chapter 1 - Running Away From Home

Hermione pedalled faster. It felt good to push her body so hard. Her mind got plenty of exercise, but her body was thin and pale. Though her lungs caught fire, Hermione ignored the pain and concentrated on the rhythm of the bike. For once logic couldn't help her. She was running away.

Earlier that morning she had wandered around her room, brushing her hands across the smooth, white surface of her new dresser, noting the delicate, pink rosebuds painted on the enamel knobs, and its gently curved legs. She stared blankly at the fluttering curtains on her new canopy bed, a fairy's dream compared to the sturdy Hogwarts' beds with their shabby velvet curtains. Her parents had redone her room as a surprise for her when she arrived home from Hogwarts. It was lovely, really. Just as she had described it to them - two years earlier.

Looking around at the soft, pastel prints on the walls, and her collection of stuffed animals cuddling on the bed, Hermione sighed loudly. "If it is just what I wanted, then why do I hate it?" she asked herself.

"Because it isn't you anymore," answered a voice in her mind. And it was right. She had a mad urge to charm the walls an electric shade of blue. With bright orange splashes. No. Not orange. Yellow perhaps.

And it wasn't just her room. It was everything. Hermione knew her parents wanted to believe that Hermione was just going through a particularly virulent form of adolescence. She caught them sneakily reading self-help books behind the Times: How to Talk So Kids Will Listen, and Your Teenage Witch: Adolescence or Possession - 10 sure ways to Tell the Difference.  It was lonely for Hermione. No matter how much she loved her parents, they were still Muggles and they couldn't quite grasp what a wizard like Voldemort could do.

That first night home, when the memories of the Triwizard Tournament and Harry's sudden reappearance with Cedric's body were still fresh in her mind, she tried to talk to her mum and dad about Voldemort. "Your safe now, darling." said her father. As if any place could be immune from such an evil as Voldemort. Even Hogwarts had been penetrated, and if that could happen, nowhere was truly safe. Not even the suburbs.

So Hermione had taken to riding her bike at a furious pace through her neighbourhood towards the outskirts of town. She liked to find quiet country lanes to explore. It was hard work bumping up and down the narrow ruts, and more than once she was bucked off her bike and tossed in a heap in the mud. But riding her bike helped her stay focused, and sane.

The threat of Voldemort hung over her constantly. Her parents had cancelled Hermione's subscription to the Daily Prophet, claiming that it was too costly.  Hermione knew the real reason was because the growing panic in the wizard world was beginning to become apparent in the Prophet's headlines. Voldemort had yet to strike, but his poison was spreading all the same. Accusations against wizards suspected to be Death Eaters appeared in the paper daily. Scandal after scandal hit the Ministry of Magic and it was obvious to Hermione that Cornelius Fudge was unable to respond to the pandemic of fear. Reading his quotes had Hermione gnashing her teeth in frustration. "The rumour that You-Know-Who is back is ridiculous. The death of Cedric Digory was unfortunate, but it was an accident. Umm. Got a nasty bump on the head. Boy will be boys, and all that." What that was supposed to mean. Hermione wasn't sure, but the Minister's vague comments only encouraged speculation. The nervous tick he had developed didn't add to his position either.

Fear. Hermione's parents could read it between the lines of the Daily Prophet, and that was the real reason they cancelled her subscription. Then their Pandoronic Radio disappeared. Her mother and father insisted they didn't know what happened to it, but it was obvious they were lying. Even the Wizard's Wireless had started to broadcast You-Know-Who sightings. That was the last straw.

"You can't pretend that this isn't happening! Please, I know that you love me. I can understand that you are worried about me, but acting as if all this is just a bad dream is not going to make it go away. I've told you about You-Know-Who. You've seen Harry's scar. You know what I've told you it is true. Why can' t we talk about it?" she pleaded.

Her mother burst into tears and ran from the room. Hermione's father exploded. "You aren't really one of them. Why can't you just forget it! Your mother hardly sleeps at night, worrying about what will happen to you. That You-Know-Who isn't our problem, Hermione. Just let it go!"

She stared in shock at her father's amazing feat of transformation: from loving father to total stranger in just a matter of moments. The urge to lash out in anger frightened her. Her parent's had always preached non-violence, and practiced it was well, but just then she wanted to slap her father's red, furious face. Forget Ron? And Harry? Forget Cedric Digory? Never! Rather than give in to her angry impulse she dashed from the room and slammed out the door, leaving her father standing alone in their living room staring blankly at the closed door

A particularly large bump sent the bike into a shaky dance that almost tumbled Hermione into a ditch full of muddy, black water. She took a firmer grip and steered carefully back onto the narrow path leading through a small patch of woods. She blinked back tears as she thought about her parents. They couldn't accept the fact that she wasn't a child who needed to be sheltered from life's harsh truths anymore. Maybe she should have told them more about what went on at Hogwarts than just the classes and the library. Well, she wasn't a little girl any longer. It was time they learned that.

It seemed lately as if everyone expected something of her. Professor McGonagall had sent her an owl with several extra homework assignments to do over the summer, so as not to "waste a brain such as yours on frivolous activities." And Viktor. Viktor was sweet, but he seemed to imagine her as some kind of delicate young lady and his knight errant routine was beginning to chafe. It wasn't just her blouses she had outgrown this summer, it was her skin too. A chrysalis was a safe place to grow but it was still a prison, and she was ready to break free.

Chapter 2 - The Well

Hermione was feeling quite pleased with her new attitude, but a nasty thought interrupted. A certain red-headed, foul-mouthed, obnoxious thought. Ron. It was so much easier to just pretend that nothing was going on. Just thinking his name made her blood pressure rise. The bike's pedals began to spin faster and faster and Hermione's hair fluttered out behind her, beneath her sensible bike helmet.

"That... that... idiot! That insufferable, cretinous... After all his ridiculous behavior with Viktor, things had been strained enough between them.  In the past, Harry always managed to unite them in a single purpose; and Cedric's death had seemed to put their relationship on a different level, but it hadn't taken Ron long to spoil that.

The one time she, Harry, and Ron had arranged to meet, Ron had gone and spoiled the whole day.  She had been looking forward to it for weeks. Since Harry was going away with Sirius for a the rest of the summer, it was her last chance to see him until September. Professor Dumbledore said that Harry would be as safe as he could be with his godfather.  He believed it was important that Harry study under Sirius, who was a Phoenix level Mahoutsukaido master, an expert in an Eastern form of wizarding self-defense. Ron had been jealous, as usual.

So, they had arranged by owlpost to meet at a place close to the Dursley's house. Harry planned to sneak away while the Dursleys were spending the day on the beach. Ron had several comments to make about what Dudley would look like on the beach in his letter, but then he always had something rude and sarcastic to say. Jerk. Hermione had arrived at the Beak and Claw wearing a bright tank top with a sparkling butterfly on the front, and jean shorts. She had put her hair in a ponytail, and had even taken the time to put on a bit of lip gloss - which was only sensible because it had sunscreen in it.

Hermione's face burnt with remembered humiliation. She had locked up her bike, and climbed onto the patio where Ron and Harry were waiting. Harry had grinned and raised his glass in a salute, but Ron hadn't move a muscle. He just stared at her. Stared right at her chest as if he had never seen a pair of... a pair of wings before. Well, maybe he hadn't, really. But that didn't excuse his rude behavior. Hermione sat down on the far side of the table and crossed her arms across her chest. Until Harry had given him a sharp kick in the shins, Ron hadn't been able to look away. It was awful. She gave Harry a quick hug, and kiss good- bye and ran for her bicycle. Ron never said a thing.

Tears flew down Hermione's cheeks. Tears of embarrassment she told herself. But it was more than that.

"Never mind my friendship, my loyalty, my brains, or the way I've stood by them through danger and punishments," she thought. "Apparently, all I needed to get his attention was a pair of...AHHH!"

Hermione's wheel hit a tree root and stopped dead. She flew over the handlebars and somersaulted onto a grassy patch beside the trail. She lay stunned for a few moments, gasping for her stolen breath . Overhead, the sun was dazzling and the sky was an ocean her thoughts began to drift upon. Hermione the little girl, Hermione the brain, Hermione the teenager. "Hermione Granger who are you?"  The question floated through her mind, and echoed back.

A bird's song brought her thoughts back into focus. She reached up to unsnap her helmet, and pulled it off with both hands. She didn't get up though, despite the realization that the ground was actually a bit damp, and a sharp twig was poking into her back. The song was enchanting. It soothed Hermione's nerves. She slowly sat up and took a good look around her. A tiny brown bird sat on a low branch of an oak tree. It tipped its small head to one side and let out a beautiful trill. Standing up stiffly, Hermione brushed some dirt from the seat of her shorts, and walked towards the thrush.

She was surprised when it darted away.  It seemed so friendly.  For some reason she thought it would have let her reach up to stroke its delicate feathers.  She followed it further into the trees.  A few minutes later, Hermione stepped into a clearing.  In its centre was a ring of stones.  Not standing stones, but almost like a ring of stones from some forgotten campfire.  As she drew closer and stood overlooking them, Hermione realized that she was peering down into an old well.  The mossy green rock reached down far into the earth until it touched a still, dark sheet of water at the bottom.

She dropped to her knees and stared down into the well at the silent pool below.  She gripped the edges of the well carefully, sat up on her knees, and leaned over to get a better look.  Her hair fell in front of her face, and she tucked it behind her ear.  Suddenly, a soft "Splash," startled her.  Hermione stared down, watching the water ripple out in ever growing circles.

"I guess I dislodged a little stone," she said aloud.  Her heart was still pounding, but she forced a smile at her reaction.

A ray of sunshine slipped through the trees and caught the pool at just the right angle.  For a moment Hermione could see her pale face reflected in the water.  Hermione stared down at her image, at her watery twin, and felt an ache in her throat.  She wanted to hurl something into the face that stared back at her.

