Author's Notes: Welcome to crazy-plot-twist-chapter #2! This one's a doozy, I must admit…and if anyone of you saw this coming, then I no longer pride myself as an author. Thank you, thank you, thank you so much for all your wonderful reviews and encouragement…I don't know if I'll be able to finish this before OotP after all…but the chapters after this one are just epilogueish type chapters. You guys'll still read them after OotP…right?

I named this chapter after one of my favourite books as a kid – A Ring of Endless Light, by Madeline L'Engle. It applied quite well to the chapter. Enjoy…she's a doozy.

***

Ron ran his fingers over the panelled wall in front of him, searching for a way out of the room he had unintentionally imprisoned himself and Hermione in. She was convinced that Stark, and the scrolls, were directly beneath them; yet he could not find a way out of the room save for the door they had come in from. The muffled sounds of battle outside the door seemed to have ceased, but Ron was afraid to find out who had captured the victory. He was closely inspecting a large, rich bookcase when a sudden, excruciating pain seized his right leg.

Ron cried out and clutched his leg. Hermione rushed over, despite the fact that she could barely stand, and lightly touched his shoulder, searching his face in confusion.

"What's wrong?" she asked anxiously as Ron's features contorted in pain.

But before Ron could even speculate about the origins of the sudden pain, it began to subside. Straightening shakily, he gritted his teeth; he had felt that kind of pain a few times before, through the bond he had with Harry. His old partner had obviously been hurt badly. The crippling pain Ron had felt in his leg had been only an echo of Harry's, after all, and while Ron's pain had quickly disappeared after serving its purpose, Harry's would not.

"Harry's been hurt," Ron explained dully.

Hermione blanched, her fingers flying to her lips. "No…" she whispered hoarsely, shaking her head and causing her tangled locks to fly into her face. "Is it bad? Is he…" but she trailed off, choking back her words in panic.

"No, I'm pretty sure he's alive," Ron confirmed grimly, feeling his insides turn to lead as he said the words. Relief briefly erased Hermione's panic, but she still reached out and tightly squeezed his arm.

"Ron, Rowan saw something about Harry in her vision!" she said urgently. "She cried out his name at the end of her vision, remember? He could be in trouble…"

Ron's eyes flickered over to the door they had come in from; things were still silent on the other end. Yet again, he felt the weight of a choice on his shoulders: to stay with Hermione, search for the scrolls, or find Harry. His partner could have been in serious trouble…or he could have done something as trivial as fallen down the stairs and injured his leg. Ron would not put it past Harry.

Logic made up Ron's mind for him. Ron, as Harry's old partner, had felt the pain, which meant that Diana had undoubtedly also felt it. Diana was Harry's partner now, and as much as Ron felt the compelling urge to help Harry, he knew that Diana would not allow anything to happen to him.

"Ron…" Hermione's voice broke through his thoughts. He glanced over to her; she was wordlessly pointing at a nearby window. Ron's eyes followed her slender finger, and he felt his body begin to tingle in anxiety, for the sky had turned blood red. The sun was setting.

Ron abruptly turned around and frantically tried to search for an exit again. He all but clawed at the walls like a madman. Time was quickly passing, and when the sun slipped below the horizon, their time would be up.

"What about Harry?" Hermione demanded.

"Diana won't let anything happen to him," Ron replied firmly.

Hermione hesitated, but then nodded as if in agreement. She propped herself against the wall again to keep from crumpling to the floor or fainting, and was silent for a long time.

"Ron, you know what we have to do," she finally said quietly, all desperation and fear gone from her voice. Her grim, resolute tone caused Ron to briefly pause in his frenzied search.

"Yes, get down there," he answered impatiently, pointing at the floor. "If that's where you say the scrolls are." He turned and resumed his search, taking out his wand and muttering spells under his breath, hoping they would reveal something.

Hermione continued to stare at him solemnly, causing Ron to glance back at her expectantly. Their eyes locked. "There's no time for looking for a way down there," Hermione said softly. "We have to Apparate."

Ron stared at her, eyebrows raised. "Are you crazy?" he exclaimed. "We'd have no idea where we'd be going!"

"I know."

"We'd both get splinched!"

"Do you see any other way out of this?" Hermione asked quietly, breaking their eye contact and staring at the floor.

"Yes. We keep looking, or if worse comes to worse, we go back out there," Ron snapped edgily, pointing at the door.

"Ron, it's almost dark!"

"We'll find another way!" Ron shot back firmly, beginning to raise his voice.

"Muggles everywhere are going to die if we don't do something!" Hermione practically screamed, a note of despair in her anguished voice. "Isn't that worth the risk of getting splinched?!"

"Then I'll go!" Ron shouted back, "I am not letting you risk your life."

"I'm dead anyway!" Hermione burst out.

Ron felt as if he had been punched in the stomach; he exhaled painfully, and almost forgot to breathe in again. He fixed Hermione with a hard stare. "Don't you dare say anything like that again, Hermione Granger," he hissed fiercely. "Don't you dare."

"Well, it's true!" Hermione cried, tears beginning to silently slide down her pale cheeks. "If we don't stop them, I'm going to die along with every other Muggle and Muggle-born in the world. If we Apparate down there, we run the risk of getting splinched or worse, yes…but at least we'll have a chance to stop them! And…maybe I can figure out a way to reverse the effects of the scrolls…if it's already been done."

