Trouble In Paradise
--a *Harry
Potter* fanfic by AngieJ (also known as Ebony Elizabeth)
DISCLAIMER: No magical creatures were harmed during the writing, proofing
and posting of this fic... oops, wrong disclaimer... J.K. Rowling owns everything
and everyone you recognize.
A/N: Special thanks to all those who reviewed Chapter 1! Personalized
“shouts out” are at the end of the chapter. :) Draco and some
of your other favorites from the canon will be featured in future chapters.
I don’t care for fics with lots of original characters (PoU is the notable
exception), so I’m using as few of them as possible in this series.
***However, I am looking for a female Ron fanatic to be featured in a recurring
cameo. Let me know in your review if you’d be interested, and leave
your e-mail addy.***
I was floored by the fact that so many of you are convinced that either
Draco or Harry is the father of Hermione’s child. I’m amused—been watching
too many trashy talk shows, have you? :) Stay tuned.
----------------------------------------------------
WARNING: This fic begins on Christmas Day 2008, ten years after the
Hogwarts canon is scheduled to end. All of the characters you recognize
from the canon are now adults and will behave accordingly. That this
fic contains adult themes goes without saying.
Also (I repeat), this is not shipper fic per se. While I do have a
definite ship preference, this fic is not R/H or H/H or D/H or D/G or anything
else... yet.
----------------------------------------------------
Trouble In Paradise
Chapter Two – From Bad To Worse
“Mummy,” Malinda asked much later that Christmas evening, “may I ask something?”
“Certainly.”
“Doesn’t Aunt Hermione love Uncle Ron any more?”
Now, I’ll be the first to admit that we witches and wizards can be a fractious
bunch. Like Muggles, we have our values and mores, our pet peeves and
unfortunate prejudices. Like Muggles, we have our saints and our heroes,
our villains and our charlatans. The legacy of the Second Voldemort
War, and the historical lesson that we teach our children, is that those of
us within the wizarding world are just as human as those outside of it...
and those of us born to those outside of it.
Unlike Muggles, however, when all is said and done there are certain things
that each and every one of us accepts as indisputable fact.
All mail--letters and parcels--are delivered by owl post. Full stop.
Hogwarts is the school for magical children in the United Kingdom.
Slytherins are either all nasty or all misunderstood, depending on your
perspective.
Seekers have the most fun.
Albus Dumbledore was the greatest wizard of our time.
Harry Potter is the Boy Who Lived.
And Ron and Hermione are the model couple.
These are the pillars upon which our magical world is situated. At
least, the magical world as I, Angelina Weasley, know it.
How, then, should I answer my baby daughter’s question? Before the
events of this evening, if something so preposterous had come out of my child’s
mouth, I’d have been rushing her to Dr. Hermione herself for a check-up.
But the fact that there was trouble in what we’d all thought was paradise
was now so plain that even my four year old could discern it.
We were now at home. I was both rocking her to sleep and waiting up
for Fred. After she left the bathroom, Hermione had said a curt goodbye
to everyone and Apparated away. Ron had followed her almost immediately,
but returned within a few minutes with the disturbing news that she was not
at home. Where in the world had she gone?
Even more disturbing was Ron’s insistence that none of us immediately turn
over every rock and stone in England (including those at Stonehenge) searching
for any trace of her.
His brothers had demanded to know what was going on and would not be dissuaded.
The six of them ended up in Percy’s room behind a shut door. I suspect
that someone had put a Soundproofing Charm around the room... none of our
attempts at eavesdropping were successful. When they had not emerged
after an hour, Penelope, Liz, and I decided it was time to put the younger
kids to bed. After we all hugged Molly and Arthur, wishing them a Merry
Christmas, we left. The unspoken understanding was that we would all
know something as soon as that bedroom door opened and our men arrived at
home.
That was hours ago. It was now dark, and Malinda was almost asleep.
So was I...
“Mummy, you haven’t answered me. I want to know if Aunt Hermione still
loves Uncle Ron.”
“I don’t know.”
“I want them to be in love with each other again. I don’t want them
to be sad. Not being in love makes them sad. Doesn’t it, Mummy?”