"Oh why can't I...  I just wish I could be someone, or something else.  Someone special," she sobbed quietly.  It was so difficult to explain.  She just knew that deep inside her she was more.  More than what people saw.  Everyone knew Harry was special.  She didn't begrudge him that.  It wasn't even that she envied him, but for once she wished that someone would recognize that there was something about her.  That she was more than just a body or a brain. 

Chapter 3 - Caught in the Act

The image in the well faded away as a cloud drifted across the sun.  She sighed and got to her feet.  Her knees were stained green from kneeling in the grass, and bits of dried, dead grass clung to them.  She leaned over to brush them off when something sparkled in the grass.  She pushed aside the blades of grass and gently picked up the object that had caught the sunlight, and her eye.  It was a ring.  The band was made of thin plain gold.  At least, she thought it was real gold.  Its weight felt right in the palm of her hand, and it had a rich inner glow that gold plating couldn't seem to imitate.

She held it between her thumb and index finger, looking for an inscription, but there was nothing.  Not even a mark to say how many carats it had.  She slipped the ring onto the index finger on her right hand.  It fit snuggly, so she shifted it to her other hand.  There it fit perfectly.

For a moment she admired the way it looked, then she checked the time on her watch.  Three hours had passed since she left the house.  Her parents would be worried, she thought guiltily.  Really, she couldn't blame them for that.  And they didn't even know the half of it.  Perhaps she wasn't being completely fair to her mum and dad.

Pedalling quickly, she was soon back on a paved road, heading towards home.  Several blocks from her house she stopped at a red light.  Coming down the sidewalk to the left, a boy was walking with his face buried in a book.  Hermione smiled.  She sometimes did the same thing.  When she had read Hogwarts: A History for the first time, her father had threatened to have one of his doctor friends surgically remove the book from the end of her nose.  Her grin faded when she thought of her father in happier times.  Things had gotten so complicated since then.

Then, abruptly, time froze.  From the corner of her eye she saw splash of red bouncing onto the street.  Her breath caught.  A little girl laughing loudly, ran after the ball with outstretched hands.  Hermione screamed, but was soon drowned out by the sound of squealing tires.  Down Hermione reached to grasp her wand.  It was strapped to her bike where most people kept their water bottles.

"Expello!"  she shouted, performing a banishing charm..  The little girl flew through the air onto the lawn, rolling a bit as she hit the grass.  Her ball was a puddle of red under the car's wheel.  All around her cars slammed on their brakes and people emerged from their cars waving cell phones and running towards the sobbing child sitting on the grass.

Hermione stood watching from the other side of the street.  The girl was fine.  She could hear her telling the newly arrived ambulance attendants to go away.  It was obvious from their amazed cries that everyone thought the little girl had been struck by the car and tossed onto the side of the road.  

Relief that the little girl was okay (she could hear her demanding her ball back) gave way to the growing horror that she, Hermione Granger, had just broken a very serious wizarding law - the law that forbade underage wizards to cast spells while not in school.  Even worse, she had done it right on the corner of a busy street.  Thankfully, no one seemed to have noticed.

She turned her bike around to take a different route home and came face to face with a pair of round blue eyes.  It was the boy with the book.  The book lay at his feet now, face down on the cement, with pages bent underneath its weight.

"It was you," he whispered.

To Hermione it sounded like the final judgment.  Reason fled.  Her heart was doing its best to leap from her chest.  She bolted.  Running beside her bike, panting with fear, she put her left foot on the pedal and swung her body over the frame.  Visions of hard-eyed Ministry owls chased her down the street.  She kept her head down and pedalled harder.  A quick glance over her shoulder told her that the stunned looking Muggle had broken out of his stupor and had begun to run after her.  She should have realized that the tall young boy could never have caught up, but rational thought was impossible in the face of her fears. There was an odd ringing in her ears, then...

"Pop!"  

Hermione's bike hit the back of her father's car and she sailed, once again, over the handlebars and rolled across the trunk.  With a dull "Thud" she hit the driveway of interlocking red stones and watched the world shrink to a pinprick of light before it faded to black.

Chapter 4 - The Letter

It had been difficult to convince her parents that she didn't need a doctor.

"I've had medical training, Hermione, and I think it would be prudent to go to the hospital," her father said with authority.

"Dad.  You're a dentist.  I'm fine."  Hermione couldn't blame them for being concerned, but she had greater worries than a small bump on the head.  The letter.  It was coming.  In the end Hermione's strength of will won the day, and her parents reluctantly surrendered.  They stared into her eyes, checked her pupils, and threatened to wake her up every hour in case she had a concussion, but that didn't bother her.  It was unlikely she would sleep anyhow.

Up in her room she huddled under the covers, her battered teddy squashed under her arm.  Any small noise made her jump; she was certain it would be her letter from the Improper Use of Magic Office telling her she had been expelled from Hogwarts.  She bit her lip and wept silently as she thought about how much she would miss it: the classes, the professors, Gryffindor, and Harry and...Ron.  All of it.  How could she go back to being a Muggle?  

