A/N: I've just seen "Fantastic Beasts: Crimes of Grindelwald", and was inspired to finish this dratted chapter. I'm honestly torn about whether I liked the movie, but it was certainly entertaining!

As for this chapter. There are very overpowered substances in the Wizarding World, some being powerful enough to break canon if used 'correctly'. Felix Felicis is right at the top, so it's about time our heroes got some extra luck. On a similar note, one of my favourite movie moments was Harry getting high as a Firebolt with luck potion. As I hate writing action scenes, I wrote a very tipsy and lucky Ron instead. You're welcome.

"My childhood?" Andromeda Tonks asked with a raised eyebrow. It was interesting how a regal air seemed to swarm around her, even when she sat perched on a cozy armchair.

Ron felt awkward. He took a sip, wondering why so many of these conversations were taking place over tea. He nearly missed getting drunk at Cho Chang's. "I completely get why you wouldn't want to talk about it, but I swear it's crazy important."

Andromeda looked at him askance. Her fingers were held firmly against the cup. "I would love nothing more than to help. But even though I've been trying to remember, I don't have any memories of that monster. My sister married him after I'd been disowned."

"I know," Ron said, "and I don't mean to bother you. This is about Rodolphus Lestrange, but not directly. I was wondering…what could you tell me about Bellatrix?"

She blinked at him. "Bellatrix?"

"Yeah. Sorry."

She hummed, surprised but not. "She died years ago, she couldn't have possibly—"

"I don't think she had knowledge of this," he said carefully. "But her husband might be sorta strung up on her. Or, well, the Black family."

"You think I'm a target? Teddy?"

"No! No, sorry, I meant," Ron backtracked, "he might be hidden in something related to the Blacks. So I'm wondering about Bellatrix, but also if your family had any super-secret properties?"

She seemed a touch amused. "No secrets that I'm aware of, though my father may have come up with something. Narcissa may know. But Ron, I wouldn't hold too much to that. As much as my family wore egoism like a crown, they were frugal to the last. There was Grimmauld Place and a handful of other properties, but nothing that the Ministry doesn't know about or that has fallen into disarray."

Ron frowned at the prospect of visiting the Malfoys.

"Mother became fond of certain places and wouldn't want to leave. She tried to foster 'family' in her own way." Andy gave a bitter laugh. "I remember her brushing our hair, calling us her perfect daughters. Or the three shining sisters. Or darling future wives, whatever suited her at the moment. Bella took to the phrases, as did Cissa. It might have been the narcissist in her—pardon the pun." She was brought back to the present and blinked at seeing Ron. "I'm sorry. When memories return, it's an avalanche."

He could appreciate that. He was sucked into the past enough himself these days. "What about Bellatrix then? Were there places that meant a lot to her?"

She opened and closed her mouth, perplexed. It struck Ron that the sisters actually looked nothing alike: Andromeda Tonks' soft expression and curling silver hair bore no resemblance to Bellatrix Lestrange's harsh insanity. "Not that I can think of. You believe that Lestrange could be hiding there? Or are you after an open place that could be used for, for—"

Andromeda looked away, coughing to clear her throat. He knew she was asking about a mass grave. He didn't want to answer that, though it did linger on another subject.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there," Ron said as she composed himself. "I heard that Teddy raced off…after, for a bit. I hope he's…that you're…"

"He's getting there." Andy rubbed at her eyes. "Teddy ran away during the funeral, but we found him soon enough. He was upset, naturally. He's lost so much." She looked away for a long heartbeat. "You have nothing to apologise for. We each process grief in different ways."

Ron bit his lip. Because damn, he knew this wasn't the time. But seeing her so strung out and picturing a sobbing Teddy broke his heart. In his head, he sort of looked like Harry aged thirteen: stifling back tears about his parents and screaming about the 'traitorous' Sirius Black. "I'm looking for Lestrange," he said carefully, getting back to the topic and sidestepping graves. "Can you think of any 'happy memories' Bellatrix might've had as a kid?"

Andy had brought herself back together. "I haven't the faintest. She was always sadistic, so her 'happy memories' likely involved destroying my artwork or dying Cissa's clothes a florescent orange."

"Don't take this the wrong way, but that sounds like my siblings."

"Oh?"

"Err," Ron pictured the remorseful spirit, words coated in sugar, "I meant the silly pranks bit. Though, when I was little my brother turned my teddy bear into a spider. It's left me with some issues."

Andy's lips lightly parted. "She put scorpions in my dress robes."

"Pre-Hogwarts, the twins nearly put me under an Unbreakable Vow."

"Bella pushed me off a cliff."

"Acid pop," Ron pointed for dramatic effect, "burnt through my tongue. I was five."

"Ouch," Andy said drily. "Cissa charmed each of my Botts Beans to be brussels sprouts."

Ron winced. "Alright, alright! You win."

