Chapter Thirty Eight: Finding the Missing

Ron paced anxiously about the common room. Harry, Hermione and Ginny made no move to stop him; they all seemed to be lost in their own thoughts.

It had been several hours since Ron had given Professor McGonagall the news about Anthony's whereabouts. 36 Rue de Fonsac, Tours, France. The house was near the Loire river.

You don't even know if he's still there, said the nagging voice inside Ron's head. For all you know, he could be dead by now.

The last vision he'd had was of the house, the river, and street signs, before his mind's eye had taken him into the room in which Anthony was kept. It looked like he was in the basement of the house. Lestrange and another Death Eater--Macnair by the look of him--Ron didn't know had carried a very pale, weak looking Anthony up several flights of stairs to what appeared to be an attic room. A figure in a chair sat at the back of the room, which, by all appearances, seemed to be sweltering, if the profuse sweating of the other occupants was anything to go by. A cauldron stood near the chair, with a magical fire beneath it. None of the people in the room wore Death Eater robes, and Ron recognized them all. Helene Rosier; Theodore Nott's father; Crabbe, Sr. and Goyle, Sr.; and most recognizable of all, with his long blond hair pulled back in a sweaty ponytail, was Lucius Malfoy.

'Hurry,' said a strained, high-pitched voice; it was coming from the figure in the chair, who was wrapped in blankets, despite the heat of the room.

Voldemort? Who else could it have been?

Ron swallowed as he paced, remembering the next part of the vision, the way Lestrange and the other Death Eater propped up Anthony, who was mumbling incoherently. Voldemort made some sort of gesture with his right hand, and Lucius Malfoy approached Anthony, his wand in his hand.

Ron closed his eyes as he recalled what came next. A slashing motion of Lucius's wand, and Anthony's right forearm split open, spilling dark red blood into a bowl held by Helene Rosier. It was the same spell Dolohov had used to cut Hermione, the same spell he, Ron, had used to kill Dolohov...

They took a full cup of Anthony's blood before Malfoy sealed up the wound with a flick of his wand. The last thing Ron saw was Helene Rosier, carrying the bowl of blood over to Voldemort.

Now, Ron could do nothing but wait. The remaining career counseling sessions had been postponed until tomorrow, but he couldn't even think of that right now. All he could think of was whether all his work had been in vain.

Another ten minutes passed, and the common room filled and emptied again. Several students gave Ron strange looks, but they said nothing; they seemed to sense he was in a mood, and they knew better than to bother him. It was yet another of the privileges that came with being Head Boy.

Ten more minutes went by, and suddenly the portrait hole creaked open, and Professor McGonagall entered the room.

At once, Harry, Hermione and Ginny stood up. McGonagall came to a halt in front of Ron, and leaned in towards him.

'Goldstein's been found,' she said gravely, in a low voice.

'And?' Ron asked, clenching his fists.

'Alive,' said McGonagall. 'Barely. They left him for dead in an alley two blocks from the house. By the time the Auror team in France reached the house, it had been abandoned, and all trace of its occupants wiped clean.'

She paused and let out a heavy breath. 'Mr. Goldstein was in a very bad way. Another fifteen minutes and he would have died. He's in hospital now, a local magical hospital called St. Germaine's. The Healers have had to repair significant damage in addition to the massive blood losses he suffered, but he is stable and out of immediate danger.'

Ron let out a breath and felt his knees give way; he sat down heavily on the sofa.

'Anthony's going to be okay,' Hermione repeated.

'Yes,' said McGonagall, and she looked down at Ron, who was weak from exhaustion. She put a hand on his shoulder, and he looked up to find that her eyes were filled with tears, and something else. Pride.

'Well done, Weasley,' she said. '

Ron swallowed again. 'Thanks,' he managed.

Hermione was sleeping in his arms on his bed. They'd come back to his room after getting the news about Anthony, and had done little more than crawl into bed and hold each other. Ron heard the faint sound of Hermione's breathing, felt her hand clench and unclench as it rested on his chest.

His mind was racing. He'd found Anthony in time. Anthony would survive.

'If you can learn to make full use of Tactile Sight, you will be among the most powerful Seers alive.'

Firenze's words had been ringing in Ron's mind ever since McGonagall had come with the news of Anthony.

Me, one of the most powerful Seers alive. That's a good one.

And yet in only a week, Ron knew he was tapping into something powerful within himself, something that he could not yet fully understand. He had found Anthony in time, simply by opening up his own mind and holding onto an old t-shirt.

Ron shuddered. That kind of power ought to thrill him. Instead it only made him afraid. And he could not stop the nagging voice in his head that spoke of Pansy Parkinson, for whose whereabouts and fate remained a mystery. For all his attempts to reach her, he had only managed to get one more vision: Pansy tumbling out of a fireplace, covered in soot, looking up with wide eyes at a black-robed someone who stood over her and said, in an undistinguishable voice, 'Hello, Pansy.'

It was probably a Death Eater who'd greeted her, Ron thought, but even of that he could not be sure. He began to wonder if he was doing something wrong, of if perhaps there was something else at work here, some sinister trick. An elaborate ruse, perhaps, that was blocking Ron's ability to see the events surrounding Pansy clearly?

Perhaps. It seemed as likely an explanation as her getting abducted. As far as Pansy was concerned, there would be no easy answers, Ron realized, and this bothered him greatly. He had a nagging feeling she was a part of this whole thing, whatever this thing was, but he couldn't place where she fit.

And then his thoughts went back to Anthony, and the cruelty he had suffered at the hands of Death Eaters, simply because he was a convenient victim.

'Ron, are you okay?'

'What?' he murmured, startled to realize that Hermione had woken up.

'You can't sleep,' she said softly. 'You're a thousand miles away. What is it?'

He looked at her, struggling to speak. 'It's just...'

'Just what?' she prompted, moving closer to him.

'I keep thinking,' he said, 'about Anthony and what they did to him.'

'Don't think about that,' she said.

'I can't help it,' said Ron fervently, and he sat up and ran a hand through his hair. 'I can't stop asking myself why. Why the hell did this mad dark wizard come along and decide he had to kill people and take over the world? Why the hell did he mark Harry when Harry was just a kid? And kill Harry's parents? And there's no answer, is there? Evil doesn't have a reason, not this kind of evil. It just...is.'

Hermione bit her lip, but said nothing.

'That's what gets me,' said Ron. 'It's all senseless. And...you know, even if Harry gets Voldemort in the end, it's not going to just stop. Not totally. There'll always be somebody else, some sick bastard who kills and tortures people just because.'

He paused and looked down at her. She was propped up on her elbow, looking up at him with sad brown eyes; her hair floated around her like some out-of-control cloud. She was beautiful, and suddenly she and Ron were in a hospital, and she was lying on a bed wearing sweaty hair and a tear-stained face and clutching a small baby in her arms, a baby girl with a shock of red hair. The image was stark and vivid, and reminded him of the vision he'd had so many months ago. A wonderful vision that, in the midst of all this violence, he'd forgotten.

'What?' she whispered.

He opened his mouth to speak. He wanted to tell her. Why couldn't he tell her?

Hermione, I hope we get married someday, and have kids together.

I want you to be the mother of my children.

I want you forever.

'Do you ever think about...the future?' he finally asked.

Good one, Weasley. That's not a total cop-out.

'Of course,' she said, shrugging. 'I have to, don't I? I just had career counseling--'

'That's not what I meant,' said Ron.

Hermione looked down at her hands. 'I know,' she said. She paused and looked up at him. 'Sometimes. And sometimes...I think maybe it's better just to think about making it through tomorrow.'

Ron nodded; he understood that much.

'What about you?' she asked. 'Do you think about the future?'

Yes. A lot. I want my future to be with you.

'Sometimes,' he said. 'Maybe that's why, you know, I want to be an Auror. I guess...I just want to make things better. Not just for me but for you and Harry and...everyone else.'

Hermione pursed her lips, and surprised Ron by turning over on her side.