The wait was agonizing.  Two hours had gone by and it seemed like an eternity.  Hermione had already finished crying, and was beginning to get angry.  It wasn't her fault, really.  She had saved that child's life.  Was she supposed to let a little girl die?  And she hadn't meant to Apparate.  She didn't even know how she did it!  It must have been one of those spontaneous spells that couldn't be controlled, and she shouldn't be held responsible for it.  Mentally, Hermione began to compose her defense.  

An hour later, Hermione began to pace.  It would almost be a relief when the letter arrived.  The waiting was intolerable.  She checked her watch for the hundredth time and sighed deeply.  Where was it?  Where was her letter from Mafalda Hopkirk?  She thought of the letter Harry had shown her.  She knew that he had received his almost immediately.  Why was hers late?  Or was it?

"Is it possible they missed it?"  she wondered.  She felt a small flutter of hope.  Perhaps she still had a chance!

Hermione finally did manage to get some sleep, but not before doing a bit of research.  She couldn't get to Hogwarts' library, but she did the next best thing.  Still clutched in her hands was the book on Wizarding Law her owl, Ook, had delivered from Hogwarts.  Madame Pince wasn't known for her good nature, but she had a fondness for Hermione and she had agreed to release the book to Ook immediately, without the Official Library Loan form signed in blood, as was customary.

While she slept, Hermione dreamt she was running from a white envelope with enormous black wings and large teeth, as it chased her through Hogwarts' empty corridors.  She opened a door and ran in, slamming it behind her.  Instead of being in a classroom, she was standing in the middle of a large clearing.  A bird sang, and for a moment Hermione could breathe easily.  Without warning, she fell into a dark, deep hole and sank beneath its icy waters.

She awoke shivering.  It wasn't quite light yet, so Hermione flipped on her lamp and thought about her mystery.  She needed to plan her next course of action.  She had spent hours reading, and discovered that the Improper Use of Magic Office had a 100% success rate of catching young offenders who used magic outside of the school term.  Of course, if a witch hadn't been caught, would she report herself?  Hermione considered this briefly and dismissed the possibility that anyone would.

Hermione decided she needed to do some more investigating.  First, she would write a letter to the Ministry, explaining she was writing a paper on the dangers of spell-casting for underage wizards and witches.  Then she would ask if she could visit their archives.

A gunmetal grey owl flew in during breakfast, dropped its letter in Hermione's oatmeal and hooted imperiously.  Her parents paid it and it flew off.  They both turned to look at Hermione with concern.

"What was that about?"  her mum asked.

"Oh.  I'm working on an assignment.  I'll be gone for a while today to do some research,"  she replied.  

Her mum set down her mug of coffee, slopping a bit over the side, looked at Hermione and bit her bottom lip.

"Are you sure you're well enough?  You still look peaked.  Why don't you wait till tomorrow?"  Mrs. Granger ran her hand gently across Hermione head.

"I feel fine.  And I enjoy researching.  It's very relaxing."  It was obvious they wanted to keep her home.  Her father and mother exchanged glances; her father looked resigned and her mother heaved a great sigh. 

"You can't keep me here until I'm twenty.  Besides, I've told you, it doesn't matter where I am.  This isn't a haven any longer.  Nowhere is."  Her face grew solemn.  She suddenly realized the times ahead would be worse for them than for her.  They didn't truly understand what Voldemort's return meant and they were powerless to do anything about it.  Hermione was comforted by the fact that she could learn spells and oppose the Death-Eaters in any way she could.  Her parents could only wait.  

Finally, they agreed to let her go, and stood watching at the window as she left with her knapsack slung over her shoulder, headed for the nearest bus stop.  Hermione had a bus schedule, a map, and a plan.  

Chapter 5 - The Archives

The Ministry of Magic Offices were actually quite near Buckingham Palace.  In the 16th century the Royal family and the Ministry had enjoyed a closer relationship, and had often worked in tandem.  The modern Royal family was sadly lacking in imagination, though privately Hermione thought Prince William showed a lot of promise.  

The bus dropped her off a few blocks from the closest entrance to the Ministry of Magic.  This particular entrance was quite old.  It was located in a small park, inside an enormous old oak tree whose branches were like an umbrella over the small patch of grass.  As Hermione approached the Ministree, as it was called, she carefully checked and double checked for Muggle observers, then grasped the troll-shaped knot and gave it a terrific twist.  She leaned in closer, craning over her head over her shoulders to make sure no one was watching, and spoke her name into the knot to deactivate the guard spell.

The letter she'd received from Mafalda Hopkirk had been written with clear and precise instructions, which Hermione had diligently committed to memory.  When she heard the hoot of the owl she took one last look around before stepping through the trunk.  Inside the tree she found herself at the top of a very long flight of stairs.  Since the invention of Floo powder, it wasn't very often that this entrance was used, but Hermione thought it was a charming reminder of simpler times when wizards could pop in and out of trees in such a public place.

