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hillnerd · 2 years

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Waking Up- Chapter 9

AO3 FFN Beginning of story | Previous Chapter

word count 8276 Many thanks to the amazing @abradystrix for betaing!

Previously in Waking Up:

Ron aces his Combat Readiness Exam #1- Duelling - he does not see it that way. He meets other Auror recruits- it does not go well with Ramona Higgins.

During the Auror exam he was taunted with 'I'll torture Hermione' and realizes he told no one about her- and assumes they found this out from his therapist, Aarti.

He's incorrect and finds out he's quite famous and his accusations were spurious.

He's convinced he's going to be failed now for his actions.

He has a lovely smutty time with Hermione, but is still not telling her about the Aurors

he later tells Harry about CRE #1 before trying to sleep- can't- so he heads downstairs to keep watch

Chapter warnings: cursing, intense therapy session, unpacking trauma anxiety and negative self-talk, allusions to violence and trauma, crying and vomit mention

CHAPTER 9 - ANOTHER ROUND

“Ron?”

He felt a nudge in his side.

“Hmm?”

“Ron, dear. You fell asleep on the sofa. Do you want to stay here or go back to bed?”

“Huh?”

He opened one eye and saw his mum standing over him.

“Are you doing alright?” she asked, sitting at the foot of the couch. She was right next to his shins, as his feet hung off the sofa by half a foot.

“M’ok,” he said, unable to meet her eyes. “How ‘bout you, Mum?”

“Oh, I’m fine, dear,” she replied with the wane smile she’d plastered on so much the last few years.

He thought back to the other morning with the paper she’d tossed into the fire.

“Mum? Have you… Er— Have you been reading the papers? Seen the photos from Fred’s—”

Her expression turned immediately wrathful.

“I’m assuming you have now too?” she asked.

Ron nodded. “Have you and Dad been keeping the papers away from us?”

She didn’t bother to look guilty, which he was grateful for. His mum had few ways to protect her kids anymore— he might as well let her have this.

“Those people are- are— it’s just incredible that they think doing something like writing gossip using funeral pictures is remotely appropriate! I ought to hex every single publisher!” she groused, before turning a worried brow his way. “How long have you known?”

“Since yesterday.”

“Oh, I knew your father and I shouldn’t have left! The moment I do then—”

“I found out at the Ministry.”

She made a ‘tcha’ at the back of her throat. “We wanted to tell you when things were a bit calmer.”

“I don’t mind. I told Hermione too. We’re both fine,” he assured her, sitting up to pat her hand. “Bit miffed with the news of course, but what’s new?”

“They weren’t all bad. There were some lovely articles praising you that I kept.”

“Oh yeah?”

“If there’s one good thing from all this, it’s that people are giving your due praise for your part in things.”

“That’s what Hermione said.” Ron gave a small smile before yawning, “Whatime’sit?”

“About half past eight?”

“Oh shit!” Ron blurted, ignoring his mother’s admonition for cursing. He ran up the stairs, not caring if he made a terrible clatter, and flung his door open.

Harry sat up with a, “Wha’sgoin’on?” as Ron frantically changed clothes.

“Fucking late for fucking Aarti,” he said, hopping to get his jeans on while looking for his second trainer. “Where the fuck is my other fucking shoe? With the sodding lines at the fucking Ministry I’m going to be— FUCK!”

Ron gave a growl as he tossed his mattress up to see under his bed, spilling the contents of his bedside table across the floor.

He gave a yelp as Harry poked him in the knee with the missing shoes. With a muttered thanks he frantically jammed his feet into his trainers, not bothering to tie them.

“Fuck-fuck-fuck!” he cursed under his breath as he ran down the stairs.

“Ron? Where are you—“ asked a bleary-eyed Hermione, hair ruffled as she blinked at him from her bedroom door.

“Late for a workout,” Rom supplied, before pausing. She looked so cute when she was mussed like that. Should he tell her more so she wouldn’t worry? Make a better excuse? He didn’t have time, though. He settled for kissing her forehead before he ran down the stairs and Flooed to the Ministry.

The Ministry halls looked just the same as they had the day before. They certainly didn’t feel the same. Now he could sense the impact of fame.

People’s eyes would be trained on their paper, only to glance at him and then do second takes. Heads would turn. Conversations would briefly stop then fall into frantic whispers as they walked away. Snippets of ‘Potter’s best friend’ and ‘Weasley’ were everywhere. Had they been there yesterday? It felt like almost everyone was watching him traverse the frigid halls.

As he stood in line he spotted Robbie the security guard. Their interactions were making a lot more sense now. He’d been asking for Ron’s autograph that time with the signature, and was in awe of Ron knowing his name due to his celebrity.

This newfound celebrity probably contributed to the recruit Ramona Higgins loathing him. To her he was an entitled celeb who didn’t have to fight for his spot like her.

What a mess!

It was almost his turn when he felt a tap on his arm.

“Mr Weasley,” said a woman’s voice behind Ron.

He turned to see a woman, probably twice his age, smiling at him in an almost fawning fashion. Her arms were behind her hips making her chest jut out towards him.

“Your shoes are untied,” she demurred, looking up at him through her lashes.

