Author's Notes: Hey all! Sorry – I know I said that I'd post this chapter sooner, but I got caught up in writing the next few chapters, believe it or not, and didn't get around to proof-reading this one. I had a little trouble with the whole "Ron-explains-it-all" dealie within this chapter, so please excuse the kind of weird tone of that part. Yeah.

Also, I realized that I screwed up something a couple of chapters back, and just had to change, like, two sentences ever-so-slightly in Chapter 8. It's not a big deal, so unless you get confused, then don't bother going back.

And then, along came the chapter…

***

"Now you're sure you're all right?"

Hermione rolled her eyes at him as she dumped an armful of presents from the Weasley's on Ron's bed. They'd just returned by Floo to Hogwarts, and Ron had wasted no time in quizzing Hermione about the incident with the twins.

"For the thousandth time, Ron, yes!" Hermione exclaimed, exasperated. "It just bothered me for a moment, and now I'm fine."

"You're sure you're fine, though?" Ron asked skeptically. "You're not…feeling sick, or anything, are you?"

Hermione put her hands on her hips. "Ron, I promised not to bother you about…whatever, but if you keep asking me strange questions, I'm going to be forced to ask you a couple of my own."

Ron licked his chapped lips and decided to drop it. "All right, all right." He chanced another look at her, and changed his mind. He had to know if what Rowan said was true. "But…you're sleeping well and everything, right?" he asked, carefully watching her reaction. He could have sworn that she looked up a bit sharply, surprise on her face, but the look was gone as quickly as it had come.

"Yes," Hermione replied, shaking her head. Ron sighed; he should have known that Hermione would never admit she had anything that could remotely resemble a vision. Now she was tapping her foot impatiently and smiling. "Now, do you want your present from Harry and I, or not?"

Presents? They had totally slipped Ron's mind. Hermione's was hidden around in his room somewhere, unwrapped and totally forgotten. Feeling guilty, Ron sat next to her on the bed. "You've been speaking to Harry?" he asked in interest.

"If you could call it that," Hermione replied, shrugging. "We sent a few owls back and forth, trying to decide what to get you," she smiled and sped up, talking excitedly, "and then he found the most perfect thing, and well…close your eyes," she commanded eagerly.

Ron fought the urge to ask her more about Harry, and resignedly closed his eyes. A moment and a lot of crinkling of wrapping paper later, Hermione called for him to open his eyes. Ron obeyed.

Totally forgetting everything for a moment, Ron stared at the long, brightly wrapped package in his lap. He remembered Harry getting one just like it in shape and size, back in third year…

Hermione watched him gleefully as he tore off the wrapping paper and stared at the beautiful creation in his lap. Its handle was expertly polished, the design sleek, the bristles perfectly trimmed. Ron ran his fingers over the emerald green, engraved letters in the handle: Firebolt TX.

"Wow," Ron breathed, hardly daring to believe that it was his. "This is…this is…wow."

"It's supposed to be a very good broom, right?" Hermione asked, biting her lip. "I mean, I read the instruction manual, and it says it has all these fancy features that the other Firebolts don't – for example, if you're dropping in altitude too fast it will automatically switch to auto-pilot, and if you lose control it will – "

Ron kissed her before she could list the other features of the Firebolt TX in alphabetical order. She broke away and breathlessly continued talking. "And Harry told me to tell you that he's sorry he couldn't come today. And that the broom's not cursed." She smiled wryly. "So if I try to take it to Professor McGonagall, let him know so that he can kill me."

Ron laughed. "I'll be sure to do that," he grinned. Suddenly embarrassed, he carefully placed the Firebolt TX in Hermione's hands and walked over to his dresser drawer, rummaging around for her present. "Er…it's in here somewhere," he muttered, feeling his ears turn red. "Ah…found it." He emerged with a white envelope, painfully aware of how stupid his gift was going to look next to hers. Hermione took the envelope eagerly, however. Her eyes lit up as she opened it.

"A certificate for an autographed version of Hogwarts: A History; Second Edition!" she exclaimed, and then burst into laughter. "You're never going to let me live that down, are you?"