'Hermione, what's wrong?'

'You're serious about being an Auror,' she said. It wasn't a question.

'Of course,' he said. 'You know that.'

She nodded, but said nothing, and Ron saw her eyes fill with tears.

'Hey,' he whispered, and he turned her back over. 'What's this?' He wiped at her tears with his thumbs.

'Nothing,' she said, as more tears flowed silently.

'Not nothing,' said Ron insistently, now feeling very worried. 'Tell me what's--'

But Hermione silenced him with her lips, pressing them firmly against his.

'Please, Ron,' she whispered. 'I don't want to talk anymore.'

Ron started to protest, but she kissed him again, parting her lips against his; he responded automatically, there was no way he could resist the feel of her mouth against his own. She kissed him desperately, and he felt the tears on her face and his mouth moved to kiss them away, and still she wept silently, still she kissed him. He was at a loss to understand her tears, and part of him meant to stop her, but she wouldn't be stopped. Her hands pulled off his pyjama shirt and glided over his heated skin, and his hands tugged at her nightgown, drawing it up, up, up and over her head.

The nightgown came off, and she lay there, beautiful and sad, with moonlit skin. Her eyes were still wet as she took his hand and drew it to her breast.

'We don't have to,' Ron said. He could stop now, he could. But if she took it any further...

Hermione kissed him again and slid her hand inside his boxers. He groaned, and knew he was lost. She could demand anything from him, and the sight of her tears would only spur him to do that much more to make her forget whatever bad things she was thinking of.

'Make love to me,' she whispered, her breath hot in his ear, and he felt her reach for her wand to do the Contraceptive Charm; their bodies glowed blue for a moment.

'Please,' she murmured, tossing her wand aside.

He did, first with his hands and his mouth, reveling in the softness of her flesh and in bringing forth soft cries from her throat and tremors in her hips. And then with all of himself, pushing slowly inside the warm sweetness of her body. But she would not go slow tonight, she asked for everything he had, and he gave it, and when he lost himself completely inside her, they were both tired and sweaty, and he felt like there was something new between them. Something powerful, and a bit unsettling. He felt it in the way she whimpered as he withdrew, and in the way she clung to him so tightly as she fell asleep.

It was only as he was falling asleep himself that he remembered their argument at Grimmauld Place, the night after they'd fled the Granger house. How Hermione had accused him of putting himself in the way of the Killing Curse to protect her father.

She's afraid, Ron realized. Afraid of me being an Auror.

Ron found himself busier by the day, and yet this particular January was among the slowest he could remember.

The cold weather and heavy snows were so extreme that students were forced to stay indoors all month; Care of Magical Creatures and Herbology lessons were moved indoors, to protect the Spiketails and Professor Sprout's collection of cold-sensitive plants.

The bitter cold prevented further Quidditch practices on the pitch, but McGonagall offered a temporary solution: practice sessions held in the Great Hall, after dinner. She and the other teachers helped to transfigure the hall into a kind of make-shift pitch, but the dimensions of the room were still too small, and the confined space made it difficult to practice more aggressive moves. And yet, it was the only option the teams had to practice at all.

Ron meditated frequently. Anthony Goldstein, Professor McGonagall informed him, would spend a period of time in hospital to recover from his injuries, as well as the psychological trauma of his ordeal. He'd return to Hogwarts, assuming he wished to do so, on the first of February.

Meantime, Ron was having very little luck with Pansy. He saw flashes of her quite frequently. She always seemed to be sitting in a dark room with a cot, hugging her knees and crying. There was one other vision he saw that unsettled him: two dark robed figures--they had to be Death Eaters--entering the room and yanking a sleeping Pansy off the stained cot. She awoke with a scream and began to cry and struggle. That was the last thing he'd seen, and the vision replayed itself to him several times, but nothing else was coming to him but those vague flashes of Pansy in that room, wherever it was.

Defense lessons continued to be grueling. They were now working in earnest on wandless magic, specifically on Summoning Charms.

