Apple Crumble, Apple Tart: Part II
Apple Crumble, Apple Tart (Ron/Hermione, 12+)
Author: akissinacrisis
II: The Intervention
George and Ginny want to talk to Ron.
Index || Part I || Part II || Part III || Part IV || Part V || Part VI || Part VII || Part VIII
APPLE CRUMBLE, APPLE TART
II
The Intervention
Ron lets himself into The Burrow, hoping for some comfort from his childhood home, but halfway down the long, thin hall that connects the living room, kitchen and staircase that leads to the upper floors, he hears voices and he freezes.
‘I can’t believe you let him go.’
‘Oh, come on, Ginny,’ says George, ‘you know what he’s like when he goes off looking for her -’
‘You could have stopped him,’ she says.
‘He’s a grown man.’
‘But it’s so unhealthy …’ She sounds frustrated. ‘I thought he’d stopped this!’
‘So did I.’
‘He told Harry he’d given up -’
‘Well he was lying, then.’
‘God - it’s just -’ The noise of a chair scraping; a body falls into it with a flump. ‘I wish he’d move on.’
Ron crosses to the kitchen door and pushes it open. ‘Am I interrupting something?’
George is leaning against the kitchen counter, arms folded; Ginny is the one sitting at the table. Her expression is pitying. ‘Oh, Ron.’
‘What are you doing here?’ he asks them both.
‘Waiting for you, of course,’ she answers.
Ron gives George a look.
‘It’s not my fault, little brother. She turned up at the shop looking for you. She tortured it out of me.’
‘I wanted to ask you about the equipment list,’ she explains. ‘Do they really still need their own telescopes? Harry seems to think buying James gold everything is somehow going to make him do some work, but you know how Harry is with money -’ She stops herself. ‘Anyway. Sit down, Ron, and tell us about it.’
‘How did you know I’d come here?’ he asks, falling into the chair opposite Ginny’s, because he’s really too exhausted to do anything else.
‘You always come here after one of those … jaunts,’ says George. ‘Shall I put the kettle on?’
‘Yes, thanks - now,’ says Ginny, turning her gaze to Ron. ‘How was it?’
The nail on Ron’s left thumb is longer than the nails on all the fingers on his left hand. He finds that sort of interesting. ‘Oh, the usual.’
‘Another blind alley, then?’ asks Ginny with an uncharacteristically kind tone.
‘Mmm-hmm.’ His right thumbnail, however, is even longer than the left. Ron wonders if there’s something wrong with his thumbs.
‘That bad?’
He can’t tell them anything, he knows. He mustn’t tell them anything. He stares at his nails. ‘I - er …’
‘Well?’
Reveal nothing. You’re not going back; you’re not having anything to do with Hermione anymore. Keep quiet, Weasley. ‘Well … it was …’
‘Oh Ron,’ says Ginny with a tired annoyance - he knew the niceness wouldn’t last - ‘when are you going to learn that -’
Say nothing say nothing - ‘Um - actually,’ he hears himself saying, ‘it wasn’t such a waste of time, this time.’
‘You have … a clue?’ He chances a glance up: her eyebrows and mouth are etched with the deepest scepticism.
‘Um,’ he says. ‘Well. Yeah. Sort of.’
‘Like the “clue” that meant you spent two months searching Australia?’ she asks. ‘Or like the “clue” that sent you to Romania three years ago?’
‘Oh for - Australia was, what, twelve years ago?’ he snaps. ‘And anyway -’
‘Doesn’t that twelve years ago tell you something? I - I’m sorry, Ron, I know we’ve said this before, but I do wonder when you’re going to -’
‘I’ve found her, all right? I’ve found her.’
Shit.
Both are frozen: George holding the teapot and Ginny with her eyebrows somewhere up in her hair. ‘What do you mean?’ she asks.
Sod it all to hell. ‘I met her daughter.’
‘You what?’ Ginny looks as if she fears for his mental health.
‘Her name is Daphne,’ Ron says calmly. ‘Her mother, Hermione Jean Granger, works for the International Confederation of Wizards. They live in Ambleside.’
Slowly, George puts down the teapot and comes and sits down next to Ginny at the table. ‘I think you’re going to have to start from the beginning,’ he says.
‘Right,’ says Ron. ‘Right. I was in the Diagon Alley shop,’ he nods at George, ‘just checking on his books and things, seeing how everything was going, when old Andrew Bailey came in with his cousin to buy something for his cousin’s kid. Bailey’s the bloke that runs the apothecary,’ he adds to Ginny, ‘we’ve known him for ages, ever since I started working for George. Anyway, Bailey and his cousin were talking about the French Ministry, where the cousin - whose name is Patrick - had been for a while, doing some research for the British Ministry.
‘We were talking about his research, and getting the various permissions to get into Ministry archives, and all that stuff, you know. And the cousin started going on about how there are a lot of English people at the French Ministry of Magic, and how he saw lots of English names about, and one of the names he mentioned was Granger. So,’ he says loudly, ignoring the identical, reflexive eye-rolls of both Ginny and George, ‘I asked him if he could remember where he saw the name, and if he could find anything out about this Granger, and this morning he came back with an address. Good thing I was at the shop again,’ he adds darkly, looking at George, ‘because if he’d given the address to this buffoon it would probably have been thrown in the fireplace. For my own good, naturally.’
‘You wound me,’ says George. ‘Now I know you like to tell a story, Ron, but do get the fuck on with it.’
‘I followed the address to a cottage in Ambleside, and ... there they were.’
‘What do you mean?’ asks George.
‘A girl was at home,’ says Ron. ‘It was her daughter.’
‘But …’ starts Ginny. ‘But … how do you know?’
‘She was … Well, her surname, for a start,’ says Ron. ‘And … And, well, who she said her mother was! Hermione Jean Granger. And we talked about her mother, who if she isn’t Hermione is an exact clone. And … And the girl was a witch.’
‘How d’you know?’ asks George.
‘She wouldn’t talk to me until I told her what school I went to. Once I’d said the word “Hogwarts”, she was fine.’
There is a silence. Ron thinks about how much better he could be explaining this.
‘Listen,’ he says. ‘It -’
‘Ron …’ interrupts Ginny. ‘Have you considered … that this could all be an … elaborate hoax? I mean, that would be horrible, it would be awful, but …’ She tails off. ‘I hate to be the one to say it …’
Ron shakes his head. ‘It isn’t a hoax. It’s her daughter. Ginny, I swear it’s the truth when I say I have never been so sure of anything in my entire life.’
She considers him steadily. ‘What did you hear about Hermione that made you so certain?’
Ron thinks. ‘They live in this little village that’s tucked away from anywhere, but that’s still busy, mainly with Muggle tourists. Remote, but not so small that they’d stick out. Most importantly, absolutely no wizarding community since some exceptionally zealous witch-hunts in the fifteen-hundreds … No one would recognise her. They live in this tiny cottage, and they have a flat in France, where Hermione lives when she’s working. According to the daughter, she works for the International Confederation of Wizards.’
‘The International Confederation?’ asks Ginny. ‘In Versailles?’ She stares at him. ‘What does she do?’
‘Hold on a minute,’ says George, looking suddenly alarmed. ‘We don’t know if it’s really her, yet -’
‘She makes policy,’ says Ron. ‘Reforms European law. Research, as well. I mean, I don’t know exactly how it works …’
He tails off: Ginny has pressed her hands to her mouth. ‘It could be her,’ she says in a muffled voice.
‘It is, Gin,’ he says. ‘It is.’
‘But …’ She chews her lower lip, her eyes wide. ‘But … But wouldn’t the daughter be at Hogwarts? Or - or is she too young?’
He shakes his head. ‘Beauxbatons.’
‘Beauxbatons?’ Ginny looks stunned, and then she snorts and shakes her head. ‘Hermione would never send her child to Beauxbatons. Never.’
‘Gin, you said it yourself. She works in Versailles.’
‘But hang on, if Hermione’s been working for the International Confederation all this time, using her real name, then - wouldn’t have we have heard about it?’ asks George sceptically.
‘Maybe she Polyjuices herself or something -’
‘She wouldn’t need to,’ says Ginny abruptly. ‘I’ve been to the Confederation, once with Harry and once for an article - it’s massive. The largest magical employer in Europe. And if she’s backstage in policy reform, rather than debating things out in the central chambers, then the chances of her getting seen by a British witch or wizard, especially one who’d recognise her or who remembers her disappearance, are pretty remote ... Not many people will still think about her. So many people went missing in the war ...’
George still looks sceptical. ‘None of this means this isn’t a hoax. And we know she gave up magic, for a start -’
‘She gave up magic eighteen years ago, she could have started again at any time quite easily -’
‘All right,’ says Ron rashly, ‘all right, then: forget Hermione. Ginny - George - the daughter.’ He is dimly aware that he is moving into dangerous waters, but they have to understand: they have to understand that this time it’s real. ‘You should have seen her. She was … She was the spitting image. She was … I can’t explain it, she … She was exactly like she was, back when - I almost grabbed her, I thought it was her …’ He tries to focus his thoughts. ‘She’s - clever. Talkative, but clever - she didn’t give anything away. She seemed to know that she had something to hide, even if she didn’t know what it was she was hiding - well, I know I was just a random stranger, but -’
‘Ron …’ breaks in George.
