Ron's expression revealed little of the concerns in his mind as Mafalda read out her scouting report.

"The entrance you used to get into the Ministry has been closed. There appear to be no entrances that do not require a clearance ward, and I have no idea how maintenance is being conducted."

"It's fine. Did you see anyone suspicious? Anyone that looks like a Death Eater?" If they can get in, there's a hole in the system.

"No. I haven't seen anyone I would recognize as a Death Eater or anyone who looks like one in months."

"That's all right. We weren't expecting any." Directly after the new Minister secured his position, he announced through Scrimgeour that anyone suspected of being a servant of Voldemort would be arrested, meaning anyone he personally suspected. There was a warrant for Snape's arrest, which delighted Ron when he first heard of it, but, well, that had started the schism. "Did you see any signs of a rebellion?"

The Slytherin witch sighed, adopting a downcast expression.

"There are more Ministry employees than I can count looking for any such signs... I've been stopped three or four times by people who wanted to know if I'd seen or heard anything. I know there isn't a warrant out for my arrest, but sometimes I wish I hadn't been- never mind. I have heard rumors of rumors, but I know you don't want to chase after ghosts."

"It's all right-"

"It's not all right!" Mafalda looked down again. "Sorry... I can't imagine why I shouted. Just... please don't try to tell me things are all right. I know there's no use commenting about how bad things are, but... I'm not a child. I don't need you to actively reassure me."

You'd be surprised.

"Tell me about those rumors, then," he offered, gesturing to a transfigured chair opposite him. "The rumors of the rumors..."

The pair of them were in a muggle's apartment. Hermione had confunded the original inhabitant, telling him he had sublet the whole thing to them for an entire wardrobe of designer suits, which she had transfigured. Apparently it got easier after the first one. At least the way she told it, we weren't stealing from him since we told him they'd wear out, and she did ward them to keep them presentable for a while.

At the same time, though, it felt just like what Voldemort was doing with the Philosopher's Stone. If he really just crashes the gold market, though... I reckon doing things like that might be our only way to survive... for the time being.

"Well, I was outside the theater when I heard some hushed voices just inside. One of them was telling the other about, well he heard that there was a consistency between some seemingly random uses of the mind arts against writers for the Prophet." Ron had heard something of the attacks; but he could have sworn it was just an excuse to occasionally write something counter-factual. "They had to have been Ministry employees." Well, that means they either know everything or the least of us all.

Arthur Weasley continued to work for the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office despite his mounting discontent with the majority party, mostly because his skills were entirely non-transferrable. He was not a poor wizard, but it was a rare thing for an adult to recall things he learned at seventeen or before that when they had nothing to do with work. He put on a show of being harmless in part because he preferred to appear that way, but also because it was the harmless functionaries that kept their jobs the longest. If he'd gotten out of it sooner, he might've done something different.

Ron sighed. It was not as if he could go home and give pointless commentary while a wanted man.

"Thank you. It's our only lead, so we'll look into it." He was profoundly grateful Mafalda was able to scout for him, but it was only because of how neglectful of her they had been the previous year, leaving her in the room and forgetting about her- had anyone been able to establish the most tenuous connection between her and the group, or what was left of it, she would at least be wanted for questioning.

The two of them had little else to do before going to sleep that evening, and that bit consisted of pondering past mistakes and fears of the future. His mind turned to Hannah, talking to her properly for the first time in second year, boils all over her face for some reason. It was only recently she told him that she kept wanting to hide her face after the curse came and went, and he knew why from personal experience- it was a feeling of inadequacy, a justifiable one in light of the absence of second chances the world seemed to reserve for him and his friends. If the world was like school at all, it was another one of Snape's classes.

At first light he set to work going through the mound of newspaper clippings, magical and otherwise that Mafalda gathered when she had the opportunity- or nothing better to do. He might have given a season pass for the Chudley Cannons for the chance to trade places with the witch, but there was nothing for it. It was all too likely that he would get caught by one of the many Hit Wizards prowling the streets in search of malcontents, to the chagrin of the recently removed Amelia Bones, and it was all too likely that the Cannons would finish at the bottom of the league, making the season pass just as worthless. He had considered different methods of disguising himself, but he was without the people he usually asked for help on those matters. Well, they might've stayed around if any of them needed me for something.

As he sorted through the bits of information, he remembered being decent at Potions, or at least invested in it for his age, but brewing was not something he could practice with resources so limited. He had some idea that mid-century advances in Herbology made it easier for apothecaries to source their ingredients, but it was not as if they came cheaply, even with that advantage. Finished potions would cost a fortune; the last time he had seen a price tag on anything, he saw a Poultice of Permanence for ten thousand galleons. No idea who could afford that apart from Voldemort.

