Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize is not mine.

Ron kicked a stone as he climbed the overgrown banks of the murky, nearly stagnant river. When he found it in his path again, he kicked it even harder, watching as it rolled away, this time altering its path as it slid back down the inclined surface. He considered diverting his own steps slightly as well, but aimed a kick at a large mud clod instead. Or at least, that was what he had thought until the toe of his shoe made contact with a rather solid brick, camouflaged in slimy mud.

"Blimey... fucking... bollocks... grr... ahh!"

He was incoherent with anger and exasperation and indignation and every other synonym for feeling as if his blood was boiling and he might come out of his skin.

If he were completely honest, this level of agitation was, well, slightly thrilling. Which, he reminded himself, is completely ridiculous. It wasn't as if he hadn't been angry before. He was infamously hotheaded, loved to jump to conclusions, and combining the two often led to fairly embarrassing scenes.

However, Ron had not created such a scene in years, a decade even. It was as if he was waking from a long emotional hibernation. As he looked at the row of abandoned brick houses spread in front of him, he wondered how it would feel to throw that muddy brick at one of those windows. The shatter of the glass would be thrilling, wouldn't it?

Ron bent down, feeling around the riverbank for the brick, and then bolted up again. It always began softly, but even at its lowest decibel, he could feel it. That damn flute. That damn deity. His damn mission. The reason he was feeling so damn aggressive at the moment.

Fuck it, he thought irritably, returning to his task. Of course, the music only became louder, echoing in his mind, vibrating beneath his skin, causing his stomach to clench. Groaning, Ron stood upright again.

"Fine, I'm off! Just, please, stop it with the flute! If I'm manic, it's your own bloody fault, you demon!"

FFFFFFFFFFFFFTHHHHH!

Ron's outburst was rewarded with a rather staccato, completely off-key note, possibly one beyond the normal range of human hearing, causing him to grip his head in pain. But then there was silence, and suitably chastised, he continued on his way, making sure to disturb every stone in his path.

Finding himself on the main road, Ron glanced up, taking in the cracked asphalt and uprooted pavements. The dilapidated brick houses continued on either side, no longer red, but nearly gray with mold and soot and possibly despair.

Right, he thought, taking in the emptiness and the quiet. This would be where he lived.

Shoving his hands in his pocket, he continued forward down Spinners End. It felt much like a march to the gallows, but fearing the return of the music, if one could honestly call it that, he tried to focus on why he was there: Hermione. Something had happened between her and Snape, though no one seemed inclined to tell him exactly what, and it was now his job to fix it. Otherwise, some untold doom would occur. Well, he had been told, but 'soul destruction' remained a rather abstract concept in his mind.

Counting the houses as he went, Ron tried to remember the house number he'd seen in the file. Was it 17... or 19... or...

Ron paused. The house he stood in front of was no different than the others. Perhaps it was a little less decayed than the rest, but not in a manner that was immediately noticeable in passing. He just sensed it. Not the way he could sense Hermione, her ethereal glow obvious behind her locked office door, but more a magical signature of sorts. Specifically, Ron could feel the light waves of protective spells, warding against his entrance. Those perceptible from the pavement were light, like the warning growl from an irritated dog. So naturally, Ron crossed them, untangling them quietly with silent waves of his wand.

The closer he was to Snape's front door, the more the dread set in. His legs felt heavy, as if weights were tied to his ankles, and he couldn't seem to focus on moving forward. Alternatives to forward motion began popping up in his head, the loudest of which was simply turning around. But he didn't want to... but he did.

Before he could consider his contradictory thoughts further, Ron reached the doorstep. Faced with the looming door, scuffed, scratched and discolored, he tried to consider his next steps. Knocking was the obvious first, but what exactly was he supposed to say to Snape? Oh, you know, just in the neighborhood. Happened to glance at an Auror file listing your address. So, care to share why you and Hermione aren't speaking?

The voice demanding that he turn back was still sharing its opinion, echoing loudly over potential conversation starters. It was seductive, not only because it offered the least painful option, but also because it felt comfortingly familiar. Soft and warm; enchanting.

Hermione...

And then pain. Not the usual chest pain, though. This time, the pain was the result of being thrown from Snape's doorstep by a rather irate Severus Snape. Looking up at the man in dark trousers and an overcoat, dark hair shadowing his contorted features, Ron decided that the seductive voice was clearly the only one looking out for his best interests. Also, he decided that he would file away his worries regarding the multiple voices in his head for a less stressful situation.

"Weasley."

The single word statement left Ron floundering on the overgrown grass. He hadn't shouted it or anything, but there was clearly a lot of venom behind it. Never had his surname sounded so vile.