Out of the mouths of babes. “I suppose so.”
“Will you stop loving Dad, then?”
I laughed. “Of course not. However did you get such a silly
idea, Malinda?”
“If Aunt Hermione doesn’t love Uncle Ron anymore, maybe all of you will
stop loving each other. Maybe all of you will stop loving me.”
She began to cry.
“Oh, Malinda, don’t be ridiculous. No matter what happens with Aunt
Hermione and Uncle Ron, they will always love you and your cousins.
Always.” Where in the world was Fred when I needed him? A little
humor was definitely in order. The evening we’d just experienced left
me feeling rather as if someone had just died.
“Do you promise, Mummy?” Small cafe-au-lait fists rubbed at drowsy, tear-filled
hazel eyes. “That they’ll always love me, I mean?”
I kissed her tiny cheek. “No one could help loving you, little one.
I know I couldn’t.”
As I tucked her into bed and then sat up to wait on Fred, I thought about
that. More than Hermione knew, I understood a bit of what she was going
through. The first few years of my marriage were very difficult.
It was one thing to date a man who never took anything seriously. It
was quite another to try to build a life with him.
By the time I’d conceived Malinda, we were in huge trouble. Mind,
I’m not one of those simpering witches who is too timid to let my man know
when he’s wrong. My mum Linda says I’m as headstrong as my father was.
Since the few memories I have of Mark Johnson are very faint, I’ve always
taken her word for it.
Fred, being Fred, felt as if I’d changed. “You’re not the girl I married,
Angelina,” he would complain testily. “Where’s the fun in you?”
“You’re not the man I thought you were, Fred,” I would snap right back.
“Where’s the responsibility in you?”
At one point, he was threatening to move back to the Burrow or to Hogsmeade
with George. I told him in no uncertain terms that I’d be happy to help
him pack.
Although he never followed through with his threats to move out, there remained
a distance between us during the first few months of my pregnancy. We
treated each other with strained cordiality. We didn’t share a room.
I didn’t complain about him rampaging across England with his equally irresponsible
twin or leaving clothes all over the place. In return, he didn’t comment
on my quick temper or the fact that I’m not Molly Weasley in the kitchen.
In other words, we went from being a happily married couple to roommates.
Roommates who could barely stand the sight of one another. Oh, yes...
I knew something of what Hermione might be going through.
But then... I almost lost our baby. And in the process, almost died
myself.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen Fred so afraid, not even when Death Eaters
breached Dumbledore’s wards at Hogwarts during our last year and began to
murder students walking the corridors alone or even in small groups in cold
blood. The historians call the first year of the war the Scourge.
And that was just the beginning...
At a time when we were all terrified of our own shadows, Fred and George
still could somehow squeeze out laughter from the corners of the Gryffindor
common room. I couldn’t tell you the exact day, but I’m sure that sometime
during that hellish year I realized that I felt something more than friendship
for my old Quidditch teammate.
Somehow, I thought of that as I lay in that hospital bed. It was then
that I realized the same man who was clutching my hand in desperation was
the same man I fell in love with all those years ago.
“Angel, you must pull through this. You’ve got to pull through, love...”
Feverish as I was, I could tell there was no laughter in his eyes. “I
can’t live without you.”
“You have George,” I’d managed to rasp. “You’ll do just fine.”
“George is my twin, my flesh and blood. True enough. But you’re
in my blood, aren’t you? Angel, I... I’m not like some blokes that can
just say all sorts of flowery things off the top of their heads. Blowing
a lot of hot air... that’s not me and you know it. But you’ve got to
know that you’re my heart... and a man can’t live without his heart, now
can he? So get well.”
I did. Three months later, Malinda was born. And we’ve been
fine ever since.
Bending down, I kissed my sleeping child’s forehead. Then I pulled
my wand from the shelf and charmed her baby blue blanket to a nice toasty
warmth. She smiled in her sleep. Yes... there was no way in the
world that I could help loving her.
Going back to the rocking chair, I thought of my sister-in-law. Hoping
that she was just experiencing a rough time in her marriage, and that she
and Ron would be able to pull through as well as we did.
*************
I don’t remember going to sleep that night. I didn’t know I had dozed
off until I heard the voices.
