"YOU WERE RIGHT!" Ron stormed into his office, hair wild and shouting at a surprised Lisa. It looked like she was back from her nap. He was surprised but not surprised to see her here so late at night. He should be kicking her out, but… "THE RIPPERS!"

"Eh, what?"

"You were right to focus on the Rippers!" Ron pulled her to her feet, swinging her frozen form around. "Then Orla was right! The Sweenies and Rippers are connected! I COULD KISS YOU!"

Lisa blinked at having been abruptly swept up by her insane boss. "Have you been drinking?"

"Only a smidge. HAH! It all makes sense!" Ron released her and flung his hands up. "You know the cherry on top? I can blame McLaggen for all of this! Well, not all. He isn't actually Sweeney, though that'd be amazing and—"

"RON! What're you on about?"

"I'm on about my amazing epiphany which I should've had months ago. See here?" Ron waved his wand so that the crime web zoomed in on the disappearance of Roger Davies. "I was talking to Cho Chang about her fiancé vanishing. It came out that she's never had a pet kneazle. You see, a dead kneazle had been—"

"—found in her's and Davies' place. Yes Weasley, I also memorised the report."

"Ah. Well, this was the first Cho'd heard of it. She's allergic to kneazles and wouldn't have one as a pet," said Ron. "At the time, McLaggen was supposed to have told her we'd taken her 'pet' as evidence. Apparently he didn't. So we had no idea about the mix-up and she didn't know why she kept sneezing in her flat."

Lisa breathed in shallowly. "So the coincidence of some of the Sweeney and Ripper cases aligning…"

"It's more than a coincidence." He sent her a thrilled look. "I don't know what it means, but let's match these up!" With a wave the images of the victims reappeared in the air. "Alright, add in every instance of the Rippers."

The timeline grew heavily at the top and middle, petering off before the end. The Rippers had begun long before the Sweenies, which was beyond odd. Ron squinted, trying to reason this out. There was also that pureblood pattern? "It doesn't totally match up, I guess."

"SWEET MERLIN, YES!" Lisa gave a sudden cheer, startling Ron. "I've got it! It could match up! Add in muggle disappearances!"

"Huh?"

"We've been tracking wizard disappearances, though we always thought it was possible muggles were also being taken. There were just too many missing person cases to narrow it down. Maybe the Sweenies aren't after muggleborns, but what if they started with muggles?"

"Oh. Oh!" Ron swung his head back to the timeline, giving another command. "Add in every muggle on the short list of Sweeney victims."

Even more faces appeared. This time the Aurors had to gaze in satisfied horror.

David Ashcroft vanished from CCTV mere hours before a grindylow was found run over in Aldgate. He was a swimmer who'd been trying for the muggle Olympics.

Michael Furment had served gaol time for domestic violence. He'd been in anger management therapy. Lines and connection showed it was thought his brother-in-law had hunted him down, but Furment's disappearance had happened shortly before a dead werewolf was found shoved in a Westminster alley.

Izzy Fontaine, a muggle prima ballerina, had gone missing two blocks from where a brutalized unicorn was found in Leicester Square.

The list went on. Some of the missing photos were of bright and smiling faces, others were pixelated, some were mugshots. None of them moved. Ron's eye was drawn to a redheaded woman who could have been Ginny's twin. She was wearing a sundress and smirking at the camera, giving a piggy back ride to a young boy. The swirling info said she was Abigail Meyers, a Canadian student in London for uni. She'd disappeared last Winter walking back from a party. A snidget had been found in the snow nearby, looking like it'd been pulled apart.

Lisa gave a sob, hand over her mouth. "Each, each of the creatures is like their personality. Do you see that?

Ron wondered if Abigail had loved to travel. Or fly. She looked so young. His mad excitement vanished, leaving a dull feeling in the pit of his stomach. Lisa was saying something but he closed his eyes. He knew the wizarding cases backwards and forwards, each played out before him:

Charlotte Fawcett vanished hours before a dead hippogriff had been found in a nearby alley.

Samuel Gideon went missing a day before a Veela was strung up in King's Cross.

Roger Davies really had liked kneazles.

There had been no creature related to Harry Potter. The 'Rippers' had stopped immediately after that Halloween. What had happened?

"All the," Lisa swallowed and he vaguely heard, "all the magical creatures were killed with an unknown potion."

Ron was focused on Harry's image, trying to avoid glancing at the others. Lucretia Botts' son had been playing with dead flitterbies when they'd found him. Bloody hell.

Lisa hesitated. "Not everyone matches up with a creature. It could be a form of trophy. Then, like with Fudge, there's no creature at the same time!"

"A witch trod on a flobberworm shortly after Fudge disappeared," Ron said numbly. He'd memorised that report, he didn't have to double-check. He kept looking at Harry's smiling image.

Had a snidget been spotted at the Halloween gala but overlooked in reports? But no, he'd been moved out of the Ministry. Was some kind of magical bird found elsewhere in London? Ron had to talk to Luna. He knew it'd be a bird, at any rate. If this was connected to personalities, it'd obviously be a bird.

Angelina had said Lottie was a flyer but clumsy. Gideon had been an egoist. No one deserved this, but Ron couldn't help but think that Fudge as a flubberworm made a certain amount of sense. He felt terrible for thinking that. He was going to throw up. He kept looking at Harry, trying to focus back on what Lisa was saying.

"…the unknown potion. We don't know any of the ingredients, which is ridiculous!" She gave an irritated cry, tugging at her hair in his peripheral vision. "But maybe these creatures are trophies. Calling cards, you know?"

"They aren't calling cards." Ron felt the strings connect that had been lying limp for months. His mouth was moving on its own, though he believed every word. "The magical creatures are too similar to the people. It's not only the dates that match: the defining traits are also the same. It's like, like," he searched his thoughts, knowing he was so close to the answer. It was something about Harry. But not Harry. Another Potter? "…James Potter."

Lisa stared at him, stupefied. "Ah, your nephew?"

