the note of uncertainty in his voice.

Ron snorted. "I think you'll manage."

Hermione glanced up at Harry. In his face, she recognized the same anxiety that plagued her. He seemed happy enough on the surface, but his eyes hinted at a wild and dangerous lack of direction. She studied him carefully for a moment, quick to avert her eyes before he could catch her. She could not decide whether their shared apprehension comforted her or merely heightened her disquiet.

She was struck forcefully by the realization that Harry had always accepted the constant danger posed by Voldemort...even as a child. The madman had been a snaking vine whose very existence depended upon the life he strove to destroy; it had been a most unusual symbiosis, and it occurred to her to wonder what might become of Harry now that he had shaken off the Dark wizard's strangling tentacles.

The reality into which Harry had been born belonged to all of them now, herself included. Their scars were just as indelibly imprinted upon them as the lightning streak that testified to Harry's childhood blight. The Dark Lord was gone, dead, yet he had managed to mark every single one of them; their lives, their bodies, even their minds would always carry his taint.

The recognition made her physically ill. She pushed her plate away and made to leave.

"Hey, wait! Hermione, let's see the ring!" Harry called. She glanced at Ron, who glowed, predictably, with pride.

She turned around and walked slowly back to the table, holding out her hand for Harry's inspection.

"It's a beauty, Ron! Congratulations, best wishes, I don't know which I'm supposed to say," Harry laughed.

"I think congratulations go to the man and best wishes go to the woman," Hermione offered mechanically, unable to use their proper names.

"Of course you would know!" Harry exclaimed, rolling his eyes and grinning. "I'm really happy for both of you. Happy for me, too," he said and winked slyly.

"Why are you happy for you?" Ron challenged. "It's not like I'm sharing."

"Ron!" Hermione cried in embarrassment.

Harry just chuckled. "I've been waiting for you two numbskulls to get together since fourth year. Your fights were starting to wear me out."

Ron slipped behind Hermione and wrapped his arms around her waist. "Well, looks like we'll be fighting forever, now," he laughed.

Hermione smiled thinly and patted his arm.

"No more canaries and no more Won-Won, if you please," Harry admonished with mock severity. "Oh, Hermione, how's Snape?" he asked suddenly.

Harry's question broke through Hermione's fog and brought her earthward again.

"Well, actually, Harry," she started, "I really need to talk to you about that."

Harry listened attentively as she recounted the story of the article and the death-threats.

"I just hate that Skeeter woman!" she cried as she finished. "I haven't even told you what she wrote about me..." She broke off as she noticed Harry and Ron exchanging significant glances.

"Well, uh, you see, Hermione," Ron began reluctantly

Harry finished for him. "We read the whole bit in the Prophet last week."

Hermione's mouth fell open. "You read it..."

"Yeah, we read it. We just knew you were really stressed out and didn't want to make it worse for you," Harry stated evenly.

Ron made a face and hunched his shoulders, as if he were steeling himself against a blow. "We didn't want you to get mad," he mumbled apologetically.

"Well, I am mad! I'm going to have to go to the Burrow today and face your mother. And you know how she reads the Prophet! She's going to hate me! It's fourth year all over again," Hermione groaned.

"No, she won't," Ron said. "I've already talked to her about it. She doesn't believe a word of it. She's mad about it, as a matter of fact, because she's afraid it'll hurt your reputation."

Hermione just stared at him in appalled silence.

"Come on, Hermione," Harry said. "Since the war, everybody with half a brain knows to take the Prophet with a grain of salt. There's hardly anyone left who believes anything they print."

"Obviously," Hermione fumed, "there are people who take the Prophet quite seriously. The people who send death-threats to Professor Snape, for instance."

Harry became serious. "Kingsley is going to be at my party today. Talk to him about it," he urged.

"Can't you just talk to the Aurors, Harry?" Ron asked. "I mean, Shacklebolt's the Minister of Magic now."

"No, I think Snape's security should be one of the Ministry's highest priorities," Harry said firmly. "He'll put the Aurors on the case, but he needs to know. Talk to him, Hermione. I will, too," he finished.

Hermione looked at him gratefully. "I'll speak to him," she promised.

"Good." Harry pushed back his chair and stood up. "I'll be going now. I have some errands I need to run before the party. I'll see you two at the Burrow," he said as he pushed through the door.