No…no…the illness is making her mad, Ron thought mournfully to himself. Yet Hermione's eyes had suddenly become clear again, and her gaze was focused and burning with resolve.

"We're on the steps of the dungeons again, Ron," Hermione said with grim determination, pushing herself away from the wall and standing shakily by herself. "Except this time I'm not a seventeen-year-old girl. I'm ready…and I'm willing to murder this time, if I have to."

Ron mouthed wordlessly, helplessly. The sun was sinking below the horizon. Time was slipping away from him. Hermione was slipping away from him.

Slowly, he walked over to her and drew her towards him fiercely, clutching her robes and her hair. Ron felt Hermione's cold lips on his cheek, and then she drew away, fixing him with that intense look again.

"Moody would have my head if he knew I was trying this," Ron muttered huskily, shaking his head. "Flying right into the spider's web, he would say…"

"But there's a chance we can stop them," Hermione reminded him. "There's a hope."

Ron swallowed painfully. "Then we'll try."

Holding her tightly, Ron squeezed his eyes shut and tried to focus on the shadowy unknown below him. He didn't know what awaited them there, or if Hermione's hunch was even right at all. They could end up Apparating into the ground below Stark's house, for all he knew. Ron tried to shut out that unpleasant mental picture.

"Ready?" Hermione whispered.

"Ready."

Then there was only blackness.

***

Had it not been for solid ground beneath Ron's feet, he would not have known that he had arrived at their destination, wherever that was. He was still enveloped in darkness, even when his eyes flew open. But at least he wasn't buried in several feet of earth. One thing was cause for alarm, however; Hermione's body was no longer pressed against his. They must have been separated during Disapparation. Unconsciously shaking, Ron swiftly drew his wand and moved blindly forwards through the darkness. He would not use his wand until he absolutely needed it. He could have been surrounded by enemies for all he knew, and he couldn't let his voice betray him.

Ron carefully reached out and groped for a wall to follow. Finding a rough, stone surface, he began to slowly move forward again in the hope that he would somehow find Hermione.

It wasn't Hermione he found.

"Stop," a voice commanded sharply in the darkness behind him. Ron froze, his muscles tensing. His grip tightening on his wand, Ron readied himself to spin around and pounce on his discoverer. But a muffled, decidedly female-sounding noise, also behind him, gave him pause.

"I have the girl," the male voice said coldly. The words rang in Ron's ears. "Drop your wand."

Ron felt himself lose all feeling in his arms. Quite unintentionally, he did drop his wand. It clattered to the floor, and Ron was too frozen with fear to go after it or try anything. He heard Hermione make another frustrated noise; Ron supposed the man behind him had his hand clapped over her mouth, and, most likely, his wand pointed at her.

"Walk," the voice barked. Ron chanced a brief glance behind him, his heart hammering. A dim light was shining from his discoverer's wand, illuminating a tall, balding man in crimson robes. Ron's mouth grew dry; the man indeed had his hand over Hermione's lips, his wand pressed to her throat, and his hand clenched firmly around her arm. He nudged Hermione roughly and she stumbled forward. Ron slowly turned back around, hands in the air, and obediently marched away from his wand towards what he was now sure was his doom. Hopelessness began to eat away at him as he continued down the dark tunnel towards a flickering light at the end of it.

Ron's eyes began to adjust to the light at the end of the tunnel, and he, his attacker, and Hermione soon emerged into an enormous, circular room that was, in design and feel, somewhat similar to the Hogwarts dungeons. But the similarities ended there, and had Ron not been so despondent and afraid, his jaw would have fallen open in awe.

Carved into the cold, stone walls of the circular chamber were figures and symbols which were undoubtedly Scurian. The strange language covered every inch of the walls and the high ceiling. A ring of torches surrounded the walls of the circular chamber, casting flickering shadows of the Scurian symbols onto the floor and over Ron's face.

In the centre of the enormous chamber was yet another ring, but this one was of crimson figures, their hoods pulled over their faces. They were gathered around a tall, silver platform, which was elevated above the crimson circle. The only thing visible on the platform was a table of stone, also covered in etchings of Scurian. Upon this table lay the five Scrolls of Scuro.

Standing behind the stone table, in robes of silver, was Dameon Stark. He was smirking.

Ron fought the sudden murderous rage that overtook him; had Hermione's safety not been at stake, he would have darted into that circle of crimson figures and moved both heaven and hell just to get to Stark and strangle him with his bare hands. Ron's wand was gone, but he wouldn't have wanted to mess about with wands anyway – all he desired was Dameon Stark's blood on his hands, and to wipe that smirk from his disgusting face forever.

But, behind him, Hermione had a wand to her throat, so Ron swallowed the bile that rose into his mouth and buried his murderous thoughts. He stood erect and unflinching, his fists clenched and his eyes glinting with the violent temptations that he'd managed to ignore.

"Professors Weasley and Granger," Stark greeted them, his rich voice echoing in the circular chamber. He stepped down from his platform of silver and flashed his bright smile. Gone, however, was any semblance of friendliness in the over-rated smile; instead, it was sinister and conveyed a kind of sick pleasure.

"That will do, Eustace," Stark said, nodding to the man who had captured them. Eustace shoved Hermione next to Ron and then took his place in the circle. Ron caught Hermione, who was breathing hard again, and held her tightly, though he refused to break his eye contact with Stark. Ron stared his enemy down, seething with fury. He briefly considered running now that there was no wand pointed at Hermione; but a second glance at the ring of Stark's crimson supporters erased any such thoughts. They all had their wands obediently pointed at himself and Hermione.

"I must say, I am amazed to see you two here…" Stark paused thoughtfully and gave them a scrutinizing look. "And yet, somehow, I'm not surprised. I'm at a loss as to how you found out where we were, or how to get down here…but it's not altogether shocking, since you have quite the talent of interfering in everything, don't you?"

Hermione clung to Ron, her chest heaving as she sucked in fast, sharp breaths. Stark's bright eyes quickly flickered over to her, and he practically glowed with glee.

"It's amazing to see Malady's effects first-hand," he breathed in excitement, as if not daring to believe that what he had done had actually worked. He took a few steps forward, breaking through his ring of supporters, towards Hermione and Ron. Ron had just made up his mind to obey his murderous inclinations if Stark laid a finger on Hermione's head, but the Minister for Magic candidate stopped a few inches away from the two of them.

"I should probably dispose of you two," Stark remarked with an air of indifference. "But we have another use for you still, Miss Granger. My mentor will want to keep you around, no doubt, just to be sure that the remaining scrolls do their jobs when the time comes."

Ron briefly contemplated Dameon's use of the word 'mentor', and wondered if he was speaking about Malfoy. But then Stark gave Hermione a sickening smile, and she shivered in Ron's arms, refusing to meet Stark's eyes. Ron felt nauseous knowing that part of that man still resided inside her due to the Imperius curse. He couldn't imagine how Hermione felt.

"And I suppose we can keep you around as well, Mr. Weasley," Stark said casually. "You've been nothing but a thorn in our sides all year, and though it would be fun to see you suffer, you make quite a nice little stand for Professor Granger to lean against. So I think we'll let you live for a bit longer."

"You…" Ron growled, unable to properly form any other word. Like Hermione, he was shaking, but with rage. "You…"

"Articulate, aren't you?" Stark smirked. He abruptly turned his back to Ron and faced his circle of followers. "Has the sun set?" he demanded sharply.

"Not yet, Dameon," a rather pudgy crimson figure answered, fidgeting. "A few more minutes."

Stark sighed in frustration and returned his attention to Ron and Hermione, his face returning to its pleasant expression. "As you can see, I've had to surround myself with quite the assortment of idiots…all Pureblood and very respectable, of course, but not the brightest bunch, as my mentor says," Stark said with a little smirk. He had the air of someone who had stumbled upon power and control, and was abusing the privileges that came with his newfound authority. "With the exception of Draco, that is," Stark added as an afterthought. "He's been quite good, and quite useful. Of course, my mentor suspects that the main reason he wished to join the Dark Hand was to see you two and Potter suffer, but I really couldn't care less. His money and his ideas were very helpful, no matter what his motives were."

Ron knew that they were in danger. He knew that soon, the scrolls would be read, and all would be lost. But he was in no position to try anything at that moment, and he suddenly felt an insatiable thirst for some answers. So, with renewed control, Ron looked Dameon Stark in the eye, and evenly asked, "I suppose all this," he nodded at the room, "was your filthy grandfather's doing."

"That's right, you've done your research, haven't you?" Stark said with a cold laugh. "Yes, my grandfather built this chamber years ago, with the noble intent of performing the Scurian rituals here. Unfortunately, his work was never completed, and my father failed to follow in his footsteps, no thanks to your people," he spat, glaring at Ron. But Stark quickly smiled again and was quite conversational and pleasant once more. "However, tonight my grandfather's dream will be fulfilled…the Muggles will suffer, and this time, the effects are going to be forever."

Ron's stomach churned with hatred, but he drew himself up to his full height and stared Stark down. "I suppose you fancy yourself to be so clever, don't you?" he hissed. "Changing your identity so that you wouldn't be affiliated with your filthy relatives in Azkaban, masquerading as a Minister for Magic candidate, reviving the Dark Hand, framing Nicholas Foran, using an innocent woman to steal the scrolls for you…you must be very proud of yourself." Ron's voice dripped with sarcasm, and his eyes flashed with abhorrence.

"Masquerading as a candidate?" Stark exclaimed, laughing openly. "Oh no, Mr. Weasley, I am a candidate. And I will be Minister for Magic. With the Muggles out of the picture, I will reinvent the Ministry, and both the wizarding and the Muggle worlds will be my playground," Stark finished greedily.

Seeing Ron's scepticism and cold, steely gaze, Dameon shook his head. "Don't you see, Weasley? Without Muggles, the world is ours for the taking. With myself as Minister, and without the stain of Mudbloods to spoil it, it will be a perfect world…my perfect world…" Dameon said dreamily. Ron tightened his grip on Hermione, who had fallen silent, though she was still breathing with difficulty.

"And yet, I cannot take all the credit here," Stark confessed solemnly. "I had help, you see, from a very unlikely source. I daresay that you haven't guessed who has helped me either…Merlin knows these buffoons haven't," he said scornfully, nodding at his crimson-clad supporters. "None of this could have happened without his help. He is my mentor, my teacher…my future," Dameon said softly, a smile playing over his lips.

