Chapter Text
Trouble
Harry’s POV [Ron and Harry’s office, The Ministry - around 10 AM, 18th March, 2001]
Harry checked the clock for the third time in as many minutes, ahead of their 10:30 with Head Auror Robards—Ron had yet to show his face.
Ron, his best mate, one half of the Golden Duo, was now, as Harry glanced at today’s Daily Prophet, The Hero of Hogsmeade.
Harry shook his head, for he knew that for all his heroics, Ron was in trouble.
Career-threatening Bludger-to-the-balls trouble.
Paired with his previous, career-threatening, family-jewels-on-display-on-the-front-page-of-the-Prophet trouble.
Harry was very certain that Ron was… was indeed… in trouble.
He decided to wait for ten more minutes and then make his way to Robards’ office.
They’d recently been promoted from Junior Aurors to Aurors.
Harry hadn’t even had a chance to enjoy the promotion, or settle in their new shared office, before he was being forced to worry that he’d be losing his Auror partner within a couple of months of their promotions.
‘They’ll probably promote Emily—gorgeous blonde, Ron’s ex, She-Who-Ginny-Is-Jealous-Of.’
Harry grimaced as he thought about the implications.
Ginny had always been a bit possessive of Harry, and if Ron wasn’t able to salvage the situation, Ginny would probably force Harry to quit too.
He remembered the long letters and the numerous threats of gelding when Harry had been photographed with Ron and Sirius, at a nightclub, while Ginny slaved away at Hogwarts… her words, not his.
As Harry eventually made his way to the Head Auror’s office, he found Ron chatting up Stacey, the Head Auror’s secretary.
Harry wanted to hit Ron with a nasty Depulso for making him wait but the desire to not make a scene won out.
Instead, he settled on a few angry, but audible huffs.
Ron had previously accused Harry’s method of gaining attention as a classic Ginny trait. He couldn’t deny that he had picked up this habit from his girlfriend, nay, his fiancée, and was grateful that Ron’s desire to keep chatting up Stacey overpowered his natural proclivity of teasing Harry.
Ron waved Harry over. “I was just telling Stacey how Ginny’s a chaser for the Holyhead Harpies,” he said excitedly. “Reckon we can get her a ticket for this weekend’s game?”
“Sure, I’ll check with her tonight,” Harry said, lips pursed.
Just as Stacey was telling Harry that he needn’t inconvenience himself, Robards summoned them into his office.
How come Ron looked so relaxed?
Harry had no clue, till it hit that Sirius and Ron had taken a Portkey to Spain to celebrate Ron’s success, and the papers hadn’t published the reason why most of the Auror and Magical Accidents departments had been left to deal with the mess at Hogsmeade.
By the time Harry worked it out, they were already seated in front of Robards.
“Do you know why you are here, gents?” Robards asked.
He sounded tired, maybe even resigned. Harry knew it could only mean that whatever he was going to tell them had been forced down Robards’ throat from higher-ups in the Ministry.
“A pat on my back for what we got done on Friday?” Ron gave his best lopsided grin to the Head Auror, who did not appear to be impressed in the least.
In any other, less serious, situation, Harry would’ve enjoyed Ron making a fool of himself, and would have happily stored the memory for future purposes.
But the matter was grave and Harry didn’t want his best friend to lose his job, so he kicked Ron’s shin with a zealous fervour.
Head Auror Robards gave Ron a hard look before resuming, “Since you obviously acted and dashed, Weasley, you have no clue of the damage you did. You burnt down five stores and three warehouses of the Granger family, along with all the stocks in them. They had antiques, high-value brews from their Potions business. The total cost as per Gringotts is around nine hundred thousand Galleons.”
Ron snapped his head up, colour draining from his face as he looked towards Harry in shock, then back at the Head Auror, who continued talking.
“And Miss Blanderhurst has informed me that if the Grangers were to take this in front of the Wizengamot, the Auror department would lose, and the already fledgling Ministry finances would take a hit, as well as the threadbare relations the current ministry has with the old pureblood families.”
Harry checked Ron for a reaction and was happy to find the smirk wiped off of his face, ‘If he takes this seriously, at least he’ll get to keep his job.’ Harry thought.
“Oh…” Ron replied dumbly.
“Oh, indeed, but the Grangers have other interests and have proposed a way to make this go away.” Harry didn’t like the ominous tone with which this message was delivered. The way Ron shifted in his seat told Harry that Ron hadn’t been much assuaged either.
Harry saw Ron’s eyes fall on the Daily Prophet that showed Ron smiling to the reporters.
The Head Auror noticed the same and said, “Look, you did exemplary work and for that you will receive a commendation letter. Taking out ten Death Eaters and protecting innocents was great, but unfortunately the Ministry cannot function without the support of its wealthiest citizens, just because the war was won doesn’t mean everything gets better.” Robards deflated as he explained the big picture to the young Aurors and the look on their boss’s face was enough to convince both Harry and Ron.
“Alright, what do I have to do to make this go away?” Ron acquiesced.
“Good, meet us in Conference Room 1 at midday and we will talk then. Dismissed.”
They took their leave and headed to the cafeteria for a late breakfast.
Hermione’s POV [The Ministry - around Midday, 18th March, 2001]
Hermione was appalled at what her parents had asked her to do.
She was supposed to work with the oaf Ron Weasley. The very same Quidditch playing idiot from Hogwarts who was now masquerading as some war hero.
‘He destroyed about a million Galleons worth of our property and I am to be on my best behaviour so that the fool will work with me.’
When her parents had found out that the famous Weasley, one half of the Golden Duo, was the one to have torched their property while fighting some of their old associates, her father had lit up like someone had dropped all of Gringotts’ gold reserves at his feet.
The Most Ancient and Noble House of Granger was going to have to work with the Weasley peasants to restore its name, and show the stuffy French that they had changed for the better, just so that they could get back their family heirlooms.
Hermione huffed, which attracted the attention of the rest of the room along with her irate mother.
‘I don’t know why it’s important to them, but if it is, then I’ll be civil to the Blood Traitor.’ She resolved.
“So,” Minister Shacklebolt spoke, “you want Ronald Weasley to show up as a friend or a potential suitor to your daughter at various charity functions, with the aim of getting your heirlooms from the French?”
“That would be correct, Minister.” Lady Granger replied.
“Why him? We can organise a gala for your charitable donations and I can personally talk to the French Minister…”
“Minister, I would appreciate if you wouldn’t doubt our preparedness,” Jean Granger’s icy tone made the room go still, “our artefacts are not with the French ministry, but with the French Royal Family, and Mr Weasley here was the one who saved their youngest daughter in the French campaign of the war. They are openly indebted to him, but they won’t hand over anything till they see that the Most Ancient and Noble House of Granger has changed their previous allegiance…”
“Why should we trust that you have?” the arrogant Weasley demanded.
Hermione’s mother, at least according to Hermione, showed a lot of grace when she did not take her wand and hex the idiot for interrupting.
“Mr Weasley, we are willing to donate over ten million Galleons for the reconstruction of magical Britain, including projects that will help Muggleborns and other creatures. That alone holds more weight than any platitudes we could offer.”
This got everyone’s attention; it was an open secret that the ministry needed funds, and such a generous donation would help them all.
The look the Minister gave the idiot Weasley told Hermione all she needed to know. They would bow down to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Granger.
Ron’s POV [Grimmauld Place - around 6:10 PM, 18th March, 2001]
Ron walked out of the fireplace, looking haggard after a hellish day, and went straight for the dining area.
Snape’s greasy hair was what greeted him as he saw the former Potions professor with his head in a book.
‘Bloody Harry has written to everyone it seems…’
“Look what the Thestral dragged in,” Ron said.
Snape looked up to give a toothy scowl, that over the years Ron understood was his attempt at a smile.
“You know, if you were to shower once in a while, buy some new robes and get a haircut, and maybe get your teeth looked at by a healer, you wouldn’t need to wank thinking about…”
“Oi! Shut up, Ron.” Harry’s voice came from the kitchen as a sniggering Sirius trailed behind him.
“How come you are here before me?” Ron asked.
“Well, I went to Ginny and then came straight over here… you, on the other hand seem to have stopped by the Leaky.” Harry fixed him with an accusatory glare.
“Can you blame me?”
Harry shook his head and sighed as he sat across from Snape. Ron took a seat beside Harry. Sirius sat at the head of the table.
“Kid,” Sirius started as he lit up his cigar and glanced at Ron, “what trouble are you in now?”
Ron flailed his arms about, trying and failing to form a coherent sentence.
“Eloquent as always, Ronald.” Snape drawled.
“If what happened to me had happened to you, you would have been even less composed.” Ron bit back.
The harrumph that Ron received in response set off the perennially angry redhead.
“Yes, you, good professor, would’ve started devising ways to become the next Dark Lord, and take over the Ministry before suffering the indignation at the hands of vanquished Death Eaters.”
“She’s prissy today, isn’t she, Black?” Snape sneered, ignoring Ron. Sirius guffawed in response.
Harry stopped Ron from responding and instead delved into the loss the Grangers had to suffer due to Ron’s actions.
“Well, fuck… I’d say well done but something has obviously backfired.” Sirius noted.
“Granger is a right bastard, tell me what he wants because I am sure he doesn’t care about a few hundred thousand Galleons.” Snape’s frustration was clear in his voice.
Harry told them about their meeting as Ron let the Sober-up potion take effect.
“So, what is so important that the Granger bitches are willing to part with ten million of their sacred Galleons?” Ron asked Snape, who looked deep in thought.
“Nothing good, Ronald… nothing good. Granger was pals with Rookwood, who as you should already know worked in the Department of Mysteries…”
Hermione’s POV [The Royal Vaults ~ Magical France - around 2:10 PM, 10th August, 2001]
It had only taken a few short months for the Grangers’ gold to push open doors for their Most Ancient and Noble House, and Hermione was over the moon.
They were ahead of schedule, and the only faint dark lining on this otherwise bright cloud was that their arrangement with Ronald Weasley was about to come to an end.
She would never admit it, not even under severe torture—she was sure of it—but she had developed a liking for the ginger boy who cared little for the strict rules with which she had always lived her life. He was bold, obnoxious, opinionated, competent, smart, and handsome. Also, infuriatingly, a complete simpleton with no regard for magical hierarchy.
‘And today it ends, he will go back to his life of front-page news, blood traitor-y things, and other needless heroism that would irk father and mother.’
“Let’s wait to undress me, Miss Death Eater.” Ronald Weasley softly spoke in her ear.
Any embarrassment for having been staring at him was dwarfed by the sting of his ignorant words.
‘Ah yes, he may be attractive, but he is a bigot in his own way, I was never a Death Eater…’ Hermione’s eyes narrowed as she glared at the uncouth man in front of her.
“As I’ve repeatedly told you…"
“Just get on retrieving your trinkets from the vault. I’ve got places to be.” Weasley cut in and returned to his cigar case.
“Are you planning to enjoy your freedom with a cigar, Mr Weasley?” Hermione ensured that she sounded extra polite.
Nothing pissed off Ronald Weasley more than civility from whom he considered morally beneath him.
She smirked as he glared.
‘It is for the best…’ Hermione reminded herself, ‘just this and then we are free…’
Hermione reached out and reverently picked up the only piece of Granger heritage that her father had asked her to bother with—a hexagonal disc with strange runes and a glass ball that seemed to contain some kind of glittering sand.
Weasley looked over her shoulder and scoffed.
“This ugly little thing…”
Hermione’s earlier feelings of attraction were replaced by instant irritation, as she turned around to admonish the pleb.
“Y-You have no understanding of what it means to pass something on from one…” Hermione had turned around too quickly and while talking stumbled into the Auror, losing her balance, her hold on the object loosening.
“Careful…” Weasley steadied her, but did not spare a thought for her family heirloom, which now popped out of her hand as his grip on her shoulders tightened.
As it hit the ground, Hermione cried out, “You buffoon, look what you’ve…”
But she stopped talking as she saw the disc hit the floor. It cracked with a heavy unnatural sound that sunk her heart—she had to keep the object safe and she had failed.
The glimmering sand trickled out and started to swirl around them, soon they were engulfed in a blinding white light, as unseen winds roared and shrieked just outside their cocoon.
She felt Weasley grab her wrist and push her back and there was a click sound and soon they were both uprooted by the tornado of white light, which appeared to be trickling into Weasley’s cigar case.
Before Hermione could work where the light was going, she and Weasley had left the white light behind and all they could see was blackness, the kind she had never witnessed before. There was no up or down, the previous sound of an unseen but distinctly heard roar was replaced by an eternal quiet.
Hermione instinctively tightened her hold on Weasley’s arm, her nails digging in without mercy, wondering what was to become of her.
They saw a barrage of light, colour, an old majestic desk, the trill of an ancient bird, and the unmistakable beard, and blue orbs of their dead headmaster.
Somehow, they were on the floor of the headmaster’s office at Hogwarts—who should have been limited to a portrait and nothing more.
Dumbledore peered from his half-moon spectacles, inquisitive and confused.
Hermione followed his eyes to Ron’s hand, which was clutching the cigar case with extreme care.
“Oh, this is very curious, very curious indeed.” Dumbledore exclaimed.
Hermione had never liked the man—though she had respected his magical prowess—and his nonchalance about what was happening, coupled with Hermione’s own internal panic made her glare with disdain at the not-quite-dead Headmaster.
“Bloody Hell!” Ron shouted from her right.
“Ah, young man, it appears that you recognise me. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Dumbledore let out a small chuckle, but Hermione could decipher the hardened eyes that went with that disarming gesture.
She was alone. She was terrified.
She was also lodged between Ronald Weasley’s thighs, her chest pressed into the irritating man’s inner thigh.