A/N: Don't worry, the fic will be finished before I leave. Deactivate panic buttons! And, ah, cheers Locke21… glad I've stopped 'being kinda annoying' *grin* … hey, you're the one who reads it. Anyhoo, it's all happening now, and thank you for reviews, they're the Sting in my Police. Read on. ~Look at David~ Shez

~

Three weeks went by – not fast, not slow, they just went by. Hermione studied like a crazy woman, and acted like she wasn't scared when Ron was watching. She wasn't sleeping well, and he knew nothing he said was going to fix that, so he just let her do her thing (throwing in a few frustrated comments now and then).

Ron could barely think about N.E.W.T.s. He liked to tell himself that he wasn't doing them, and sit back while everybody else worried. He knew it was idiotic, and every few days or so he'd have a burst of panic, and settle down for an hour with his books … but pretty soon his mind would drift, and latch onto other things – how ludicrous it all seemed, in the face of the Dark Lord's return. How many people he could lose. How hopeless it was to pit a 17-year-old kid against Voldemort.

Then he'd do his best not to think about that, and he'd have to go and play some quidditch or chess or something.

He felt very unlike his usual self. He hated fretting.

On the other hand, the sex was good. It wasn't like it was every night or anything, but that almost made it better, the anticipation of it. However, it was getting a bit tricky to avoid being seen. Thank Merlin she was Head Girl and had her own rooms, or he didn't know what they would have done. How Harry and Ginny managed it, he had no idea. Most nights, he didn't stay with her. He left early in the morning instead, to get back to his dorm, so that she wouldn't be in trouble if anyone came in.

Every time, he attempted not to wake her, and every time he failed and had to say goodnight. It made him feel like scum, slipping away after they slept together, but he didn't want to risk their being caught, especially so close to graduation.

So the three weeks passed, as weeks are wont to do, and it wasn't until their end that Ron was spotted out of bed for the first time – by McGonagall.

He'd just come down the Head Boy/Girl stairway, a bit jumpy because he'd heard noises from Malfoy's room. He hated knowing that Malfoy was in there when he and Hermione were together, and was dwelling vaguely on this when he stepped out into the corridor. He was so distracted, in fact, that he didn't notice McGonagall coming around the corner.

She marched directly up to him, and it was the click-clack of her shoes on the stone that got his attention. He looked up – and nearly wet himself when he saw her, with that frightening expression on her face.

Ron didn't move, and she quickly reached him.

"What are you doing out of bed, Mr Weasley?" she said sharply.

He opened his mouth, and then closed it again. "Er," he managed. That was all.

"I asked, what were you doing out of bed?" she repeated, and now he found voice.

"I was … going to the loo," he said.

Oh God, he thought despairingly, that's the stupidest thing I've said to date.

She cocked an eyebrow at him and crossed her arms over her chest.

"You wanted to go to the bathroom?"

"Yes. I – yes."

"What's wrong with the facilities in your dorm?"

"I – don't like those ones," he said faintly, amazed that he could meet her eye. It was probably because he was half-hypnotised with guilt. "They're – er, not as nice – as –"

"As which?" she said suspiciously, and he sighed and gave up.

"Sorry," he said simply. "I won't do it again."

Her gaze travelled from him to the staircase he'd just descended, and she clicked. There was an agonisingly long silence, and then he risked a glance at her face. Now she wasn't meeting his eye. She was staring at a point somewhere beyond his shoulder.

"Ronald Weasley," she said eventually, very stiffly. "I want to know nothing further about this, and am going to continue on to bed. Do not let me see you walking the school halls again."

"Er – of course not, Professor. I mean – thank you."

"Don't thank me," she said. "You will serve detention with me tomorrow afternoon."

"Alright. Oh, I have quidditch practice."

She paused, and then nodded once. "The next afternoon, then. Now, off to bed, please."

"Yes, Professor. Thank– ah, sorry."

He scuttled off in the direction of the Gryffindor rooms, but had to stop when she called out to him.

"Ronald?"

"Yes?"

She spoke as she walked away . "Next time, use your own bathroom, and leave Ms Granger to hers."

This shocked him so much that he had to take a few deep breaths before continuing on.

~

In the common room, he had another shock. Lying on the couch with a hat pulled over his eyes was his brother Fred.

"Oh, fuck," Ron said wildly, and Fred sat up.

"Where?" He saw Ron. "Oh, it's you."

