Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling and her wonderful creation, including its characters, places, and things belong to her and her alone. Being inspired, and being bereft of book six, I do nothing but emulate and elaborate. This is not intended to steal from her work, or for any monetary benefit.

AN: Thanks so much for the reviews!

Chapter 7: It's All About Ron

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Harry was desperately pulling himself awake as soon as another scream split the silence. He sat up and looked around groggily, trying to identify attackers and victims. It was with some disorientation he realized that he wasn't in the middle of a vision. Instead, he was in his room with a startled-looking George Weasley. The scream had come from downstairs and Harry realized that he knew who it was.

George nodded. "That'll be Ron, then, right on time." He jumped up and strode toward the door. He jerked the door open and called down over the muffled sound of Ron yelling loudly. "Oy! Ron! Up here!"

"Half a mo'!" Ron's voice carried up loudly. "Just got to—" There was a thud and a louder thud. "All right, on my way!"

George paced back over to the window silently. He whipped around as soon as loud steps reached the door. Ron's even-taller frame filled the doorway, and he tossed a quick grin in George's direction as he rubbed at his fist. "One git down, two more to go, eh?" Then his eyes went wide as he found Harry, who was still struggling to stop swaying from where he sat up on the bed.

"Ron, good to see you, mate."

Ron actually rocked back on his heels. "Holy hell, Harry! What happened to you?" Harry looked down at the bedclothes, suddenly self- conscious of his mussed, dirty appearance.

"Lay off, you idiot! He's been halfway to death twice this Summer already. It's not his fault. How's everything at home?"

Ron looked at George questioningly. "Oh, s'fine, I guess. Fred's been acting a bit barmy since he got home. He's been 'patrolling the perimeter' and using the floo like a chimney sweep. Barking."

George looked relieved, but determined. "Right." Then he turned to Harry and knelt in front of him. His eyes bored into Harry's own. "Don't give in, mate. He's just trying to jar you, draw you out. You don't believe it for a second, no matter what he shows you. And don't you worry about the Weasleys. We can take care of ourselves."

Harry swallowed, alarmed at the sudden stinging in his eyes. He finally nodded and George smiled grimly before turning to leave. Ron watched him walk out the door with a dropped jaw.

"Oh, and Ron," George turned back right at the door. "Try and make Harry eat. I forgot."

Ron followed slowly behind and closed the door. He turned to stare at Harry, who finally looked away from the scrutiny, not sure if it was his appearance or George's behavior that was causing Ron's narrowed gaze. Abruptly, Ron stalked over to the desk chair, threw himself down in it and sighed. He said nothing.

Harry watched him stare out the window for a minute, realizing that Ron was probably gathering his thoughts for that torrent of anger that Ginny had warned him about. No sense in trying to disarm it. He'd just wait.

Unfortunately, it was slowly being impressed upon him that he very badly needed to visit the loo, but wasn't sure how that would work out. Carefully, he stood to his feet and took a few unsteady steps. Ron had turned to watch him.

"Need a hand?"

"Er . . . no. I think I can—well . . . maybe." Harry stopped at the door and rested one hand against the wall. Feeling weaker by the second, he sank into it deeply until his knees began to buckle. Then Ron was there beside him suddenly, putting a hand under his arm, lifting him up and settling his arm over Ron's shoulders.

"Up you go." Harry kept his eyes closed, but figured Ron must be stooping a good foot and a half to get up under his arm that way.

"Thanks," he mumbled.

It was an awkward trip, and the trip back was worse. Harry had insisted on privacy, which left him winded and dizzy beyond bearing. Everything was blurry and there was a buzzing in his head that he couldn't shake.

Halfway back, the walls turned bright white and the buzzing grew until it eclipsed all else . . . .



"Could have given me some warning, mate!" Harry was being jostled and laid on the bed by a breathless Ron. "Blimey! Just slid right down in the middle of everything!" Ron sat back, a bit pale and shaking his head. "Did you do this to the others?"

"Sorry." Harry felt so weak that tears were leaking out of his eyes and he couldn't wipe them. "I felt bad," he whispered.

Ron snorted. "Figured that much, Harry. Any other breaking news for me?" But then concern filled his eyes. "Get some rest. I'll be here when you wake up." Harry nodded and closed his eyes.