“Yeah, I know,” he dumbly replied, turning back to the security desk. Was this what it was like for Harry all the time? It was exhausting being so observed. How could you ever relax?

Robbie waved him over and Ron quickly handed in his wand for weighing.

“Thanks, Robbie,” he said, wanting to hurry, not just for his appointment.

“You’re welcome, Mr Weasley!” Robbie chirped.

“Ron’s fine,” he said, getting his ticket.

“Oh, thank you, Mr Weasley!” he said, going red in the face as he beamed like Dobby getting clothes. Christ it was strange.

Ron took off at a brisk pace, almost more to escape the eyes watching him than to be on time for his appointment. He managed to be only a few minutes late. He had just finished tying his shoes when he was led to Aarti’s office.

Moments after he sat, Aarti came in.

“Hello, Ron. Would you like some tea?”

He shook his head. Trying to swallow down tea felt laughable. He saw the horrid little bird was in its usual loop in the window.

“How are you after yesterday?” she asked, taking a seat across from him.

“Not great,” he said, not seeing the point in lying. “And I’m still sorry I accused you of sharing what was said here. I really didn’t know about… all that stuff in the papers. ”

“I know. And I might not have helped you through it as well as I could,” Aarti said with a nod. “Perhaps we can start over and discuss it.”

“Sure,” he said, before hesitatingly adding, “Though, If there’s still a chance you’ll let me be an Auror still, could you let me know now?”

Aarti tilted her head. “What made you think I was going to keep you from the Aurors?”

Ron rapidly blinked.

“Well… I mean, I came in hot when I thought you’d told people about Hermione and her torture.”

“Would you say your response was reasonable?”

Ron looked away from her. “Not knowing what I do now.”

“But you didn’t have that information then, did you?” she asked. “You had evidence that suggested a betrayal of confidential information from a Mind Healing session.”

His knee bounced as he listened, unsure of how to answer.

“Given all this, along with your record and my observations on your character, there was never a question if you’d still be allowed in once I knew how in the dark you were about your level of fame.”

Ron wished he had that tea when he croaked out a hoarse, “Oh.”

“Pardon my candour, but I’ve noticed you have a tendency to think you’re going to fail.”

“Well, I have a history of it.”

“How so?”

Ron felt his face flush with shame as each of his many failings was forced to the surface of his mind.

“You heard me tell you about it the other day. I’m always fucking up…” She stared at him, waiting for him to expand on his answer. “Like with the cafe after Bill’s wedding, the Ministry break-in, or leaving Harry and Hermione when we were camping.”

“I don’t seem to recall you ‘fucking up’ in any of those instances. You saved your friend in the cafe, you managed to keep your cover the entire time in the Ministry, and you did something as innocuous as take a break from a fight? To me, I do not see any ‘fuck ups’?”

“That’s spinning it into something it’s not,” he explained. “I could have done more at the cafe instead of being roped up, I could have done more at the Ministry to help and maybe we would have gotten out of there without alarms going off, and with the fight… I had no business Apparating away from them. I didn’t mean it to be a short break— I said I was leaving! And I did…”

“So you meant to leave them and never see them again…” she said, as if combing out her tangled thoughts. “And then after that you got roped back together at some point. I suppose now you just haven’t been able to shake them. That must be quite annoying, Ron.”

“What?” Ron gaped at her.

“Harry and Hermione,” she said with a nod. “It must be quite a pain being stuck with those two, unable to rid yourself of them.”

“I’m not stuck with them!” Ron goggled. How could anyone think he was stuck with Harry and Hermione. They were… everything to him. In some ways they were his life’s purpose— most ways. Without them everything was a raw chasm he could feel in his chest. The moment he thought he’d lost them for good… he’d never grieved like that in his life before. When he thought he’d lost Hermione to Bellatrix it had nearly driven him mad. When he thought Voldemort had killed Harry, his heart had shattered. Everything in him was for those two.

“Forgive me—” she said with an airy hand gesture. “I thought you said you meant to leave them behind.”

“You’re twisting my words!”

“Then explain it,” she challenged.

“Things were mad,” said Ron, thinking back to that night. “The dark object was screaming in my head, and we’d just heard word about my family and it wasn’t good. I thought they didn’t need me. Would be better without me— and they might’ve been… I lost the plot that night. Don’t say I’m stuck with them! They’re important to me, they’re not just some pain in the arse.”

“You’re very protective of those two.”

“Of course I am. They’re important!”

“And you aren’t?”

“Of course not!” Ron snapped back.

An echoing silence permeated the room. Aarti sat back and stared at him.

Ron felt the a horrible burning begin in his eyes, which was stupid.

“Who are you not important to?” she quietly asked him.

Ron gave a hopeless shrug, He looked out the window at the blasted bird and willed himself not to look back at the Mind Healer.

“I have noticed a pattern with you, Ron,” she said, giving a long pause, seemingly for him to ask her a question. He didn’t. “The pattern is negative self-talk. I’ve heard you call yourself usless, say you’ve messed up or fucked up, and assume you’re doing the same here multiple times. Are you aware you’ve been doing this?”

Ron hesitantly nodded, not able to make his eyes meet hers.