'Very useful if your wand is knocked from your hand in combat,' Professor Hopkirk explained. 'Not that performing a Summoning Charm without a wand is remotely easy.'

It wasn't. The only student who mastered a wandless Summoning Charm by that lesson's end was Harry; Ron watched with a mixture of admiration and jealousy as Harry's wand sailed across the classroom to land neatly in his hand. Hermione got her wand to fly toward her but she couldn't direct its flight; halfway across the room, her wand would either drop or swing wildly to the right or left and land far away.

For his part, Ron was able to get his wand to move about a foot or so, but nothing more. It was exceedingly frustrating to him, because he'd done this sort of wandless magic before, during his fight with Dolohov.

That was a fluke. You were scared and full of adrenaline.

Ron made a mental note to practice the wandless Summoning Charm every day; even though the Auror exams didn't require any serious wandless magic, beyond the Defensive Charge, he knew that better skills could save his life.

The students also were made to work on repelling the Imperius Curse; Ron was heartened to see that his attempts to throw off the curse had improved, though he knew he still had a long way to go.

Then there was the work on Hopkirk's Shield Charm, which was the most difficult protection charm Ron had ever attempted. And yet, to his amazement, he mastered it with relative ease; the only student who got it faster than he was Harry.

'Excellent, Mr. Weasley,' said Hopkirk approvingly, after she'd ordered him to demonstrate the charm (she threw the Cruciatus Curse at him; Hermione's eyes blazed with anger but she said nothing). 'A little more practice and you'll be able to deflect the Killing Curse.'

Charms lessons were now focused on N.E.W.Ts, which meant going back to some of the rudiments of charm casting and charm theories, which meant a lot more reading.

D.A. meetings commenced; Neville had returned to his post as Hopkirk's assistant. Hopkirk put everyone through their paces, physically, mentally and magically. One particularly grueling session toward the end of January had Ron facing off with Blaise Zabini; they were forced to chase one another about the hall, throw curses, levitate furniture to use as barriers, dive out of the way of hexes, and of course, use Hopkirk's Shield Charm. The end of the session left Ron exhausted and sweaty, but once more Hopkirk praised him.

'Good work, Weasley,' she said to him quietly, her icy blue eyes flashing. 'Come to my office on Friday and we'll discuss your Auror application.'

Going to Hopkirk's office on Friday was, Ron learned, to discuss Hopkirk writing Ron a recommendation to the Auror schools he had applications for.

'I'm doing the same for Potter,' she said, sitting back in her chair as Ron sat across from her. 'Professor McGonagall will almost certainly write you and Potter recommendations if you ask for them, but the schools will want to hear from a Defense teacher as well.'

'Thanks,' Ron said hesitantly.

'I wouldn't be doing this, Weasley,' she said, 'if I didn't think you have what it takes to be a very good Auror.'

'Really?' said Ron.

'Really,' said Hopkirk, smiling enigmatically. 'Potter's the best student, mind. I think you know that. He has incredible reflexes and he's agile, and his spell-casting is beyond most wizards three times his age. But you're close. You beat him in Potions making, according to Professor Snape--'

'You're kidding,' said Ron. 'My potions marks--'

'Are reliably average, and no better,' said Hopkirk, 'but you show a stronger aptitude than Potter, believe it or not. Your mental focus and your physical abilities are very good, though. Your spell casting has improved greatly. But what stands out for you is your attitude.'

Ron gave her a confused look. 'My attitude?'

'You're a do-gooder,' said Hopkirk, but somehow, the term didn't seem all that flattering coming from her. 'You're self-sacrificing and have a strong protective instinct. You want to be an Auror because you believe you'll be doing good in the world.'

Ron felt his neck get hot; he was suddenly extremely uncomfortable and he felt like squirming in his seat as Hopkirk pinned him with her pale blue eyes.

'Am I right?' she asked.

'I guess,' said Ron.

She regarded him for a long moment; Ron felt the sudden urge to bolt from the room, but her eyes were keeping him locked in the chair.