Andy smiled. "To be fair, I wasn't an angel myself. The 'pushing me off a cliff' incident? It was right after I'd pushed her into a valley of mud. Mother called off trips to Glen Coe after that."

"You went there often?"

"Often enough." She shrugged daintily. "Father loved the mountains. The Glen Coe range was nearly empty, which suited him perfectly. He hated muggles, yes, though he was more of a misanthrope overall."

"Anti-social much?"

"It ran in the family. Thankfully, both Nymphadora and Teddy took after my husband."

A maid, Eleanor, let him into Malfoy Manor. Ron regretted it before he'd even knocked on the door, but by the time he'd been shown into the study for guests (of course they had 'a study for guests') it was too late to rush out. Especially as Eleanor had given him an apologetic smile and said Mr. Malfoy would see him shortly, before clipping out in her dainty heels.

Ron sunk into an armchair by the fire. The chair was stiff, gold from top to bottom, and shrieked 'Malfoy' just like the rest of the jewel-encrusted room. The fireplace even glistened! He fidgeted some more, longing to poke around the house. Or to blow up the basement. And where they'd attacked Hermione. …or to just run back to the Ministry, because why was he here again?

"HI!"

Ron jumped, having been staring at a portrait of a prima donna with demonic eyes and claws. He looked around in confusion. Then he looked down. "Uh, hi."

A young child grinned up at him, all gums and bouncy toddler. "HI!"

Ron relaxed, grinning back. The kid was about Rose's age, and was kind of adorable for obviously being a mini-Malfoy. "Hiya, I'm Ron. What's your name?"

"Scor-pi-us!" The boy said very carefully, then smiled like he'd practiced it.

Good lord. Was every pureblood family but his insane with names? "It's nice to meet you." Ron knelt on the floor and kept back a chuckle as the kid extended a hand. He happily shook it. Though, it was odd a child was in a formal study. "Hey uh, Scorpius, should you be in here?"

"Nuh uh." He shook his blond hair, making it wisp around his shoulders. "But mummy's sick an' Elle's busy an' I made daddy's hair blue. So I hiding!"

Ron raised an eyebrow. The kid seemed delighted by the last part. Ron didn't blame him, and was fairly delighted himself. "I'm sorry about your mum. But you—you turned your dad's hair blue?"

"Uh huh!"

"That's pretty awesome." Ron had finally found a Malfoy he liked. That he was pint-sized and adorable was neither here nor there.

"SCORPIUS!"

In barged a Malfoy Ron distinctly disliked. As Draco Malfoy swept the giggling child into his arms, Ron was faintly cheered that the man's usual blond was a light lilac.

Ron stood with a smirk. "I like the hair."

Draco's glare could kill. "You," he pointed at Ron, "shut up and sit. And you," he looked at his son with exasperation, "where did you hide your mum's wand?"

Scorpius giggled. Ron really, truly liked the kid.

"You, sit!" The elder Malfoy steamed at Ron. "I don't even know why you're here. Elle, ELLE!" He spun around to Eleanor, who'd been looking bemused behind him. "Please take Scorpius upstairs and find the dratted wand. As soon as I'm done with this buffoon, I'll be up."

Eleanor took Scorpius cheerfully enough. The little boy waved good-bye as they headed out the door; Ron waved back.

Draco Malfoy spun back to Ron, the emotion falling off his face to a disinterested scowl.

"Okay," Ron felt he should set off on the right foot, "to start? I wasn't trying to kidnap your son, or infect him with Weasley germs or, like, whatever you think my family has. He just strolled in and—"

"Oh, of course he waltzed in. Don't be ridiculous." Malfoy said impatiently. The blue hair reflected the light quite well, Ron noted with pleasure. "Scorpius gets in everywhere he shouldn't be. But you. Why are you here?"

"It's…complicated."

Malfoy stared at him for another moment. "Whisky?"

"What?"

"Do you drink whisky?" Malfoy said slowly.

"Sure?" Ron watched as Malfoy went over to a small table where a bottle lay, and poured out a glass. "That isn't poisoned, right?"

He sent him a look—and very deliberately poured a second glass.

Ron approached warily, taking a seat and a glass as Malfoy did. "Uh, thanks."

Malfoy continued staring at him, not anymore amused. "As you aren't forthcoming," he drawled, "I'll ask my own questions." His fingers drummed the side of his glass, inspecting Ron as though searching for something. "You weren't at the funeral."

Ron hadn't expected that. Harry's funeral? How would Malfoy know this, there'd been no press coverage. He might have heard at the Ministry, but that made little sense.

"You weren't at Potter's funeral." Draco Malfoy repeated before taking a slow sip, eyeing the other man. "A whole sea of redheads was swarming the place. I didn't notice one missing until your wife gave a teary eulogy and you were nowhere to be seen."

Ron gaped at him. "You were at the funeral? It was private!"

"I asked to go."

"It was private!"

"My wife and I got permission. Your sister was very accommodating." Malfoy tilted his head, amused at the slack-jawed wizard. "Because, unlike you, some of us can be civil. I wished to pay my respects."

