A/N: Love to signofthetimes, CB and reviewers.

Good news: I start classes again next week! (Well, a class until August, but hey, who's counting, right?)

Great news: I waited a while to tell everyone to be sure it would stick, but y'all, I'm officially ambulatory these days! I do still have a wheelchair, but I've only needed to use it maybe twice in the last six months. (For those of you wrinkling your brows in confusion, please see 'The Sum of the Stars' in my profile).

This chapter is dedicated to my doctor, who helped make those things happen. Dr. R, this one's for you.

Hermione could sense the tension in the air, breathing it in and trying to breath out calm. She could feel Augusta Longbottom's eyes on her when she moved like she was wearing her sins printed on her flesh. And those of her parents, burnt into her for the world to see and judge.

Trying to ignore it, she pressed forward, gesturing to the map. 'So after Ron goes to Britain, Romania will send us the five thousand, is that right, Minister Vulpes?'

'To start out with. Once the first group is trained they'll return and we'll send the others. When the call comes, Romania will field the full ten thousand, as agreed.'

'Most of them' she said after a moment 'will of course not be aurors. We're anticipating a volunteer drive will take care of the need for more.'

'It was very successful for us in Sofia, Minister.'

'Precisely so, and the exiled Britons will field as many as we can. That might not be the largest number, but many of us are quite experienced.'

'We'll be glad of any of you, Minister Weasley.' Hermione smiled at her one-time best friend's father and he smiled back. Beside him, Augusta Longbottom's glare deepened.

Hermione forced herself to ignore it. She felt edgy, scared about sending someone she'd cared about to Britain. It was different, she reflected, in a fight. Combat was random, and the odds were almost the same for everyone, but sending Ron into a hostile country with virtually no training felt like a betrayal, however much he wanted to go.

'How many have the other countries promised, Vicereine?'

'Five thousand, the same as yourselves, with more to come. Each camp will hold twenty thousand men, and the troops will rotate every few weeks so they can train in different conditions.'

Vulpes nodded. 'It sounds as though this has been well thought-out, to say the least. You've the resources to feed and house so many?'

Viktor answered. 'Bulgaria has a number of exclusive trade agreements with other countries. Whatever our country cannot afford to provide will be sent to us in fulfilment of the agreements. And most of them are sending provisions for their people like it is, so I'm confident it shan't be an issue.'

'About your dragons, Minister Vulpes...'

'Yes, Vicereine?'

'How long will it take for them to be able to do what's needed?'

Vulpes shifted uncomfortably. 'Well, it...first let's define what's needed.'

'We need a force of dragons sufficient to neutralising the Dementors as a fighting force, and we need them quickly.'

'How quickly?'

'That remains to be seen.'

Vulpes nodded. 'Romania will do whatever it needs in order to make that happen. Unfortunately, the magical formulae that permits wizards and witches to control dragons without the need for physical force is...obscured by time.'

'Do they still exist?'

'We certainly hope so.'

'Luan Ismaili, our librarian, is an expert at finding things, Minister. Perhaps you'd permit him to help you?' Ismaili nodded from his corner, and Vulpes did as well.

'Of course.'

'And we've some people we could ask.'

'No doubt they do.'

Augusta didn't bother to lower her voice. Hermione's nails dug into her palms as she forged ahead, ignoring it. At least Tonks had been mostly quiet since he'd been sent from the room in disgrace a few evenings before.

'Once the dragons have been sorted out, and the training is underway, we'll have a better idea of where things in Britain stand.'

'Your people give you reports, no doubt.'

'They do, but it's very hard to gauge where the common person stands based on what my parents observe. It would be best if we could be assured of a friendly, or at least no hostile, reception from the majority of citizens.'

Pavel spoke from the end of the table. 'My lady, the wolves and I feel sure that Greyback's band will be eager to aid our cause. When the time comes, many of them will surely defect.'

'Based on what, Pavel?' Tonks finally spoke up, but less belligerently than usual. Paavo's eyes brightened a bit; Hermione suspected he would have welcomed a confrontation with the older man.

'Based on my observations of what's going on there.'

'You are not an objective observer, Mr. Pavel.'

'You're damned right I'm not. Am I supposed to be objective about what's being done to people exactly like myself?'

'All I'm saying is your anger is blinding you to-'

'To what, Tonks? To knowing my place amongst you humans? If it doesn't come from someone who isn't a lycanthrope it doesn't count?'