"Nah," Ron said, still embarrassed. "Look, I know it's stupid, but…"

"Nonsense! It hasn't even been released yet, you know, and when it does it's just going to fly off the shelves…I'll be really lucky to have one of these," Hermione insisted, holding up the certificate.

Ron highly doubted that Hogwarts: A History; Second Edition would fly off the shelves, but he smiled anyway and nodded. Hermione leaped off his bed, threw her arms around his neck, and kissed him. Her lips were warm against his, and her face felt flushed. Ron felt his hands start to creep around her waist as the kiss slowly became deeper. His hands became tangled in her hair. Her fingers drew circles in that sensitive place on the back of his neck, where his hairline ended. It sent shivers down Ron's spine. He started to draw her closer to him…

No, Ron thought firmly as he abruptly broke away. Hermione needed rest if she was going to remain healthy.

"Er…I'm sort of tired," he said with a fake smile.

"Oh," Hermione looked disappointed and a bit embarrassed as she quickly removed her arms from his neck. "Well…I'll see you tomorrow morning, then."

"Yeah," Ron agreed awkwardly, staring at the floor.

"Happy Christmas, then," Hermione said, pressing her lips to his cheek. She collected her gift certificate on the way to the door, and gave him a quick, embarrassed smile one more time as she paused in the doorway. Ron watched her quietly close the door behind her, then fell backwards onto his bed and stared at the ceiling.

***

Ron Weasley bolted upright in bed, clenching his sheets so hard it hurt. His heart was pounding painfully; sweat was dripping down his forehead, into his eyes. His breathing was irregular and forced, and his head was spinning. He blinked and blindly looked around in the darkness, trying to remember where he was.

Hogwarts. He was safe in his bed at Hogwarts. Breathing a sigh of relief, he released his bed sheets and wiped the perspiration from his forehead. The memories of whatever nightmare he'd just had were already fading, slipping away from him. He frantically tried to grasp at whatever snatches of the nightmare he could. But the fleeting images were brief and made little sense. All Ron knew was that the nightmare had scared him senseless. He finally gave up, and the dream totally escaped him. His heartbeat began to return to normal, and he slowly lay back down, trying to close his eyes again.

That was when he realized he wasn't alone in his bedroom.

Ron went stiff. The other person's breathing was slow and shallow, but the soft footsteps were definitely there, approaching his bed. Ron lay very still, hoping to surprise the intruder. He could feel the tiny hairs rising on his arms and on the back of his neck. He silently curled his fingers around his wand, which he always kept under his pillow. It was an old habit.

"Ron?"

He relaxed. It was just Hermione; but her voice sounded shrill and frightened. How long ago had it been since he'd sent her to bed? Ron quickly sat up and muttered, "Lumos."

He watched her crawl into bed next to him like a scared little child. Her hair was damp and dishevelled, and her eyes were wide and bloodshot. Ron had never seen Hermione's face that pale before; she looked like a ghost in the dull light of his wand. Before he could say anything, she had reached out her cold hand and clutched his, resting her head on his shoulder as they sat side-by-side in the four-poster bed.

"You know how you asked me if I was sleeping well?" Hermione whispered.

"Yeah?" Ron said in concern, wrapping his arms around her.

"I'm not."

***

It was, of course, too cold to go for a walk on the grounds, but the castle was so big that it provided almost as much walking space as the grounds did. Ron had decided that the best thing to do, seeing as neither he nor Hermione had a chance in hell of getting back to sleep, was to go for a walk. And have a little chat while they did so.

"I've always…sort of, you know…had trouble with nightmares and such," Hermione said quietly, her arm linked with Ron's as they walked around the darkened castle. It was quite chilly in the halls, but both of them had put on heavy cloaks over top of their pajamas. "You know, after graduation, and…"

"I know," Ron responded. It had been tough to get Hermione talking; she'd been weak and frightened from a nightmare as well when she'd come into his room, but now out in the halls with him she seemed to have become stubborn and practical once again. She'd apologized for being silly and had nearly gone back to bed. But Ron hadn't let her.

