Hannah's understanding of the situation was limited by the time frame and the lens of Moody translating things to her, which was not as quick as she would have liked it, and she suspected he was cutting down on the details to present the translations more efficiently. The shorter, more complete version of the story, was that there was basically nothing the nat-kadaw could do to help Ron, and there was only so much the rebels would be willing to do for them anyway, considering how they did not assassinate any of the royal family, when the mission had specifically targeted the emperor and empress.

"Well, that's impossible!" she shouted, annoyed, not particularly caring that they could not understand her. "That might have been the bill, but we couldn't do it in the first place." The ex-Auror sent her outside for disrupting.

She took a deep breath and called herself every insulting term she could think of, or at least until her anger at herself wore out. What she wanted at the moment, more than anything, was to communicate with Ron somehow, but apparently despite being alive, he was either in the spirit world, or his spirit was just frozen. The nat-kadaw who had interpreted her duties to include siding with the rebels told her that she was better off thinking of him as lost, and that they had methods of preserving him for the rest of his natural lifespan. Hannah remembered angrily shouting that she did not see any point in preserving him if he could be counted among the dead, but the witch just shook her head. Moody's next translation seemed closer to the literal.

"It is not my advice as a spiritual guide to tell you to think of him as a dead man; that would be a lie, and not to the standards of my duties. I used the word lost for a reason." She paused. "To give my advice both as a nat-kadaw and a woman, it is very difficult."

So I'm not supposed to think he's... dead, but I am supposed to give up on him. That's the worst possible, thing, though- I could- maybe- give up on him if he were dead, and maybe- maybe if I couldn't give up on him, I could believe he was alive- but how can he be alive? He was entirely unresponsive to light, sound- she had even kissed him when she thought no one was looking, but that only confirmed for about the thousandth time that she did not live in a fairy tale. I can't believe I'm sitting here groaning to myself about missing him, when I can't even imagine what's happening to him.

Hannah knew she would do anything. She even suggested things that she figured the nat-kadaw might have been hiding from her, mostly what she could reasonably guess would wake him up on any other day. When it was explained to her that his spirit was unreachable, she even suggested turning him into a werewolf. The explanation that followed was most likely more complicated than the translation reflected, but Moody told her it was not worth the risk anyway. Basically, he had a rule that if there were less than a fifty five percent chance of rescuing a subordinate, there was more than a fifty percent chance of failure, meaning it was better to do something else, even if that alternative had not been discovered yet.

"The Philosopher's Stone," she muttered to herself, sitting alone outside, staring at the trees of the jungle she was growing to hate already. "Dean and Parvati probably want to destroy it as soon as possible- unless the real reason they wanted it was to see if they could cure him-" She sighed. Being honest with herself, she could not blame them for being dishonest, and they probably intended to destroy it directly after getting some Elixir out of it, but a part of her already suspected Voldemort was not even slightly worried that they actually would destroy it, because there would always be someone who needed it. She could not help but be reminded of her mother's favorite book series, The Lord of the Rings, which had been read to her over the course of a few years when she was a small child.

She wanted to do something, so she checked on the royal little witch, who seemed to be trying to communicate with the nats, though her efforts thus far had failed. It was her understanding that there was basically nothing they could do to get her to be unable to communicate with them, since they had no way of replicating Ron's condition, but the nat-kadaw doubted she would be able to communicate with the nats unless she had years of practice and instruction. It was concluded that the best thing to do was to hit her with some sort of pain-inducing spell every time she looked like she was trying to reach the spirit world.

"Where I come from, desperation counts for something," she had said. Moody translated that, presumably to actually explain what accidental magic was, but from the confused expression of the weizza, that was not expected. Apparently accidental magic has never resulted in a child getting a nat to do what he or she wants. They're just as capable of some random feat beyond their ability, but communicating with spirits is entirely different. It's an exact science; it's almost as far as you can get from dark or accidental magic.

Hannah tried to think of even more wild solutions, like intentionally exposing Ron to a dementor, but she had no idea whether or not it would even be interested in him, nor could she produce a Patronus strong enough to drive off the non-being directly afterward. She knew that was something else where desperation counted, but since the ruin of Azkaban there had already been a lot of kissing going on, and the reasonable thing to conclude was that if their victims could have protected themselves, they would have. I could produce a bit of silver mist, but that was back when there was hope.

The little witch was sitting motionless on the floor when she found her. Her name was Oukda, after the Oukdazaung that guarded the sacred temple, the type of nat that was responsible for Ron's condition. Apparently it was more likely to attack him in the first place.

There was no response as Hannah sat down next to her, either from her or from the guards in the room. She was a valuable hostage, and potentially worth something in an exchange of prisoners, so it made sense to keep the locals from learning who she was and killing her out of anger. They were not particularly worried she would run from her only source of food any more than that she would kill herself, and she had shown no such inclination thus far. The Hufflepuff could not quite say what she expected to determine by visiting the prisoner, but could think of plenty of times in her life where she had been surprised.