At the bottom of the winding stairs was a door.  A particularly ugly gnome sat on a tall wooden chair so that his eyes were almost level with her own.  The gnome had his wand ready in his hand and intoned nasally, "State the purpose of your visit."

Hermione didn't recall reading anything about a guard, but she hoped that this was a sign that Mr. Fudge was beginning to see the truth about Voldemort's return.  

"I'm here to do some research," she answered confidently.

"On whose authority?"  The gnome inquired in clipped tones.

Hermione pulled out the letter from Mafalda Hopkirk, which she had put in her knapsack, and handed it to the guard.  He sniffed loudly as he perused the letter. Hermione waited with arms folded in defiance, as if to say, "See I told you so," but gnomes were notoriously hard to impress.  That was just one of the reasons they made such excellent security guards.

The gnome stared at Hermione until she started to squirm under his beady-eyed gaze.  Those queer black globes seemed to see right through Hermione, to her real purpose for being there.  She tightened her grip on her knapsack and prepared to run.  Then the goblin blinked and opened the door for her.  She leapt through the doorway, unwilling to give the guard a chance to change his mind, and hurried down the narrow hall.  It was not as frightening as the perils she had faced in the past, but facing danger alone wasn't the same as facing it with your friends, especially with friends like hers.

The halls had small plaques with arrows on them that pointed visitors in exactly the direction they wanted to go.  She began to follow them when Mr. Weasley burst out of an office with his arm full of Muggle artifacts, and ran straight into Hermione.  The booty flew out of his hands in all directions.

"Hermione!  I didn't expect to see you?  Whatever are you doing here?" he asked as he began to gather up the fallen items.

"Erm.  I'm just going to do a bit of research in the archives, Mr. Weasley," she replied.  That answer had gotten her this far, and it was the truth.  Perhaps because he was used to hearing such answers from Percy or perhaps because one of the Muggle items, an orange rubber ball, began giggling as it bounced wildly up and down the hall, he merely nodded absently.

"Oh bother.  It took me two hours to catch that last time," he mumbled grumpily. He called out, "Have a nice time.  I'll tell Ron I saw you," and ran after the sphere which had, by now, bounced itself into a serious case of hysterics.

"Don't bother," she muttered, and followed the arrows as they led her down several levels.  Finally the arrows stopped and announced that she had arrived at her destination.  Hermione thanked them automatically, then blushed when she realized what she had done.  Sometimes it was hard to think like a witch.  

Taking a deep breath, she opened the archives door.  The Ministry of Magic Archives were kept in a very dull looking room.  It was dimly lit and dusty.  Hermione reminded herself that that the dust probably meant that the Ministry didn't enslave house elves here, but the musty smell of old books and the sight of hundreds of scurrying dust bunnies made her cringe.

The ghost of an old man hovered behind the front desk and completely ignored Hermione.

"Excuse me," she began politely.

"Hey?"  shouted the ghost as it looked up from his papers.  "What's that?"

"Excuse me.  I'm here to look at the Improper Use of Magic files."  Hermione pulled her letter out once more and quoted Ms. Hopkirk.  "They are fonds 819 (Records of the the Improper Use of Magic Office), subfond 83 (Underage Magic) for the years 1995 to present."  She looked hopefully at the ghost's wrinkled face, only momentarily distracted by the fact that he was wearing spectacles.  How did clothes and such become ghostly along with the deceased?

"What?"  bellowed the old ghost, cupping his transparent hand to his ear.  "I can't hear you!"

Hermione took a deep breath and restated her request in a loud voice that had the dust bunnies squealing and exploding in fright, sending up clouds of dust into the air.  The ghost looked perplexed then waved her off.

"Just go ahead and look.  I can't help you."  

"Typically inefficient bureaucratic nonsense!" she fumed inwardly.  What a way to run an archives.  No doubt a deaf ghost worked cheap.  "I suppose it would be asking too much that he would also have a ghostly hearing aid," she thought nastily.  

On her last visit to the Gloucester Archives, she remembered the thrill of being in an institution that was so tidy and organized.  She merely had to make a request for the proper files, and the archivist retrieved them for her.  Then she was directed to a lovely reading room where she could study the files in peace.  And not a dustbunny in sight!  It wasn't the first time she thought the wizarding world could learn a few lessons from Muggles.

She tossed her hair and headed through the archives door, which was behind the counter and clearly labeled "Employees Only."  She gasped in shock.  Papers covered the floor, the walls, and some even floated gracefully through the air like doves.  She grimaced at the mess, but bravely began a methodical search of the archives for the proper fonds, carefully avoiding the dustbunnies frolicking around her.  Her eyes began to water and she sneezed loudly.

"Shhhhhhh,"  chastened the ghost from the other side of the door.

Fortunately, the records were filed in the usual Library of Alexandria format, as was Hogwarts' library, and she found the records she was looking for without too much difficulty.  Everything was there.  Even Harry's two infractions, though the second one was never sent.  There was a note clipped to the letter from Mr. Fudge himself. She picked it up curiously, and read it aloud.

"Malfi, I'll take care of this one myself.  Please do not take any action against Potter.  Cornelius Fudge."

She dug a bit deeper and found nothing of any real use.  Though the more Hermione searched, the more she realized that there was a wealth of very interesting data that could form a very interesting study.  She was beginning to regret that she wasn't there to do research for a paper.  There were all the makings of a very good one in the files.  She could just imagine what Ron would think of that.   "Get off it, Hermione!  You're entire future is at stake and you want to take a break to write a paper for extra credit?"

She continued flipping through the reams of paper and stopped when she saw another familiar name - Longbottom.  Apparently Neville had had a little accident this summer.  He received a notice for accidentally putting a Mime Curse on his grandmother.  Poor Neville.  She hoped he'd enjoyed the silence before his grandmother had found someone to break the spell.  Hermione shuddered.  The Mime Curse.  A horrible fate for the victim, who couldn't speak but only gesture to make herself understood, but also a terrible for those doomed to live with the victim.  

Hermione found a slim volume called Muddled Magic: A Brief History of the Improper Use of Magic Office stuffed into the bottom box.  Apparently it was a fairly new branch of the Ministry.  It has become more and more important as the Muggle and wizarding worlds drifted further apart.  Modern spell casting had developed a system for monitoring spells that surprised even Hermione.  She wondered if people knew how closely their actions were being followed.  There was no mention of overlooked spells or gaps in the monitoring charms anywhere.  She knew that this might not mean anything.  No government liked to point out its own shortcomings.  In the last chapter, Magical Talismans, she finally found something that might shed some light on her problem. 

"While extremely rare, several magical talismans that mask the release of energy when a spell is performed, do exist.  One, The Eye of the Tiger, a huge Ruby imbued with a tremendous magical aura, has been deemed lost in aftermath of the terrible Rocky Wars which raged for years till people got bored and stopped showing up for battles.  Another such artifact, The Fuzzy Navel, is thought to be on ice deep in the caverns of Gringott's Norwegian branch.  The last known location of the third magical talisman, The Ring of Destiny, is the Crack of Doom."

"Hermione," a voice sounded in her ear.  

She shrieked in surprise and fell backwards off her chair.  All around her, dust bunnies went off like firecrackers.  Coughing and sneezing, she waved her hand about trying to clear the air so she could see who had said her name.

A large hand with long slender fingers reached through the clouds of dust, grabbed her hand and pulled her up off the floor.  Through streaming eyes she saw the bright red head of Ronald Weasley. 

Chapter 6 - Harry's Farewell

Ron lay on his bed, tossing the boomerang ball into the air and catching it absentmindedly when it finished its circumnavigation of  his very messy room.  Grass stained robes were tossed over a wobbly wooden chair, several dirty glasses containing mold in various stages of development sat on his desk, and countless dirty socks only Dobby could have appreciated, were strewn across the floor.  Ron ignored the mess, though it was doubtful he would have even recognized it as such in the first place.

He released the ball with a quick flick of his wrist that would have impressed Hermione.  He sent it flying around the room, catching it in his wide palm with a satisfying "smack."  The repetitious action relaxed him.  He had been over the scene with Hermione in his mind so many times that he could almost think of it without cringing.  Almost.

"Bloody buggering hell!" he said vehemently.  It felt better to say it out loud.  Why couldn't You-Know-Who have come back before he had made such a complete fool of himself?  

It was supposed to be a simple send off for Harry, since he and Sirius were going to go abroad for the rest of the summer.  Dumbledore had agreed to let Harry go, in order that Harry begin his training in Mahoutsukaido under Sirius.  Ron was envious.  He had always fantasized about kicking his brothers' butts with some of those totally cool spells.  Figures a fellow like Sirius would know all about that sort of thing.  Harry was one lucky beggar.  

Ron sighed.  Of course going into hiding with a wanted criminal because the most evil, most powerful wizard in the world, who had killed his parents and whose life's ambition was to kill him, was back, really wasn't all lucky.  But it was definitely ace.  More exciting than what Ron had going on this summer.

He and Harry had met at a small Muggle restaurant, where they had sat on the patio, under a bright red umbrella.  Harry was drinking his fizzy drink, "Choke" or something like that, while Ron slurped up a delicious grape Crush through a straw.

"Slow down, Ron.  You're going to give yourself an ice headache if you're not careful," Harry warned.

But it was so sweetly delicious and icy cold.  He deliberately took another long haul on his straw when pain shot through his head like an angry ice pick.  He clapped his hand over his forehead and groaned.

"What's in this Muggle drink anyhow, Harry?  I think it's trying to kill me,"  he complained.

"You twit!" Harry laughed.  "I told you that would happen.  You never listen."