"Go on," he said gently, trying to work the information out of her.

Hermione took a deep breath. "It doesn't mean anything," she warned him. "It's just my imagination playing tricks on me, I hope you know."

"All right." He would agree for now, and possibly tell her about what Rowan said later.

"It's different every time," she explained slowly. "I'm in this room…sometimes you're there too, sometimes you're not…and it's disgusting and full of cobwebs and things. I…or we…look around…" Hermione paused and furrowed her eyebrows, as if she didn't understand this part of her dream. "And then we hear this voice…oh wow, this sounds so incredibly silly out loud," she said, laughing nervously.

Ron tried to remain patient. "What? What does the voice say, Hermione?"

"It's so stupid. It doesn't even make any sense," Hermione insisted, rolling her eyes.

"Hermione," Ron said firmly.

Hermione sighed. "Fine. It says, 'Give me the scrolls.'"

Ron froze, and stopped walking.

"Whatever that's supposed to mean," Hermione continued, shaking her head. "It's probably just some random nonsense, but…it's so eerie, Ron, it scares the daylights out of me," she finished in a rush. She looked a bit relieved to have gotten this out, and then turned her attention back to Ron again. "Oh my goodness, Ron, you're as white as a ghost!" she exclaimed, putting a hand to his clammy cheek.

Ron felt a mixture of disbelief and vague disappointment. He couldn't believe that what Rowan had said was true; Hermione really was having some sort of psychic visions in her nightmares. How else would she have known about the scrolls? Yet he was slightly disappointed as well – he had thought that perhaps Hermione's dreams would mean something more, would give him the answers that he craved. But the dream made no sense.

"Is that all?" Ron asked.

"Yes…" Hermione said slowly, staring at him. "Ron, what is it? What's wrong?"

Ron glanced around. They were definitely alone. His sharp ears and eyes picked up nothing but a few suits of armour around them. He had no idea what possessed him at that moment, but he decided, then and there, to tell her.

"Hermione," he said hoarsely. "Have you ever heard of the Scrolls of Scuro?"

She wrinkled her forehead. "I don't believe so…why?" She caught the grave look on his face, and fell silent, trying not to look to eager to finally find out Ron's secret.

Ron took a deep breath. "I only know what they've told me, and what I've found out by myself since then," he explained, "So if it sounds strange or doesn't make sense, I can't help that."

Hermione nodded.

Ron closed his eyes briefly, and then opened them to look at her white face. "You've heard…about this influenza going around, right?"

Hermione looked at him as if he was mad; of course she did, they'd already discussed the topic many times. But Ron didn't know any other way to begin. She nodded and waited.

"I know what the Muggle scientists and doctors say," Ron said in a low voice, "that it's some sort of virus or something. And they're making up all these rules about it being contagious and precautions everyone should take…but there's nothing they can do, because no matter how careful they are, they're all susceptible to the sickness. They're totally…helpless."

There was a reason Hermione had been called one of the brightest witches Hogwarts had ever seen. She had caught on before Ron had even finished, and her eyes had widened. "It's magic," she said in disbelief. "But…how is that possible?"

Ron took a deep breath; the most difficult part to get out was over with, and Hermione had obviously immediately assumed the danger to her parents and other Muggles. But she still didn't know that she, too, was at risk. Ron tried to remember everything he'd been told and all the careful research he'd done in the past few weeks to get himself up to speed, and began to speak, Hermione listening intently.

"In medieval times…a little bit after Merlin's time, during the age of the Disappearance…there was a sorcerer by the name of Ferrentino Scuro. This guy was one of the ones that was opposed to the Disappearance - wizard-kind going into hiding from the Muggles because they were afraid of the future consequences if mankind continued to know of the existence of magic and wizards – "

"I know about the Disappearance, Ron," Hermione said, not impatiently or bossily, but gently.

Ron felt like an idiot. Hermione was the smartest person he knew, and the Disappearance was only one of the most significant events in wizard-kind's history; of course she knew about it. In fact, they had probably studied it in detail in History of Magic at some point or another in seventh year. Leave it to Hermione to keep up with her studies, even in that turbulent year. Ron couldn't remember anything academic from their last year at Hogwarts. Had he even gone to class?

"Sorry," Ron apologized sheepishly, clearing his throat. "Anyway, Scuro believed that we were the more powerful race, and shouldn't be the ones hiding from them. Now of course, Scuro was completely mad…mad, but brilliant. In a bad way. He used writings from ancient times and very advanced Dark concepts to create this powerful magic…really Dark stuff…and poured it all into these five different scrolls, which were written in some weird cult language that Scuro and his followers created. We're still not sure if it's the words themselves that, when spoken, cause the damage, or if it's the actual scrolls – the parchment - that contain the power, but…that's beside the point. This Scuro bloke was possibly the greatest magical genius of his time, even if he used that genius to do something horrible. He's still got the experts trying to figure out what the heck he did with those scrolls."

Ron had said all of this very fast, but didn't dare to slow down or stop. He realized he probably sounded extremely foolish, but Hermione seemed to be catching on; she was used to his rapid ramblings and explanations by now.

"Anyway, the purpose of the scrolls was to destroy the Muggles, of course, so that the wizards could 'rule once more' or some nonsense like that. Each scroll had a different purpose. Scholars later named them for each function – the scrolls of Fear, Hate, Discord, Malady…" Ron trailed off and cleared his throat again, "and Death."

Hermione remained silent and allowed him to continue. Ron was thankful for it; he wouldn't have been able to keep going if she had interrupted him now.

"They were designed to work together to ruin Muggle society," Ron explained in a shaky voice, "all five scrolls had to be read – there's a whole ritual, apparently – for all of them to really work. If only one scroll is read, its purpose is still fulfilled, but the effects eventually wear off. Thankfully, Scuro was killed by the wizards in authority at that time, and the scrolls were never used back then. I suppose officials tried to destroy them, of course, but apparently the scrolls can't be destroyed.

"Instead, they were hidden all over the world in the hopes that all five would never be found, which was absolute ignorance on some people's parts, but that's beside the point. The scrolls eventually faded into legend and myths, and then disappeared from the history books altogether, probably wiped out by officials who knew about them out of fear that someone would try to find them."

Ron knew he sounded like he was quoting a textbook, and almost smiled wryly. This was usually Hermione's role. Ron had always thought that there were two people in the world who knew everything – Dumbledore, and Hermione. Whenever he and Harry had been stuck back in the day, Hermione would never fail to access the wealth of knowledge stored in her brain and either figure it out or explain it all. For once, he was the one with the knowledge. It was sort of queer to know something Hermione didn't.

"But there was this group, followers of Scuro's," Ron continued. "They passed on the story of the scrolls and the language they were written in from generation to generation, that type of thing, always searching for them. They named themselves the Dark Hand after some line in early legends about the scrolls. There were some close calls throughout history…whenever there were big Muggle conflicts, the scrolls seemed to always be linked somehow."

"I thought you said they were hidden?" Hermione asked, finally working up the nerve to speak.

"They were," Ron replied grimly. "It's like…they wanted to be found." Hermione lapsed back into silence. Ron took another deep breath. He was almost finished.

"The Dark Hand seemed to disappear, too, for awhile," he continued. "Until…the First Great War. What you call World War I. That was the biggest scare for the Ministries of Magic and the World Council…see, these guys found four of the scrolls. Four, not five. So even though the world was thrown into war, the full effect of the scrolls wasn't felt by the Muggles, because all five weren't used."

"Fear and Hate…" Hermione murmured to herself, "…had to be the Allies and the Axis pitted against each other like that. Death…that was all of the people that died in battle and because of the war, of course. And Malady…" Her eyes lit up as she made the connection. "The Spanish Flu…"

"Discord wasn't found or used, believe it or not," Ron explained softly. "Or else everything would have fallen apart…all of Muggle society. Gone. The Allies…that's the right name, isn't it? They would have never won."

"So they've found the Scroll of Malady again. And…everyone's at risk?"

"Wizards aren't affected by the magic," Ron said, shaking his head. "That was Scuro's whole plan…to take down the Muggles"

"So just the Muggles."

Ron looked away. "And the Muggle-borns." He didn't look back at her, but he felt her grip his arm.

"It's…it's like the Chamber of Secrets all over again…just on a much larger scale," Hermione breathed. Instead of the fear Ron had expected to hear in her voice, there was anger there instead. Still, it didn't seem as though she had realized the risk to herself; more likely, Hermione was worrying about the students, her parents, her Muggle friends…she had always thought herself invincible. "But…just Malady has been used, then, just the one scroll?"

"Yes. The others are supposedly safe," Ron confirmed. "About a year ago, the Wizard World Council – with staunch support from our Ministry - decided that they were better in the safekeeping of the government rather than spread out across the globe. Of course by then, no one had any idea where they had been hidden because all records had been destroyed, just to be safe. So authorities were sent looking for them all over the place. Unfortunately, we could only find the four."

"That's why Harry had to leave suddenly last year?" Hermione asked as the memory dawned on her.

"Yes. And as the leading world power, the British Ministry was given responsibility for those four scrolls. Lucky us. We were still searching for the Scroll of Malady when…this happened. Obviously it fell into the wrong hands."

"But…since it's only one, it will wear off eventually, right?" Hermione demanded anxiously. "And nothing more will happen…I mean, people will get sick, but they won't – "

"Eventually it will wear off," Ron confirmed, wanting to stop her before she finished her sentence. "But how soon that will be, no one knows. And yes, people will only get sick. But still, it's a horrible sickness. Last time they found a cure, the – "

" – vaccine," Hermione finished. "The Vaccinus potion. I've read about that, but nothing about these scrolls."

"Like I said, they've been wiped out from the history books. They didn't want anyone to know about them. I've been reading up about them from old Ministry documents and sources that I still have…I didn't exactly give them back everything when I retired last year," Ron said wryly.

"Obviously someone does know about them, though…what happened after World War I?"

"The people responsible were put away," Ron told her. "In Azkaban. They didn't catch them all, but the ones they did were British, hence our Ministry's big involvement in this whole affair. Someone had found out about the scrolls, and the Dark Hand, and resurrected the group."

"And now…?"

"We suspect the Dark Hand's been brought back again," Ron said, folding his arms. "And I wonder who it could be?" he said sarcastically. Being sarcastic made things not seem so serious, so dire.

"Stark," Hermione said automatically.

"Bingo."

"You really think – "

"I know."

"Well? Why doesn't the Ministry do anything about it, then?"

"No proof, of course."

Hermione started fidgeting, tapping her foot as she thought. Ron could practically see the wheels spinning as she processed it all. "So that's why you went away, isn't it?" she said. "It was about this."

"Sort of," Ron said slowly. "It was Harry…he went looking for the Scroll of Malady before we realized the Dark Hand had it…he was in trouble, and he needed my help."

"Harry?" Hermione asked, her voice shrill. "What happened?"

"I guess Harry and Drago got a tip that Malady was somewhere in Egypt. Harry sort of got into some trouble there."

"What kind of trouble?" Hermione demanded. "You didn't do anything dangerous, did you? Is Harry all right?"

"The kind of trouble that gets him captured by evil treasure hunters," Ron said dryly. "And yes, I suppose it was dangerous, and yes, Harry's fine now."

Hermione was quiet for a moment, again letting it all sink in. "So…my dream…"

"I'm not sure what that's about, Hermione," Ron began uneasily. "You'll have to talk to Row about that. I have a feeling it's important, but it just doesn't make any - "

"Row?" Hermione interrupted, puzzled. "Rowan Richardson? What – "

Ron suddenly held up his hand, on every alert. There was a prickling sensation on the back of his neck, a feeling that they were not alone. Scarcely breathing, he slowly put his finger to his lips, signalling Hermione to be quiet. She quickly obeyed, looking apprehensive. Ron tipped his arm, feeling his wand silently slide out from inside his sleeve into his hand, and slowly turned, listening for the noise that he'd heard a moment ago. He was suddenly very glad that he had asked Hermione to repair his old wand, which had not been the same since he had stepped on it in Egypt.

Ron heard a scuffling sound in the corner.

"Petrificus Totalus!" Ron hollered immediately. He saw the bright flash of light from his wand briefly light up a figure hiding in the shadows, and then watched as the person went very rigid and fell over, stiff as a board. Hermione let out her breath and also drew her wand, walking purposefully over to the rigid figure.

"Hermione! Oi, get back here!" Ron called after her sharply, walking quickly to catch up. "Don't! I might have missed and he might be faking. Or he might be – "

"Arden Roberts," Hermione said pointedly, quickly performing the counter curse and helping the young man up.

"Oh," said Ron in surprise. He abruptly narrowed his eyes and, gently pushing Hermione aside, jabbed his finger into Arden's chest. "And what exactly are you doing up, lurking around in the middle of the night?"

"I just…just went to get a snack, all right?" Arden said, looking a bit shaken up. "Since when does a bloke go around Petrifying everyone he sees? R-really!"

Ron took one look at Arden's terrified face and inwardly groaned. "How much did you hear, Roberts?" he asked quietly.

Arden stared at the ground. "Most of it," he muttered.

Ron rubbed his forehead, suddenly feeling very tired. It was bad enough that he'd just blurted out everything to Hermione when he was sworn to secrecy. Rowan also knew, through her visions…and now Arden Roberts knew about everything, too. Harry was going to kill him.

"Look, I won't breath a word, honest," Arden said fervently. "It's just…oh Christ, am I going to get sick too? And my parents and my sisters?" He looked pale.

"It's nothing to worry about," Ron assured him. "It'll eventually wear off, so long as – "

To his surprise, the easy-going young man suddenly interrupted him loudly. "That's always the solution for you people, isn't it? It'll eventually wear off, and then we'll brainwash the poor Muggles, and they'll never know the difference, is that it?"

"Arden, calm down…" Hermione tried, putting a hand on his shoulder. He violently shrugged it off.

"How'd you like something horrible happening to you and your family, and no one even gives a goddamn because they can just wipe out your memory?" Arden continued ranting passionately. "How would you feel if your Dad's memory was never the same or your little sister had nightmares for months about floating in the dark? How would you feel, being the only wizard in your family, and finding out exactly what they wiped out?"

Ron stared at him, dumbstruck. Arden was red in the face from bellowing, and Ron didn't have the heart to tell him to quiet down. But something about Arden's rant rung a bell…something was gnawing at the back of his mind…

Hermione made the connection first. "Oh my God, Arden…I never knew…"

Then it clicked. Roberts.

The man at the Quidditch World Cup had been named Roberts; the man whose family had been paraded around in the air by the Death Eaters as part of their sick game. There had been a woman and her children in the air too…two tiny little girls, maybe aged three and five years old, and a brown-haired little boy.

"How old were you then?" Ron asked quietly. He had forgotten how long ago that had been…and that the young Muggle Studies professor was just barely into his twenties. There was a long pause, in which Arden took a few deep breaths, and his shoulders stooped slightly.

"Nine," Arden replied, now looking deflated. "I got my letter for Hogwarts the next year; first wizard in my family. I had no idea about that whole business, though…they modified our memories," he gave them a dark smile. "Wasn't pleasant finding out about it in Recent History of Magic books, a'course."

"I'm sorry, mate," Ron said sincerely, clapping his hand on his shoulder. "But it's going be all right, this scroll thing…you don't need to worry."

Arden gave him another half-hearted smile. "Sure…you Ministry people probably have it under control, right?" He was back to being positive and optimistic, it seemed. He looked like he felt almost sheepish for bursting out like that. "Just…those people bother me. The Muggle-haters. Like the ones that did that to my family at the World Cup. Just…" He clenched his fists, and then let them fall by his side. "Put 'em away, all right, Ron? In Azkaban. Where they can rot."

"I will," Ron promised seriously. "Er…sorry about Petrifying you and all."

Arden shrugged. "It happens. Uh…I really was just getting a snack."