Hermione could tell this was about to get ugly. 'If Mr. Pavel makes an observation about werewolves, Mr. Tonks, my husband and I credit it, and so does Bulgaria.'

Tonks, at least, subsided. Augusta did not. 'Why should you not, Vicereine? Your man will say whatever you require of him.'

'I disagree, madam. Minister Vulpes, is there anything else you can think of?'

'There isn't, Vicereine. We'll have our researchers start looking for a solution to the dragon issue right away.'

'We would appreciate that.'

The room was quiet and Hermione was beginning to feel like the tension might be averted without incident. She sipped the tea the elf had brought her and smiled at her husband, who smiled back.

Scabior rose and bent to murmur in Hermione's ear. 'Snape's back, milady. E fixed thins fer us.'

'Thank you, Scabior.'

The group had broken into smaller pods, the English talking amongst themselves, the Romanians doing the same. Snape billowed in, bowed once and sat down. Viktor immediately began filling him in.

'Dragons, my lord and lady?'

Ismaili came closer. 'I can check the archives, my lord. Albania will have something about this.'

'Albania had dragons?'

Ismaili smiled a little. 'A few, my lady. Mainly, Albania had a lot of Dark magic. It still does.'

'Dragons are Dark?'

'Dragons themselves, no. A lot of dragon-magic? It was.'

'Wizards who used dragons in combat were typically...rather forceful fellows, to say the least, Hermione.' Viktor reached under the table to touch her leg lightly.

'Ah.'

She felt a worried squirmed in her chest, and a simultaneous excitement. Imagine riding a dragon, not some insubstantial broom which could shatter under one like a twig but fire made air and flesh, the beast's great body under one, the sky ahead captive to the flapping wings, two hearts pounding as one in the clouds.

Viktor seemingly sensed the change in her, because he squeezed her knee once before he released her.

'-poetic justice, I would call it.'

Augusta. Hermione's head whipped round and she felt her muscles tense. Viktor had gone still and Draco, on her other side, had cut off mid-word from where he'd been speaking to Vaike.

'What's that, Madam Longbottom?'

'I was not speaking to you, Lord Protector.'

'Nevertheless, you did not trouble to lower your voice. A person who involves others in his business does not get to control what others do with it.'

Augusta never faltered, not once. 'I said that it would be poetic justice if those dragons should maul you, and whoever would help you with this thing. It's madness, all of it, giving power of this sort to the two of you.'

'Ah. I appreciate your honesty.'

'Do you? Should you like some more?'

'Have we a choice?'

She ignored him. 'You can come in here acting civilised, with your little retinue of killers and your smiles and your pleases, but you're nothing but murderous thugs, the whole lot of you.'

Hermione stood up. 'Now that you've expressed yourself, madam, perhaps the adults would like to continue with diplomacy?'

'You think you're funny, little girl? Every person here knows what you are. Those parents of yours, sadistic monsters the both of them. It makes me want to vomit, seeing you whole and well whilst my son rots below the earth. If there is any justice, you'll die as he did, and soon.'

A gasp went up from the people, and Molly Weasley rose and darted toward Augusta, clearly trying to head off the confrontation, grabbing her arm. Augusta shook her off.

'Nothing to say to me, little girl?'

Hermione was very still. She felt angry, and more than that, she felt a sense of her magic flowing in her, gathering under her skin. Her scalp was tingling, her nails aching with it. In her shoes, her toes were curling and relaxing, small spasms of energy making the muscles of her arms and legs twitch.

'Would that bring back your son to you, Madam Longbottom? Would my death restore your family like it had been?'

'It would be just!'

'Whose justice is this, exactly? What have I done to merit it? I have the wrong parents?'

'YES!'

'I am sorry about what happened. I wouldn't wish that on anyone. But what part could I have prevented, precisely? Where was the part in which I might have turned the tide? Tell me, please.'

Augusta's face was getting red. 'You have no idea-'

'So why don't you explain to me, since you do?'

'Your parents-'

'Aren't here. I am.'

'The things you have done are better, are they? You aren't like them?'

'I've never said that. I've said I am not my mother or father, or uncle, or Barty. If you've a problem with them, don't take it out on me.'

'You're not just a monster, you're the worst of the lot! I've heard the stories about you!'

'You and the rest of Europe. Have you bothered to ask which are true, madam? Not of me, but of anyone?'

'Why? Like bitch like pup, I say!'