'Yes,' she said finally, licking her pink lips. Ron shivered. 'The world needs more people like you,' she went on, looking up at the ceiling. 'Optimists, dreamers. The sort who don't become jaded by life's ugliness, in spite of seeing so much of it.'

Her eyes came down again, and fixed on Ron's face. He felt unbearably hot, and he was horrified to see that her naked, demonic sexuality was wreaking havoc on him again. She reached out and touched his hand, and Ron bit his lip. Very hard.

'I envy you,' said Hopkirk at last, and her eyes were sad. She stood up slowly, dragging her fingers along the top of his hand as she did so. 'You can go now,' she added.

He got up quickly and headed for her office door as fast as he could without actually breaking into a run.

'Weasley,' she said. Ron stopped and took a deep breath before turning to look at her. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw that Hopkirk was right there, behind him, holding up a handkerchief.

'Your lip is bleeding,' she said, handing him the handkerchief.

'Right,' said Ron, taking the handkerchief. 'Er…I'll just go now. 'Bye.'

He left the office. He ran.

'You are frustrated by your lack of success with finding Miss Parkinson,' said Firenze.

Ron sat in the makeshift glade in the Divination classroom, staring into the magical fire, on the last day of January.

'Yeah,' said Ron. 'I don't get it. I was able to find Anthony but with Pansy it's like I'm hitting a brick wall. What if her going missing is just some sort of...scam? What if she just did a runner and is having a big laugh? Or maybe she's joined up with the Death Eaters and wants everyone to think she's missing so she can do something really...evil later on.'

Firenze looked at Ron as though considering these possibilities.

'If Miss Parkinson does not wish to be found,' he said finally, 'that could hinder your progress in locating her.'

'How's that?' said Ron.

'All humans share a basic connection, Ronald,' said Firenze. 'It is a connection that reaches past thought and logic. Have you never wondered why, for example, identical twins seem to be practically able to read each other's minds?'

Ron smirked as he thought of Fred and George. 'Yeah,' he admitted. 'I just always thought that was, you know, a twin thing.'

Firenze smiled and shook his head. It was incredibly rare for him to smile.

'I assure you,' he said, 'it is much deeper than a "twin thing." Human beings are all connected by mind, heart and soul.'

'I don't see that,' said Ron, screwing up his face in distaste. The last thing he'd want would be a connection with, say, Draco Malfoy.

'You found Anthony Goldstein because you have opened your heart, your soul to the love of your kind,' said Firenze. 'To that primal, elemental connection of souls. And Anthony reached out to you because on some primitive level, he sensed you seeking him out.'

Ron gave a disbelieving snort.

'So, what, Anthony's a Seer, too?' he said. 'Or an Empath?'

'No,' said Firenze. 'He is not. But all humans have empathy within them, and foresight, if they would only use it. You and your sister are exceptional, but all human beings have such potential. Unfortunately, your kind has forgotten these gifts. Too many humans have pushed away empathy, and love, and enlightenment, to poison their minds and hearts with the pursuit of wealth, and power, and domination. This is Voldemort's greatest evil, that he has poisoned his very humanity for the sake of power and immortality. He cannot feel love because he cannot open his soul.'

'You're assuming he has a soul,' said Ron.

'All sentient creatures have a soul,' said Firenze. 'Even corrupt ones. It was Voldemort's soul that remained and allowed him to be...reborn, as an abomination.'

'What does this have to do with Pansy?' Ron asked.

'It has everything to do with Miss Parkinson,' said Firenze. 'If she is indeed an agent of evil, you might never find her. Even if she is not at all aware of your gifts--and there is no reason to suspect that she is--if she has sold her soul to the cause of evil, she is closed. But you have seen her, several times, which suggests to me that she is open enough to reach you. She is afraid enough to reach out, although she might not know it.'

'So...you think she really has been abducted?'

'I think that is the most likely explanation,' said Firenze. 'If she is not reaching out to you as completely as Anthony, perhaps...it is because Miss Parkinson feels alone in the world.'

'So she's not completely...closed, then,' said Ron.

'The only way any human can be completely closed is if he chooses to be,' said Firenze, 'or if he is dead.'