The room felt airy and bright around him, and the buzzing lay faint in the background. A soft whisper reached his ears just before he nodded off.

"I'm right here, mate. Nothin's going to happen to you now. I swear it."

******

Harry woke after several hours of sleep feeling the best he had in days, if still weak from malnutrition. Ron was obviously relieved to see him awake. He stood and emptied his pockets which proved to hold several ingenious foods that magically inflated to normal size when you spit on them. It was a bit messy, but fun, and the fish and chips tasted fresh from the paper. There was also a meat pasty and a serving of consommé in a cup.

The only thing Harry wouldn't touch was the bar of chocolate from Honeydukes. The smell of it revolted him. Ron was unnerved by the abrupt change until Harry reminded him that the last chocolate he'd eaten (that cake) had eaten half his stomach right back.

By the time he was done eating, Harry felt up to trying his first solo trip down the hallway. When he got back, the window was open and a strange owl was sitting on the back of the desk chair. Ron turned to him with an abrupt change in expression, almost accusatory.

"Since when are you getting owls from Malfoy?"

"What?" But as Harry stepped forward, he recognized Draco's eagle owl. "He's never been here before."

"Oh, does Malfoy usually send another owl?" Ron words had an edge that irritated Harry.

"Ron, use your brain. Why would I be corresponding with that prat?"

"Good question. I think I just asked that."

Ron's nostrils were flaring; he was serious. Harry went rigid. "I have never gotten an owl from Malfoy before in my life and I have NO idea why he's started owling now and I have even LESS of a clue as to why I have to explain that to you when you know perfectly well that I DESPISE him."

Ron pulled his eyes away and relaxed his stance a bit. "Just seems like you have a lot of secrets lately. That's all." Harry glared at him and started over to the owl—then stopped. "Aren't you going to open it?"

"No."

"Well, I bloody well will then," Ron snapped and grabbed at the owl's leg, the folded parchment in his hands before Harry could gasp out—

"No! It could be a portkey!"

Ron froze, staring at Harry with wide eyes. Harry stopped breathing. Five seconds ticked by as they stared at each other. . . .

Eventually, it was apparent that the parchment wasn't going to transport Ron someplace horrible. Harry relaxed his rigid stance and rubbed at his forehead. Ron let out a loud breath.

"Lucky one, eh? Guess this message is legit."

Harry nodded shakily, not bothering to point out that portkeys can be made to only be triggered by one certain person's touch and that Ron was probably not their target. "Why don't you read it?"

"All right." He snorted as he unfolded it. "Always wanted to see Malfoy give a proper death threat." As Harry watched the eagle owl stare at him, Ron drawled the next words in a very familiar manner.


Potter,

Heard you're having trouble with your Muggles. Pity they don't understand what a rare privilege and opportunity it is to have you in their home, eating their food and breathing their air. Then again, they did make the most of it recently by drugging you senseless. Perhaps Muggles are useful after all.

Although, I believe their usefulness might be coming to an end.

This is a warning. Do not leave the house, you arrogant prat!

Malfoy


"Yep," Ron concluded in his normal voice, folding the note again. "Death threat."

"Did that sound strange at all to you?"

"Nope. Malfoy—sneering, threatening—all's right with the world."

"I would have thought it beneath him to call anyone an 'arrogant prat' in a letter. You know, sort of beneath his breeding."

"Hm. Good point." Ron tossed the note in the trash can. "But nothing new. 'Don't leave the house.' Everybody's been hammering that into your head all Summer. Not that you've listened."

"I have, too."

"Oh, right, Harry," Ron said in a voice dripping with sarcasm, leaning back against the desk. "When Lupin locked you inside to keep the Death Eaters out, you Alohomora'd that thing and came out fighting like a perfectly pratty prat and you know it! If I'd been here, I would have put you in a body bind myself."

"No. You'd have been out there fighting with me, Ron."

Ron's face flushed. "I wouldn't have. Not when their whole point is just to get to you! What the BLOODY HELL are you thinking? Why won't you just let everyone protect you?" Harry stared at Ron, surprised that he didn't understand. Ron gathered himself and pressed his advantage.

"What is it you're hiding?" Harry's eyebrows shot up and Ron pointed at him. "Don't look like that. Hermione says you're hiding something and she's right." Harry slid off the bed and walked to the open window, shaking his head nervously. The view was the same as it had been all Summer—dry, wilting grass, green trees and blue sky beckoning to him.