Merlin's left buttocks, this was it. "James Potter the first! Harry's dad! He was an illegal animagus! ANIMAGUS ANIMALS MATCH THE HUMAN PERSONALITIES!" He knew he shouldn't be screaming, he was surely scaring Lisa. "It takes YEARS to learn this! We're talking about a potion causing a transformation in—what, minutes? Hours at most! WHAT THE HELL?"

Lisa raised a nervous hand. He looked at her in bewilderment until she swallowed, lowered it, and spoke. "These are magical creatures."

"SO WHAT!"

"Animaguses," she said as calmly as she could. Which wasn't much, "can only be normal animals. Not magical creatures."

"WHY?"

"I, I don't know?" Lisa looked overwhelmed. "Humans have different kinds of magic, I guess. Also, from what you said: there is no animagus potion. It doesn't exist."

"THIS IS EXPERIMENTAL!"

"STOP SCREAMING! I know this is an unknown potion. It doesn't mean it can rewrite magical theory!"

Ron halted, hit by the truth of this. But then there was another truth.

"The Sweenies care about magic," he said slowly, chewing the words. It was like the world was coming to a clenching stop. "That's why they focused on purebloods, we only noticed this the other day. Why'd they care about magic or power?"

"We couldn't figure it out."

"What if the Sweenies were experimenting?" Ron knew he was so close to grasping the thing he didn't want to. "The magic was important, but so were the people. They were used as test subjects. Maybe the Sweenies didn't think they would survive. Because they didn't, did they, and the Sweenies—Rippers, whatever—didn't stop. These people took the potion, transformed, and the dead magical creatures piled up." He stared at Lisa. He wondered if he looked as haunted as she did. "These people were used as guinea pigs."

Lisa lowered herself to the floor, completely winded. "We don't know that."

Ron didn't answer, looking back at all of the pictures. He put a hand on his desk to steady himself.

"The Rippers stopped!" She tried again, trying to poke holes in this. "At Halloween there was a cut-off point and no other creatures were found. Even if—even if!—the previous victims are dead, there's absolutely no proof that Harry or Susan or anyone after Halloween is gone. We barely have circumstantial evidence for the earlier crimes!"

"They stopped leaving the creatures out."

"WHAT?"

Ron wished he wasn't arguing this. He wished the twisting, disgusting belief hadn't settled into his gut. "The Rippers stopped displaying the magical creatures. But they kept kidnapping people. They could easily," so, so easily, "be keeping the corpses. They took Harry from the Ministry, didn't they? First time that happened. They wouldn't have smuggled a creature back in. No, they wanted him. They kept him. Maybe the Sweenies found they liked it and started…keeping trophies."

He slid to the floor as well, the horrifying truth hitting him in the face. Harry was gone.

Ron ducked over and was sick into a waste bucket. Lisa didn't say a word, just rubbed his back and stayed there.

Hermione had on a wrinkled blouse and a neat pencil skirt, having not bothered with a robe. He knew she'd woken her. Hugo was in her arms and a sleepy Rose had already collapsed on the couch outside of his office.

Ron kissed Rose's forehead, nuzzled Hugo's hair, and gently pulled his wife into the room.

"What happened?" Hermione asked as soon as the door was shut. She held Hugo to her. She was shaking. "It's 4am, you've been here all night, and then you called me on a personal line. What is it?"

He breathed out, all the wrong words flowing through his mind. "It's done. I figured out what the Sweenies are doing. I don't know who they are yet or where they are, but I know everything else that matters."

She nodded slowly, taking a seat. "Do I want to hear this?"

"It's not good news."

"It was never going to be." Hermione stared down at Hugo, who blinked up at his mum. "They're all gone, aren't they."

Ron sat on the floor, wrapping his hands around his wife's fingers.

"Did they suffer?" She choked on the question.

"They might not all be dead."

"Did they suffer?"

He thought of Lottie Fawcett convulsing. He remembered the mangled magical creatures. "…yes."

She didn't pale. She took quick, deep breaths. Seconds ticked by. "Tell, tell me everything."

Hermione had her head in her hands: scrunching her cheeks and lips, pressing her nose. They sat squashed in the seat behind Ron's desk, his arms around her. Rose and Hugo were in the Ministry's Daycare Centre. Neither parent wanted Rose to overhear, but didn't want to ignore her, so went for the iffy compromise of letting the children sleep for longer in the centre.

"It isn't possible," she mumbled into her fingers. They'd been going back and forth. "There isn't even circumstantial evidence."

"Lisa's trying to find whichever creatures remain," Ron sighed. "It's been months, though, so I doubt it'll be much."

Hermione gave a sputter, jerking her head up to stare at him. "Even if—even if she finds some, what on earth could they tell us?"

"I honestly don't know."

"I can't believe this," she gave an almighty groan, tilting back to face the ceiling. "No, this is going too fast, we have to back up. You have a theory. It's a, a comprehensive theory. Maybe it's a good theory. But is it even possible?"

"Haven't the faintest."

Hermione made a small noise. It could have been a squeak. "Alright, okay. We'll figure this out. I'm not panicking."

"You're sort of panicking."

"Of course I'm panicking!" she said. "First off, this doesn't go farther until we sort this out, agreed?"

Ron nodded. "I don't want mass panic either. Only Lisa knows, and we already discussed keeping it quiet."

"So it's contained." Hermione made a face. "I can't believe I just called this 'contained'. Urgh, never mind. Let's put emotions aside. Let's…let's forget that we're talking about dozens of lives."

"Uh huh?" He looked at her in worry. She was properly panicking if she was acting this calm. "Maybe you should lie down."

"I'm fine! It's fine! Everything's fine! I'm not freaking out!" She announced all at once, speech blurring. Though she didn't shrug away from Ron's closeness, so he let it drop for the moment. "I'm trying to see if your theory's possible. We have to work it out. There's a few problems. Uh, um: humans can't physically turn into magical creatures. Right, yes! It would kill them!"

Ron scratched his head, frowning. "Not to be blunt, but that's maybe what happened."

"Not only kill them, the transformation shouldn't work!"

"When did you become an expert an animaguses?"