Ron let out a breath.

'Don't worry, Ronald,' said Firenze. 'If Miss Parkinson were dead, you would have known it, you would have seen it somehow. The moment before death is when humans are as open as they will ever be.'

The following Saturday afternoon, nobody had seen Anthony Goldstein yet; Ron wondered if the poor bloke would come back to school, given what had happened to him.

Ron, Hermione and Harry sat in the common room that day, trying to absorb the warmth of the fire. It was nothing short of freezing outside, and even with all the fires, and Warming Charms, and layering of clothing, Ron couldn't shake the chill in his bones. He'd give anything for a bottle of butterbeer.

Hermione shifted in her chair; Ron glanced at her. She seemed to be burying herself in notes.

'What's that you're working on, love?' he asked.

Hermione looked up and smiled at him weakly.

'Notes,' she said quietly, 'for Hopkirk's potion. We start testing samples tomorrow.'

'Tomorrow's Sunday, Hermione,' said Harry. 'Take a break.'

'Harry,' said Hermione, giving him a look. 'This is too important, and you know it.'

Harry pursed his lips. 'I know, but it's no good for you to work yourself to death.'

'I'm fine,' she said, but Ron saw that she wasn't. Not really. Her eyes were glassy with lack of sleep, and she was pale and looked a little thinner. Ron was tempted to say something about this, but he let it go.

Hermione was, to put it mildly, very tightly wound of late. There was a kind of manic energy to her now, a determination he hadn't seen since third year, when she'd nearly worked herself to death taking all those classes. It worried him, the pressure she was putting on herself.

And yet, all attempts to talk her out of working too hard had lead to rows this month; he found that if he said anything that hinted that she might be taking on more than she could handle, that she bit his head off. He'd reached the point where he hated arguing with her. Not now, when circumstances were so desperate and dangerous. He quickly determined that the only way to deal with Hermione, at the moment, was to say nothing, and be there for her.

The strategy seemed to work, at least as far as keeping things relatively harmonious, but ever since that night they'd learned that Anthony had been found alive, Ron sensed a kind of new tension between them.

Oddly, where Hermione was positively standoffish during the day, she was clingy to the point of desperation at night. She spent every night in his room, holding onto him as though she were afraid he might disappear. They also had sex a lot more frequently, which ought to have made Ron very happy. Instead, it unnerved him, just a bit, because of the way Hermione approached it: as if they'd never get to be together like that again.

He mentioned this to Harry once, a few days earlier; Harry had looked at Ron as though he'd gone barmy.

'Hang on,' Harry had said. 'You're actually complaining about your girlfriend wanting to have sex every night?'

'No,' said Ron defensively. 'I just...it's just a bit weird, Harry, that's all. She's never been this clingy before.'

'She's scared, is all,' said Harry. 'She might still be upset about what happened at Christmas. Maybe this is just her way of coping, or something.'

'Maybe,' said Ron, shrugging, but he couldn't shake the nagging doubts in his mind.

Now, watching Hermione, he knew that sooner or later, they'd have to talk about whatever it was that was bothering her. Ron knew he would have to get through to her and tell her to take it easy on herself.

Ginny came into the common room at that moment; she looked grumpy.

'Hey, Gin,' said Harry, moving over on the sofa to make room for her. 'You okay?'

'Oh, fine,' said Ginny irritably. 'Just...Malfoy. Mrs. Tonks is trying to get me to radiate sympathy toward him, you know? So he'll calm down about Pansy. Only it's bloody hard to radiate sympathy toward him when he's such a wanker.'

Hermione clucked her tongue, but Ron saw that, for the first time in days, she was smiling.

'How much longer do you have to train with him?' Harry asked, in a tone that suggested they had discussed this issue before.

'Not much longer, I promise,' said Ginny. She took Harry's hands in hers and their eyes met; Ron realized that in that moment, they clearly had forgotten he and Hermione were in the room. This was confirmed when a moment later, Ginny leaned over to Harry and kissed him.

Hermione giggled softly.