Ron seemed to take his silence as an insult. "Come on, Harry! D'you think I couldn't tell that you and George had some kind of secret?" Ron spat the word out angrily.

Harry reached out, grabbed the window panes and slammed them shut, breathing deeply and evenly, saying nothing. Ron was a suspicious—

"And you and Fred, too! Why the hell can you tell THEM and not ME!"

Harry struggled for a moment, then whipped around. "The only reason I told them anything is because I scared them to death when I woke up screaming bloody MURDER—THAT'S why! You KNOW how it is when I have visions, Ron! You know it!"

"You had a vision?"

"YES!"

"Why didn't you just tell me?"

"BECAUSE IT WAS OF DEATH EATERS ATTACKING THE BURROW! AND YOUR MUM—your mum . . . ." Ron had turned deathly pale, but it just made Harry angry again. "See? That's exactly why I don't tell you things, Ron! That—that right there!" He was so tired of people getting caught in the middle of his war with Tom.

His war. He had to start thinking of it that way—war. Kill or be killed.

Ron was leaning against the desk again, still ashen-faced. "It wasn't real, though, was it? That's what you were telling George, right?"

Harry walked over to the bed and sat down despondently. "Right. Tom's just trying to make me . . . I dunno."

"Lose it?"

"Yeah. I guess." Harry clenched his eyes shut tightly. If only he could find a way to do end this. If only he could find a way to take Tom down alone . . . .

"Why does he keep picking at you?" Harry looked over to see Ron watching him, puzzled. Harry shrugged, but in his mind he answered. He knew exactly why—because of the Prophecy.

Ron swore softly. "You know why, don't you?" Harry shook his head, but Ron's voice gained confidence. "You found out, and that's what you've been hiding all Summer."

Harry pressed down the small whirring of panic in his stomach. "Ron. I am NOT having this conversation."

Ron snorted and crossed his arms. "I think you are, 'cause you're stuck with me for about two more hours and I'm NOT going to tiptoe around you like you're some fragile, glass hippogriff that might fly to pieces the first time I fart. I'm your best friend, Harry, and it's time you started acting like it."

Harry wiped all expression off his face, laid back on his bed, crossed his feet at the ankles and put his hands resolutely behind his head. He stared at the ceiling, willing Ron to shut up, go away or die a very painful death of boredom.

Ron, of course, did nothing of the sort. "You've been hiding something ever since that night we were at the Ministry."

Harry harrumphed softly. Like Ron would notice that.

"I reckon I wouldn't have noticed if Hermione hadn't said something, but she did and I think she's right."

Stony silence greeted his words. The only movement in the room was Ron shifting his weight along the desk, pressing his hands down on the surface and leaning slightly forward.

"Harry?" Nothing. "Tell me."

Harry was pretending he didn't exist, something the Dursleys had taught him to do extremely well. It was easy to imagine that Ron was talking to empty air, that there was nobody actually on the bed to listen to him. Harry wasn't here and nobody could make him do anything.

But then Ron stood abruptly and walked toward the door. Harry's stoicism was throttled by panic. Was he leaving? No—

Ron stopped and swore loudly. He turned around to face Harry, his eyes bright and fierce, his voice slow and steady. "'Mione says it has something to do with that Prophecy." Harry stopped breathing, his eyes wide. How the—?

"That's it, isn't it? She says you've been acting funny about it ever since that night, ever since you trashed Dumbledore's office." Harry couldn't help it; his jaw fell open a bit. "Wizarding portraits talk, Harry. The first time Mum and Dad took us back to Grimmauld Place this Summer, they told us." Ron gave Harry a piercing look. "I kept thinking that if I left you alone, you'd eventually talk. But . . . you've written more to my little sister than me. So, why all the secrecy? Why'd you trash Dumbledore's office?"

Harry closed his mouth and looked at the ceiling again. "You were there, Ron. Bellatrix killed Sirius. And Dumbledore just—I couldn't—you know why!" Something was sitting on his chest, pressing so that he couldn't breathe. Why couldn't Ron just leave him alone?

"Yeah, mate, I know," Ron said softly. "But what about the Prophecy?" Harry clenched his hands into fists behind his head. "Come on, Harry, just tell me what it is. Please."

"No."