"It's me? It's me? That's all you can say? What the hell are you doing here?"

"Settle petal," said another voice. George was sitting in one of the armchairs, facing away from the doorway, and he popped his head up to speak to Ron. "What's got you so cranky?"

"Nothing. Nothing. I – do you want something?"

"What a sweet reception," Fred remarked. "I do love visiting family."

"Fred, seriously," Ron said.

Neither of the twins replied. They were both frowning at him in an eerily identical fashion. Ron shifted uncomfortably, and felt his ears burning. Then Fred's eyes widened, and he laughed.

"You've been shagging!" he said delightedly.

"No I haven't," Ron said, too quickly, and George grinned.

"Methinks the little man doth protest too much. You've been dipping your nib in the Gryffindor ink, have you?"

"Does wonders for your complexion," added Fred.

Ron threw himself down into the armchair opposite George. "Shut up," he muttered and closed his eyes. "I want to go to bed."

"We know," George said. "We just pointed that out."

"Oh, for Merlin's sake," he snapped. "Yes, OK?"

"With Hermione?" asked Fred, and Ron nodded.

"Yes, Hermione. And that's all I'm saying. Will you leave it?"

"Certainly not," Fred said indignantly. "What do you take us for, rank amateurs? Expect daily ribbings just as soon as you get home, of an irritating and innovative fashion."

"We'll leave it for now, though," George said. "We've bigger fish to fry."

"Like what?"

"We thought we'd bring you the general news," he continued. "You and Harry and the others, that is. We know what it's like to be left out of the loop."

"Horrible," Fred interjected. "You have to create, oh I don't know, million-Galleon-making inventions like Extendable Ears to combat the frustration."

Ron rolled his eyes. "What on earth are you two on about?"

"The Order," Fred said impatiently. "Aren't you listening?"

"You two are with the Order?"

"Yes. Well, kind of. We supply them with – various things." He looked distinctly shifty, and George pointedly swung them back onto topic.

"We know a bit, both officially and unofficially, and we're just passing it on. As long as you solemnly swear not to spread it about –"

"Which we know you won't."

"But swear anyway."

Ron sighed and put his hand on his heart, but George cut him off before he spoke.

"That'll do. Now we've heard all about Hagrid coming back, and the stuff with the giants, and it got us thinking. So we contacted a couple of people, and they came back to us with all kinds of weird stories. Death Eaters have been showing up here and there, and aren't afraid to flash their marks."

"He means show their marks," Fred whispered. "Not, you know, flash."

"Thank you, twin," George said dryly. "Anyway, they've been flitting about the place, quite openly. A few even came into Knockturn Alley. There are weapons missing from the Ministry. Dad's hardly ever home. There've been odd riots in some spots – in a little town in Surrey, two wizards were killed by unidentified assailants."

"The dark mark was burnt into the town hall's front door," Fred added, and George looked briefly at him, before turning back to Ron.

"In other words, things are a bit unsettled. Something's on its way – the war, I guess."

"The end of the war," Fred suggested. "The members of the Order are having regular meetings, but they can't form any plan of attack, because there isn't a specific target to direct an attack at. They can only react to whatever's thrown at them."

"It's a mess," George concluded frankly. "But we thought you should know. Harry too."
Ron nodded, and realised he'd been nodding for some time. Well, they'd guessed as much (and assumed that the little information reaching them at school, mostly via the Daily Prophet, was watered down), but it still wasn't pleasant to hear their suspicions confirmed. Especially now, with what they knew of the Harry-Voldemort Prophecy, Ron had really been hoping that everyone was wrong somehow, and Voldemort wasn't ever coming back.

"Well – OK," Ron said heavily. "Thanks."

"No problem," said Fred. "Always like to be the bearers of bad news."

"Jeez, Fred," Ron returned, feeling his anger rise. "Do you have to turn everything into a bloody joke?"

Fred looked at him for a moment, and then shrugged. "It all comes back to that old saying, doesn't it? If you didn't laugh, you'd cry. And I don't like crying."

"Makes his eyes all puffy," George added, in an undertone.

Ron glanced from one to the other. Their faces were bland, and he felt a bit silly. He knew there was no way to change them – and, in the end, he wouldn't really want to anyway.

"OK," he said again. "Sorry."

"You're forgiven," George pronounced, and stood. Fred groaned.