“Draco certainly looked smug when he told us he had no idea where Hermione
was... well, at least more smug than usual, and that’s saying something.”
Fred was finally home. I stretched and yawned, glancing at the clocks
on the fireplace mantel... all three hands were on “home”. The Muggle
LCD glared 3:00 a.m. at me.
It’s no longer Christmas, I thought. And thank heavens for that, after
such a one as we’ve just had.
I made my way to the kitchen to find out what was going on. Ron was
still raging when I entered and didn’t even acknowledge me. I sat down
next to Fred and folded my arms.
“That bastard... if he’s so much as touched a hair on her head, I’ll...
he was laughing at me, Fred!”
“That’s because it was damned funny. You were acting like an idiot,
Ron. You don’t just burst in on your business partner and accuse him
of seducing your wife. Not exactly fostering corporate teamwork, there...
Angel, bring Ron a shot of Ogden’s Old Firewhiskey, will you love? And God
knows I could use a nightcap... you know what I like.”
The wine closet was right in the walk-in pantry. I took out two glasses
and soon returned to the table with Ron’s whiskey and Fred’s highball.
“Let me guess,” I said slowly. “Hermione still hasn’t turned up.
She’s been gone for hours, and no one knows where she is. Don’t you
think it’s time to file a missing persons report with the Ministry?”
“And have it splashed all over the morning headlines of the Prophet?” Ron
scoffed. “No thank you, Angelina. Dad’s owled Harry and Sirius,
Hagrid, Lupin... well, practically everyone in the old crowd. We’ll
find her if she wants to be found.”
Fred and I looked at each other. Wants to be found?
“You know,” he continued, almost to himself, “I never thought she’d do this
to me. After all this time. Not Hermione.”
Changing the subject, I said, “So that’s why we couldn’t hear you through
the door... you’d all Apparated to go look for her. Where did you check?”
“Well, some of the places were obvious,” said Fred. “St. Mungo’s,
the Hogwarts infirmary, Paracelsus Hospital, and the private office space
in Diagon Alley she shares with Neville Longbottom were the first spots we
checked. We also went to all of the Muggle hospitals she works out
of... Great Ormond Street Children’s, Parkside, some others... we couldn’t
exactly Apparate into the emergency rooms, so that took a bit longer...”
Ron broke into Fred’s list. “And then there were the not-so-obvious
places.”
Fred groaned. “Ron, shut it, will you? You’re making a big deal
out of nothing.”
“Have you ever known Neville to lie, about anything? Ever?”
Ron had a good point. “He says he saw them, Fred... just last week
at Florean Fortescu’s... laughing, talking... sharing the same bowl of ice
cream!”
“Oh, come on, Ron! The three of you had closed a business transaction
worth millions of Galleons and who knows how much in Muggle funds. Perhaps
they were talking that over. Besides, sharing a sundae and sharing
a bed aren’t exactly the same thing...” Fred trailed off as he caught the
gleam in my eye and remembered an occasion or two. “Well, I’d say not
for most people. Especially if plastic linens aren’t involved.”
We both grinned innocuously. Ron looked rather shell shocked.
“That was so much more than I needed to know,” he groaned. “Thanks
for sharing.”
“Oh, the pleasure was ours,” I replied sweetly. “The look on your
face was priceless.”
“Let’s get back to the issue at hand,” Ron said, sounding more like Percy
than he perhaps intended. “This is not about you and Angelina.
It’s about me. And Hermione, for that matter. Fred, how can I
trust her when she’s trying her best to make me out to be a stupid prat who
can’t see the forest for the trees?”
“And doesn’t have to try very hard, either...” Fred muttered.
Ron was reaching the end of his rope. “You know, if you hadn’t turned
Percy into a cardinal, I would have gone searching with him instead.
I should have known better than to expect sympathy from a man whose idea of
a good time is dropping Dungbombs off London Bridge and onto unsuspecting
Muggle boaters.”
With that, Ron pounded the table with his fist and sent the shot glass flying
like a crystal Snitch. It flew across the room, ricocheted off several
cabinets, and broke into a million tiny shards as it hit the floor.