All that happened was that she observed the younger witch was able to produce water for herself if she had a wand or a more traditional weizza stick. This is pointless; I have to write a letter to Dean before he destroys the Philosopher's Stone. Getting access to the floo network would be good enough.

She knew that there were no plans in the immediate future to have a permanent base in Burma, but Moody had to be communicating with the Order somehow. There was no way he had simply made up his own orders and reported the results when he felt like it. I should ask him, but he's always busy with talking to the rebels in Burmese. Oh well, I have to interrupt him sooner or later.

Going back to the hut where the meeting was taking place, mercifully it seemed like they were taking a break.

"Sir, I need to contact Dean and Parvati."

"Stone duty?" She nodded. "They're off the star chart. We couldn't find them if we wanted to; can't risk losing the damn thing before it's destroyed." They might be protected by a fidelius, then.

"They're not connected to the network, then. Can anyone owl them?"

"Bird wouldn't know where to go. They're to report in after they've destroyed the Stone, not before." He sighed a little. "Apparently the boy's not bad at dark magic. He told us he would be using Fiendfyre."

"Aren't they going to save some of the Elixir in case we need it?"

"No. Any amount of it could be used to revive Voldemort after he dies again."

"How do we know he'll be fine if he dies again?" Hannah asked. "How do we know he will die again?" She could easily imagine that scenario; she had already gone over it at least a thousand times in her mind. If the Death Eaters essentially won, which meant deposing or taking control of several governments, there was serious doubt even thinking about killing their master while in Europe, and they would be expanding their control as soon as possible. If Malfoy has some kind of plan to kill him, he'd better start now. The idea that blood purists were against him and only supported him to get rid of their enemies and remain close to him was starting to seem hollow.

"He has to die. The sooner the better. Blood purists can wring their hands and bemoan what he's done for their cause, but they wouldn't be alive without someone as powerful as he is." It seemed like a less than paranoid thing to not account for the possibility of Voldemort living forever, but she supposed that was what Ron would call a loss condition. Well, we already hit a few of our loss conditions and we're still fighting.

"Is he really the one who released Grindelwald?"

"That's probably why. A dark wizard like that could tear through them. They would get him eventually, but not before their ranks were decimated." She nodded, remembering the description of what had happened in Azkaban. "Why do you think he got a bunch of beardless boys to do it?"

"I don't know."

"The adults wouldn't be persuaded so easily. They would probably kill Grindelwald in his cell and polyjuice themselves to resemble him for a few years. Voldemort expects him to distance, so he doesn't expect to see Grindelwald, just see the effects of his release. If one of his trusted servants reported a few strange wizards taking over Iceland, it would be within expectations."

Since hearing about what Ron's brother had discovered there from an emergency Patronus sent by Professor McGonagall, Hannah had learned that Iceland was one of the countries with a relatively small magical population. Because the inhabitants were the descendants of those who had essentially been chased there by Harald Bluetooth, there was a perception among wizards with more choice about where to live that there was no pride to be had in living on that particular island. Knowing an iota about Grindelwald's flare for symbolism, she could imagine reasons beyond the practical for his making it a base of operations.

"How do we know he doesn't have some other way of coming back?" she asked.

"He'd have used it sooner. Dumbledore told me there's a dark ritual that might do it, but no one's ever beaten him and lived to tell about it. If he had someone like that, it'd be a damn sight easier than stealing the Philosopher's Stone from Hogwarts, assuming he could get the help of one of his old servants. Don't know any of the other details. Dumbledore said he took care of it."

The implicit statement of trust there seemed all the more valuable coming from Alastor Moody, but even him could she hardly fault for trusting the former Headmaster. There were times she had to remind herself he was human; in the first three years of her Hogwarts career, it seemed the only problem with him was that there was only one of him. Why is it that good ancient wizards die for real, but we're still dealing with the bad ones?

Not for the first time, she wondered how Voldemort managed to preserve himself beyond the grave, or if he could really be considered dead at all, if he had managed to manifest as a shade that could possess people. However much he most likely wanted people to believe it, the most likely explanation was not that he was simply too powerful for death. He must have made a horcrux. We know he most likely never set out to learning how to make them while at Hogwarts, but there is still decades between his school days and his death, and we only have what the Death Eaters seem to think he did between 1960 and his death, well, defeat.

The ex-Auror was back to to talking with the Burmese, though she had been too lost in thought to notice when that resumed. In any case, it seems relatively inarguable that he was defeated. Most of his followers dropped him and the rest were in prison, unless they got out of it somehow. It was her understanding that Alecto Carrow, who had been an Inspector when Hannah was a first-year, had negotiated with the Department of Mysteries to avoid Azkaban by trading them enough credible lies to fill in the holes in the story of Sirius Black. They needed the public to see someone get punished by the Ministry, and it would not have been enough had he just been a regular Death Eater, or a former ally who turned traitor, he had to be Voldemort's second in command with an even longer list of offences than his master.

