A Heart Bright and True

by Lyrastales

Ron is struggling with his identity after leaving the Aurors and setting up a detective agency. A woman needs his help but seems reluctant for him to learn the truth. To complicate matters, Fenrir Greyback is on the loose, and the Forbidden Forest looms.

Oh, look at you, my pretty, sleeping there so sweet and warm, with your parents downstairs to keep you safe. Look at you, with your soft, white skin - skin I bet nobody's ever touched except to kiss and love. Look at that hair - what a beautiful colour, my dear, d'you get it from your mother? Look at you, my lovely, and I will when you are mineminemine.

---

Ron let himself into Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes and slid carefully around the Whiz-bangs stand by the door. You never noticed when the shop was open and bustling with people, but some of those things were loud, and George was probably still asleep.

Not that Ron normally cared much about disturbing his brother, but it was the end of April, which meant that the anniversary of a certain death was approaching. All the Weasleys trod carefully around George at this time of year.

When he reached the back room, however, George was already there, spooning his way through a bowl of Beaton's Snap, Whizz or Bang (You Never Know 'Til You Try).

"Anything for me?"

George looked up with a nod and swallowed heroically, waving his free hand toward the windowsill. "Owl," he managed at last. "Paid it off with the usual, so you owe me a treat."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Yeah, right. I'll treat you to Seamus's best hangover potion, how about it?"

"Nah, don't need that today." George shoved another spoonful of cereal into his mouth, chewing rapidly. "When the moment arrives, I'll let you know."

Ron strode to the window and shook out the parchment. It was addressed to Wizard Detectives Anonymous, and stated, in plain black print, that the writer wished to meet him at a certain location, provided that his discretion could be counted upon.

No surprise there; he hadn't been in the detective business long, but he had been an Auror, and it was amazing how many people demanded absolute discretion before trusting anyone with their secrets, even when seeking help. And since Ron was trying to keep his new venture under wraps, even from his family and close friends, discretion was not difficult.

"Anything good?" George had moved to the work bench and was turning over some samples with a thoughtful look.

"Dunno. I'll find out later." Ron craned his neck as the sample in George's hand purred. Was it some kind of toy kneazle?

"I dunno why you don't just tell people, you know," George said abruptly. "At least, the family and Harry. Mum'd be a lot more understanding if she knew you were actually doing something instead of wasting your life working in here. Plus, it'd get her off my back."

Ron shook his head. "She doesn't think you're wasting your life," he said, because it was easier than the truth, which was that he didn't want anyone to find out what he was doing until he'd made a success of it. He'd told Hermione because he had to, and George because he needed the cover story of working in the shop. But the others … he couldn't bear the idea of failing in front of them all. "She seems pretty reconciled to it, in your case."

"That's because she's given up on me, and also, I'm making lots of money out of it," George retorted. "You're just my lackey, here to fulfil my every whim."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Speaking of which, I can do a shift in the shop this morning, if you like, while you work back here."

"Cheers!" George flashed him a grin. "I've nearly nailed this one. Verity'll be in about one, so if you could man the fort until then that'd be great."

Ron nodded and headed next door, shoving the letter into his pocket.

The shop wasn't due to open for another few minutes, but there were already a couple of kids playing on the cobbles while their parents glanced hopefully through the glass. Shrugging, Ron edged his way through the shop and unlatched the door.

"Morning all," he called, shielding his eyes from the sunshine. "Welcome to the best jokes in Britain."

The children scampered past before he had secured the door, and by the time he'd made it back to the counter where he could keep an eye on them, they were eagerly trying out the U-No-Poo products. In thirty seconds they were crouched on the floor and sniggering over their shoulders at their parents, and Ron decided he could leave them to it. He picked up the sales ledger and made a pretence of checking through it, but his thoughts turned inexorably toward that afternoon's meeting.

The designated meeting place was the tea room attached to one of the more luxurious London hotels on the nearby Strand, one often used by visiting dignitaries from other parts of the wizarding world. Ron had never been there in his life, nor had he ever expected to go there. He wondered how much the tea and coffee cost. You were supposed to pay for prospective clients, weren't you? Schmoozing, Dean called it; he got a lot of that, as an artist.

Still, Ron had a few Galleons saved up from his Auror pay, and it wasn't as if he had any other work at the moment.

His stomach clenched. It had been a risk, resigning as an Auror and setting up on his own. But Auror work hadn't been quite what he expected, and he'd always longed to do something completely for himself. He could make this work, he knew he could. He had to.

Part of him had loved being an Auror. It was an exciting job, and he'd enjoyed watching people's eyes light up when he told them what he did. Yes, sometimes the work was exhausting and unpleasant, but he'd always managed to rationalise it as 'part of the fun'. Being an Auror was a way to differentiate himself from his over-achieving family, while doing something that was nearly as cool as curse-breaking and dragon-taming, and definitely cooler than Percy's job measuring cauldron bottoms.

Somewhere, though, he'd lost his enthusiasm for the job. It wasn't the work, which was always interesting and felt meaningful in a way that was important to Ron. Rather, it was the corollaries to the work: the admiration that was for the job, not for him; the way he always had to prove himself to the other Aurors, who assumed that he was only there because of Harry. The way his successes were perennially ignored by the media, because his successes were also Harry's, and so of course it was Harry who made the news. Harry was the news.

Ron hadn't understood how far he had gone in his decision-making until he'd mentioned to Hermione, with false casualness, that he was thinking of giving up his job and trying something else.

He'd squirmed under her intense gaze. She knew him better than anyone; in fact, she probably knew more about why he wanted to quit than he did. Would she think he was just jealous of Harry? That he needed to reconcile himself to always being second best?

If she'd thought those things, she hadn't said them. Instead, she'd smiled and said, "Okay. If that's what you feel you need to do, I'll support you."

With the rush of relief that followed her words, he'd realised that his decision was already made.

That had been the easy part, of course. He'd then had to persuade his managers at work that yes, he did want to throw away the training they'd given him and all the resources they'd spent on making him one of the elite. He'd had to face his father, who had reacted with ill-concealed disappointment, his mother, who had been angry at him for throwing such a good career away, and his siblings, who reacted with varying degrees of bemusement. Worst of all was Harry, who was hurt and bewildered by Ron's decision. They'd looked forward to being Aurors together; they'd enjoyed the training and relished working as partners once they qualified. At least, Harry had. Ron had found himself unable to explain why he didn't want to do it any longer, and when he'd tried, he'd got it all wrong. Harry had gone away angry, and things hadn't been the same between them since.

Two months later, and here he was, still pretending to almost everyone that he was working in the joke shop while he decided what to do with his life, and following up detective projects on the sly. So far, the announcement he'd placed in the Daily Prophet hadn't garnered much: a few people looking for lost objects, one warlock who thought his wife was having an affair, and an assortment of Owls from people who seemed to make a career out of writing bizarre letters to strangers.

"Terrifying."

Ron snapped back to the present, but the word wasn't directed at him. The adults he'd seen earlier had followed their children inside and were working their way around the shop. The woman picked up a Pygmy Puff from the counter and examined it idly. "I'm trying not to make it too obvious," she added in a lower voice, "because I don't want to frighten Corin, but honestly, I'm not letting him out of my sight until that man's found."

"Man's too good a word for him," the man said. Ron thought he recognised him as a prefect from his early days at Hogwarts. "He gave up any claim to humanity a long time ago. Remember that awful story about what he did to that boy because he disagreed with the father? I forget the name, something beginning with L."

Ron turned a page in the ledger and tried to look as if he was concentrating on accounts.

"He's a monster," the woman agreed.

"Sorry," Ron said, giving up his pretence of not listening. "Who is it they're looking for?"

The woman opened her mouth, glanced at the children and closed it again. From her bag she pulled a copy of that morning's Daily Prophet. A figure bared his teeth in a large photo on the cover. Ron stared from it to the woman.

"You're kidding!"

"I wish," said the woman. "But you can see, it's there in black and white."

"Yeah …." Ron stared at the photograph again, fighting the urge to lean away. It looked far too real for his liking.

"I just hope the Aurors catch him quickly," the woman said. "Nobody's safe until then."

Yes, and two months ago, Ron would have been one of those seeking him. "Be careful how you go," he said, brain moving automatically into Auror mode.

"I certainly will."

"About time the Aurors earned their pay," said the man. "This is the first big problem they've had to deal with in years."

"Right," said Ron, trying to keep the sarcasm out of his tone. Just because you don't see it doesn't mean it's not happening, idiot. "They'll pick him up soon, I'm sure."

"I hope so." The woman glanced at her watch and folded the paper away. "Corin! Choose something quickly, please. We have to meet Grandma in five minutes." She bustled over to the two children, and the man followed her with a shrug. Two minutes later the shop was empty except for Ron and his thoughts.

He popped his head into the back room. "George, you got today's Prophet yet?"

"Table," mumbled George, gesturing behind him.

Ron took the paper back to read at the checkout. It was a quiet morning - the big rush would come when the summer holidays started - so he was free to engross himself in the story.

Fenrir Greyback snarled silently from the front page. He had escaped from Azkaban the previous night, apparently. Having proved more resistant to the effects of the Dementors than most, he had been assigned an extra detail of wizard guards; these had been found with their throats ripped out at three in the morning, inside Greyback's cell. Their wands were missing.

