First Son of the Sixth One
Hermione was grateful to be out of the pouring rain when she stepped into Weasley's Enchanted Electronics. She was meeting Ron for lunch and made her way to the back of the store to his office. She tapped lightly on the door.
"Come in," Ron said. He was sitting at his desk writing a letter. He looked up. "Hullo luv, I just need a minute and then we can go. Have a seat."
She sat in the wing chair opposite his desk, crossed her legs, and watched him scrawl his letter. His handwriting hadn't improved much since school, she thought. He looked it over before folding it and sealing it with wax. A large barn owl waited in the corner of his office on a perch. "There you are, Minos. Off you go." Ron opened the window and the big bird flew out.
"So," he said, turning to Hermione. "How was your appointment?"
She shrugged. "Alright, I guess."
He moved to the other wing chair next to hers. "Do you think it's helping?"
"I don't know. It's hard to say. Obviously, I'm still having nightmares, but she does have me thinking differently about some things."
Ron cocked his head. "Like what?"
"Do you really want to get into this?" she asked.
Ron reached for her hand and squeezed it gently. "We don't have to, but if you're not sure this is helping and you want to talk it through, then I'm happy to listen."
She bit her bottom lip. "I don't know. She seems to want to let me off the hook for an awful lot."
"Like, she says that while I was responsible for smoking with Todor, I didn't know the drinks were spiked with ecstasy, so I'm not on the hook for the effects of that."
"That sounds reasonable," Ron said.
"But, if I'm not on the hook for that, then I'm not on the hook for getting pregnant, and if I'm not responsible for that, then it wasn't my fault Viktor and I were in Bulgaria when we were attacked. And if that's not my fault…" She stopped.
"It's not your fault you lost the baby," Ron finished for her, nodding. "That all sounds logical to me."
Hermione pushed a tear off her cheek with her thumb. "That seems a little too pat, don't you think?"
"No. I think it sounds right."
Hermione shook her head. "How does that sound right?"
Ron leaned over and took her hands in his. "I've known you for decades. I imagine you smoked with Todor for much the same reason you drank."
She nodded. "I actually wasn't really drinking very much at that point. I didn't even know what we were smoking until later. I mean, obviously I knew it was some kind of drug, I just didn't know what, and I didn't ask. Stupid."
"Nah," Ron said, "Not stupid, reckless, the kind of reckless you are when you feel like there's nothing left to lose, and honestly, that does sound like you. But the rest of it, none of that seems like things you would have done of your own accord."
"But to say I'm not responsible…" she shook her head. "That's too easy, isn't it?"
"Really?" Ron said. "How long have you been punishing yourself for this? Isn't that what seeing this healer is about? Aren't you supposed to be learning how to forgive yourself?"
"I don't know."
He sighed. "Let me ask you this, do you blame yourself for what happened with you and me and Harry?"
She looked up sharply. "Ron!"
He squeezed her hands. "No. Listen. That was something that was done to us. The Poacher's Curse caused that effect, but how is that different from what happened to you in Amsterdam?"
She opened her mouth but didn't say anything at first. Finally, she said, "It just is."
Ron shook his head. "No, it isn't."
She glared at him. "What happened in the woods wasn't anyone's fault but that wretched Death Eater's."
"Right, and from what I understand of what happened in Amsterdam, it was that bloke Filip's fault."
"It's not that simple," Hermione said, sighing.
"Because we…I wasn't cursed. I chose to smoke with Todor."
"Right, but you didn't choose to take ecstasy."
"I know, but—" She shook her head. "I can't explain. It just is."
He gave her a knowing look. "Because in the moment you wanted it, right?"
She blushed. "I—"
"That's the whole point of ecstasy, isn't it? No inhibitions?"
"Yes," she said quietly, "but if that's me uninhibited then isn't that just…me?"
Ron laughed. "Of course not. We are our inhibitions. Otherwise we'd just be hedonistic animals running around doing whatever struck our fancy."
That gave her pause.
"Since we've been together have you ever seen another bloke and thought he was attractive."
She scowled at him.
"Oh, come on, be honest. My ego isn't that fragile."
She sighed. "Of course."
"Did you come on to him?"
"No. Don't be ridiculous."
"Right, because we are more than the sum of our desires. If that's true now, then why wasn't it true then?"
"So, then it comes down to that Filip bloke. He spiked the drinks. Filip is the villain in the story, not you, not Viktor, not Todor. More importantly, I think you know that. You've always known it or you wouldn't have stayed with Viktor and you wouldn't have consented to vacation with Todor and his wife."
Hermione looked at him. "How long have you been thinking about this?"
Ron gave her a half smile. "Ever since I saw those photos. But especially lately since you put the memories back and we've been talking."
She blew out an exhausted breath. "If it's not my fault, why do I feel so guilty?"
"I think it's just your nature to feel responsible whether you actually are or not." There was a knock on the door. Ron got to his feet and opened it.
"Sorry to interrupt," Seamus said. "But there's a young man out here asking to see you."
"I don't have anyone on the schedule," Ron said. "I'm supposed to be taking Hermione to lunch."
"He says it's a family matter."
"What?" Ron said. "Okay." He turned to Hermione, "I'll be right back." He closed the door behind him.
Hermione pulled out her wand and cast a charm so no one could see she'd been crying and opened the door to the store. She saw Ron talking to a young man, who from the back, she thought was Fred and Angelina's son, John. He was a tall man with skin the color of a latte and short, red hair and a beard. A closer look revealed a stranger. They started walking toward her.
"This is my wife," Ron said to the young man. "Hermione, this is Denis."
The young man stuck out his hand.
"Hullo," Hermione said, shaking it. She gave Ron a curious look.
"Come in," he said and they all three went back into the office.
Denis looked at Hermione. "Oh," he said awkwardly. "Um."
"I'm sorry," Hermione said. "Should I go?"
"No," Ron said. "What's so urgent?" he asked Denis.
"Um," Denis said.
"Look, we're supposed to be going to lunch and I've got a meeting this afternoon, so say what you've got to say."
The young man cleared his throat. "Alright then, I think you're my father."
Ron laughed. "I don't think so mate."
Denis reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a photo. "My mum is Ester Omondi," he held the photo out to Ron.
Ron took it and all the blood drained from his face. He sat down hard on one of the chairs in front of his desk. "Oh," he said. "Uh…"
"That's you, right?"
Ron nodded. "Yeah." Ron stared at him. "She never said."
"I know," Denis said. "To me either, until I ran across this photo when I was cleaning out the attic."
Ron was positively gobsmacked. "I don't know what to say."
Denis shrugged. "Yeah, me either. I just…I'm in England for a summer internship at Gringotts. I thought, since I was here, I should try and meet you."
"Yeah," Ron said. "Yeah. Of course. Gringotts, that's a big deal."
"My great uncle got me the position," Denis said.
"Who's your great uncle?" Ron asked.
Ron nodded. "Your great uncle is the Minister of Magic."
"Good man, Kingsley. We worked with him during the war," Ron said absently, still staring at the photo.
"He speaks very highly of you," Denis said.
"He knows then?" Ron asked.
"No, I thought I ought to meet you first."
Ron nodded. "Right. I appreciate that. Look, are you sure?"
Denis shrugged. "Mum seemed sure."
Ron looked at Hermione. "Is there—?"
"A spell?" she said trying to rein in her own shock.
"Yeah," Ron said.
"Several actually," Hermione said dryly, her jaw tight.
She glanced from one to the other and sighed. "Sure. It's pretty simple since you're both here. Shake hands." When their hands were clasped Hermione pulled out her wand and cast a paternity spell. A golden string issued from her wand and wound around their hands and over their wrists. When it was done winding, it glowed green and then dissipated.
"I take it that's a yes," Ron said, his face blanching.
"Welcome to the family then, I guess," Ron said awkwardly.
Denis nodded. "Um. Thanks. Look, I know I just sprung this on you. I've lived with it for a couple of months, so I've had a bit more time to digest it. I don't want anything or need anything from you, but if you think you might want to get to know me, I'll be at the Three Broomsticks for the next couple of months. Then I'm heading back to Kenya."
Ron nodded. "Your aunt owns that inn."
Denis raised his eyebrows. "Really?"
"Yeah," Ron said quietly. "I'm one of seven. Most of us have kids. You've got family all over the place here."
Denis smiled awkwardly. "Well, that's new. I'm an only and so was my mum, so... Anyway, I'll let you sit with this. Let me know if you want to talk more."
Ron nodded. "Right. I'll be in touch."
Denis nodded and shook his hand again. "Nice meeting you." He shook Hermione's hand. "You too."
Hermione nodded. When the door closed behind the young man, she turned to Ron. He was very pale. "Maybe you should sit back down. You don't look so good."
Ron sat down in one of the chairs and put his face in his hands. "Bloody hell."
Denis had left the photo of his mother and Ron. Hermione picked it up. Ester Omondi was beautiful. In the photo, she and Ron stood next to each other with their arms around each other's waists. She was only a few inches shorter than Ron, model thin, with skin the color of polished mahogany, impossibly high cheek bones, and a warm smile. The photo was magical and showed Ron saying something and then kissing her cheek as she laughed over and over again. "How did you meet?" she asked.
"I went to an international business conference in Kenya. She was the Kenyan Ministry of Magic's associate director of international trade and economics. We met the day before the conference at a wine and cheese social."
"Oh," Hermione said softly. "She sounds accomplished."
"Very," Ron said.
"How long were you together?"
"A couple of weeks. The conference lasted a week and then I stayed to do some sightseeing."
She raised her eyebrows. "I assume she acted as your tour guide."
He nodded. "Yeah."
"Well, she certainly is beautiful."
Ron nodded again. "Yeah."
Hermione set the photo back on his desk and blew out a slow, calming breath.
"Well, go on," he said.
"Go on what?" Hermione asked.
"Just say it," he said, clearly irritated.
"Tell me what a prat I am."
Hermione arched an eyebrow. "Really? You're expecting a lecture on sexual irresponsibility from me? What were we just talking about before he got here?"
Ron snorted. "It's not the same."
Hermione raised her eyebrows.
"I wasn't high or cursed or drunk even. I just forgot the bloody charm."
"The last time I checked, which admittedly has been quite a while, it takes two people to forget the charm."
"Yeah, I guess." He shook his head. "But she never said. I don't…not even an owl…to tell me I had a son." He pushed his fingers back through his hair. "How is that fair?"
Hermione blew out another long slow breath. "It's not, I guess."
Ron scowled at her. "You guess? You didn't do that. You told Todor."
Hermione shifted uneasily. "I did, but honestly, I'm not sure I would have if Viktor hadn't been part of the equation."
Ron sat up and looked at her. "What?"
"Look, if Viktor had left me after Amsterdam, which could easily have happened, I'm not sure I would've ever told Todor I was pregnant."
"What do you mean? He was the father. Are you saying you would've gotten rid of it?"
Hermione shook her head. "No. I wanted a family. Not like that, but I would've had her. I was working. I had a house. I could have afforded childcare. But, all I knew about Todor was that he was Viktor's cousin and best friend, an artist, and a drug addict. I'm not going to sit here and say I definitely would have told him about the baby. Without Viktor, I don't think I would have necessarily wanted him in my life. What if he wanted visitation or joint custody or something? Even with Viktor that was a risk. Todor agreed to let us raise her as ours, but he didn't have to. That could've all gone the other way."
"So, you think Ester was right not to tell me?" He looked hurt and offended.
"I didn't say that. I'm just saying I understand why she didn't. She didn't really know you. You lived in another country thousands of miles away. Maybe she thought it was better to raise him on her own. It's hard for me to condemn another woman's choices."
"What about my choices?" Ron said, clearly angry.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry you didn't get to know him when he was little. I really am. But the truth is, there's nothing to be done about the past. What you can do is get to know him now."
Ron rested his elbows on his knees and put his face in his hands. "I'm going to have to tell everyone." He shook his head. "I'm going to have to tell Art he has a half-brother." He looked up at her with red-rimmed eyes. "What if there are others?"
She frowned at him. "What happened to I-never-forget-the-charm-with-anyone-but-you?"
"I didn't think I did, but clearly that's not the case. Bloody hell."
She raised her eyebrows. "Just how many women are we talking?"
He shrugged. "A lot."
Hermione shook her head. "Fantastic," she said sarcastically.
He had the decency to look chagrined.
"Realistically, I think if you had children in the UK, you'd know. The magical world is too small here to hide that. Unless you were also sleeping with Muggles. Were you sleeping with Muggles?"
Ron shook his head. "No. Where would I meet Muggles?"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Fine. So how many women did you sleep with outside the UK?"
Ron screwed up his face. "I don't know. Some. There were other conferences."
"Okay," Hermione said, getting to her feet. "Well, there are locator spells for paternity. I suggest you learn them."
"Can't you just—"
"No, I can't. I gave you one child. You want to find any others, you can figure it out on your own," she said sharply.
"Oh, right, so you are angry."
She shook her head. "Angry? No. Angry doesn't describe what I am."
"So, what are you?"
"Appalled. I'm appalled. You know why? Because for years, I got branded a slag because I dared to have a relationship with someone that wasn't you and wasn't British. Meanwhile, you apparently fucked every witch you could get your hands on, and you're still a hero. What an incredible crock of—"
"It wasn't as many as all that!" Ron shouted.
"No? Then how many?"
"I don't know. I wasn't counting."
"It's the fact that you would have to count that's the problem!" she shouted back at him.
"Everyone has to count!" he argued.
"Four!" Hermione shouted.
"Oh, come on there were more than four people in those Amsterdam photos," Ron grumbled.
Hermione felt her face go hot. "Fine," she said through gritted teeth. "Seven then. Now you!"
"Uh, um, well…" he sputtered.
"Exactly!" She pulled his office door open. "I'm going home."
Ron had no appetite for lunch, so he sent an owl to Denis at the Three Broomsticks asking if they could have breakfast in the morning and then went to his afternoon appointment. The meeting ran late so it was almost eight o'clock when he returned home. Hermione was having dinner with Art and his girlfriend Emma in the dining room. An empty place setting was left for Ron. Art and Emma said their hellos. Hermione merely nodded at him. When he sat down, food appeared on his plate along with a glass of water. Since Hermione had restored her memories, she'd been trying not to go crawling into her cups to deal with the nightmares about the events in Bulgaria. Ron was trying to be supportive by not drinking either. Not that he ever had more than the occasional glass of ale these days anyway but as he looked at the roast pork, mashed potatoes, and spinach salad that appeared on his plate he wished he could drink it all down with something stronger than water.
"How was your day, Dad?" Art asked.
Ron looked over at Hermione who subtly shook her head. Ron sighed. "Eventful."
"Yeah," Art said. "How's that?"
Ron set down his fork. "I need to tell you something and it might be upsetting to hear. I could tell you privately or I could tell you and Emma both. She's going to know soon enough anyway, but it's up to you how you want to hear it."
Art looked from his mother to his father. "Alright," he said cautiously. "Emma can hear it with me then."
Ron looked down at his plate. "A young man came to see me today. He's a couple of years older than you. He looks a lot like your cousin John." He blew out a slow calming breath. "I had a brief affair with his mother when your mother and I were broken up and..."
Art's eyes widened and Emma took his hand.
"He's my son," Ron finished.
Art's mouth dropped open. "He's what?"
"Your half-brother," Ron said.
"Bloody hell, Dad," Art said standing.
"Art," Emma said softly. He pulled his hand away from hers and left the room. They could hear the backdoor open and then slam shut.
Ron went to stand, but Emma held up a hand to stop him. "Let me," she said. "He probably just needs a minute."
Ron nodded and sat back down. He looked at Hermione as Emma left the room. "That could have gone better."
"Yes," she said.
"I really am sorry," he said.
"I know. It's not like this happened yesterday though. And his mother didn't tell you, so it's not like you shirked your responsibility. You didn't know he existed, which wasn't your fault."
"I should have been more careful."
"Sure," Hermione said. "You made a bad decision in your early twenties. Who hasn't?"
He shook his head. "I keep trying to think what I would have done if she'd told me."
Hermione raised her eyebrows. "And?"
"I don't rightly know. I mean, I hardly knew her, so I can't see asking her to marry me. And Kenya's a nice enough country, but let's face it, I'm like an albino there. I'd spend my whole life drowning in sunblock potions. Besides, I'd just opened the shop and it was doing really well. I can't see me chucking that and moving to Kenya, but Ester already had an important job with their Ministry. She was a few years older than me and already established. It's not like she was going to give up her life there to move to England for a bloke she hardly knew, no matter how much fun we'd had."
"Feel free to leave details like how much fun she was out from now on," Hermione said flatly.
Ron ducked his head. "Right. Sorry."
"Honestly, Ron. It sounds like you've just covered her whole decision-making process when she decided not to tell you."
"You think?" he said.
"I do. And in the end, it doesn't matter because it's done now."
"Except he's here."
"Right. How are you going to handle that?"
"Well, he is my son. I ought to get to know him while I have the opportunity, don't you think?"
Hermione nodded. "I do."
"I sent him an owl and asked if we could have breakfast at the Three Broomsticks tomorrow."
"Have you heard back yet?"
Ron shook his head. They could hear the back door open and Art and Emma returned to the dining room. Art sat down at the table and looked at his parents. "What's his name?"
"Denis Omondi," Ron said.
"So, he lives in London?"
"No," Ron said. "He's from Nairobi, but he's doing an internship at Gringotts for the summer and staying at the Three Broomsticks."
Art's eyes widened in surprise. "Do Aunt Ginny and Uncle Harry know? What about Clive and Devin?"
"No. The four of us are the only ones that know right now, but that will change."
Art frowned. "So, you're just going to tell everyone?"
Ron nodded. "I'm sorry Art, but he is my son. The family has a right to know he exists. How much interaction they'll want to have with him is up to them and him, but it would be wrong to keep him hidden."
"You have all this time," Art said angrily.
"Art," Hermione said.
"I didn't know he existed until he walked into the shop today."
"So," Art said, shaking his head. "What? You just used his mother and abandoned her."
Ron clenched his jaw.
"Watch your tone, Arthur," Hermione admonished.
"My tone?" Art shouted pointing to Ron. "He's got another son and you're worried about my tone!"
Hermione bristled. "You'll watch your tone in this house because you're my son—"
Ron held out a palm to each of them. "Alright, alright, calm down."
Hermione and Art glared at each other but they both complied.
"Look Art," Ron said, "we were two consenting adults. No one used anyone. We had a fun couple of weeks and then we went our separate ways. Obviously, neither one of us intended for her to get pregnant, but that's what happened. She chose not to tell me for her own reasons and that's that."
Art frowned. "Except that's not that, because he's here now."
"Yes, and if he'll let me, I'd like to get to know him before he goes back to Kenya."
"Do I have to meet him?" Art asked.
"Not if you don't want to."
"Fine," Art said, standing. "I don't." He stormed out of the room.
Emma looked at them both apologetically, before following Art out of the room.
Ron was grateful that Emma was spending the weekend with them. She could be a calming influence on Art. After they'd graduated from Hogwarts, she'd moved into the apartment over Ron's shop in Diagon Alley and had started her post-graduate studies at St. Mungo's to become a healer. Art had theoretically moved home to start the trials for the Department of Mysteries, which would take the better part of a year unless he washed out early. But he spent more and more time at Emma's. He was effectively living there. They were here for the weekend because they both had most of it free and Art hadn't seen his parents in weeks. Ron couldn't help wondering if, after this evening's revelation, they wouldn't go back to Emma's flat. He sighed.
Hermione got up from the table. "I think I'm going to go read in bed."
"Alright." Ron sighed. "I'll be up in a little while."
At nine o'clock an owl showed up with a note from Denis accepting Ron's breakfast invitation and saying he'd see him at nine o'clock. Ron spent the rest of the evening listening to music on the wireless and trying to think what to say to either of his sons in the morning. It was almost midnight when he finally went upstairs. Hermione had already put out the light. Ron was somewhat disheartened to see her wearing a gown, a sure sign she was cross with him, especially in the summer. He stripped down to his underpants and slipped in next to her.
It was three o'clock in the morning, when Hermione woke screaming. Since restoring her memories it was a common occurrence. Ron lit the lamp next to his side of the bed and turned to her. She was panting and rubbing her wrists. "I have to get these off," she muttered.
"Hey," Ron said.
She looked at him wild-eyed.
He put his hands over hers. "You were having a nightmare. There's nothing on your wrists. You're safe. Everything is fine."
Hermione looked down at her hands. "Oh," she said softly. "Right."
"You want to talk about it?" he asked, but he already knew the answer.
She shook her head and rolled over, settling back down. Ron turned off the light. Just as he was dozing off, she sat up, panting again and rubbing her wrists. This time she got out of bed. He lit the lamp. "Hermione?"
She didn't answer and left the room.
"Fuck," Ron muttered and got out of bed. He pulled on his dressing gown, grabbed hers, and followed her downstairs.
He found her in the kitchen rummaging through cabinets. Winky appeared just as Ron entered the room. "What does Miss need?" Winky asked.
"A bottle of Ogden's, or a bottle of wine, ale even, something."
Winky looked at Ron.
"Go to bed, Winky," Ron said. Winky disappeared. "You know there isn't any." Ron said to Hermione.
She glared at him. "Seriously? How could I have been so stupid?" She snapped her fingers. "Maybe in my study."
Ron followed her. "You don't want to do this."
"Don't tell me what I want."
"Why don't you just tell me what you're dreaming? It might help."
She shook her head and began reaching behind books on the shelves of her study.
"You've been hiding whiskey?" Ron asked, his brow furrowed with worry.
"I used to. There might be something left." She climbed the library ladder to reach the top shelves.
Ron moved some books off of one of the wing chairs in front of her desk and sat down. He knew she couldn't be but so serious or she'd have used Accio.
She glanced at him. "Just go back to bed."
"No. If you're drinking, I'm drinking."
She frowned at him. "Don't be ridiculous."
"Ridiculous or not, that's what's happening if you find a bottle. I could use a drink. I've had a hell of a day."
She frowned and sat down on the top step of the ladder and rubbed her wrists.
"You're dreaming about what happened in Bulgaria, right?"
She nodded and rubbed her wrists harder. "I keep seeing it," she whispered.
"What do you keep seeing?"
"I don't understand," Ron said, leaning forward.
"It was a big room, very cold, and there was a huge mirror in one corner. They dumped me in front of it."
Ron reached out to still her hands. "They tied you up. That's why you keep rubbing your wrists."
She nodded. "Every time I came to, someone stunned me. But for a second, I could see myself in the mirror. Every time I opened my eyes, I looked worse."
"I don't understand," Ron said. "If they kept stunning you, what did they want from you?"
"I think they meant to exchange me for someone else. I'm not sure, but that's what it sounded like from what little I heard."
"But why keep stunning you after they took your wand?"
She shook her head. "I don't think they were very powerful wizards. I think they were afraid of me. They seemed very concerned that I could do wandless nonverbal spells."
Ron nodded. "You are formidable."
"Not as formidable then as I am now and I was five months pregnant, hardly battle ready."
"Five months?" Ron said, stunned. Viktor had lied when he'd said she'd lost the baby early in the pregnancy.
"Yeah," Hermione said softly.
"I'm sorry," he said. "That must have been awful."
She nodded. "I don't know exactly what they did to me while I was stunned, but they didn't just leave me there. It was bad. After a while, I couldn't feel my hands or feet and I couldn't feel the baby move. The Aurors came and rescued me, but it was too late."
He was surprised that she wasn't crying. He thought he might prefer that to the hollowed out look she had. She shivered and he remembered he'd brought her dressing gown downstairs with him. He held it out for her and she slipped into it. He wrapped it around her and cinched the belt for her. "Come on," he said, taking her hand. "I'll fix you some tea."
She followed him into the kitchen and sat at the table while he heated the kettle with his wand. He brought her a cup of chamomile to the table and sat across from her. "Did the hospital not give you a medical report of your injuries?"
She looked up at him. "They did. I didn't read it. I asked Viktor to burn it. I don't know if he read it first or not."
Ron nodded. "Okay."
She shook her head. "It wasn't good."
He took her hand and kissed it. "It was a long time ago. You're okay. You'll get through this, you just have to let the memories settle. They're still fresh right now."
"I shouldn't have left them out for so long."
Ron shrugged. "Maybe, but I imagine once you take them out it's easy to forget about putting them back in."
"Yes," she said. "That's the problem."
Ron kissed her hand again.
She sipped her tea and looked up at him. "Did you ever hear from Denis?"
He nodded. "Breakfast tomorrow at the Three Broomsticks at nine o'clock."
"Are you going to introduce him to Harry and Ginny?"
"Not right away. Ginny shouldn't be there in the morning anyway, so I thought I'd go talk to them after. Then I thought I'd tell the rest of the family at Sunday dinner."
Hermione smiled sympathetically. "Do you want me with you?"
"On what?" she asked.
"If Art and Emma stay here tomorrow, I think maybe you should stick around. If they go back to the flat, I'd love to have you with me."
Hermione nodded. "I can do that. Why don't I have breakfast with Art and Emma and you have breakfast with Denis. Then I'll come meet you before you go see Harry and Ginny."
Ron nodded. "That sounds good."