Chapter 41: Scarification

A.N. Dates: We open at the end of the wedding, which was August 1. Tonks shows up after Rose attends church on Sunday, August 3rd. Rose goes to Grimmauld, and then to North Yorkshire, on Monday evening. She dreamwalks on August 6th.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione drop by on September 3rd and 4th, 1997. Readers will recognize a great deal of the dialogue in the last section from Chapter 15 of Deathly Hallows. I decided to incorporate this conversation into their visit, because that is what they would have been discussing at that point in their quest. DH readers will know what brought the Death Eaters to Rose's door.

It was late into the night before Rose felt safe to return to her flat. Bill and Fleur had departed for Shell Cottage, Remus and Tonks had returned to Tonks' flat, and Molly was looking very much as if she'd benefit from having her kitchen to herself by the time Rose announced that she would be on her way. Despite the Patronus Bill had sent, communicating that he and Fleur had arrived safely and that the Fidelius Charm had not been breached, Rose was afraid to return to London. Partly, she knew, she simply dreaded being alone. And whether or not Harry, Ron, and Hermione had decided to take shelter there, she had a superstitious fear that somehow, Death Eaters would be able to follow her there.

Still, after Arthur's third yawn and Molly's second suggestion that she spend the night, Rose declined the invitation, said goodnight to the pair of them, hugged Ginny, and walked out into the night to the Apparition point. She Apparated into the garden behind her flat, and looked up at her bedroom window for signs of people inside. All was dark and still. Her heart pounded as she climbed the stairs to her door, and she hesitated briefly before turning the key and opening the door.

Silence.

Rose shut the door behind her, still in a light sweat, and lit her wand. "Hello?" she called once or twice, and carried her lit wand from room to room, turning on light switches and searching every corner of the place. When she'd finished searching the guest room, she finally concluded that she was alone.

Nevertheless, she could not shake the eerie sense of dread that night. Rose was normally very comfortable being by herself. She cherished the quiet, the sense of not being observed, and the lack of social demands in her solitary flat. But after the attack at the wedding, and knowing that the Ministry of Magic had finally fallen to Voldemort, Rose found the silence in her flat to be a horror. It was a long time before she was able to sleep.

Saturday was a very long day. Rose's sleep was disturbed, but once morning dawned she was able to sleep for several hours into the day. She had enough groceries in the flat for breakfast, but when lunch came, she called her favourite takeout restaurant and ordered curry to be delivered. For the whole of that silent day she did not leave the flat.

On Sunday, she woke and knew she would have to go out, if for no other reason than to buy more milk and eggs. She was also dangerously low on tea, so after eating the last of the eggs and toast, Rose put on a simple Muggle dress, braided her hair neatly, and left, with her wand in her pocketbook.

Once she left, she found her anxiety significantly diminished. Now that she was away from the eerie silence of her flat and out into the muggy warmth of an August morning in London, she remembered that the Fall of the Ministry would not have shut down Muggle society, or indeed, have any impact at all on most Muggles' awareness. She was nearly at the small grocery store when her attention was diverted by the sound of church bells. On impulse, Rose suddenly turned off of her course and climbed the stone steps into the nave.

Like most churches of its era, this one was dimly lit, with a high ceiling and stiff rows of pews. Rose was no stranger to churches. She'd not been raised religious, but she'd always had a fascination with religion, a fascination that was part intellectual curiosity and part aesthetic attraction. Rose gazed at the statue of the Madonna as the rector's homily meandered gently away from its intended message, which was all about loving one's enemy. It's all very well to talk of it, she thought, addressing the Madonna's placid face. In the shadows of the church, clutching the infant in its arms, the statue reminded her of Lily. Loving enemies. But in real life it only puts more innocent people at risk. Harry, for instance.. . . . Harry was saved by love, but not love for Voldemort. No, it was Lily's love for him which saved him, not love for her enemy. Rose considered what she could remember from Secrets of the Darkest Art. He'd have to feel remorse in order for love to do him any good, anyway. Tom Riddle himself has closed that door.

When the service ended, Rose departed without speaking to anyone. She greatly appreciated that Church of England rectors seemed perfectly content to let her attend the occasional mass in privacy and anonymity, unlike the French priest in Cauterets, who had always made it a point to interrogate her at every visit. All in all, Rose felt pleased with herself for attending the service. It had cleared her head, and sharpened her focus. She carried out the grocery trip with purpose and was home before lunch-time.

Her flat was illuminated with the sunshine that had managed to break through that afternoon, and she was feeling decidedly more secure in her solitude when all at once there was a knock at her door.

The whole weekend had been so reminiscent of the days following Sirius' death that Rose half expected it to be Remus at the door again, coming to offer her news and comfort as he had done the summer before. But it was not Remus. Tonks stood at the door to Rose's flat, her neon orange bathrobe not quite concealing a yellow Eastenders tee shirt and plaid pajamas.

Her expression, however, was not nearly as bright as her clothing, and Tonks' hair was once again mousy and colourless. Rose let her in without a word, and in minutes they were sipping tea in her kitchen. They sat in silence at first, until Tonks spoke.

"Well. He's gone."

"Remus is gone?" Rose's eyebrows shot up.

Tonks gave a confirming nod and sipped her tea. Her eyes looked glassy and red-rimmed.

"Did you quarrel?" Rose asked gently.

"Well, I disagreed with him rather loudly, if that counts!" Tonks said with a bitter laugh. "He didn't do me the favor of arguing back. He said he'd given it a lot of thought, and he reckoned both of us, me and the baby, would be better off without a werewolf in the house."

"Oh Tonks, not again!" groaned Rose. "I thought he'd gotten past that line of thinking."

"Well, now the Ministry's overthrown, they're cracking down on Muggle-borns and Blood Traitors, and now there's a baby involved, I guess all bets are off." Tonks twisted her wedding ring distractedly on her finger as she spoke. "I'm to go to my parents' and not look for him. And frankly, I'm not in the mood to begin a search," she added, scowling.

"He didn't tell you where he'd be going?" Tonks shook her head. Rose considered. "Where would he go . . . not the camp again, surely?"

"I don't think so. He knows his name's mud, there. Besides, I think he's going to try to avoid going anywhere I might look. No, I think he'll be trying to blend in, or taking on some solo suicide mission out of some misplaced sense of nobility. Or, he'll tell himself it's nobility. But it's cowardice, Rose, that's all it is. He'd rather let some Death Eater kill him, or let Fenrir find him, than do what really scares him: stand by his wife and raise his kid." Rose realized as she watched Tonks' face that she'd misjudged her mood. Tonks seemed limp, dejected, apparently miserable, but her words now were animated by cold fury.

"I know he expects me to try to find him, but I've had it, Rose. I'm not doing it this time. I'm not begging him to come home. I'm not living on my knees anymore. He's made his choice."

"I can certainly understand that." Rose spoke softly, but her heart broke to see the hard look in Tonks' eyes. Never had she looked like that before while speaking of Remus.

Tonks stayed for bacon sandwiches, and for a while they sat on Rose's couch together in the afternoon, talking of the war, the Ministry, and Tonks' pregnancy.

"I reckon I'm about five weeks gone, now. Mum's insisting I quit the Ministry, and normally I'd argue with her on principle. But the Ministry's gone mental. They're completely hostile to anyone with Muggle ancestry, however distant, and I'm on Auntie Bellatrix's hit list anyway. I'm planning to focus on just Order work, now. Maybe I'll see you at the Burrow next week?"

"Certainly, you will," Rose replied, and was surprised at the confidence in her own voice. When she'd returned to her flat after the wedding, she had felt directionless and uncertain of everything. But Tonks' arrival, combined with the hour of quiet in the Muggle church that morning had returned Rose's conviction to her. Of course, she would fight. Of course, she would attend the Order's next meeting. Nothing had really changed, after all, except the raising of the stakes.

Tonks left before dinner for her mother's home. "Come and see me," she insisted before she opened the door to go. "Don't be alone if you don't want to be, all right?" Rose promised that she would come to visit before the next Order meeting the following Friday. And then Tonks was gone.

For the rest of the day, and all day Monday, Rose stayed in her neighbourhood and thought. She tried to put herself in Remus' mind and consider where he might go. But the more she did, the more she shared Tonks' conviction that wherever he had gone, it would not be anywhere anyone would think to look. Late Monday night, however, Rose was remembering Tonks' other words, saying Remus was likely to take on a suicide mission fraught with danger as a way of justifying himself. And suddenly, she knew where she wanted to look.

Ever since he left the wedding, Rose had thought it unlikely that Harry would be in Grimmauld Place. She felt sure that Hermione, at least, would counsel against it, and she hoped Harry's sense of caution would be able to overcome his desire to revenge himself on Severus Snape. But for anyone looking for Harry Potter, Grimmauld Place would be high on the list of places to look.