Now the others were on their feet. Molly grabbed Augusta's arm more forcefully, hissing at her. Scabior, Paavo and Enver had all drawn, and Vaike was restraining Anu, hand clapped over his mouth as she spoke to him. Sirius was quickly making his way to the centre of the room, hand raised in a peace-keeping gesture. Snape was doing nothing, head cocked, seemingly content to let the women fight this out, but Hermione saw his hand creeping toward his sleeve to draw should the need arise.

'Augusta, stop it!'

'Just because you haven't got the courage to say it, Arthur-'

Pavel and the rest of the wolves were sliding quietly into position. Pavel raised a brow, waiting for the signal. Hermione shook her head once. Let the woman get it out so the real work could continue.

'Something to say, girl?'

Hermione wished Aunt Cunegarde was here. The old woman, brutal as she'd been, had prepared her for this moment. That thought brought on another one, a memory of seeing Mother threatening Aunt in the courtyard of Lestrange House that first day.

Was this had she had felt that day? It had scared Hermione, seeing one of the new adults in her life threaten to kill another, wondering if this woman who said she was Hermione's mother meant to hurt her if she should make her angry enough.

She saw things newly now. Mother had been angry, but hurt as well, as she was, hurt by someone she wanted only to help, hurt in the most sensitive part of her being.

Her magic was stirring harder, pulsing with the beats of her heart. She forced herself to breath calmly and not to touch her wand, not to use that powerful force to hurt someone no matter how sweet it might feel to unleash some of that fury. It would feel, Hermione reckoned, very sweet indeed.

'I have said my piece, Madam Longbottom, as you have yours. Let's part now that we've each done.'

'No response, hmm? Unsurprising. All you people are good at is destroying things better people have built. Savages.'

'I am not the one insulting guests under our mutual host's roof, let alone the people who wish to help me. But you are as entitled to your opinion as anyone else. Excuse me, I am not feeling well.'

'Stand and answer me!'

'Answer you what, madam? I am not obliged to justify myself to you.'

'Or anyone! You all think we don't know what you're up to? Trying to build an empire for yourselves? Is that why we came, Arthur, Remus? To hand Britain over to a bloodthirsty monster and her puppet-husband?'

Augusta's wand came up and pointed at Hermione. Hermione's own leapt into her hand, and she sensed, rather than saw, the others doing likewise. Except Sirius, who stepped casually between them, like this was an everyday thing.

'Everyone put down their wands and we'll talk about this.'

Augusta kept her wand pointed at Hermione. 'There's nothing to talk about, Sirius.'

'Do you mean to strike her down, Augusta? She's the same age as your Neville.'

'DON'T YOU COMPARE MY GRANDSON TO THAT THING!'

'That thing is my cousin, and she's fifteen years old. Put down your wand and we can talk things over. But if you do this, Augusta, then there's no more talking. Hermione didn't hurt Frank and Alice. If you want to be angry about that, be angry, but don't hurt a child. How would that make you better than them, Augusta? You'd be doing what Bellatrix did, but to a little girl.'

Sirius stepped forward and reached for the tip of her wand, to push it down and then disarm her. Augusta let him get close enough she could fire round him and then she struck, her wand a blur.

For Hermione, the skirmish would always seem like a series of disconnected activities, like snapshots in a flipbook, a single still image that, when moved in her mind's eye, resolved into a coherent whole. She saw Augusta swing her wand toward them and fire, missing Sirius by merely a few centimetres. He spun, trying to disarm the elderly witch, and she dodged him, firing again.

Even as she fought Augusta, she was vaguely aware that other things were happening. It was, she judged vaguely, a lot cooler in the room, for one. There was a strange high popping in the air, and she would almost have sworn her hair was moving, as in a breeze.

Hermione's mind coldly recorded the rest. Her wand snapped up and she fired back. Augusta's spell missed. Hers didn't. Augusta's legs locked together and her spine stiffened.

Augusta was still firing. Something very big and very hot shot by her ear, and she felt a shocking volcanic heat there. A hand from behind her tugged her scarf from her hair and she heard hard snapping thumps as though someone were stomping. Paavo? Sometimes his prosthetic foot bothered him. Perhaps they should have it looked at.

Muscle memory didn't fail her a second time. Even as her ear started to hurt she fired a second time, hearing more of those pops, the wind increasing. Was a window open?

'Expelliarmus! Stupify!'

Augusta's wand flew from her hand and across the room, so hard it hit the other wall and almost snapped in two before she'd hit the ground. That seemed to break the tension completely as both sides went to tend their wounded.

Hermione set down her wand. Her hands were shaking, her right so rapidly she used her other hand to stop it. Then Viktor was there, and Draco, and Anu, who bent down and picked something up. It was her scarf, once white, now brown with dust and blackened about the edges.

'What happened to it?'

No one answered. Hermione was aware that the room had warmed up a bit. There were no pops, no breeze. Everything was still and she was the epicentre of it, the startled sun about which things revolved for a moment.

'Is Madam Longbottom all right, Minister Weasley?'

'She's fine, Vicereine. Molly, would you take Augusta to lie down?'

'Of course.'

Hermione sat down in her chair, legs shaking. Her ear was throbbing vilely, and Kreacher appeared with a phial of thick ointment. She let him dab it on, feeling like she'd woken from a long, deep sleep. More elves had appeared, and were sweeping bright chips of broken glass from the floor.

'Is there anything else we might discuss right now?'

Minister Weasley's voice was soft and thoughtful. 'No, Vicereine. There's nothing we can think of.'

'Then if no one minds I'd like to lie down.'

They withdrew, from one silence to another. Hermione waited until she and her husband were in their room to ask him. She looked in the mirror; her ear was blistered, a little hair crisped away. The unguent was healing it, but it looked almost like a Burning jinx, a strong one.

'What were those noises I kept hearing? Sort of a popping sound?'

His arms went round her. 'The glasses were shattering, love.'

'In the cabinets, you mean?'

'Yes.'

'And the window?'

'Window?'

'Why was it open?'

'Come and lie down, all right?'

She nodded slowly. 'I'm a bit lost.'

They lay down and he told her, and she was afraid. And exhilarated, deep in her heart, which scared her even more.

In Britain, the Dark Lord was pensive. He rose from His desk and went to the window. Hogwarts would normally be empty this time of year, but to His pleasure, lines of young people, male and female, were lined up in ranks in the courtyard. Outside, alecto was drilling them, shouting in her stentorian voice.

He nodded to Himself, satisfied by the progress things were making. He'd let the littlest ones, the useless ones, go home; didn't that prove His mercy, His love for His people?

archie cleared his throat. 'About this boy, my lord.'

'The bulgarian. ivan, is it?'

'It is. i have seen Your Lordship's writings on the subjects. May Your servant speak freely?'

'Please do, archie.'

'i do not feel that putting the boy with amycus and alecto is the best choice, nor thorfinn and honoria. it might be better if he were to stay with the malfoys.'

'Allow the boy to live amongst the traitors? archie, what are you thinking?'

'It will not look well if Your Lordship were to visibly distrust such heroes of the regime this way. The public doesn't know alecto or thorfinn the way they do the lestranges or malfoys.'

'The public does not need to know.'

'Not to mention, My Lord, it might be an easier adjustment for the lad himself. he will no doubt prefer familiar faces about him as he acclimates to England.'

'thorfinn's got children, hasn't he?'

'Three, My Lord.'

'Well, surely he would know how to keep the boy quiet.'

'thorfinn is not as familiar with the bulgarian way of doing things as is the family. the boy is apt to cooperate better if he is not stressed.'

'he is a child, archie. Surely controlling him can't be so hard?'

'It might be more convenient to Your Lordship if it was not an issue.'

The Dark Lord nodded slowly. 'What is it to you, archie, where the boy will be?'

archie lowered his voice and looked round. 'The carrows and the rowles are amongst Your Lordship's most faithful and energetic supporters. It might be...wise...to be sure they won't be bogged down nursemaiding some bulgarian brat when things begin to happen.'

'And it isn't like the malfoys are doing anything.'

'They did an excellent job on draco, after all. metellus was very impressed by his ideology.'

'We suppose so. But have the carrows check on him. alecto can give him regular lessons, perhaps. Early indoctrination is..'

'The beating heart of our movement, My Lord.'

'Quite right.'

The Dark Lord went to the window again. archie joined him, and the two of them watched the children. alecto was hectoring them, and at the right moments they chanted the proper responses.

'Impressive, My Lord.'

'Aren't they? The soldiers of the future, archie. When the moment comes, these children will have the most important role of all.'

'My Lord?'

'They'll keep our capital safe.'

'i'm not sure i follow, My Lord.'

The Dark Lord looked out on his rows of little fighters and smiled. 'Trust Us, archie. We've a plan.'