“Damn,” my brother-in-law muttered, flipping his wand out of his cloak pocket.
“Reparo.”
“So what is it, then? You think Hermione’s having an affair with Draco
Malfoy?” I couldn’t even keep a straight face through the whole statement.
By the time I reached “Malfoy”, I’d dissolved into a chortle of disbelief.
“Oh, Ron, don’t be ridiculous!”
Ron looked as if he’d lost his last friend.
“All the signs are there.”
“Dragonshit, Ron!” Fred looked and sounded very annoyed. “All those
signs you speak of are smoke and mirrors. You’re believing exactly what
you want to believe, and I must say that I’m sorry for Hermione if you think
the woman you’ve been in love with for more than half your life would ever
do anything that slimy.”
Before an argument ensued that would wake my sleeping child up, I cut in.
“You know what I think, as a woman myself? You aren’t spending enough
time with Hermione. You’re busy traveling all over the world playing
Quidditch, and she’s always on call. Neither of you have let your hair
down very often since your honeymoon. That was over five years ago.
It’s easy to imagine all sorts of weird things when you aren’t spending any
time together.”
“That’s exactly what we were all telling him, Angel. If he had his
wits about him, he’d follow Charlie’s and Perce’s advice. Take
a season off from the League, ask Hermione to take a long holiday from her
practice, find a half-deserted tropical island, and work on your marriage.
Sex when you’re making up is second only to break-up sex in its degree of
satisfaction. Trust me on that one.”
Ron’s blue eyes were a deeper shade than Fred’s, a clear cerulean that twinkled
like a star-studded midnight sky. But now his pupils contracted, hooding
his eyes so that all of a sudden he seemed very far away from us.
“If only things were that simple,” he muttered. “You know what?
For all the spells and magic tricks and magical principles we wizards have
invented and conjured up and lived by over the millennia, it’s rather strange
that none of us have ever managed to answer the most important question of
them all.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“How to mend a broken heart as well as we can mend broken glasses.”
Fred and I didn’t reply. Ron shrugged, then picked up the shot glass
and headed for the Ogden’s bottle on the counter.
*************
We put Ron into the guest room for what remained of the night. I’d
thought that he would want to go home in case Hermione turned up, but he said
he’d go over first thing in the morning.
Fred shrugged as he closed the door on his snoring brother. “Out like
a light. Old Firewhiskey will do it every time... come, love, let’s
go to bed.”
I stretched and stood up. “What about Ron and Hermione? He didn’t
tell all just now, did he?”
He shook his head. Once we’d gotten on our nightclothes and were settled
comfortably in for the night, Fred began.
“It’s the biggest mess, Angel. Not only does Ron suspect that Hermione’s
cheating, according to him Hermione has somehow gotten a bug into her head
about Ron being unfaithful to her.”
I looked up into my husband’s ever-mirthful blue eyes... no. He was
being dead serious this time.
“Fred Weasley, you have got to be kidding. Ron would never do that.
Although he’d never admit it, he worships the ground Hermione walks on.
Besides, I’ve never known any of you Weasley men to be such scoundrels...”
“You should talk to Fleur.”
“If Bill cheated on Fleur, she deserved every bit of what she got.
Wasn’t she on her third lover by the time they split up?”
“Fourth,” Fred muttered. “Ink wasn’t even dry on the divorce parchments
before the wench remarried. Didn’t even know satyr-human marriages were
legal at the time.”
“Fleur’s never been one to care much about tradition. As for the legalities,
it didn’t matter much... they didn’t even last a year. Or so Penelope
tells me.” I snuggled into his chest. It was growing more and
more barrel-like by the year. He didn’t know it yet, but he would be
going on a diet very soon. “So tell me. Can this marriage be saved?”
“He doesn’t know, and none of us could come to a consensus. You witches
are frustrating creatures. Beautiful, but frustrating. It’s hard
for your everyday wizard to squeeze inside of your heads. We’ll
all just have to wait and see, and stay out of it as much as we can.”
He sighed. “It’s too bad, though. It’s really too bad.”
“I imagine that everything he’s tried seems to push her farther away.”
“Sort of like what we went through a few years back, isn’t it?”