The color drained from his face as he frantically looked through what he had for any recent suspicious purchases in magical materials- books, potion ingredients, wands- there was a Quibbler article about the price of wands going up, though that was due to the regulations introduced a few years ago rather than conspicuous spending clearing the shelves all of a sudden. Anything like a sudden buyout of the aconite crop would give away their plans. He picked up an article he had disregarded as a hit piece earlier, a case of suspected human trafficking taking place near the Malfoy properties not long after the lord of the manor disappeared. It was written like a hit piece in the sense that it was published once the writer had enough to incriminate the upper classes collectively, but the possibility of it having happened was troublesome.

"There's nothing concrete here..." he muttered to himself at length. What could they want? Why would they be illegally shipping people into the country- or out? Deciding there could hardly be any harm in meeting Mafalda in the theater on Alvin's Corner, since he knew she went there every day around noon, he used the color change charm to make his hair black, and carefully eliminate his freckles. It would be a sight harder to make himself shorter, but his main concern was looking human and nondescript, and it was already a challenge to get the right skin tone. It never seemed quite the same on his arms as his face, but was that not the standard?

Magical Law Enforcement had ways of looking for suspects that did not involve their basic physical description, but the average person was a different story. Were Hermione present, she would say that even the Hit Wizards would expect a Weasley to look a certain way, but he could hardly rely on that. Fortunately, changing the look of his skin gave him a natural, but not terribly attractive appearance, and he had doubts that anyone would pick him out in a lineup of wizards suspected of changing their appearances, which was a minor magical regulatory offense. He remembered Hannah asking why everyone did not simply make themselves look beautiful, and that was most of the reason. Using poultices was legal if you stayed within your same basic description, but changing your hair color, weight, height, and whatever else was tantamount to wearing a glamour at all times- Parvati knew more, but he had not seen her in months.

The streets outside were busy enough, but not absolutely packed. As the presence of law enforcement increased, it made more sense to only be out on the streets as long as necessary. No one would be inclined to wander about, especially because that never sounded good when stopped and asked about departures and destinations. Small price to pay for public safety, innit? He shook his head, his short black hair not moving like his long, red hair might have. It was a quick route to the theater, though he did see a tall witch with a bizarrely dazed expression, since everyone was going around her.

The theater was easy enough to enter ever since someone broke the detection wards; the back door was protected with nothing more than a locking charm. It would not make a good hideout, but as a clandestine meeting place, one could do worse. Only last week he had met with George, who had a roundabout way of telling him that working with the Order did a good job of keeping their mother from worrying herself sick. He wanted to object, he wanted to argue that the Ministry had not named the Order a criminal organization only because they could not swing it yet, but he lacked anything resembling evidence that it was part of the plan. Apparently Fred was lying about hearing from Ron once a week.

Almost as soon as he locked the door behind him and pocketed his wand, he felt himself go limp and collapse to the floor. Damn. The sound of a seat magically resetting itself could be heard as someone approached, though he could not see who it was.

"Ronald Weasley? Are you quite all right?" There was the sound of feet shuffling before he was released from whatever curse had hit him. "I do not believe we have met, though I have heard of you," the witch's voice continued as he gained his footing. He took stock of a pale girl with long, platinum blonde hair. Could've sworn she was a Ravenclaw.

"Pretty sure it's all there. What are you doing here?"

"We decided this place would be open enough for people to reach us, but also relatively defensible. I care for the productions here, especially Out of the Shade." The strange witch took a seat, motioning for him to join. Must've found some way to conceal themselves from everyone who passes through here- well, they probably know when they can expect employees and guests to show up.

"Who else is here with you? What side- I mean, where do you stand?" No answer came. "No need to tell me if-"

"I'm just here to help my friends," the blonde witch said. "It's not often two people put up with each other and me at the same time. I've heard that I tire people when I bring up most of my favorite things." Could've sworn no one was on the run except a few of us.

Ron found it hard to respond. He doubted she or any of her friends were on the run, so he was still wondering what she was doing in a theater, but he expected, well, less honesty when citing a reason for her loyalty to them. At the same time, it struck a cord with him.

"Friends kind of fall apart sometimes. D'you ever run into a younger Slytherin? Might be she pops her head in here and there?" Lovegood, that's her name- I'd seen her a few times before school started. Haven't spoken to her in years.

"I'm not always in the same room. Sometimes I clean the doxies out of the area under the stage. It's the best way to prevent a nargle infestation."

He imagined nargles, whatever they were, functioned as a natural predator for doxies. Better take a different approach.

"Well, I'm on the run, basically. I can't go home because there's a warrant out for my arrest and it's the first place they'd look. Mafalda, the Slytherin, well, she's helping me scout the area for anything we can use against Crouch."

"Oh," Lovegood responded, her head cocked to the left. For the life of him, Ron could not determine whether that meant she understood, she wanted to know more, or she simply accepted his words for what they were. In any case, there was no sign, and no answers to questions he did not ask.

"How'd you recognize me?" he asked.

"Well, it was not for long, but I knew your younger sister." Damn. "She was a good friend to me... she told me all about you."