Ron moved closer to Hermione. "Alone at last," he grinned. He placed his arms around her.

Hermione forced herself to smile at him.

The noonday sun shone brightly over the Burrow, gilding the quaint little house and its gardens with a cheerful glow. Hermione was staggered by nostalgia as she took it all in. She had spent almost every summer here since she was twelve. Part of her wanted desperately to belong here, in this homely little house with its gnome-ridden garden, full of people who loved her and whom she loved in return.

Another part of her couldn't help feeling that this was a lost Eden, a childhood paradise she was no longer innocent enough to inhabit. She strained against the frigid fingers that threatened to wrap themselves around her again, reminding herself that she did belong; her place was guaranteed by her engagement to Ron.

This is the way it's supposed to be, she reminded herself.

When Ron wrapped her hand in his, she smiled up at him resolutely. She would cause him no more pain.

"Let's announce our engagement today," Ron said excitedly.

Hermione channeled all her effort into smiling back at him. She measured her words carefully, reining in her unexplainable urge to pick a fight. "Really, Ron, it's Harry's day. Let's not take the spotlight away from him!" she laughed.

"Bollocks. Harry's got plenty of spotlight. It'll just add to the day. It's perfect, if you think about it," Ron countered. "I mean, the three of us are always going to be together now, and if Harry hadn't been the "Chosen One," we'd never have fallen in love. He'll be thrilled."

Hermione bit her lip as she strained against her emotions. "Well, Ron, how do you think your family will take it? I mean, so soon after the war..."

Ron rolled his eyes. "They'll be thrilled too. Come on, everybody's been so sad since the war. We'll be bringing them some happiness."

Hermione chafed at the thought of being put on display for the benefit of everyone else's happiness. She suddenly resented being here, resented Ron, resented everyone in the Burrow as well as Harry.

Her face must have reflected the mutiny within, for Ron looked at her pleadingly. "Please?" he begged, and she was reminded once again of a child.

"I just can't wait. I want everyone to know how much I love you."

Hermione sighed in exasperation. "Fine. Do it. But I know you, and I know that you're so eager to announce our engagement because you want to show your family that you can manage me."

"Of course I do!" Ron groaned. He grinned mischievously. "I want everyone to know that I'm not a git who can't appreciate a good witch."

"Anymore," Hermione parried somewhat waspishly.

"Well, yeah," Ron agreed. "So let's get on with it, my good witch."

Hermione smiled and leaned into Ron as they walked to the house, wondering if she looked the part of the doting fiancée. The bewildering sense of distance blunted her awareness once more.

Molly Weasley bustled frenetically around the kitchen, overseeing a flurry of tasks. On one countertop, knives minced scallions as if of their own accord. On another countertop, a rocking mezza luna chopped dill. Soup and sauces simmered away on the stovetop, each one stirred by its own unmanned spoon. In the midst of it all, Molly ran about, waving her wand as if she were conducting an orchestra.

Ron and Hermione watched from the threshold. "Let's see how long it'll take her to notice us," he murmured amusedly.

Hermione smiled in reply.

"Ginevra Weasley, get down here this instant!" Molly cried, ignorant of her son's presence in the doorway. "This food isn't going to cook itself, and you promised to help me!"

They heard the thunder of stomping feet above them. "Alright! Give me a minute to get my bed made, Mum!" came Ginny's exasperated voice.

Hermione smiled affectionately as she recalled Molly pressing her and Ginny into preparing for Bill's wedding. Had that only been a year ago? So much had changed. It seemed obscene that such a life-shattering year had been ushered in by a wedding.

"Look at that," Ron whispered. "She walked right past us and didn't even notice."

Sure enough, Molly had brushed right past the two of them without a single glance. Ginny thudded down the stairs and caught sight of Ron and Hermione. Ron held a finger to his lip and pointed at Molly, and Ginny smiled in complicity.

"Where is that brother of yours?" Molly wailed. "I am beginning to believe that he never learned to tell time. Hermione's usually on time, though... That blasted clock needs repairing. Ron's hand is pointing to "home," and he's nowhere to be seen... Eek!" Molly screeched as Ron slipped up behind her.

"What do you mean by sneaking up on me, young man?" Molly demanded. Ginny howled with laughter.