"These aren't animaguses! And I'm not!" She breathed heavily, forcing herself to calm down. "Ron, love, wizards and witches have different magic than magical creatures. They can't intermix."

"Why not?"

"They just can't!" Hermione kneaded her forehead. "Good lord Ron, there's a reason every animagus form is a normal animal. Mixing different types of magic—this is insane. You can't substitute one magic for another. It's not like squibs can be given magic. This is an innate thing: switching it from one being to another is horrific. It's why you wouldn't pump a muggle full of magic! If they're lucky, they'd instantly die! Look at werewolves. They tear themselves apart, and they're only partly imbued with foreign magic!"

"Versus Veela who are born with it; yeah, I get it." Ron spoke. "Or look at vampires who die when they're turned. They die, but they're fine, right?"

"THEY'RE UNDEAD!"

"But they're fine. So it's technically possible to survive being imbedded with foreign magic—"

"It isn't!"

"FINE!" Ron exclaimed. "Doesn't matter if we're thinking the Sweenies were cool with being murderers. We're agreed there's a potion, yeah? A potion that transfigures humans into magical creatures, which is absolutely not good? We can work from that."

Hermione gave a calming sigh, trying to get back on track. "We can talk to experts quietly. Can we get back to what we know for certain?"

Ron wasn't entirely happy but agreed. "The Sweenies and the Rippers are one and the same. They started with kidnapping muggles then moved on to wizards and witches, focusing on purebloods. Dead magical creatures have been left near every crime scene up until Harry. Then—no more creatures. Likely every person was given a potion, and we have a potential witness in Elizabeth Szilvassy."

"Right, yes. You're a genius." She slowly breathed out. "An absolute genius. How has no one connected these before?"

He shrugged. "Overlooked evidence? Stupid mistakes? Bad luck? Take your pick."

"Why wasn't Szilvassy taken?"

Ron licked his lips, knowing she wouldn't like his guess. "Dunno. But she is a vampire, the first 'not-entirely-human' we know about who was targeted. Maybe the potion didn't have an effect on her because she's already part magical creature."

Hermione gave another exhale. "Your theory's looking better and better. I hate it."

"If it helps, I hate it too."

"Then the major cut-off happened with Harry?" She sounded as overwhelmed as he felt. "He's also the only one we know who was 'moved' before he vanished. That is, him and Susan Bones. Why?"

Unfortunately, Ron was more certain of this answer. The Sweenies had wanted to have more time with Harry, that was certain, not just dose him and rush off. Whether the monsters had interrogated him or tortured him, it wasn't good news. He spoke the next words gently. "I think we both know the reason."

Hermione swallowed and nodded, shoulders deflating even more. "Though we don't know why the magical creatures stopped. What about this potion at the centre of the mess? We know it's important, Serena Rowle is even a potions mistress."

He was on even shakier ground with this. "This potion's likely experimental, which means it'd take time to produce. It's probably complex with rare ingredients. Maybe Rowle made it in the States. But this is all focused on the UK."

Hermione knotted her brow, deep in thought. "Do you think they'd get the ingredients legally?"

"When you're stealing a broomstick you don't fly above the speed limit."

"Hmm." She murmured, tapping his leg. "Experimental potions are rare. There's a reason you don't see many newly formulated potions or crafted spells. There's a finite number of ways the common ingredients can be combined without exploding. But rare or restricted ingredients? Oh, that opens up an entirely new playing field." She met his gaze, the smallest of smiles appearing. "We can track this down."

Ron stared at her, flummoxed. "I don't think we can? We've known all along we were dealing with an unknown potion and nothing came up."

"Because for a large part of that we thought we could separate out the ingredients, and then the Rippers seemed to 'stop' so it got put on the backburner." Light had returned to Hermione's eyes. "And you, you brilliant man, have given us things we hadn't had before! It might well be enough."

"I ha—hmm…" his question was cut off by Hermione kissing him, hands wrapped around his head, squeezing tightly as though they were the only two people in the world, "…hmm?"

She pulled back, a tight smile etched on her lips. "You think it's an experimental animagus potion? Fine, that can narrow things down. But more importantly? You gave us a date." She took one hand away from his hair to wave it, activating the bewitched images to shimmer above them. "Notes! Show me every potions robbery or potions related crime that happened within, let's say, one year before the first Ripper case nearby a muggle Sweeney disappearance."

The images disappeared in thick patches as Ron's eyes widened in realisation. "That's brilliant."

"It's a needle in a haystack." Hermione leaned her head against his shoulder, looking up as the few remaining images converged. "But it's a big haystack. Maybe, just maybe, our luck is returning."

Ron snorted. "We've never been lucky."

"Oh shush," she swatted him, some of her humour peeking out. She definitely brightened as one image became clear before them, even with a smattering of others. "Aha, that's interesting. I haven't seen that name in a while. It looks like there were quite a few potions robberies."

Suddenly Ron was feeling much less chipper. He stared at the same mugshot before them, his throat growing heavy. McLaggen wasn't the only one who'd messed up. "I know who's behind this."

Hermione blinked, looking up at him. "Really? This is just a lead."

"This isn't a lead, it's the Merlin forsaken answer." He leaned against his wife, closing his eyes in exhaustion. All he could see was Septimus Selwyn's smirking face.

She seemed really confused. "Selwyn? I don't remember the case well, but wasn't it focused on embezzlement? Hardly seems like a criminal, mass-kidnapping mastermind."

"It's not Selwyn, it's the boogeyman pulling the strings that I didn't believe at the time!" Ron gave a harsh laugh, planning out the quickest way to Azkaban. "No, he's the front man."

"So who's behind this!"

"Same as it always is," Ron said with disgust layering his voice. "Death Eaters."

The dementors had been gone from Azkaban for years. Their essence still clung tight to the place, bundling into your skin the moment you walked through the gates.

Now that they'd been standing inside for a few minutes (past security, past grim guards, past sleeping prisoners), the wind and cold soaked in. Ron took off his cloak, putting it around Hermione's shoulders. She sent him an exasperated glance though didn't take it off. The guard waiting by the interrogation door held back a chuckle. The dark hallway was otherwise empty. "We do have extra garments Ma'am, Sir."