'Oy!' Ron said. 'Do you mind? I'd prefer not to lose my appetite before dinner.'

'Shut up, Ron,' Harry and Ginny both said, as their lips parted.

It was at dinner that night that Anthony made his appearance.

Nobody had expected this; Ron, Hermione, Harry and Ginny were the only ones who knew that he'd been found. For reasons of security, McGonagall had kept the information quiet; apparently the French Ministry had done the same, informing only Anthony's parents of his rescue. For all intents and purposes, when dinner started that evening, Anthony was still missing.

Professor McGonagall made no announcement; halfway through the meal, Anthony simply limped into the Great Hall, accompanied by two Aurors. He looked thin and weak, and there was a streak of white in his dark hair, but he was smiling.

Padma Patil gave a shriek and hurtled towards him, throwing her arms around him and sobbing hysterically; Anthony put his arms round her, and the Great Hall erupted in cheers as the entire population of Ravenclaw house leapt up from their table and surrounded their classmate.

'Wow,' said Ginny, smiling. Her eyes were shiny with tears.

'That's some welcome,' said Harry, grinning, as they watched Padma kiss Anthony fervently. Professor McGonagall didn't even bat an eyelash at this robust public display of affection. Indeed, Ron noticed her wiping at her eyes.

Harry turned to Ron and clapped him on the back.

'You did that, mate,' Harry said, in a low voice.

Hermione put her arms round Ron. 'I'm so proud of you,' she whispered.

Ron's ears were so red and hot by now he was sure they'd burst into flame. He looked up to see Professor McGonagall smiling at him.

For the next week, Anthony Goldstein was the resident Hogwarts' celebrity. Although the students were being quite respectful of his privacy, in the sense that nobody was walking up to him and demanding a full accounting of his ordeal, the rumors and whispers circulated like wildfire. By the end of the week, the prevailing story was that Anthony, his body covered in cuts and both legs broken, had done battle with You-Know-Who himself and managed to Apparate out of there just as a Killing Curse was thrown.

Anthony said nothing about this; he simply kept his head down and threw himself back into his schoolwork and prefect duties. He was a month behind at the beginning of the week. By the end of the week, he'd caught himself up. Harry could only surmise that keeping busy--along with the attentive coddling of the very lovely Padma Patil--was what helped Anthony cope.

By now, the weather had let up just enough to allow for outdoor Quidditch practices, of which Harry took full advantage, working the Gryffindors hard. Ron grumbled that he would normally not have minded such a grueling practice schedule had he not also had to contend with daily Tactile Sight sessions and thrice weekly Defense lessons and meetings that required all of his physical strength and stamina.

'Are you trying to kill me, Harry?' he complained.

'Buck up, mate,' said Harry, as he pulled on his Quidditch gloves for that evening's practice. 'We're in the best shape of our lives at the moment, for all the work-outs we're getting. Think how appreciative Hermione must be.'

'Shut up,' said Ron, shaking his head, but after the practice, Harry saw Ron--fresh from a shower and wearing only a white towel--strike a manly pose in front of the changing room mirror. Harry wisely decided not to crack any jokes, but for the first time in his life he rather wished Moaning Myrtle were around.

The next Hogsmeade visit came at Valentine's Day weekend. Harry realized he hadn't planned anything special, mainly because he hadn't had time. In fact, he'd barely had any time to spend with Ginny alone at all. Between lessons, Quidditch, defense practice, preparation for N.E.W.Ts, spying on Nott--which was proving to be frustratingly fruitless--and working on his Auror applications, Harry was lucky to get enough sleep at night and eat a decent meal. The Hogsmeade weekend would be an all-too-welcome diversion, even if it was going to be much shorter in duration this time around and involve much tighter security.

In the spirit of the upcoming holiday, Fred and George had sent Ron a huge box of what they called their new 'romantic product line.'

'Edible underwear. They've sent me edible underwear,' said Ron, shaking his head as he held up a pair of cherry-red knickers that looked suspiciously shiny and smelled like raspberries. 'My brothers are perverts. That's all there is to it.'