"Do we have to go?" he whined. "I'm sleepy and the couch … so comfortable … like … bed …"

"Up, brother mine," George said briskly, and hauled him to his feet. "We'll Floo ourselves home, Ron, if you don't mind."

"I don't mind."

"Well." The twins paused and there was an awkward silence. "Be good," George said finally, and held out his hand.

Ron realised that this was a just-in-case goodbye, a proper one, and that thought made him feel ill. He took George hand, shook it, and then did the same to Fred. His brothers stepped away – and then stepped back to hug him quickly. When they released him, it seemed they were gone in an instant, and a flash of powder and red hair.

Immediately, he wanted them back again. There was something so comforting about the twins. He didn't know what it was, but it felt like home.  

~

Harry was sitting on his bed with a book in front of him, quietly turning the pages. He started when Ron came in, and shut it.

"You're back," he said, and Ron nodded.

"Yeah."

"I didn't think you'd be in yet."

"McGonagall saw me in the corridor," he said, making a face. "I got out of there as fast as I could."

"Right."

Ron wandered over to Harry's bed and sat down. "What's that?"

"This?" Harry asked, a hand on the cover of the book he'd been reading – except Ron realised now that it wasn't a book. It was an album, a photo album, rather worn about the edges.

"Yeah, that," Ron said. "Is that photographs?"

Harry shrugged and opened it for him. On the first page was a picture of he, Ron and Hermione in first-year. They were waving.

"Cor," Ron said, astounded. "Look how titchy we are."

Harry smiled a bit, and flipped the page. A picture of his parents, with baby Harry. Ron looked at it for several moments, and then looked at his friend.

"Your mum was pretty, wasn't she?" he said, for want of something better. "And your dad looks like you."

Harry glanced at him. "You think so?"

"Course. You could be brothers or something."

Harry went on. A picture of Ron and Hermione, one of Ron and Harry, one of the Weasleys.

"When did you take that?"

"Hagrid took it for us, at the train station one year."

"I'd forgotten."

A picture of Hagrid followed that, and then one taken at the same time that Hermione's photo had been, in sixth year. Harry still had his sad eyes, but Hermione's hand had snaked into Ron's. There was one of Ginny playing quidditch, and then one of Harry with his broom after a win. The other pages were blank.

"That's nice."

"Hagrid gave it to me," Harry said shortly. "In first year."

"Right." He hesitated. He never knew how Harry would react to questions these days. "What got you looking at it?"

"Don't know," Harry replied. "Just felt like it."

Harry closed his album and Ron searched for the right thing to say.

"Harry," he managed finally, "we understand more than you think, OK? So – you can always talk to us."

Harry didn't reply at first, and Ron thought maybe he was ignoring him, but then he nodded. 

"Sure," he said. "I know."

A silence, and then Ron remembered about the twins, and how their news had been for Harry as much as their brother.

"Fred and George were downstairs a minute ago."

Harry looked sidelong at him. "What?"

"Fred and George. They came to the common room to let us know what's going on in the world."

"What's going on in the world?" Harry asked grimly, and Ron told him. He seemed to take the information of Voldemort's uprising fairly well, to Ron's surprise, and they sat in another musing silence for a while. When Harry spoke, he sounded like his old self – utterly determined.

"I want to be prepared," he said. "If I have to fight, I want to be ready."

"You think you'll – have to fight?" Ron asked, not wanting to give away what they knew, and Harry was as cagey as ever.

"I don't know. Just in case." He glanced at Ron. "We should be learning more Defence. The DA – we can up that to once every two days."

"Harry, we've got N.E.W.T.s in a week …"

"I don't care about bloody N.E.W.T.s!" Harry said loudly. "Do you think that really matters?"

"No," Ron said. "I don't. It's just that we can't do everything – we've got quidditch too, remember?"

"Ron," Harry said firmly, "this is important, more important that any of that. I – we have to learn this stuff, OK? I have to learn it."

"OK," Ron agreed. If Harry was set on this, he'd support him.

They went to their separate beds soon after, but Ron didn't sleep. He was glad Harry was past his denial and ready to face Voldemort properly – but the entire concept of 'facing Voldemort' made his head spin, too.

How could Harry – how could any of them – face a full-grown, immensely powerful Dark Wizard? They were teenagers, for Merlin's sake, and the things they knew came from schoolbooks. In what way could they possibly defeat him?

He knew he'd never come up with an answer … but tossed and turned all night nonetheless.