Ron affected a chastened expression, though his eyes shone with mischief. "Sorry, Mum, I couldn't resist. 'Mione's here, too."

"Hermione!" Molly cried, hugging the girl warmly. Hermione had never known anyone with such a thoroughly encompassing embrace. "Where have you been keeping yourself, love?"

"Uhm, well, I've been studying," Hermione stuttered, unsure of herself in the light of Molly's scrutiny.

"And taking care of Snape, too, I hear. Poor dear. You must be worn out. I just couldn't believe what that horrid woman wrote about you."

Hermione colored at the mention of Skeeter's article. "Uh," she began awkwardly, "well, I don't know..."

"Don't waste your time worrying over it, dear. Everyone knows it was nothing but rubbish. Anyone who knows you at all won't even think twice about it," Molly soothed, taking Hermione's hand in hers.

Her eyes flew open wide, and she brought the hand up to her face for inspection. "Now, what is this bauble you're wearing, Hermione?" she asked. "Is this what I think it is?"

Molly beamed. Hermione bit her lip nervously. "Well, what do you think it is?" she asked the witch.

"Did he do it? Did my baby boy... oh, my, is there a wedding to plan?"

Ron put his arm around Hermione's waist and pulled her to him possessively. "Yeah, Mum. That's right. I asked Hermione last night, and she said yes."

Ginny and Molly both squealed loudly, and Hermione found herself crushed between the two Weasley witches.

"Now what's all the ruckus down here?" came an amused male voice.

Hermione breathed gratefully as Ginny and Molly released her. Molly grabbed her and pulled her forward, thrusting her left hand into Mr. Weasley's face.

"Look at that, Mr. Weasley!" Molly crowed. "Just look at what our son gave his young woman!"

Hermione gulped and tried to smile as she looked into Arthur Weasley's face. The mist in his eyes and his concerned expression shocked her after Molly and Ginny's unabashed enthusiasm.

"It's lovely, Hermione, son," he said, maintaining unbroken eye contact with Hermione. She was seized by the impulse to fling her arms around the man and bury her face in his shoulder.

"Oh, Merlin, look at the time!" Molly shrilled. "It's only a quarter to one, and we've still got so much to do! Hermione, Ginny, do help me get the food laid out. Ron, Arthur, I'll need you to set up the tables outside. Come on now, let's get going!"

Ginny cast a sympathetic glance at Hermione and fell in line behind her mother. Ron shrugged and smiled, and kissed Hermione lightly on the lips as he exited. Arthur gave Hermione one last, searching look before he followed his son out into the garden.

*****

Ron held steadfastly to Hermione's hand as the guests began trickling into the Burrow's gardens. Andromeda Tonks arrived first, quietly cradling baby Teddy in her arms.

Luna and Xenophilius Lovegood were next, Xeno looking old and chastened, and holding onto Luna's arm as if he were afraid she might disappear. Hermione watched as Luna gently removed her father's hand from her arm and made her way toward her and Ron. "Go on, Dad," Luna encouraged. "You may find some gnomes if you look hard enough."

Xeno smiled hesitantly. "By all means, Luna, do visit with your friends. Never mind me, my dear," he agreed, his voice reedy and tremulous. He shuffled away, scanning the ground carefully.

Luna's misty, slightly protuberant eyes examined Ron and Hermione curiously for a few moments. "Hello, Hermione," she murmured. "Hello, Ron."

"Good to see you, Luna," Ron said earnestly, clapping the girl on the back. Luna smiled faintly and continued to look at him, causing him to shift uncomfortably.

"I'm so glad you came, Luna," Hermione said, surprised by her own sincerity. She allowed Luna to peruse her openly and silently, taking the opportunity to study the other girl in turn. While Luna had fought the same war as Ron and herself, Luna had emerged strangely whole; there was a new strength about her, to be sure, and her eyes revealed a certain loss of innocence. She had managed nevertheless to retain her native gentleness.

At this realization, the ever-present lump in her throat expanded, and she gulped. Luna's spirit remained soft, yet indestructible while Hermione felt brittle and fragile. For the first time, she envied the ethereal young woman.

"I suppose I'll be going back to Hogwarts in September," Luna breathed. "Are you going, too? Or did you automatically get your NEWTs for defeating Voldemort?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "Hmph. I'm sitting my NEWTs in September, and I wouldn't go back to school if you paid me."