Rose had not wanted to pursue Harry; she had promised, after all, to let him complete his quest on his own. But Remus made no such promise, Rose realized. Helping Harry on his quest, however little Remus knows about it, might be just the sort of suicide mission Remus is looking for. And, she reasoned, to Remus, the scheme would have the advantage of allowing him to help James' son, to be at the very center of the effort against Voldemort. Rose remained one more minute, thinking, sitting very straight in her kitchen chair, before jumping to her feet, tucking her wand into her sleeve, and leaving her flat.

The sun had set, but the sky outside Grimmauld Place was still brilliantly red. Rose had Apparated onto the top step, as had become her habit, so that she was within the boundaries of the enchantments on the place from the moment of her appearance. One glance around her affirmed this choice, for right across the road, squinting at the space between numbers 11 and 13, were two robed Death Eaters. Rose stood extremely still. Within the house, she could make out raised voices, of which one was definitely Harry's. Her heart raced, and she had her hand on the doorknob when there was a loud bang, and the sound of approaching feet.

Then the door flew open and Remus himself stepped out. He was breathing hard, and he slammed the door behind him as if in anger. Then his eyes fell on Rose, and he changed color. His flush became pale, and his eyes widened. She saw him grip his wand and take a step back, and knew what he was about to do before he did it. When Remus turned on the spot, Rose's hand had clamped onto his arm, and together they pressed into the darkness of Apparition.

They arrived a few seconds later on the coarse sand of a northern beach. Remus immediately shook off Rose's hand and ran his hands through his hair as he backed away.

"Rosey. I do wish you'd leave me alone just now. I am not- I need- I can't-" he struggled to form a sentence, his eyes wild.

"I know you want to be alone. And I may be able to do that, let you alone, but I must be satisfied about some things first, Remus. Please," she insisted. He looked on the verge of arguing, but he caught her eye and visibly deflated.

"Well," was all he said, but he stopped his agitated motion on the sand.

"Where are we?" she asked him first.

"Ravenscar," he told her. "North Yorkshire. I have a cottage here."

She gave a single nod, then asked what was to her the most pressing question: "Is Harry all right? And Ron, Hermione-?"

"All fine," he replied, though something in his eyes flashed when she'd said Harry's name. "They've been staying at Grimmauld Place almost since they left the wedding, and no one has intruded upon them. That is, besides me. As it turns out, my intrusion was- unwelcome." His mouth was a hard line as he said this.

"Do you know if they are planning to stay at Grimmauld for the present?"

"For the present, I think they are." He still seemed very impatient to go away from her, so Rose took another step towards him. Remus' usual gentle demeanour when he spoke to her was now only in his voice; the expression of his face and the attitude of his body was all restless ferocity. His hair stuck up at odd angles, probably as a result of his hands' frantic combing motions. Did she not know him so well, his expression would have frightened her.

"Where are you going to go?" she asked him in a level voice.

He shook his head like a dog trying to clear water from its ears. "I- I do not know. I just, I need to go. I need to get away, Rose. Please let me. I'm afraid that-"

"Go," she told him. "Have a walk. But I'm not leaving, Remus. I won't tell Tonks where you are. I won't drag you to her. But I won't let you throw yourself in the sea, either." He looked inclined to throw himself from one of the nearby cliffs, instead, but after meeting her eyes for a moment, he tore his hand through his hair again and gave one abrupt nod. Then he strode away from her at a driving pace.

Rose stayed on the beach for over half an hour, watching Remus striding over the sand and across stretches of rocks. Sometimes he climbed onto the grassy hillside, sometimes he would disappear between ridges in the landscape. But always she would make him out, growing smaller and smaller, returning to the water. In time, though, he turned a corner around a cliff and was lost to her view.

The sun was then quite low in the sky; it was past suppertime. Rose decided to risk a trip to the village, where she bought sandwiches at the local tearoom. Then she returned to the rocky beach to which Remus had first brought them, sat down on a likely enough looking rock, and spread out the food.

The sun was down and the stars beginning to appear when Remus emerged from around the other side of the cliff. His hair was still wild, and his unbuttoned robes flapped in the wind, but his face, though troubled, was less wild than before. He hesitated when he saw her, but when she held out a sandwich without speaking, he came, took it, and sat down. They ate in silence.