There had been a full moon last night. Ron knew this, because he had paced beneath it for a good half hour, wondering yet again whether he had been monumentally stupid to throw away his career as an Auror.

Harry was probably out looking for Greyback right now. Ron didn't envy him. The report went on to say that Greyback was expected to make for a rural area, so wizards were advised to stay out of the countryside. A Ministry spokesman mentioned that they were in the process of contacting "persons who might be at particular risk". This appeared to mean anyone with whom Greyback had previously had dealings.

With a shiver, Ron remembered Bill as he'd looked in the hospital wing that night, so bloodied and battered that it didn't seem he could possibly recover. Could Greyback be heading to Shell Cottage to finish the job?

There were other stories inside the paper: a profile of Greyback, plus an outline of his career as a supporter of Voldemort. "Did more damage to wizard-werewolf relations than anyone else in history," was the verdict of someone on the Comment page, of whom Ron, not an inveterate reader of the news, had never heard. An anonymous source purporting to be from the Ministry of Magic stated that "Greyback believes it is his mission to create as many werewolves as possible. He is the most dangerous man alive."

Ron glanced around at the sound of footsteps and found a familiar figure in his line of view. "Angelina!"

She halted just inside the door. "Oh! Hi, Ron. How's life?"

"Pretty good." He gestured around him. "Just giving George a bit of a hand."

She nodded. "I heard you resigned. Time for a bit of life re-evaluation?"

Well, she'd always been direct. "Yeah, more or less. Just wanted to try something different."

"I think you did the right thing." Her large, expressive eyes fixed on him. "You might have been a great Auror, but no one would have known, because all the attention would be on Harry. Now you can figure out what you want to do."

"Uh, thanks." He felt his face heating. She was the first person out of what seemed like several hundred to actually praise him for resigning. "I'm glad you think so."

"I do." She put her hand on the door latch. "See you soon."

"Er, did you want anything in particular? From the shop, I mean."

She hesitated. "I was looking for something for my little cousin, but I'm not in the mood. I'll come back. See ya." She flashed a smile and was gone.

Ron stared at the door thoughtfully. After a couple of minutes, since the shop was still empty, he headed for the back room.

"You hear Fenrir Greyback's escaped from Azkaban?" he demanded of George.

"Saw the paper," said George laconically.

"It says the Ministry'll be contacting people who are at particular risk." Ron hesitated. "Do you know if they've been in contact with Bill?"

"Now, how should I know?" George held up a sample in triumph. It really did look like a miniature kneazle. "Yes! Fucking got it."

Ron poured himself a glass of water. "Because Greyback's got a history of getting emotionally involved with his victims, and I suppose Bill's one of 'em."

"What?" George rested the sample on the desk, but didn't quite let go of it. "Merlin, they teach you Aurors to be paranoid, don't they? Why on earth would Greyback be after Bill?"

He was right, of course. And yet …. "He could be after Victoire." There, he'd said it. The little girl who had captured his heart from her first blink and bossed him around since she could make herself understood might be in danger from Fenrir Greyback.

"That," George said, turning back to his work, "is definitely called being paranoid, little bro." He tweaked a wire and gave a satisfied, 'ah'. "Anyway, from what I know, he's more likely to be after Teddy Lupin, not a measly Weasley."

"Yeah, you rhyme, ha ha," Ron said without mirth. Shit! Of course, Teddy would be an obvious target. Harry must be going spare. He thought about flooing directly to Andromeda's house, but decided against it. She'd probably had Aurors all over the place since the early hours, and she wouldn't thank a concerned ex-Auror for getting involved. Harry had probably contacted her first thing.

He retired to the shop and attempted to work off his worries by rearranging the Skiving Snackbox stands by the counter.

---

Two hours later, Ron made his way around plush sofas and ornate tables to the corner that had been designated in the Owl. He stopped short when he saw who occupied one sofa.

"Sit down," said Narcissa Malfoy coolly.

The other woman, plump with flyaway hair, blanched. "Oh, a Weasley, I didn't expect … Narcissa, are you sure about this?"

"As sure as I can be," Narcissa said.

"I don't want anything to do with you!" Ron snapped. The last time he had seen her close up, her sister had been preparing to torture Hermione.

"And yet, you're not walking away." There was no animosity in her tone, but little welcome, either.

"Only because I was brought up well." He glared at her, swallowing down memories of Hermione screaming; of what had been done at Malfoy Manor in Voldemort's name; of himself hitting Draco and telling him off during the Battle of Hogwarts. "Give me one reason why I should stay. And I don't mean money."

After a moment, the woman who wasn't Narcissa murmured, "I hear you have compassion. And that you were an excellent Auror."

"I like to think so." Saying that hurt. He'd given all of it up with his resignation - the automatic respect and admiration that had become so galling, because what did it mean, really? All people saw were the robes and the fact that his partner was Harry Potter. "If you want an Auror," he added, "why not take it to the Ministry?"

The woman looked at Narcissa, eyes wide with alarm. Narcissa leaned forward. "We are looking for someone with discretion. Someone with the right skills who can be discreet enough for Malena's needs."

"Yeah?" He slumped into the sofa opposite and did his best to feign disinterest. "So, what are those needs?"

"I want you to find my son," the woman said earnestly. "His name's Gregory. Gregory Goyle."

---

One unexpected thing that being an Auror had taught Ron was how to find things out. He'd always rolled his eyes at Hermione's obsession with research; it seemed esoteric and pointless. But when you had a case: when there were people involved, when someone's life hung on what you could find out about someone else's past, then it wasn't research - it was just the facts, and Ron was a just-the-facts kind of bloke.

This was why, twenty minutes after leaving the hotel with substantially fewer Galleons than when he had entered it, he was inside the Ministry of Magic and heading for the Registrar's Office. He nodded at the clerk on duty and swept through to the back, where the Ministry's prized and most recent acquisitions were kept: four large screens, each currently displaying a large apple. Ron flicked his wand at the end one and the apple disappeared, replaced by a blinking cursor.

"How may I be of service?" asked a polite voice.

"Everything you've got on Septimus Pounce, private detective," he replied. This was the name of the detective whom Goyle's mother had hired three years earlier, the first time she had looked for him. Ron was already annoyed and frustrated with this case, because when he'd asked for details of the previous search, he'd been told that there weren't any, and that the detective had moved to Russia and could not be contacted.

Data filled the screen. There was indeed a detective called Septimus Pounce; he had no wife or children - and yes, he'd relocated to Moscow about a year ago.

"Any details of his cases?" Ron asked.

"No data," the screen answered serenely.

Ron frowned. "You must have something."

A list appeared on the screen. It was very short, and appeared primarily to concern financial dealings. Pounce had been pretty low on the radar, it seemed. There was a reference to Malena Goyle, but when he touched his wand to the screen, the notes field that popped up was empty.

"All right." Ron sighed. It seemed a little too convenient to him, particularly given Mrs Goyle's reluctance to fill him in on Pounce's search for her son, but there was nothing he could do about it at the moment. He would Owl Pounce later and see what could be learned that way. "Give me Goyle. No." The screen filled with a jumble of records in which anyone named Goyle was mentioned. "Gregory Goyle, junior."

He read through the details, but found nothing there that he didn't already know. Goyle hadn't been seen since the day after the Battle of Hogwarts. If he was honest, Ron had never really thought about it, although he remembered reading a couple of articles mentioning the disappearance, soon after the Battle of Hogwarts. He'd just been pleased that his erstwhile nemesis was out of the way.

Goyle had been injured in the fighting. It was a bad injury, but a visible one. The worst ones, Ron's dad had once said, were the ones you didn't see.

Ron didn't know about that. He'd seen the snake bite that had almost killed his dad, the tatters of Bill's skin following Greyback's attack and the gash that had opened in Fred's chest when he'd died.

Anyway. The next day, among all the coming and going in the hospital wing, Goyle had slipped out. It would have been easy; Madam Pomfrey had been rushed off her feet, and the place had been in chaos as relatives arrived to visit or collect the injured.

Except that Gregory Goyle had walked out of that ward into oblivion.

There had been no official search. Draco Malfoy swore his friend wasn't a Death Eater, and while Goyle had done awful things that year at Hogwarts, the new Minister for Magic had announced that he was not about to blame young people for following the bad examples of their elders. It was the Carrows and their ilk who should suffer for the wrongs that had been done. So Goyle wasn't a criminal, and therefore there was no reason for the authorities to look for him.

According to Hermione and Ginny, there'd been some bad moments at Hogwarts the following year. Kids taking revenge for what had been done to them under the Carrows' tutelage, and others, embittered and humiliated by what had happened to them and their families, lashing out any way they could.

Ron had never asked Ginny to name the people who'd hurt her, because he knew he wouldn't be able to stop himself from wreaking vengeance. He didn't like this part of himself, but it was there and better left untempted. He had no comprehension of how Hermione, Neville and a few others had been able to reach out, to forgive, to break down barriers. He admired them, even understood that their compassion had been necessary, but he couldn't emulate them.

Rubbing his eyes, he reread the records, but nothing jumped out except the obvious: he would have to start where Goyle had started. At Hogwarts.

---

Next morning, Ron Apparated to Hogsmeade and headed along the road to Hogwarts. He had spoken to Harry via floo the previous evening and established that Aurors had been assigned to guard Greyback's victims and anyone against whom he bore a known grudge, including Teddy Lupin and Bill.