Snape's thin lips curved minutely at their corners as he leaned forward, casting his shadows over Ron's fallen body.

Ron swallowed, feeling ever fifteen and caught out of bed after hours.

"To what do I owe this visit?"

Right, pleasantries first, Ron thought, willing his mind to continue functioning.

Instead he blurted out, "Hermione!" Watching those Snape's lips settle back into their straight line, he quickly added, "... is in trouble. Hermione's in trouble!"

Snape's slate-colored eyes examined Ron silently.

Feeling naked, Ron attempted to explain, eyes averted. "There's this thing with her soul... and mine. I don't know what exactly, but it's not good. And I... well, I need to know what happened between you two."

Snape was slow to answer, but when he did, it was obvious he didn't like the request, given the way he grabbed Ron by the collar, pulling the man's face closer to his.

"Are you drunk, Weasley?"

"What...? I.... No..."

"Just trespassing on my property on a lark? Thought you might come and show off like some idiotic peacock?"

"I'm not sure that you understand the situation here..."

"Just come all this way to, what? Rub my face in it? Has she returned to you, then?"

"Erm... who?"

Snape paused, still gripping the front of Ron's shirt, locking eyes with the man underneath him.

The halt in activity gave Ron time to pat his coat pocket, ensuring that his wand was still on him. Not that he thought that it would be much help against a deranged Severus Snape. Unfortunately, for both of them really, his wand seemed to have other plans.

Snape's displacement appeared to result from the loud bang emitted from Ron's wand. Though that didn't seem right, Ron had no other explanation for how Snape had been pulled away, losing his grip on Ron's collar. He also wasn't sure how the wand had insinuated itself into his closed fist. But he did have enough sense to run, and run he did.

"I'm going to kill you, Weasley," Snape yelled after him as Ron took the small fence at the corner of his front yard with a running leap.

Ron's wand did not like this, firing back unknown hexes at Snape, all of which were blocked with finesse by the older man. He had nearly reached the riverbank when he finally decided to look back. Seeing no Severus Snape on his heels, he dropped to his knees in the long grass and leaned forward onto his hands, vomiting.

Wanting to lie down, but judging it not worth the risk, Ron sat back on his heels and wiped his mouth. Casting a glance at the wand in his right hand, he hastily threw it aside, as if he were accidentally holding hands with a stranger. It was more than that though; he felt like he was being controlled by a stranger, perhaps several. Maybe he was just cracking up? Years of mild-mannered paper pushing had built this illusion in his head, and here he was acting recklessly, blaming his idiocy on other forces.

But then the wand rolled back to him, and as he watched it make its way, he knew it wasn't just the wind or gravity or the nature of the Earth revolving around the Sun. It was a purposeful roll, an otherworldly roll.

Someone or something else was in charge.

Angry, confused and tired, still kneeling on the banks of the stagnant river, the putrid smell of his own vomit wafting up, Ron began to call out, "Krishna!" He repeated the call until he was hoarse, the sound of his voice taking flight in the open air with no surface to bounce on.

The god appeared with little fanfare, his arms crossed and his flute slipped into the loop of the orange fabric cinched around his waist.

"You called, Mr. Weasley," Krishna said, a knowing smirk quirking his ruby red lips.

"I did, yeah," Ron said, taking in the blue god beside him. He was tempted to reach out and touch him, his cobalt foot bare in the swaying blades of grass. He just needed proof; he needed to know this was all real.

"Oh, it is real," Krishna responded to Ron's unuttered thought.

Glancing up at Krishna's face, he saw the god was smiling kindly now. Ron sighed, feeling spent.

"Were you the one controlling my wand, then?"

"No, that was definitely you."

Ron stared at him, perplexed. "But I didn't do anything. I don't even know how my bloody wand got in my hand. I was just feeling for it and then... " He paused to consider the situation. "The, whatever, soul destroying thing, is that what's causing this? Is any part of my life currently in my control, or is it just you and this... curse or whatever?"

Krishna's smile dimmed slightly, but he gave Ron a sympathetic clap on the shoulder. "It is very important that you seek out Hermione Granger. You must complete this mission soon."

"But why?" Ron asked. "If my life is going to be continually turned upside down, I want to know why! I was fine, you know, avoiding Hermione and doing my job and staying out of trouble. It was quiet and... and relaxing. I was... relaxed."

"Were you?" Krishna questioned calmly. "Were you relaxed or were you numb?"

"I... I don't know what you're talking about."

"Were you truly content or were you settling, Mr. Weasley? Were you fulfilled or were you scared?"

"I was fine!" Ron exclaimed.

"But wasn't it ever stifling, sitting in a cubicle, pushing papers, sorting out disturbed furniture and harmless pranks? Weren't you ever angry about where you were? Angry at Hermione for what she did?"

