Time Enough

PG-13 [Language]

When have I last updated? A millennium ago? Argh, I know I lose what little readers because I update so late, and my story's not really all that, but still…

After getting that off my back…I continue into the vast unknown.

Here's chapter seven:

The quickly descending sun had cast its familiar array of warm colors. Hues of orange, yellow and red filled the sky. But, Ronald Weasley noticed, the snow-capped mountains far from where he lay, remained the same. Icy cold. He wondered if that was where Hagrid had gone to with Madam Maxime?

It's just like what's happening, he decided. With You-Know-Who actually alive, and his Death Eaters at large, and the Ministry in chaos, it would be nice to know something that hasn't changed amidst all of this.

As the world turned right in front of his eyes, the mountains always were. They just . . . . were. It was sort of nice that he was sure about something, and that something being the mountains would always be there.

He'd never really paid much attention to the snowy tops of the mountains. Still…He knew he wasn't the only one who would be glad to feel secure about at least something in the middle of the trouble brewing in the very heart of the Wizarding world.

The grass beneath his body was dying. The grass all over the mound, which was supposed to be a hill, was dying. Ron was strangely reminded of how he felt back in his third year. When the dementors had flocked Hogwarts and all.

Flowers literally wilted as a dementor glided by, almost too gracefully for someone so… deadly.

Memories of his third year brought back thoughts of Sirius. So much had happened. It all passed by like a huge whirl. He remembered the fights with Hermione over Scabbers and Crookshanks. How Hagrid said she'd been in a right state, crying and coming down to his hut…

Ron closed his eyes, and put his hands beneath his head. He felt the soft wind rush by his hair, causing the top to ripple lightly. He'd been such an idiot. He still was one now.

I'm going unstable. From mountains to Sirius to idiocy. What next?

He supposed he was allowed to blame it on the teen stress and angst that were so popular among adults' conversations when the topic came to insolence. Confusion, more like. With his eyes still shut tight, he smiled slowly. Everything was so peaceful out here. No sodding Voldemort, or older brothers, or wounded best mates, or— or Hermione. . .

He hoped that he would get to see her one last time. Ron knew he wasn't supposed to be so morbid. But with Voldemort around, you couldn't help but to think quickly, and treasure every moment as if it were your last.

For others, this moment was when they took their last breath, or gazed at the world one last time. . . . You never knew what could happen.

He truly felt his innocence being robbed from him in the aftermath of all that had happened. This was serious business now. No more fun and games. He doubted if they could still go back to Hogwarts next year, without a care about what was going on in the outside world, and argue about Quidditch jovially while some frantically turned pages for a quiz on Potions.

This wasn't just another of their crazy yet exhilarating adventures any more. People got hurt, he could get killed anytime, his family members could mysteriously disappear at night and turn up the next morning dead.

It was the worst part in life, Ron decided. When reality sets in. Thoughts of winning the Quidditch House Cup, or acing a test in Herbology hardly stirred up his cheerfulness. Things, more like a group of Death Eaters getting stopped from murdering a family, or news on the Dark Lord's latest plans being sabotaged… Those were worth putting a brave front on.

There was hope for them, he knew it. But why did he feel so alone?

His eyes popped open. The sun was almost invisible, with only about a quarter of its glorious surface peeking through the clouds. Nearly dark. . . .

There was a sudden bout of yelling in the house, and many footsteps clambered audibly down the stairs. The tranquility of simply being was broken as excited chatter rang out.

Hang on. Is that Hermione's voice I hear?

Severely shaking his head in his disapproval of letting too much thinking get to his head Ron remembered how his mum hadn't approved of his going out to the hill to think. She was extremely worried for the safety of her children, in these Dark times, but seeing as Ron had looked like he seriously needed time away from the house and that the one mile radius of protective magical wards had been extended to three miles radius, she allowed him to go.

For that, he mentally reminded himself to thank her profusely. He didn't get the chance to, a while ago, since at her words of permission, he'd bounded freely, running to the top of the hill (mound! His brain screamed), feeling as if his long cooped up spirit was finally getting the yearned freedom.

His bliss was nowhere to be found, at the moment. Ron was frustrated; his ruminating time wasn't going anywhere. His mind was going around in circles. He came out here to sort out his thoughts, and ended up with them being even more tangled up. His brain was an intricate object with lots of odd tweaks. Ron could honestly say he felt it going into overdrive.

The sigh he gave was carried away by the wind. Bye? His mind was called back home to planet earth from wherever it had strayed when his stomach rumbled, reminding him that he was indeed human, no matter how earthy he felt at the moment, and his body demanded food intake at least five times a day in order to go about his usual romps, and would he mind putting a little food inside his long-forgotten tummy?

In Ron's case, a full half-day without any kind of snack or meal was a horror to his stomach, and the area around his solar plexus was aching a bit. He didn't mind it, for once. Ron was too busy just mulling over some facts in his head.

He was rather relieved when the noise in the house simmered down and he was alone with his thoughts again.

A twig snapped behind him. Probably only Ginny calling him for dinner. He wouldn't mind her. She was powerless without the aid of the threat of a Bat-Bogey Hex.

"Ron?"

The one word was spoken with untarnished dubiety. It was a voice he longed to hear all summer. The sensitive hair on the back of his neck stood on end.

Speedily, he stood up, swaying slightly out of balance as his left heel fell on top of a peculiarly shaped rock. In front of him stood his best friend, and (in his mind) his nastiest adversary.

"Hermione? What're you doing here? You're not supposed to come til—"

A flicker of hurt passed through her face and only then did Ron realize his words were spoken a tad bit more accusingly then he wished.

"My parents are being put under the Fidelius Charm, to keep them safe and protected against the Dark side. Even I don't know who the Secret-Keeper is. Dumbledore thought it safe for me to stay here with your family until the new term starts. I'm not to see my parents until after this war is finished. It wouldn't be safe. For any of us," her words contained an ugly mixture of ice and bitterness. Never a good combination.

He averted his gaze from her angry face and set it upon the gradually darkening horizon. Ron tried hard to think of something to say to make up for his blunder.

"How's Harry?" Hermione asked, breaking the quiet.

"Seriously, I don't know. We've been really worried. Madam Pomfrey said he'd taken some damaging potions," he said. "Dark ones," Ron added, stealing a glance hopefully.

She appeared withdrawn. Fatigued. "Ginny told me she's been taking care of him a lot. Must be really hard for her, huh?"

At his questioning expression, Hermione sighed impatiently. "Of course, she still harbors feelings for Harry. And seeing a person who you really care about like that… Well," she said with a tone of helplessness.

Ron tried to grasp the control of the situation that was quickly subsiding from his fingers like water. He didn't understand. "What about Dean…?"

"Honestly, Ron, don't you and Ginny ever just sit down and talk? They've broken up weeks ago. Apparently, Ginny told Dean that maybe they rushed into things a bit. They're still friends, though."

Seeing her roll her owlish brown eyes flared up his temper a bit. He bit his cheek inside to keep himself from retorting.

"She spends all the time writing in that ridiculous diary you gave her. Hermione, I admit, that was a bit tactless of you. Otherwise, she just stays in her room, when she's not helping Mum with Harry," he replied.

"Why was it tactless, Ron? There you go, gallivanting to your own conclusions without all the facts straight. We talked about it a lot, you know. I only gave it to her after making sure that she's absolutely all right with it. We've come to be very good friends, despite our age difference," she said stiffly.

Here they were, not five minutes in each presence, already arguing. Sighing jadedly, Ron decided he didn't want it today. He didn't want to shout or even raise his voice a little at Hermione. Right now, he just wanted to savor the pleasure of seeing her once more.

He sat down, a bit vigilantly, not making any sudden movements. Ron patted the spot next to him invitingly. She looked at him, surprise evident in her eyes, before taking her seat.

For a while, none of them spoke. Gradually, the awkwardness Ron feared would take over dissolved, and he found himself relaxing.

Think, Weasley. What to talk about?

He was saved the effort of thinking up a pathetic topic when Hermione turned to him concernedly. "How have you been, Ron?

How had he been? It was a simple enough question. Why was he having such difficulty answering it?

"Just fine," he said, a bit too rough for someone who was supposed to be fine. And before he forgot his manners in her presence, "You?"

Hermione shrugged. "I'm really worried about Harry, though. His uncle's really horrid." She shivered visibly. For effect, or if she really felt chilled to the bone with the image of Vernon Dursley, Ron had no idea.

"Yeah…"

"First the death of…Sirius," she glanced around before muttering the last word, "and now this? I wonder how he can be taking it."

Ron twirled a half-brown, half-green blade of grass between his forefinger and thumb. "You're not alone in wondering, Hermione."

"Yeah… I just wish we could've done something to prevent it. Imagine how Harry feels, that we've let him down. That would be horrible, wouldn't it? I think he really felt that this summer was going to be different."

"It is different. Just not in the way we expected. It may come as a surprise to you, but I feel terrible, too, you know."

She turned to him seriously. "As I told you awhile ago, I also thought everything would change. But it didn't. Harry's in there, his body trying hard to recover, and the next summer after this, it's just going to be the same again. His uncle will still hurt him, though I doubt as much as he hurt him now, and his aunt and cousin will still hate him. What will have changed then?"

Ron made an odd movement, something between a shrug and a shake of his head. A little bit of both. "I'd go mad if I were him. It's a wonder he hasn't yet. He hasn't woken up since the night he was brought here, and that was only to scream off names of unknown people that he most probably dreamed about, mind you."

"Yeah, Ginny told me," she shook her head despondently, her hair rustling slightly. "To cope with all this, and without a family? I see what you mean, Ron. I don't know how I'd be able to stand it if my parents were gone."

He kept quiet. The sun was fully gone by this time, and the beginnings of dusk were starting to show in the sky. Hermione must've noticed that they didn't have much time left to talk.

Hurriedly, she asked, "How's the Order holding up? I haven't heard a single thing since the last day of classes, you know how Dumbledore is about owl post. And after Moody's extra warnings, I can hardly just pen down my inquiries and send it off, can I? Add to that that I don't have an owl."

It was Ron's turn to shake his head. "I wouldn't know because they still hold meetings at… at 12 Grimmauld Place."

Hermione sensed that he was uncomfortable mentioning Sirius' name. She was, also. His death had come as a real blow to them, a rude awakening. She didn't say anything.

"Anyway, Mum said we're going to stay there until the end of summer. We're moving in a few days, I reckon," said Ron, watching a lone sparrow soar. "Something about it being more out of harm's way than the Burrow and more convenient."

Hermione stared at her friend. There was something different about him, a particular something had changed. She couldn't put her finger on exactly what. Ron felt her gaze land on him, and his ears began to redden, against his will. What was she staring at him for?

She couldn't pry her eyes off of him until he met her eyes. There, Ron found a strange sort of peace. Not unlike the one he had felt when he was alone just a few minutes ago.

He inhaled some air, relishing in the dewy smell of the grass. "I still can't believe that Harry was being abused without our knowing it. I thought that this summer would be different, now that the Order's back. I can't help but think that they forgot a bit about Harry…"

"A bit?" she scoffed, massaging her temples gingerly. "It's just horrible. When I arrived, and after everyone left to go back to what they were doing, I went to see him. He doesn't look good, Ron, and his injuries look far from healing, even the old ones."

"How can you tell?"

"They aren't scabbing over. Not even the oldest-looking wounds are anywhere near that stage. I'm betting it's safe to say that V-Voldemort is up with a new trick. I just hope it isn't one that would leave Harry, or anyone else for that matter, dead."

"Oh." Ron racked his mind desperately for something to alleviate the darkness quickly descending in their conversation. "Malfoy got tried a week ago, and he has a life sentence in Azkaban, with charges including 'lying to the most esteemed and prestigious Minister of Magic' and 'malicious actions towards minors'," he paused to snort, before continuing. "The malicious actions bit was all right, considering that it was Harry who was the minor involved, but the lying part? I nearly wet myself laughing when Dad told me that."

Hermione cracked a grin. Even though it was weak, he suddenly felt as if a heavy burden was being lifted from his shoulders. He couldn't explain why, though.

That's my girl.

He blushed furiously, hoping she wouldn't notice. Hermione didn't. She was too busy staring into space.

"It is quite a bit outlandish, considering the fact that Fudge was actually stupid enough to believe him. They didn't mention that in the trial, did they?" she said, smirking a little.

He sniggered again. "I don't think so, either. So. . . any idea where your parents are?"

"Haven't the foggiest. I just wish someone would tell me. I think I know who the Secret-Keeper might be, though."

"Oh, really?" Ron feigned an interested expression, much like the one Hermione always wore when she was answering in class. He dodged her flying hand. "I don't think it would be that great if someone told you where your parents are hiding. If Vol— oh, You-Know-Who caught you, he could force the information out of you. Then, what would happen?"

At first, it seemed as if she was going to glare at him, but then she decided against it. "I know. And that's mainly the reason why I don't want to go. Don't think I haven't thought about it."

There she went again, turning his head in circles. "So you want to go, but you don't want to go? Make up your mind, Hermione!"

He didn't think that she liked the bossy tone in her voice very much.

"You'd do well to know, Ronald, that I have. Made my mind up, that is. That doesn't rob me of the right to want two different things, does it?"

It was a losing battle. It was always a losing battle with her. "I was just asking if you really knew what you wanted. Apparently, you do!"

Ronald?!

With a revolted look, he stood up and turned to leave the grassy knoll. All intentions of storming off fled from hid head when a soft hand warmed a spot on his forearm.

"I'm sorry, Ron, I didn't mean to blow my top there."

He searched her face, for what? He didn't know. It just felt right that he looked into her eyes. There was anguish, anger, trepidation, and… was that repentance?

Don't get carried away, you daft prick. Since when have you been an expert at recognizing emotions?

Shut up.

"I'd really appreciate it, Ron, if we just stayed here for a while, and… talked. We have a lot to talk about."

It was a question. He answered it.

"All right then…" Ron trying to sound offhand, ". . . I'm sorry, too."

For a really uncomfortable moment, tension hung thickly in the air. Above them, the rapidly darkening sky had a half-full moon. The rolling clouds, however, covered its brilliant beams. Ron found that the snow on top of the mountains had a bluish tinge to them.

"Did you hear about Professor Lupin?"

The worry in her face suddenly intensified. "What about him? What's happened?"

The way she said it, Ron knew that she was almost fearful of the answer. He didn't want to be the one to break the news to her. She already looked like she was on the verge of an emotional breakdown, and Ron new that this would trigger it.

I'll just have to choose my words carefully…

"He's at St. Mungo's. Injured a bit gravely by a Death Eater, I think? Tonks is with him right now. But the situation's under control, Hermione. Don't worry, the Healers there are perfectly skilled and they'll fix Lupin up just like they healed Dad."

She groaned, making her seem so vulnerable and small to him. "It's starting already, Ron… The casualties will start over flowing at St. Mungo's, and even trained Healers in every part of the world will start to have too much patients in their hands to accommodate some more. The deaths will be outrageous, we'll never be sure just what his Death Eaters are capable of, Ron! Pretty soon, you won't even be able to recognize body after damaged body because each and every one's image is burned into your retina and—"

Ron looked scandalized; he wasn't capable of dealing with a hysterical Hermione at the moment… He was barely able to deal with his own troubles.

"Hermione, stop— No, we're ready this time— don't you start crying— the Order's got a move on, no one will die—"

He choked on his own lies as Hermione's eyes suddenly brightened.

There you've done it.

"How can you say that, Ron? How can you say that when you and I know that we can never be sure that when we go to sleep at night that we'll never wake up again because of some Death Eater raid? Of course people will die, people you could've hated, or cared about deeply, people who mattered very little or a lot, or— or— oh, I don't know!"

She stopped her ranting and turned away, Ron knew, before he would see her cry. She only turned sideways, so he had a prefect view of Hermione's tears falling silently. Each time she wiped at her face, a little bloke pounded hammers into his heart. How brave they were all trying to be.

He waited, his breath hitched in his throat, for her to calm down a bit, before speaking timidly, "Just—just let it all out, now, it'll make you feel loads better… Trust me."

"I'm sorry, Ron," Hermione looked up, then laughed nervously at herself, "I seem to be saying that a lot today…"

He let out a little embarrassed laugh. "S'all right, Hermione. It always is, anyway."

"It was a bit silly of me…" –she brought a finger very close to his lips, near enough to touch them, but not quite there yet, knowing from years of friendship that he was going to object loudly— "Shh. Yes, it was, Ron. Again, sorry."

He felt a little pang of disappointment when her finger dropped. "Like I said, just…let it all out. It helps," Ron added supportively.

She brought her legs up to her chest and hugged them. "Now the second war's starting, I just wonder. . . ." said Hermione.

"What?" He asked gently, so as not to provoke her into thinking he wanted to invade her privacy or anything.

It took a long time for her to answer. Ron waited patiently, something he wasn't really good at. Most of the time, the way he was always raring to go was what got him in fights with Hermione. Behind them, the numerous shadows danced, cast by the light from the Burrow. They didn't have much time now.

Mum would realize that they were still out, and would send Ginny to fetch them for dinner. Then, everything would be ruined. The serenity of just being with Hermione under a blanket of stars.

"Will it ever be the same again?"

Somehow, without Hermione explaining to him what exactly she was talking about, Ron understood. It was complicated. He wasn't quite sure what to answer, and if he did manage to answer, would his words be what Hermione wanted to hear? His next words were thought through and through before they were spoken.

Ron shook his head a little. "I doubt it. There are lots of reasons why. Everything's changed so much. Too much, too fast. I feel like…" He scrunched his eyes up before trailing off. His juice was all dried up. Just like he said, too much, too fast.

"Like?" she urged him on.

Ron concentrated and tried to cover what he felt with words. Was it possible? It didn't feel like it was. Still, he tried his best.

"Like… we're in a completely different world. We can't go back to the way we used to be. It's all too different now. You, me, Harry, the Order, Mum, Dad…" he knew he was babbling, but he couldn't find it in himself to stop. "We're in way over our heads in this one, Hermione. We're too involved. I can't find a way out."

"I know what you mean," Hermione said so quietly that he had to strain his ears in order to catch her words. A stray lock of her chestnut brown hair fell into her eyes, but she didn't put it behind her ear. Ron had a weird yearning to reach out and fix it.

He flattened the ground in front of him, imagining it was the Dark Lord's face. Suddenly, with his sudden burst of creativity, he pounded harder on the ground. "What really gets me mad is the fact that in wars such as these, there will be people who will die, and people who live. It's almost like it needs to happen."

She turned to look at him. Her eerily calm eyes pierced into his soul. Ron shivered unnecessarily, rubbing his palms together.

"We can change it. It doesn't need to be a fact."

The raw hope in her voice cut him like daggers. He knew inside she was hoping for a miracle, something that never came. It broke his heart to see her there, looking at him with hints of unbeatable courage that was what made her a Gryffindor.

"It's too damn hard! It's in human nature to crave for the thrill of war; it's in our bloods. But not everyone wants to die. But they don't have a choice, do they? Good people over centuries have been trying to make a difference, trying to change the fact—" he pulverized the earth bitterly, "—that not everyone can live. It's like that, Hermione! It just is."

"Are you afraid?" Hermione asked, her voice taking on a quality of tenderness that was quite rare for her.

Ron's eyes trailed over her face, searching for an answer to why did she have to torture him? Exactly why?

Are you afraid, Hermione?

The words nearly spilled out of his mouth before he remembered that while answering a question with one of your own might save your neck in death-defying situations, these circumstances did not really apply to the life-threatening category, and it would be wiser to just tell the truth.

You've done it already tonight, mate, more than you were willing to. Tell the truth just once more, Weasley.

"Terrified like hell," he said, unable to fight the sheepishness that had come into his voice. "Are— are you?"

Was it just him, or did she move closer? Really closer?

What was that all about?

"I would be stupid not to be afraid, Ron. I'm terrified because this is a situation that I don't think we can ever have control over. We'll just have to fight it in the best way we can," Hermione paused to draw some breath, "I'm afraid for so much people. I guess— I guess if there were a choice between Voldemort killing me or him doing away with anybody I care about…" She gestured with her hands wildly as she spoke, Ron feared she would smack him (or herself!) accidentally, "Well— well, I think you know what I'd pick."

"Would you die for me, then?"

He said them before he even thought about saying anything.

Idiot!

He mentally whacked himself before he decided to give himself a real one. Ron's hand would've made its journey to his forehead if an outside force hadn't landed on his forearm, giving him a strange feeling of déjà vu.

This moment has happened before.

"I would, Ron. I'd die for you gladly."

It would be a lie to say Ron wasn't taken aback. He very nearly lost his balance (and he was sitting). The intensity of her warmth, the depth of those simple syllables. They rolled over him like the endless crashing waves of an ocean.

For a second, he was completely clueless as to what to do. Then, suddenly, what he had to do was engraved in his mind. It was all he could think about. It was clearer than anything he knew before in his life. He gently untangled her fingers from his wrist, and brought his own up to her face.

He didn't look in her eyes, didn't want to see if there was anger or confusion. After a few breathless moments, her stray lock of hair was behind her ear again. His fingers were leaving their destination, and already heading for Hermione's shoulder.

Ron swore he felt a strange calmness within him, even greater than the one he felt when he was watching the sun set alone, and thinking about the mountains and their constancy, when his fingers dropped lightly on her shoulder. Hermione's head swiveled to the spot where his hand and her t-shirt connected.

Suddenly, he had his arms wrapped around her in a rough hug. As her hands met firmly over his neck, Ron found himself saying into her hair, his voice a bit muffled, but the meaning going in her heart and mind, clearly as crystal, "And I for you, Hermione. Anywhere, any time."

She nodded into his chest.

They pulled back a few heart-stopping moments later, as they heard footsteps scuffling along the track to the hill. He flashed her his best shot at a grin, before turning to shout at Ginny, who looked very cross at having Ron's spit fly into her mouth, which she'd opened to tell them that dinner was ready.

Somewhere in Athens

Bill Weasley swore violently as he knocked over the colossal pile of scrolls perched atop the highly polished surface of ivory. The owner had repeatedly stated that it was one of a kind, that nothing else could match the price of the history in that table, but Bill didn't give a damn. A table was a table, nothing more, nothing less.

Damned pieces of paper.

Still, those papers were of great value, and Bill put them back on the tabletop with gritted teeth, and he tried to subjugate the urge to throw them into the dying flames. It was highly tempting, but many people would not be pleased with him. Not pleased at all.

"Weezley?"

He spun on the balls of his feet, trying not to look as though just a few seconds ago, he was intent on actually shoving the precious scrolls into the burning wood.

Fleur Delacour, old rival of Harry Potter, and a highly enchanting young witch, and Amintar, the man Dumbledore had introduced to him just mere days ago, stood at the doorway, their eyes questioning his. He patted the stack of papers uneasily, a sign to tell them that he was not doing anything wrong.

The Greek man laughed good-naturedly. "Just move the ivory table to your left. It would save us much more time, and our tempers won't be driven to the point of rising unnecessarily."

Almost automatically, his neck began to heat up as Fleur giggled daintily. A scowl found its way to his countenance, and he quietly cast his magic over the table.

His ego massively wounded by the soft peals of the part-Veela, he turned to face Amintar.

If only I weren't so smitten with her, what I would do!

"All right. That's over. What do we have planned today, Mr. Calaminra?"

The older man winced, in confusion and darkness. There was definitely something hidden inside the flinch, which told Bill that he had most unfortunately struck a nerve. "Do me a favor, Weasley."

"Which is..?"

"Don't, I repeat, do not call me that. Amintar's fine. Whenever someone says "Mr. Calaminra", I look behind my shoulder in fear of seeing my father coming up behind me."

Fleur was silenced, and the laughter on her sharp European features were entirely erased, her sudden seriousness caused by the incisiveness in the tenor of Amintar. Dumbledore's parting words ran through Bill's and Fleur's minds. Calaminra was not a man you wanted on the wrong side, he wasn't someone you could just throw bloody sticks at and expect to come out of the encounter alive.

For a split second, pure panic washed over the two young people. But to their obvious relief, the Grecian wasn't one who let things of such inconsequentiality to get to him deeply. Yes, he was a wise man, with knowledge and an understanding that bypassed witches and wizards his own age. Yes, he knew tragedies like no other, he had been tested by life with trials too painful to recall.

"Sure… Amintar," Bill smiled uncertainly.

The older wizard grinned back. "To answer your inquiry, Bill, we'll discontinue our study of prophecies that have been deemed false. Otherwise, known to us as prophecies that have been denied over the centuries."

"But, sir, we, of ze Wizarding world, and ze Muggle world, 'ave not known any prophezeez that 'ave not been followed, exzept that of Merlin and Arthur," objected Fleur.

"If you think that I am unaware of that, Ms. Delacour, then you are gravely mistaken. To defy a prophecy that is real in every aspect, and that has come out of one who is blessed with the most precious gift to See is a thing of such difficulty, that only Merlin has been known to do it."

Bill contemplated this over his head. He knew it very well that already, the prophecy they were trying to break concerned the best friend of his brother. Bill had met Harry briefly, and conversed with him quite well during the span of the fourteenth summer of Ron.

Amintar continued at their silence. "The purpose of your revision over the books on prophecies was to let this little, seemingly irrelevant fact be drilled into your minds. At your hidden despondencies inside, I can see that the purpose has been fulfilled. Therefore, we will stop our study. It is pointless to go on."

He strode over to the scrolls, and took a number in each hand. "We all know that the only way to stop He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named lies in the secrets of the prophecy that a certain Sybil Patricia Trelawney made more than a decade ago. Members of the Order, who are indebted with utmost trust, have been informed of this prophecy. You, being part of the Order of the Phoenix, know this prophecy, too."

Bill and Fleur nodded, reminding Amintar of the way the bobble headed puppies on the back of old peoples' cars nodded. He fell silent. He wanted his "team" to be able to take initiative, to be able to think for themselves beyond what was necessary.

"We are trying to break it, then?" Bill asked.

He said it with more definition than one should ask a question with. He knew the answer, he knew what Amintar would say, and he didn't like it at all. What was there to like?

"Yes. It will be hard an—"

"We can do eet!" Fleur said excitedly. As Bill looked at her during her outburst, he realized that she was doing this for a reason. Maybe for reasons he couldn't understand. But he would ask her. And then, he would share his own reasons for wanting to help Harry, a boy who was not of great importance to him. Perhaps they could help each other.

"Trust us, Amintar."

The hope that lit up his aged eyes told Bill that Amintar did. It was the kind of people like Bill and Fleur that made the Greek go on living, and continuing what he did, because he knew that there was still hope. They could still defeat the Dark side.

"We will be scouring numerous books for spells that, in any way, might help Potter to survive long enough to vanquish He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Anything that you think can be used, in whatever way possible, must be written down."

It sounded to Bill as though Amintar thought that Harry would die, with the Dark Lord defeated or not. It was clear to one that Harry wasn't strong in the physical world, but mentally, his courage and strength was undeniable.

"We will find a way. I promised the Order, and I promised Lily that I wouldn't let her son die. Promises don't mean a thing in the world we live in today. But they do to me."

His voice was firm, it masked the real emotion that he was feeling. Bill heard the fear in his voice, he heard the helplessness that Amintar tried so fiercely to quell. He was thankful to the older man for trying so hard to be brave, for all of them.

"I'll inform Albus of what we are about to do. We won't start it today. You can explore the town, buy a few things, look at the nonexistent sights. Do your own things today."

The quiet thuds of the door against the doorway was the only sound that resonated in the room after Amintar left.

Bill rubbed his tired eyes, trying valiantly not to seem weak in front of Fleur, who was trying to appear nonchalant. In the past few days, he had been absolutely engrossed in finishing all the books the Greek man had assigned them to read. Everything that was written had sparked up an interest in Bill that nothing had done in the longest period of time. He had been running on a high where he had the desire, that seemed most impossible to feed, to know just a little bit more.

Bill literally felt the adrenaline that had been rushing through his veins to replace the extreme paucity of rest ebb away with a frustrating speed his brain couldn't catch up with. He didn't quite have the strength to keep his straight posture up, trying to forget the innumerable instance when his mother had drilled into his mind that the way he slouched, or didn't slouch, was of utmost importance, since it was undeniable that everyone who was of high class looked down on those whose shoulders hunched even the tiniest bit.

At that moment, he was too tired to give a damn about what anyone thought about him. It was clear in his mind that all he wanted to do was sleep, and get lots of it. He was already walking towards the door when Fleur's voice broke through his fatigue-induced stupor.

"Weezley?"

Bill couldn't understand why she refused to call him by her first name. It made her seem almost haughty, exactly how he pictured those from the French lands were.

"What?"

"Are you not afraid to die?"

What a question to pop.

The way she said it flattened out all images Bill had of her being conceited. It was hard to believe that she, Fleur Delacour, who, the way Bill saw it, never once broke her stride to give up her integrity, who was always so self-assured and confident, sometimes overly so, was speaking in such a manner that implied to Bill that for one of the few times in her life, she was unsure about something, that she didn't know how to get control over the situation.

"Why do you ask?"

He didn't want to readily admit that he was terrified shitless each time he had to face the ruthless servants of Voldemort, that he loathed the feeling of not knowing whether he would live another day to see the people he loved every time he went into another mission for the Order.

She seemed unperturbed at the injected insolence in his voice.

"Do not people ask if zey want to know? Is that not reason enough?"

Good point.

But now, when he mused over it, if he were too afraid to die, then his supposed cowardice would mask what little courage and fearlessness he had left, to go into war, and to protect the lives of those he treasured.

"I suppose… Do you want an honest answer?"

"A fool would want a dishonest answer. I will depend on you not to make a fool out of me."

So, there was more behind those hypnotizing baby blues of hers, Bill cogitated with a bit of consternation. He knew it was wrong to think that she was just another stereotype of a blonde, but that was exactly the kind of image that she gave.

Maybe she was lucky that her looks were very deceiving. It would be good help for the Order.

"Well," he said, stalling for time to think of a jocose answer. He came up with none, and conjectured that the truth was the path to take. He knew that no matter how hard he tried, he could never bring himself to lie about anything to anyone. So why start now?

"Death isn't a thing I have much qualms about. I can die any way, it'll still be all right. But I wouldn't want to die now. Not while Voldemort is still around. I won't stand for it. I'll do whatever it takes to help bring his dark reign to an end. And I will make sure that when he's down, he stays down."

Fleur looked him up and down, and Bill had the uncanny feeling that she was trying to scrutinize whether he really was being honest, or if he really was just falsifying his real feelings to give off the impression that he was a heroic young man, tanned from hours in the Egyptian sun.

He just sincerely wished she was a good judge of character; Fleur Delacour thinking that he was just another bastard that the world seemed to be so full of, coming from the cold isles, and lying through his teeth was something that he didn't unerringly lust after.

"I, too, pray zat I will not be struck dead by some of ze foolish men of zis Dark Lord. I am not worried to die. I do not fear death. But my family, back in France…I wish zey never will feel ze cold ze Death Eaters bring wiz zem," she ran her picayune hands over her arms, which her damask robes failed to cover.

"I 'ave felt eet. I do not wish zat my younger sister will ever 'ave to fight for 'er life. I wish zat my muzzer and Gabrielle will never know what exactly it feels to face ze horror of ze Dark side. I want to do ze fighting myself. Zat is why I do this," Fleur gestured around the room miserably. "I 'ad to leave ze safety of France to protect zem. As long as zere is 'ope, then I will fight. I 'ave started something; and I will finish it."

Haughtiness definitely dissolving into a mere nothingness. Bill's hand left the door, and with it, his intention of leaving for his quarters departed. He wanted to get to know this young woman in front of him, who stood so defiantly against the powers of the Dark side.

"Fleur…" The name seemed to come so naturally to his tongue. "If I can call Amintar by his first name, can't you call me by mine?"

She looked taken aback. "Why do you want me to call you zat?"

"Can a person not want anything without having to have a reason?" He challenged.

The seconds stretched out like forever, as Fleur fought an internal battle. Bill was afraid that she would snap back at his annoying philosophical saying that was made up on the spot, but she proved him wrong. Instead, a weary smile passed through the many gates that led to her true soul.

"Good enough, Weezley… I mean, Bill," she said, still smiling.

He felt his face muscles pull up into a smile of his own. He felt ready to take a stab at death. "What are you going to do today?"

Death chose not to bite back. "I will contribute to the local community…"

"Oh?" One eyebrow went up. Way up.

"Oui," she laughed, "I'll be shopping today. I'll buy Gabrielle some of ze wonderful bonbons that we do not 'ave in France. I like it 'ere. Greece is quite well-endowed, eez zat 'ow you say it?"

He nodded kindly. "Your accent is still quite heavy, but other than that, your English vocabulary is improving greatly."

She looked like she needed the encouragement. It turned out to be true. Fleur's already pretty face seemed to glow with her ecstatic happiness.

"Thank you, Weez—I mean, Bill."

When she turned to go, he felt a heavy pang of disappointment take over his heart.

What did you expect, Weasley? For you to become instant friends?

It turned out that she did, in a way, want to become instant friends, because, swiveling around, she asked, "Would you like to come wiz me?"

He nodded eagerly, and his enthusiasm must've been apparent since she took one look at him and let out peals of soft laughter. She strode over to the ivory table which, just mere minutes ago, had been the most cursed cause of his annoyance, and fixed their work.

"I'll just write down where we'll be, so Amintar won't think that Death Eaters have gotten to us."

Fleur giggled again, seeming less like the older woman she had to grow up so fast into in the past year, and more like the young schoolgirl Bill remembered from the Triwizard tournament.

"Come on, zen, Bill. Greece awaits us."

With a sudden flash of daring, he took her hand in his and pulled a stunned but pleased Fleur Delacour out into the busy streets of Athens.

A distant voice was calling him back to the present. Where was he? How come every part of him hurt? He couldn't open his eyes, it hurt too much to move, to breath.

"Lupin, John Remus…"

White. Everything was white. How could a person not go blind? There was a figure, something purple, short, just purple, against the whiteness. Why was everything the color of snow?

"…lycanthropic…"

It hurt his eyes. It was too bright. Might as well go back to sleep, he thought, before closing his eyes, and waiting for the darkness to consume him fully.

"…admitted into the Creature-Induced Injuries floor, room D…"

"Oh, no, you don't, Lupin! Wake up!"

Ouch!

The purple shaped monstrosity had slapped his cheek bitingly. It stung where the blow had landed, but he didn't have the power over any of his arms to massage his face. He didn't have the power to cry out in the pain that had suddenly enveloped him, either. Where was he? What was he doing there? And just what was wrong with him?

The person (at least he thought it was a person) drew nearer, and waved a hand confusingly over his blurry eyesight. The quick, jabbing movements increased the agonizing pain that was his headache, and he moaned with all the power he could muster in his current state of weakness.

He just wanted to disappear blissfully into the darkness that was calling his name so loudly. Tempting ribbons of peace wove around his body, and pulled him farther into the ecstasy-filled sleep he so desperately craved. He was too tired to think, or do anything else. All that was clear to him was that he didn't need the pain, nor the befuddlement. Rest was what he craved, escape from the pain was what he desired.

Eyes so full of sleepiness started to droop with a will of their own, and he prepared himself to be sucked into the glorious crepuscule.

"Wake up, Remus! Up, up, up!"

The annoying voice just refused to give up. The annoying voice that was so familiar.... He scrutinized his mind for missing details, for anything to help him remember.

In a formidable rush too strong for someone in his condition, everything came back to him. The rage he had felt whilst fighting the Death Eaters, the equilibrium that had engulfed him completely when faced against the venomous fangs of the gargantuan snake, the unadulterated euphoria at seeing James, Sirius and Lily, and the nullity he had felt while he fell into the inevitable nothingness that waited for him as he was bitten viciously, as his blood gushed all over the stunningly intricate fangs that incised him, as his insides were literally splayed all over the battle ground...

Oh, God, seeing James and Sirius again. It was so much more different thank looking at them in the pictures, which he had done so often in the times he was alone. It was more real than anything he had ever known, and what he had felt had struck him harder than any blow in his life.

Had he really seen them? Or had he been just hallucinating in the heat of the moment when the serpent stroke? Had they really smiled at him, in that gentle manner that only the ones who had finally come to accumulate true happiness can use? Had they really told him to hold on just a bit longer, to be strong for the world, for Harry and for them? Or had he just been hearing voices? Seeing things?

Blood went deeper than family. They were his brothers, the sole reason why he just didn't kill himself whenever he felt particularly depressed because of his lycanthropy. They made up the anchor in Remus' raging sea of deep sadness and anger. They held him back when what his mind really craved with a passion of darkness was to catapult into the world of the crazed werewolf inside of him, a world of confusion, and immense feelings of being misunderstood, a world that Remus John Lupin, the sane Remus John Lupin, never wanted to enter ever again.

He was too tired to function. The darkness beckoned…

"He's awake again. Healer Illawe! Healer Illawe! HEALER ILLA--"

"For the love of all that is magical, shut up, Tonks!"

He had successfully avoided being rendered deaf for kingdom come. He had finally realized that he was in St. Mungo's, and the purple-haired woman was Tonks, and that he was about to have his sense of hearing permanently stolen for him when he'd shouted at her to keep quiet. In the angriest possible way.

She approached him carefully, and her eyes were doleful. She tried to cover her resentment, but her pathetic attempt at self-control was pitifully just that. Pathetic.

"Watch where you scream your bloody head off, Lupin," Tonks growled dangerously.

His brain registered the fact that he was in the middle of a crisis. To laugh or to cry, he did not know what else to do. He just wanted the boisterous woman, namely Tonks, to be apprehended by the Aurors who were supposed to be protecting innocent witches and wizards.

Help me, dear gods above.

"Oh, like you didn't blast your own bloody head off right beside my ear?"

Quick to anger, as most people who weren't of wise age were, Tonks' temper flared up like the butt of a cigarette just meant to be lit. Not of wise age, indeed.

Remus knew that from the way her mouth opened that she would have begun screaming again if the harassed Healer Illawe hadn't run into the room in a frenzy, and beaten Tonks to it.

"What's this I hear? Ear-piercing screams, in my ward?"

Remus didn't dare point out that she was also a participant of the screaming she was so deftly referring to. He didn't think he would come out of the experience alive.

"Young lady! This might be a public place, but that does not entitle you to break the tranquility of the ward! There are sick people here, resting, and should you fail to be sensitive to the needs of others, I will have to ask you to leave!"

He possessed the courage to stand in front of one of the most leviathan snakes to slither on the sinned soil of the world, but he wasn't about to counter against the Healer that Tonks was currently shooting darts at. And he most certainly wasn't about to point out that she was also breaking the tranquility of the room by shouting at Tonks for breaking the tranquility. At least not in this lifetime. Probably not also in the next.

He wanted to see if the other occupants in the room were as bothered by the two squalling women as he was. There were no other people in the room, save the two members of the Order, and the utterly perplexed Healer.

He was just settling back into the cozy feathers of the pillows propped behind him to luxuriate in the fight that seemed to progress when the Healer shut her mouth abruptly, and the fact that there was no arguing with someone like Tonks seemed to nestle quite snugly in her mind, and she started stomping off, her white-encased feet making the loudest of noises on the dust-free tiles.

Remus started to genuinely contemplate whether the Ministry should have made a law prohibiting Healers from wearing shoes that would "break the tranquility", if their exuberantly loud voices wouldn't.

How did Arthur manage to spend Christmas here? I've barely been here five minutes!

However, the silent inquiries running rapidly in his head were cut off as brusquely as Healer Illawe left.

"Remus! Merlin, that was mighty stupid of you!"

She was yelling again. Did she have to do it so loudly? What ever happened to being quiet around those who were hurt and lying prone on a hospital mattress?

"You could've moved, just a little to the right—or cast a spell to blast it away, or whatever! You're a wizard! That's why you have magic, you idiot! To cast spells!"

He was too used to her shouting that he didn't get worked up about it this time. Quite the contrary… In fact, it was a bit of a humdrum for him, seeing as he'd been through different versions of Tonks' screeching voice numerous times past.

Remus knew that it would only be a matter of seconds before she ran out of the juice that was subsequently providing her energy for shrieking her heart out.

"So tactless of you! So stupid! Ugh, Remus, you made us worry! What in heaven's name made you stay rooted to the spot, Lupin? That is not how a good fighter is! I doubt you are one!"

Oh, so she's going on the track of the army general now, is she?

"Tell me, were you possessed?! I swear, Remus, if you do that one more time—"

He'd had quite enough.

"You think that I would want to have my sides ripped viciously to shreds by a merciless serpent again? You should try it, Nymphadora, it's quite fulfilling! Then, you'll want to do it again, and again, and again—"

He shouldn't've said that. Nymphadora. He just secured himself a most enjoyable dive off the plank.

"God, you annoy the hell out of me, Lupin! Just shut up for once in your life! For one second, would you just shut your trap—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!"

The anger in his eyes dissipated a little as he saw Moody, Arthur and Kingsley enter the room. The one who had interrupted the livid tirade of Tonks was Moody, who laughed a bit harshly when he saw Remus' confusion.

"Your quarrel seemed to be leaning a tad bit too far on the precarious side, Lupin. Keep that feisty girl of yours at bay at all times."

The flames that had died when the three newcomers entered came alive in Tonks' eyes once more. Shacklebolt, knowing a danger sign when he saw one, muttered a Silencing Charm, much to the chagrin of Tonks, and to the palpable reprieve of the werewolf.

"What the hell are you talking about, Mad-Eye? She's just a kid."

Arthur grinned suggestively at Tonks. "Way older man, eh, Tonks?"

She lunged at him, as a predator would at its most adverse prey, and, chuckling, Arthur slanted to the side just in time to escape the murderous witch. Though getting quite old, and not as fast as he used to be, Arthur still possessed some mastery over the skills of an Auror, and he was still quite agile.

"So, Remus, I was in the same boat this Christmas. Tell me, does your blood gush like mad when the Healers try to change the dressings?"

Lupin swore that Arthur was more cheerful at the prospect of having someone experience the same thing he did than Lupin would've liked.

"I wouldn't know, I've only just woken up, thanks to someone's ceaseless screaming," he shot a sinister glance at the struggling Tonks, who was fighting against a Binding Charm, care of the wonderful Kingsley Shacklebolt.

"Well, if you need any therapy after getting out of the hospital, you can call me," Arthur said jovially.

Remus looked queerly at the older man. "I think I'll be able to walk fine, Arthur."

Mr. Weasley laughed good-naturedly, his laughter bouncing off the walls and reverberating around the otherwise empty room. "Not that kind of therapy, Lupin. I had nightmares, y'know. Every night, no rest at all."

His chortling was cut short, however, by the sudden rasping of Moody. "All right, gents, keep it down... Wouldn't want that troll of a woman to come here again, would you?"

Kingsley sent a meaningful glance at Tonks. "Should I take the charms off, Mad-Eye?"

Remus felt sheer panic grip his heart and mind. "Dear gods, not yet! Let me revel in the placating peace before it gets shattered again by the lovely soprano of our dear Nymphadora."

That did it. Tonks fought tooth and nail against the Silencing Charm, her screams somewhat muffled, but still audible.

Entertainment that will be rendered unmatchable, Remus thought with a lingering taste of satisfaction, before Moody spoke again, his voice as rough as the surface of sandpaper.

"After all I tell you, Lupin, you still think that you have the balls to face anything standing? CONSTANT VIGILANCE! Remember that, Lupin! How many times have I repeated it incessantly?"

Moody's barking had to rival with the deafening resonance of some mechanical contraption that had come alive at that moment, and the insufferable tallyhos of Tonks. He was straining to be heard over the din, nearly shouting.

Arthur stole a quick peep at his watch, and was already halfway out of the room when he said over his shoulder, "Afraid to run, but I must, Remus. Talk to me about the therapy! I have this good technique, really helpful--"

The look of liberation on the redhead's face as he practically ran out of the room wasn't clandestine from Remus.

Kingsley was already by Remus' side, shaking his hand, and saying something so blurred against the whirring of the machines outside in the Muggle world, that it was damn near impossible to decipher.

"WHAT?" Remus shouted, hopelessly trying to be heard over the rambunctious purring of a new day for the fresh machinery.

Kingsley, too, seemed to be getting just a bit too weary of their fellow member's intolerable vociferations, as he just looked pityingly at Remus, running out of the ward.

Good God! I need a tranquilizer!

"Lupin. Duty calls, Dumbledore needs to see me about something." Remus strained to hear what Mad-Eye was saying. "Just heal that damn bite of yours quick, so you can get the hell outta here, and onto the battle fields, where you rightfully should be."

He was nodding now, and Moody was getting farther and farther away from site, leaving behind the squalid prisoner that was Remus John Lupin, alone with the worst punishment fate could ever condemn a person to.

"And remember, Lupin…"

This was it. The eternal words of the legendary Mad-Eye Moody. Lupin cracked a tiny smile. His head screamed it along with Moody.

CONSTANT VIGILANCE!

"CONSTANT VIGILANCE! Take it easy, mate."

And he was gone. Remus sighed deeply, sadly, desperate for someone to make the high-pitched girl shut up. He had to try and do something. Take initiative. Don't be afraid. That was what Gryffindors were known for.

"Tonks! Tonks—All right, all right! You can have the spells off if you shut your mouth!"

She sent him a withering glare, and her shoulders sagged a little. It was obvious that she, too, had been spent. It would be a rara avis if she screamed continuously, just like she had done so, and still have had energy left.

"Finite Incantatem."

Tonks' slender fingers loped over the supple crevasses of her lips instantaneously, and her limbs indulged visibly in being gratis to do what she wished to once more. When her body finally finished scouring over each function to make sure they still worked, and that she was still intact, she turned around to look at Remus.

He was copiously set for another bout of her screaming, but she just looked at him warily, like she had looked at him so many times before since they had met each other through the Order. This time she wasn't smiling.

"I could've have controlled myself, you know," the sullenness in her voice struck him hard.

Who knew, Lupin? Maybe, if you gave her the chance...

"Enjoyed screaming your heart out?"

She sat down on the chair beside his bed. Lupin thought she looked liked she could have done well in the bed. "Not really. It was great fun to drive Kingsley away, though."

Remus was elated that she wasn't taking it in too much of a bad way. "Imagine, Tonks, you managed to accomplish what many Death Eaters have failed to do…"

Tonks laughed, and he was happy to note that it wasn't mirthless, or sarcastic.

Good old Tonks.

A pacific taciturnity came over the both of them. For Remus, it seemed as if everything was all right with her, but looks were deceiving. In the next few minutes that ensued the silence, Tonks' mind was working with speed, whirring with thoughts, some pleasant, others, not so.

I guess that when Remus got hurt, it was sort of a turning point. This isn't just another game. It's getting serious, people I care about are getting hurt. I'm just tired of war. And it hasn't even been more than a year yet! But I'm already done with it. I want nothing to do with war, or bloody Voldemort. Sod them all! Let them rot in a hellhole, manifested with shit and all…

While her vile judgments ran through her mind, Remus was thinking something along the same lines.

Tonks doesn't seem as spirited before, but… why should I care? Well, I do, and that's that. She's my friend, and we're in this together, we can't afford to lose anyone. This war is sickening, and it's ruining so many things for all of us. Our children's futures, what will be of them? Voldemort, you are one sick bastard.

Finally, with a bit of timidity in her tone, she asked, "Will it ever end, Rem?"

Somehow, some way, he knew what she was talking about. It just clicked in his mind.

See what war can do to people...

He retained some of the quiet for as long as he could, before she made a little impatient noise that made him look into her eyes. The verdant hues were hauntingly frightened, but he could see her determination was still alive. He didn't think anything could ever drown her resolve to bring down the dark.

"Don't call me Rem… I think it will."

She gave a tired sigh, running her fingers through her surprisingly soft hair. "It gets a bit old after a while, doesn't it, Rem?"

He smiled wryly inside, but kept a stoic expression outside. She would never give something up, once she set her mind to it, not even something as petty as calling him 'Rem'.

"I give up, call me whatever you want," said Lupin, and adjusted the shabby hospital robes, which itched in some unmentionable places, "And, yes. I get tired of it, too."

She laughed, but the mirthless sound sent uncomfortable jolts up his spine. "It's times like these that make me wonder if in ten years, I'll still be around with the people I care about now. You never know…"

Tonks didn't have to say it, but Remus knew. She was afraid that she would be left alone, after everything finished. It was so much worse than being dead.

"Let's face the truth, Tonks," he began, trying to keep his voice even, and with a burst of emotion he didn't know he had, Lupin said, "I'm not getting any younger, but I'll be here for you forever."

Friend to friend…

She glanced at him, some of her worst worries alleviated by his comforting words. "Me, too, Rem. Count on that."

Remus smiled, all in all, it had been a good day. "I will."

The arms of love encompass you with your present, your past, your future; the arms of love gather you together.

- Southern Mail

Antoine de Saint-Exupery

I apologize, because in Chapter 5, I put there "Andrew Dolohov", when Carmine goes, "Remember the years, Andrew…" or something like that. Anyway, it's supposed to be Antonin. Once again, my apologies.

A few sentences/words on my story would really brighten my day! Por favor, review! I'm a pathetic little mishap, so wouldn't you please press that little button over there, down there, and make me happy? I love reviews! Crave 'em. Flames are welcome. I'd enjoy them. This is not open to Perez.