Chapter 9
After recovering from the emotionally draining experience inside the giant Pensieve, Harry moved to lift Ron’s unconscious form from the floor, intending to transport him back to the holding cell where he had been kept. His movements were slow, cautious, still absorbing everything they had seen and felt. But as he reached down to grasp Ron, Hermione’s voice cut through the silence.
"And where do you think you’re bringing him?" she demanded, her voice low and simmering with fury.
Harry froze, staring at her in surprise. The intensity in her eyes startled him. He straightened, searching for an explanation that would satisfy her. "Back to his holding cell," he replied, his voice calm but uncertain. "We need time to figure out what to do next, Hermione. We can’t just let him disappear. The Auror Corps already knows about the prisoner, and we’re walking a fine line here."
Hermione’s eyes blazed. "After everything we just saw—everything we felt—you’re going to lock him back in a cell? Harry, how can you even think of that?"
For a moment, Harry was silent, struggling to find the right words. He knew the holding cell wasn’t ideal, but it was the only place they had to keep him under the Ministry’s watch. They couldn’t afford to make rash decisions. He opened his mouth, ready to argue, but no words came. The truth was, he didn’t have a better solution, and Hermione’s anger was cutting deep.
She wasn’t done. "Harry, we don’t know everything yet, but we do know one thing—he’s not a threat. We’ve seen his memories, his emotions. This man is Ron, or at least he thinks he is. Throwing him back into that cell after what we’ve learned… it’s cruel."
Harry ran a hand through his hair, sighing deeply. "I know," he said quietly. "But what do you suggest? We can’t just kidnap him. The Ministry’s already aware of him being in custody. If we move him, questions will be raised."
Hermione’s lips pressed into a thin line, her frustration evident. "What about a safe house?"
Harry blinked, and something clicked in his mind. Of course. How had he not thought of that? The sleepless nights and overwhelming burden of grief had dulled his thinking. "You’re right," he said, feeling a bit foolish. "But we need a legitimate reason to move him. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement isn’t going to let us relocate a prisoner without cause."
Hermione nodded, already ahead of him. "We’ll say he’s cooperating with the investigation into the Neo-Death Eaters. That should hold off any immediate inquiries. As Minister for Magic, I can manage the rumors and keep the situation contained for now."
Harry considered this. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it would buy them time. Still, there was one lingering question. "Okay, but it’ll take a few hours to arrange a safe house. Where do you want me to place him until then?"
Hermione’s next words stopped Harry cold.
"In my office."
Harry blinked, utterly flabbergasted. "Are you mad?" he asked, incredulous. "It’s one thing to believe that this could be the real Ron, but leaving him alone in your office, cuffed or not—that’s dangerous. We still don’t know for sure who he is."
Hermione met his gaze, unwavering. " I can defend myself, Harry. Besides, I trust my instincts on this. He’s not going to hurt me."
Harry was still reluctant, but he could see that Hermione wasn’t going to back down. With a heavy sigh, he nodded. "Fine. But I’m keeping the cuffs on him, just in case."
Together, they lifted Ron and escorted him up to Hermione’s office, his unconscious form slumped over in a chair. Harry looked at Hermione one last time, uncertainty clear in his eyes, before leaving her alone with Ron.
When Ron came to, he was greeted by an unfamiliar sight. He blinked, trying to adjust his eyes to the soft light filtering through the grand office. The room was large, elegantly decorated, and filled with portraits of previous Ministers for Magic. As the realization hit, Ron’s heart raced. He was in the office of the Minister for Magic.
His eyes snapped to the figure sitting across from him at a large desk. Hermione.
For a moment, he simply stared, still disoriented. "Hermione?" he muttered, confusion lacing his voice. "Why am I here?"
Hermione’s gaze softened, though there was a lingering sadness in her eyes. "I brought you here," she said quietly. "And, yes... I’m the Minister for Magic now."
Ron blinked in disbelief, but then a small smile crept onto his face for the first time in days. "I always knew you’d become Minister," he said, a faint hint of pride in his voice.
But his next question wiped the smile from Hermione’s face and left her heart pounding. "Did we win the war?" Ron asked, his voice trembling with uncertainty.