“That troubles me. You’re a highly capable young man, Ron. I’ve heard glowing reports and evidence from multiple sources, including you. When I press you to tell me the facts I can see very clearly the sacrifices you made and what you achieved, but somehow you feel you are not at standard.”

“I’m not a lot of the time.”

“Everybody has their moments, of course, but I’ve seen little evidence of this in you.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “You don’t know my life.”

“Perhaps not…” she acquiesced before rising from her chair and heading towards a cabinet. Ron’s eyes followed her path with curiosity. “In your paperwork I remember you mentioning chess as one of your interests… Are you any good?”

“I’m not easy to beat.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” she said, bringing over a set. “Why don’t we play as we talk? You set up the board while I get some papers.”

The chess board was Muggle and looked well worn, with the plastic pieces chipped and scratched all over. Without asking he gave her white so she could have the advantage of the first move.

She sat back and opened her book of parchment, carefully thumbing back and forth through the papers before declaring, “ah! Here we are.”

She smiled and presented the parchment to him. He hesitatingly took it, grasping the paper as if it might jump in the air and bite him. Printed in green typeface was a CV of sorts. It listed his grades, awards, and achievements like Prefect and Quidditch Keeper.

“I can’t know everything in your life, but this seems like a very good set of achievements, Ron. And that’s not even mentioning individual acts of valour or who you are as a person.”

His head minutely shook at that.

She moved a white pawn forth, and he a black pawn, meeting it head to head in the middle of the chess board.

“Can you remember when you first felt disproportional feelings of inadequacy?” she asked, moving a white pawn to take his black.

How had he managed to be stuck in a room with someone asking him questions like this? Was this some sort of torture devised by the Aurors to break a man? Because this… fucking sucked. There were few options at his disposal. He could attempt to distract her from her current line of questioning— but it would be exhausting continuing to evade her. He could sit in silence the rest of their session— but he’d never done well in silence if he didn’t have a way to occupy his hands. He could leave— but that wouldn’t highly recommend him to the Aurors. As much as she denied it, she had his fate in her hands. And then there was the fourth option— he could engage her questions; an idea that made him feel like a bug about to be pinned through the thorax and put under a glass curio case. She saw right through him, as sure as the locket had; but where the locket burrowed its way inside him to eat him from the inside, she seemed to genuinely want to help him. What an odd sensation to feel, especially with someone he barely knew. Disproportional feelings of inadequacy… He wasn’t sure his feelings were disproportional, really.

“I dunno…” he finally replied, taking her pawn. He tried to think of a moment when he hadn’t had a pervading sense of self doubt. “I guess I’ve kind of… always felt inadequate?”

“Is there a time you can remember not feeling that way?” she asked, her bishop flying across the board.

Ron shook his head moving his queen across the board. “Check.”

“Surely some time in your childhood?” she asked, moving her King from check.

“Not really. I mean I have five— had five older brothers, all of them amazing, and then there’s my little sister.” The two started moving pieces in quicker succession. “I knew Mum wanted a girl and not me— overheard my Aunt Muriel saying so when I was about five, so then it just kind of left me— the kid she didn’t want in a long line of boys, who had a lot to live up to. I was just ‘another Weasley.’ Even the Sorting Hat called me that… If I did as well as my brothers it’d be no big deal as I’d be the third or fourth one to do it, and I was never going to be able to do anything that they hadn’t done.”

“But you were able to do many things they didn’t do, weren’t you?”

“Well yeah,” he said, sacrificing his pawn to take her bishop. “but that’s just because I’m friends with Harry.”

“And anybody could have taken your place and done what you did? Been Harry’s friend in the line of fire?”

“Kind of?” Ron thought back through the roster of possible mates for Harry from their year.

Dean was every inch as easy-going as Ron and just as accomplished with a wand. Seamus had his arseholish tendencies, but he could’ve filled in fine. Even though Neville was a bit of a duffer when they were young, he ended up being even more of a badarse than Ron had ever imagined.

“Yeah, I think almost anyone in Gryffindor could’ve taken my place.“

“Do you feel that Harry, Hermione or your family would agree with that?”

“Probably not, but that’s just because they’re loyal like that. I mean, they’d tell people Hagrid’s a good teacher, when he’s shit. Not like I’m better, I do it too, but,” Ron gave a shrug.

“Let’s explore this,” said Aarti, sitting forward in her seat and taking his rook. “You say anyone could have taken your place at any time. You were friends with Harry for seven years. During that time was there ever an opportunity for someone else to take your place?”

Reluctantly Ron told her of the row in fourth year, when he thought Harry had abandoned him and entered the Tournament without Ron.

“And at that time did any of the other Gryffindors befriend him?”

“No. It was pretty much just him and Hermione.”

“What about Hermione, did she make close friends besides you and Harry?”

“Kind of,” Ron said, with a little smile thinking about the persnickety first year with giant hair and attitude for days. “She’s close with Ginny.”

“So she’s close with your sister… Did she meet her through you?”

“I guess?” he said, “Oh and she’s as close with Neville and Luna as I am. Not best friends— but we’re mates.”

“Why do you think Harry and Hermione did not make other friends?”

