Ron

May 1, cont'd

They Apparated to number twelve, Grimmauld Place separately. Hermione had gone too long without male contact to suddenly feel comfortable with Neville's arm around her shoulder, as he seemed prone to try before she stepped neatly away.

But when she entered the hall (with a quick glance at the empty spot on the wall where old Mrs Black had been) she found herself immediately smothered in a tight embrace, then lifted and whirled.

She laughed at the sheer audacity of it, and at the sudden rush of freedom from the magical tracer. What else could she do but laugh, after all? Ronald Weasley was a force of nature and no amount of distancing herself would work where he was concerned. A board to the head, maybe, but nothing so subtle as stepping neatly away.

She looked up into his eyes, so blue and so true, and whispered, "I need you tonight. Don't leave me. Please."

His forehead furrowed as he lowered her back to the floor. He flickered his eyes over her shoulder at Neville then met her gaze again. He leaned close and whispered, "What do you need? Long lost lover or best friend?"

"How about long lost friend?"

"Well, then. I know just how to take care of my friend on a day like today." He grinned and dragged her into the kitchen.

"Come on!" he shouted. "Let's get 'Mione drunk!"

The impact on the room was immediate. More faces than she could have imagined turned to her, most with delight.

Except for George, who stood up and said, "See here, Ron..."

And Neville, behind them, who said urgently, "I don't think that's such a good..."

And...Merlin's beard...Lucius Malfoy, who simply watched from his place in the back corner...Severus's old place...with one eyebrow raised in disdain. "Not the best idea I've heard," he said blandly.

Ron let out a low whistle as Hermione found herself swept into Ginny's arms. After Ginny had kissed her on both cheeks and hugged her again, Hermione finally could pull away, chafing her arms, and found Ron at her side, muttering, "So that's how it is?"

She shot him a questioning look.

"They're already lined up for a shot at you?"

Ron had never been nearly as slow as people thought.

"I hope not," she answered without much hope at all.

"Oi," he said thoughtfully. "I never would have thought George... not that I have a problem with that," he quickly added. "And you...are you interested?"

"No," she said softly. "Not in any of them."

"I'm yours for the night." He pulled her closer and dragged her to a bench at the table, one with room for both of them to sit side by side, and she found herself leaning into his body as the room filled with more people. More people who wanted to hug her and congratulate her. And of course, celebrate the victory that everyone present had a part in. She couldn't begrudge them that.

She leaned in close to Ron. "Lucius Malfoy?" she asked softly.

"The Galleons that greased the palms," he replied with a shrug. "Not that George wouldn't have done it in a heartbeat, but Malfoy pointed out his money has been dirtying up Ministry pockets for decades, no sense in dragging the Weasley name into it."

And then champagne glasses were passed around. One was shoved into her hand and she stared blankly at it. Never had champagne been on the menu at number twelve.

A quick glance up at Lucius and she felt a half smile form on her face in response to his. Of course there would be champagne.

And then Harry, sweet Harry, was behind her, pulling her to her feet. With Ron on one side and Harry on the other, glasses were raised, and Harry shouted, "To Hermione!"

The resulting cheer was deafening, and she smiled through her tears, because it was real, it was all real, everything she'd longed for, after so many years.

"Aren't you going to join us?" Harry asked.

She looked from her untouched glass to the friendly faces waiting expectantly, and whispered, "Absent friends." She drank deeply, then sneezed as the bubbles tickled her throat and nose.

"Absent friends." The response was quieter this time, and she felt a little sorry for ruining their mood, but she couldn't help it, seeing everyone gathered together again was having an unsettling affect on her. It was as if she saw the others...other faces half-formed, the way it had once been. Fred and Tonks and Remus and...

"Speech!" Neville called out.

Hermione shook herself back into the present. "I don't have words..."

"That's a bloody first," Ron said, giving her shoulders a squeeze.

She laughed along with everyone else. "It's just that without you...all of you...this horrible, horrible wrong wouldn't have been righted. I have no way to repay you, but you must know that what you have done was important, and maybe the last tragedy of the war can now be put behind us."

"He never deserved you," Kingsley said flatly, and the general murmur of agreement that followed pierced right through her.

"No," Hermione responded. "He deserved much better."

"Are you insane?" Harry demanded.

Ron simply gaped at her.

"He always deserved much better. He deserved better than being locked in Azkaban for months awaiting a trial that never should have happened. He deserved better than to be locked up in a cold cell while the wizarding world celebrated...celebrated a victory that never could have been won without him."

"That much may be true..." Ron said, as the rest of the room remained frozen. "But once you stepped forward..."

"Once I stepped forward and claimed him like a slave on the auction block, you mean? Once I used a loophole in the Marriage Law to get him out of that place, he was supposed to lick my boots in gratitude?"

"Yes." The voice was cool and icy from the back corner of the room, and she didn't even have to look to see that it was Lucius. "He should have done that, and more, every day for the rest of his life."

There was a strange roaring in her head. Something familiar and threatening. She tried to shut it out, tried to focus on the words being spoken, and suddenly it seemed vital, so vital, that she make them understand. "I have the best of friends," she said softly. "You have given me all I ever wanted... Severus's freedom."

"Forgive us if we don't see it exactly that way," George snapped.

And then the champagne flute slipped from her fingers and hit the floor with a wet crash. She felt her legs giving way, and felt Ron and Harry catching her before she, too, fell, and felt herself being eased down onto the bench, while somewhere over her head she hear Ron's voice, distant and urgent, saying, "Mum?"

And then she was pressed against Molly's full breasts as the older woman stroked her hair, peered into her eyes, made soothing noises. Molly. Molly would understand. "It...it wasn't his fault," she said. "He didn't really hate me. He just hated...hated being shackled to me, hated having yet another master when he'd only just escaped two others..."

"Of course, dear," Molly said, stroking her cheek, and then, to someone else, "She's freezing. Fetch a blanket."

She reached for Molly's hand and clung to it, peering desperately into the faded blue eyes. "It wasn't his fault. They mustn't hate him so. It wasn't... wasn't his fault."

"Of course it wasn't, it wasn't anybody's fault, was it?" Molly smoothed her hair out of her face and leaned closer to tuck a soft blanket around her. "Her pulse is racing..."

And she realised that maybe, maybe Molly was the one. Maybe Molly was the one who would understand. Molly, who had told her so many years before that she and Ron would be a terrible match. Molly, who recognised that truth long before Hermione had, and saved them all so much heartache. Molly, who seemed to carry all the wisdom of the ages in her sad eyes since the last battle, since Fred's death.

Hermione blinked back tears and smiled, and this smile felt fuller, more real. "I was so young. I thought he would love me. I thought...I thought I could be Lily...."

"Oh, my." Molly clutched her fiercely and Hermione wanted to cling to the warmth, the softness, but her arms didn't seem to want to move. "Oh, my," Molly repeated. "My dear girl, you mean, you really loved him?"

"Can you believe I was so foolish? But it's all over now. He's finally free...."

The faces were going in and out of focus... all the faces over Molly's round shoulder. And the roar...the roar in her ears...odd how the room could be so silent, and yet roar....

"St Mungo's..." Was that Molly's shrill voice, or Ron's, or...?

Her last thought before she let herself sink into the darkness was relief that at least they didn't know the truth, that she loved him still.

And the roar swelled and she knew it for what it was....

And the carnage and screams overtook her.