Lumos

Chapter Seven: "Take Heart"

Hermione

January, 2003

"What's this about, then?" Ron asked, dumping dozens of letters to the ground.

Hermione's mind blanked. It was as though a friend had left the room for only a moment and come back a completely different person. There was no warmth. No spark between them. Just a cold vacuum of loss, and it threatened to swallow her whole.

Ron lifted his eyes from the mess on the floor and took her in. He tilted his head just a fraction to the side. "Why're you looking at me like that?" he asked. Then, without giving her time to reply, he exploded into movement. He pushed past her into the hallway behind the living room. "George!" he shouted. "George!" He yanked open the study door. When he found no one there, he strode to the other side of the hall and ducked his head into the bedroom. "Bloody—" he started, then turned on his heel, brushing past her other side on his way to the kitchen.

Hermione's voice came out shaky. "Ron—wait," she tried, following him. Ron spun, and she nearly collided with him. His eyes wide were wide, and his breath came in short, furious gasps.

Footsteps pounded up the stairs, and the front door to the flat flew open. George stood in the threshold, his eyes flickering over the two of them. For one, horrible moment, he strode towards Ron, and Hermione feared he might attack his brother. But, instead, George paused, then threw his arms around him.

"You finally came, you git," he said, breathless.

"Doesn't seem like you gave me much of a choice," Ron said roughly. Hesitating, he raised his left hand and gave George a faltering pat on the back as a weak return to the embrace. George released him, and Ron paced back to the fireplace.

"Now," he said, flinging his arm toward the abandoned mail. "I got one of these this morning, and I was about a sentence in when fifteen more arrived, followed by another twelve. You're going to blow my cover, and the Russians aren't very forgiving about that sort of thing, you know." He threw his hands upward, staring hard at George.

"It was an emergency," George said, rubbing the back of his neck.

"It better be!" Ron said, voice growing in volume.

"You wrote all of those?" Hermione asked, eyes widening. George's gaze skipped over to her for a moment, but he didn't answer. His mouth opened, closed. Then, he looked back to Ron.

"Not all of them," he said quietly. "A few are from Harry and Ginny. One's from Mum—"

"Point being, you're not to abuse the auror office's owl network, and that's exactly what you've done!" Ron cut in, practically roaring. "It'll take them weeks to sort out a new route. It's almost certain that the old one is being watched now."

"Ron!" Hermione cried, desperate to diffuse the situation. "I'm sure he didn't realize."

"No, I did," George said, folding his arms. Hermione rubbed at the bridge of her nose. This was going about as well as she could've expected.

"Are you trying to get me offed?" Ron said, screwing his face up. "Are you thick? You can't play with international wizarding law when it suits you. This isn't one of your bloody toys, mate!"

Enough.

Ron paused, taking a deep breath. Before he could continue, Hermione stepped forward.

"Ron, I was in an accident."

Ron faltered. He looked at Hermione. Then at George. Then back at Hermione.

"But, you're fine now," he said, as though it was the most obvious statement in the world.