“It’s not like they’re not great. And Harry had other friends. He was really popular in sixth year. And he always got on well with the Quidditch team too. Hermione… Well she doesn’t get on as easy as Harry does. Smart and a touch bossy is not the best combo to win over a flock of teens. But if I wasn’t there, I’m sure someone else would’ve eventually taken them up.”

“And same for all those exploits? Someone would have taken your place?”

“If they’d known about the exploits, sure,” he confirmed, looking at the chess board. “Check.”

She wasn’t looking at the board, instead she was staring at him with a discerning look in her eye.

“You’re a good chess player,” she said, toppling her king. “I forfeit. There’s no way out, right?”

“Right,” he said with a nod.

“Chess players have to be able to see a lot of potentials. If I move here, then this piece could move there or there”

“Yes…” he responded slowly. “That’s generally how it works.”

“To me, it feels very similar to our sessions. These meetings of ours seem to be full of potentials. I mention something you did,” she said, setting up a pawn and knight, “and you say anybody else could’ve done what you did.”

She took the pawn with a knight.

“We discuss an event, and you say you could’ve done better; could’ve done more,” she said, knocking over more pieces with the knight.

“You like winning chess, don’t you?”

“Yeah…”

“Imagine if we never celebrated that win, and saw every game of chess as nothing but a series of losses,” she said, toppling all the pieces over regardless of colour. “That seems like a very painful way to see the world, don’t you think?”

Ron’s ears reddened and he stared at the board, pieces all on their sides.

“Harry and Hermione didn’t choose anybody else to be their best friends and partner. They chose you. They trusted you. Befriended you. Why do you think that is?“

“I have no idea,“ Ron said, throwing up his hands.

“Perhaps they see you as great as you see them?”

Ron knew that wasn’t true. There was love and trust, but there was always the assumption that Ron wouldn’t measure up as easily as they would. He had confidence in them for nearly everything. He wasn’t unrealistic or fawning- but anyone with eyes could see how effortlessly amazing they were.

By contrast he knew they did not have that same feeling about him- how could they? He had a spotty record and let his nerves take over. He was… fine, when you averaged it out, but far from the steady stats of Harry and Hermione who rarely performed at anything other than remarkable in their chosen skills.

There was trust in Ron - trust that he would listen, follow them, love them, provide them with comfort, keep their secrets, and do what was needed; trust he eroded with each squabble they’d had and perhaps forever scarred with the help of the locket.

Aarti began to pick up the pieces of the board she’d knocked over. She set up more and more pieces until the board was almost perfectly arranged.

He felt a small choking sensation and cleared his throat. “If it’s ok, I think I’ll take that tea now…”

She got up and made a pot in silence. After he’d had some tea she said, “I had a cancellation after your session. We have more time to talk, if you’re willing. Ready for another round?”

“Of chess or your questions?” he snorted.

“Both.”

He gave a weak nod, and they began again.

“So, which piece do you have the most affinity for?” She asked, moving a bishop.

“Hard to choose between knight and king.”

“Why those?”

“Erm, well they’re both sort of tied to memories I have.” He explained the ‘Weasley is our King' song, as well as the giant chess set he’d sacrificed himself on in first year.

“Have you always had a pattern of undervaluing your personal safety?”

Ron’s hand stilled on his rook. “I don’t feel I do that.”

“No?”

“It’s not that I’m undervaluing my safety …” he moved his rook across the board. “It’s like with chess. Certain pieces have different values and sometimes you need to make sacrifices to protect the key for success. I just know when it’s best to make that choice.”

“How many times have you decided that you are the one who needs to be sacrificed?”

Ron did his best to contain his scowl as he dubiously responded, “A few times…”

“I wonder if there is a connection between how you value yourself and how often you feel it’s necessary to sacrifice yourself.”

“That is not the case,” Ron assured her.

“If you might indulge me,” she said sitting back from the board, “You implied or outright said how unimportant your safety was multiple times today and in our last session. For example in our last session, you said your time with Snatchers wasn’t ‘actually bad’ because it was ‘just you.’”

“Yeah, because in one case Snatchers led us to Malfoy Manor. Hermione was tortured and nearly died, Dobby died and Voldemort himself almost showed up. That is far worse than anything that happened to me.“

“What did happen to you?” she asked as he took another of her pawns. Ron’s hand gave the slightest shake as he moved her pawn to the growing pile of pieces. “You took me through every detail of what happened at Malfoy Manor, but weren’t as giving about your own confrontation with Snatchers.”

“It’s not important.”

“You say that about many things concerning yourself,” said Aarti with a nod. “But if you are willing, I would like you to walk me through what happened, because I believe that it might be more important than you think.”

Ron took a shaky breath. “Some things… I mean some things aren’t good to talk about, right? Like, it can’t help anything to harp on the past.”

“I agree that fixating on something is unhealthy. Do you worry you’re harping on this memory and that’s why you don’t want to discuss it?”

Ron shook his head and looked out the window. “It’s stupid, really.”

She quietly sat back, giving him space to talk or not talk. She was good at that.