"No, it just didn't work out! We didn't work out! Why are you asking me all of these questions?"

"Why haven't you asked them yourself?"

The last question hung in the air unanswered. The smell of his expelled lunch was becoming overwhelming. Standing, he kicked the dirt petulantly, but said nothing.

"Go see Hermione," Krishna instructed quietly. "See her tomorrow. That is the only way you shall find your answers. The only way you will save her soul."

Ron nodded silently. Perhaps it was time to ask questions.

January 28th, 1999

And then the kettle whistled and the moment was over.

Hermione felt like doing a cartwheel as she made her way along the third floor of St Mungo's. Refraining for a multitude of reasons, least of which was her lack of knowledge on how to actually perform one, she settled for a slight skip in her step. There really was nothing more thrilling than watching your potion successfully heal someone. Even the memory of administering her first dose of Pepperup could still put a smile on her face on her more trying days. Although the challenge of brewing - the precision and instinct - kept Hermione on her toes, it was helping suffering patients and bringing hope to their worried families that kept her going.

Bursting through the lab doors, she could only wait a few steps before exclaiming, "It worked!"

Padma looked up from her cauldron, one hand on her waist. "What did I say about sudden shouting in the lab? I could have overturned something!"

Hermione laughed. Padma couldn't even hide her smile as she scolded Hermione for her outburst.

"I thought you would be relieved. You were the one who was up in arms about the dandelion root."

"And rightly so," Padma countered, though her lips had formed a full grin. "You know that if you had put too much in, it would have counteracted the goosegrass. We were trying to reduce the boils, not increase them."

"Yes, well, it worked. Our patient is boil-free, his temperature and color have improved, and the nerves in his hand are reacting to stimuli."

"And the dragon?"

"He still needs a bit of convincing, but I think a visit from our friends at the Ministry could encourage him to sign it over. After all, it's only going to grow bigger." Healing patients was fun; dealing with their proclivity for dangerous behavior was not.

"Are you off, then?" Padma asked, returning to her stirring.

"Yes, I have another grant meeting with the Minister's Advisor on Social Services. Lucky me," Hermione replied before popping into her office to grab her briefcase.

"Well, someone has to secure us the big money," Padma teased as Hermione came out with her briefcase in tow.

"And why does it always have to be me again?"

"Because," Padma reasoned, "you're Hermione Granger, war heroine and Snape protégée, and I'm Padma Patil, often confused with Parvati."

"Oh, Padma. At least you're good at stirring."

"Har har, I thought you were leaving."

Hermione laughed again. "I'm going, I'm going," she assured with a little wave before exiting the lab again.

In truth, Hermione didn't mind going to a meeting today. She was in high spirits. She hadn't even thought of Snape once (save for that moment right there). No, nothing could deflate her now... save for running into her ex.

Seeing no escape readily available, Hermione braced herself for impact as Ron walked purposely towards her.

"Ron? What are you doing here?" she asked with concern. "Is something wrong?"

"No... well, actually... could we go somewhere and talk?"

Clearly they both felt awkward about meeting. Poor Ron couldn't even stop blinking. Actually, it seemed like he was looking right past her. Something was clearly wrong, and her meeting could wait a few minutes for her to figure it out.

"Of course. There are a few empty benches over there," she answered, pointing to an empty hall to her right.

"Great," Ron replied, sounding none too thrilled as he shoved his hands in his pockets.

The pair shuffled over to the empty bench, both wary of making eye contact.

"So, what did you want to talk about?" Hermione asked as they sat down.

Ron finally looked up at her, squinting heavily. "It's... The thing is... Do I look differently to you?"

What? "You're wearing your hair a bit longer lately," Hermione replied, trying to puzzle out why he had come all the way to St. Mungo's just to fish for compliments. "And, well, I'm assuming you couldn't possibly be taller at this point."

Ron smiled slightly and then grimaced. "Yeah, right, I was just wondering... so, uh, what exactly happened between you and Snape?"

Ronald Weasley, Champion of the Non Sequitur.

"What? Why do you ask?" Hermione questioned warily.

It wasn't that she didn't want to be truthful; it was just a strange line of questioning. Yes, that was the problem...

"Oh, well, I don't know," Ron rambled. "You two were close, right?"

Hermione's chest tightened just a little. "We were master and apprentice," she answered simply.

"Yeah, of course," Ron hurriedly agreed. "But you loved that apprenticeship. It was all you could talk about. And weren't you guys working on some miracle elixir? What ever happened with that?"

Suddenly feeling backed into a corner, Hermione stood up. "Nothing. Nothing happened," she responded, wanting very badly to end the conversation. "Look, I have a meeting in fifteen minutes at the Ministry, so if this isn't an emergency, I'm afraid we'll have to catch up later."