Hermione bit down on her irritation with Ron's statement. "I'll be going back, Luna, yes."

Luna smiled cheerfully. "Oh, good. I thought you might. I'll see you on the train, then."

"Sure," Hermione smiled. She watched as Luna walk towards Xeno's stooped form, a bewildering sense of emptiness growing within her.

One by one, they greeted Harry's many friends: Neville Longbottom, who laughed jovially and walked with a new self-assurance; Seamus Finnegan, along with his formidable mother; Dean Thomas; Lavender Brown; the Patil sisters.

Hermione was delighted to see many of her teachers, as well, among them Minerva McGonagall, Filius Flitwick, and Horace Slughorn. Seeing them outdoors, in the sunlight, brought memories of Quidditch tournaments. She thought wistfully of Professor Snape.

"Miss Granger, dear girl, I'm so happy to see you!" Professor McGonagall exclaimed. She grasped Hermione's hand warmly. "I have learned that you plan on returning to Hogwarts this fall. I must say I am delighted!"

Hermione felt a surge of gratitude for her teacher. "I couldn't miss it. Of course," she frowned, "there is the matter of Professor Snape."

Professor McGonagall's eyes teared and she sniffed. "Poor, dear Severus. I had heard that you were caring for him," she said shakily. "Poor boy. If I had only known..." Her voice broke.

"Yes, well," Hermione said thickly, "I'm the only one who visits him, and he seems to need my assistance. So, uhm, I need to speak with you about a way to schedule my classes around his care."

"You are aware that there are no more Time-turners to be had, Miss Granger?" McGonagall teased. "Of course, we can't make allowances for every student. Nevertheless, you have always been a competent pupil, and I've no doubt your professors will be glad to accommodate your schedule. And Hogwarts does owe Severus. The least we could do is lend him our star student."

"Thank you, Professor! I swear I'll see to all my classes."

"I have every confidence in you, Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall. "But do consider sitting some of your NEWTs in September or December! Especially Muggle Studies. You are, after all, Muggle-born."

"But, Professsor!" Hermione protested. "I don't just want NEWTs. I want to finish Hogwarts properly! And I need to know about Muggles from a wizarding perspective." Ron groaned and she elbowed him.

"I wouldn't dream of witholding a 'proper' education from you! And did you, or did you not just finish fighting a war over the 'wizarding perspective' on Muggles? Really, Miss Granger, if you intend to work around caring for Professor Snape, you must amend your plan accordingly!" McGonagall finished tartly.

"I just don't want to jeopardize my grades!" Hermione pleaded.

Professor McGonagall's spine stiffened. "Miss Granger," she began in an affronted tone, "never once have I advised you to do anything that would jeopardize your grades. Nonetheless, you signed up for 11 NEWTs at the end of your sixth year, and you will not survive revising for those NEWTs and continuing to care for Severus."

"All right, Professor, if you think it's best," Hermione agreed reluctantly.

"Indeed I do. Now, do tell Professor Snape that he will always have a home at Hogwarts. I don't know where he intends to live after his stay at St. Mungo's, but as long as I am headmistress, he will have quarters at the castle." McGonagall's voice quivered, and she dabbed her eyes.

Hermione's head snapped up sharply. She had not considered what might happen when Professor Snape was discharged. Given his last experiences at Hogwarts, she seriously doubted he would welcome the idea of returning to live there.

Ron nudged her. "Aren't you forgetting something?" he asked with a smirk.

For a moment, she wondered what she could possibly have forgotten to tell Professor McGonagall. Then, she followed his eyes to her left hand and almost groaned audibly.

"Ron wanted to tell you something, Professor," she said shortly. Ron glared briefly at her before he turned to beam at Professor McGonagall.

"Well, Professor, Hermione and I are getting married," he said proudly.

Professor McGonagall looked from Ron to Hermione, gaping speechlessly.

"Well. Indeed... Quite the surprise... indeed..." she stuttered. "Oh, I hope the two of you will be very happy. Best wishes, my dear. And congratulations, Mr. Weasley! An award-winning match for Gryffindor!"

Ron grinned and blushed as Professor McGonagall embraced him and kissed his cheek, but Hermione had to wrestle her features into a happy expression. For reasons she could not work out, her teacher's enthusiasm provoked a swell of bitterness.

Ron wrapped his arm around her shoulder as Professor McGonagall made her way to the drinks. "Why wouldn't you tell her?" he asked petulantly.

"You've been doing such a good job of telling everybody, I thought I'd just let you continue," Hermione said with false sweetness.

"I can't help it, Hermione, I'm so happy about it," he said pleadingly, and as she took in his boyish countenance, her affection for him bloomed anew alongside her burgeoning guilt.

The Burrow was packed before long, filled with Harry's friends and well-wishers, but as she scanned the crowd, Hermione found no sign of the guest of honor himself.

"Where the bloody hell is that git?" Ron stormed exasperatedly. "It's his birthday party."

"He did mention running some errands."

"How long could it take to run any errands he might have?" Ron huffed. "He's got no responsibilities. Looks like he could show up on time for his own party."

"It's OK, Ron. He'll get here when he gets here."

Ron protested vigorously. "But I'm hungry! It's just after one, and I haven't eaten..."

"... Since noon," Hermione interrupted impatiently. "You're in no danger of fainting from starvation, Ronald." She looked over the teeming grounds of the Burrow, feeling unaccountably jumpy. Spotting Kingsley Shacklebolt in the crowd, she turned away from Ron. "I've got to see Shacklebolt. See you in a minute," she called over her shoulder, weaving through the growing mass of guests.

Shacklebolt was chatting with a very official-looking witch Hermione did not recognize when she finally cleared the space between them. "Ah, Miss Granger!" he grinned. "How very lovely to see you! Esmeralda, you've heard of Miss Hermione Granger, I am sure. Miss Granger, this is Esmeralda Pinkleton, the new Director of Magical Law Enforcement."

Esmeralda Pinkleton took Hermione's hand in both of her own. "Miss Granger," she gushed, "what an unparallelled joy it is to meet you. I've heard nothing but good things."

Hermione blushed and resisted the urge to fidget with the hem of her sleeve. "Thank you, Madam Pinkleton," she answered shyly.

"Oh, no, Miss Granger, thank you. On behalf of all the wizarding world. If you should ever desire a future in magical law enforcement, do Floo me." The witch pressed a business card into Hermione's palm and walked away.

"I believe you wanted to speak with me, Miss Granger?" Shacklebolt asked as he turned his full attention upon her. His voice rolled and rumbled like silk-covered muscle. Hermione found it both intimidating and comforting, and she mused that he probably owed most of his success to that voice.

"It's Professor Snape, Minister," she began.

"Kingsley, please," he stated with a wave of his hand.

"Oh, well, K...K...Kingsley," she stuttered, uncomfortable with the breach of formality. "He's been getting owls. See, some of them are very threatening."

"Mr. Potter informed me this morning that he had received death threats," Shacklebolt acknowledged.

"Yes. Well, here, you can see for yourself." Hermione reached into her beaded bag and retrieved the hate-filled stack of mail.

The Minister's face betrayed no thought as he perused the letters. "You were quite right to bring this to my attention," he said finally. "I suppose this avalanche of sentiment is owed to the article in the Daily Prophet last Sunday?"

Hermione's face reddened. "Yes. Rita Skeeter... she's an unregistered Animagus...a beetle, to be exact. I think she's used her transfigured form to get inside St. Mungo's. It wouldn't be the first time she's done something like that. And she has reason to get back at me..." She broke off abruptly, noticing Shacklebolt's amused expression. She realized that she'd given herself away and flushed a deeper shade of red.

"Say no more, Miss Granger," Kingsley Shacklebolt chuckled. "I have a feeling that this conversation should be continued at some point, but for today, let us enjoy the festivities. Severus' security is a matter of utmost priority to the Ministry. Rest assured, I shall fully investigate any threat made against him." He bowed slightly then and smiled warmly at her, and Hermione was reassured beyond measure.

Ron made his way to her just as an excited murmur rippled through the gathered throng. "He's here!" someone whispered. Hermione looked towards the Burrow's limits and saw Harry striding towards the crowd, an unusually solemn Ginny at his side. As he drew nearer, the crowd erupted into applause.

"Speech!" someone cried, and the entire group took up the chant. "Speech! Speech!"

Harry looked slightly ill as he made his way to the center of the group. "Thank you," he started nervously. "Thank you all for..."