“We’ll, maybe not stupid… I don’t... I don’t know if…” Finding real words for what had happened was as unfathomable as suddenly using hands to run and feet to do spells. His lungs felt shrivelled and fragile as he tried to speak. He shook his head uselessly. “I dunno what to say.”

She waited before saying, “Perhaps we can start with the fight you mentioned?”

Shame coiled in him, cracked and peeled- painful and hissing.

“I can’t remember everything we said…”

“Sometimes when we’re trying to remember things it’s easier to start with describing our surroundings than what was said… What were your surroundings like?”

“It was raining…” he began, voice hollow.

At first it was difficult to get through it, remember every bit of the fight, Hermione screaming after him to come back. It burned through him, made him want to crawl out of his body and run.

Then he Apparated.

“It was misty and really cold. I’d Apparated to this little stump I used to hide at when I was a kid…”

Then Dementors came. Then the Snatchers. And somehow he told Aarti about it.

He didn’t cry or make a fuss. He just… said it. Every embarrassing, nauseating and putrid moment. Every moment he’d tried to scrub clean from his mind.

He hadn’t dared to look at Aarti as he talked. He didn’t want to see the look on her face. He was certain disgust and pity would be directed at him—

“And then I Apparated to my brother Bill’s place. I recovered a few days, then started searching for Harry and Hermione and would Apparate back to my brother’s each night to sleep. Took weeks before I found them.”

He didn’t bother to explain the Deluminator. He didn’t want to tarnish it with those other memories.

“I’m so sorry you went through this, Ron.”

Ron’s shoulders twitched. “Not much for it.”

“How are you?”

He couldn’t feel anything other than a keen need to shower and scrub away at himself until he was pink and raw.

“M’fine, I guess.”

“I’m proud of you.”

He looked up, startled.

“You seem surprised?” she said.

He knew his scepticism must be broadcasting full blast.

“You survived a very dangerous and horrifying situation, and did an amazing job keeping yourself and your family safe. On top of that you were able to discuss it here today— both take a great deal of personal courage.”

Ron shook his head.

“If it’s alright, I’d like to have you stay a bit longer so we can talk about recovery and what steps I want to take forward with you here,” she said, going to a file cabinet and retrieving a packet of papers. “We can meet once every week or so and go over these to help you…”

“But I’m fine,” he croaked looking at the papers.

“I have never liked the word fine… People who use that word rarely are,” she said, handing him the packet. They sat and talked through the packet bit by bit, Aarti explaining what it was for, what PTSD was, and how the packets and therapies could help him. He took in every other sentence, his mind occupied.

“You can choose not to do these therapies, but I won’t clear you for full Auror duties until you have. It doesn’t have to be with me, but you need to complete these or something akin to them with a licensed Mind Healer. You need care and support. Plus there are far too many possible triggers awaiting you in future Auror cases and it would be irresponsible of me as a Healer not to help you navigate this safely.”

“That doesn’t feel like much of a choice,” he said, taking the papers.

“And I’m sorry for that, but these are the circumstances we have.”

He weighed the packet and flipped through it. Phrases like ‘stuck points’ and ‘navigating maladaptive beliefs’ stood out.

“Will I still get to continue my C.R.E.s?” Ron asked, voice frail.

Aarti looked at him in contemplation, lips pursed as she stared at him.

“For now,” she slowly said, “The C.R.E.s are a somewhat controlled environment. I haven’t seen signs you could be a danger to yourself or others, but we will continue to assess and monitor your mental health through this process, and if there are any concerns we will take you out of the exams until you’re ready. I’m not deeming you ready for full Auror service, though, until you have completed a course of cognitive behavioural therapy.”

Ron nodded, weighing his options. Having to open up and go over what he’d told her sounded exhausting, but it would be even worse to have to do it with a new Healer.

“I’m fine doing it with you,” he said quietly.

Aarti gave a small smile, then began packing the chess set away.

“Then your homework is to fill out the first part of this packet and we’ll discuss it in our next session. Wednesday?” He gave an affirmative bob of the head, shrinking the papers down and putting them in his pocket. “Good luck in your C.R.E.s. I know it’s hard not to internalise this as pressure— but even if you’re temporarily pulled, you’ll still get to return to exams or full Aurorship in a fairly short period of time.”

Ron gave a shuddering sigh. He wasn’t sure if that would delay the signing bonus or not, but didn’t want to push.

“You seem disappointed,” Aarti commented.

After everything else he’d spilled, the normally taboo subject of money was easy. He described his need to help Hermione, and the costs associated with finding her parents.

“Have you considered talking to the Family Reunification Department?”

He shook his head.

“Are you familiar with what it is?”

“Yeah. My brother Percy is in that.”

“From what I hear, your brother is the man leading it and he’s the best resource in the department. I would consider discussing it with him.”

Ron hadn’t thought to reach out to his brother. They weren’t exactly close. Sure they’d mourned beside one another and Percy came home a day or two per week for dinners, but they didn’t have anything to talk about. He was fairly sure the task of discussing things with Percy would be laborious in the extreme, but for Hermione it would be worth it.

“I’ll try now, since I’m here,” he said, and Aarti gave him directions to the Family Reunification Department.

It would be easy to just go home and take a nap, but the idea of putting off helping Hermione made a muscle in his jaw twitch.