"We're good, thanks Dan." Ron tucked his wand back into his pocket.

"Remember to ask if he wants representation," Hermione said to him. Ron gave her an exasperated look back. "I'm not doubting you would! But when this goes to trial, we want an ironclad case." She adjusted the cloak around her against the chilled air. "There can't be any loopholes for these people to slither through. The last thing we need is Selwyn claiming we questioned him under duress or without counsel."

"I get it, I get it." Ron waved, not entirely happy with having to jump through legal red tape. He hated being in this place. "It'll be completely legal. We want the bigger dragons: don't worry, I have a plan."

Hermione didn't seem reassured. "Please don't hex him."

"I won't hex him." Ron smiled at Dan as the door was unlocked.

"Don't punch him!"

Ron didn't answer. The room was unlocked and he waltzed in with a confidence he didn't feel, Hermione's concern and the door shutting with a CLANG behind him. Septimus Selwyn jerked up at the sound.

"Jumpy, are you mate?" Ron asked. "Want a barrister?" he strode up to the prisoner behind the small table, taking a seat.

Selwyn stared at him. "No." Azkaban oddly suited him. He lost weight, but it'd made his cheekbones more hollowed out in the fashion of the day. He smirked as though he knew this, silver goatee neat and eyes cruel.

"You sure?"

"I've been tried and convicted," he sniffed, "and have done nothing else wrong. I have no need of representation."

"We can find an attorney for—"

"What are you here about, Senior Auror?"

Ron threw him a grin. "Guess you haven't heard the news; I've gotten a very much unwanted promotion. That means you're talking to the Head Auror. That isn't good, Septimus. Can I call you that? You sure you don't want a lawyer, Sept?"

Selwyn stiffened. At the news or the nickname, Ron didn't know. "I've done nothing wrong," he insisted a final time.

He shrugged. "Have it your way. I don't care if a lawyer's in here telling you not to talk, because you aren't in here to answer questions."

The prisoner sneered. "This is your attempt at intimidation? Don't you have other prisoners to taunt?"

"Me? Taunt? Nah, I have a story to tell you." Ron leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Your potions apothecary was filled with rare ingredients. I imagine it became too tempting for you to forge a few numbers and fake an insurance claim for 'lost goods'. Though you didn't come up with this scheme. Someone came to you and said, 'Oi, take out a claim for two unicorn horns and give me one.' For whatever reason, you agreed. Maybe you were partners, you were loyal, you were intimidated, or he offered you protection. Doesn't matter, because you went into business with Rodolphus Lestrange."

Selwyn had been tightening his expression, torso, and fists throughout. "Those claims were dismissed."

"A wizard under the influence claimed he saw Lestrange around your place? Yeah, I made the horrible mistake of dismissing them. It's funny how things come back to haunt you. For example," a frightening note came into Ron's voice, "I've found out Lestrange is behind both the Rippers and the Sweenies. I also found out he's a sick monster even by Death Eater standards. Want to hear what he did to the victims?"

Selwyn was deathly silent.

"Nah, what am I saying." Ron sent him a petrifying glare. "You already know all about it."

"I had nothing to do with that!" Selwyn at last thundered out. "I have never met Lestrange. I'm innocent! You can't charge me, you have no proof."

Ron's expression transformed to the smallest of amused grins. "Chill, I'm not charging you with anything."

Selwyn froze in his rocketing protests, bewildered.

"On the contrary, I'm gonna shout from the rooftops about how cooperative you've been." Ron stretched, standing from his seat. "Everyone will know you cracked this case wide open. We're very grateful."

The criminal's jaw dropped. "Wha—what…"

"Oh, and don't worry about Lestrange or his people offing you." Ron waved away as he began to leave. "Security here's top-notch. I'm sure he can't get another Death Eater prisoner to torture you. Blimey," he gave a faint laugh, "can't imagine how brutal that'd be! Anyways, thanks mate."

Ron's hand touched the doorknob, when: "WAIT! Wait," Selwyn had turned ashen, eyes wild with fear, "I don't know much. But I'll tell you what I know! Keep silent!"

He turned back around, arms crossing.

It turned out the main MLE conference room was expandable.

Hermione had stifled a giggle when Ron had suggested they take over the Atrium for the joint Hit-Wizard/Auror meeting. He was glad she'd laughed, at any rate. It was also mesmerising to see her stand atop the centre table and whish her wand—with every swirl, the walls swelled and billowed outwards. It was lovely. She was beautiful, the magic and wind whirling the cloak around her dress, feet turning in an almost-dance. The room kept pulsing, the windows' glass shimmering as they widened along and the door cracking as the wood expanded.

The spell dimmed and Ron could almost smile, giving her a hand back to the ground. "You're gorgeous."

"You're silly." Hermione didn't let go of his hold. She remained silent for a long moment, gaze meeting his own. "How certain are we?"

"Pretty damn certain." He leaned so his nose touched hers, feeling her breath. He took her other hand, squashing her wand between them. "The Minister knows. Now the MLE. Then the families. The press. Everyone."

Her breathing slowed, hitched. "Ginny will be inundated."

Ron felt the floor fall out from under him. It was a wonder he was able to stay upright. This was the thing he'd refused to think about: stay focused on the Sweenies, on the case, on solving the haunting. Because once it was solved, everything could someday be okay. He'd never stopped to consider if he'd like the answer.

They'd have to let the Weasleys know, Ginny separately. Then there was the Dursleys. He'd been in sporadic touch with Dudley and Renée. He assumed Petunia and Vernon Dursley wouldn't care. Harry didn't have other family, though he did have friends. Should they contact them before the press? Would it be any easier to take it one by one then to let them find out via 'The Prophet'? Then there was his own kids. Even after so many months, he didn't know how he'd approach this with them.

It was easier to think about who to tell, rather than what he'd have to say. Ron swallowed, trying to picture the forbidden words. Harry was dead. Maybe they wouldn't find his body. It didn't seem real, it seemed completely irrational, but his brain knew it was true: Harry was dead.

Ron held back a shiver, only now noticing how concerned Hermione looked. Why the hell didn't this seem real?

Ron stood in front of the entire Magical Law Enforcement. This time, no one was balanced on conjured chandeliers. Few had whispered as they silently took their seats. He knew that Hermione's pale face and Lisa's green one spoke mounds, and he supposed his did as well. He hadn't glanced in a mirror at his rumpled clothes and messy hair.

"Sonorous," Ron whispered, then stored his wand away. He looked up croakily at his friends and colleagues. If he was someone else, the right words would come to him. Dumbledore would have a wise riddle on his tongue to ignite the light. Harry would have rallied them to a cry of arms, cascading them in desperate hope. Susan would have took the pep talk to heart, organising them to sweep away the hordes. Hermione—if she'd felt up to it—would have let the facts trumpet to dispel the fear and uncertainty from the darkness.

Not for the first time, he wondered what sort of leader he was. Because none of those things sounded like him.

Ron shook away the 'what ifs', staring at the waves of concerned faces turned towards him. His mouth opened and spoke. "This meeting is to announce that we finally know who the Sweenies are, and what has happened to many of the victims."

A wave of murmuring swept through the room, disbelief and excitement on each voice.

"Lisa Turpin, Orla Quirke, and Euan Abercrombie were the people who first lighted upon the theory," Ron explained, sending each a nod. "They suspected that the Rippers were more important than we'd assumed, and each considered that the Rippers and the Sweenies could be one and the same. We've recently gathered proper proof for this."

"A few years ago, Rodolphus Lestrange and Serena Rowle started getting their hands on rare potions ingredients. This and other details have been verified with Veritaserum by someone attached to the apothecary in question. Lestrange had been in Voldemort's Inner Circle since the 1980s, and has been Undesirable Number 3 or 4 since Voldemort's fall. We have now made him Undesirable Number 1, Rowle being pushed to Undesirable Number 2." He let the importance of this sink in before continuing.

"One of the few Death Eaters still at large, Lestrange was known for the disgusting experiments he did during the war. He tested spells and potions on humans, using them as guinea pigs. Many were brutalised, deformed, and almost all were killed. Through this potions link and other sources, we've discovered that Lestrange never stopped this massacre."

Ron couldn't help but growl. "Getting the ingredients, Rowle and Lestrange set about creating a potion. Our source didn't know the details, but we believe they may be attempting to alter the animagus transformation. Whatever the case, they wanted to make it so that humans could turn into magical creatures." He held up a hand at a surge of whispers. "As those of you transfiguration whizs know, animaguses can't be anything but 'normal' animals. As has been explained to me repeatedly over the past day, human magic isn't compatible with other types of magic. They're different levels of power, y'see? So say you try to," he struggled for a nice example and shrugged, giving up, "try to fit a wizard into a dragon mould or into a flobberworm mould. As far as I can tell, the magics would erupt. What that exactly means no one can tell me, but it'll always result in death."

Blossoming horror was sweeping the room.

"Lestrange began by kidnapping muggles and forcing them to drink the potion. The potion worked, in that there was a transfiguration. But each seems to have been killed by this. That's where the Rippers came in: they left the dead magical creatures for us to find. We only identified the Sweenies when they switched to taking wizards and witches." He swallowed. "Lestrange tried for the other extreme: he took the most powerfully magical humans he could find. He assumed purebloods fit that role. There were exceptions, such as Charlotte Fawcett, Roger Davies, and Harry Potter. No muggleborns were ever kidnapped, a blaring fact that we've missed up until now. The sole example we have of a part-human being kidnapped—a vampire—ended with her escaping when the potion had no effect."

Ron couldn't look at Dmitri. He instead stuck his hands in his pockets, voice growing hoarse. "Up until last Halloween, every kidnapping was followed by us finding a dead magical creature. We've since recovered a few—and are trying to change them back to human form—but most might be lost to time. There's no doubt about it: this is an absolute, unbelievable tragedy. But two questions remain.

"We don't know where Lestrange is. With these new leads, we're going to flip over every rock until we find the monster." Ron hesitated, wavering on the point he didn't know how to address. "We also don't know what happened to the victims from Harry Potter on. Starting from that Halloween, the 'Rippers' haven't left out any magical creatures. Lestrange might have started keeping them. Maybe he's doing something else to them. Whatever it is, we'll only uncover the truth once we find the bastard."

A deathly stillness overtook the room.

Ron plucked up every ounce of Gryffindor courage he had, taking a deep enough breath to straighten his shoulders. "This past year's been mental. We've had other years like this, times filled with Dark Lords and darker magic. Merlin knows I've been through hell before. My best friends and I spent the Second War starving and hiding around the countryside, the most wanted criminals in Britain. I was terrified for us and for my family. At one point, I gave up and left them both. They forgave me, but I hated myself for it. From that point on I didn't care if the whole world was against us, if dark magic was whispering in my ear, or if everything felt beyond hope: I'd never abandon my friends again."

"So then the Sweenies kidnapped Harry Potter," he continued gruffly, ignoring Hermione's miffled noise beside him. "They'd taken plenty of others before him, some of whom I knew. But Harry was bloody well different. He was my daft best mate and my favourite brother! I care about all the victims, but at Halloween I knew that come hell or high water I'd find the monsters who'd taken Harry. Now…now, we're so close. It doesn't feel like the victory I hoped, but I recognise this feeling. It's the same hollowness I felt after the Battle of Hogwarts so many years ago. Because the naive teenager I was finally grasped that victory was something that only happened when everyone lived."

"You think I'd know better by now." Ron gave a small chuckle. "You'd think we all would. But death doesn't heal with time. It becomes easier, sure. More familiar. But facing the reality of losing a friend, comrade, loved one? It hurts like hell. We've all suffered losses and that isn't going to stop." He dragged a tired hand through his hair. "Finding Rodolphus Lestrange isn't about revenge. We're going to give the surviving families answers and stop this nightmare. We owe the victims that much."

"To be utterly clear," Ron stared around with a sudden alertness, "NONE of this is going to be leaked. We'll be informing the families shortly. It'd be beyond cruel if the press got ahold of this before they were informed! If you don't care about the morality of it, fine. If I hear anyone in this Department informed a reporter, you're gone from the Ministry. We aren't dragging the mourning through a media circus!

"The least we owe them is closure. We will end this. This is a calamity, but we're stronger than it. Our society is better than this, better than Lestrange, and we can come together and rid our world from this for once and for all!"

Every official stared at Ron. As he finished (with a quiet, "Finite Incantatem," to his throat), a chill seemed to stir the crowd from their frozen state. Then, row by row, everyone stood. Not a soul left the room. Each faced him with determined expressions, some with trickling tears.

Hermione had also stood, taking his hand in hers. Ron stared into her shining eyes. He wondered if Harry had ever felt like this. He remembered all of his old jealouses and the eagerness to be the most important man in the room.

In a heartbeat, any desire for that was gone. Any thought that maybe—just maybe—he'd enjoy being Head Auror had been thrown out the window. He nearly snorted with laughter! To think that this tragedy had taught him something about himself. Hah! He wasn't a Head Auror. He was barely an Auror. Eh sure, he could do the job and not mess it up. But what was the point in admiration if it made him feel like this?

After all these years and all these lessons, Ron Weasley had to stifle a completely inappropriate guffaw. The laughter was bubbling in his stomach and he found he missed being the comedic relief. What had happened to him being the normal, chill one compared to his high maintenance best friends? But it wasn't too late to change that. He'd figure out what happened to Harry, he'd mourn with his family and cry his eyes out, and then he'd chuck the Head Auror badge in Shacklebolt's face. Screw this!

Ron wondered if George still wanted help running Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes?

He dimly noticed the crowd of officials had been clapping for him while he'd gotten lost in his thoughts. Hermione looked unbelievably proud and was squeezing his hand. He made a mental note to run away from this looney bin as fast as possible, and to look for a good shrink. It was like he was thinking clearly for the first time in years. Blimey, it was long past time he put the war behind him.

If Ron had to put Harry behind him too? Then hopefully Hermione was right. Maybe closure would do him some good as well. Because he could come to believe that Harry was…was dead. He could.

Couldn't he?

The tremendous applause was still sounding.

Ron walked around the perimeter of Regent Park for half an hour. Back and forth, forth and back. A few mothers with prams crossed the street to avoid him. He hadn't slept and knew it showed. He looked even worse than he had at the meeting, because that had been followed by a smaller one, and a smaller one, each relegating all of the new blaring things that needed to be done. Most of the Aurors and Hit-Wizards were now on the hunt for Lestrange. A group was researching animaguses, experimental potions, and Lestrange's history. Another team was keeping a tight lid on this, another was working out victimology, and a final group was assigned to tell each of the victims' families.

Hermione was at the Burrow, having the most difficult conversation of her life. Ron would think she had the toughest job of all, except he'd now been skittering around his sister's house for the past 45 minutes.

They'd been careful. They'd contacted every Weasley about a family meeting at the Burrow, and said Ginny was absolutely not to be told about it. Hermione would get them to hold off until Ron sent word. Which meant—if she'd gotten right to explaining it—his family was grief-stricken right now. Surely they wanted to visit Ginny.

He cursed under his breath, taking a final pivot and heading directly to the familiar townhouse. He couldn't put this off any longer.

Ron rang the bell, fidgeting from foot to foot on the front step. Ginny answered the door after a few minutes, dressed in jeans and an oversized Quidditch jersey.

"Ron?" She adjusted the shirt that'd been falling off her shoulder, blinking at him. "Wow, you look terrible. Did the reporters get to you? Come on in." When he hesitated she looked at him properly. Her arms fell to her sides. "No. No."

He came in and gently pulled her with him, closing the door behind him. "Can we chat in the kitchen?" He said quietly.

"NO! We aren't doing this!" Ginny wrenched her arm from his touch. She pointed a shaking finger at him. The Gryffindor jersey slipped down again. "I know what you're here for, don't you dare! SHUT UP!"

"Ginny…"

"Don't say it!"

He raised his hands appeasingly. "We haven't found Harry's body. There's nothing conclusive. Please, can we sit?"

Ginny was shaking and didn't move.

Ron tried again, ready to dart forward if she had a really bad reaction. "We've figured out what the Sweenies have been doing. I'm, I'm so sorry."

He approached her, steadying her even as she flinched at his touch. "We don't know about Harry, but a lot of the other victims are dead. The Ministry's announcing this soon, we're only waiting until all the families are told. Ginny, I…I don't know what this means."

Ginny stared at him, mouth tightening. "Explain it properly."

"We should sit down—"

"Explain."

Ron pushed the glass to and fro on the wooden table, watching the amber liquid slop inside. He thought it was whiskey. He'd missed what it was. He supposed it didn't matter.

Dudley Dursley had taken one look at him and had poured him a drink. At another look, he'd poured himself the same. This pub was small but cozy, made up of dark wood and a bitter chocolate scent. "It isn't good news?"

Ron shook his head, not drinking. He'd been in touch with the Dursleys on and off, though it continued to be surreal to talk to the man. A tiny bit of him still wanted to punch Dudley. A larger bit figured the man would let him. "We've found out a lot of the victims are dead. A lot of the others, including Harry, are still a mystery."

He nearly immediately regretted his words at the hope on Dudley's face. He'd done something similar at Ginny's, and it'd taken him several choking minutes to get out what had surely been the truth. She'd ended up sobbing on him, scaring James when he'd happened to come in.

"It was a Death Eater, Rodolphus Lestrange." Ron reluctantly continued, having already put up a privacy charm from the scattered customers. "He's been stealing people and dosing them with an experimental potion. This turns them into magical creatures, something which is fatal. We've found some of these bodies."

Dudley was peering at him, comprehension over his expression. His glass was empty.