Dean Thomas pushed Lavender Brown out of the way and pointed his wand at Harry's throat. "Excuse me, everybody. Sonorous!" he shouted, and everyone laughed.

"... coming. Ahem." Harry stammered, uncomfortable with his magically amplified voice. "As I was saying, thank you all for coming. I...I know that I wouldn't be here today if it weren't for all of you. And I'm grateful that you've supported me. I, well..." Harry raked his hands through his hair nervously. "I appreciate you all more than you could know.

"Uhm. Uh. Well, you see, eight years ago, I was an orphan. I had no family, no friends. And today, well, I can't believe you are all here, how you all stuck by me. There are two people, though, who have been like a brother and sister to me. Ron, Hermione, please?"

Hermione glanced sideways at Ron and noticed that he looked extraordinarily uncomfortable. She herself did not really want the attention, but Harry was motioning them forward, and everyone was looking. She took Ron's hand and led him to the clearing where Harry stood expectantly.

Harry embraced them both when they reached him. "Ron and Hermione have stuck by me and trusted me, even when they had no reason to," Harry said softly.

Hermione could not understand Ron's downcast eyes or his reticence in the face of admiration. Though he had rarely said so, she knew he had never liked living in Harry's shadow. Why he could not enjoy the attention now was anyone's guess.

Harry continued haltingly. "You guys were my first friends, my first family. I love you like you were my own brother and sister." Hermione noticed tears gathering in his eyes, and she felt a wave of tenderness for her friend as her own eyes began to sting.

"And," Harry grinned, "if anyone deserves to be happy, it's these two. So please give your best wishes to the future Mr. and Mrs. Hermione Granger!"

Ron grinned lopsidedly and waved as the crowd whistled and cheered crazily while Hermione hid her embarrassment behind a smile and a wave. Suddenly, the Burrow seemed too crowded, too noisy, too familiar.

She was being pulled, shoved, hugged, by nameless faces. She felt Ron place his arm around her shoulder, felt him lifting her left hand to show off the ring. She saw George grinning at her, a grin that didn't make it to his shadowed eyes. "Keep ickle Ronniekins in line," she heard him say.

Everyone wanted more, more, more of her, it seemed, and she felt hemmed in. Her throat tightened and her mouth went dry. She fumbled with the neck of her robes.

She heard Molly saying something about the birthday boy, and the mysterious, levitating item was unveiled to display a spectacularly sculpted cake representing a rising phoenix. Fireworks were going off then, and everyone was cheering; Hermione's heart beat wildly against her chest.

A silvery trace streaked past in her peripheral vision, and she could no longer control the panic. She pulled her hand from Ron's and fled, shoving moving bodies out of her way. She blindly, frantically ran for safety.

She realized, once she finally stopped running, that she had drawn her wand. She leaned against a tree, breathing heavily, and looked around. She had somehow fled to her favorite spot at the Burrow, a little, wooded area where a little stream warbled soothingly and the sunlight glimmered through the trees.

She sank to the ground, trying to catch up with herself. Her mouth was dry. She scooped water out of the brook with her cupped hand and drank. She couldn't explain what had happened, why she'd felt so panicked, panicked enough to ruin her best friend's birthday. She closed her eyes and lay her cheek against the rough bark of the tree.

"It looked like a Patronus, didn't it?"

Ron's voice caught her off guard. She turned slowly to see him standing somberly behind her. She looked down again and nodded. He sat beside her quietly.

"It should be a happy day, but it's too much like Bill and Fleur's wedding," he said, and she realized he was right. She understood, then, why she had emerged from the crowd with her wand drawn and why she had felt flutters of panic since the guests had begun to gather.

The realization was a relief. She breathed slowly and deliberately, grateful for Ron's presence and understanding. She lay back on the mossy ground and gazed peacefully at the dappled light.

Ron lay beside her and twined his fingers through hers. She sighed in contentment. During her summer stays at the Burrow, she had often found herself in this very spot, yearning to be there alone with Ron.

He turned on his side to look at her. "I love you, Hermione," he said hoarsely.

For the first time in months, she smiled genuinely. "I love you, too, Ron," she whispered, and it was the truth.

He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her closer. She stared into his eyes and plainly saw his desire for her. She breathed in his scent, the scent of Mrs. Weasley's washing powder and musk-tinged aftershave.