Even though Percy had worked in various departments at the Ministry, Ron had never visited him. They had never been particularly close once Percy had left home for Hogwarts, and they hadn’t spoken more than a few sentences since Ron’s fifth year.

His older brothers, sans the missing George, had easily fallen back in with Percy, but it was more difficult for Ron and Ginny. They’d not gotten on well with Percy to begin with and had much more keenly recognised what his betrayal had done to their family. They’d been through multiple battles without him, years of growing up, and he’d noticeably not been there to comfort them through their Dad and Bill nearly dying.

It stung, having to ask something of him now. If fate weren’t such an arsehole it would be Percy in this position, not Ron.

Trying to keep his bitterness at bay, Ron walked through the winding directions until he finally reached Percy’s door. The gold placard had a piece of paper in Percy’s neatly lettered handwriting.

Family Reunification Department

Percy Ignatius Weasley

With trepidation, Ron knocked.

“It’s open,” he immediately heard from inside. With a sigh, Ron opened the door to see Percy at his desk, politely putting his quill aside before sitting up straight.

“Ron!” Percy let out, mouth agape in surprise. He looked exactly the same as he always did- neat and tidy, hair combed just right.

Percy continued to stare, gobsmacked, before finally coming to.

“Come in, come in,” Percy gestured, standing from his chair and seating them both in the guest seats.

Ron flopped into the chair, and his knees pointed up to the ceiling in the low hung chair. Feeling ridiculous Ron waved his wand to make the chair a bit bigger, then sat back down in it. If he was going to be asking for favours he wasn’t going to do it folded in half on a tiny chair.

“Would you like something to drink? Some tea perhaps?”

“No thanks,” Ron said, fingers nervously fiddling at a hole in the knee of his trousers.

The last time he’d talked to Percy alone he’d been fifteen. That felt about three lifetimes ago now. Ron’s shoulders felt so tense he thought they might pop his head off if he didn’t get it over with.

“So– ” “Well!” They began at the same time.

Percy’s mouth twitched a bit.

“What brings you here, Ron?” he asked, voice carefully neutral.

“Hermione,” Ron said quietly before staring up at Percy. “I’m here for Hermione.”

Percy nodded, but didn’t speak. That was odd for the usually loquacious brother.

“I’m going to need your help with ‘family reunification’ for Hermione,” Ron told him, giving Percy a level look. If Percy tried to refuse Ron he might have to deck him, no wand required.

Percy shifted in his seat and said nothing. His brother was acting oddly reminiscent of Dad in the moment, the way he quietly waited for Ron to speak his peace. Satisfied that he would be able to speak without interruption, Ron began to state his case.

“Before we left to help Harry, Hermione needed to keep her parents safe. She modified their memory so they don’t know she exists, they have different names, and are off somewhere in Australia. Even Hermione doesn’t know where, because she didn’t want Voldemort,” Percy flinched, “and his lot somehow getting to her parents through us.”

“That is some amazingly complex spell work for a teen not even out of Hogwarts,” Percy said, shaking his head in amazement.

“You don’t know the half of it,” said Ron with a humourless laugh. “She even put some spells on them to make them untraceable by owls. I’m at a loss as to where to start, because that was my first thought. Just get to Australia and send an owl with a tracker on it, or a Portkey could work to get at least one of them back. Hell, even follow it on a broom.”

“There are definitely some other methods our office can help you with,” Percy began, and the years of fury he’d held back from his brother came bubbling forth.

“I don’t want your office on it, I want you on it,” Ron spat.

Could he show an ounce of loyalty? Ron had never asked for anything from his brother since he was about eight, and frankly he owed Ron for the years he’d fucked off. He wasn’t even asking for a big favour- he was just asking him to do his goddamn job! He’d heard Percy talk about his job the last month — how hard he’d worked for strangers, the gruelling hours of paperwork and letters and contactings different departments.

As much as Ron wanted to drop-kick his brother off a precipice, Percy had the upper hand in this negotiation. Ron steadied his temper, trying to put on his most magnanimous façade.

“I know how hard you’ve been working for all these other families,” Ron calmly explained, “and you’re the guy to see on this. That work might be pressing, but Hermione is more important than any of them, and has done more for winning this war than anyone except Harry.”

“I know,” said Percy, putting a hand up in Ron’s face.

Fuck being magnanimous.

“No you don’t know,” Ron said with a shake of his head, anger blazing in him. He wrenched himself from his chair and walked towards the one window, putting as much distance as he could between himself and his brother. His brother didn’t know him. His brother didn’t know Hermione. Didn’t know what she was worth and how amazing. He’d not been there. He was just as shit as the reporters talking about her in the papers. “You don’t know. No one can really ever know! Harry and I wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for her ten times over. We all owe her so much. This stupid bleeding government owes it to her. Every person you know owes it to her. She’s been through– ”

Ron abruptly stopped himself, unable to discuss it.

Percy didn’t know what it was like out there. He was safe in his office almost the whole war. He had no idea the harsh conditions had been, what it was to run for your life every day, or the literal torture endured. No one would truly understand what Hermione and Harry had done for everyone, and how they should be down on their knees thanking them.