Ron jumped up, swore again and kicked at the chair, connecting hard, which made him swear again. He hobbled around and then sat on the foot of the bed, facing away from Harry. Harry tried hard to control his breathing in the hard silence. His emotions were getting the better of him.

Finally, Ron started in again. "Hermione says you don't trust anyone and it's going to get you one day and she's right. She says you were acting weird anytime the Prophecy came up. Why?"

"I can't tell you, Ron," Harry said in an agonized voice. "I can't."

Ron shook his head slowly. "You're going to tell me. I'm not leaving until you do."

"Ron!" Harry closed his eyes again, fighting for control. He felt helpless.

"I'm right here, mate." Ron stood and walked over to Harry's trunk and clunked down on it, facing him again. "You can't scare me off. I'm not going anywhere. You might as well start talking."

"Okay. Yeah, I'll talk." Harry sat up unbelievingly. "Do you even remember last year, how Tom spent the entire year giving me dreams about that damn Chamber? Why did he do that? Waste an entire year making me believe that the Chamber was somewhere I needed to be? Think about that, Ron. The most powerful Dark Wizard in hundreds of years spent all of his energy setting me up, using information from Umbridge, using Kreacher, getting his top Death Eaters there waiting on me." Ron was silent. "He wanted that Prophecy, and he still wants it." Harry shook his head, not able to keep a hysterical grin off of his face. "If I tell you . . . if he finds out that you know . . . ." Harry kept shaking his head, unable to even continue.

"You reckon he knows that you know?"

"Wizarding portraits talk, right? And I think there's a leak in the Order. Somebody had to get Lupin's blood to do that spell on his robes."

Ron sighed and rubbed a hand through his hair, looking oddly world- weary. "Funny thing, that. You don't want to tell me because it puts me in danger, right?" Harry nodded. "I reckon he'd figure you'd have told me by now, anyway. And if he did stop to ask, I don't think he'd believe me."

Harry's face drained of blood. Time seemed to stop.

Ron was right.

It didn't matter if Harry told him or not, Ron was in danger just from being Harry's friend. Tom would hunt him just as much as he would hunt Harry. Visions flooded Harry's mind—Ron, Hermione, all of the Weasleys, Neville, Luna—running in fear, unable to get away from Tom.

And Harry, weakened by the piercing pain of his scar, watching through visions, unable to save any of them.

Emotions crashed into him, choking him. One thought prevailed:

Kill or be killed—alone.

And suddenly, Harry knew how.

He jumped up, grabbed his wand, looking breathlessly at Ron, who seemed frozen. Then Harry dove for the trash basket. Halfway there, he heard Ron swear as he figured his intent.

Harry slid to his knees, thrust his left hand in the basket and grabbed the parchment he easily recognized as Malfoy's. He closed his eyes and waited for the familiar tug, mouth set into a grim line: he didn't care where it took him; Tom would be there.

Instantly, Ron was there—bowling Harry over sideways, yelling furiously, grabbing at his fist, prying at his fingers. ". . . bloody . . . idiot!" Harry landed hard, crushed by Ron's weight, squeezing his fist closed with all his strength. He only needed a few seconds to have the portkey activate—

Three—


Ron fought hard, through breaths that sounded like sobs.

Two—

Harry opened his eyes and let out a frustrated yell as Ron's fingers began to force his hand open.

One—

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Coming Soon:

Enough Ron! Enough Weasleys!
Draco, anyone?

Chapter Eight: Bloody Draco


Kento: Sorry about the Harry/Ginny stuff. But now I never said I didn't like Tonks! She's fabulous!

TexasJeanette: Thanks for the review! I do try to capture the characters as they are, and fancy that I can hear them talking in my head, though I can never hope to equal JKR's talent with them. And as for realism, well, I'm glad I've struck middle ground there for you. I hope I keep it right.

As for Harry in book six, I don't think JKR will take Harry down into the pit, but neither will he escape these things in book five unscathed. I just wish I knew for sure whether or not our Harry actually has a future or not. Will he live or not after the final battle is a question I've asked myself many times, and despite all my efforts, I cannot answer it. These novels are a coming-of-age story, which means that he must be allowed to come of age. But he's predestined to be a saviour, which means that he must give his life, or at least be willing to. And now that the Prophecy has surfaced, well . . . it muddies things a bit.

Any opinions on that?