‘It’s her daughter.’ Ginny’s face is torn; George still looks sceptical. ‘It is. She - she asked me about Harry! When she found out I went to Hogwarts with Hermione, she asked me if I knew the great Harry Potter, because apparently, her mum once knew him “briefly”.’
George raises his eyebrows. ‘“Briefly”?’
‘Listen,’ says Ron. ‘Listen. Do you want proof? Daphne told me she was glad she didn’t go to Hogwarts. You know why?’
Ginny shakes her head slowly.
‘She said she wouldn’t want to live in a place that’s run off slave labour.’
There is a pause.
‘We’ve got her,’ breathes Ginny.
‘Now, come on -’
‘Shut up, George.’ Her eyes are shining. ‘We’ve got her!’
‘I -’ George rubs his brow. He fixes his gaze on Ron. ‘How sure are you?’
‘One hundred per cent. Look,’ Ron says firmly, ‘I know as well as you two do that I’ve been on a lot of wild goose-chases over the years, and I’ve - I’ve got my hopes up way too many times, but I wouldn’t be telling you this if I wasn’t absolutely certain.’
Ginny looks down at her hands; she appears to be examining her nails in the same way Ron had been earlier. ‘Hermione Granger,’ she says softly.
And rather than the hot defiance that filled him earlier at Ginny’s prodding something cold and slippery spreads through his stomach.
He’s told them. He’s told them that he has found Hermione - how’s he going to make them agree that they should now leave her alone without telling them her secret? He let himself talk too much, went off on a verbal ramble, as he is wont to do these days, and now he’s told them everything short of the important thing, and he doesn’t want to tell them the important thing, because it’s nothing to do with them, really; but if he doesn’t they won’t understand why he doesn’t feel the necessity to see Hermione anymore …
Fuck, I’m an idiot.
‘What was the girl like, Ron?’ asks Ginny quietly, jolting him out of his inner panic and back into The Burrow’s kitchen.
‘She …’ he starts. He feels an unexpected and largely unhelpful grin tug at the corner of his mouth. ‘She was - lovely. Had a tiny bit of a Geordie accent.’
‘Geordies come from Newcastle, not Ambleside.’
‘Shut up, George,’ Ginny says again. ‘Ambleside … That’s up north, isn’t it?’
‘The Lake District,’ says George. ‘I’ve been on holiday there with Angelina and the kids, remember, a few years ago? Lots of mountains. We even spent a day in Ambleside ... It’s about as north as you can go before hitting Scotland. Closer to Hogwarts than here.’
Ginny blows out her breath. ‘So Hermione’s married?’
Ron shakes his head. ‘No.’
‘Not at all? What about the girl’s father?’
‘He … didn’t seem to be around,’ Ron says carefully. ‘They seemed to live alone.’
Ginny’s eyes are far away. ‘How old was the girl?’
It’s now or never. He takes a breath far larger than necessary for the one word he is about to utter. ‘Fifteen.’
‘Fifteen?’ Ginny cries. ‘But you - you said - you made it sound like she was eleven! Fifteen?’ She leaps out of her seat. ‘That means - that means she would’ve had her only three years after she left!’
‘That - that doesn’t make much difference,’ Ron says quickly, ‘fifteen’s only four years older than an eleven-year-old, and you’ve got one of those yourself -’
‘That’s different - I was twenty-four when I had James, and the war had been over seven years, and I was married to someone I’d known for - she would have been twenty! Or, or, I mean, twenty-one - but still! That’s a big difference -’
‘Ginny, sit down -’
‘But what if - what if the father’s someone we know?’
‘Like who?’ demands George, saving Ron from answering, which is a good thing, because he thinks if he tried to speak right now he would probably be sick. ‘Ginny, she’s practically been in hiding for twenty years. I think it’s pretty unlikely she’s been shacked up with Justin Finch-Fletchley.’
‘Oh … I suppose you’re right,’ she says, deflating a little. She runs a hand through her hair. ‘So … she wasn’t there?’
‘No,’ says Ron. ‘I only spoke to Daphne - the daughter. She said … She said Hermione’s at work till Tuesday.’
Ginny starts to pace the room. Ron wishes she wouldn’t. ‘So she doesn’t know we’ve found her …’ she muses.
‘Well, she will by Tuesday,’ puts in George. ‘I doubt Ron was that subtle in his questioning.’
‘No -’ says Ron with a start. ‘No, I - I asked her to keep it a secret.’
‘Oh, excellent, Ron,’ says Ginny, stopping her pacing. ‘She probably thinks you’re a paedophile. Brilliant. We’ll be lucky if the Muggle policemen don’t come knocking.’
‘I told her to not tell her mum so I could surprise her,’ says Ron. ‘I think she believed me.’
