Chapter Text
“Strange without Harry here,” Ron said as he collected their dinner plates. "Flat feels empty."
“Seems to be getting on with Draco lately,” Hermione said, setting a cup aside to dry.
“You know there's a charm for this? You don’t have to wash them.”
“They break. This is the best way to do it.”
“Well, let me then,” Ron said, grabbing a dish glove.
“No, you cooked, so I’ll clean. It’s only fair.”
Ron crossed his arms, leaned against the counter.
“Then I’ll dry,” he said, stepping around her, grabbing a cloth.
“Fine,” she huffed, and Ron saw the curve of her cheek where a smile was hidden—he smiled, too. “What have you been learning about lately?”
He frowned as he dried a cup, looking toward the light above them.
“Basics of field technique these days. Now that we’ve all passed training, we have to learn how to engage with the citizens, you know.”
“Citizens,” Hermione repeated, lifting a brow at him. “And what are they teaching you about us commoners?"
He rolled his eyes. "How to stay calm...diffuse tension. Prepare people for arrest and apparate safely with individuals who don’t want to be brought in—y’know—how not to splinch them.”
“I’ve never thought about that before,” Hermione said, and he glanced at her, saw her frown and laughed. “What?”
“Nothing,” he murmured, taking a plate from her to dry.
“What?”
“You just seemed pissed off that there was a category of thought you hadn’t explored yet.”
“Well, I am!” she burst, and Ron laughed harder.
“I know. That’s what makes it funny.”
She tutted and handed him the last plate, unplugging the sink to let it drain. “I suppose Aurors have a Right to Silence just like Muggle police officers, right?”
“Yes! I need your help memorising it. You know how shit I am at these sorts of things.”
“How long is it? I bet we could do it tonight.”
“What about the film?”
“We’ll do it now, then after the film you’ll tell it to me again to lock it in your memory. You just need repetition, that’s all.”
He drew his wand and Accioed the parchment where he’d written it down, smoothing out the wrinkles with the heel of his palm. He cleared his throat.
“You are being detained by a member of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence,” Ron read, then sighed, pressed his fingers to his eyes. “I always get lost in that second sentence. It’s so bloody long and doesn’t make any sense.”
He lifted his hand away, saw Hermione staring at the parchment, her cheeks flushed.
“What? Did you want to read it?”
“No, no—just—read it again. For retention.”
He sighed, leaning his hip on the counter and read. She put the dishes away as he repeated it again and again, then she came over, took the parchment from him, held it behind her back.
“Now try without it.”
He looked at her—saw her bright eyes—her reddened cheeks—wondered why putting the dishes away seemed so strenuous for her.
“You are being detained by a member of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. You do not have to say anything…but it may harm your defence if…” Ron started, looking to the left as he tried to remember the rest. “Bollocks—I always fuck up at this bit—” he tried reaching around her to get the parchment, but she stepped back.
“Keep trying. From the start.”
He sighed and began again, trailing off in the same place, holding out his hand for the parchment. When she didn’t budge, he reached for it, then crowded her into the corner of the counter, securing his hand on it, feeling the parchment crinkle beneath his fingertips.
“Let me see,” Ron said, noticing her eyes on his beard, wondering if he had food in it.
“What are you going to do if I don’t?” she asked, tilting her chin up bravely, meeting his eye. “Arrest me?”
“I bloody can’t if I don’t memorize my blasted Right to Silence, now can I?”
“Did they teach you how to do it?” she asked, looking at his beard again.
“Arrest people?”
“Yeah—with…surely they don’t use handcuffs?”
“We keep them on our belt. There’s the handcuff conjuring spell, but that’s for emergencies—risk of injury and all that.”
“Do you have them?”
“No,” Ron huffed. “Why would I need handcuffs at home?”
Her brown eyes lifted again, and his mind churned for the answer, becoming distracted by her quick breathing—the heat of her body so near to his—having not realised how close they’d gotten in his struggle for the parchment. He stepped away, and she followed, her head craned back, staring up at him.
“You should practice,” she said, bringing the parchment in front of her, letting him take it. “The movements. You should detain me while you recite it—the muscle memory will help.”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, and her face softened with a smile.
“You won’t.”
He glanced at the paper and took a deep breath, nodding.
“Turn around.”
Her gaze dropped as she obeyed, glancing at him over her shoulder as he flattened the parchment to the table. He stepped back, staring at the place her short sleeve met her bicep, swallowing as he reached for it, sliding his fingers carefully down her soft arm as he spoke.
“You are being detained by a member of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement,” he said as he took her wrist and drew it behind her back, pressing it to the base of her spine. “You do not have to say anything,” he continued as he touched her other shoulder, slid down that arm, too, “but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court.” He pinned her wrists together, fastened one hand around them as he drew his wand with the other. “Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”
He thought about casting the spell, then remembered how the cuffs had pinched him when Harry tried it—didn’t want that to happen to her.
“You did it without looking,” Hermione said, her voice shaking.
He was staring at the pale scarring Bellatrix left behind, stroked his thumb across it, then looked up as she turned her head to see him in her periphery.
“You know, this wasn’t nearly as fun with Neville,” Ron said, and she laughed, twisted to face him, settled her hand on his chest. “How about we watch the film, then I’ll try again after. I think you’re onto something with this muscle memory thing.”
She sighed, stroked her fingers through his beard and kissed him.
“Sure,” she agreed. “We’ll try again later.”