"We believe you, Arden," Hermione said kindly. "Are you going to go back to bed?"

Arden sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I think so. Won't be able to sleep much, mind, with all this in my head…but I'll try. Classes again tomorrow, eh? Well, 'night, you two." He turned to leave, and then looked back at Ron over his shoulder. "Ron…I won't tell a soul," he promised fervently.

"Thanks."

With that, Arden started walking back towards the staff common room, and disappeared around a corner. Hermione and Ron were alone once more. Hermione sighed deeply.

"Guess we should head back to bed too," she said softly. "I don't think I'll be able to sleep either, but…" She suddenly leaned forward and kissed Ron's lips, very softly. "Thank you. For trusting me."

"It wasn't a matter of trust, Hermione," Ron said, shaking his head. "I just didn't want you to get hurt. If anyone finds out that you know anything…"

Hermione smiled. "I can take care of myself, Ron."

"I know you can," Ron replied, squeezing her shoulder. His face suddenly darkened. "And you'd better take care of yourself, you hear me? I don't want you…I don't want you getting – "

"I never get sick," Hermione insisted lightly, still not at all concerned with the danger to herself. "It's too much of an inconvenience. Now, I'm going to bed – tomorrow's going to be a long day after all this midnight gallivanting around the castle. Are you coming?"

Ron nodded. "In a minute. Goodnight."

"Goodnight," Hermione responded, kissing him on the cheek. Soon she, too, had disappeared around the corner, and Ron was left alone, wondering if he had done the right thing. He may have just made the worst mistake of his life. Ron sighed deeply and leaned against the stone wall, crossing his arms. Hermione's puzzling dream still bothered him, but he did feel a lot better – getting all that out in the open with Hermione had taken a great weight off his chest. He felt a sense of freedom, having gotten rid of everything he'd kept bottled up inside himself since this whole thing started. And he wasn't held back from Hermione by lies and deceit anymore. Plus, he could trust Arden…couldn't he?

"Ron."

Ron cursed loudly and whirled around to face the owner of the deep voice, wand in hand. The face he spun around to meet was very familiar, but very unexpected.

"Harry?" Ron exclaimed incredulously, convinced he had dozed off against the wall and was dreaming. "What the hell are – "

"Shh, you want to wake everyone up?" Harry whispered. His face was pale and he looked as if he hadn't had a good night's sleep in days.

"Listen…" the Boy Who Lived said with a sigh, glancing around to make sure they were alone. "We have a problem."

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Haven't had a good 'ol fashioned cliffhanger in awhile, so there you are. Now you can all hate me. ^_^

Okay…it's time to take a break from the silliness to be serious for a moment. Yeah, I know, it's a drag, but I really wanted to say this.

I live in Canada, about a half an hour away from Toronto. If you haven't already heard, there has been an outbreak in Toronto of SARS – Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome. It's a severe form of pneumonia and it's very scary because it's incredibly contagious, and about 4% of people who have SARS will die from it. I know that SARS is already an epidemic in parts of Asia and many other places, and now that it's so close to home and there's all these health precautions in effect at my school, work, doctor's office, the hospital, etc., I felt like I should say something.

I came up with the concept of this story a long time ago. I wrote a lot of these chapters (in my mind) before the SARS outbreak in Canada or anywhere else. Now that there really is an outbreak of a "mysterious illness" just like in this fic, which is an extremely freaky coincidence, the story has become a lot more personal and a lot more serious. I just want everyone to know that any parallels to real life right now that this fic may have are purely coincidental and were not planned and not meant to offend or anything. I'm hoping that through the characters in this fiction that I can maybe write about the worries and feelings of myself and a lot of people I know right now with a real-life sickness on our hands.

Sorry I had to do that whole shpeel, but a lot of the stuff in this chapter and the next has to do with the sickness from the Scroll of Malady, and the coincidentalness was starting to bother me, so I thought I should say something. Also, please if you live in Ontario or anywhere else that you're at risk for SARS, read up on SARS and the symptoms, for your own health and for everyone else's.

Well, that's everything. Thanks. ^_^