George makes a might work expression and shrugs; Ginny bites her lip. ‘Why didn’t you Obliviate her?’ asks Ginny.
‘Um,’ says Ron. The truth is that it didn’t occur to him. ‘Well, she’s not a child, if she’d fought back - I don’t think all things considered a duel would have been appropriate -’
‘It is also illegal to Obliviate another magical person without just cause,’ puts in George. ‘Which begs the question of how Harry Potter is running his department if his wife doesn’t know this -’
‘Yes, but -’ Ginny stops. ‘I know it’s wrong, but in all honesty, I might have done it anyway. You’ve been looking for Hermione for so long, you wouldn’t want her to get tipped off now and vanish before -’
‘Honestly,’ says Ron, ‘it didn’t occur to me. It wasn’t like that. It wasn’t an interrogation. It was just a ... chat.’
They look at each other. ‘So, what are we going to do?’ asks Ginny.
‘Do?’ asks Ron.
‘I think the best thing is to go and see her,’ says Ginny. ‘I’ll owl Harry right now -’
‘What - no!’ cries Ron.
‘What?’
‘We can’t …’ stutters Ron. ‘We can’t go to France.’
‘Why on earth not?’
‘Because -’
‘He has a point,’ says George. ‘It might be better if we wait till she’s back on home turf.’
‘No, that’s not what I mean! I mean -’
‘Ron, are you all right?’ asks George.
‘Of course he’s not all right!’ snaps Ginny. ‘Are you?’
‘No, I’m bloody well not,’ says Ron.
Ginny looks at him half-pityingly and half-expectantly.
‘I just …’ Think. ‘I’m … It’s a bit … overwhelming. Couldn’t we … leave it a few days?’
‘But -’
‘Please, Ginny.’
Her excited eyes meet his tired ones. ‘You want some time to think about it?’
‘Yeah.’ He swallows. ‘Yeah, that would be good.’
She nods. ‘All right, then. How about we leave it till next week?’
‘Thanks,’ he says, giving her a grateful smile.
‘So do you want to owl Harry or should I?’
‘No, I don’t think …’ If there’s one person it’s harder for Ron to lie to than Ginny these days, it’s Harry. ‘Ginny, don’t. Not yet.’
Both Ginny and George stare at him.
‘Couldn’t we … leave that a couple of days, as well?’
‘Wait, that’s a good point,’ says George, brow furrowed, and Ron wonders if he does in fact have a guardian angel. ‘Isn’t he on a mission?’
‘Well, I don’t know what he’s been telling you,’ says Ginny, ‘but he’s at a conference in Milan. He’s not supposed to come home till Saturday night, but all the important stuff was at the beginning of the week, so he could probably get away with leaving two days early … Maybe if we said James is sick -’
‘Why would he tell me he was on a mission?’ asks George, affronted.
‘Probably because the last conference he went to you sent him a dancing Howler?’
‘Oh, yeah,’ says George, an internal glow lighting up his face momentarily. ‘Good times.’
‘Ginny -’ Ron starts.
‘Ron … Is there anything else you want to tell us?’ asks Ginny abruptly.
‘Why?’ he squeaks.
‘Because …’ she says slowly; his blood freezes. ‘Because you’re acting very odd. This is Hermione, right? We’re pretty sure?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then … why aren’t you dancing round the garden naked?’
‘Don’t put ideas in his head.’
‘Ron …’ Ginny says again, ignoring George. ‘Did you find out the reason she left?’
Lie, Weasley. Lie for your life. ‘No, I didn’t … I …’ He takes a noticeably deep breath. ‘All right, if you must know, I’m kind of … scared about that. I ... yeah. I don’t really want to know the truth anymore. Happy now?’
Her lips twitch and he realizes she’s smiling sadly: he breathes again. ‘Oh, Ron,’ she says. ‘All right. Here’s what we’re going to do. We’ll forget about it for the weekend, OK? No breathing a word to anyone. We’ll have a nice Sunday lunch - you’re still coming to that, aren’t you?’ she asks suddenly with her steely organizer’s eyes, and he nods hastily. ‘And then I’ll - do you want to tell Harry?’ Ron shakes his head. ‘Fine, I’ll tell Harry on Monday morning - he has a day off - and then we’ll all sit down and work out what we’re going to do. OK? George?’
‘Sounds like a plan, sis.’
‘OK then,’ Ron says, trying to smile.
Brilliant, he thinks. Only three days to get Ginny and George to forget this conversation ever happened.
Index || Part I || Part II || Part III || Part IV || Part V || Part VI || Part VII || Part VIII
Notes: If you want to see when new chapters are posted, feel free to watch this journal (kissesforcrises). You can also receive emails when a new chapter is uploaded - just click here and choose to track the tag {fic: apple crumble apple tart}.