And a plan for the little ones as well, but it wasn't necessary archie know it. Not yet. The Dark Lord surveyed his future cannon fodder and laughed a little.

At Durmstrange, Ron Weasley was waiting. Palms wet, he hugged his mother and father, swallowing hard. 'See you soon, Mum. Dad.'

Mum touched his cheek, eyes wet. 'Be safe, Ron.'

'I will.'

His brothers and sister had come as well, even Bill and Charlie, even his sister. Ron hugged each of them in turn.

'Be careful, Ionel.'

He nodded. Petru was like that, always fussing and worrying. Ron was startled by the fierceness in his fussy brother's hug but hugged straight back. Petru was a bit of an old maid, but Ron loved him.

Gheorghe and Ferka hugged him at the same time. 'We're proud of you, baby brother.'

'Even if you are an unbearable swot.'

'And we found you in a rubbish tip.'

Ron snorted. The twins had told him that when he was about four and he'd got all worked up. He punched both of them on the shoulder.

'Wrapped in a lady's dressing gown. I remember.'

'We love you anyway, even if you smelt like the tip for a while.'

'Still do.'

Gina was crying. Ron patted her back. 'Gin, come on. It's just England, remember? It was home.'

She nodded, drying her eyes. 'I'm proud of you, Ion.'

'Proud of you too. Do what Petru and the twins tell you, all right?'

'Don't get hurt, Ionel!'

'Hermione's family's going to take care of me. And I'll be shorter than you for a while. That's something, right?'

She rolled her eyes and then Snape, sour-faced, handed over the phial. Ron opened the top and drank. It tasted neutral, slightly green and a tiny bit sour. Then he was shrinking, his clothes puddling about him as the world grew larger.

'Mr. Weasley?'

'Professor?' He took a step forward and almost tripped on his trouser legs. Blushing, he grabbed his trousers as they very nearly fell off.

'How do you feel, Mr. Weasley?'

'Little, sir.'

Snape nodded once. 'No muscle pains? No stomach cramps?'

'No, sir.'

'Then I'd say it was a success. Whenever you're ready, you may dress and then we shall depart to the Ministry.'

They'd sent him Bulgarian dress. A tunic, stiff trousers and a pair of small, high boots. His hands were clumsy, trying to fasten the strange side clasps on the tunic. Bill had to help him on with his boots, and Mum gently combed his hair for him.

Then Snape proffered a hand. 'Lord Borev, are you ready?'

'Yes, sir.'

Snape kept a grip on him as he seized the Portkey. 'Ministry of Magic.'

They set down in a high, echoing corridor that was vaguely familiar to Ron. A small group of people was waiting, and one of them was not a person at all, but a snake. The snake greeted them first. It slithered up and bent to sniff him all over, tongue flicking over his cheeks and neck.

'Ah, Severus. This is the child? Bring him to Us.'

Snape gently prodded him forwarded. 'My lord Borev, the Dark Lord wishes to greet you.'

Ron found his legs were trembling a bit but he pressed forward. 'My lord.' His voice was small and high, and heavily accented. He bowed, feeling an urgent need to relieve himself that he suspected was panic rather than true need.

At least he wasn't in Harry today. Snape had said he often Polyjuiced himself, and today was no exception. He was wearing a huge man with coarse features, a man who looked slightly like someone Ron had known. Crabbe? Goyle?

'Hello, little one. Don't be afraid. Come closer. We only wish to see you, child.'

His hands were huge, and there was something unpleasant about being touched by them. Not the hands themselves, which were rough like Charlie's, but the way the Dark Lord did it.

'You are Ivan, is that right?'

'Yes, my lord.'

'Of course you are. You are my hostage, do you know that?'

'I, err...'

'My lord, the boy's English is not good. He mightn't understand.'

The Dark Lord's massive bulk went to one knee. 'You are here with Us. You will be safe so long as your cousin obeys. If he is good, nothing will happen. Do you understand?'

Ron nodded. His body felt very small next to this much larger one. Snape was behind him, and quick as a wink he pressed Ron's-Ivan's-shoulder.

'If you are a good boy, then We will have you taught. If you are naughty, then We will have to punish you.'

Something about the way he said it made Ron's stomach clench. He nodded again, wishing this was over. 'Yes, my lord.'

'Good. Good.' One of the Dark Lord's massive paws touched his head, and clamped for a second. The strength there was frightening. This little body, realised Ron with a sense of dread, was awfully breakable.

'We don't want to have to hurt you.'

Then the hand drew back, and the side of Ron's head exploded. He was on his side, ears ringing, face burning furiously. Tears were running from his eyes. Snape leant down emotionlessly and set him to his feet.

'Make sure your cousins get the message. Take the boy, Snape.' The Dark Lord left.

Ron was starting to discover another unpleasant facet of being in this body, which is to say that he found he wanted to stop crying and couldn't. He sobbed, crying into a fisted hand as he perceived a large masculine bulk over him, larger than Snape.

'There there, Ivan. Shhh, shhh.'

Lucius Malfoy knelt down and put a hand to his shoulder, murmuring comfortingly. Ron was too disturbed by the sensations he was experiencing to care this was Malfoy's father. He buried his head in the man's neck and sobbed, overwhelmed. Internally, he was more disconcerted than anything; he was fifteen, after all, and it had only been a slap, albeit a hard one.

'Yes, shhh, I know, I know. Shh, let's go home now, all right?'

Ron nodded, trying to bring it under control. Suddenly he smelt something terrible and stiffened, holding on tighter to Malfoy.

'Madam Umbridge.'

'The Dark Lord has asked Mr. Greyback to look the boy over. To check him for illness.'

'Does Greyback have a healer's license he has neglected to mention?'

'By smell.'

Ron forced himself to stand up straight and take a step back. The wolf's giant hand shot out and grabbed his wrist, hauling him, feet kicking, into the air. His joints groaned and Ron had to restrain himself from crying out.

Greyback bent his head and drew in several deep breaths. 'Smells normal enough.'

'Are you quite sure, Mr. Greyback? Perhaps a blood sample would help you know for certain?'

Ron saw Umbridge's wand flick and then blood was running red and hot down his arm and onto the floor. It pattered there, like rain. The smell added to the unholy stench emanating from the werewolf, and the shrill reek of perfume and whatever else from the woman. He gagged, feet peddling, and vomited.

It might have saved them. Greyback let him drop, swearing. The floor rushed to greet him, and when the spell came, he snapped to a stop, jerking, covered in blood and bile.

'Sorry! Sorry!'

'Hush, darling. Nothing you did was wrong at all.' A woman Ron assumed was Malfoy's mum helped him stand and healed his arm, quickly vanishing the blood. She looked angry enough to kill. She cleaned the mess off of him as well, and sent an elf for something to settle his belly.

'Madam Malfoy, I must insist we-'

'Greyback said my nephew smells fine.'

'But we have not yet verified this is the boy.'

'Don't be silly, of course you have. And anyway, Ivan is very delicate. He needs rest now.'

'A moment more wouldn't hurt anything. Come along now, Ivan, Mr. Greyback only wants to look at you.'

Ron shook his head. 'No.'

'Now, Ivan, mustn't be naughty.'

'No.'

'I would hate to tell the Dark Lord you'd been a bad boy on your first day here.'

'No.'

Greyback huffed, sounding like a horse's snort. 'I have places to be, woman. Boy, come here.'

Ron forced himself to step forward. Greyback lifted him by the tunic. 'You scared of me?'

'No.'

'Liar.'

'No!'

Greyback bent his head and sniffed. 'It's him. Stinks of Krum and his cunt.'

Ron saw a tall dark-haired pair of men that could only be brothers stiffen, faces dark. Next to the taller, a small dark woman took things less quietly.

'WHAT DID YOU SAY ABOUT MY DAUGHTER, YOU FILTHY BASTARD?'

'NO ONE NAMES FENRIR GREYBACK A BASTARD AND LIVES!' The werewolf lunged at her, hands hooking into claws and three aurors came seemingly from nowhere.

'ENOUGH, CITIZENS!' One of them snapped his wand at the werewolf, and he went down, wrapped in chains.

'If this is quite through, Delores, then surely it would be expedient for lord Borev to go home with his family now.'

Umbridge was staring at the writhing, swearing werewolf. 'Fine, fine. But don't think this is the end of things!'

The closest adult-one of the brothers; Hermione's father? Her uncle?-took Ron's hand.

'I'll carry you through the Floo, Ivan, all right?'

'Yes, Uncle.'

'Good boy.' The man bent and lifted him as though he were a leaf. They went through the closest Floo, and stepped into the great adventure of Ron's life thus far.

Spoiler A/N: The younger children use Romanian names because they've adapted culturally to their new home. The older ones don't because they were raised in Britain.