"Have you told Tonks that you're safe?" Rose asked him when they had finished.

He shook his head. "She- she doesn't want to hear from me." His voice sounded rough.

"No, she doesn't," Rose agreed. His eyebrows went up, but she continued. "But you should still tell her you're all right. I can't send a Patronus, and if I Owl her from my flat, she'll probably show up there."

He seemed to consider this for a moment. Then, he drew his wand, but almost immediately he put his hand down again. "I- I don't think I can just now."

"Well, I'm the last person who could judge you for that," she said. There was silence again for the span of a minute. Remus stared out at the sea.

"Where is your cottage?" Rose said, breaking the silence. The sea was beautiful, but the rock upon which they sat was growing uncomfortable, and now that the sun was down, the breezes felt more cold than refreshing.

"It is beyond the village," he motioned behind them. "I've had it since I left school. I lived there until I taught at Hogwarts. But I'm rarely there now."

"Do you want to stay there now?"

"It would probably be best if I did."

"But do you want to stay there, Remus?"

He leaned back onto his elbows while he considered this. In the darkness, his exact expression was hard to read. "I want to be someone else," he said softly.

"Well, you're the only one that wants that," she told him flatly. "So I ask you, do you want to stay at your cottage? Or can I prevail upon you to come and stay with me? If it were very temporary, perhaps, and if I promised not to tell anyone where you are?"

He sighed. "That's very kind," he began, and then stopped.

"'But'?" she prompted him.

"Rosey, I can't be a guest right now. I couldn't bear it. I need to earn something, DO something, for once, do something of value to someone."

"When you are more yourself," Rose told him, "I will explain to you just how absurd those words are. But in any case, I would make you earn your keep, by helping me."

A faint smile reached his lips. "You need me to make you eggs again?"

"Well, I wouldn't mind. Your eggs are legendary. But that isn't exactly what I had in mind." She wiped at her lips with the napkin, then crumpled it into the aluminum foil which had held her sandwich. "Have you ever heard of dreamwalking, Remus?"

Rose did not attempt a dreamwalk that night, nor the night after. Both she and Remus were in need of a rest. The morning after they Apparated to her flat and settled Remus in the guest room with the clothes they had brought from his cottage, Rose Owled worst outcome, she thought, would be if Tonks came by her flat unannounced. He would surely run again, she thought, and this time no one will be able to find him. So she neglected to mention that Remus was staying with her, choosing instead to write, I saw him yesterday. He is safe. And he is thinking. And that was all.

They spent two days in relative quiet, reading, cooking and eating simple meals, and twice, walking in the nearby garden park. Their conversation was only of practical things: what to eat, who would cook, how Rose liked her eggs, whether the weather would hold up long enough to go to the garden. Of Tonks, the baby, the war, and Harry, they spoke not at all. Though she would have welcomed such conversations, Rose did not attempt to force one. She felt that ultimately, she knew what Remus was struggling to accept, and he knew perfectly well how she felt about it. There was simply nothing to say.

The moon was now several days past new, so Rose knew there was a possibility of interference in her dreamwalking attempt. But she wanted to make another effort at her project while Remus was there, so on the third night of his stay, Rose went to bed early. Before she lay down, as before, she created the compass on her bed, and spent a few minutes paging through her photographs. Remus, as they'd agreed, was in the guest room, but he planned to look in on her after thirty minutes had passed. When she looked long and hard at the photograph of James, holding Harry, with his arm around the 10-year-old Rose, she lay down and began to meditate.

James had been tall as long as she'd known him, and because she was herself so small at the time, he'd seemed all the taller. He was angular too, always seeming barely out of his last adolescent growth spurt. Like Sirius, James had never seemed to be able to sit still. When he sat, his foot tapped restlessly, and when he spoke, his arms and hands flew.

Rose pictured him at her parents' dining room table where she'd first met him, grinning at her with dancing eyes when she'd discovered that he was the reason her pudding was floating over her head. She imagined James flipping pancakes for Lily and whistling; she pictured him laughing with his friends, throwing his arms around Sirius, talking earnestly with Remus. Her mind roved over other images: James throwing the invisibility cloak over both of their shoulders before they left for her ballet lessons; James holding Lily in his arms in the lead-up to Harry's birth, stroking her back; James holding Harry, just after he emerged, with a look of utter astonishment and joy on his face.