Ron took a sip of his own. "You're familiar with Death Eaters? Yeah well, they hate Harry for killing Voldemort. There's no," he swayed on the sentence, his tongue traitorous though he forced it out, "there's no way they'd let him live. I'm so sorry."

Dudley's fist tightened around one of the colourful spouts before unclenching. "You think he's dead?"

Ron pictured Ginny gasping for breath as she spun around, staring at her young son with tears streaming down her face. She'd made a noise like she was being strangled. "I don't want to, but everything's pointing to it."

Dudley scratched his arm. He also seemed like he hadn't been sleeping. "Got it. I'll…dunno. I'll tell Renée when she's back from classes."

"You have my telephone number?" That is, Hermione's mobile, but it worked all the same. "If you have questions, or just wanna talk? You know."

Dudley nodded, back to fidgeting with the empty glass. He seemed lost, like he didn't know where to put his hands. "His wife and kids?"

Ron shrugged, unable to speak.

The muggle gave a humourless chuckle. "Heh, you must hate me. It's good of you to be here, and Renée says you lot've treated her and Cassie right. But you don't get it. Harry and me…our family was tiny. I was horrible as a kid, but I've been trying to be better. It was a damn hard lesson to learn what abuse meant." He glanced away, maybe looking at nothing. "Once I got my head outta my arse, I wasn't tossing away the one decent relative I had. Lucky enough, Harry thought family mattered a damn. Though now, after all that rubbish, he's been bloody well murdered!" There was a deep sigh, or groan, or a prayer. "Mum might wanna know. Dad won't care." He saw Ron's expression and smiled grimly. "I'll tell 'em. Expect that's the last thing you want to do."

Considering it'd likely end with Ron hexing Vernon Dursley, it'd actually be a nice stress relief. He considered the man in front of him. Dudley had lost weight since Halloween, he thought. He seemed grimmer, too, like he'd seen a patch of reality he hadn't meant to. It was a haunted look.

Ron' s pity grew. Yeah, he knew enough about Harry's childhood. But it was obvious that Dudley felt awful. It struck him that both cousins wore their hearts on their sleeves. They didn't look anything alike, though he wondered how much Dudley lived in the past. The regret alone shone in the larger man's pudgy face.

"Harry forgave you years ago," Ron replied at last. "All he ever wanted was a family, and he knew you were a kid who couldn't help what your parents did. Harry wanted to be accepted. He was glad the two of you grew closer." He stopped for a long pause. "Life's too short for regret, mate."

It was a quiet evening. They'd run from the reporters, run from the Burrow, and run from the Ministry as soon as they could. There were other people who could take care of the storm.

They'd had Indian take away. Rose was happy to get as much of the garlic naan as she could stand, and her exhausted parents were relieved it put her right to sleep. Ron had her in his arms and was carrying her upstairs to bed…though, as he stood in the hallway, he couldn't stand to let her go. She was slumbering peacefully, ignorant of the past day.

Maybe this had shown on his face. Maybe his wife was feeling the same way about Hugo. Whatever it was, Hermione silently nudged his elbow to the living room.

Crookshanks followed the family like a duckling, getting underfoot. They were too tired to shoo him off the couch. So the half-kneazle curled into a ball next to Hermione. Who leaned her head on Ron's shoulder, who leaned back on the cushion, who both pressed their kids to them, and tried to remember how they'd gotten here.

"We're missing something," Hermione muttered to herself. Their living room seemed soft at night. Her hair brushed against Ron's face, which he didn't move.

He didn't trust himself to speak. They'd left the Burrow in shambles. Everyone had collected there, from Andromeda hugging a sobbing Molly, to Teddy and James scurrying away with some of the others, to Bill having a low conversation with Arthur, Angelina, and Percy in the kitchen. Ron and Hermione had stayed just long enough to make sure Ginny and her children weren't alone, then took their own kids and made a quick exit.

Hermione gave Crookshanks the belly rub he so clearly desired, balancing the sleeping Hugo on her chest. When she spoke it was directed to the feline. "Did Roger Davies look similar? You can smell out animaguses, can't you Crooks. You did with Wormtail. Sirius too, maybe."

Ron was paying attention to her, but his mind were elsewhere. He didn't want to talk or think about Roger Davies—splattered in blood behind the curtain. He cast about to anything else. Harry and Susan had both been moved by the kidnappers. It made an awful, horrific sense that their bodies weren't found. Or maybe (as much as it made Ron sick) maybe the Rippers were poachers and 'disposed' of everyone from Harry on. That was surely what 'The Prophet' would say when the story was released.

"I should have known. I should have figured this out ages ago. Thank heavens for you, Ron!" Though Hermione was still talking to Crookshanks, her thoughts somewhere over the horizon. "How had Harry done this? Dealt with misery after misery, and kept going after. It was one thing when everyone made it through in the end. But this?" Hermione took a deep breath. Then there was another. And another. He thought again about responding. But he too was lost in his thoughts, adrift.

A disgusting taste trickled down his throat. It was a possibility he'd pushed back for so long. But now the damning facts were closing in. Ron tried to imagine a world without Harry. One where they never found his body.

Hermione's voice rose again, not minding (or noticing) that Ron didn't answer. "I only want closure. Don't we deserve to know what happened!"

Would Ron even want to find the body? If everything was true, it wouldn't be Harry anymore. He coughed thickly, desperate to think about anything else. What would Harry have turned into? He had a moment of faint amusement considering the man as a plucky snidget. The hollow dread struck again when he thought of Lestrange breaking the snidget under his foot.

"I can't leave it at this." Hermione rapidly shook her head, voice tightening. "What happened to Harry? He was kidnapped by a Death Eater that turns people into animals. We've 'found' the bodies of everyone before him. What about everyone after?"

Or maybe Harry wouldn't have transformed into a snidget. He'd surely have been a flying creature, at any rate. A cornish pixie? No, too annoying.

A thunderbird? It could fit the at times stormy man. Yet it didn't click.

"Meeeooow." Crookshanks stretched.

A dragon, maybe. An Hungarian Horntail, if Harry's luck held true. Dragons were territorial, even, and Harry had been outright terrifying when it came to protecting his family.