Hermione froze, the weight of his words crashing down on her. She had known this question was coming, but nothing had prepared her for the moment. The man in front of her was still living in a time two decades past, unaware of the loss, the victories, and the sacrifices that had shaped the years since.
Her throat tightened, and for a moment, she couldn’t speak. How could she tell him the truth, knowing the avalanche of grief that would follow?
Hermione took a deep breath, her fingers trembling slightly as she prepared herself to answer Ron’s question. She knew he deserved the truth, but the truth was so much more painful than he could imagine. She glanced down at her hands for a moment, then met his eyes, steadying her voice.
"We won the war," she began softly, her tone measured. "After you came back… after you saved Harry from downing, you helped him destroyed the Horcrux locket. You helped us destroy the remaining Horcruxes, one by one. You played such an important role in it all, Ron. We destroyed one of them—Helga Hufflepuff cup—in the Chamber of Secrets. You and I went back there, just the two of us. We destroyed it together."
She paused, trying to maintain control over her emotions as the memories of those dark days resurfaced. She continued, carefully omitting the harshest details. "The final battle took place at Hogwarts. The castle was under siege. We all fought together, side by side. Harry faced Voldemort, and in the end, we won. The war ended that day."
Her words painted a demure picture of the events that had unfolded during that time—heroic and triumphant but without the crushing losses. She didn’t mention Fred’s death or the countless others who had perished during the Battle of Hogwarts. She didn’t talk about the funeral processions or the agonizing grief that followed. For now, she kept those details buried.
Ron listened intently, but Hermione could see a flicker of doubt in his eyes. He wasn’t fooled by her carefully chosen words. He knew Hermione too well, and he could tell she was glossing over the darkest parts of the story. The war had been brutal—he could feel it in his bones, even though the memories of the last twenty years were missing.
But he didn’t press her for more details. Not now. The exhaustion in his body was overwhelming, and he had so many more questions. He wasn’t ready for the full weight of the truth just yet. Instead, he asked a question that had been gnawing at him.
"What happened to us—after the war?" Ron asked quietly, his voice curious but tentative.
Hermione blinked, her heart tightening as she realized the conversation was about to shift into even more personal territory. She glanced down, gathering her thoughts, then looked up at him with a small, genuine smile.
"Harry and Ginny got married," she began, her voice soft. "They have three children now—James, Albus, and Lily. They’re a wonderful family."
Ron’s face lit up with joy, a broad smile breaking through the weight of the situation. "That’s brilliant," he said, genuinely happy. "I always knew they’d end up together. Harry deserves that kind of happiness."
Hermione’s smile widened, but the lump in her throat returned as she prepared for the next part. Her fingers fidgeted slightly in her lap. "And you, Ron… you and I—" Her voice cracked, and she cleared her throat. "We got married too."
Ron’s eyes widened in surprise, a mixture of shock and quiet delight spreading across his face. "We did?" he asked, almost as if he couldn’t believe it. "I always wanted to tell you how I felt, you know. Even back then, during the hunt."
His words hit Hermione like a wave, and before she could stop them, tears welled up in her eyes. She quickly wiped them away, but the emotions were overwhelming. Hearing Ron admit that he had wanted to tell her back then brought all the old memories to the surface—their unspoken feelings, the tension during the war, and the bond that had grown stronger with each passing day.
"You did tell me," Hermione said, her voice shaky. "Eventually."
Ron smiled at her, a warmth in his expression that she hadn’t seen in years. "That’s… that’s incredible, Hermione."
She took another deep breath, composing herself before continuing. "We have two children," she said softly. "A daughter named Rose and a son named Hugo. They’re both at Hogwarts now. Rose is in her fifth year, and Hugo just started his first."
Ron’s face lit up with happiness at the news. "We have kids?" he asked, wonder filling his voice. "That’s amazing… I can’t believe it. I’ve got a daughter and a son."
Hermione nodded, tears threatening to spill again. "You’d love them, Ron. They’re so much like you."
Ron’s eyes softened as he looked at her, and for a moment, he seemed lost in thought. "I’d like to meet them one day," he said quietly, his voice full of hope.
Hermione’s heart clenched at his words. She could barely keep her composure, knowing that the possibility of Ron meeting his children was a complicated and uncertain one. But she couldn’t bear to crush his hope—not right now.
"Maybe you will," she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion.