Ron traced up and down Evangeline’s arm softly and slowly, listening to her deep, even breathing. He had packed up all of Hermione’s things, and taken down all the photographs for the time being, and invited Evangeline to live with him in the flat.
She didn’t know about Hermione, and he wanted to keep it that way. He loved her more than he had ever loved anything in his life, and her happiness was essential to his own. At one time, it was Hermione’s happiness that mattered the most too him. But not any longer. He didn’t know when things had changed.
He supposed it was when he met Evangeline. That was when it had all started.
It was just a routine check on a chain of murders that the Aurors had to investigate. Three Muggle-borns had been murdered in the South of France, and the British Ministry had only been called upon because it involved an English family that was on vacation there. It was also relatively close to the end of the war, and they wanted to be sure that it had nothing to do with Dark Magic. The British Ministry had the most renowned Auror department in all of Europe, with the best Dark Magic detectors. It also had helped that they had the Boy-Who-Lived-Then-Died-Then-Lived-Again on their team as well. Harry had a certain pull with the Ministry officials.
Ron and Harry had gone into one of the houses to check around for clues that would help them determine who the perpetrator was. They split up to check the rooms on the upstairs while two others checked the downstairs. Ron had decided to check one of the smaller bedrooms while Harry checked the master bedroom. They were quite the team, Potty and the Weasel. That’s what people called them who had known them at Hogwarts.
He heard a sob coming from one of the closets in the room, and he drew his wand, opening the door of one of them slowly. What he saw was heartbreaking, and not dangerous at all. He immediately lowered his wand.
She was huddled in the corner of the closet, shaking and crying uncontrollably, out of fear and sadness. His heart immediately went out to her, and he spoke to her in a low, comforting voice, easing her out of the closet and into better light.
“I’m one of the good guys.” He said to the girl, who was obviously part Veela. He crouched down to her level. “Don’t be afraid.”
---
Harry Apparated directly into Ron’s flat that morning, running a hand through his hair once he was inside. He had gotten a new lead. A small one, but still it was better than what they had previously had. Nothing. And it would give them a place to start.
Three Muggles had disappeared in West Ham, they were of no relation, and their bodies had not yet turned up. the Aurors knew that it was the work of Death Eaters. They were notorious for murder and torture, however, if they didn’t want to be discovered, they wouldn’t be. They covered their tracks well.
Harry looked around the flat that his two best friends shared, and noted how clean it was. Dishes were put away, and jackets hung. Even the floors were swept.
That was not typical Ron Weasley fashion.
That was how Hermione usually kept the flat, though. But now that she was on the run with Malfoy, he wasn’t sure why Ron was keeping the place tidy. He pulled a hand through his hair again, and thought about Hermione. She was the only one that he had trusted telling about her past with Malfoy, and the only one that knew she still had feelings for him. He didn’t want to see either of his friends hurting, but he knew that she deserved to be happy. And if that slippery blonde git was what it took, he would support her. Even though Ron would see it as a betrayal of Harry’d friendship.
He was caught between a rock and a hard place.
“Ron?” he called out. He knew his best mate would be home. He spent a lot of his time there, now. “He’s probably sleeping.” He muttered.
He failed to notice the pair of shiny, silver high heels that were nothing like what Hermione would wear.
He wandered down the hallway, noting the missing pictures on the walls, and getting a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. Why had Ron taken down the photographs? They were all of he and Hermione. Did he know about Malfoy? And if he did, would he be mad when he found out that Harry knew too? Or was he just moving to a new part of London? Most importantly, why hadn’t he woken up? Surely the crack of Apparation would wake a sleeping Auror?
He pushed open the bedroom door slowly, and was in shock at what he saw. Ron was sleeping, with a blonde wrapped around him tightly. He gasped, and Ron opened up his eyes.
“So, I see you’re shacking up with a Veela.” Harry said, his voice shaking with anger. He was angry with Ron, even though he knew of Hermione’s affair with Malfoy. He still just couldn’t believe it, and with that thought in his mind, he Disapparated back to Godric’s Hollow and into the loving arms of his wife.
He was in a state when he got home, and the house was too. The dog was barking, James was crying, Ginny was trying to make him be quiet, and she was near tears herself. The tea kettle was whistling, and the clock was ticking. He immediately went to her, and wrapped his arms around her tight.
“I want to tell you something.” He said to her quietly. She looked up at him as her tears began to spill over. She never, ever cried ever. “Its something that I haven’t said in a long time, and I know that you need to hear it.”
“What is it?” she said softly, so softly he barely heard her over the barking dog and his screaming son.
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