She remembered that unlike Sirius, however, Alecto Carrow died in Azkaban, if not in the way that most inmates did.

"That's something," she said to herself. "The Ministry really would have preferred that he die and disappear. If what we learned from the tour guide was accurate at all, he was in there for the longest sentence, or perhaps the most excessive sentence, so he was meant to be there until his death. We need to get him in contact with Lovegood. She nearly kicked herself for finding herself in agreement with Ron on one of their last points of contention. Was I holding out hope that I could tell him he was wrong about something by the time he wakes up? Can I even say that he's asleep?

Though the nat-kadaw had explained his condition, she doubted she could do more than reproduce the words when talking to anyone expect Terry, who had actually studied spirits. Uselessly, she thought about how he missed him, his plans, his calm reasoning, even how hopeless he was for Hermione. When she thought about how he joined their group, an uncharitable way of looking at it was that he was just trying to get with her, but two years of observing his general character was enough to say that he really did believe in what they were doing.

A silver cat appeared before her.

"Hello, Professor," she said, waiting for the message. "I'll get the Auror."

"This is something I wanted to tell you, Hannah." She froze. No one had called her by her given name in days. With Moody it was either 'Miss' or 'Abbott', both together on occasion.

"Yes?"

"I understand you are acquainted with Miss Bones."

"She was my friend, yes." That's how I would describe her. We were never really allies, and we ended up on opposite sides, but she was always my friend. She always cared about me, probably even more than I cared about her.

"Three hours ago it came to my attention that her soul is being held as a hostage. The Order of the Phoenix has been asked to return you to prevent any sort of misunderstanding in the negotiations with the dementors, who seem to have claimed all of Scotland and parts of Norway as their territory."

"We can communicate with them?" She remembered it was not a live conversation. There must be some people who can. It's not an important question anyway.

"It is our understanding that they are using people who are tangentially close to us, including Sturgis Podmore's children, as leverage to have us sacrifice the high ground in some respect." Hannah tried to understand. "We do not, however, intend to go along with their plans. Negotiating with them in any matter would neither to me nor to the world resemble the ideals of the late Headmaster. The world has an infinite supply of innocent bystanders, and only a handful of heroes. We do not intend to trade the latter for the prior."

The Patronus paused to allow her to think about what had just been said, though she only knew because it was not talking; her face was in her hands. Good thing this stupid spell can't see me. She was having some trouble wrapping her mind around the injustice of her friend's soul being eaten.

"From a more practical perspective, the Ministry has no intention of allowing the dementors to have more territory. Innocent people will be sacrificed to them, as well as, I would expect, common criminals like wand thieves and tax evaders. If innocent people are not sacrificed to them, they will press on through the meager wall of Patroni that has been erected along that of Hadrian." The silver cat looked down as if unwilling to meet her eyes for a moment. "I suspect that you are aware I am telling you how the negotiation will work because I would help relieve some of our guilt-"

"Not really, Professor. I was not thinking about your motivations," she said, knowing she could not be heard.

"All the same, these things are true, whatever reason I may have to tell you. It may be a moment before we speak again." There was a pause. "Hannah, you were not one of mine, but in classes and out of them I was rather impressed by your consistency. While you probably think little in your discovery of a treatment option for Mr. Longbottom, but your idea was the cornerstone of several discussions we have had in the Order thus far."

For a moment she thought the former Transfiguration teacher was hiding something from her, but there were probably entire years of discussions that she had missed. The time to form the Order again was before we lost Dumbledore, not after. She did not imagine she was alone in wishing she could have known.

Hannah was not listening to the parting words of the silver cat, but since they were from Professor McGonagall, could reasonably guess they were serious, concise, and fully heartfelt. How does she even cast a Patronus? After everyone that she's lost... She remembered something Hermione told her about how the charm was distinct from dark magic in the sense that it relied on a memory of happiness rather than the immediate state of happiness. Regular users were not likely to become influenced by it. Standing up, she held out her wand.

"Expecto Patronum," she incanted, thinking of the time she escaped the Ministry school. Her memories of Ron were exciting, but such a mixture of emotions both from the experience itself and the surrounding circumstances that she knew the spell would not have been terribly good. What she saw before her as the shine died down a little was a bee. She knew just from looking that it was no less powerful than any other Patronus, but it was definitely the smallest she had ever seen. There was a lot to unpack about the form it took, she knew, but there were more important things. "Find Dean and Parvati. Tell them we need some Elixir for Ron."

Moody came outside right as she sent the silver bee away.

"That's a bit more impressive than the form it took before, Miss. Short of it is, they're still upset."

"Well, they can stay upset. We didn't come here to do whatever they wanted, we came here to do the right thing. They won't have a victory with the hostage we gave them, but they'll have peace, if that's what they really want."

"That they will. Bet you my working eye they haven't asked around the village what they want." He pointed up the river. "I saw a shrine to the dead on the way here. Couldn't read the text through the trees, but it looked pretty new."

"We should go back over there before we leave," she said. "I just wish we could take Ron."