Ron couldn't sleep. He couldn't even sit still. All he could do was pace the tiny living room of his cramped flat, wearing an anxious groove in the carpet. He checked his watch obsessively, timing the seconds, waiting and watching. He hated the feeling of helplessness; yet he was afraid to leave. So he paced.
Finally, mercifully, he heard the lock turn. He paused and looked up, eyes questing for the dark-haired figure he knew was about to walk through the door. They had shared a flat for almost six years, ever since they had finished their studies at the Paracelsus Institute.
Ron didn't speak at first, giving Harry the opportunity to apologize. He didn't, though, so Ron started.
"Where have you been?" His voice was a tense whisper, shaking with repressed emotion.
"Out."
"So I gathered." Ron wrinkled his nose at the stench – a mixture of smoke, cheap perfume, and alcohol. "It's four in the morning, Harry."
Harry looked dumbly at his watch. "So it is," he agreed after a moment.
"Couldn't you have at least called? There must have been a fire, wherever you were."
Harry just looked at him.
"Listen, Ron, I'm tired. Let's go to bed, love." He moved drunkenly towards the taller, red-headed man, trying to sling an arm around his waist, but Ron pulled away, catching Harry's hand. He turned his wrist over carefully, peering intently at the pristine flesh.
"Harry, where'd you get this scar?" Ron's voice was a dangerous whisper.
Harry didn't respond.
"Harry, this isn't funny. Now, you tell me why you've got a scar that looks about the same size as the Dark Mark, or--"
Ron never had a chance to finish his sentence.
***
"Zarya! Zarya, are you there?" Joanne had been pounding on the door for a full five minutes when Sirius sidled up to her. "She's not there," he announced.
"Well, you can certainly be counted on to state the blindingly obvious, if nothing else," she snapped. Sirius looked rather taken aback, and her face fell immediately. "Oh, love, I'm sorry. I'm just so tense... it's the baby. I'm always sick, and stressed, and, just..." Sirius put his arms around her gently, and she collapsed into his embrace, beginning to sob uncontrollably.
They stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, but the had to part reluctantly when footsteps began to echo down the corridor. Joanne heard a faint tinkle of flirtatious laughter, and then a low, masculine voice muttering softly. Joanne only caught a couple of words – "Bailey's" and "ice cream".
Zarya and Seamus rounded the corner, arms wound tightly about each other's waists, and looking very pleased with themselves – and with each other.
"Oh, hello, Annie, darling." Seamus kissed Joanne gallantly on the cheek, ignoring Sirius' death glare. Zarya just laughed, never releasing her hold on Seamus' waist.
Before Sirius could take any action, though, Colleen burst in, breathing raggedly. "Harry too," was all she managed to gasp out.
"Colleen. Slow down, doll." Zarya's voice was soothing, yet concerned. "What are you talking about? What's happened to Harry?"
"He's not Harry. Draco – Seamus – Moody – Harry. None of them are real."
"You mean... Harry's being impersonated now? Just like Seamus?" Sirius sounded puzzled.
"No, no. It's worse than that. Whoever this is that we're following – I don't think any of us know how big this is. It's not about Polyjuice, and it's not about Moody, and it's not about women. The man we're looking for apparently has the power to change form at will. No wand, no magic. He just decides who he wants to be, and he becomes that person." Colleen paused, looking around to make sure the impact of her words sunk in.
"He can be anyone, anywhere, anytime. He could be right here in the room with us. He could be you, Sirius."