Author: akissinacrisis
II: The Intervention
George and Ginny want to talk to Ron.
Index || Part I || Part II || Part III || Part IV || Part V || Part VI || Part VII || Part VIII
APPLE CRUMBLE, APPLE TART
II
The Intervention
Ron lets himself into The Burrow, hoping for some comfort from his childhood home, but halfway down the long, thin hall that connects the living room, kitchen and staircase that leads to the upper floors, he hears voices and he freezes.
‘I can’t believe you let him go.’
‘Oh, come on, Ginny,’ says George, ‘you know what he’s like when he goes off looking for her -’
‘You could have stopped him,’ she says.
‘He’s a grown man.’
‘But it’s so unhealthy …’ She sounds frustrated. ‘I thought he’d stopped this!’
‘So did I.’
‘He told Harry he’d given up -’
‘Well he was lying, then.’
‘God - it’s just -’ The noise of a chair scraping; a body falls into it with a flump. ‘I wish he’d move on.’
Ron crosses to the kitchen door and pushes it open. ‘Am I interrupting something?’
George is leaning against the kitchen counter, arms folded; Ginny is the one sitting at the table. Her expression is pitying. ‘Oh, Ron.’
‘What are you doing here?’ he asks them both.
‘Waiting for you, of course,’ she answers.
Ron gives George a look.
‘It’s not my fault, little brother. She turned up at the shop looking for you. She tortured it out of me.’
‘I wanted to ask you about the equipment list,’ she explains. ‘Do they really still need their own telescopes? Harry seems to think buying James gold everything is somehow going to make him do some work, but you know how Harry is with money -’ She stops herself. ‘Anyway. Sit down, Ron, and tell us about it.’
‘How did you know I’d come here?’ he asks, falling into the chair opposite Ginny’s, because he’s really too exhausted to do anything else.
‘You always come here after one of those … jaunts,’ says George. ‘Shall I put the kettle on?’
‘Yes, thanks - now,’ says Ginny, turning her gaze to Ron. ‘How was it?’
The nail on Ron’s left thumb is longer than the nails on all the fingers on his left hand. He finds that sort of interesting. ‘Oh, the usual.’
‘Another blind alley, then?’ asks Ginny with an uncharacteristically kind tone.
‘Mmm-hmm.’ His right thumbnail, however, is even longer than the left. Ron wonders if there’s something wrong with his thumbs.
‘That bad?’
He can’t tell them anything, he knows. He mustn’t tell them anything. He stares at his nails. ‘I - er …’
‘Well?’
Reveal nothing. You’re not going back; you’re not having anything to do with Hermione anymore. Keep quiet, Weasley. ‘Well … it was …’
‘Oh Ron,’ says Ginny with a tired annoyance - he knew the niceness wouldn’t last - ‘when are you going to learn that -’
Say nothing say nothing - ‘Um - actually,’ he hears himself saying, ‘it wasn’t such a waste of time, this time.’
‘You have … a clue?’ He chances a glance up: her eyebrows and mouth are etched with the deepest scepticism.
‘Um,’ he says. ‘Well. Yeah. Sort of.’
‘Like the “clue” that meant you spent two months searching Australia?’ she asks. ‘Or like the “clue” that sent you to Romania three years ago?’
‘Oh for - Australia was, what, twelve years ago?’ he snaps. ‘And anyway -’
‘Doesn’t that twelve years ago tell you something? I - I’m sorry, Ron, I know we’ve said this before, but I do wonder when you’re going to -’
‘I’ve found her, all right? I’ve found her.’
Shit.
Both are frozen: George holding the teapot and Ginny with her eyebrows somewhere up in her hair. ‘What do you mean?’ she asks.
Sod it all to hell. ‘I met her daughter.’
‘You what?’ Ginny looks as if she fears for his mental health.
‘Her name is Daphne,’ Ron says calmly. ‘Her mother, Hermione Jean Granger, works for the International Confederation of Wizards. They live in Ambleside.’
Slowly, George puts down the teapot and comes and sits down next to Ginny at the table. ‘I think you’re going to have to start from the beginning,’ he says.
‘Right,’ says Ron. ‘Right. I was in the Diagon Alley shop,’ he nods at George, ‘just checking on his books and things, seeing how everything was going, when old Andrew Bailey came in with his cousin to buy something for his cousin’s kid. Bailey’s the bloke that runs the apothecary,’ he adds to Ginny, ‘we’ve known him for ages, ever since I started working for George. Anyway, Bailey and his cousin were talking about the French Ministry, where the cousin - whose name is Patrick - had been for a while, doing some research for the British Ministry.
‘We were talking about his research, and getting the various permissions to get into Ministry archives, and all that stuff, you know. And the cousin started going on about how there are a lot of English people at the French Ministry of Magic, and how he saw lots of English names about, and one of the names he mentioned was Granger. So,’ he says loudly, ignoring the identical, reflexive eye-rolls of both Ginny and George, ‘I asked him if he could remember where he saw the name, and if he could find anything out about this Granger, and this morning he came back with an address. Good thing I was at the shop again,’ he adds darkly, looking at George, ‘because if he’d given the address to this buffoon it would probably have been thrown in the fireplace. For my own good, naturally.’
‘You wound me,’ says George. ‘Now I know you like to tell a story, Ron, but do get the fuck on with it.’
‘I followed the address to a cottage in Ambleside, and ... there they were.’
‘What do you mean?’ asks George.
‘A girl was at home,’ says Ron. ‘It was her daughter.’
‘But …’ starts Ginny. ‘But … how do you know?’
‘She was … Well, her surname, for a start,’ says Ron. ‘And … And, well, who she said her mother was! Hermione Jean Granger. And we talked about her mother, who if she isn’t Hermione is an exact clone. And … And the girl was a witch.’
‘How d’you know?’ asks George.
‘She wouldn’t talk to me until I told her what school I went to. Once I’d said the word “Hogwarts”, she was fine.’
There is a silence. Ron thinks about how much better he could be explaining this.
‘Listen,’ he says. ‘It -’
‘Ron …’ interrupts Ginny. ‘Have you considered … that this could all be an … elaborate hoax? I mean, that would be horrible, it would be awful, but …’ She tails off. ‘I hate to be the one to say it …’
Ron shakes his head. ‘It isn’t a hoax. It’s her daughter. Ginny, I swear it’s the truth when I say I have never been so sure of anything in my entire life.’
She considers him steadily. ‘What did you hear about Hermione that made you so certain?’
Ron thinks. ‘They live in this little village that’s tucked away from anywhere, but that’s still busy, mainly with Muggle tourists. Remote, but not so small that they’d stick out. Most importantly, absolutely no wizarding community since some exceptionally zealous witch-hunts in the fifteen-hundreds … No one would recognise her. They live in this tiny cottage, and they have a flat in France, where Hermione lives when she’s working. According to the daughter, she works for the International Confederation of Wizards.’
‘The International Confederation?’ asks Ginny. ‘In Versailles?’ She stares at him. ‘What does she do?’
‘Hold on a minute,’ says George, looking suddenly alarmed. ‘We don’t know if it’s really her, yet -’
‘She makes policy,’ says Ron. ‘Reforms European law. Research, as well. I mean, I don’t know exactly how it works …’
He tails off: Ginny has pressed her hands to her mouth. ‘It could be her,’ she says in a muffled voice.
‘It is, Gin,’ he says. ‘It is.’
‘But …’ She chews her lower lip, her eyes wide. ‘But … But wouldn’t the daughter be at Hogwarts? Or - or is she too young?’
He shakes his head. ‘Beauxbatons.’
‘Beauxbatons?’ Ginny looks stunned, and then she snorts and shakes her head. ‘Hermione would never send her child to Beauxbatons. Never.’
‘Gin, you said it yourself. She works in Versailles.’
‘But hang on, if Hermione’s been working for the International Confederation all this time, using her real name, then - wouldn’t have we have heard about it?’ asks George sceptically.
‘Maybe she Polyjuices herself or something -’
‘She wouldn’t need to,’ says Ginny abruptly. ‘I’ve been to the Confederation, once with Harry and once for an article - it’s massive. The largest magical employer in Europe. And if she’s backstage in policy reform, rather than debating things out in the central chambers, then the chances of her getting seen by a British witch or wizard, especially one who’d recognise her or who remembers her disappearance, are pretty remote ... Not many people will still think about her. So many people went missing in the war ...’
George still looks sceptical. ‘None of this means this isn’t a hoax. And we know she gave up magic, for a start -’
‘She gave up magic eighteen years ago, she could have started again at any time quite easily -’
‘All right,’ says Ron rashly, ‘all right, then: forget Hermione. Ginny - George - the daughter.’ He is dimly aware that he is moving into dangerous waters, but they have to understand: they have to understand that this time it’s real. ‘You should have seen her. She was … She was the spitting image. She was … I can’t explain it, she … She was exactly like she was, back when - I almost grabbed her, I thought it was her …’ He tries to focus his thoughts. ‘She’s - clever. Talkative, but clever - she didn’t give anything away. She seemed to know that she had something to hide, even if she didn’t know what it was she was hiding - well, I know I was just a random stranger, but -’
‘Ron …’ breaks in George.
‘It’s her daughter.’ Ginny’s face is torn; George still looks sceptical. ‘It is. She - she asked me about Harry! When she found out I went to Hogwarts with Hermione, she asked me if I knew the great Harry Potter, because apparently, her mum once knew him “briefly”.’
George raises his eyebrows. ‘“Briefly”?’
‘Listen,’ says Ron. ‘Listen. Do you want proof? Daphne told me she was glad she didn’t go to Hogwarts. You know why?’
Ginny shakes her head slowly.
‘She said she wouldn’t want to live in a place that’s run off slave labour.’
There is a pause.
‘We’ve got her,’ breathes Ginny.
‘Now, come on -’
‘Shut up, George.’ Her eyes are shining. ‘We’ve got her!’
‘I -’ George rubs his brow. He fixes his gaze on Ron. ‘How sure are you?’
‘One hundred per cent. Look,’ Ron says firmly, ‘I know as well as you two do that I’ve been on a lot of wild goose-chases over the years, and I’ve - I’ve got my hopes up way too many times, but I wouldn’t be telling you this if I wasn’t absolutely certain.’
Ginny looks down at her hands; she appears to be examining her nails in the same way Ron had been earlier. ‘Hermione Granger,’ she says softly.
And rather than the hot defiance that filled him earlier at Ginny’s prodding something cold and slippery spreads through his stomach.
He’s told them. He’s told them that he has found Hermione - how’s he going to make them agree that they should now leave her alone without telling them her secret? He let himself talk too much, went off on a verbal ramble, as he is wont to do these days, and now he’s told them everything short of the important thing, and he doesn’t want to tell them the important thing, because it’s nothing to do with them, really; but if he doesn’t they won’t understand why he doesn’t feel the necessity to see Hermione anymore …
Fuck, I’m an idiot.
‘What was the girl like, Ron?’ asks Ginny quietly, jolting him out of his inner panic and back into The Burrow’s kitchen.
‘She …’ he starts. He feels an unexpected and largely unhelpful grin tug at the corner of his mouth. ‘She was - lovely. Had a tiny bit of a Geordie accent.’
‘Geordies come from Newcastle, not Ambleside.’
‘Shut up, George,’ Ginny says again. ‘Ambleside … That’s up north, isn’t it?’
‘The Lake District,’ says George. ‘I’ve been on holiday there with Angelina and the kids, remember, a few years ago? Lots of mountains. We even spent a day in Ambleside ... It’s about as north as you can go before hitting Scotland. Closer to Hogwarts than here.’
Ginny blows out her breath. ‘So Hermione’s married?’
Ron shakes his head. ‘No.’
‘Not at all? What about the girl’s father?’
‘He … didn’t seem to be around,’ Ron says carefully. ‘They seemed to live alone.’
Ginny’s eyes are far away. ‘How old was the girl?’
It’s now or never. He takes a breath far larger than necessary for the one word he is about to utter. ‘Fifteen.’
‘Fifteen?’ Ginny cries. ‘But you - you said - you made it sound like she was eleven! Fifteen?’ She leaps out of her seat. ‘That means - that means she would’ve had her only three years after she left!’
‘That - that doesn’t make much difference,’ Ron says quickly, ‘fifteen’s only four years older than an eleven-year-old, and you’ve got one of those yourself -’
‘That’s different - I was twenty-four when I had James, and the war had been over seven years, and I was married to someone I’d known for - she would have been twenty! Or, or, I mean, twenty-one - but still! That’s a big difference -’
‘Ginny, sit down -’
‘But what if - what if the father’s someone we know?’
‘Like who?’ demands George, saving Ron from answering, which is a good thing, because he thinks if he tried to speak right now he would probably be sick. ‘Ginny, she’s practically been in hiding for twenty years. I think it’s pretty unlikely she’s been shacked up with Justin Finch-Fletchley.’
‘Oh … I suppose you’re right,’ she says, deflating a little. She runs a hand through her hair. ‘So … she wasn’t there?’
‘No,’ says Ron. ‘I only spoke to Daphne - the daughter. She said … She said Hermione’s at work till Tuesday.’
Ginny starts to pace the room. Ron wishes she wouldn’t. ‘So she doesn’t know we’ve found her …’ she muses.
‘Well, she will by Tuesday,’ puts in George. ‘I doubt Ron was that subtle in his questioning.’
‘No -’ says Ron with a start. ‘No, I - I asked her to keep it a secret.’
‘Oh, excellent, Ron,’ says Ginny, stopping her pacing. ‘She probably thinks you’re a paedophile. Brilliant. We’ll be lucky if the Muggle policemen don’t come knocking.’
‘I told her to not tell her mum so I could surprise her,’ says Ron. ‘I think she believed me.’
George makes a might work expression and shrugs; Ginny bites her lip. ‘Why didn’t you Obliviate her?’ asks Ginny.
‘Um,’ says Ron. The truth is that it didn’t occur to him. ‘Well, she’s not a child, if she’d fought back - I don’t think all things considered a duel would have been appropriate -’
‘It is also illegal to Obliviate another magical person without just cause,’ puts in George. ‘Which begs the question of how Harry Potter is running his department if his wife doesn’t know this -’
‘Yes, but -’ Ginny stops. ‘I know it’s wrong, but in all honesty, I might have done it anyway. You’ve been looking for Hermione for so long, you wouldn’t want her to get tipped off now and vanish before -’
‘Honestly,’ says Ron, ‘it didn’t occur to me. It wasn’t like that. It wasn’t an interrogation. It was just a ... chat.’
They look at each other. ‘So, what are we going to do?’ asks Ginny.
‘Do?’ asks Ron.
‘I think the best thing is to go and see her,’ says Ginny. ‘I’ll owl Harry right now -’
‘What - no!’ cries Ron.
‘What?’
‘We can’t …’ stutters Ron. ‘We can’t go to France.’
‘Why on earth not?’
‘Because -’
‘He has a point,’ says George. ‘It might be better if we wait till she’s back on home turf.’
‘No, that’s not what I mean! I mean -’
‘Ron, are you all right?’ asks George.
‘Of course he’s not all right!’ snaps Ginny. ‘Are you?’
‘No, I’m bloody well not,’ says Ron.
Ginny looks at him half-pityingly and half-expectantly.
‘I just …’ Think. ‘I’m … It’s a bit … overwhelming. Couldn’t we … leave it a few days?’
‘But -’
‘Please, Ginny.’
Her excited eyes meet his tired ones. ‘You want some time to think about it?’
‘Yeah.’ He swallows. ‘Yeah, that would be good.’
She nods. ‘All right, then. How about we leave it till next week?’
‘Thanks,’ he says, giving her a grateful smile.
‘So do you want to owl Harry or should I?’
‘No, I don’t think …’ If there’s one person it’s harder for Ron to lie to than Ginny these days, it’s Harry. ‘Ginny, don’t. Not yet.’
Both Ginny and George stare at him.
‘Couldn’t we … leave that a couple of days, as well?’
‘Wait, that’s a good point,’ says George, brow furrowed, and Ron wonders if he does in fact have a guardian angel. ‘Isn’t he on a mission?’
‘Well, I don’t know what he’s been telling you,’ says Ginny, ‘but he’s at a conference in Milan. He’s not supposed to come home till Saturday night, but all the important stuff was at the beginning of the week, so he could probably get away with leaving two days early … Maybe if we said James is sick -’
‘Why would he tell me he was on a mission?’ asks George, affronted.
‘Probably because the last conference he went to you sent him a dancing Howler?’
‘Oh, yeah,’ says George, an internal glow lighting up his face momentarily. ‘Good times.’
‘Ginny -’ Ron starts.
‘Ron … Is there anything else you want to tell us?’ asks Ginny abruptly.
‘Why?’ he squeaks.
‘Because …’ she says slowly; his blood freezes. ‘Because you’re acting very odd. This is Hermione, right? We’re pretty sure?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then … why aren’t you dancing round the garden naked?’
‘Don’t put ideas in his head.’
‘Ron …’ Ginny says again, ignoring George. ‘Did you find out the reason she left?’
Lie, Weasley. Lie for your life. ‘No, I didn’t … I …’ He takes a noticeably deep breath. ‘All right, if you must know, I’m kind of … scared about that. I ... yeah. I don’t really want to know the truth anymore. Happy now?’
Her lips twitch and he realizes she’s smiling sadly: he breathes again. ‘Oh, Ron,’ she says. ‘All right. Here’s what we’re going to do. We’ll forget about it for the weekend, OK? No breathing a word to anyone. We’ll have a nice Sunday lunch - you’re still coming to that, aren’t you?’ she asks suddenly with her steely organizer’s eyes, and he nods hastily. ‘And then I’ll - do you want to tell Harry?’ Ron shakes his head. ‘Fine, I’ll tell Harry on Monday morning - he has a day off - and then we’ll all sit down and work out what we’re going to do. OK? George?’
‘Sounds like a plan, sis.’
‘OK then,’ Ron says, trying to smile.
Brilliant, he thinks. Only three days to get Ginny and George to forget this conversation ever happened.
Index || Part I || Part II || Part III || Part IV || Part V || Part VI || Part VII || Part VIII
Notes: If you want to see when new chapters are posted, feel free to watch this journal (kissesforcrises). You can also receive emails when a new chapter is uploaded - just click here and choose to track the tag {fic: apple crumble apple tart}.