"You hate Harry!" he blustered. "He hates you!"

Malfoy raised an eyebrow, mulling over something before speaking. "We had our disagreements—rather, we disagreed about everything. But it was a pointless loss, Weasley, and I owed the man a debt." He stared at him for another long moment, a smile curling his lips. "Congratulations on your promotion, by the way."

"Screw you."

"It's quite an accomplishment." Malfoy was undeterred. "Rising through the Ministry ranks solely on your own skills and talents. The vacant position was, obviously, a tragic coincidence." Another drumming of fingers. "That is, two tragic coincidences. And having a wife in a seat of power."

Confusion had long since returned to anger. Ron's hand twitched above his wand. "Says the man relying on his family's wealth."

"I make no secret of that." Malfoy leaned forward, enjoying every moment. "People whisper, Weasley. The accusations against your sister are preposterous and she's sure to come out of this the glowing widow. But you, oh you." The grin shifted to a smirk at Ron's reddening face. "Your life has gotten much better with a few of your coworkers shoved out of the way. There were rumours before this: of you messing with Potter's head, your jealousy about Susan Bones' appointment to Deputy Head Auror over you—GAH!"

Ron had flung up, wand ricocheting a spell that barely missed Malfoy's head. "How dare you!"

Malfoy now also stood, wand pointed but not yet firing. His amusement had gone and he'd returned to giving him a speculative, narrow look. "How dare I? You didn't even go to your best friend's funeral."

"Because it was a mockery!" Ron's arm quivered, close to firing another hex at the Slytherin. "I didn't do anything to him!"

Draco was now frowning, wand held loosely in his hand. "No, I don't suppose you did."

"Then why would you say that?"

"Because I like to see you squirm." Malfoy put away his wand and stood straighter, ignoring Ron's gape. "Also, before this visit I did have my doubts. But then you did something strange."

"WHAT?"

"You referred to Boy Wonder as though he was alive." Malfoy crossed his arms smugly. "It isn't that you think the funeral was a mockery. You think it a farce. Head Auror Weasley, why exactly are you here?"

Ron became even more unsettled at the abrupt change in topic, though his wand did lower.

"You despise me," Malfoy continued, "and would have sent one of your minions for anything short of Harry Potter. So you need me, desperately. Ooh, I do like this feeling."

Any small respect Ron had been feeling towards him disapparated. "Of course you do. Fine, you'll be helpful? I wanna chat about your Uncle Rodolphus."

Draco's expression fell, nostrils flaring. "I haven't been in contact with him in years."

"No Christmas dinners?"

He gave a harsh laugh. "The Ministry has already questioned us. Extensively. I wasn't shocked Lestrange would do something like this, but don't call him my uncle. He's never been family."

"You were close enough with his wife during the war."

Draco stared at him in stark disbelief. "Oh yes, because that madwoman keeping my parents and I trapped in our manor is 'close'. Have you looked into Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange at all? They had completely lost their minds! We hardly kept in contact."

Ron surveyed him, his eagerness for information overcoming his anger. Well, no, it wasn't. But he could hold back screaming at the man. "Just wondering, who d'ya think's crazier: him or her?"

"Him." Malfoy answered immediately, like it was a naive question. "Bellatrix wasn't creative in torture, but Rodolphus was." He looked disgusted as he slid back into his seat. "You know why he was never around? When I was a child he stuffed four of our peacocks inside each other. Mum threw a fit and I had bonafide nightmares about that scene. Each of the peacocks was alive, you see, and he ripped them up and stuffed them in."

Wow. "Okay," Ron said slowly, likewise returning to his seat and pocketing his wand, "I so don't want to know about that. Do the Blacks have any super-secret properties?"

"Ask Andromeda Tonks."

"I can get a warrant."

Draco heaved a sigh. "No, we aren't hiding any properties. Do you think I want to go to Azkaban? I'm fully aware that anything related to Lestrange is cursed these days. House Black is essentially extinct, and the properties have gone with it."

"You aren't hiding Lestrange in a basement, yeah?"

"Weasley."

"I had to ask." Ron was wholly unapologetic. "Did either Lestrange ever mention a place they particularly enjoyed? From like, when they were younger?"

"No."

"Dig deep, Malfoy. Think about it for more than two seconds."

"They never talked about anything personal," Draco said bluntly. "They didn't chat about fuzzy childhood memories, and it's not as though we went on vacations with them!

Vacations. Huh. "Do the Glen Coe mountains mean anything to you?"

"…what?"

"Glen Coe. Lestrange. Ringing any bells?"

Draco seemed perturbed. "Not with Lestrange. But my family travels to Glen Coe every few years. Mother loves visiting there."

Ron thought he was maybe getting to something. "How long has she been going there?"

"Since she was little, I suppose." Draco gave him an odd look. "Nostalgia."

"Nostalgia?"