I sighed. “Fred, I’m not sure that they’ve just run upon a little
snag. Getting used to one another’s quirks and habits is one thing.
Cheating is quite another. Remember right after the war, when we first
started seriously dating...”
“Come now, Angel, do you think serious is a word that could describe either
of us? Back then, now, or ever?”
“...exclusively dating, then, and you thought Lee and I had something going
on?”
“I had a bad time of it, didn’t I?” he asked, chuckling. “But you
two did seem to be glued at the hip...”
“Oh, shut it. Lee was announcing for the WWN, and I had to report
on the games. We were both doing our jobs. It was completely
innocent.”
“You didn’t have to sit next to him every time, did you? And he’s
always fancied you in a way... used to announce to all of Hogwarts that you
were attractive even with McGonagall breathing down his neck during the games.”
“Please. Alicia would have had my head if she even thought her man
was looking at me sideways. And as for our Hogwarts days, I spent a
great deal of them thinking you were a silly, attention-seeking cad.
Remember, you used to flirt with all three of us...” I trailed off.
There weren’t three of us anymore. Thinking of Katie always caused a
strange lump to form in my throat.
“You’d give anything to have those days back, wouldn’t you?” he asked.
“Back before the war, I mean?”
I didn’t reply. The answer was obvious. He grew quiet.
Within a few moments, the nightcap at last overcame the adrenaline and he
fell fast asleep.
As tired as I was, I couldn’t. My husband had brought up a very compelling
idea. What if everything could be the way it was when we were children?
Before the war... before the loss... before the pain...
After contemplating it a bit, I decided that it wouldn’t be enough.
For we had all played and schemed and fought and dreamed in Voldemort’s towering
shadow as children.
We knew something too terrible to speak of had happened to our parents’
generation when we were too young to remember, and somehow we knew that the
evil that had almost prevailed was still with us. Growing stronger.
Biding its time. When Dumbledore had announced its full-fledged return
during the chaotic aftermath of the Triwizard Tournament, none of us with
any sense were very surprised.
That’s when we all ceased to be fully children, even the first years.
As we grieved for Cedric—handsome, brave, wonderful Cedric—I remember Katie
squeezing my hand tightly. For in the beginning, my name had been in
the Goblet of Fire too.
Only thing was, I wasn’t chosen to die.
If I could be a child again, I’d want that childhood to be spent in a magical
world much different than the one I knew.
A world where wizards weren’t judged because of who their parents were,
but because of what they themselves were.
A world where children weren’t terrified of shadows that their imaginations
shaped into Dark Marks, and Death Eaters didn’t creep into their nightmares.
A world where people like James and Lily Potter, Frank and Amelia Longbottom,
the McKinnons, the Bones, and... and Mark Johnson could grow old gracefully
and with smiles.
A world where Harry Potter would have been the Boy Who Lived, but that fact
wouldn’t have held any special significance... for in this world, he would
have had no scar.
A world where Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger were forever going back and
forth good-naturedly, forever in young... and forever in love.
I rolled over and closed my eyes.
Too bad, really, that such a perfect world doesn’t exist... and never did.
**************
The letter came the next morning as I was preparing a late breakfast.
There were shouts and squeals from the backyard; Fred and Ron were taking
turns flying with Malinda in the ten-acre wood behind our home on the outskirts
of London. My nerves were always bad whenever they did this... we lived
in a Muggle subdivision, and though our neighbors were friendly I’m
sure we were sometimes the topic of dinnertime conversation.
When the tapping sounded at the window, I looked up from the toast I was
piling onto a tray. There hovered a strange owl. She had a letter
tied to her leg and was desperately trying to break the glass of my kitchen
window with her beak. I opened it and got the post, then sent her off
with a bite of toast.
The letter was addressed to Ron, in neat script that I presumed was Hermione’s
handwriting. Very different from her usual doctor’s scrawl. I
also wondered why Circe, Hermione’s great horned owl, hadn’t made the delivery.
Though I would have dearly loved to snoop (again, stepping out of the sister-in-law
role and slipping on my reporter’s hat), I determined that it was really none
of my business. Even if I did know a couple of handy spells that would
have aided in concealing my nosiness. The Daily Prophet may be a legitimate
wizarding publication, but they never ask questions about how we got our
stories and rarely investigate our sources... the Rita Skeeter articles in
the year leading up to the war were a case in point.
I had barely placed the envelope under Ron’s plate when the doorbell rang.
“You have company,” it sang.
Wiping my hands off on a towel, I asked, “Who is it?”
“It looks like Harry Potter,” the doorbell crooned. “But you never
can tell these days.”
“Oh!” I exclaimed, tossing the towel on the counter and going to the front
to let him in.
Harry looked as if he hadn’t slept a wink all night. His bright green
eyes had bags under them and his glasses were clouded.
“Hi, Angelina. How is everyone? Fred? Malinda?”
“They’re both fine, Harry... won’t you come in?” Under his hood, his
pale face showed the beginnings of a tan, but the rest of his tall, lean frame
was completely hidden by volumnious black robes and a green cloak. “Kind
of heavy clothing for the South Pacific, isn’t it?”
“Actually, according to Lupin we’ve beat an incoming snowstorm by a half
hour... just look at the sky. From the looks of it, it wasn’t a white
Christmas, so I suppose a white Boxing Day will have to do.”
I took his cloak and led him into the kitchen. He flopped into the
chair I indicated, obviously exhausted.
“Where’s Ron?”
“Outside with Fred and Malinda. Doing their usual mock-Quidditch bit.”
He yawned. “Still talks of nothing else, does she? How’s your
physical therapy going?”
“It’s coming along. Neville says I should be able to fly to Diagon
Alley by next year, though he advises that I always take someone with me just
in case. Though he tells me I mustn’t get my hopes up... the odds were
that I’d never fly again. It’s taken me the better part of a decade
to come this far.”
“Well, even if you never play Quidditch for England, your daughter seems
as if she’s gotten a good start in that direction,” he laughed. “Did
she enjoy the Wasps Quidditch robes I gave her?”
“She’s wearing them now. At least they aren’t the horrid yellow-and-black
things they were in the nineties. Remember Bagman strutting about at
the World Cup? Cool green with a nifty wasp logo suits so much better.”
I began putting platters of eggs and bacon at the center of the table.
“So... have you located Hermione?”
“Yes.”
The ensuing silence did not invite any more questions.
Fortunately, a moment later Fred, Ron, and Malinda tramped in, laughing
and breathless. The beginnings of the snowstorm had just howled in,
and they were merrily tracking it into the house.
“Uncle Harry!” Malinda shouted. “Look, I have my Wasps robes on today!”
“I see!” he said, lifting her onto his knee. “I’m glad you liked them.”
“I loved them! And Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione gave me a Cho Chang
doll, too... want to see it?”
Harry said that he did, and Malinda raced off to get it.
Then he turned to Fred and Ron.
“I found her.”
“Good,” Fred said.
“Where?” Ron asked.
He shook his head. “That doesn’t matter.”
“Like hell it doesn’t, Harry! Did you read the entire letter I sent
on Christmas Eve, or just bits?”
He chuckled to himself, but there was little humor in it. “I did.
I just decided not to take it seriously.”
“You haven’t been here,” he murmured.
“Yeah, maybe not. But you shouldn’t even have to ask a question like
that, Ron. Not of Hermione. She may be your wife, but she’s also
our dearest friend. Faithfulness is as much part of her as that bushy
brown hair of hers is. She would never do that to you. Never.”
“You know, Harry,” Fred said before Ron could answer, “inquiring minds would
really like to know why Hermione had us all playing hide-and-go-seek at such
an ungodly hour last night instead of being snug in our beds. And on
Christmas, no less.”
“She needed someone to talk to,” Harry replied. “So she went to a
friend.”
“A friend like who?” Ron snarled.
He shrugged. “All right, then. She was with me.”
“The hell she was, Harry! You were still in Tahiti... she was here!
Who are you lying to protect? Would it be Draco Malfoy?”
Harry looked at Ron as if his best friend had just exploded a Power Powder
Parcel and subsequently sprouted scales.
Fred chortled. “Now you’ve gotten completely ridiculous, Ron.