Before Ron could even reply, she was walking. She heard him call after her, but she kept going. If she didn't have that meeting, she would have settled things right then and there. It was just too complicated to explain in such a little time. And why was it any of his business anyway?

Hermione found that if she could manage to stick to that script, avoiding the issue in her mind at all costs, she could possibly get through the upcoming meeting and maybe the rest of the afternoon. She could easily dispel any thoughts of him, as long as she remained properly focused. It was only once she arrived home in the evening, her day done and her tasks complete, that she would have to think about what had really happened.

How he had broken her heart, and how, if she were completely honest with herself, she most likely had broken his.

Ron was certain he had hit rock bottom as he raised his fist to knock on the wooden door in front of him. A square of frosted glass was cut into its top half, Experimental Potions Lab A printed on the textured surface. He could hear her humming from inside, accompanied by the occasional scrape of a stirrer on pewter. It made her seem less caustic somehow. It was with that hopeful thought that his fist finally made contact with the door.

"Come in," Padma called from inside.

Here we go, Ron thought tiredly as he turned the handle.

Padma greeted him with an eye roll. Not exactly the start he was looking for.

"She's still not here," Padma said, her attention returning to her cauldron.

"I know. I mean, I just talked to her outside." Catching Padma's look of alarm, he continued, "I didn't corner her or anything, if that's what you're thinking. She actually ran off before we could really discuss anything. Said she had a meeting."

Padma stopped stirring again. Appearing almost disgusted with herself, she replied, "She wasn't lying, you know. She really did have a meeting." It was an olive branch. A trampled one, but still more than Ron had hoped for.

"Thanks," he said, though he was not quite sure why he was thanking her. Maybe because she hadn't hexed him yet. "Can we talk?"

Padma hesitated, then pulled her wand from the pocket of her robes and adjusted the flame under the cauldron. Seating herself on top of one of the black tables, she said, "Okay, let's talk."

Sighing with relief, Ron leaned against the table across from her. "Look, I don't know what Hermione said about me when everything fell apart. I guess I'm not even sure why everything fell apart. But I'm not here to try and resurrect whatever she and I were. I just need some answers."

"Ask your questions," Padma said. Although she was direct, her tone was softer, less hostile.

"What happened between Snape and Hermione? Maybe I'm an idiot for not knowing, but I don't care, I need to know."

"You really don't know?" Padma asked, surprised. "Okay, okay," she continued, catching Ron's look of irritation. "Do you remember the elixir they were working on? The one that could immunize children against Spattergroit?"

"Yeah, I think so," Ron replied thoughtfully. Sensing she might roll her eyes again, he added, "If she said I was a horrible listener, she was lying. I just didn't understand half of the things she was talking about."

To his surprise, Padma actually laughed. It was full and melodic, and, for once, she looked relaxed.

"Duly noted," she said, settling again. "Well, it was definitely a breakthrough, one that saved lives and was fairly lucrative, to say the least. And then Snape sort of stabbed her in the back and took full credit."

"What?" Perhaps he was being naïve, but out of all of the possible disagreements, from her asking too many questions to that annoying way she sometimes hovered, Ron hadn't even considered anything like this. "But how could he do that? They were working together. She was his apprentice. Wouldn't she automatically get credit as well?"

Padma laughed again, but this time she sounded slightly bitter. "Unfortunately, that's not how it works in the Potions world. As an apprentice, you forfeit all rights to innovations made while working with your master." A thoughtful look graced her features. "It's just strange, because it sounded as if Snape was ready to name Hermione as the co-author of the paper. But then he published it, and there was no mention of her or her contributions. It really crushed her. Didn't help that your engagement had ended only a few weeks before."

Ron sat up. Dots were connecting, light bulbs were flashing, and finally something, something in this crazy situation he found himself in, was beginning to make sense. And he was struck once more with the intense need to vomit.

So that was that. Hermione and Snape weren't talking because Snape had reneged on their agreement. Snape had betrayed Hermione's trust. And ignoring the implications of the timeline, something Ron was really, really trying to do at this moment, he was now faced with an uphill battle to even get them in the same room. He needed an ally; he needed to let someone in on what was going on. He needed Padma's help.

"So this might seem random, but just out of curiosity, how much do you actually know about Krishna?"

A/N: Written as a gift for bardsdaughter1 for the 2012 SSHG Exchange. Given the specificity of the prompt, I will wait until the last chapter to reveal it. Thank you to my awesome editing team, which included the amazing alpha/beta/cheerleader combo, desigrl, as well as ofankoma, quaffswinegaily, and wildmagelet, who all stepped in at various points in the project to help edit and britpick.