His lips met her in a chaste kiss, and her body was flooded with warmth. She closed her eyes and opened her mouth, welcoming his tongue with her own, savoring his taste. His hand at her waist stirred a longing deep within her, and she moaned.

She pressed against him. He deepened their kiss in reply, twining one hand through her hair to bring her closer. Suddenly, the rough stubble on Ron's chin abraded the tender skin of her cheek. Her stomach turned over violently, and she pushed away.

"Fuck, Ron, you have got to shave!" she shrieked.

Ron lay still, perplexed by the violent profanity of her outburst. The warmth she had felt in his arms slipped away as they regarded each other, and she nearly shivered with cold. She shut her eyes tightly and huddled against the tree.

She heard Ron push himself upright. When she looked up at him, his eyes were narrowed and his jaw was set. His voice, when it came, was quiet and hurtful. "I must really repulse you."

"Ron, no, you don't, it's not..."

"Not what, Hermione?" he asked roughly. "I thought that last night it was hard just because it was our first time. But I get it now, don't worry. I'll go; I don't want to make you sick."

"Ron, please, don't think that. I don't know what came over me, but it's not you, Ron, I swear, it's not... I don't know what happened," Hermione wailed.

"For fuck's sake, Hermione, don't you dare pull the 'it's not you, it's me' shit. I'm not as dumb as you like to think I am." He turned sharply and stamped off, leaving Hermione to call out after him.

"Ron! Please, Ron! Ron!"

Hermione's heart sank as she watched him disappear through the trees. She knew there was nothing she could say to explain her abrupt change of heart to him. She couldn't understand it herself.

She quickly turned her options over in her head. She could not deal with the crowd anymore, and she knew there was little chance of reconciling with Ron until he had cooled off.

Nevertheless, she felt obligated to explain her absence to Harry, and perhaps Mrs. Weasley. With trembling hands, she cast Ginny's Aufero Rubor spell on herself and crept out of her wooded sanctuary.

She was relieved to see Ginny and George talking quietly on the steps.

"Hey, Hermione!" George called. "Where's Ronniekins? He run you off already?"

"Uh, no. Uh, I need to do some things today, and I really hate to, but I, uhm, have to leave," Hermione stuttered.

"All right, Hermione," Ginny said gently, although she looked concerned.

"Oh, will you please tell Harry and your mum that I, uh, you know, that I'm sorry?"

George rolled his eyes and waved her away. "Don't worry about it. We'll pass your regrets on to the Birthday Boy, and to Mum, and to Ron, too."

Hermione flinched. She hadn't thought of Ron at all.

"So where are you off to, Hermione?" Ginny asked.

Hermione froze. She didn't know where she was going. She simply wanted to escape the Burrow, where she was required to smile incessantly, where everyone assumed that they knew who she was just because they knew who she'd been.

"Uh, well, like I said, I just have things to take care of," she explained awkwardly.

Ginny looked at her questioningly. "I see," she said, though it was clear that she didn't.

"Go on, Hermione," George said. "Don't worry. We'll make your apologies." His uncharacteristically serious expression told Hermione that he, at least, understood her need to escape.

"Thank you," she whispered, and she turned and fled before they could see the tears welling up in her eyes.

She was breathless by the time she reached the Burrow's boundaries. She gulped the air into her lungs and squeezed her eyes shut as she Disapparated. She realized, mid-Apparition, that she had no clear idea of where she intended to go.

When her feet settled, she was relieved to find she had not Splinched herself. She opened her eyes and laughed, almost hysterically, when she discovered her location. The world had indeed been turned on its ear when visiting Severus Snape at St. Mungo's felt more normal than celebrating with friends at the Burrow.

Author's Notes

1. Angel Mischa, my beta, has my heart-felt gratitude for her guidance and wicked-fast turnaround time (especially considering how busy she is).

2. Amsev and the other admins at TPP likewise have my gratitude. They have made posting to The Petulant Poetess enjoyable and easy. Southern Witch 69's unerring eye helped me get this chapter ready to post, and thus she deserves my humble thanks.

3. I am extremely grateful to all of my readers. Your thoughtful reviews have been nothing short of a delight, and I appreciate everyone who reads this story.

4. I realize some of you may be way turned off by the high R/H factor of this chapter. Never fear! It is in Potions Under Duress for a reason.