Oh well, it had been worth it.  Ron grinned as he remembered how good it had tasted.  Almost as good as Butterbeer.  Maybe his brain had still been frozen when Hermione had arrived, and that would explain the events that followed.

He remembered seeing a girl pull up on a shiny blue bike.  He had watched her as she chained up her bicycle and reached up to take off her helmet.  It was as if he had gone from freezing cold to boiling over in just seconds.  Then she shook out her hair.  It was Hermione.

Harry had smiled and raised up his glass in salute.

"Hey!  It's Hermione," he announced unnecessarily.  Ron sat mute.  That...that girl, was Hermione.  He could only stare in disbelief.  She was so...girlish and un-Hermione like.

He vaguely recalled Harry saying something, but nothing really penetrated that Veela-like cloud of confusion which was fogging his brain.

"Owwwwwwww."  Ron grabbed his ankle reflexively and turned to glare at Harry, who had just kicked his shins.

"What?"  He watched Hermione hug Harry and plant a kiss on his cheek before she ran off.  "Another blasted kiss," he thought.  Ron's expression turned grim when he turned to his best friend to ask, "Now where is she off to?  She just got here!"

Harry gave him a look that was hard to interpret.  First, he frowned at Ron, then he grinned a little and began to shake his head in bemusement.  Next, he reached across and smacked Ron on the forehead with an open hand.

"You moron,"  he scolded, but without much heat.  "I may have the scar, but I swear, Ron, you're the one with brain damage."  Ron's forehead was still stinging as he massaged it.  Harry hardly ever hit him, so it was obvious that he was upset.

"What?" asked Ron again. "What did I do?"

"Ron, you totally embarrassed her.  What's the matter with you?"  Harry leaned back and hooked his arm over the back of his white plastic chair as he studied his friend.

"Listen, mate.  You just walloped me.  I could be asking you the same thing."  Ron was beginning to tire of their verbal parrying.  He preferred a nice clean yelling match.

Harry eyed him with an expression of total disbelief.

"Quit staring, Harry.  What?  Have I started to grown another head or something?  Maybe some horns?"  Ron pretended to pat his red hair in a mocking search.

"You really don't know why Hermione left here in tears, do you?" Harry asked.

"Tears?  Hermione was crying?"  he choked out. Oh, crud.  "What have I done now?" he asked.

Harry sat quietly stirring his drink with his straw, and to Ron's amazement, he began to turn red.

"You...were, erm...staring at her, Ron," he said finally.

Ron gaped at Harry, waiting for him to explain.  Harry looked up and saw the uncertain look on Ron's face.

"You were looking at her..."  Harry's face was on fire now.  "You gawked at her.  You didn't even look at her face or anything, Ron.  I know Hermione has changed a lot since we first met her, and especially this summer, but you still shouldn't have been such a prat."

Ron opened and shut his mouth several times, sucking in air, but he had nothing to say.  Apparently while his mind had taken a little vacation, what was left behind had made a complete mess of things.

"I didn't...know," he muttered at last.

Harry looked exasperated.  "I thought we had already established the fact that Hermione was a girl.  What was this?  A relapse?"

Ron sat up and glowered at Harry.  "Yes, well.  Sure, I knew she was a girl, but I didn't know she was a girl girl!"  Ron stopped.  He was beginning to sound stupider than he felt.

"Oh right," mocked Harry, "a girl girl."  He rolled his eyes and changed the subject to his upcoming trip.  They discussed some of their favourite theories about where Harry would be going, until it was time for Harry to go back to the Dursleys'. 

It suddenly struck Ron that Harry would be going away for more than a month, and that anything could happen to him while he was abroad.  Ron's voice squawked as he reached out and grabbed Harry's hand in a fierce handshake.

"Be careful, Harry,"  he said.  Sober advice coming from him, but suddenly he couldn't help himself.  All sorts of terrible visions of Harry being pursued by Death Eaters and Dementors had popped into his mind.  Harry grinned crookedly at Ron and countered his best friend's handshake with a slap on the arm.

"I'll be with Sirius.  Everything'll be okay.  I'm more worried about leaving you and Hermione behind.  You might kill each other," Harry said.

Ron was fairly sure that Harry had been joking about that last part.

Chapter 7 - Another Day at the Office

The job at the Ministry of Magic wasn't everything Ron had thought it would be, thank goodness.  It didn't  completely rot.  He'd spent a couple of agonizing weeks trying to organize his father's incredibly mixed up files with little success.  Once he abandoned the ridiculously fussy filing system his father had invented, it had been a cinch.

Now he was doing something he actually enjoyed.  His father's office had become a warehouse of sorts for the many charmed Muggle items Mr. Weasley confiscated, and it fell to Ron to catalogue them.  There had been a few nasty surprises, like the Muggle Omnioculars had left him cross-eyed for hours.  For a while there he'd been worried it might be permanent.