Percy’s window had a view onto the same pretend street as Aarti’s. It was just as fake and out of place here as it was there. If Ron ever managed to be an Auror with a fake view he’d tear his window out immediately.

“Does Hermione know you’re here?” Percy asked in a gentle tone Ron didn’t think him capable of.

“No,” he said, blinking and glancing at his brother. “I’d like to keep it that way until things are more sorted. We have some time, at least. She’s barely said a thing about getting her parents back.”

“Why is that?” Percy confusedly asked.

“She’s keeping to herself for a lot of reasons,” Ron said with a shrug. Percy didn’t deserve to know about her. He hadn’t earned the right.

Ron turned a discerning eye to Percy. Perhaps it would be a good idea to tell him about her. Maybe it could convince Percy to help.

He moved the pieces in place.

Talk about how great Hermione is for the family. “She hasn’t talked about it much, but I know her. Honestly, part of it is that she wants to be here for me and our family, but I won’t let her do that.”

Tap into the whole disappointing the parents thing since Percy is still raw about his relationship with our parents. “And I know she’s afraid of how her parents will react when she undoes the memory charms she put on them. She’s dragging her feet to avoid that.”

Talk about money problems that anybody who grew up poor could get. “Then the other day I found a piece of parchment where she was doing the maths for how much it would cost to find her parents, and it’s a lot. She doesn’t have anything but the clothes on her back and a pile of books. Even her old house is just sitting there empty.”

Ron couldn’t very well leave it at that though. As much as he needed Percy’s help, he didn’t it to seem like he was sitting there doing nothing

“I want to take care of as much of this as I can for her so she doesn’t have to think about it. I’m broke as hell, but they’re recruiting me to be an Auror. The recruitment signing bonus should cover a lot of the costs. I already have another job lined up I can make some money at, so the galleons part I can get done. I just need your help on the ‘finding them’ end of it.”

Percy began to smile. “Ron, you don’t have to worry about the money. I can– ”

“I’m not taking one sickle from you!” Ron snarled. He honestly thought he was asking for money?

“And you won’t have to,” Percy said firmly, putting a placating hand out. “I can do some paperwork.”

Ron rolled his eyes. Great. Paperwork. A fat lot of good that had done him lately.

“There’s a discretionary fund for helping with the costs of these things, as so many people simply can’t afford portkeys and travel expenses after the war. ” Percy quickly continued, nervously eyeing Ron. “Australia’s government has been accommodating as well, so I’m sure our office can have this sorted fairly quickly. When Muggles travel internationally they leave a long paper trail, and then when they move they have to register with the Muggle government. Unless they’ve decided to ‘live off the grid’ as they call it, her parents will probably only take a few weeks to locate, perhaps less if we pressure their government. Given Hermione’s importance in the war, I’m sure Kingsley would make that happen.”

“How do we know Death Eaters didn’t use this method to track them down already?”

“Well, things were rather chaotic last year. It’s so easy for forms to get lost. And they didn’t want anything to do with Muggles, so if a few of us accidentally forgot to inform them of the pathways within the Muggle governments to find people… Well… That was only a natural outcome of a busy Ministry,” smiled Percy.

Ron felt himself begin to smile. Maybe Percy hadn’t been quite as lost to them as he’d thought, even if it was something as silly as forms.

“Led a little office rebellion, did you?” said Ron, barely stifling a laugh.

Percy glared.

“The ones who got caught ‘accidentally’ withholding information didn’t just get a slap on the wrist. You saw the dementors all over the place when you broke into the Ministry last year, I’m sure.”

“Right,” said Ron, holding up a hand. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to undermine what people risked here.”

He thought over what all Percy had laid out. “So… So that’s all there is to it then, for Hermione and her parents?”

“Yes,” said Percy.

Ron suddenly felt a bit off balance in his seat. If he’d been standing he was sure his feet would have faltered.

“I thought this would be a whole lot harder,” said Ron, a numbness taking over.

“Just a whole lot of paperwork,” said Percy before quickly adding, “which I’m happy to personally do for the both of you.”

“Fuck,” Ron let out against his will. “I just knew it was going to be another horrible hard to do thing…”

His breathing began to pick up.

“I’m not used to things going easy on us… Is that really it?”

“That’s really it.”

Ron nearly collapsed. He sank until his head was in his hands and his body started to shake.

He wasn’t even sure why. This was good news, right? He could finally help Hermione! The money didn’t matter. He could stop and relax and… Ron thought he might be sick. He wasn’t sure if he was laughing or or on the verge of crying.

Percy did the decent thing and busied himself with paperwork. It took a minute for Ron to gather himself and give a wobbly “thanks” before wiping his face and shakily forcing the feelings back into his roiling gut.

“Of course,” said Percy with such earnestness Ron was a bit taken aback.

Not long ago his brother was all affected pretension, trying to make his accent more posh and his sentences more polished. He used to sit up so tall and prim too, as if to better look down his nose at people. That wasn’t the case now. His posture was a bit sunken, his expression was almost open. It was like seeing the Percy from their childhood: The brother who listened when Ron had questions, the brother who had taught him chess, who had given him Scabbers…

“I’m assuming you will accompany her to Australia to retrieve them?”

“Course I will,” Ron said automatically. There wasn’t a question of it.

Percy nodded. “So the Aurors, huh?”

“Yeah,” said Ron, looking at his hands trying to smile about it. It would be a miracle if he made it. “They must be off their broom for wanting someone like me.”

“You’re a bit of a hero, Ron. Of course they’d want you.”

“I’m a dropout who doesn’t even have N.E.W.T.s.”

“What good is a standardised test compared to your experience?”

The fuck?

“Should I be asking you a security question? There’s not a Death Eater pretending to be my brother here, is there?”

“No.”

“Head injury?”

“No!” Percy said, letting out a short laugh.

“Sorry, just had to make sure. Percy Weasley saying tests aren’t as good as experience. I’ll have to tell Fred an– ” Ron cut himself off. The two forcibly ignored his faux pas.

With that, they went to work writing down all the information they could on Hermione’s parents: their real names, fake names, past addresses, profession and interests. Ron knew every answer, of course. They only had one address and he had memorised it years ago writing letter after letter to Hermione. As for little things about her parents, well it was easy enough to remember all of her stories. He loved it when she’d tell him stories instead of facts from books— facts could get old after a bit, but her animatedly telling him stories of her day, her parents, the little moments… Oh those he could listen to forever.

“I think that should do it, then,” said Percy. “I’ll submit the documents by tomorrow, and will update you as soon as I hear anything.”

“Thanks,” said Ron, knowing the word was woefully inadequate.

As he left he could feel something internally shift. Something raw and cracked coiled around him, slowly choking him. He quickly Apparated to a field near his home. Usually the sight of home would bring relief, but the choking sensation continued.

He sank beside a tree and a horrible sound came out of him, for only a moment. He clamped a hand over his mouth to stifle the sound as tears blinded his eyes.

“Stop it…” he gasped to himself, willing the burgeoning sobs to stop. He balled a hand into a fist and struck the earth as hot tears burned down his cheeks. With an earth stained hand he wiped at his face.

He wasn’t going to cry. Everything was fine. He was on the cusp of having answers for Hermione. It didn’t matter if he got into the Aurors now… He didn’t need the money. He could rest, and it was a good thing, and his stupid body had no reason to try to collapse and be wracked with sobs like he was a four year old child.

Mind made up, he took a deep breath through his freckled nose. “Don’t be stupid…”

Using Hermione’s mirror spell he checked his reflection and got rid of the ‘just cried like a little milksop’ complexion staining his face. He willed a neutral expression, and approached his tumble-down home.

Through the window he could see Harry and Ginny were sitting close on the couch, looking pleased. Harry’s arm was casually thrown around her shoulders as Ginny excitedly chatted at him. As annoying as it was to have his friend burgled away by his little sister, he was glad they’d so easily fallen back into being a happy couple. They made one another so happy. Ginny who’d grown a bit prickly and toughened softened when she was with Harry, while Harry, who was prone to bouts of snark and darkness, seemed lighter in her presence. It was gag-worthy, of course, but Ron felt that way more out of principle than actually believing it.

When they looked like they might kiss, Ron took it upon himself to announce his presence.

“What’s got you lot so chuffed?” he asked as he opened the door.

“Harry’s approved for the combat exams,” said Ginny, giving Harry a fond look.

“Of course he is,” Ron said stoutly.

“I have Duelling tomorrow, so that means we’ll get to take C.R.E. two and three together,” Harry said with a bright grin.

Oh great. Cherry on top of the shit pie.

He didn’t want the evaluators having Harry Fucking Potter held as a standard against him. And he certainly didn’t want to fail in front of Harry either.

“That’s brilliant, mate!” Ron gave Harry a hearty pat on the back. “We’ll smash it.”

“We’ll have to celebrate after,” Ginny said, launching into ideas on where they could go. Harry watched her with such unbridled fondness Ron felt the need to look away.

“Have you seen Hermione?” he asked, looking for an excuse to step out before they snogged in front of him.

“I think she said she was going to nap in your room,” Ginny provided, before continuing to lay out premature celebration plans.

Folding himself into Hermione’s arms would be the perfect balm to a day that had utterly gutted him. As he ascended the stairs he could already smell that fresh Hermione scent, see her soft hair fanning around her head, hear her melodic sigh, feel her soft body folded against him. He could slide into bed beside her and just breathe with her in a dozy state between waking and slumber.

The daydream abruptly popped as he opened his door.

Hermione wasn’t napping. Instead she sat on his bed. In her hands was his Auror’s Combat Readiness Exam schedule.

“How was your ‘workout’?”

End of chapter 9

Sorry for the cliff hanger! I'm about 7k words into the next chapter, with about 3-5 to go, because I write insanely long chapters :P

Next chapter is from Hermione's POV.

Thank you so much to all of you who review! I appreciate it so much and can't tell you how much it inspires me to continue this story- so thank you thank you! If you enjoyed or have thoughts- let me hear them! :) And please reblog :)

#Waking up #harry potter fanfiction #romione #my writing #Ron weasley #Hermione granger #therapy #aarti

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