Rose continued to think about James until she felt herself growing sleepy. "Somnio," she whispered, and then all was changed. She could move through the silvery web in three dimensions; nodes shone brightly, though not (as she later reflected, probably due to the presence of a sliver of moon) as brightly as they had before. But still, it was a navigable web, and Rose seemed to glide through it without effort.

She wandered for a long time. The part of her that was capable of thinking was beginning to do a thing like wondering whether Tom Riddle was indeed asleep. She kept pushing her intention outward, searching, while holding the picture of James Potter in the center of her intention.

After what seemed a long time, Rose found the node of eerie, faintly green light which she knew to be Tom Riddle's consciousness. She entered it, despite the obvious hostility emanating from the center.

Hello, Tom. It first shrank from her intrusion, then lashed out with a flash of energy. She ignored its protestations.

Have you considered James Potter lately? Only one of your many victims, one whose death gave you especial satisfaction. I suppose you thought you were about to achieve your ultimate victory. And defeat waited for you in the form of a toddler in a crib.

James Potter defied you to your face three times. But he really defied you in every choice he made. He refused to hate Muggles and Muggle-Borns. He refused to use his pureblood privilege to make life hard for people who didn't have it. James won all his teachers' respect with his talent; I still hear them speak of him at Hogwarts as one of the greatest wizards of his generation. And James opposed Death Eaters wherever he found them.

You saw fit that James should die to feed your ambition and smooth your path to domination. Did you know the man you killed so thoughtlessly that day? James was a father, a husband, a son, and unlike you, he had real friends, friends who would die for him. Do you have a single friend whose loyalty is that sincere? Ah, no. You have only those you have taught to fear you more than they desire freedom from you.

Look at him . . . see his face. James Potter, whom you killed. Look at him and see if you can feel anything of remorse, anything of humanity. In that lies your one hope, Tom Riddle, because James' son will finish you. And what will be your fate then?

Rose withdrew as the node flashed with helpless rage. She leaned away from his energy, and, with an effort, squeezed the hand which contained the magically maintained lump of ice, burning through its cooling charm so that it began to melt on her hand. As she had hoped, the sensation brought her back to consciousness and she gasped upon opening her eyes to a scene which at first made no sense. It was much too bright, too warm, too filled with movement and emotion.

The face before her was familiar and yes, it was Remus, and she was Rose, and she was back. And then his words began to make sense to her.

"Rosey. Can you hear me? Are you all right? Rose?"

"'M okay, Remus," she managed to say, and he sat back, relief on his face.

"I've heard of the practice of dreamwalking, of course, but of all the fool things James and Sirius and I got up to at school, none of us ever considered actually trying that." He looked pale, but calm now. "What did you do?"

"I told Tom Riddle about James," Rose said simply. "I made him understand exactly who he killed that day." Remus' eyes widened.

"Rose," he hesitated. "I hope you know what you're doing here. I know you're angry about all that he's done. We all are. But to take an action that may provoke him to seek you out, it just does not seem . . ."

"I need to do it," she told him firmly, and Remus went silent. But his expression remained skeptical.

"I need to do it for Harry's sake, not for his," Rose explained. She had not articulated this to anyone before, but she felt conviction in her purpose grow as she spoke. "Tom Riddle is doomed, Remus. He is. I do not know who else he might harm or kill before his doom comes to him, but he is doomed, and Harry will be the one to finish him. I am sure of it. But what he has done to preserve himself can be undone if he should happen to feel remorse. I do not believe he will be brought to any kind of remorse," she said quickly, as his expression became more skeptical still. "I think he is beyond that. But there will come a time when Harry will be ready to strike him, ready to end it. And mark me, if I know him, Harry will feel pity for Tom Riddle. I want Harry to know, whether before he finishes him, or after, that Riddle was given a chance. That he chose not to undo the terrible damage he's done to himself, and thus, his fate was inevitable. I want Harry to have that peace, Remus," she told him, earnestly.

And after a moment's silence, she added, "And I don't mind at all that he hates what I am making him see."

Remus gave a quiet laugh, and his expression changed to one of admiration. "Well," he said, "I still don't think this is exactly necessary. But, you may be right about Harry. It's how James would have felt. And Harry's . . . Harry's got good instincts. He's more like James than I want him to be, in truth."

When Rose frowned, Remus explained. "When I saw Harry, Ron, and Hermione at Grimmauld Place, I offered to join them on their quest. I still don't know what it is, but I was sure I could be of help to them. And I wanted . . . I wanted to do something that seemed to matter, the more dangerous the better. And the truth is," he looked pained, but persisted, "the truth is that it was because I was ashamed."