Ron jerked in realisation, feeling like he was going to spew. He kept referring to Harry in the past tense. He'd been doing it all day, without consciously meaning to! He hadn't meant to say it. He didn't want to think about it! He couldn't consider it. Fine, FINE, so Harry was dead. He clutched back onto the relative safety of magical creatures. Anything but the descending sceptre.

Crookshanks purred, licking Hermione's hand then Hugo's foot. The baby snorted in his sleep. She continued more softly. "There are leads on Lestrange, he'll be captured with time. It's Harry I don't understand. Why wasn't a body displayed? They moved him from the Ministry, they wanted extra time with him, they…they wanted the Boy Who Lived? They wanted Him. He was one of the few half-bloods taken, it was surely on purpose. Taking Harry was revenge? They, they wanted his body? They might be keeping trophies. But then why wouldn't they keep the dead werewolves, unicorns, hipp—oh god."

Maybe Ron was looking at this backward. Maybe he ought to list off Harry's traits and then find an animal that matched. Alright, he could do that. Harry was an obsessive flyer and a daredevil. He would sacrifice the world for his family. He could survive pretty much anything from sheer stubbornness alone.

Harry was kind, too. Compassionate. A shy bloke, but he was the 'leader of the light' and all that. What did that leave Ron with? A flying, family-oriented creature, stubborn and compassionate, who made a habit of not dying…

Every piece of Ron froze. Thank Merlin Rose was in his seated lap, or else his stupefied limbs might've dropped her.

"They weren't only the Sweenies, they were the Rippers! Maybe poachers," Hermione exclaimed breathlessly. "They're selling the magical creatures! Unicorn blood, dragon hide, it's all extremely expensive. Prices have even decreasing exponentially, this could be an effect. They started doing this with Harry! But why him? We know they displayed unicorns and even a Veela before. What was so special about, about…" she raised a petrified hand to her lips, "falling prices."

The Boy Who Lived.

The Master of Death.

"HOLY CRICKET!"

Okay, good, so Hermione had figured it out too. She also hadn't dropped Hugo and neither of the kids had woken, which was brilliant. Ron's disbelief shone as he at last spoke. "Solved it, huh?" She just stared at him. "On a crazy off-chance, would you be able to say your epiphany in one word?"

"Yes." Hermione answered instantly, hand slowly lowering from her mouth. "You?"

"Yup. Let's rip the plaster off." He wasn't sure what to think yet, still working out the cogs. "On three? One, two—"

"Phoenix."

"Phoenix."

Hermione let out a slow breath, looking up at Ron and still resting against him. Her voice was barely more than a whisper, though quickened, as though her brain was racing ahead. "There was a case I'd given to the Hit-Wizards. The price of phoenix body parts has decreased dramatically. Percy was worried about poachers, he approached me about it. I, I didn't connect it until now."

Ron nodded, all of it making gruesome sense. He drew her even closer to him. "I was trying to suss out what was so special about Harry. Then I thought, huh, the 'Boy Who Lived'. 'Man Who Can't Seem To Die'. A 'Hero With Emotions On His Sleeve Who Loves Flying'. Guess I worked it out from there."

Her tears broke in a sudden rush, cuddling Hugo and gently reaching for Rose. "I can't believe this."

"He's alive."

"I'm, I'm not altogether sure that's a good thing."

"He's alive." Who cared about anything else? They had to rescue the idiot!

"He might be," Hermione had to hedge. "We don't have any real proof."

"Harry's alive!"

"Can we prove it to the Ministry?"

Ron fell silent. All of the boundless possibilities crashed in on him: right, the Ministry. The place they'd just convinced every transfiguration would result in death. Bloody hell, he'd told Ginny that! How had they forgotten about immortal creatures? It wouldn't matter if a phoenix died from the potion, it'd be reborn from the ashes. They just had to shift the Ministry's thinking, no big. He'd apologise to Ginny and his family, getting them all back on track. Harry was alive!

"Every family is now in mourning for the victims," Hermione said quietly, somehow reading his thoughts, "the Ministry is almost ready to prepare funerals. Do we give families false hope? All we think is that one—One!—phoenix survived. We're talking about dozens of people. Honestly, we have no guarantee if there is a phoenix, or if the phoenix is Harry."

"Of course it's Harry!" It all fit, it was perfect!

"Are we a hundred percent positive?"

Ron scoffed, wanting to jump right back up and find him. "What does that matter?"

"Should we tell Ginny if we're anything less than absolutely certain?" She met him in a stare, a question in her gaze. "Is making her happy in the short-term worth the risk of giving her false hope? We need to slow down. Keep it between us, investigate, and find out what we can. We, we can't get ahead of ourselves."

Ron's thoughts thudded to a halt. He'd simply assumed their jubilant first stop would be Ginny. He wanted to shout at Hermione, wanted to disagree so strongly that she had to give in. But this? Possibly breaking his sister's heart? Merlin knew she'd been through enough. If he told her Harry was okay and then had to rip that from her…and honestly, now that he was looking properly at Hermione, maybe Ginny wasn't the only one that false hope could damage. "Let's find the proof," he said gruffly, something close to excitement and maturity leaping in his chest. "Keep it between us and maybe a few other crazies. Say that everyone Harry and after are still open cases and can't be declared dead."

"We might not be able to keep them from being declared dead. If we spread this theory through the Ministry there will be leaks," she warned. She seemed completely unsettled by all of this, like she did whenever they raced into a full-hearty scheme without proof or backup. Was this perhaps why a joyful weightlessness was ringing through his mind?

"We'll only need a few others." Ron's head thudded with all the new possibilities. "We have leads now, we can work with it. And you know a bright thing? If we're right, if they're keeping a phoenix hostage: if we find Lestrange we'll find Harry."

Hermione gave an amazed, hard laugh. Hand pressed against her mouth. "He's really could be alive, couldn't he? In horrendous shape and being horrifically tortured, but…"

"Alive, yeah."

It wasn't quite like the fog had cleared, but it was something.

"After all this time?"
—Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows