Chapter Seven: The Fuse Alight
Fred and Ron made it back to Order headquarters without incident. Upon returning to the council room, they saw that most of the people Harry had named earlier were present, poring over the same large map that was spread across the long table.
Everyone seemed relieved to see Fred and Ron reappear, safe and sound. Harry asked Ron if he had seen what he needed to see, and when Ron replied that he had, Harry nodded in satisfaction and turned back to the map.
Ron sensed that he and Fred had been subtly dismissed. Harry seemed tenser than he had when the two of them had left earlier, and he was clearly eager to get back to what he'd been doing before the interruption. Fred, however, was not about to leave without telling the others what he had seen in the city. "I have something else to report," he said loudly.
Everyone's attention was suddenly off the map and on Fred. Their faces were solemn and still, as if they knew that the news was going to be bad. "I hope it's not what I think it is," said Mr. Weasley.
"Three new Stranglers on the eastern route –"
Fred was interrupted by loud groans from many of the adults. "Merlin's Beard!"
"That's the third time in as many weeks –"
"– getting close to the line –"
The unhappy outbursts continued until Harry spoke up and cut them off. "It seems we've finally come to that crossroads we've been talking about. The Legions are planting very quickly now, and they're getting much too close to our position for safety, much less comfort."
The flurry of voices around the table came so quickly and loudly that Ron was taken aback. It was almost like watching a dam burst. Amid the din, Ron caught several variations on the same theme – that the Order had to fight. It seemed very much like everyone had already been readying themselves for this moment, when there was little choice left but to move forward.
"I take it you all think it's time to attack, then?" said Harry.
"I don't see any alternative," Tonks declared, and the others muttered in consensus. "We can't wait until there are Stranglers planted at our front door to make our move," she added, and several people shouted, "Yes!" in response.
"And if we don't take action now, we're going to be forced to keep on retreating until there's nowhere left to go," said Bill.
"Aye!" Daedalus Diggle said heartily, and his call was echoed by several more. Ron felt a thrill run through his veins at the sight of them all so passionately arguing to strike. Whether it was a thrill of excitement or fear, he couldn't tell. Next to him, Fred's eyes were shining with a hungry light.
"What do you say, Harry?" said a stately witch who Ron recognized as Emmeline Vance, one of the original members of the Order. "I think the rest of us are all in agreement, but it's you who has the final word."
Harry paused for a moment before saying, "I think that we should make our attack at the earliest possible –" But the rest of his sentence was inaudible as a loud cheer went up around the table. Fred was shaking his fist in the air in a great show of machismo, but Ron didn't doubt that he meant every bit of it.
"Are there any objections?" Harry said loudly, trying to make himself heard over the cacophony.
Everyone shook their heads or said, "No!"
"Excellent," said Harry. "Then I propose that we take four days to prepare, and then attack."
And everyone resumed talking at once.
"– need a backup plan for the Muggles –"
"– have to get supplies together –"
"– bring the others in –"
Professor Flitwick was gesticulating wildly, Daedalus Diggle was jabbing his finger at the map, and Tonks was speaking animatedly with Mad-Eye Moody. Harry was not joining in the noisy debate; he had his head cocked to one side in order to hear Hermione, who was speaking into his ear. Every now and then he would nod along.
Fred took advantage of the moment to explain things to Ron. He leaned close so that Ron could hear his voice above the noise. "There are certain paths that our scouts generally follow when they go out in the city. It makes it easier to search for them if they don't return. We always report any new Stranglers that we see, and they get marked on that map. That way, the scouts know what locations to avoid. But during the last four months or so, we've been seeing new ones much more frequently." He paused. "Time's been running out a little too fast. I don't know what we would have done if we hadn't found that Blighted Yarrow."
"All right, all right," said Harry, raising his hands to quiet the group. "Clearly, we've got some things to discuss. Synandra?"
"The Muggles," said Professor Sprout, "and the children, and anyone else who's not going to fight – we need to have someplace ready to send them should things not go our way. And they'll need supplies, and someone to lead them there, too."
"We'll deal with that," said Harry. "But I don't think we can guarantee anyone's safety if we lose."
"Can enough people learn to shoot in four days?" said Tonks. "It's not as easy as it looks."
"Ginny and Neville are working on that," said Hermione. "They've been practicing, and apparently they agree with you. They also say that Bill's idea of having bowmen on broomsticks is out of the question. It's too hard to aim and stay seated at the same time, and even if anyone could do that, they wouldn't have enough skill to be able to hit anything from a distance."
Bill shrugged. "It was worth a go."
"We all thought it was a good idea," said Harry with a dismissive wave of his hand. "It was definitely worth a go. Anything else?"
"I can only think of one more thing," said Mr. Weasley, "and that is the actual attack plan. It's far from being ready, and it won't be easy or quick to get it down as precisely as you want."
"But we have to do it," said Harry, "so we'll start now to have as much time as possible to get it right." He looked around at the group. "Last call."
The Order members stood silent.
"Very well," said Harry. "I've not heard any considerations that should keep us from attacking on the fifth day from now. Even so, any problem would have to be very serious for us to consider postponing. We truly are out of time."
No one voiced any further objections, and Harry began making assignments. One by one, Order members were tasked to gather supplies, learn to use the crossbows, work on the attack plan, find a haven for the Muggles they were sheltering…. The list of chores went on and on, and the adults unflinchingly accepted their duties. Ron didn't doubt that a single one of them wouldn't be putting forth their full effort. The very atmosphere seemed to have been infused with a sense of purpose and determination.
As Harry continued to dole out tasks, Ron began to wonder what he would be doing for the next few days. He doubted very much if he would be allowed to go along during the attack. The others' reactions when Harry had decreed that he would go to see the Stranglers told Ron what they would think of that. But whether he was going or not, he didn't want to be idle. Surely there was something that he could do to help, even if underage wizards weren't generally involved in the Order's stratagems.
Harry seemed to have addressed nearly everyone else in the room before he turned to Fred and Ron. "And I haven't forgotten about either of you," he said. "You won't need much training for this, Fred, except with the crossbow, and you haven't got the patience for planning. So I want you to spend more time with Ron tonight."
"You're not sending them out again!" exclaimed Mr. Weasley.
"No," said Harry, "but Ron needs some training, I think. In self-defense."
Mr. Weasley spoke, but he looked at Ron as he did so. "You mean weapons practice." It wasn't a question.
"Well, a little bit, yes," said Harry. "He ought to learn how to safely handle the knives, at least, but that won't take him four days to master. I'll have to think about how else we can keep him occupied. And before you ask, I'm not asking him to train for the attack, because he won't be coming with us. The problem is that we don't know how long he'll be here. That's why I want him to start practicing. We have no Time-Turners, after all."
Ron's gut clenched. For the past few hours he had been busy enough to forget about Hermione's and Ginny's revelation that he was very possibly stuck in the future.
Harry turned his eyes upon Ron. "I am sorry to have to tell you like this, but –"
"I already know," Ron interrupted in a flat voice.
"I see," said Harry. "Then you also know that our only hope of finding a Time-Turner is within the Black Tower."
Ron nodded.
"I don't intend to try and keep you with us in this time. As much as… we missed you, it wouldn't be right. You don't belong here."
As much as I missed you, Ron thought. It seemed perfectly obvious to him that that was what Harry had been about to say. To his shame, the switch stung him. Harry was not the same person he'd been ten years ago – circumstances beyond his control had ensured that – but Ron couldn't help missing the old Harry. The Harry he'd known had been his best mate, and the bond between them had been strong, even if they'd seldom mentioned it.
As Ron watched his friend's impassive face from across the room, he sensed a void between them that had never been there before. But how could it not be there? In the blink of an eye, Harry had become an adult while Ron, who hadn't had the chance to grow up, change, or adjust, had stayed the same.
Ron suddenly felt that things could never be normal between himself and this Harry again. Even if he was forced to remain in the future and passed the years there, Harry would always be ten years older. He and Ron would always be at different places in life, without the same shared experiences to connect over. The unforgiving truth of that made Ron feel very lonely.
"We will do everything possible to get you back home," Harry continued, "but until we succeed, you need to be prepared. Your trip into the city was only the beginning."
"And what about when I'm not… preparing?" Ron asked.
"I'm not sure yet," said Harry. "I still have to decide how deeply you should be involved in this."
For a moment, Ron wasn't sure he had heard correctly, but one look at Harry's face told him that he had. Ron blinked at Harry, completely stunned. If Harry wasn't going to let him help, then why had he been allowed to stand there and listen while the Order made their plans?
Harry exchanged glances with Ron's father, who looked unhappy. "It's got nothing to do with you personally, Ron," he said. "But we have rules about underage witches and wizards, and we have them for a reason – to keep them alive."
Ron stared at Harry in disbelief. He already knew more about the upcoming offensive than most of the adults living beneath the Order's roof, and Harry had to know that he was trustworthy. They'd been in plenty of dangerous situations together before. More than that, the last thing he wanted was to sit around with nothing to do but stew while the Order's last stand drew closer and closer. Harry couldn't possibly expect him to be able to do that.
"I'll let you know what I decide," said Harry.
Ron opened his mouth to protest. "Don't," Fred said softly in his ear. "You'll only come off sounding like a child, and you still won't win." Ron closed his mouth again and compressed his lips, trying not to look too put out. Judging by the way the corners of his mouth seemed to insist on turning down, he doubted if he was succeeding.
The meeting was drawing to a close. A dinner of hot soup and bread was brought in, Harry gave out some final instructions for the evening, and the group began to fracture. Everyone who was to help with the attack plan crowded around the map table. The others availed themselves of their shares of the food and left to see to their own tasks.
Fred and Ron headed off down a hallway in search of an empty room to practice in. They said nothing as they walked, which was fine with Ron as it required all of his attention to keep his soup from sloshing out of his bowl. They soon found what they were looking for – a long, plain room with only a rickety table and chairs inside. The two brothers said little as they sat and ate. Every now and then Fred shot Ron a concerned glance, but Ron always looked away. He was still feeling stunned by Harry's revelation that he might not leave him in on the planning, and he didn't really want to talk about it.
When the food was gone, Fred pulled one of the four knives from his belt and showed Ron how to hold it. Fred put the knife into Ron's hand and tugged his fingers into a proper grip while Ron watched. The steel protruding from his fist was sharp and cold, and Ron didn't like the way he felt when he looked at it. He felt afraid of the weight in his hand, and he doubted that he would ever have the confidence that Fred seemed to have around such a cruel weapon.
"You'll get used to it after awhile," said Fred, reading the unhappy look on Ron's face. "I didn't like it at first, either. I couldn't really believe that I had to learn to use something like this, but these work against Stranglers when wands don't."
Fred conjured up a long, thick arm of smoke that waved around in the air. He instructed Ron to swipe at it whenever it came near, just to get a feel for using the knife. Ron did as Fred asked, but he felt awkward and nervous. "Am I doing this right?" he grunted as he jabbed at the smoky arm that whipped over his head.
"You'll want to slash more than poke," said Fred, and moved his arm to demonstrate. "It'll inflict a lot more damage on the Strangler, and you'll also be more likely to hit it."
Ron attempted a slash. "Like this?"
"Better," said Fred. "That's good, putting your arm into it. You don't need any force to cut through vapor, but a Strangler's skin is another story."
Ron kept at it, and Fred seemed pleased with his progress. "You're already looking much better," he said after nearly an hour had passed. Ron had to admit that he did feel surer of himself, although he was still wary of the weapon in his hand, and he felt better able to react to the various motions of the pseudo-Strangler.
When Fred was satisfied that Ron was no longer clueless, he let the smoke dissipate. "That's good enough for now," he said. "I'll have you do some more later on, but I thought you might want to try something else." He pulled his wand from his pocket and used it to draw a series of shining, concentric circles on the far wall. "Want to learn to throw?" he said with a cocky grin.
"This?" said Ron, staring down at the knife in his hand.
"Yeah," said Fred. "No one throws at the Stranglers, of course – they move around too much, and we don't really have spare weapons to lose. It's kind of fun, though. I'm one of the best shots in the Order. Better than Bill and Ginny, anyway." He pulled a knife from his belt and threw it at the target so suddenly that Ron was caught off guard. He jumped when it stuck in the drywall with a solid thunk.
"Bullseye." Fred smiled in satisfaction. "Not bad for such a quick draw, and I'm a little out of practice, too. So what d'you say? It'd help to pass the time, anyway."
Ron figured that any extra practice with the knife would be good practice, even if it wasn't in a way that he would use outside. "Okay."
Fred only allowed Ron to use the one blade ("It's got the best balance," he said), and he carefully Summoned it back for Ron every time it clattered to the floor. It took him several tries, but with some help from Fred, Ron finally managed to get the knife to hit the wall and stick there.
"Good!" said Fred. "You probably won't miss the wall much anymore, but that's not the hard part anyway. The hard part is being able to hit the mark you're aiming at. It takes time and practice to get much skill at using these things, whether you're throwing them or not. Your grip's not quite right there." Ron proffered his hand. "Not that anyone thinks about their grip while a tentacle is bearing down on them," Fred allowed as he rearranged Ron's fingers. "All you can think about is simply getting your limbs moving and your hand around that hilt. And the first-timers always freeze. That's better now; try again."
Ron raised his arm like Fred had showed him and threw. The blade stuck in the wall again, still well below the shining target.
"Much better," said Fred, and he raised his wand to Summon the knife.
"Then how do they ever live to see their second time?" Ron asked.
The handle of the knife flew into Fred's palm. "The new kids?"
"Yes."
"Well, we don't send them out alone. The greenest patrollers always go with a more experienced person, preferably one who's been up close and personal with a Strangler before. They can keep their heads much better than most."
The bitter strain in Fred's voice did not go unnoticed by Ron. "You're not one of the green ones, are you?"
"Nope," said Fred. "I've come into contact with more Stranglers than most, and that makes me a popular patrolling companion for the new kids. Of course, it's because of them that I've got all my experience, really." He laughed mirthlessly. "They're all trained up before they go out, but some of them don't seem to get the message. They get all eager beaver on you and get too close to the things. They always think they're out of reach. They're almost always wrong. And that's when they find a vine the size of a tree trunk rushing toward their head. The new kids never move; they just stand paralyzed and watch." He put the blade back into Ron's hand and stepped out of the way.
Ron's next throw stuck, but he had missed the target again. "There's one benefit to going through something like that," said Fred as he retrieved the knife. "The survivors never freeze again."
"What happened your first time?" Ron asked. Throwing things was helping assuage his irritation with Harry somewhat, but he still felt worked up and didn't mind continuing with such a dark topic of conversation. Fred was speaking so matter-of-factly about the Stranglers that Ron didn't think he'd dodge the question.
"Pretty much the same thing that happens to all the others," said Fred. "I thought I was out of range, and I couldn't move an inch when the Strangler started coming at me. Lucky for me I was with George, and he'd had the sense to stay farther back." He shrugged. "Of course, all of us were new back then. None of us had any experience in patrolling. Try again."
Ron threw.
"Still getting closer," Fred observed. "Anyway, I try not to be too hard on the new kids, because I know how they feel. They get out there on their first patrol after being cooped up inside for years. They've got weapons in their hands and they think they can do anything. And then they come upon a Strangler, something they've hated for years, and they feel they've finally got a chance to do something about it. It's blocking their way to freedom, they really want to kill it, and it doesn't look so fast. So they get a little too close, either because they're feeling bold or they're not paying enough attention, and that's when they learn." Fred shook his head. "It doesn't always happen on the first trip. Sometimes it takes several, but it seems like almost everyone pushes it at one point or another."
"What about Hermione?" Ron asked quietly. "Was that what she was doing when she got hurt? Taking risks?"
"No, it's not. She's one of the only younger patrollers I know who's never done something daring or stupid. She's much too sensible for that."
Ron smiled in spite of himself. 'Sensible' was certainly an apt description of Hermione.
"She was out with Mad-Eye," said Fred, "and he's even more cautious than she is. To make a long story short, they were out late, it was getting dark, and they flew straight into the path of a new plant. They didn't see it until it was too late. Mad-Eye managed to swerve out of the way, but Hermione was caught. They're both lucky that at least one of them was able to steer clear, or they would both be dead right now, and you would have arrived to find us all in mourning." Fred drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "It was scary. Not just because Hermione had such a close call, but because I thought Harry was going to lose it. He nearly took Mad-Eye's head off when he found out what had happened."
"Why?" said Ron.
"Two reasons, really," said Fred. "First of all, it was partly Mad-Eye's fault that they were out in the dark. They got a late start, which isn't something you can afford to do when you're patrolling with Mad-Eye. He likes to double back and triple-check everything, and he and Hermione had a whole route to inspect. Hermione's often his partner because she's one of the few people who has the patience for his paranoia. Believe me, nerves can get pretty frayed around here."
Ron had no trouble believing it. The sight of his brother, sister, and Hermione all snapping at each other was still fresh in his mind.
"The second reason Harry was angry was that it was Hermione who got hurt. If it had been someone else he would've been upset, sure, but not furious. He really depends on her."
The knife was standing, forgotten, in the wall. Fred had not Summoned it back, and Ron wasn't thinking about it, either.
A soft knock sounded on the door behind them. "Come in," said Fred, turning to look.
The door opened slightly and Hermione peeked in. "Hi," she said, smiling. "I've been looking for you both, but I wasn't sure if I'd find you. It's very late."
"How late?" said Fred.
"Half past ten."
"Oi! You weren't kidding."
Ron snorted. "You wouldn't have called that late ten years ago."
"It is when you've got to get up for patrolling at the crack of dawn," said Fred. He looked at Hermione. "I am still on for tomorrow, aren't I?"
"Well, that's why I came to find you both," said Hermione. "Yes, you're still on, Fred, and Harry'll give you another task when you're done. They're still hammering out the details of the schedule." She turned her eyes upon Ron. "And you'll be happy to know that Harry has decided to leave you in on the planning."
Ron forced his lips into a tight smile, but he couldn't make it touch his eyes. He was glad to hear that Harry had decided in his favor, but he didn't see why Harry had had to think about it for so long.
"He convinced himself, really," Hermione continued. "After all, you already know so much, and we've got a lot to do. He thinks we can use your help. So I've drawn up a list of things for you to do."
This time, when Ron smiled, he meant it.
"Did I say something funny?" said Hermione.
"I dunno, I just… well, you're not really so different," said Ron. "With the lists and stuff, I mean."
"I like lists," said Hermione, but she was smiling, too. "They're so nice and orderly. I always feel accomplished whenever I cross something off." She pulled a small roll of parchment from her pocket and opened it.
Ron goggled at the dozens of lines in tiny, perfect script that covered the paper. "How many things did you come up with?"
"Enough to keep you busy," said Hermione, who sounded quite pleased with herself. "And the first thing you're going to do is learn how to use the crossbows."
Fred frowned. "Harry hasn't changed his mind about letting him come along, has he?"
"No, he hasn't," said Hermione. "We don't intend for you to need to use a knife, either, Ron, but there's no reason for you not to learn. The faster you pick up some new defense skills, the better. You just never know these days… and that'll be even truer in four days' time."
"Right, then," said Fred. "That's it for tonight, then." He Summoned the knife from its place in the wall, magically repaired the damage it had inflicted on the plaster, and, with a wave of his wand, let the glowing target dissipate. "I have to hit the sack or I'll be no good to anyone tomorrow."
At the mention of bed, a yawn rose up in Ron's throat that he couldn't stifle. "Me, too."
The three of them left the room together and headed off down the hallway. Hermione stuck close by Ron's side, allowing Fred to walk in front of them. When they reached the room that Mr. Weasley, Bill, Fred, and Ron were sharing, she hung back, looking uncertainly at Ron.
Fred looked between Ron and Hermione a few times and smirked. "I'll just leave you two kids alone, then."
"I am not a kid," Hermione said pertly, but Fred merely snickered and ducked inside.
"As if a twenty-five year-old woman and a fifteen-year-old…" Hermione muttered, then tossed her head and turned to Ron. "Look. I know you're upset with Harry."
Ron felt his mouth tighten again. He didn't respond.
"But put yourself in his shoes," she continued. "Should he bend the rules for you, just because you're his friend? He wasn't kidding about why we have them, either."
"If Harry were in my shoes," said Ron, "he wouldn't stand for being left out. He'd find some way to get involved, and then he'd probably follow the Order when they left to –"
"Don't do that," Hermione interrupted. "Please don't follow us." Her eyes were big and frightened. "You might have seen the Stranglers, but you truly don't know what they can do. You'd be a babe in the woods. Promise me you won't."
"I'm not going to!" said Ron, startled by Hermione's serious demeanor. "I'm just saying that's what Harry would do!"
"Don't scare me like that." Hermione's hands, which had been clenched into fists, visibly relaxed. She drew a deep breath before continuing. "The point is that he's only got your own good at heart. And he did decide to let you help."
"Yeah, I guess," Ron admitted, rather grudgingly.
Hermione smiled, looking relieved. She seemed understand that she had achieved her goal of bringing Ron around. "He's trying to keep you safe because he cares about you," she said.
Ron shifted his stance uncomfortably. Talking about emotions was not something he felt like doing just then, but to his surprise, he found himself speaking anyway. "I just wish he was like he used to be."
Hermione's features grew soft. "So do I." Quite unexpectedly, she leaned forward and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. Ron started, feeling his skin tingling where she'd touched him.
"We lost you once," said Hermione. "We don't want to lose you again. Sleep well." She turned and vanished into the shadows, leaving Ron still standing, astonished, in front of his door.
----------
"Well done, Dennis! Now we'd better have another!"
Ron paused outside the doorway of a brightly lit room and listened as the crowd within shouted for Dennis Creevey to sing a second song. It seemed that the first had been a rousing pub favorite, although no one in the room had been to a pub in ages. Dennis happily obliged, and Ron recognized the tune as 'Cockles and Mussels', which seemed popular with the others as everyone quickly joined in. The voices that sang were loud and laughing despite the fact that the lyrics were rather sad.
It was the night before the attack. The plans were completed; everyone knew their responsibilities for the next day, from the Order leadership to the youngest Muggle. It was nearly ten o'clock, and Ron had stumbled upon the party while wandering aimlessly down the main corridor. He'd passed several just like it, as they seemed to have broken out all over the place. Bursts of song and laughter were drifting out of many of the larger rooms, but Ron had no desire to enter any of them.
It was hard for Ron to describe how he was feeling. He had been in one of the parties with Hermione and some of his old schoolmates, but he had left, saying that he needed to find a lavatory. He had long since bypassed his nominal destination, and he didn't want to go back to the party. He simply didn't understand the brand of gallows humor that seemed to have infected everyone around him. Everyone was making merry, for tomorrow they might all die. They seemed to find it liberating, but Ron only felt fear growing within him as he thought about tomorrow. There was so much hanging in the balance that his heart positively fluttered with anxiety.
The four days of preparation had seemed to fly by. Ron had been kept just as busy as everyone else, whether he was practicing throwing a knife, learning to use a crossbow, helping parcel out rations for the people who were being left at headquarters, or memorizing maps of the surrounding city streets in case he needed to flee with the others.
Ron was to stay behind, of course; Harry had not changed his mind about that, and Ron didn't argue. He really didn't want to be left at headquarters, but it wasn't because he was hungering for action, as Hermione thought. It was true that Ron had gotten used to sticking by Harry's side when things were dangerous, but he knew that comparing his perils at Hogwarts to what loomed the next day was like comparing apples and oranges. Something had occurred to him while he was memorizing his escape route, and he'd had plenty of time to think while he was hurling blades at the wall and feeling the bruise grow on his shoulder from the crossbow's recoil.
It was a very real possibility that none of his family or friends would return from tomorrow's offensive. If that terrible event came to pass, Ron would be alone in the world. Even Ginny was going; some of the Healers and their apprentices needed to be about to help injured Order members. If they were captured or killed, all hope of Ron's getting home would be lost. He could hardly bear to think of it. He felt he would much rather stay with Harry, Hermione and his family, stand or fall, than flee into the countryside with strangers.
Of course, the chances of getting home were slim, whether the Order gained the victory or not. Ron tried not to dwell on it, but he still couldn't stop himself from waking up cold in the night and realizing anew where – or rather, when – he was. Every time, that horrid realization was accompanied by a racing pulse and feelings of panic. It was like constantly waking from a bad dream, only to find that it hadn't been a dream at all.
Several people suddenly appeared in the hallway several feet in front of Ron. All of them were laughing and joking, and Ron reflexively tried to blend into the shadows. If they saw him, they would try to pull him back into their celebration, thinking he would enjoy himself. But Ron didn't feel like joining in, not when he was feeling so low. He quickly turned down a side passage before he was noticed, and when he heard the revelers moving in his direction, he ducked into the first room he came to.
Ron closed the door and turned around to see a single figure seated in a chair with his back to him. An odd, soft spectrum of colored light seemed to be emanating from something that was hidden by the person's body. The figure was leaning on one arm which was propped on a desk that was covered in curling pieces of parchment. A small glass filled with a dark liquid dangled from limp fingers.
Ron already knew who it was before the figure turned to look at him. The black, rumpled hair and ponderous atmosphere were enough to name the occupant as Harry.
For moment, the two regarded each other in silence. Ron had seen little of Harry over the past few days, and they had spoken even less. Harry had been busy, as the shadows beneath his eyes attested, and Ron had had his own jobs to do.
"I'm sorry," said Ron, finding his voice at last. "I didn't know this was your room."
"Are you hiding from someone?" Harry said curiously. "You've got a sort of guilty look." He smiled slightly to show Ron that he was joking, but Ron barely noticed. His attention was caught by the lump of oddly-shaped glass that Harry was holding. The colored light he had seen was emanating from it, pulsing inside like a living, breathing thing.
"Oh. Erm, people celebrating," said Ron as he stared at the shining glass. "I don't really feel like it anymore."
Harry shook his head. "Nor I." He raised his cup to his lips and took a slow drink.
Ron looked away from the colored light and gave Harry a critical glance. "You're not… soused, are you?"
Harry gave a hollow laugh. "Me? No. I've never been soused in my life. We haven't got much alcohol anyway, and we don't waste our time and resources trying to make it." He held up the small cup. "This is cold tea. We haven't got much of it, either, but since we might not be around to drink it after tomorrow, I figured… what the hell." He looked down at the smooth glass in his hands and carefully ran one finger along it.
"What is that?" said Ron.
"A present," said Harry. "Luna gave it to me; she brought it to the party the day you disappeared."
Ron's mouth opened, but he didn't speak for a moment. Of course; it was the bit of rainbow from Luna's vacationing leprechaun. It was a beautiful thing, and Ron wondered at the ease with which she had given it away. "I remember," he finally said. "I asked Luna what was in her box, since it was black. Say – what happened to her, anyway? You said she'd done something to help protect the Order."
Harry shifted in his chair. "I'd better not say."
"Oh," said Ron. He felt a sinking sensation in his chest and his face grew hot. He didn't want to talk to Harry if he was in 'fearless leader' mode, because that person didn't always treat him as an old friend. "Well. I'll just be going, then. Sorry to have bothered you." He turned to leave.
"Please don't," said Harry.
Ron paused with his hand on the doorknob. "I don't really feel like being protected just now."
"It's for Luna's protection, not yours," said Harry. "Stay. I've been wishing I had someone to talk to."
There was a pleading note in Harry's voice that caught Ron off his guard. He had not heard anything other than firmness and certainty in his friend's tone since he had arrived. "I guess it depends on what you want to talk about," said Ron. "I mean, I'm not very good for advice."
"I don't need advice," said Harry. He drew a deep, shuddering breath. "I just need a friend."
Ron believed him. He took his hand off the doorknob and leaned against the wall. He had no idea what to say to Harry, so he held his peace and simply looked into Harry's face.
Ron was taken aback by the look of deepest sadness that stared back at him. For a moment, Ron almost thought he was looking at a younger Harry, just after Sirius had died. He'd had the same haunted, lost look then, and Ron hadn't known what to say to comfort him. He didn't know what to say now, either.
"I'm sorry if you think I've been avoiding you," said Harry. "But I haven't. There were other things to see to that couldn't wait."
"I know," said Ron. The words seemed inadequate.
"I wake up every day and remember that you're here, and I'm glad. But then I see you and you're still fifteen, and to be perfectly honest, I don't always know how to talk to you." He chuckled halfheartedly. "I'm the head of the Order. I'm supposed to know what to do. Everyone looks to me for direction, but I don't know how to handle it when my best friend shows up, ten years younger than he should be, and needs me to help him get back home."
Ron stood very still and listened. It was the least guarded Harry had been since Ron had first seen him in the future.
Harry ran one hand through his unruly hair. "Sometimes I don't know what to think. I don't know whether to be grateful for the privilege of seeing you once again or to wish that you'd never lived to see these dark times."
"I'd rather not be dead, myself," said Ron.
A smile quirked the corners of Harry's mouth. "No. It's not that I wanted you to be dead, it's that… Now that you're here, you have to muck through this with us. I always gleaned some comfort from the knowledge that you never had to struggle like we did. These are the twilight years, Ron. Our way of life has been ending for a decade." He gazed morosely into the glass in his hand.
Ron's sense of unease had been growing while Harry talked. This was not the same Harry that Ron had seen in the halls. Out there he was all business and efficiency, but Ron was beginning to see that it had been an act – in part, at least. It was just as Hermione had said – Harry outwardly kept his spirits up for the benefit of everyone else in the Order. They looked to him as their leader and source of hope. He couldn't afford to appear uncertain around the others. It suddenly occurred to Ron that he had been looking to Harry for strength and reassurance just as much as everyone else. Now that the façade was down, it left him feeling distressingly vulnerable.
Harry stared at Luna's gift, sometimes with a ghost of a smile on his lips, sometimes frowning. Ron didn't know what it was, but somehow he was beginning to understand why the room felt the way it did. The heaviness of the air took on new meaning as he realized that this was where Harry came to be alone – to release his doubts and worries where no one could see him. Ron knew as surely as if Harry had said so himself that he often sat here, turning that piece of glass in his hands and agonizing over the future. He thought of all the people under his direction, feeling guilty over every single person who had lost their life since he had taken command. He worried that he would never be able to deliver the victory they so desperately needed, that the Order would be crushed beneath Percy's might or insanity. Perhaps his plans were flawed. Perhaps he was leading them all to their deaths. Hermione… Lupin… Mr. Weasley and the Heads of House… If his plan failed, then they would all know that their faith in him had been tragically misplaced.
"It won't be your failure," Ron said without thinking. "If it doesn't work it's not your fault."
Harry's head snapped up. He stared at Ron, openmouthed, looking as if Ron had slapped him.
Ron blinked. Had he just said that out loud? He certainly hadn't meant to.
Harry's mouth worked soundlessly for a moment before he managed to speak. "How… how did you…"
"I guess I know you pretty well," Ron stammered. "I mean, it seemed pretty obvious what you were thinking." He felt the heat of embarrassment suffuse his cheeks.
Harry closed his mouth. "You were right," he said softly. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. Hermione's the only other person who… who sees another side of me, you could say. I didn't want to let her but somehow she forced me."
A quick bark of a laugh escaped Ron's lips. "Yeah. That's Hermione."
"And if you hadn't vanished that day, you'd have been in league with her," said Harry.
Ron felt his face burning anew. Harry didn't have to spell it out any more clearly; he could read the hidden message. I needed you. Ron suddenly felt a fool for ever having expected anything more from Harry. He'd never really said it, even back in Ron's old time. That was Harry's way – to take everything and internalize it, and not say anything until he could no longer hold it back or it was dragged from him. And now, with the weight of the world again on his shoulders, he was surely ten times as recalcitrant.
Harry opened his mouth to speak again. Ron decided not to let him. Perhaps it was time to give Harry what he'd needed all those years they'd been apart: reassurance. For some reason, he seemed to want it from Ron instead of one of the other leaders.
"You've done the best that you could," he said, "and that's an awful lot. Everybody knows that. Whatever happens tomorrow, well, it just happens, and there's not much you can do about that."
Harry's face relaxed a little. "Yeah. I suppose you're right."
Encouraged, Ron went on, his voice gaining surety as he spoke. "And those people out there? They're not sitting around, wondering if you've led them straight. They're ready to go. Even I'm ready to go, and I've only been here for a week."
Harry smiled. "Does it feel like more?"
"Yeah," Ron admitted. "And I do want to go home, but I guess there's no point in waiting around anymore. Either we find a Time-Turner and I get back, or we don't and I get on with my life here."
Harry gave Ron a curious look, as if Ron had said something strange. But all he said was, "Here's hoping it's the former," and solemnly downed the rest of his cold tea.
Ron suddenly yawned before he could stop himself. "Sorry," he said, "but I guess I'm kind of tired."
"Me, too," said Harry. "And we'll both need our rest for tomorrow. Go on, if you like."
Ron nodded and turned toward the door.
"I'm glad you stumbled in here," Harry said abruptly.
Ron looked back at his friend and grinned. "Me, too. Night, mate."
"Goodnight."
Ron stepped out into the hallway, closed the door behind him, and was surprised to find that much of his anxiety had suddenly melted away. He thought again of what he had just said. There wasn't much else anyone could do than their best, and there really was no use in worrying about it anymore; what was coming was coming. Harry had actually been convinced by what Ron had said. And the funny thing was that Ron now believed it, too.
Feeling calm for the first time that night, Ron headed off in search of his own bed with a new lightness in his step.
-
A/N: Good grief. Two months. It's so frustrating to have the desire to write and either 1) not have the time, or 2) not be able to when you do have the time! This chapter was a toughie for me. It was written in disjointed chunks that had to be put together. It's gone through several rewrites and it's still not perfect, but it's much, much better than it used to be. For a long time, there was something that was just wrong about it, and I finally realized that it was the tone. It didn't fit in with the previous chapters, but I think it does now. Anyway, if anyone still remembers that this story exists heh , here's the next installment. And I'm working on the next one!
J Black: It's been two months. I hope you haven't actually died this time.
kungzoune: I am trying to keep up the work, period, whether it's good or not!
High Serpent King: I did it again. I know. :-(
AmStarr: Aw, thanks! So sorry it took so long.
BekaJWP: Next chapter: Battle! Woo hoo!
Reviewer: Gee, I hope you're still checking, but I won't be surprised if you're not. It's my own fault.
krysalys73: You're psychic! :-) Hope your job has gotten better!
Belle84: Thanks! It was really great of you to specifically say what you liked about the story. If there's anything you specifically don't like, well, I'm open to that too. :-) Hope you're still reading.
Didge: Nope – I have never heard of "Thief", but I'm not surprised that there are other stories/books out there with similar plots. It just happens, ya know?