"That will do, Dameon," called a voice. Ron searched swiftly for its owner, but he saw nothing but shadows of Scurian figures, thrown across the room by the light of the torches. "I daresay it's the best introduction I could have hoped for. Perhaps I've taught you something after all."

The ring of men in crimson seemed to have become agitated and excited, murmuring amongst themselves. Stark snapped at them in Scurian, and Hermione flinched. The voices of the Dark Hand died away, and the crimson ring was silent once more. Stark eagerly walked over to an archway in the circular wall which Ron had not noticed before. There was a shadowed figure standing there in robes of gold. As the figure stepped out from under the archway, Ron could see that his golden robes shone in the torchlight, and had Scurian figures and symbols along the arms and the collar. Ron unconsciously squinted, trying to get a better look at the man; on closer inspection, he could see that there were deep lines in the man's handsome face, and that there was genuine power in his green eyes, an unquestionable authority that Dameon Stark, for all his talk, was sorely lacking.

The two men, one is silver and one in gold, walked past the whispering circle of the Dark Hand, towards Ron and Hermione. Had Ron not known that Galen Ademon was dead, he would have immediately assumed that the man at Stark's side was his father, their resemblance was so strong. In fact, as Ron's eyes travelled from Dameon Stark's young face to the older man's lined face, he began to see that the resemblance was uncanny.

A far-fetched thought suddenly occurred to Ron, and his heart turned to ice. Slowly, his eyes raked Stark's face – he had a few very faint, scattered freckles across the bridge of his nose, the only imperfection on his flawless face. Ron turned his gaze over to the older man, and saw that he too had a faded bridge of freckles across his nose. There were the same number, and the freckles were in the exact same places.

Ron stared in disbelief, feeling his jaw go slack. For he realized he was staring at an older version of Dameon Stark.

The older Stark grinned widely, eyes flashing with satisfaction. "Ah, he sees it now," he smirked. "Things are beginning to make sense, are they?"

Behind them, the ring of Dark Hand members had begun to whisper amongst themselves again, evidently as shocked and stunned as Ron was at seeing a carbon copy of their supposed leader suddenly stroll into the room. Ron's heart leapt as he realized that many of them had lowered their wands. His mind raced, trying to figure out a way that he could use the distraction to his advantage; but the next second, the older Stark had whirled around and thundered, "Silence!" The men's whispers immediately stopped, and a hush descended upon the chamber.

Rowan Richardson's words suddenly came floating back into Ron's memory. It's difficult to explain…it's like a feeling more than anything. Something's wrong…with the past, with the future…Professor Trelawney says I'm just over-imaginative, but I know something's wrong…

"That's how you knew," Hermione croaked, her breath coming in ragged gasps. It was the first thing she had said since they had been brought into the circular chamber. "That's how you knew…where the scrolls were, about the chamber they were hidden in, that I would be at the banquet…that you could use me to get to them…" She turned weakly to the older Stark and stared him down, the fire in her eyes not yet diminished despite her weakened state.

The Stark clad in gold clapped his hands together, amused. "She's quite bright, for a Mudblood!" he exclaimed, laughing. His younger counterpart immediately joined in, his face flushed and pleased. "Yes, Mudblood, you're right. I have conquered time itself to come back and redo what I should have done as a young man…to fix my mistakes."

I think it's because of my feeling, Rowan's voice continued in Ron's head, like the future's…muddled. Like something wasn't supposed to happen, and now it has, and it's altered everything.

Ron suddenly caught on, and the realization was like a slap in the face. Suddenly, Rowan's inability to predict the future made sense.

The older Stark was from the future. He had used a Time Turner to travel to his past.

The idea was so far-fetched and fantastic that Ron did not believe it at first. Yet the proof was standing right before his eyes, smirking at him. Stark had broken a thousand Ministry laws, not to mention the laws of space and time, but he had done it – he had managed to travel to his past, and had joined forces with his younger self to accomplish the things he had failed to do as a youth himself. He had beaten fate. It explained Rowan's inability to See anything connected to the scrolls, and her feelings of confusion about the future; Stark had messed around with the past, making the future muddled and uncertain. It explained how the younger Dameon Stark had known some of the things he couldn't have possibly known.

"Youth is wasted on the young, you know," the older Stark told them, almost conversationally. "I did not realize the weapons at my disposal when I was a young man…when I was young Dameon here," he gestured to his younger counterpart with a nod of his head. "Looks, charm, a certain elegance with words…I squandered all of these assets of mine in my youth. I was driven to continue the Dark Hand's legacy, to continue my grandfather's work…but I was young, and foolish, and hadn't the faintest clue what I was doing."

The older man sighed wistfully. "In my past, the Ministry of Magic succeeded in keeping the Scrolls of Scuro from me…and eventually, the secret to destroying the scrolls was discovered, by a certain Hogwarts professor…" Stark trailed off and his eyes briefly flickered to Hermione, a sneer beginning to form on his lips. "In my past, the Scrolls of Scuro were finally destroyed, and Scuro's dream destroyed along with them.

"So I lost my chance, you see," the older Stark continued mournfully, his sneer fading. He was speaking loud enough for everyone to hear, including the hooded men who were his followers. They looked almost as shocked and confused as Ron felt. But the members of the Dark Hand did not feel Ron's rage and his fury, building up inside of him and writhing like a thousand snakes in his gut.

"It was only after it was too late that I discovered the opportunities I had missed. Once the scrolls were destroyed, the Ministry made the fact that they had indeed existed public, perhaps to gain support. The Ministry has always enjoyed flaunting their successes in the faces of the public, after all," Stark commented, rolling his eyes. "The entire heroic story was on the front pages of the Daily Prophet, and eventually, through brief snatches of careless conversation I caught at the Ministry of Magic, I discovered all the details – where the scrolls had been hidden, all about the chamber they had been hidden in – and I woefully realized the opportunities I had missed." The elder Stark's eyes glistened suddenly with pride. "But as time passed, and I grew both older and wiser, I began to think…what if I could reverse my fate? What if I could go back, with all my collected knowledge and wisdom, and seize the opportunities I had missed? A Time Turner was not difficult to secure, as I was a well-respected member of the Ministry of Magic by that time…"

Yes, Ron thought in disgust. Limits mean nothing to Stark. He can change his identity as he pleases…travel through time if he so desires…

"And so, I travelled back twenty years, returning to my own youth," the older Stark continued. "Under my tutelage, young Dameon has flourished – he has all but secured a position as Minister for Magic, something I never could have done in my time, and, with my help, he has managed to resurrect the Dark Hand and collect all five Scrolls of Scuro." Stark sighed in contentment and pride. "Through him, you see, I've seized my missed opportunities."

"What, the opportunities to inflict chaos and illness and death on every Muggle and Muggle-born in the world?" Ron hissed, feeling his anger begin to boil at the surface. "The opportunities to frame and control innocent people in order to get what you want?" Ron was breathing almost as heavily as the woman in his arms, and he could taste bile again.

"Ah yes," Stark said softly. "That was one of my more brilliant ideas…you see, I knew the scrolls were at Hogwarts, but what use was that information to me if I could not get into the school? Albus Dumbledore had taken every precaution imaginable to protect his precious school and the scrolls. But then…" he chuckled, smiling wickedly at Hermione. "I recalled a banquet I had attended as a youth. Not as a candidate, unfortunately; in my time, I could never have become a Minister for Magic candidate. Under my guidance, however, young Dameon here has flourished and accomplished what I never could have as a youth…but this is besides the point.

"At this banquet, I was pleased to make the acquaintance of Miss Granger here, and years later I realized that she was yet another chance that had slipped away. Had I known then that the Scrolls were hidden in the school where she worked, I could have used her to get them for me. She was the perfect puppet – naïve, trusting, intelligent – and Dumbledore would never suspect one of his most precious teachers." Stark grinned at the shivering mess that was Hermione in Ron's arms, and laughed once more. "So when I returned to my past, of course, I decided to use her after all. It was, however, young Dameon's idea to frame Nicholas Foran to cover our tracks. Needless to say, Foran didn't miss the few grey hairs we managed to pluck from his head.

"But what intrigues me," said the older Stark pensively, "is how you ended up…here." He raised his eyebrows to indicate the chamber.

"Your young friend here forgot to change his clothes," Ron said dryly, feeling quite a lot of satisfaction as the younger Stark paled.

His older counterpart paused for a moment, furrowing his eyebrows, and then realization dawned on him. The elder Stark scowled at his younger self. "Idiot!" he hissed. "Your robes, you fool!"

But just as he raised his hand to strike the younger Stark, his brow suddenly smoothed, and he returned his attention to Ron and Hermione. "So you knew that my young friend was behind putting Professor Granger here under Imperius, and you hurried to the only place you could think of finding him – his home. I suppose you ended up down here purely by accident," the older Stark continued lightly. "Well, no matter. You will not be going anywhere, and your friends are likely wandering aimlessly through the mansion right now. No one will stop us tonight…my greatest ambitions will finally be fulfilled…" Two pairs of green eyes glimmered with greed as the two Starks exchanged looks.

"Noble ambitions," Ron spat sarcastically.

The younger Stark narrowed his eyes and took an angry step towards Ron; but his older double shot out an arm and prevented him from doing anything rash. "You and I have very different ideas about what is noble and what is not," the older Stark said carefully, staring Ron down. "What we are doing is noble, Mr. Weasley. I was greedy and selfish as a young man, as you no doubt have seen in young Dameon here…but with age comes wisdom, and I have gained much of it. Do you not see what ridding the world of the Mudbloods will do for us? We won't have to hide any longer. Our people will be free," he stressed, sucking in a deep breath of air.

Ron could only stare. "You sick bastard," he began slowly, venom dripping from his voice. "You sick – "

"Enough," the older Stark said curtly, holding up his hand to silence Ron. His eyes, once again, travelled over to Hermione. "I see you cannot be persuaded, Mr. Weasley," he said with a trace of disappointment. But Stark then suddenly laughed, turning around with a flutter of golden robes. "But I'm wasting valuable time and energy by speaking to people who will be dead before the night is over. And I daresay my brilliance has been lost on these imbeciles," he said, rolling his eyes as he glanced at the ring of crimson figures. "And to think…you were my friends as a youth," the older Stark said softly, pausing before the hooded figures. "How people change…"

Hermione's hands were like ice in Ron's; he was losing her, and fast. Her breaths were short and quick, and after facing the men who had used her, she was more sickly-looking and drained than she had been in weeks.

Still, a new feeling was burning in Ron's chest – it was hope. The scrolls had not yet been read, and they still had a weapon the Starks had not counted on: Hermione. They did not know that the Imperius curse had left a residual of the younger Dameon in her, or that she could speak Scurian. Perhaps there was still a way…

A hooded man suddenly Apparated into their midst, and scurried towards the two Starks, his head bowed. An expression of shock flitted over his face at seeing two pairs of the same eyes staring back at him, and he only managed to shakily utter, "The sun has set."

"Then it is time," the older Stark called, his voice reverberating in the room. He glanced at his younger self. "Come, Dameon. Or rather, Ulysses…for tonight you are Ulysses Ademon once more. We both are." He smiled with pride at his younger self, and then strolled purposefully through the ring of his followers and climbed to the silver platform with his younger counterpart at his heels. There he stood, with his golden arms stretched towards the heavens. Ron's heart leapt into his mouth; he was really going to do it. Ron unconsciously took a step forward, only to find half a dozen wands were pointed at him yet again.

The older Stark closed his eyes, his fists still raised to the heavens, and began chanting in Scurian. The language suddenly sounded ominous and foul to Ron's ears, rather than mysterious or seductive.

"Dornatte baradur," Stark chanted, his eyes tightly shut, "archnipara rei perdur, lastia stringiarre lur…"

The words were harsh when spoken by Stark, and Ron felt Hermione flinch every time he repeated the sinister-sounding words. A pale, crimson light illuminated Stark's face; Ron could not see its origin, but it was there, now encompassing Stark as he continued to speak. The ring of Stark's followers, as well as his young counterpart, took up the chant, until they were speaking at a fast, fervent pace, and the crimson light was increasing. Stark's eyes suddenly flew open, and while his followers continued chanting, he turned his gaze towards the scrolls lying on the table before him.

Ron froze in panic and fear. This was it. It was going to be done, and he was both wandless and helpless. It came down to this moment, and he was completely powerless. He couldn't move, he couldn't think, and the chamber was beginning to swim before Ron's eyes as Stark read one scroll, and then another and another. The crimson light began to increase in strength until Ron had to shut his eyes against its brilliance. Hermione had suddenly gone limp in his arms, and Ron couldn't even open his eyes to check on her.

This was not how it was supposed to end. After all he had been through…after all they had been through, he, Harry, and Hermione, it was not supposed to end this way. The light burned through Ron's eyelids and into his skull, but he forced himself to open his eyes again. Hermione was still conscious, but barely, and was limp in his arms. The older Stark was barely visible, consumed by the blinding, crimson light. His voice was beginning to be drowned out by a dull roar that seemed to come from the scrolls themselves. Ron's senses were assaulted by the roaring, the faint but incessant chanting, the sound of Stark's voice, and that unbearable light. He shut his eyes against it all again.

Suddenly, the light dimmed and faded, and the roaring abruptly died away. Stark stopped reading. Please let something have gone wrong…Ron prayed fervently, venturing to open an eye again. Please…let the scrolls have burned up in the light…let Stark be dead…

But the older Stark was still standing, his fists still raised as if in triumph, his eyes wild and his breathing laboured. Everything was eerily quiet. But the silence only lasted a moment, for the next second a sound like thunder shook the chamber, and the crimson light reappeared, though this time it was not as brilliant. It started with Stark and began to pulse outwards in a circle, much like a ripple in a pond would. The ring of endless light grew larger and larger in circumference, slowly covering the chamber. Stark snapped out of it and, excited that the scrolls seemed to be working, he began to read again with renewed vigour.

Suddenly, to Ron's surprise, he felt Hermione's body tense again, losing its limpness. She released his hands and straightened. She was still trembling, but she seemed to have been suddenly empowered by a feverish strength, and her small fists were clenched by her side.

"I understand now," she whispered to him, her eyes alight with hope. "Read between the lines…every second line of the scrolls, if you put them together, makes sense. It's ridiculously simple. To reverse the effects of the scrolls, you literally have to read between the lines…read out every second line of each of the scrolls."

Ron stared at her - heard the hope in her voice, saw the sudden determined strength she seemed to have gained - and he felt the same hope too. Her theory sounded improbable, but she had been right about everything thus far. And if there was a chance…it was worth taking.

The crimson light continued to spread. It was filling the room, and Ron felt something like a hot wind blow by him as the light poured over himself and Hermione. She briefly gagged, as if being choked by the crimson light, and then closed her eyes. Ron instinctively shook her to awaken her, feeling panic and fear grip him; but the next second she had opened her eyes again, and the same determination and strength she had shown before returned as she straightened. The crimson light moved past them, seeping through the walls, travelling throughout the entire house and into the world, where it would do its damage.

"Is he finished?" Ron whispered under his breath. Stark was repeating the same mantra he had chanted at the beginning of the ritual.

"Dornatte baradur…" Stark called to the heavens.

"He's read them all. I think he's just finishing the ritual," Hermione whispered throatily, taking a deep breath. She gripped Ron's wrist. "The damage is done…but if those letters that man showed me were genuine…there's still hope." She fixed him with that deep gaze. "You have to let me do this, Ron. You have to let me try."

"Archnipara rei perdur…"

Ron tried to block out the horrible sound of Stark's chanting. "I know," he murmured. His heart hurt. "How are we going to get you up there to read what you need to, though?"

Hermione's grip on his wrist tightened. Ron tried not to wince; her grip was like iron, despite her illness. She seemed to be drawing on hope to fuel herself. "Remember when we duelled?"

"Hermione, this is not the time to reminisce."

"No," she hissed, her eyes bright. "You summoned your wand back to yourself. You said that some wizards don't necessarily need a wand to do magic, and you were right, I looked into it…"

Somehow, Ron wasn't surprised.

"…magic comes from wizards and witches, not wands," Hermione continued. "Their wand is only there to channel the magic into a usable form through spells and charms and curses."

"Lastia stringiarre lur…"

"So what are you saying?" Ron asked, beginning to see a glimmer of hope.

"Try to summon one of their wands to you," Hermione whispered, nodding to the ring of crimson figures. They were still busy chanting, and they seemed to have forgotten about Ron and Hermione, though their wands were still pointed at them. "Then create some sort of distraction, Stun Stark, and I'll run up there."

It was insane, not to mention nearly impossible. But there was still that chance that it would work, and even the slightest of chances was worth taking. Ron nodded mutely, his throat suddenly going very, very dry. Hermione's expression was solemn and firm. She slowly uncurled her pale fingers from his wrist, and, still trembling slightly, stood upright, ready to run.

Ron stared at an outstretched wand in one of the hooded figures' hands, trying to will it to himself as he had his own wand in the duel with Hermione. He remembered times when he'd inadvertently done magic when he was younger. The time when, in a fury, he had accidentally set Fred's hair on fire after the twins had stolen his teddy and turned it into a spider. The time when he had stormed up to his room after receiving a punishment from his mother, and the door had magically burst open for him, flying off its hinges in the process. Only a night ago, his Firebolt had magically been summoned to him in his panic to stop Hermione.

Concentrating hard, Ron tried to harness all of the fury, hatred, disgust, panic, and fear that he had felt that night, until a ball of emotions was churning within him. He remembered Nicholas Foran's anger, Harry's pain, the face of every Muggle and Muggle-born he had ever met, and finally, Hermione.

Hermione could die. He could lose her forever. And that thought did it.

A cry of surprise tore from the throat of one of the hooded figures as his wand was ripped from his grasp by an invisible force. The chanting of some of his companions faltered, yet the older Stark spoke still, eyes shut in concentration and obliviousness. The man's wand flew into Ron's hand, and the moment his fingers closed around the polished wood, Ron harnessed all of those emotions stirring within him and hollered, "Stupeficadus Explicado!"

There was a tremendous noise, and then a light burst from Ron's wand which was as bright as the crimson light from the scrolls had originally been. It was a golden orb of brilliance that hurled towards the crimson ring and the two Starks. The older Stark's eyes flew open and widened; the golden light was rapidly speeding towards him, and he could do nothing about it. Upon collision with its prey Ron's spell burst with a fantastic noise, sending tiny golden fireworks spiralling into the air and illuminating the dim chamber. The spell Stunned each and every one of them; one by one the men dropped like flies, falling unconscious to the ground.

Breathing hard, his eyes glimmering with triumph, Ron lowered his wand. Hermione hesitated only for the briefest of moments, and then ran as fast as she possibly could towards the stone table, her robes flying behind her. Ron slowly followed, his wand at the ready and his heart hammering with exhilaration. He had just performed a mass Stunning spell, not an easy feat. Even Moody could not do it, and had the situation been different, Ron would have glowed with pride. But despite his triumph, they were not still safe. Concentrating the Stunning spell on one victim rendered that person unconscious, but performing it on a much larger scale made the spell individually weak. The spell, unfortunately, had only knocked the men out briefly. Already, the crimson figures on the ground were beginning to stir - groggy, but still armed and dangerous.

Ron twirled his borrowed wand between his fingers, wincing as he surveyed his enemy's numbers. The odds had just rapidly decreased in his favour. He would need help. But the Aurors couldn't possibly find the chamber; they'd have to Apparate down to it, as he and Hermione had done. And how would they possibly know…?

Harry, Ron suddenly thought. He had called him before - what would stop Harry from being summoned to him again? Harry, you great prat, you had better not be hurt or killed or anything…

Out of the corner of his eye, Ron saw the older Stark slowly rise near the stone table, moaning. He opened a bleary eye and spotted Hermione clambering up the silver platform with wild, feverish determination. His eyes widened in panic.

"Stop the girl!" Stark screamed.

Because I need your help, Ron thought wildly, now!

Ron spun, disarming a hooded man who was aiming at Hermione, and noted that she had reached the scrolls, breathless but still standing. Her face was shiny with perspiration, and her eyes were wild but determined. Soon, her clear, high voice rang out in the circular chamber, speaking Scurian with such passion and purpose that the language no longer sounded foreboding or evil to Ron. Nothing coming from Hermione's lips could sound remotely evil.

A series of soft pops suddenly filled Ron with relief and joy. He Stunned another hooded man who had managed to get his bearings, and turned to see the most beautiful sight in the world: Harry, Diana, Moody, and Sirius. The cavalry had arrived.

"You called?" Harry said breathlessly, glancing around at the situation. His eyes widened, but he wasted no time in Disarming and Stunning two men on his right. Ron briefly noted that Harry's trousers were soaked with blood beneath his robes.

"My, my," Diana said in shock, her dark eyes taking in the dim chamber, the crimson figures rising to their feet one by one, and the silver platform upon which Hermione stood, reading the scrolls. "You do get around, Weasley."

"Dimenticatte rellai," Hermione's fair voice rang out as she moved on to the next scroll, reading every second line, "tournur carnolus – "

It was only then that Sirius noticed the two Starks; the older Dameon was barking orders to the younger, and both of them had drawn their wands, advancing upon Hermione. "What in the hell?!" Sirius exclaimed.

"No time for explanations!" Ron breathed. "Just do not let them get to Hermione!"

They flung themselves into battle for the second time that night, four Aurors against what seemed like a sea of crimson figures. But the member of the Dark Hand were groggy and slow from being Stunned by Ron's spell, and they had almost no fight left in them, whereas the Aurors fought with everything they had. The crimson light from the scrolls had vanished. Now, softly glowing from the Scrolls of Scuro upon the stone table was a pale blue light instead, which began pulsating and rippling outwards, illuminating the chamber with a healing light.

"Remperatur rei morrando mortei," Hermione continued, increasing her pace, "rigavortole tournatte – "

In his peripheral vision, Ron saw the older Stark whisper something to his younger counterpart, and then slip away into the shadows. The younger Stark stood very still for a moment, and then clenched his jaw, determined to prove himself. He sprinted through the battle towards the silver podium where Hermione stood. Frantic, Ron ran towards him.

"Magistiatarus rei lasciatur – " Hermione was beginning to sound breathless and choked, and her hands clutched the stone table. Her adrenaline must have begun to wear out, and her illness was catching up to her once more. The young Stark was raising his wand…Ron raised his own and prepared to stop him.

"Expelliarmus!" a far-off voice shouted. Ron's borrowed wand was ripped from his grasp. He paused only for a moment in surprise, and then glanced over to the shadows. The older Stark was lurking there like the coward he was, his wand raised. He gave Ron a triumphant smirk.

"Dornatte baradur!" Hermione cried out, slowly losing her grip on the stone table and going glassy-eyed as she repeated what had been Stark's opening and closing chant. "Arachnipara – "

"Avada – " the young Stark began, his wand pointed at Hermione's heart.

"No!" Ron screamed. He sprinted forwards and threw himself at the younger Stark, tackling him as he began to utter the final word to the killing curse. Ron shut his eyes as the two of them fell to the ground, expecting Stark to finish the curse, only his wand would be pointed at Ron instead. But there was no blinding green light, no feeling of his soul being ripped out of his body. There was only Hermione's voice crying triumphantly, "Lastia stringiarre lur!", and then a crackling sound as the blue ring of light suddenly burst outwards through the walls of the chamber, going out into the world to undo the damage the crimson light had done. Ron heard only the din of the battle for a moment, and then the sound of Hermione's body crumpling to the ground. She had fainted, finally beaten by the illness, just as she had conquered it.

Ron dared to open his eyes, and cried out in surprise as he found himself eye-to-eye with the younger Dameon Stark. But Stark's eyes were empty and vacant; he and Ron had fallen to the ground in a tangled mess, and Stark had smashed his skull on the edge of the silver platform when they had fallen. Blood slowly dripped down his forehead and the side of his face, and his fair hair was sticky with the crimson liquid, but Ron could see from the rising and falling of his chest that he was, unfortunately, still alive. Ron briefly considered finishing the deed, but then changed his mind; he had gotten what he wanted – Stark's blood on his hands. That was enough. Ulysses Ademon could rot in Azkaban with his father and grandfather.

Ron quickly disentangled himself from the unconscious Stark and ran to Hermione. He fell to his knees and gently picked her up, cradling her in his arms. Ron briefly worried that she had not reversed the scrolls' effects at all; she had fainted, and her face still looked deathly pale. But her pulse was still strong. Perhaps it took time for the scrolls' effects to wear off. Ron firmly accepted this explanation; it was foolish, he told himself, to think that she would just bounce back, after all. She had been on the brink of death with the illness.

The battle was all but won. Most of the Dark Hand was either unconscious or had surrendered, and the Aurors had only to deal with a few determined strays. The younger Stark still lay unconscious and bleeding at the foot of the silver platform, and Ron caught the older Stark beginning to slink away quietly, fingering an object around his neck.

"Harry!" Ron cried. Harry whirled around, his black hair flying into his eyes, and spotted the older Stark attempting to make his getaway.

"Stupefy!" Harry yelled. His aim was true; the spell hit the older Stark in the back and caused him to fall forwards onto his face. Harry jogged over to double check that the older Stark was indeed Stunned.

Ron sighed and held Hermione to him. She stirred in his arms and her eyes slowly fluttered open. Upon seeing his face, she sighed in relief and threw her arms around his neck, holding him tightly.

It was over.

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At nineteen pages on Word, this chapter has been the longest I've ever written.

I sincerely hope you guys enjoyed the climactic ending…the fic's not over, but the action/cliffies are, I'm afraid. Well? What did you think of the plot twistness? Too improbable? Too hokey? Too crazy? Do let me know, and once again, sorry for the lack of shout-outs…I'm just trying to get this sucker done at this point.

Review like crazy! This is the chapter where it counts! Especially if I fail my Calc exam this afternoon, in which case I'll come home and cry and reviews will be all that can console me!