"It means having fond remembrances of previous times."

Ron stared at him, so not in the mood to warrant this with a response.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Yes Weasley, nostalgia. As much as her family fell apart my mother does miss them at times. She isn't inhuman. So we'd go to Glen Coe, she'd tell me stories of the shining sisters, and—"

"Hold up. What'd you say?"

"What?"

"The 'shining sisters'."

Draco stared at him. "It's nothing, only my mother waxing poetic." Ron's serious look didn't relinquish. "I believe my grandmother referred to her daughters as that, before it all fell apart. Mum has always been fond of the phrase and both of her sisters used to like it as well. Bellatrix for selfish reasons, thinking they could be the 'three shining sisters' under the dark. Mum simply thought it brought them together. It's…" Ron was still staring, "Weasley, stop looking at me like that! I know you come from a big, bubbly, happy family. But can't you imagine that even broken families hold tight to memories of better times?"

There was a thick silence.

"So yes," Draco hissed, "we visit the Glen Coe mountains. Mum tells stories of the shining sisters, because she still thinks of her siblings. It's the same reason I still care for my father. You can't help who you love, Weasley, and I want you to get the hell out of my house."

Ron had paled throughout the statement. He stood shakily, mind awhirl. "The shining sisters."

"Did you hear what I said?" Draco likewise stood, steaming. The blue hair shook with annoyance. "I don't want you talking to my mum about this!"

"I don't need to. I, Malfoy," Ron swung back to him with a wide smile, "MALFOY! Holy Merlin, I love you."

"…what?!"

Ron scrambled away from the chair, shouting back as he raced for the door. "HARRY'S ALIVE AND YOU BLOODY WELL FOUND HIM! DON'T CALL THE PRESS!"

Ron burst into his Ministry office, a crazed look in his eyes. Two people glanced up and froze. The third remained hunched over the map.

"Hi boss!" Orla said brightly, not having glanced up. "Little luck with property owned by the Blacks. But there's lot's of 'black' references to sort through. We're thinking the Black Lake's vetoed because of Hogwarts' security. The Black Sea's up in the air, though that'll be tricky to drain." Euan poked her and she looked up at last, her statement stumbling off. "Uh, boss?"

Hermione seemed torn between anger and concern. She strode around the table to march up to her husband, hands on her hips. "You arrogant man! You've been worrying me sick, do you understand that? You use the Stone and shrug it off! You begin to talk to me, then race off. We're PARTNERS! I'M WORRIED! You're driving me ins—MMPH!"

She was cut off when Ron pulled her into a long kiss, his hands holding her to him. The entire world could stop, as much as he cared. There was hope in his mind and his beautiful wife in his arms…it couldn't get better than this.

Ron broke the kiss gently, staring into Hermione's confused eyes. She'd been biting her lips in worry, making them puffy and rosy. "I know we're partners," he said softly, never minding the others' awkward watching. She was the only one who mattered. His fingers slid to cupping her face, keeping as close as he could. "You're my best friend and I love you beyond belief. I'm sorry I've been running around, I'm sorry I'm driving you batty. I know I should have talked to you."

Hermione sighed, pressing her nose against his. "I love you too, though heaven knows why."

Ron grinned. "I do have my moments of genius. For example, I'm almost positive I know where Rodolphus Lestrange's hiding."

Hermione froze. Then she hit his shoulder. "You GIT! You've been holding onto this?"

"OI!" He took a step back from her shout. "I only suspected it when talking to Andy! Then I confirmed it with Malfoy, then I came in here and you were screaming like a banshee."

"I'm not like a banshee!"

Ron guffawed. "You tried to burst my eardrums."

"I DID NOT try to…" Hermione took a long breath, speaking between her teeth. "Ron. Where's Harry?"

"The Scottish Highlands," he answered immediately, returning to the important part. He strode over to the huge map of the British Isles. "If memory serves me right, there should be a few mountains nicknamed the 'Three Sisters' near Glen Coe. Guess which Death Eater wanted her siblings to be the 'Three Shining Sisters' under the dark? Bellatrix Lestrange. Who Rodolphus Lestrange adored." He gave Hermione a small smile. "Love makes you do crazy things, huh. Amplifies crazy, that is."

Orla and Euan gasped before diving over the map.

"Glen Coe!" Orla cried out, finger pointing to the glen surrounded by volcanic peaks.

"Bidean nam Bian Mountain!" Euan was looking even closer at the area, beaming. "That's the specific place."

Ron gave a delighted grin. "There we go. Let's catch ourselves a fugitive and rescue a traumatised idiot."

They were out in the middle of nowhere. It was a beautiful nowhere, Ron would admit. They stood in a deserted muggle car pull-over atop of a ledge. The gravel gave way to a steep drop and grassy mountains that swayed around them. A small river cut through the valley below.

The Aurors were setting up a base of operations behind them. Hermione clutched her robe to her, hair flying dizzily in the wind. She paid no attention to it, eyes on the view. She looked like some heroine out of a…Renaissance painting? Arthurian legend? Ron didn't know. He was about to ask Hermione (which would've been an awkward conversation), when she spoke.

"There's another 'Three Sisters' mountain range in Oregon. With volcanoes too, even." Hermione said to the wind, words flying about like her hair. "I looked it up while we were making arrangements. There's another three in Canada, with both of these 'Sisters' near where Serena Rowle lived for years."

"Lestrange will be in Britain," Ron answered back, casting thoughts of old artwork aside. "Xenophobia goes with this whole thing, only British people were targeted. He's here."

"Hmm," she replied. She took his hand. "I actually agree for another reason as well. Do you remember the story of the Glen Coe Massacre?"

Ron looked at her properly. "What happened here?"

"It's where the MacDonald clan was murdered by the Campbells. The Campbells asked for lodging with the MacDonalds, which was agreed. But it was a trick. After one night the Campbells rose up and killed at least forty of their hosts."

"Huh." Ron had heard the phrase, 'Never trust a Campbell', but hadn't known where it came from. It was hard to imagine that happening in this glossy valley, but somehow not. "I found out something else, chatting with the muggle ranger back there at the entrance. Y'see that dark keyhole shaped thing up there? Right between the Sister peaks, see? Yeah, that's called Ossian's Cave. Daredevil muggle climbers used to love the thing, though it's been closed for the past year."

Hermione sent him a sudden look. "Rock slide warnings?"

"No warnings, nothing." Ron grinned at her. "The ranger seemed vaguely confused about the topic. It's not actually 'closed'. It's that whenever someone gets near that little opening, they suddenly remember they ought to be elsewhere. A stove on, door left open, or dentist appointment."

She drew in a deep breath, squinting up at the mountain. "A Muggle-Repelling Charm. Is there another opening?"

"Not that he mentioned. Though I figure a Blasting Curse could do it, so I wouldn't count it out." He put a hand on his pocket. "Hey uh, Hermione. You remember back in Hogwarts when Harry or I would come up with a hair-brained scheme, you'd say 'Absolutely not', and then we'd do it anyway?"

Hermione sent him an amused look. "On the contrary, I remember having to convince the two of you to illegally brew Polyjuice, among a host of other activities. What do you have in mind?

Was it Ron's best idea to sneak a vial of luck potion into his pocket? Maybe not, and it certainly took a while to convince Hermione that his unorthodox idea was a good one. Because once she heard the 'plan' she wasn't nearly as calm about it. But time wasn't on their side. So soon enough (with a sigh and a kiss) she gave in and shooed him towards the mountain, telling the changed directions to the advance team and having the Aurors stay put.

Ron didn't hear any of this, seeing as he'd downed the Felix Felicis and hurtled past the safe embankment. One Invisibility Cloak later and a quick apparation, and he was skittering by the entrance on the mountain's cave. He didn't think about how apparation could be possible. What a grand stroke of luck, that Lestrange hadn't put down a ward for it!

As he got closer there was an inkling that he'd forgotten something Massively Important, but this was minor compared to the potion now streaming through his veins. The repelling charm dropped off as he approached the entrance, it being merely a small widening in the mount…

Holy Merlin, there was a dragon.

Ron paused on the path, squinting ahead at the enormous dragon. He didn't know the species, but it was massive, scarlet, its limbs attached to the mountain, and with pupil-less, multicoloured, unseeing eyes…

He realised with a thick swallow that the creature wasn't moving. He got closer, ignoring the cave entrance for a moment. Reaching up he brushed his hand on the scales.

It was dead. Preserved. Its mouth open in a hideous fake roar.

Felix Felicis sang in his head, turning his thoughts from the gruesome reality and his steps back to the cave. There wasn't a door, and no hindrance to entering.

Ron felt an overwhelming calm sweep through him and knew that the potion had properly taken effect. Because damn, he felt fantastic! Felix was singing in his head, and though there was a ghastly dragon by the entrance he knew it was a grand idea to sneak into the cave. So he did. He took little notice of the skittering criminals around, too interested in what was immediately in front of him (not minding that not gazing at the gruesome scene left his sanity intact).

He wanted to whistle but shrugged, knowing it'd be over the top. He compensated by sending a few tripping hexes at the people working on brewing potions around him.

As Ron crept along the wide, open space it occurred to him that the cave was a lot larger than he'd been expecting. It was like the Sweenies had hollowed out the entire inside of the mountain. There was so much to look over, so many potions ingredients, dead creatures, and creatures shrieking from cages (Hey look, survivors!). But it was strange: he had a feeling he wanted to be in a much more enclosed area. He shrugged, unconcerned, and hurried to a hallway slitted into the side of the cavern that looked like it'd do the claustrophobic trick.

Closing the door behind him, Ron tried not to gag at the stench that met his nose. He considered going back into the main room—but nah, that was nightmare fuel. Besides, this hallway was filled with doors! Lots and lots of doors. He could go through one and be away from the fowl odour.

Ron walked through, hand rolling against the wall. First doorway, second—ahah! The third one sounded peachy.

An unlocking spell later he strolled in, before freezing.

"That's…not a phoenix," Ron mumbled to himself, scanning the rows upon rows of potions. "Looks useful though. Up and at 'em—swish and flick, wingardium leviosa!"

Followed by waves of vials he closed the door and kept going. The hallway was still clear. The fourth identical door he passed seemed boring, as did the fifth and the sixth, but the seventh? The seventh seemed just the ticket. Lucky seven. A magic number, that.

His nose was about to boycott, so he said "Alohomora" (funny how that worked) and slid into the room, closing the door behind him and the tingling potions. He turned. His eyes widened.

Felix bounded forward and escalated his 'keep calm and chill' mood. Ron breathed out, fury and sorrow darting away to the pressing sense of rightness. His shoulders unclenched. He thought of what to do.

"Right," Ron turned around and mumbled (to himself, to Felix, to the flaming bird in the room), "this'll do. Hi mate, give me a mo."

Potions were levitated (above the door, around the door, in any nook and cranny he could, and a few minimised ones into his pocket). A table was flipped around to shield a corner that faced the entrance. Various spells were put on said table. Even more spells—shielding and terrifying—were put on the door. Only then did the wizard turn back to the middle of the room. He got up right next to the magical barrier…before pulling out his two-way mirror.

"Yo, Hermione." Ron said. "Why don't we use Felix Felicis more? I feel awesome! And high, kinda high. Absolutely high. A bit drunk too. Tipsy? Tipsy. I am so high right now."

Hermione gave a deep sigh from the other end. "What's going on? We're ready to move."

"Things are good," he continued to the point, stretching his hand. He glanced at the piles of log books, grizzled knives, and potion bottles with siphons around the room. "There's a dead dragon by the entrance and a dozen baddies in the large main room. I'm off this hallway on the left side and am hiding out in the seventh room down. I wouldn't try the door because, holy Merlin, I've rigged that thing up! So I'll be chilling here with the phoenix—oh! Right, I found a phoenix. He looks awful, but it's cool. I've got a good feeling about this."

A hitched breath. "YOU'VE FOUND HIM?!"

"Little baby phoenix? Yup. Looks like he's tired or drugged outta his mind. Hey, we match!" Ron levied his wand at the cage, smiling at the blinking bird therein. "I'm about to break him out of this cage. My bet is alarms will blaze when I do, or the moment your cavalry enters. Then this lot will be banging down the door. So, could you move in 30 seconds after I hang up? Thanks love. See ya."

He hung up, not waiting for her agreement. He swished his wand around: "Alohomora!"

WEE-WOO WEE-WOO!

Ron swooped the sickly phoenix into his arms and darted to the corner, jumping over the table. Crouching down, he levied his wand at the entrance. As the doorway opened in he'd get anybody long before they got him.

"Hi there," Ron said once he'd gotten into place and brought the phoenix under the Cloak. With his left hand he gently ruffled the phoenix's head. "My name's Ron, I'm here to rescue you."

He began hearing distant screams and blasts. He wasn't overly concerned.

"If I seem calm, it's cool. I took this weird potion. Like, so weird." Ron rolled his eyes. "Ya know when you should be freaking out, but you totally aren't? Yeah, that's Felix Felicis. But it gives me crazy good luck. So I'm gonna be fine, you're gonna be fine, and these Sweenies won't know what hit them. Actually? I don't think I even need my wand."

The door crashed open. Ron only got a glimpse of a hand before it (and the man attached) was bludgeoned back. The door closed itself.

Ron placed his wand down, ignoring the entrance and examining the phoenix instead. He gently cupped the tiny chin and beak, staring into the half-awake eyes. "You're getting help soon, okay buddy?"

There was what sounded like a dragon's roar. Ron's mind skittered to other survivors, but his thoughts were a bit distracted at the moment.

The phoenix's neck was tiny. This wasn't a full-grown phoenix, he didn't have to be an expert to tell that. But he doubted that explained most of the shrunken size, as calling the creature severely malnourished wouldn't do the situation justice. He looked like death dried over. Though he was piping warm to the touch—like grasping a mug of hot cocoa. Ron would compare it to holding a baby, but instead of resembling a plump potato the phoenix was like a child born weak and prematurely.

Ron noticed his hands were shaking. Apparently even Felix had its limits. He drew in a sharp breath, willing his mind to focus on calm. Instead, it was everything else. Doubts crept in his head: how close was the animal to death?

Edging the feathers away, he revealed paper-thin and fragile skin. He hesitated to do much more, worrying about ripping the poor animal apart. He'd begun to reassure himself that, even if he couldn't find a good pulse, the bird would still be reborn…when it happened.

1—2—1—2—1—2—

Thumps. A pulse. A steady but weak pulse drummed against his fingers. He wasn't sure if the emotion bubbling within him was awe, relief, or horror. Somewhere in his throat there was also a manic laugh.

Felix was still there, reassuring him that the door would hold. But the calm had been shattered. Another person tried to get through the door, but was blown back with tentacles now replacing his arms.

"You're alive," Ron whispered under the sounds of screams, spells, and guttural roars, "you're alive! Can you hear me? Do you know me?"

The phoenix wasn't looking at him anymore, eyes unfocused.

The Head Auror roughly swiped at his own eyes, angry at himself. "Sorry, stupid questions." He carefully held the creature to him. His fingers kept returning to the weak pulse. "Don't worry 'bout that. Just know you're safe. I'm here now, I'll keep you okay."

Maybe Ron imagined it, maybe Felix coaxed it. But the wizard swore the phoenix leaned into him, and that lifted his heart more than any luck potion could.

It also didn't hurt to hear the screams of the Sweenies in the backdrop. Screw them.

"Also, hey," Felix flared back in, "if you're Harry Potter? Harry, you owe me for-ev-er. Gotcha? What sort of idiot 'Wizarding Saviour' doesn't have a bodyguard? Mental, that is. You've been driving us all spare! The moment you're feeling better, Hermione and mum are shouting at you until they lose their voices. Then mum'll stuff you with food. Or she'll stuff you with food while shouting, she's good at that. Ginny will probably just cry and then do, like, stuff to you I don't wanna think about."

"So you're gonna get better," Ron said gruffly, "play with your kids and all, and then you're gonna be Head Auror. But you're also gonna be on house arrest, because Potter, you're a disaster! Who goes looking for trouble, huh? So you'll go back to a cushiony desk job, I'll stop being bored out of my mind and—huh. D'ya hear that?"

The phoenix didn't respond. But there was a distinct ringing. Ron was surprised he'd even heard it, before he realised the Death Eaters' shouting outside had died off. He plucked up his mirror, good cheer returning with a distinct feeling of Rightness.

Ron answered it happily. "Who's there?"

"YOU'RE AN IDIOT!" Lisa's clear tone rallied from the other end. "What're you on, racing in here by yourself?"

"Felix felicis!"

"WHAT?" Lisa screamed.

"What am I on? Luck potion! I feel fantastic."

There was a pause. "Ron, are you hurt?"

"Nope. 'm good. I found a phoenix though, so that's cool."

There was a very heavy pause. "RON," she emphasised, "have you rigged up this door with explosions?"

"Yup! And other stuff."

"GET THE HELL OUT OF THERE!"

"Right-o." Ron returned to the phoenix, cradling him and awkwardly clutching the two-way mirror. "Hey buddy, you awake? We're gonna meet some of my friends. Don't freak, they're chill. Well, not Lisa. She'll scream your ears off."

"I WON'T SCREAM HIS EARS OFF!"

"Course you won't." Ron stood, one hand under the tiny head (with the tiny beak, tiny hooded eyes, and tiny feathers of an animal that just might make everything okay). "OH! Lisa, any injuries?"

"We're fine. Get the hell out WITHOUT BLOWING YOURSELF UP!"

"Got Lestrange?"

"WEASLEY!"

"I mean, technically, I'm your boss."

"Not when you're high. Get away from the explosives!"

Ron had come down from Felix Felicis before. Back in his sixth year at Hogwarts, when Death Eaters had first overrun the school. Back then, his joy at finding himself and his friends okay had been shattered by the knowledge of Albus Dumbledore's death. And of Harry's stricken expression as their wands lit up the grounds.

This time around, Ron blinked back into sanity to a more unusual sight.

"Uhh," Ron looked around, brow crunching. He was in a sterile white room, which could only be at the Ministry or hospital. Hermione was seated nearby, eyes red and holding a blanket. Or, holding something.

"What's Hugo doing here?" Ron rubbed his eyes, memories bubbling up. The night sky shone through a window. He sat up from the bed—why was he on a bed? "Or did we get another baby."

Hermione gave a hysteric laugh. Ron blinked at her, concern rising.

"Hermione?"

"I'm glad the potion's worn off," she hiccuped, collecting herself. She adjusted her hold on the blanket-wrapped maybe-baby. "You're amazing, and don't you ever, ever do something like that again. How are you feeling, love?"

Potion? "Potion?"

"Felix felicis." Hermione smiled at him sadly. "Give it a minute, the memories will come back. The important things? You're okay, we didn't sustain casualties, many of the Sweenies were captured, and you found him."

Ron's thoughts ground to a halt. "Wait. What?"

"I'm not holding a baby."

He gaped at her. Though, the confusion was crunching into sounds and shapes in his head. The dead dragon, creatures howling, Rodolphus Lestrange being led away in chains… Ron jumped up from the bed, launching himself at his wife. "You aren't holding a baby!"

Hermione tilted the blanket-wrapped thing towards him, so he could see a small phoenix head poking out. "He's fast asleep," she said quietly. "The Sweenies kept records, we're looking through them to see if he was drugged. Though, Ron, did you examine the phoenix properly?"

A grin was unfurling. "The Sweenies are through! We have a phoenix!"

"We do," she hesitated. "Did you look at the phoenix's eyes? His forehead?"

"Course not."

"You ought to." Hermione gently tilted the phoenix's head to Ron. "Honestly, I don't know if I'm seeing things. I'm not letting anyone else look, not yet."

Ron's gaze locked on the bird, curled up and helpless. The creature looked far more real now, in the light, away from Felix felicis. Though he'd seen too many of the decapitated heads, this one was different. It was the same head in terms of its proportions and features, but the colours were far more vibrant in life than they had been in death. The phoenix looked young, innocent. Gently prying an eyelid open (his shaking hand steadied by Hermione's), he was met with a green rather than a black centre. The eye was glossy—likely from potions, considering the phoenix remained in an unnatural slumber—but the shade was unmistakeable. Unmistakeable and impossibly familiar. Bottle green.

Ron swallowed, struggling to grasp the situation. Closing the eyelid, the wizard's faltering gaze drifted further up the unconscious head. Like the eye shade, death had darkened the bird's feathers to a dull hue. But this alive phoenix, as sickly as it was, shone like a shimmering ember. The vibrant colours made the stark shade differences shine through. Crimson, orange, yellow…

Staring at the phoenix, Ron couldn't keep back a sob. Because, while the creature was mostly a rosy crimson, a line of sunset orange feathers left a jagged scar down his forehead.

"I'm not alright." Hermione said quietly. "Not yet. Because god, can you believe this? It can't really be him."

"It's Harry," Ron had meant to say this softly, reassuringly. But after the past day he didn't have the strength. "The same shade of green eyes and a 'scar' of feathers on his head? You know it's him."

Hermione couldn't say a word. He noticed how pale her expression was.

"We're in Mungo's. The whole wing's on lock down," she said like she wanted something to occupy the stifling air. "Only him and the other survivors. There's more guards than I ordered, which was plenty to begin with. Seems just about everyone volunteered."

"I imagine," Ron swallowed, "it's the first time a graveyard shift's been fought over…"

"He's alive," Hermione's voice thudded, stilling her husband to silence. Her shaking hands moved up to cover her mouth. The phoenix rested on her lap. It was as though the shock had overcome her, bursting out in a frenzy. "Oh god, oh god. It's Harry. It's, it's really him! It's him!"

"Hermione?" Ron said more gently. Her horror hadn't decreased. She stared down at the sleeping phoenix.

"He's been tortured. For a year he's," she sobbed, struggling to get out the words, "torture, Ron! Those, those heads? The hearts? He, he…oh Merlin. Oh god!"

"It's not that bad. Love, listen to me!" He caught her hands in his, leaning against her legs and the phoenix. "We'll figure this out. Harry's sleeping, right? Seems he was drugged. Maybe the Sweenies kept him and the others like this. My guess is they didn't want a horde of dragons rebelling."

Hermione's eyes widened even further, but from hope rather than terror. "You think he was kept asleep?"

"Maybe." Ron grasped onto anything. "I think that, as insane as they were, Lestrange and his lot didn't want to deal with a furious 'Wizarding Saviour'. Who, you know, happened to be a pissed off phoenix."

She threw another look at the slumbering phoenix, not completely swayed. "So the pain?"

"He might not have felt much of it," Ron said, trying to convince himself as much as his wife. He kept hold of the truth, of the phoenix. Not of how they would tell their family. Not of the uproar the dawn would bring to the Wizarding World.

Though, the daybreak would also bring hope. That was something.

'"Things we lose have a way of coming back to us in the end, if not always in the way we expect."'

—Luna Lovegood, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

A/N: Those familiar with my stories know of my fondness for fanfic guilty pleasures. Time travel? Dumbledore bashing? Characters reading the HP books? There's nothing I enjoy more than twisting mad tropes into odd plots. So it should be little surprise that this story is based off of the awfully addictive phoenixanimagus!Harry trope. I loved the basic concept of these fics, but was tired of tales that had Harry easily become a phoenix where suddenly, BOOM! Super Harry, no explanation needed. Pfft, 'creature inheritance' and 'multi-animagus'. Where's the angst?

I wanted to write about how/why this transformation could occur, the horrific drawbacks to it, the impact on Harry and his family…as well as the phoenix coolness stuff. Though the 'coolness factor' is still aways to come. Harry's alive, but he's not out of the fire yet. Hah, fire! See what I did there?

By the by, I'm not making up anything about Scottish geology or its legends. If you have a chance to visit the Glen Coe mountains, I absolutely recommend it: it's beyond stunning. Though very haunting. Luckily for my purposes, it also happens to be out in the middle of nowhere. Maybe that's why it's known for massacres and mythological creatures?