"We've had to put everyone on overtime to cover the work, though," Harry said with a yawn, "and that's just the people we know about. Sure you don't fancy coming back for a few shifts?"

"Nah, mate," Ron replied. "Too busy helping George."

"Right," Harry said. He sounded a little chilly, and Ron couldn't blame him. One of their biggest cases in years, and here was Ron talking about working in a joke shop?

"I know you can't tell me too much, but was the Prophet right about Greyback heading for a rural area?" he asked.

"Yeah." Harry hesitated and his eyes flicked behind him, as if checking for witnesses. "We're hoping he's focusing on staying free rather than on revenging himself on anyone. In which case, yeah, we expect him to be heading for the remotest parts of Britain. He's probably got all sorts of old mates tucked away out there, just waiting for him to turn up." He smiled tightly. "So I'd stay out of, say, the Forbidden Forest at Hogwarts, if I were you."

Ron laughed nervously. "I always hated that place even when I lived right beside it. Don't you worry." He made a show of looking at his watch. "I've got to go. Dinner. Listen, sorry I can't help, but you'll get him soon. I know you will."

Harry's face relaxed slightly. "I know. We've got to. I'll have to let you know about the match on Saturday, yeah? I'll be at Andromeda's if you want to get hold of me."

Twelve hours later and here was Ron, heading for Hogwarts, and where was the obvious place to look for anyone who had gone missing around that area? The Forbidden Forest. Which just happened to be the one place that Harry had mentioned specifically as a likely destination for Greyback.

At least when you were an Auror, you always had at least one other person with you. Ron was alone; he'd left a note for George to find if he didn't return, but that would probably be too late if he ran into trouble. Those spiders weren't going to hang around if they caught him, and neither was Greyback. Especially not if he was hungry.

He's probably got all sorts of old mates tucked away out there, Harry had said. Everyone knew there were werewolves in the forest.

Ron patted his wand pocket. He was a trained Auror now, adept at fighting and defensive magic. The whole point about being an Auror was that you could protect yourself and others from just about anything. He just had to keep remembering that.

He hesitated outside the school gates. After pondering all morning, he still wasn't sure what to do next. What he knew he should do was find Professor McGonagall and obtain permission to wander around the school grounds. But that meant he would have to tell her what he was doing, and if he hadn't yet managed to tell Harry that, how on earth could he tell McGonagall? Besides, even if he told her the truth, what were the chances of her agreeing to his plan?

If he didn't tell McGonagall and someone spotted him, the alarm would be raised and he'd attract a huge amount of attention - the one thing he really didn't want.

Not for the first time, Ron envied Harry his invisibility cloak. He checked his watch: it was quarter past ten. They'd all be in lessons, or should be, which meant that the only people likely to see him were the Herbology students, and even they ought to be busy inside. Exams were looming, so everybody ought to be hard at work, he thought, ignoring the fact that his own revision had generally been carried out at the last possible minute.

Right. He cast a Concealment Charm on himself, and his robes and skin instantly faded to a dull grey that acquired a greenish tinge when he stepped onto the grass. It was nowhere near as effective as Harry's cloak, but it ought to hide him at a distance from any students who were out of lessons. After checking the deserted lawn once more, he headed along the outer wall toward the forest, trying to look as if he was out for a casual stroll.

"Ron! How're yeh doin'?"

Ron froze. Forcing his features into a smile, he turned.

"Hagrid! Fancy meeting you here."

"What, outside me cabin?" Hagrid raised bushy eyebrows. "Yeah. Come in, come in. There's a pot o' tea goin'." He put his head on one side, and then the other. "Yeh look a bit funny, Ron. Sort o' shimmery. Feelin' okay?"

"Er, I'm fine!" Ron followed him toward the open door of the cabin, surreptitiously removing the Concealment Charm as he walked. Fat lot of good that had done him.

He hadn't been here for nearly a year - Hagrid had thrown a dinner party on his last birthday - but as always, the cabin smelled of wet dog and various herbs.

Fang sprang up to lick his face, whimpering in delight. He did this to everyone, so Ron had no compunction in pushing him away.

"All right, Fang, down. Yeah, good to see you, too, get DOWN, you stupid mutt." As he straightened, he noticed a figure sitting at the broad table. She looked familiar, but placing her took a few seconds, by which time she was rising to her feet.

"Cho Chang!"

"Ron Weasley," she said dryly. "Hi. How are you doing?"

"Okay." How was he going to get out of this? "Sorry, Hagrid, I didn't realise you had a visitor. I'll come back another time."

"No, don' do that!" Hagrid dived for the teapot, juddering the cups in the process. "Stay for a cuppa, come on, there's loads."

Ron hesitated. He had half-decided that he could confide in Hagrid, who would at least not think he was insane to go wandering in the forest, and would not ask too many questions. But to do that, he needed to get him alone.

"Okay." Perhaps he could wait Cho out. He glanced at her. "As long as I'm not disturbing you."

"Not at all," she said politely. "Um, have a rock bun."

They exchanged weak smiles. "Thanks," said Ron, patting his stomach. "I'm still full from breakfast." Hagrid's rock buns were best avoided unless you wanted a broken tooth.

"I was about ter take Cho into the forest when I saw yeh headin' that way. So I says ter meself, there's Ron, he's a trained Auror, can look after himself better'n anyone I know." Hagrid crunched a rock bun in three bites. "Maybe he can take her, and I can stay here and check on the rainbow potato seedlin's."

Ron coughed. "Um, actually, I-"

"It's no problem," Cho put in. "I can go by myself. Sorry, Hagrid, I didn't realise you were so busy."

"Don't you be talkin' nonsense," Hagrid said gruffly. "Yeh need yer wits about yeh in that forest, and I ain't letting nobody go in alone. I was all ready to go with yeh, but then I saw Ron here, heading the same way."

"Hagrid, I'll be fine," said Cho.

"No," Ron said in resignation, "he's right. We might as well go together." As long as she wasn't after the spiders. Merlin, don't let her be after the spiders!

"Cho here's looking for an old friend," Hagrid confided.

"Oh?" asked Ron. Had Goyle been a friend of hers? Surely not.

Cho glared at Hagrid, then turned to Ron. "Someone you might remember, actually. Michael Corner."

Ron thought for a moment. "Oh, I remember him! He went out with Ginny for a while when we were at school."

"That's right," Cho said in a chilly tone.

"I haven't heard anything of him in years." Ron stopped. "You're looking for him? Why?"

"Because I don't know where he is," Cho snapped. She stood. "Look, we can discuss it as we go. Shall we?"

She led the way to the door and Ron trailed after her awkwardly.

"Red sparks if yeh run into strife," Hagrid called after them. "And if you're not back by dark I'm callin' the Headmistress!"

"So what brings you to this place?" Cho asked as they stepped beneath the trees. "Certain death by venomous flora? The giant spiders? The werewolves?"

Ron repressed a shudder. He was already listening desperately for any sound that might signify lurking acromantulae, and it was giving him the shakes.

"It's sort of private," he said.

Cho glanced sideways at him. "Okay. So I suppose it's no use asking what you're on the lookout for? You know, so I can help?"

"I'm looking for … a person," Ron said cautiously.

"I see." Cho shaded her eyes, staring down some kind of track. "I thought Aurors worked in pairs. Where's your partner?"

"I, um, left the Aurors. This is personal business." Ron's nerves were jangling; why had he thought this was a good idea, picking up a trail that had been cold for five years, in the Forbidden Forest, of all places? "So, why are you here? You really think Corner's been hiding out here?"

"Just a hunch," Cho said shortly.

Ron rolled his eyes. He couldn't tell her anything, and she seemed unwilling to divulge many details. This was looking like being a really productive outing. "Well, are you heading anywhere in particular? Or do we just wander aimlessly until we get bored?" Which was more or less what he'd planned to do. Yes, very productive.

"I'm heading somewhere in particular," Cho said calmly, "so you might as well try and keep up. I'll watch up front; you guard us behind."

She led the way down a wide footpath lined with giant ferns, and then down a track that was so overgrown it was barely visible. Ron followed her, still listening for the telltale click of the acromantulae while keeping an eye out for attacks from the rear.

They had been walking for nearly half an hour, and were now well beyond the Hogwarts boundary. Occasionally Cho paused, apparently uncertain of the direction, but each time she moved on, never once doubling back.

Finally, she halted at the mouth of a small clearing. "This is the place." She bent close to the ground, wand trained on the long grass beneath the trees, and moved slowly sideways, watching the ground carefully.

"I'll take the other side," said Ron. "Er, what are we looking for?"

"Signs of habitation," she answered, crouching to inspect what looked to Ron like a perfectly ordinary stone. "Signs of Michael."

"What, like a Ravenclaw tie?"

Cho ignored him. Ron sighed and bent to his task, covering one square foot at a time, Auror style.

When they met in the middle of the clearing, he had two objects for Cho to inspect: an old, rain-sodden book with half its pages missing, called "Q_um Physics and the M_cal Dimension", and a mud-encrusted Slytherin badge. She seized on the book - "Just the sort of thing Michael would be interested in." - and returned the badge to him without comment.

Suddenly her fingers clamped on his forearm like claws. Before he could ask her what the problem was, he heard it: a low growl coming from the trees to his left.

His wand was up in a flash, sending a Stunning Spell scudding toward the noise. But the growl came again from even closer at hand, and was echoed by several more around the perimeter of the clearing.

Pausing only long enough to figure out the coordinates, Ron grabbed Cho's hand tightly and Apparated them both to safety.

---

"So what are you doing with yourself these days?" asked Ron when the first Butterbeer had allayed his shivering and the second had arrived. They had waited just long enough to Owl Hagrid from the Post Office before taking refuge in the Three Broomsticks.

Cho shrugged. "I'm reserve Seeker for the Magpies. But I'm sick of it."

"Really?" Ron found it hard to believe that anyone could be sick of playing professional Quidditch.

"Yeah, really." She sipped her Butterbeer and eyed him over the glass. "The thing about being a reserve is, you're not good enough for anything except emergencies. I thought I might get promoted when Bigsby retired at the end of last season. But they brought in Portmency, instead." She looked away, blinking hard.

"But still," Ron said awkwardly, "you get to play Quidditch all day, right? Sounds pretty good to me."

"Absolutely, if you like flying round and round some godforsaken pitch in the arse-end of England while some fat bastard yells at you. It's great fun." She tapped her fingers on the table. "I thought you might understand. I mean, why'd you leave the Aurors? Talking of excellent jobs."

He gazed into his pint. "Just got … tired of it," he mumbled.

"Right. And I'm sure all your friends and family understood exactly where you were coming from, did they? I bet they were all really supportive."

He winced. "Not really." He groped for a way to change the subject. "What do you want to do instead, then?"

Cho leaned over the table, hands cupping her mug. "I want to be a reporter. Not the kind who works for a particular publication and has to toe the party line. An independent one." Her dark eyes flashed. "There's so much hypocrisy in the world, and journalists should be trying to counteract it, but half the time they're the ones causing it. Like all that stuff about Harry after Cedric died - the Prophet started it, and everyone else jumped on the bandwagon, because it made a good story, didn't it, the Boy Who Lived turning out to be weird and a bit mental and maybe a murderer. And it was all bollocks. I hate it!" Her fingers, clenched around the mug, were white around the knuckles.

"So, you going to work for The Quibbler instead?" Ron asked.

"No!" She shook her head in frustration. "I want to be independent! I want to find stories myself - stuff that the mainstream media isn't covering - and then sell them to publications. Like, say, all those people who haven't been seen since the Death Eaters ran the Ministry of Magic. What happened to them?"

Ron fiddled with the Slytherin badge he'd found, which was nestled in his pocket. "Is this anything to do with why you're looking for my sister's ex-boyfriend?"

"My ex-boyfriend, too, and more recently than your sister." Cho scowled. "Although he's technically not an ex, because we never broke up."

"No?" Ron looked up, intrigued.

She shook her head. "He disappeared in the battle at Hogwarts. I've never seen him since, and as far as I know, nor has anyone else. But they never found his body, and I'm sure he's alive."

Ron knew that plenty of bodies hadn't been found, or at least, hadn't been identifiable, but it didn't seem like a good idea to point that out. Besides, there was an obvious response that needed to be made here. "Wow, that must have been tough. I'm sorry."

"Haven't had the best of luck with boyfriends," she mumbled.

Oh, yeah, he remembered now. She'd gone out with Cedric Diggory that year they'd had the Yule Ball - the year he'd died. And then Harry, and then Michael …. "I hope you've had a bit more luck since then," he offered awkwardly.

She smiled. "Thanks. I have, sort of."

He fingered the badge again. An idea was forming in his mind, but he wasn't yet ready to share it. "So, did you find what you were looking for in the forest? Before we nearly got eaten?"

"I'm not sure." She frowned. "That book … yeah, it's definitely the kind of thing Michael would have been interested in. But I can't figure out why. I mean, why do you …." She gulped her Butterbeer. "If he's alive, or was alive, why hide? What sort of person hides away for three years?"

Ron had no answer to that. "Why the forest? Why did you think he might be there?"

She looked away, shrugging. "Why were you looking in the forest?"

"I had a lead," he said. Should he trust her? "A cold one, but it was all I had."

She fingered the handle of her mug. "I've been having these weird dreams."

"Dreams."

"Yes." From her defensive tone, he knew he'd failed to keep the scepticism out of his voice. "I know you think I'm talking rubbish. I thought I was thinking rubbish for ages. But they've got worse in the past week - a lot worse. So I decided I should finally follow them up."

He pondered this. His opinion of divination and related subjects was more or less the same as Hermione's. But there was no doubt that Professor Trelawney had made at least one true prophecy - two if you counted the one in which she'd foretold Voldemort's return. "Were you any good at Divination at school?" he asked diffidently.

She flushed. "Not if you mean all that reading the tea leaves crap. I couldn't be bothered to make up stories that sounded interesting enough for Trelawney. But I've always had, um, feelings. And dreams. And I've always known which were the true ones and which were just hunches. It worked this time, didn't it?" She was leaning across the table again, her urgency almost palpable. "I knew exactly where to find that clearing, and they'd been there, hadn't they?"

They. That book. The Slytherin badge. Someone had certainly been there, and something had watched them from the trees. Ron made his decision. "I'm investigating a disappearance, too," he blurted. "But you can't put it in your article. I've sworn professional confidentiality."

Cho's eyes widened. "Not Michael, as well?"

"No." Ron hesitated. "Swear you won't write about it?"

She shook her head. "I don't even know if I'm going to write about it at all. I mean, yeah, I'm looking for a big story, but my priority here is Michael."

"But if you do?" he hedged.

"I won't name whoever it is," she said slowly, "or include details that would identify them. But I can't promise not to write about it at all."

The badge lay heavy in his pocket. "Okay," he said, and began to talk.

---

Next morning, an Owl arrived for him at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. It was from Pounce, informing Ron that he would find all his case notes with one Luther Greengrass, and that he was welcome to look through them. Pounce also added:

Case closed, but try Forbidden Forest near Hogwarts. Best to wait until after full moon.

Well, it was a bit late for that, thought Ron grumpily. Still, he was pleasantly surprised by Pounce's openness. He had half-expected his request to be ignored.

Before heading out, he called Shell Cottage on the Floo, and found Fleur in the living room. With Victoire to look after and another baby on the way, she was doing most of her work from home these days.

"Any news about the watch on the house?" Even after all these years, he still had to fight to keep his voice casual in her presence.

Fleur shook her head. "Non. They 'ave seen nothing, and I 'ope it stays that way."

"Good."

"Come for dinner tonight," she suggested. "'Arry will be here with Andromeda and Teddy. Bring 'Ermione, too, if she's free."

"Thanks, I will." Ron hoped he didn't sound too eager, but he was grateful for an opportunity to check on the situation for himself. Maybe it was the creatures he and Cho had encountered the previous day in the forest, but he was feeling very jumpy about Greyback, who should surely have been found by now. He made a mental note to pick out a gift that would pass muster with Victoire, before heading out to follow Pounce's directions.

---

Luther Greengrass lived on the top floor of a Victorian terraced house in West London. He proved surprisingly helpful when Ron showed him Pounce's Owl. Yes, Pounce had moved fairly recently, hoping for a bigger, more lucrative market in Moscow. Yes, he had left some papers behind, and Greengrass supposed that Ron could look through them, since he had Pounce's permission. They were in his office; if Ron could just come through to the back room, he'd pull them out of stasis space….

He even made a pot of tea and poured Ron a cup as the latter rifled through scroll after scroll. Pounce seemed to have been popular with Pureblood families; their names were all over his papers, generally as clients. But after checking them several times, Ron had to admit defeat. There were no papers here relating to Pounce's investigation into Goyle's disappearance.

"Has anyone else been here about this?" he asked as he sipped his tea. It was better than Hagrid's brew, but not by much.

Greengrass rubbed his balding head. "There was a woman, a few months ago. When I gave Septimus her name, he said to let her through. But she was looking for something different - something about her husband's investments."

"Do you remember her name?"

"How could I forget?" said Greengrass dryly. "It was Narcissa Malfoy."

Ron frowned into his mug. This wasn't making any sense. Narcissa Malfoy was the reason he was working for Malena Goyle in the first place, as far as he could tell. And Mrs Goyle hadn't exactly been forthcoming about Pounce's investigation, but surely, if she wanted her son found, she wouldn't hide any evidence.

So why did he have a horrible suspicion that Narcissa Malfoy had swiped the Goyle case notes along with the evidence about her husband's dodgy financial dealings?

It was time to talk to Malena Goyle again.

---

He'd been warned not to contact her in person, so sent Pig with a message and proceeded to the agreed meeting point, hoping that Pig wouldn't get lost en route. He was a lot better now that he'd grown a bit, but still, he wasn't the most reliable owl in the world.

The message must have reached its destination promptly, however, because Ron had just sat down with his Irish coffee - if he was going to be losing money on treating clients, he might as well treat himself at the same time - when Mrs Goyle appeared in the doorway. She entered hurriedly and then hesitated, shading her eyes although it wasn't exactly bright in the old-fashioned tea room. When she spotted him she seemed to sag with relief, signalling to a waiter as she made her way over.

Ron watched her order a pot of Earl Grey, and remained silent until the drink arrived. Another thing for which he had the Aurors to thank: they had taught him the value of silence as part of an interrogation.

Finally, as she poured milk into her cup, he spoke gravely. "Mrs Goyle, I need you to tell me the truth."

She gave a small nod, her eyes darting from side to side. He looked for Gregory Goyle in her, but found no resemblance; he must take after his father.

"You say you want to find your son," he said. She gave another tiny nod. "And yet, you tried to find him once before, and you've been trying very hard to make sure I don't discover what Pounce found out, haven't you?"

She looked away. In profile, he could see that her jaw was trembling.

"What did you find out?" he asked gently, although part of him wanted to tear the information from her. He'd gone looking in the Forbidden Forest, for Merlin's sake, and nearly been eaten for his troubles!

Mrs Goyle looked at him, her mouth working, but no sound came out. Tears shone in her eyes.

"Is he a werewolf?" Ron asked. The idea, which had first occurred to him during his conversation with Cho, looked increasingly persuasive after a night's troubled sleep.

Still she said nothing, but the tears spilled down her cheeks and he saw the answer in her face. He sat back, fingers tapping his glass. He could see it now. The grieving mother, her husband imprisoned, looking for her missing son and finding - what? Then running away, unable to face matters; unable to face her son.

He imagined how his parents would have reacted if he - or Bill, say - had become a werewolf, and was suddenly terribly glad that his mother was the woman she was. Even if she was still barely speaking to him after his resignation from the Aurors, he knew that lycanthropy would make no difference to her.

"Is there anything else I should know?" he asked, trying to keep his tone neutral. She flinched anyway.

"No," she said thickly. "That's … all I know."

He nodded. "Okay. Well, next time you send some unsuspecting wizard into a werewolf's lair, consider giving them a bit of warning first, will you? I nearly got myself killed yesterday, and I've got better things to do with my time." He drained his mug and reached for his coat. "I'll keep your confidentiality, but I've had it with this case."

"Oh, please!" She leaned across the table, fingers outstretched. "Please, I swear, I only want to find him this time."

"What, to check that he's still a werewolf?" He no longer bothered to mask his contempt. "Nothing will have changed, you know. He's not going to be cured." Especially not if he'd been living rough for five years. Ron shuddered to think what that would do anyone, never mind a werewolf.

"I know, I know." She fumbled in her bag and brought out something in her closed fist. "It doesn't matter – I don't care what he is. He's still my son, and I just want to see him." Opening her hand, she proffered an expensive-looking brooch with a large, purplish stone as its centrepiece. "This amethyst has been in my family for two hundred years. If you show it to Gregory, he'll know you came from me."

After a long moment, Ron took the brooch. "I'm not promising anything," he warned, "but I'll give it a try. And if I find out you've kept anything else from me, that's it. I'm off the case."

"I understand. Please, I just want to see him." She upset her teacup as she stood, and gazed at it uncomprehendingly for a second before heading for the door.

With a sigh, Ron mopped up the pooling liquid with his napkin.

---

Back at the shop, he rearranged several shelves of WonderWitch products, which settled his thoughts, if not his anger. After careful thought, he picked out an orange Pygmy Puff for Victoire. Her favourite colour was pink, but he was determined to change that.

Before leaving, he looked into the back room. "I'm off to Bill and Fleur's for some decent grub if you fancy coming."

"No thanks, mate." George straightened from the work bench and brushed himself down. "I've got other plans."

"Meeting Lee, are you?"

"Nah." He picked up his latest specimen and examined it intently while Ron stared.

"You've got a date!"

"Maybe."

"Well." Ron watched with interest as his brother's ears turned red. "Who with?"

"None of your business, little bro," George retorted. "Now get out of here, and give Victoire a kiss from her best uncle."

Rolling his eyes, Ron Apparated away.

---

Hermione was busy with a presentation on goblin rights, and likely to be working well into the night, so he went to Shell Cottage alone. Victoire's presence was a welcome relief from worries, although as she clambered over him and babbled her latest adventures in his ear, he found himself wondering where Greyback was. He could not forget that snarl, so close at hand in the Forbidden Forest. No matter how many times he told himself that werewolves took on their human forms in daylight, it was hard not to imagine them as monsters, watching just beyond the clearing, awaiting their moment.

It was almost a relief when Harry arrived with Andromeda and Teddy. Since the Battle of Hogwarts, Ron's family had rather adopted Andromeda. Her daughter had been a favourite with the younger Weasleys, while Molly had always had a soft spot for Remus and Bill had been drawn to him following his encounter with Greyback. Ever the family outsider himself, Ron wasn't sure what Andromeda thought of it all, but she had accepted their overtures gracefully and seemed glad of a playmate for Teddy when Victoire was born.

To Ron's secret gratification, Victoire refused to let Harry kiss her, taking refuge behind Ron's knees as she stroked her Pygmy Puff. Teddy was a different matter; when he squatted beside her she relaxed readily enough, and in a moment they were off on some private game.

The children ate separately at a little table by the window, which gave Bill a chance to question Harry about Greyback.

"There've been hundreds of reported sightings," Harry said with a shake of his head. "People have seen him in Diagon Alley, lurking outside Hogwarts and just about everywhere you can imagine. Or they think they have." He sighed. "Usually we're grateful for help from the public, but this … we have to follow up every single lead. We've got the entire Auror and MLE departments on overtime and we still can't keep up."

"Yeah, I was wondering how you managed to get the evening off, actually," said Ron, scraping out his soup bowl. He caught sight of Harry's expression. "Ah. That makes sense."

"Yeah." Harry smiled round the table apologetically. "I'm sort of working tonight. Keeping an eye on things here, and then at Andromeda's, while the regular guards follow up some more leads."

"Oh, 'Arry," Fleur said, shaking her head, "you work too 'ard." She glanced at her daughter, who was chattering to Teddy in a mixture of French, English and gibberish. "Of course, I'm grateful. But it is a shame."

"It's fine," he said. "It's what I do."

"You'll get tired of it soon enough." Bill smiled at his wife and daughter.

Harry opened his mouth but was forestalled by Andromeda. "I'm not sure he will. Harry loves his work; it's what he's meant to do. My daughter was like that."

After a respectful silence, Fleur asked, "So, Ron, 'ow is your job search going?"

"Not great," Ron mumbled. "Mostly I've been helping George out at the shop. Means he can get on with research."

"Well," Fleur said brightly, "I'm sure you will think of something soon."

"Yeah!" He smiled, but for the rest of the evening he couldn't shake the feeling that they were all thinking of him as a failure. As the party broke up, he pulled Harry aside.

"I can stay here tonight to keep an eye on things. Give your guys a bit more time."

Harry shook his head. "It's a nice offer, Ron, thanks, but you know I can't take you up on it. You're not an Auror any more."

"I'm staying anyway!" Ron declared, sure that he could persuade Bill to put him up in the spare room.

Harry nodded. "Great. I'm not saying don't - the more eyes the better. But the security team'll be on watch, too." He glanced at the clock. "In fact, they should be back about now."

That was when Andromeda Tonks opened the front door and the werewolf charged through it.

It happened so quickly that afterwards Ron thought of it as a series of flickering images, like those Muggle cartoon strips. There was Andromeda, disappearing beneath the werewolf's massive body; there was Fleur, throwing herself in front of the two children; there were Ron, Harry and Bill, diving for the monster with wands already spitting hexes; there was the werewolf, huge and shaggy and filthy, fur sizzling with curses that it ignored as its muzzle turned toward Teddy and Victoire and long, ripping claws slashed at Fleur. As she went down, it paused for an instant as if deciding which child to choose, seized Victoire between its huge jaws and bounded back outside, clearing Andromeda's prone body and shrugging off Bill as if he were no stronger than a gnome.

Then there was only the silence, broken by Fleur's strangled moans and the terrible memory of the werewolf's growls.

Ron dashed outside. The terrain was difficult out here, particularly for a werewolf carrying a child, but Greyback would have planned for that. He followed the werewolf around the side of the house, vaguely aware as he ran that someone was at his heels.

"He'll head for Pendriffey Wood," Harry choked out as he caught up. "It's the only cover around here, and he can't Apparate until it's light." Their eyes met in agreement for an instant. Just another Auror mission, like old times.

"I'll head straight there," Ron said breathlessly. They were losing ground; the werewolf was already thirty, perhaps forty metres ahead.

"I'll try … slow him down," Harry gasped. "You'd better Apparate."

Ron halted reluctantly as Bill sprinted past, sparing him an agonised glance. It felt utterly wrong to let them run on after Greyback without him. Greyback, who had Victoire, might already have bitten her, his little niece, who just a couple of hours earlier had taken refuge behind his knees, as if she'd be safe there.

"Focus," he said aloud and forced his gaze away from the retreating figures. That was something else the Aurors had taught him: how to concentrate under extreme pressure. He took a breath, and then he was under the trees and the werewolf was running straight at him, Victoire a pale blur in its jaws.

"Stupefy!" Ron yelled. Harry's voice echoed the incantation in the distance, but he was too far away; he'd lost too much ground. "Stupefy! Stupefy!"

The beast barely paused in its headlong rush.

"Stupefy!" Ron repeated desperately. He could make out Victoire now, doll-like and unnervingly floppy; he hoped she had fainted. But the werewolf was almost on him; in seconds it would be past, and so would Victoire.

"Sectumsempra!" he yelled.

Blood rippled along Greyback's muzzle and his stride hitched.

Good! Ron cast the curse again, and again, aiming for the legs now so as to be sure of avoiding Victoire. At the third hit Greyback bellowed and Victoire fell to the ground. Ron dived on her and, smelling rather than feeling the proximity of the monster, Apparated back inside Shell Cottage.

Fleur screamed and staggered toward him, heedless of Andromeda, who was holding her wand to a jagged slash on Fleur's shoulder. "Victoire!"

Ron gazed down at his charge. Her hair was tangled, but he could see no blood, and his other great worry – that she'd broken her neck or back – seemed unfounded. Greyback had taken care with her, which meant only one thing, but that didn't matter, because it hadn't happened. She was safe. In his arms, she looked as if she was asleep.

"She's fine," he said and held her out, shocked by the tears in his throat. "She's fine."

The door banged open and Harry and Bill staggered inside.

"Oh, Merlin." Bill dashed to his wife's side, so white that the scars stood out like stitches on his face and neck. Fleur, too, was deathly pale, and looked unsteady on her feet. Ron remembered the unborn child. How badly had she been hurt?

Bill seemed to be asking the same question; Fleur pressed a hand to her stomach and shook her head. "I think it's okay," she murmured. "He did not use teeth. I will lie down, I will be careful." She and Bill cuddled Victoire between them, both crying silently.

Ron followed Harry across to Teddy, who was weeping in Andromeda's arms. Harry dropped to his knees and stroked the hair from Teddy's face. "It's okay, kiddo," he murmured, "it's okay. He's gone."

"You didn't get him?" Ron asked unnecessarily.

Harry shook his head. "You slowed him down, but not by much. I've already contacted HQ; we'll have several teams after him within the hour." His gaze met Ron's over Teddy's tousled head. "I'm so glad you used that curse. I couldn't have." His eyes were bright with tears. "But I'm bloody glad you did."

"It was the wolf," Teddy sobbed. "The one in my dream."

Harry's jaw was set sternly. "We'll get him, Teddy," he said. "We will."

---

Ron woke from a dream that was less fantasy and more an accumulation of memories: Victoire snuggled in his lap on a Sunday afternoon at The Burrow, whispering that she loved him. Evenings spent at Shell Cottage looking through a picture book with her. A Quaffle he had caught an instant before it hit her. Fleur laughing. "You can't protect her from everything, Ron." But she'd given him a grateful look, because of course, she wished that she could protect her daughter from everything, everyone, forever ….

Victoire's face the first time he saw her, blinking around at them all: that beautiful, heart-shaped face that was so like Fleur's – and yet, every once in a while, Ron looked at her and saw Ginny, or Bill, or even, occasionally, Fred and George. The moment when she'd gazed solemnly at him and he'd realised that here was somebody who owned his heart.

Victoire's choked scream as Greyback dragged her away, but this time it all went wrong; Ron opened his mouth but the curse would not come out; Greyback trampled him, Victoire was lost and the world went dark.

But someone was calling him back from oblivion, and for a second he panicked, because it was Hermione, and Greyback had almost had her once; who was to say he wouldn't again, and there was nothing Ron could do to save her, Victoire, Teddy, Harry, any of them.

"Hey." It was Hermione's voice, calling him quietly, her fingers stroking his temple. "Ron? It's okay."

He opened his eyes. Hermione was watching him with a concerned frown. Clutching her hands, he let out a breath.

"Bad dreams?"

"Yeah." He inhaled deeply; her hair was tickling his face. "But they weren't true." And he intended to ensure that things stayed that way.

"Is this to do with that case you're working on? Maybe you should talk about it."

"I can't." He kissed her and pushed himself up on his elbows. "I've already told one person, and that's one too many."

She rubbed his hand, her face grave. "You know, I'm happy you're working for yourself, but if you're finding it too disturbing-"

"No," he said and forced a smile. "It's … only indirectly the case. Maybe not even indirectly." In a few words, he outlined the events of the previous night, and she put her hand to her mouth.

"Oh, Ron." She hugged him tightly. "I'm sorry I wasn't here when you got back. I was so worried about my presentation, but …." She trailed off. "I should have been there."

You can't protect them from everything. He kissed her again. "It's fine. I think we'll all be trying to forget the whole thing happened. They'll probably catch Greyback today."

"Thanks to you," she said and leaned into him.

He smiled despite himself, and his heart was considerably lighter by the time he left the flat.

---

"Let me get this straight," Cho said as they finished off breakfast in her kitchen. "You want us to go back to the Forbidden Forest, to the place where we were almost attacked by some creatures that were very possibly werewolves, with the full moon only just past?"

"They'll be human now," Ron said. "Or at least, they should be, in daylight."

"They didn't sound terribly human the day before yesterday." She folded her arms. "Why, exactly?"

He shrugged. "You led us straight to a den of werewolves the other day. Why do you think that might have been?"

"It was my dreams," she said. "I just went where the dreams showed me."

He hesitated. "Are they actually dreams? Or nightmares?"

"Nightmares," she said instantly.

"I was wondering," he said slowly, "how long have you been having these dreams?"

She scraped her plate clean and turned to the sink. "I've had them for years, on and off. But they've got a lot more frequent recently." She paused. "A lot more vivid."

"Did they change around the time of Greyback's escape?"

She sat down again, eyeing him warily. "What are you saying?"

"I'm not sure. Did they?"

Her jaw trembled. "I think - maybe." She pursed her lips and repeated, "What are you saying? You think I'm somehow channelling his dreams?"

"I don't know." He gazed at the congealed mess of leftover eggs on his plate. "You're the one who's having the dreams. What do they feel like?"

She covered her face with her hands and leaned forward. "There's this voice," she said through her fingers. "This horrible voice, although it's not so much what it says as the disgusting impression I get of its thoughts." She shuddered. "As if whoever it is is watching some … some child. Yeah, I think it might be him."

He sat back in his seat, resisting the impulse to stroke her hand. "After our little outing the other day, did you have any thoughts? About your ex-boyfriend, I mean?"

"You mean, do I think he's a … a werewolf?" She dropped her hands but didn't meet his gaze. "It's certainly possible. But why would he hide away? If that's it, it's awful, sure, but he could be looked after, he could be cared for, he could still have a life. It's not a death sentence."

Ron thought of Malena Goyle, weeping for the son she'd rejected. "Maybe he thought differently."

"Let's go, then." She stood up. "Before I lose my nerve."

---

They walked in as before. Ron had brought the Slytherin badge he'd found, and Mrs Goyle's amethyst brooch. Cho had Michael's book and a snitch from a set of Quidditch balls he'd once given her. They had discussed Apparating directly back to the clearing but had decided against it. "If that's where the werewolves hang out, we might be dead meat in seconds," was Ron's verdict.

"I just hope we get to them before Greyback does," muttered Cho, and that thought silenced them both.

Their march through the forest felt even more charged this time. Ron had received a message from Harry just as they set out, via Patronus. Lost Greyback at first light. Hurt but moving fast. He was heading north.

Having failed to snatch a new recruit, it seemed likely that he would finally head for his pack, or one of them. If rumour was to be believed, Greyback alone had founded several packs of werewolves.

They saw no sign of any werewolves as they approached the clearing, but Ron couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched. He also had a nagging suspicion that, if he was a werewolf and Gregory Goyle appeared before him, he wouldn't think twice before attacking.

On the other hand, he couldn't send Cho in alone. It was both of them or neither.

"Michael?" Cho called softly when they reached the clearing. "Michael? I've got your book. I'm sorry I grabbed it; I was just so happy to see any sign of you. Are you okay?" Her voice wavered.

"I know you probably hate me, Goyle," Ron added, "but your mum sent me, and she wants to see you. She's sorry." He took a breath. Around them, even the leaves seemed unnaturally still. "She's really sorry."

"Michael?" Cho called again. "Michael, please, we're worried Greyback might be coming for you!"

Ron held up the amethyst brooch. "Goyle, look. Seriously, your mum wants to see-"

A huge weight landed on his chest, knocking all the breath from him. Distantly, he heard Cho shriek, but the bulk of his attention was on the very large, very fierce-looking man who had him pinned to the ground.

"What have you done with my mother?" growled Goyle.

"Nothing!" yelped Ron. "She's fine!" He groped for the amethyst once more and waved it in Goyle's face. "I'm a private detective. She employed me to look for you."

Slowly - far too slowly for Ron's liking - the weight on his chest receded.

"She doesn't want to see me," said Goyle when they were both sitting up. "She said so."

"That was three years ago. She's changed her mind," Ron said, hoping this was accurate. He felt his ribs gingerly. "She said …." He concentrated. "She said to tell you she doesn't care what you are, you're still her son and she just wants to see you."

Goyle's jaw trembled and he turned away; despite his muscular frame and dreadlocked hair, he no longer looked fierce. Embarrassed, Ron looked around for Cho. She had her arms around a skinny man who looked vaguely familiar.

"Michael," she was saying urgently, "Greyback's escaped and he's probably heading here. You've got to get away."

Michael glanced at Goyle, but the latter appeared lost in thought. "There are … complications," he said.

"What kind of complications?" demanded Cho. "Greyback's on the run and he's heading here, I can feel it!"

For answer, Michael let out a series of fluting whistles which sounded exactly like the call of a Golden Snidget. Within seconds, several children stepped silently out of the cover of the trees. Cho's mouth dropped open.

"Greyback left them, see," Michael said. "He was bringing them up … to be like him." His mouth twisted in distaste. "Greg and I, we were ready to go back and face the music when we found them. We couldn't leave them - they were too little, too wild."