"Ashamed of your lycanthropy?"

"No. I was ashamed that I was too much of a coward to stay with Tonks, and be a father to my own child. I feared that I would have to see, every month, my own child suffering what I suffer, and I couldn't bear it."

Rose put her hand on his hand as he struggled to control his face. He did not meet her eyes, but squeezed her hand gratefully. "What did Harry do that was like James?" she reminded him gently.

"He called me out on my cowardice. Refused to let me join him, and said James would be ashamed of me." Rose knew her shock showed on her face. "He did not mince words. But, he was right. I think I knew he was right even as he said it. I just didn't want him to be. We had some angry words and . . . I may have pushed him against the wall, with a spell I wasn't aware I was using. I am not proud of it."

Rose kept hold of her friend and surrogate brother's hand throughout this confession. "It sounds to me as if you both lost your tempers," she ventured to him, but he shook his head.

"It's taken me two days to come to this conclusion. But, he was entirely justified. And nothing but the strongest language from him would have made me come to terms with myself."

Neither of them could have slept, then, so Rose mixed up some batter for crêpes, and Remus fried them, patiently tilting the pan in a way Rose could never have equaled. They ate comfortably, and talked at last of the war, of Harry's mission, and of Tonks.

"She was so happy," Remus said when the subject came up. "When the potion turned and she knew she was pregnant, she was so happy. As rubbish as she felt. She was actually singing minutes after she finished vomiting. It was The Cure. But, it was singing," he said with a shaky laugh. "But all I felt was the cold weight of dread. And now, I've ruined her happiness."

"Oh, honestly, Remus, what would Marcus Aurelius say? Nihil desperandum, surely."

"No," Remus said, and when she sighed in exasperation, he added, "That was Horace."

Rose threw a dish towel at him.

In the morning, Remus fried eggs, and they drank tea in meditative quiet. When he had done the dishes, Remus went back into the guest room, while Rose turned on the radio and tried to find a station that would tell her anything of substance about the state of things in the Wizarding world. But before she could find anything but static, Remus reappeared. He had his small, shabby suitcase in his hand.

"I'm going back to her," he told Rose, who only nodded.

"I know," she said. She embraced him, and he was gone in another minute.

There was no question of Rose's returning to Hogwarts as a teacher, or in any capacity, that September. Remus' description only confirmed what she had already suspected: Muggle-borns would not be welcome in the new regime. They were already being hunted and persecuted at every outpost of the Wizarding world. "I wouldn't so much as go into Diagon Alley, if I were you, Rosey," Remus had advised her, and she'd agreed wholeheartedly. Being interrogated or arrested merely for being a Muggle-born witch did not seem a good use of her time.

Rose became more and more thankful that she'd had the sense to take a flat on the Muggle side of town. Withdrawing the rent money from her vault at Gringotts, then changing it to Muggle money might have been a problem, had Sirius not left her, in addition to many galleons in the bank, a good deal of cash as well. Rose had only to ask Arthur Weasley to help her change her money and she was able to pay a year's rent with one lump sum.

Next year, she thought as she returned from paying her rent that month, if the war isn't over, I will decide what to do with the flat. But for now, she was simply glad to have somewhere to call home, somewhere that felt safe, for as many months as possible.

She was quite glad she was beforehand with the rent a few weeks later when, early in the morning on a Wednesday in early September, there came a muted knock at her door. She went to the door, and uttered a quiet, "Hello?"

"It's us," came a voice that, even in its near-whisper, Rose had no trouble identifying as Harry's.

She opened the door the inch or two the chain would allow. "What is our favourite game to play on Playstation?"

"Motor Toon Grand Prix," came Harry's voice immediately, and she quickly unchained the door. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were emerging from the invisibility cloak on the other side of the door. She hurried them in and hugged Harry, who came in last and who hugged her back with more fervor than usual.

They looked decidedly worse for wear. All three had a look of hunger and exhaustion about them. Though they were not exactly dirty, none of them looked completely clean, and Ron was worst of all: his arm was tied in a makeshift sling and there were bandages on his shoulders. There were also circles under his eyes.

"Mon Dieu!" Rose cried at the sight of them. "Are you all right? What's happened to Ron?"

"He splinched a couple of days back," Hermione told her; Rose did not miss the little squeeze she gave to Ron's upper arm.

"I'm all right, Hermione's fixed the worst of it," Ron told her, sinking into one of Rose's kitchen chairs.

"Well. Are you all right? Hermione? Harry?" She looked at them in turn. Hermione gave her a reassuring smile. Harry, however, merely looked weary as he nodded.

"Sit down. You need feeding, that much is plain." Where is Remus to make the eggs? Rose thought with amusement. She was not much gifted with cooking, but Remus had taught her a little about how to make eggs turn out, and she was not ashamed of the product she set on the table some twenty minutes later. She needn't have worried, though; the three teenagers seemed not to have eaten proper meals in days, and they fell on the platter of scrambled eggs as if it were a feast. For the first hour of their visit, they spoke very little. Rose just kept producing more food until the three young people were, at last, satisfied.

Then, at Rose's encouragement, they each took showers and had their clothes cleaned with a Scourgifying spell. Rose stole out to the grocery for more essentials, and that evening found them all cleaned, fed, and sitting comfortably in Rose's living room.

"How have you been keeping yourselves?" Rose asked them.

Again, Hermione was the one to speak for them all. "We've been camping since we left the Mi- since we left Grimmauld. We can't go back there anymore. I think Death Eaters can get in now."

"You've got a tent?" Rose asked in surprise. In answer, Hermione held up a small beaded bag, and Rose drew in her breath. "You've put an extension charm on it," she stated, and Hermione nodded.

"We've got necessities in here, but no food, and when Harry tried to get some at a grocer's, he found Dementors waiting for him."

"And you couldn't do a Patronus charm because the Muggles would see?" Rose asked Harry.

"I couldn't produce one," Harry admitted, looking at the floor. "It wouldn't come."

First Remus, now Harry? Will everyone be affected like this? Is this what war does? Rose pondered, but aloud she only said, "I'm sure you're only exhausted and hungry."

"He's been a real delight these days," Ron told her, in sarcastic confidence.

"In contrast to you, the Prince of Sunshine over there. Because you've made everyone's life so easy," Harry shot back, and Ron was about to respond in kind when Hermione cried, "Of course! Harry, give me the Hor- the locket, Harry. Come on!" and she snapped her fingers at him impatiently. "You're still wearing it!"

"It's OK," Harry told her, as he removed a chain with a heavy, gold locket from around his neck. "She knows about them." As soon as he had handed it to Hermione, Harry's expression smoothed and he looked less miserable.

"Better?" Hermione asked.

"Yeah, loads better!" he responded, feelingly. "Good thinking!"

"Harry," Hermione said, striding over to crouch in front of him, "You don't think you've been possessed, do you?"

"What? No!" he answered. "I remember everything we've done while I've been wearing it. I wouldn't know what I'd done if I'd been possessed, would I? Ginny told me there were times when she couldn't remember anything."

"Hmm," said Hermione, looking down at the locket in her hands, "Well, maybe we ought not to wear it."

"I am not leaving it around," Harry insisted. "After all we've been through to find that, I won't risk losing it."

"You've found a Horcrux, then," Rose said in awe. "You've already found one?"

"Yes," Harry told her. "But we have to hold on to it for now, until we figure out how to destroy it."

"I don't think I copied that part of Secrets of the Darkest Art down," Rose said, regretfully, but Hermione reached into her beaded bag and held up the book itself.

"I've got it," Hermione said. "We just don't have a weapon with enough magic to destroy it."

They spent the next hour or so discussing methods to destroy the Horcrux, but fixed on no solutions. As all three of the young people were yawning, Rose suggested they go to bed, which they very soon did. Hermione was asleep within minutes, but when Rose woke up the next morning, she was alone in the bed. Before she could begin to worry, however, she stepped into the living area and found Hermione asleep on the couch, with Ron snoring on the floor next to her, one single pillow under his head. Smiling to herself, Rose continued to the kitchen and very quietly prepared the tea.

They were having breakfast within an hour, Hermione having slipped back into Rose's room before re-emerging with an exaggerated yawn. Rose pretended not to notice. All three young people looked much better than they had the previous night, and were soon comfortably talking about next steps in their quest. Harry had apparently convinced his friends that Rose could be trusted, so they spoke openly about where they might find another Horcrux. Ron and Hermione were in favour of trying to find Tom Riddle's old orphanage, while Harry kept doggedly returning to the argument that Riddle was more attached to Hogwarts than anywhere else. As such, he reasoned, Hogwarts was the more likely site for a Horcrux.

Hermione was exasperated. "But Dumbledore would have found it, Harry!" she insisted.

Harry shook his head. "Not necessarily. Dumbledore said in front of me that he never assumed he knew all of Hogwarts' secrets. I'm telling you, if there was one place that was really important to Voldemort, it was Hogwarts!"

"His school?" Ron wondered, skeptically.

"Yeah, his school!" Harry snapped. "It was his first real home, the place that meant he was special: it meant everything to him, and even after he left-"

"This is You-Know-Who we're talking about, right? Not you?" Ron interrupted. Rose noticed that he was tugging at the chain of the gold locket around his neck as he spoke.

Hermione said, apparently attempting to refocus the conversation, "You told us that You-Know-Who asked Dumbledore to give him a job after he left."

"That's right," Harry told her.

"And Dumbledore thought he only wanted to come back to try and find something, probably another founder's object, to make into another Horcrux? But, he didn't get the job. So, he never got the chance to find a founder's object there and hide it in the school," she reasoned.

"Okay, then," said Harry, sounding defeated. "Forget Hogwarts."

"What are you doing, Ron?" Hermione asked him. For Ron had gotten to his feet while they were talking and had gone into Rose's kitchen, where he now stood, staring out of the window.

"Nothing, probably. Only I thought I heard . . " He trailed off. "Rose, is there a way we can look outside your front door? Have you got a . . . what's it called, a Pete-hole?"

"A peephole?" Rose said, keeping her face straight. "I haven't, no. It's been very inconvenient." She strode over next to him at the kitchen window and looked at his frowning face. "What's bothering you?"

He looked back at her, and Rose saw the same earnest look on his face that he'd worn the night Death Eaters had invaded the castle. "I heard a sound. Could be like, an automobile sound, but it sounded a lot like someone Apparating. Are you expecting anyone?"

Rose shook her head, but Hermione, who come into the kitchen along with Harry, suddenly shushed them. "Listen," she advised.

From outside Rose's flat door, they heard a woman's voice, which Rose recognized as the voice of one of her neighbours. "Is there something I can help you with?" she was saying.

"No. We are waiting for someone," came a male voice from further down the stairs By now, all four of them were pressed against the door, listening fervently.

"Oh, who are you waiting for? Maybe I know where they live," the woman's voice suggested, and then she gasped.

"We have no need of Muggle help!" the voice responded, and there was a pop and a scream from the woman.

"Fool. We cannot afford to make a scene in Muggle London," another male voice came. They heard footsteps, then the voice said, "Obliviate."

Then, there was only the sound of the two men whispering together.

Ron stepped away from the door. "That's what I was afraid of," he whispered. "Death Eaters. I don't know how they keep doing this, but they found us at Grimmauld, and now they've found us here."

"They shouldn't be able to see your door, though, right?" Harry asked Rose, a crease appearing between his eyebrows.

"No, nor anyone on the doorstep," she replied in an undertone. "I wonder what can have brought them here?"

"I don't know," Harry said, beginning to pace. "But you have to go."

"So do you," Rose told him.

"Well obviously we should all go," said Hermione, wringing her hands. "But how?"

"Under the cloak," Harry told her. "If we're careful, we can all fit, long enough to disapparate. Pack a bag, Rose, and Hermione can fit it into her bag. Can't you?"

Hermione nodded, her eyes wide. Rose took a step back, slightly astonished at this new, masterful Harry who took charge so effortlessly. Something profound had changed in the month he'd been gone.

"I will do that, Harry. Where do you think we should go?" She was really asking, Am I coming with you on your quest? But she did not want to ask this aloud.

Ron answered her. "Shell Cottage. They have guest rooms there. And Bill won't tell anyone where we've gone."

"You can stay at Shell Cottage," Harry told Rose, looking into her eyes in a way that answered her question succinctly.

Rose nodded. Privately, she thought she could probably manage a trip back once the Death Eaters lost interest, but she did not say this to Harry. Instead, she went to her room and packed clothes and toiletries enough for a few days into her carpet bag, and reemerged to find the three young people clustered around her door.

Hermione held out her opened beaded bag, and after she stuffed her carpetbag into it, Rose stepped under Harry's Invisibility Cloak with the others and together, they stepped onto her doorstep, locked the door with a silent spell from Rose's wand, and Disapparated before the two cloaked men looked their way.