The artifact that caught his eye this time, was a particularly spiffy looking hat.  It was made of  soft grey felt and had a funny crease in the centre.  He held it cautiously away from himself, turning it over and over in his hands, searching for some hint of what it could do.  The small white tag attached to the hat simply said "boggart - N.T.D."  Ron peered inside the hat, but for the life of him, he couldn't figure out how a boggart could live inside such a small space.  And as for the "Not That Dangerous" part, Ron had learned the hard way from an angry set of pink hair curlers that his idea of dangerous and his father's were worlds apart.

Finally, curiosity got the better of him.  He stood in front of the small mirror that hung on the office wall and placed the hat upon his head.  Instantly the face of a stranger stared back at him.  Ron gasped and snatched the hat off his head.  When he looked in the mirror again, he was staring back into his own face.

"Glad you're back, handsome," he said cheekily to his reflection., and swore he heard the mirror giggle.

Cautiously, Ron put the hat back on his head.  He saw the unknown face stare back at him again, but as he touched his face, he realized that his own features hadn't really disappeared at all.

"It is a Glamour Hat!" he exclaimed.  Very cool.  The hat had a Glamour spell on it so that anyone who wore it had an illusion cast over them.  Ron looked closer into the mirror and saw that this glamour spell covered his entire body, dressing him in some odd Muggle clothing.  His father must have mislabeled the hat. There were no boggarts that he could see.  

"But why," wondered Ron, "would anyone chose this face?"  It had dark droopy eyes like a hound dog's, and a large, almost bulbous nose.  Not at all like his own fine Roman nose.  And that grim expression.  He rolled his eyes at the mirror.  

"Oh, sugar.  That hat just won't do at all.  I liked you much better as a redhead," the mirror purred in a soft husky voice.  Ron blushed.

"Thanks," he muttered, and blushed even harder when he realized he was having a conversation with a mirror.

"You're welcome, sweetie,"  the low voiced drawled.  Ron frowned and made a mental note to ask his father just where he had picked up this particular mirror.

Just then, the door flew open and Mr. Weasley burst into the small office, red-faced and gasping loudly for air.  He collapsed onto the nearest chair and wheezed.  Ron whipped the Glamour Hat off his head,  tossed it neatly onto the hat rack by the door.

"Ron," panted his father, "..have a ...small job... for you."  He stopped to pull out a white hanky and patted his forehead dry.  "Just a little thing really," he said and tried to chuckle, but it came out sounding more like a whimper.  "I dropped something, an orange ball, and I want you to pick it up for me.  Just retrieve the ball, and then you can go visit with your friend Hermione."

Ron froze.  He had returned to his father's desk and was resting his large feet comfortably on its top, when he registered the name his father had spoken.  His feet slid slowly off the desk and onto the floor as he leaned forward a bit to speak to his dad.

"What do you mean?"  he asked carefully.

But by then Arthur had begun to dreamily to relive his last visit with Hermione's parents.  "Lovely Muggles,"  he sighed.  And such remarkable devices they had too.  He recalled fondly the VCR he had dismantled over tea and scones with the Grangers

"Dad?"  Ron spoke loudly to get his father's attention.

"Oh.  You know, Hermione.  Harry's girlfriend,"  Mr. Weasley answered innocently, grinning inwardly at the scowl that blackened his son's face.

"She is not his girlfriend.  I've told you that.  They are just friends!"  Ron thumped his fist down on the desktop as he made his point.

"Right.  Sorry.  I think she said she was doing some research in the archives.  You better run along and catch that ball, then you can have the rest of the afternoon off.  I believe it was last seen heading towards the Magical Co-op Department," he jerked his thumb in the general direction the ball had gone.  "Good luck!" he called to Ron as he left.  Then more softly he added, "You'll need it," as his son stumbled out of the office in pursuit of the cursed, orange, bouncing demon.   

Hermione!  Here?  Ron was in a daze.  The thought of seeing her again made him feel queasy, but with Harry gone, Ron was beginning to feel a bit lonesome.  He had grown accustomed to Hermione's long brainy letters, and it had been weeks since Ook had made a visit to his house.  Not since Harry's farewell party.  Not that it had turned out to be much of a party.  

************

It was humiliating enough to be chasing that stupid screeching ball up and down the halls of the Ministry, but when a couple of Junior Ministers stepped out of their offices to enjoy the show, laughing riotously at Ron's unsuccessful attempts to snag the ball, Ron was ready to do violence.  

Ron kept up a steady stream of curses under his breath.

"Bloody stupid ball.  I bet even Harry couldn't catch this blasted thing!" he thought.

It didn't seem like things could get worse, when Percy appeared behind Ron and sniffed loudly in disapproval.

"Really, Ron," he huffed importantly, "why don't you stop playing about and just catch the silly thing.  It is making far too much noise, and I've got important work to do."

Ron didn't even turn around.

"Up yours," he snarled and leapt after the ball like an enormous ginger cat chasing down a particularly tasty rat.

The Junior Ministers snickered at Percy's discomfort and earned a glare from him.

"I believe you both have jobs to do.  I suggest you do them before I report you," he said with great dignity, and marched back to his office, slamming the door behind him.

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