"They're all …?" Ron swallowed. The children looked fairly normal; some of them even wore Hogwarts uniforms, presumably scrounged from the school. Were they the ones who'd surrounded them the other day? The ones he and Cho had fled from?

Michael nodded. "They're all werewolves, yeah."

"But you should have brought them in!" Cho's voice was high with horror. "They must have families, they should have been looked after …."

"Cho, do you know how they treat werewolves?" Michael demanded.

"Better than they used to," put in Ron. He was watching the children warily, wondering just how wild they were.

"Yeah," Michael said bitterly, "well, that's not a whole lot of comfort to people like us."

"Nobody wants tae know us," piped up the girl nearest him in a soft Scottish accent. She looked about nine and was dressed neatly in a Hogwarts uniform, which went incongruously with her matted hair and smudged face.

"They do," Cho said faintly, "oh, they do." She turned to Ron. "Tell them, Ron. They can't stay out here for Greyback. Any of them."

"Fenrir Greyback's heading this way," Ron said. "He could be here any minute, if you want to take your chances with him."

"I'll take my chances with him," Goyle said abruptly. "It's what I've been waiting for, a chance to put an end to him."

"What about your mum?" Ron blurted, and cringed at how ridiculous he sounded.

Goyle shrugged. "She waited this long, I reckon she can wait one more day." His gaze met Michael's. "But you should get the kids out of the way."

Michael shook his head. "The kids, yes. But we've been in this together for three years; I'm not letting you face him alone."

"Oh, this is ridiculous!" said Cho. "Neither of you is going to face him. He's the most dangerous man alive - let the Aurors deal with him!"

"If they haven't already," put in Ron. "They were on his trail, and he's injured."

"No." Michael shook his head. "You don't understand. He's rogue, he needs to be dealt with by his own kind. Not by wizards."

Cho turned a despairing face to Ron. "Tell them they're being idiots."

Ron looked at Goyle, fierce but calm, and at Michael, sober and determined, and read the truth there. He knew what he would have said as an Auror: get civilians out and wait for back-up. But he had no authority over these people, and Greyback had outwitted the Aurors thus far. Back-up, when it came, might be too late.

Goyle snarled suddenly; it was a hair-raising sound coming from his human mouth. Ron stepped back, but Goyle wasn't looking at him. "He's coming," he muttered to Michael, who angled his head as if sniffing the air, and nodded.

"You two need to get out of here," he said, looking mainly at Cho. "Take the kids. We've been trying to teach them right, maybe we've done enough. If this goes wrong …."

"If you think I tracked you down just to run away, you're wrong." Cho's voice was tight with fury. "If this goes wrong, I'm your back-up. Understand?"

He nodded reluctantly; both he and Goyle seemed preoccupied, presumably with Greyback's approach. Looking around, he muttered something to the girl who had spoken earlier. She melted back into the forest, summoning the others with a glance.

Ron strained but heard nothing - not even, after a few seconds, the children who must still be close at hand. They waited in silence. Goyle paced the perimeter of the clearing, while Michael watched Cho uneasily.

Finally, Ron heard it: the heavy tread of someone who had been moving a long time. Greyback must be human now, since it was daylight, and however strong he was as a wolf, in human form he'd been confined to a small cell for the past three years. He'd be unfit, his muscles unused to carrying him far. And he was hurt.

I hope I damaged you good and proper, you bastard. Ron wondered how far away the Aurors were, and wished Harry was there. They'd done so many things like this before, but always together.

Then a figure appeared through the trees: flashes of movement that gradually coalesced into the shape of a person. Greyback, come to claim his pack.

He lumbered into the clearing and looked around warily, but no one made any move to attack. His gaze settled on Goyle.

"Well, if it isn't little Greg, all grown up."

"Greyback," Goyle growled.

Ron looked from one to the other. The two men stared at each other, expressions unreadable, neither moving a muscle.

Greyback looked away first, nodding at Cho and Ron. "Brought some meat for us, I see." His jaw shivered and Ron glimpsed pointed teeth.

"Not for you, Greyback," Michael said. He was pale, almost grey in the weak morning light.

Greyback scowled. "It's all for me, boy," he said fiercely. "Me first, and I say who gets next pickings."

He was dressed in torn robes and blood stained his chin and sleeves. Ron hoped that was from the wound he had inflicted, and not from some recent kill.

"How're you feeling, Greyback?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady. "Bit tired? You've been running for three days straight."

Greyback sneered at him. "Would've been here sooner if I'd done that. I found a cosy place to hide out for a while. Get my strength back."

"Oh, yeah?" Ron tensed with fury at the thought of Greyback hiding near Shell Cottage, biding his time. "Somewhere you could stake out, wait your moment to snatch some poor kid?"

Greyback appeared unabashed. "I'm always on the lookout for new recruits."

Ron thought of the ragged assortment of children hiding nearby. He thought of Victoire, and of Teddy, and tried not to imagine them here, living under Greyback's thrall.

"Come on, then." Greyback looked at Goyle and Michael. "Where are they?"

"Who?" asked Michael.

"Don't mess with me!" roared Greyback. "My children, my little ones, my pack! Where are they?"

"Not yours," Goyle said. "Ours."

He sprang and they toppled to the ground, Greyback underneath. They grappled for a moment, until Greyback threw Goyle away from him and jumped to his feet, breathing hard.

"So it's like that, is it?" he asked. He was warier now, eyes flicking between the four of them. "I won't lie to you, Greg," he said as Goyle pulled himself upright, "I thought you might take over one day, when I was gone. It was part of why I took you when I did, so I could train you up when the humans stopped fighting each other." He shook his head. "But that's a good long time from now." He closed with Goyle and they went down again, kicking and punching and snapping like dogs. Greyback bellowed as his shoulder was ripped open, but Goyle fought silently, his injuries only apparent when the blood appeared.

Michael threw himself into the fight with surprising force and Greyback grunted in surprise. But he was still strong, and he looked more feral, less human with every minute that passed.

Darting around the clearing, Ron and Cho exchanged agonised glances. It was impossible to get a clear shot at Greyback as he struggled with the two men. Cho finally caught him with a jinx, but he barely seemed to notice the boils that sprang up all over his skin. She tried again; this time the spell skimmed past Goyle's nose, and she gave up.

Suddenly, Greyback flung Michael from him and he flew through the air, thudding into a tree at the edge of the clearing. Cho gave a cry; for a moment, she looked ready to run to Michael, but she held her ground. Greyback and Goyle were on their feet again, both breathing heavily, both bleeding. Greyback was wearier and older, but he was also powerful and possessed of an arrogance that Goyle, for all his strength and anger, did not have.

As the two men circled, Ron found himself facing Greyback's back; he attacked with two hexes in succession and followed them up with a Stunning Spell. The jinxes hit their mark but did not hinder Greyback, who whipped out a wand with inhuman speed.

He went for Cho first, which gave Ron time to duck as she went down. Then Goyle was on Greyback again and they were rolling over while Ron waited for another opportunity to attack. Goyle cried out for the first time as his arm broke with an unpleasant crack; instantly, Greyback was on top, mashing Goyle's head into the ground with one meaty fist.

Then Ron saw it: saw the moment when Goyle lost consciousness; saw Greyback bare his teeth, ready to gnaw at his opponent's exposed throat. Ron saw these things and instinct took over as he put everything into another Sectumsempra curse, and blood flushed through the back of Greyback's robes.

Greyback turned with a look that was more irritation than anything else.

"Do that again," Ron panted, "and it's the Killing Curse I'll cast."

Greyback glanced down at the unconscious Goyle and hauled himself to his feet. "You're one of those Weasleys," he panted. "I know them - know all of that lot. Like to talk the talk, but when you push them they're all mouth. You won't do it." He leered. "I met your brother once. Strong, but too scrawny for my taste."

"You met my niece last night," Ron said. His voice shook but his wand did not. "Now ask me if I'd do it."

Greyback put a hand to his chin, feeling the wound there. "Oh, you're that one, are you? Nearly got me caught last night, you did." He took a step forward. "Well, you hurt me once, you might do it again, I suppose. But I still don't think you'll go that far." He moved closer: another step, then another. "Think of it, Weasley, the shame when they hear what you did. All your lovely family, so clean-cut, so pretty and innocent like that tender little niece of yours. Think of how she'll look at you."

Ron took a breath, ignoring the Greyback's stench. He was far too close now. "I'm thinking," Ron said, and he was: of Victoire, lying pale as a ghost in his arms; of Greyback touching Hermione's face. Reckon she'll let me have a bit of the girl when she's finished with her? Of Teddy, wailing, "The one in my dream!" Of Goyle and Michael, horribly changed by Greyback and still with the strength to fight him to the death. Of those children, fashioned to follow his nature. Of Remus Lupin, who had once stood before Ron and said that he could not have a child; could not risk passing on the condition that had cursed him to his son. He thought of Teddy again, and of Victoire.

Greyback was still advancing. Ron took another breath and shut his eyes, preparing to say the words; preparing to mean them.

There was a thud, and he opened his eyes to find Greyback being tackled by a large man, long-haired and burly in ragged robes. Others followed, mostly men but women, as well; they poured from the trees in a silent throng and surrounded Greyback, punching and clawing at any part of him they could reach. When he went down they followed him, more and more of them, until all Ron could see was disembodied limbs flailing in all directions.

In their midst, Greyback roared his fury, but there was an edge of panic to his voice. He seemed to know his attackers, and threw out commands to them – commands which, going by the awful sounds of ripping flesh and breaking bones, they were ignoring. Was this another of Greyback's packs? Perhaps he hadn't had so many friends tucked away in the wilderness, after all.

It was over quickly. Even as Ron was backing away to check on Cho and the others, the - werewolves, he supposed they must be - backed away from what had been Greyback.

One of them - the first man, dark and thickset, with haunted eyes and a long scar down his neck - bent to look at Goyle. Ron stiffened, but the man did not seem hostile. He touched the wand Greyback had been holding to a wound on Goyle's chest, muttering an incantation that Ron couldn't catch.

The gash closed, although the blood remained. The man repeated his work on several other injuries, then bent to see to Michael. He dealt with a couple of obvious wounds and touched Michael's torso gently. When he looked up, he was grave.

"I cannae help him. You must get him to St Mungo's."

"I will," Ron said quickly.

"You should go now." The man raised his head, imitating the odd sniffing gesture that Michael had made. "You are safe from us, but I cannae vouch for the rest of the creatures that live here. Even the other werewolves."

Ron nodded. He looked at Greyback's body. "Is he really …?"

"Oh, yes," said the man quietly. "But there are things that must be done to make sure of that, so his ain people shall take him and do those things."

"They'll … people will want to know," Ron said. "The Aurors …."

"Then tell them." The man's face relaxed into something that might have been relief. "Tell them he is dead. He is dead and he will be gone. Greyback is gone."

Goyle and Cho were stirring, but Michael still hadn't moved. Ron closed his eyes, shut out the darkness and sent his Patronus flying toward Harry.

---

"I still don't understand why you didn't just tell me about the detective thing," Harry said a few nights later. It was Victoire's birthday; Ron's mum had taken over the organisation of her party, insisting that Bill and Fleur needed time to recover from their ordeal with Greyback.

Victoire was more or less her usual self. Since she had fainted when Greyback had snatched her, it was hoped that she would soon think of the incident as no more than a bad dream. Ron, who heard her talking to Teddy about "Uncle Won an' de monster", had his doubts about that, but he kept those to himself.

Now he shrugged. "I know I was being stupid. I just wanted to prove I could do it, I think. Do something without you." He mumbled the last words, embarrassed at how pathetic they sounded.

Harry stared at him, opening his mouth several times only to shut it again. "You are such an idiot, Ron," he said eventually. "I mean, you're amazing, but also an idiot! You've done loads of things without me. In our first year, you sacrificed yourself so me and Hermione could get past McGonagall's chess set. You didn't know what that would do to you, but you did it. You were twelve, Ron! You've done plenty by yourself."

Ron shrugged awkwardly. "Well, of course I'm amazing," he said with forced humour. "It's just that most people don't know it. They think it must be down to you, everything I've ever done." It hurt a lot more than he'd expected, letting that out.

Harry leaned over and for a horrible moment Ron thought he was about to take his hand. Instead, he dropped his hands on the table. "Damn, Ron, I wish that could be different. I really am sorry."

"I know," Ron mumbled. He was feeling silly, and he hated that feeling, but if he couldn't feel silly with Harry, when could he?

The important people know, he told himself. Harry and Hermione, and his family. People like Angelina, and now Cho. His clients, as he enlightened them, one by one. Maybe he was misjudging the rest of the population.

"You got rid of Greyback," Harry offered.

Ron shook his head. "Not me. Although I was ready to try – ready to cast the Killing Curse right there and then. He'd taken out Michael and Goyle, and I didn't know where your lot were. I knew I couldn't hold him and I just didn't see any reason to let him live."

"No one would have questioned it if you had," Harry said. "And you," he said accusingly to Hermione as she joined them, "you didn't tell me either."

"Oh, Harry," Hermione said, "I would have, but it wasn't my secret to tell." She smiled at Ron. "Anyway, it's all out in the open now."

"Ron Weasley, the private detective," Harry said thoughtfully. He grinned. "I think you'll be brilliant. It's like Auror work, only less flashy, and you were always best at the non-flashy stuff." He reached into a bag he'd been hoarding all day. "Excellent, the cooling charms are still working. I got these from Hannah at the Leaky this morning. She reckons it's the best beer in the country." He brought out two dark brown bottles and handed one to Ron. The other he offered to Hermione, but she shook her head. "I'll leave you two to it," she said and kissed them both lightly on the cheek.

Harry held up his bottle. "To the amazingness that is Ron Weasley," he declared grandly.

"I'll drink to that!" said Ron. The beer was strong and sweet, one of the nicest Ron had tasted. They clinked the bottles together and leaned back.

"I can't believe he's gone," Harry said after a moment's silence.

"Who? Greyback?"

"Yeah." Harry shook his head. "It's been such a horrible few days. He was moving so fast, we couldn't believe it. Course, he had those two wands, so he could Apparate whenever he got tired."

"Apparating's tiring," Ron pointed out.

"Yeah, but it's a different kind of tiring," Harry said. "We would have had him days ago if not for that. Every night, when he couldn't Apparate as a wolf, we almost reached him, and then every morning he got clean away."

Ron nodded. The Aurors had been close the previous morning – in fact, they'd been in Hogsmeade. But it wouldn't have been close enough.

"How're Corner and Goyle?" Harry asked.

"Fine." Ron made a face. "Goyle's mum visited him yesterday afternoon in St Mungo's. She was soppier than a wet tissue."

Harry grimaced in sympathy. "Is she going to let him back into the family?"

"I bloody hope so, after the effort I went to." Ron shrugged. "Yeah, she seems pretty keen."

"And is he going to stay?"

Ron gulped his beer. "Now that, I'm not so sure of. I mean, I think he was glad to see her – but not that glad. I reckon him and Michael might get a flat together. They seem pretty close. Gone through a lot, and all that."

"Yeah." Harry leaned back in his seat. "You don't think they'll go back to the Forest?"

"I don't think so," Ron said slowly. "I think they're ready to give wizards a chance again. They were definitely trying to civilise those kids – to undo all Greyback's work. Michael told me they'd been talking about coming in for ages, but couldn't quite make up their minds to do it."

"Did they succeed? In civilising the kids, I mean."

"Who knows?" Ron hunched over his beer. "I think it must've been them who ganged up on me and Cho the first time we were there. But they seemed pretty normal when I actually saw them. You've got to give them a chance, I reckon."

Harry didn't answer; he was staring across the garden, shading his eyes from the low evening sunlight. "That's your brother over there."

"I've got a few brothers here today, mate." Ron turned. "Yeah, George had some work to do at the shop, that's why he's late. He's been a bit funny l-" He trailed off. Angelina had Apparated into the space beside George and taken his hand. George seemed to be doing his best to look casual, but his grip on Angelina's hand was anything but.

"Suddenly," Ron said distantly, "a lot of things make sense." Like Angelina materialising in the shop like that, when he'd been so sure the place was empty. Like why George had seemed so busy recently, and so happy. "My brother, the sneaky bastard," he said in admiration.

Angelina gave him a friendly wave with her free hand. Ron grinned.

"This detective business," Harry said when they had drunk to George and Angelina, to Hannah for providing them with excellent beer, and to Hermione and Ginny for being generally brilliant. "You're going to keep on with it, then?"

Ron hesitated. "You don't mind?"

Harry waved this away. "Mate, if it makes you happy, I'm happy."

"Well … yeah, I'm planning to keep on with it."

"Good." Harry placed his beer bottle on the table with exaggerated care. "In that case, you should definitely change the name. I mean, Wizard Detectives Anonymous? How boring can you get?"

"Loads of detectives are anonymous," Ron said defensively. "It's good for business."

Harry shook his head. "Nope. At least, it won't work that way for you. Even this last job – Narcissa Malfoy put you on the case because she knew who you were, right?"

"I suppose." Ron frowned at his bottle. "I still haven't figured that one out."

"That's not the point." Harry's bottle went flying and was caught neatly by a passing Hannah. "The point …." His brow creased in concentration. "The point is that you're Ron Weasley, which means you're ace, right, and everyone'll want you to work for them." He was beaming triumphantly. "So you should play up to it. 'Weasley's Wizard-'"

"Wrong brother, mate," Ron interjected.

"I was not," Harry said in a dignified tone, "going to say 'Wheezes'." He pondered. "'Weasley can winkle out the truth.' No, that's not snappy enough. 'Ron Weasley: super spy'. How's that?"

"Too boastful," said Ron, but he was grinning. It felt so good to be sitting here with Harry. Like in the old days, before he'd ruined everything by leaving the Aurors.

"I know!" Harry exclaimed. "Keep it simple. 'Ron Weasley: Private Detective'. Because that's what you are, and you should be proud of it."

"Maybe you're right," said Ron, still smiling. He pictured his office – a proper office, not George's back room, with a sign (paid for with Malena Goyle's fee) to proclaim his identity and his business.

Greyback was gone. Victoire was safe, and Teddy, and all those other kids. He'd solved his first proper case, he'd been paid more than he'd anticipated, and his mum was speaking to him again. His dad had told him he was proud of him, and everything was finally all right with Harry. Ron sipped his beer and surveyed his family and friends. Life, he decided, was definitely looking up.