Is Harry Potter likely to lie to cover Draco Malfoy’s arse? As much
as our dealings with the surviving Malfoys have changed, I didn’t think that
much had. Have I missed something?”
Harry was still staring at Ron.
“Hermione loves you,” he said quietly. “She desperately wants to make
things right between the two of you. Open your eyes, Ron, or you’ll
end up losing the best thing that ever happened to you. A lot of men
would kill to have what you’re taking for granted.”
At that point, Malinda ran back in with mini-Cho Chang, effectively ending
the conversation. We all made a valiant attempt to scarf down breakfast,
though I think only Malinda ate a normal amount.
When I went to clear away the plates, Ron saw the letter for the first time.
“Oh, that arrived for you earlier this morning,” I said. “I tucked
it under your plate and forgot all about it.”
Ron used a butter-knife to slice it open. A pale pink slip of parchment
fell onto the table. He picked it up and began to read. Then he
folded it again and tucked it into the inside pocket of his robes.
“What is it?” Harry asked.
Ron looked down at the table. His ears turned red.
“Hermione doesn’t want me to come home.” He paused, taking a deep
breath. “She’s saying we should separate for a while to settle our
differences.”
---to be continued---
(A/N: The plot thickens... at this point, you shouldn’t be sure who’s
telling the truth... I sure don’t know, which is probably not a good thing
seeing as I’m the author. In the next part, Hermione finally tells her
side of the story (in a way), Ginny returns, Draco makes his TIP debut, Percy
molts, Power Powder Parcels go on the market, and more. In a word:
mayhem. Gotta love it, eh? ;)
As always, I couldn’t do this without some special people. First,
Carole, Penny, Heidi, Michelle and Pippin are the best beta-readers a girl
could have... and all are excellent fic writers themselves. Their aliases
are on my home page. Cassandra Claire continues to offer excellent advice
as always and put me on her favorites page hours after I posted... I’m thrilled!
Carole’s been serving as a collaborator and image consultant for the entire
project... you go, girl! :) And the HP4GU egroup once again came
through for me with the list of “Truths in the Wizarding World”... special
thanks to Storm and Pippin.
Special thanks to the following saints and sinners who reviewed Chapter
One, “Christmas With The Weasleys”:
Vicki Granger (glad you got the joke!), Hermione Potter, George Weasley’s
Girlfriend (GMTA), Static (more Weasleys to come), Dadgrid (thanks for noticin’
me), Al (yup, first person’s difficult), Tigger (thanks a million), Krystan
(who has good taste in ships :)), hermione potter (did you review twice?),
Laurie (my fellow LMM fic writer!), Starling (one of the best artists in the
fandom likes my work! Yay!), B Bennett (Ron had a reason for doing that...
stay tuned), Karina (that’s the method to my madness, all right), AndreaBonfanti
(I like JKR’s characters better than originals too...), Heidi Tandy (wow—thanks
for the beta-read, and Stonehenge!), Jenn (thanks), Princess Taranda (nothing
wrong with it? thanks!), AngieJ (I reviewed my own fic! Geez...),
Ron’s Babe (how do you know the baby’s not Ron’s? :)), Moriel (fellow Gred
and Forge fan), Amanita LeStrange (my beta-reader/proofreader extraordinaire
Pippin’s disguise... Greensleeves is “da bomb”—you have good taste!), Cassandra
Claire (my girl! fellow Leo, same birth year... and one of the most
popular writers in the fandom reviews my fic... what a great omen!), Matrix14
(this chapter’s two pages shorter ;)), Mo (that’s the reasoning behind outside
narration), Another Muggle (thanks for the dinner, chap!), Rave (another cool
artist reviewed my fic! Thanks!), Minizzer (thanks—I’ve loved your
fics for months!), Portia (stay tuned), Jodie (thanks), HGW (hope you liked
this installment), Voicelady (I rather like Gryffin and Rave myself...), Morgana
la Fay (hope this chapter answers some questions), Amethyst (thanks for the
early review!), Megan (I’m not too good at happily ever afters, eh? ;)),
and last but not least FirenzeFire (my first reviewer, ever! And also
a good fic writer).
Until next time, so long, and thanks for all the fish! :-P