He tried to keep from showing it, but it touched a nerve that had not been touched in a while. He never envied his friends, but he could never convince himself their suffering was not something he could have prevented, had he fought harder, come up with a better plan, or even noticed something that was obvious in retrospect, and losing Ginny was the worst. He remembered swearing to never vow to protect anyone again, beating it into his own head that he was just one fledgling wizard, but he kept trying, he kept taking responsibilities- where Hermione got the idea it was some kind of virtue he had no idea.

"What did she- it doesn't matter. I already know what she-"

"She told me she was annoyed by how you were always watching out for her," the blonde witch remembered. "I feel bad sometimes I never told her to just... I don't know, let you look after her." Ron had not been under the impression the Ravenclaw felt bad about anything, felt strongly about anything- "She actually made me wish I had an elder brother... one I could take for granted and resent."

"Dammit, Lovegood, she's dead!" he shouted, rising suddenly. "She's fucking dead and you can't just throw it at her like that- Merlin, she couldn't have been older'n- Do you understand this concept? Or is it something you can just ponder from a thousand miles away?"

The moment he was done shouting the breath left him as he saw her eyes go to her feet.

"It's not that it's far away..." she started before getting up and turning away. "I'm sorry, somehow I'm not inclined to continue this line of conversation. I suppose it isn't fair to expect you to be patient with me; no one else is," she decided before walking off. Ron knew not to follow her, if he knew nothing else. Talking to her was strange and oddly stressful, but there was no reason to just attack her for her general way of looking at things.

As he walked off, finding Mafalda in the entrance and shielding against her knee-jerk curse, for which he might have credited her another day, he decided what was gutting about it was that the blonde witch knew she behaved oddly and expected not to be understood. To people around her she had her head in the clouds, her teachers likely thought she was some sort of eccentric genius, but at some level she was a normal girl who liked it when people were nice to her, as near as he could figure. He did wish that he were not dealing with witches exclusively, and not for the first time.

The Slytherin told him she had finished her rounds, which was good, since it was about time to go back anyway. He regretted being able to discover nothing about the uses of the mind arts, but with Lovegood and her mysterious friends, he knew of one rebel group that might have spawned the rumors. If she can use some form of Legilimency, it wouldn't surprise me a bit. Reckon it makes communicating with her friends easier.

"What are we going to do, now that we know about them?" Mafalda asked as they got back to the apartment. She carried a bag of rice, which she might have bought by selling something that would've been harder to get for muggles, but he couldn't figure what.

"After we're done being upset, we're prob'ly going to join up. Doesn't make sense to have two separate groups. We need to coordinate."

The witch stopped where she was.

"It's not the same as it was with Hermione," he started. "Sometimes you have to go in different directions- it isn't like we'll never see her again."

He continued to feel like he was letting Terry down, the way the group split off and lost members almost immediately after gaining a few of them. Once they lost him, they lost the plan, so of course they couldn't keep Fred and George, and he should have guessed Parvati would look for Dean and his 'effective' plans, but the schism was the worst.

"How do we know we'll see her again? We haven't seen Terry or Hannah in longer..."

"We're working on that, it's just something that takes time and information we don't have-"

"We're working one end of it," Mafalda clarified. Can I go an hour without arguing with a witch? "I don't think the Death Eaters would transfer Terry into Ministry custody."

"I don't either. Thing is, you've got the Order, you've got Dean and Parvati, you've even got the Aurors going after them whenever they're not going after us. I don't know if they're going to rescue Terry, I don't even know if they're aware they have him, but they're not going in Hannah's direction. I thought that was why you decided to... come after me."

Presently, Ron had no idea what Hermione's objective was, which was probably for the best, since it couldn't be beaten out of him, or extracted with the mind arts, which seemed more likely. He had no notion of Occlumency, which needed to change in short order. There wasn't a damn thing wrong with Hermione's original idea behind the group- it was just harder than we'd thought it would be. We couldn't go off and learn things just from reading books, especially not while keeping up with more assignments than ever before. Well, 's not like we have any assignments now.

Either the witch accepted his explanation or just dropped the conversation to think of more arguments, which he assumed she was doing based on their on-and-off discussions- it was fine with him as long as she kept helping him. He watched a moment as she levitated a half-cup of rice out of the bag and conjured an iron shell around it, siphoning the air out as she added water. Flattening the shell with a wave, she used some variant of the fire charm to heat the whole thing. Wouldn't like to be on the inside of that thing.

He returned to the papers, Mafalda noticing as something caught his eye.

"There's a Quibbler article... older'n I thought would be relevant."

"Yes?"

"It's about the attacks of the Prophet on the rest of the publications, mostly just saying they're false because they disagree and people actually go along with it- but this description, I don't know, it's about minds being changed. It's bizarre."

"I didn't get the Quibbler, generally. My parents were always reading the competition, so that might explain why I thought it was a bit of a rag." Ron remembered the girl's parents had taken a convenient holiday, and she had opted to 'stay with friends'.

"I don't blame you. I've even met the editor, now that I think of it- shit. Shit. Shit-"

Well, now I've half an idea of what Lovegood's been doing.