'I think it's kind of cool, actually,' said Harry, and he started to grin as he imagined Ginny in those knickers...

'Oy, Potter, if you're thinking about my sister wearing these things, just stop right there,' said Ron, looking horrified.

Ron decided to hide the stuff under his bed; he clearly didn't think Hermione would go for the Bawdy Bindings--handcuffs that sang naughty songs--or those edible knickers.

'She might be into this chocolate body paint stuff, though,' he said, grinning wolfishly.

That night at dinner, three nights before the Hogsmeade visit, the students were surprised by an eagle owl appearing in the Great Hall. It gave a loud screech and soared low to the Slytherin table, landing in front of Draco Malfoy. Attached to its leg was a small package wrapped in brown paper.

Harry saw Ron tense as Draco took the package and paid the owl; Draco's face was lined with confusion, as he turned the package over in his hands. It was just then that Harry realized that the Great Hall had fallen silent. It was as if someone had cast a giant Silencing Charm on the entire space, and every occupant within, and there was a sudden chill in the air, like the chill that Professor Hopkirk brought whenever she passed by. Harry looked over at her; she was staring at Malfoy with a distinctly wary expression.

The tearing of paper split the silence in the Hall; Harry, his eyes fixed on Malfoy, heard a chair scraping along the floor, and then another; teachers were standing. Everyone in the Great Hall seemed to be holding their breath.

Draco pulled something from inside the half-torn paper. It was large and woolen, and pale pink, but there were strange, dark splotches on it. Splotches that looked like...

Draco gave a choked, garbled sound and leapt up from the table; he dropped the pink scarf as though it had caught fire in his hands; he stumbled over the bench and fled from the Great Hall. By now, Professor McGonagall was already halfway to his vacated seat.

'Marchbanks!' she barked, indicating that Auror Marchbanks should follow Draco. He nodded briskly, gestured to a female Auror to his right, and the two of them went after Malfoy in a flurry of dark blue robes.

Harry watched as McGonagall slowly picked up the abandoned scarf. Harry swallowed hard. It was covered in blood. At once the Great Hall began to rumble with gasps and hushed murmurs.

He looked back at Ron, who had gone so white in the face, his freckles seemed to have vanished.

'What?' said Hermione anxiously, tugging on Ron's arm.

'That scarf,' he said, in a very low voice. 'I've seen it before.'

'You mean...' said Harry.

Ron nodded. 'It's Pansy's,' he whispered. 'She was wearing it when she disappeared.'

Harry gaped at Ron for a moment, while Ginny clutched Harry's hand. Hermione, however, seemed to be heartened by this news.

'Pansy might still alive,' Hermione said softly, speaking to Ron. 'If you use that scarf maybe you'll be able to find her.'

Harry didn't hear anything else that Ron and Hermione said, though. His eyes headed back in the direction of the Slytherin table; Professor McGonagall stood off to the side with Professor Snape. They seemed to be discussing something intently, and then they looked at Ron. Harry turned back again, and saw Ron staring at McGonagall. Nothing needed to be said. When it could be done discreetly, McGonagall would hand the scarf to Ron.

Harry turned back to McGonagall but she had already moved off, and instead his eyes chanced to fall upon Theodore Nott. He was whispering something to Gregory Goyle.

All at once Nott looked up and met Harry's gaze; the Slytherin's cold eyes held Harry's for a long moment, and then his lip curled into a chilling smile.

Harry didn't see Ron or Hermione after dinner; Ron almost certainly was meditating over Pansy's scarf; Hermione had said she was meeting with Hopkirk again, to perform more tests with the potion samples they had brewed.

'Hopkirk says she wants to test it on you starting next week,' Hermione said.

'Great,' said Harry unenthusiastically. He knew he shouldn't be nervous about it--Hermione, after all, was involved in the process. But after his unsettling meeting with Hopkirk, in which she offered to write him a recommendation for his Auror applications, he didn't know if he liked the idea of drinking anything she had brewed. It was about as unnerving as drinking a potion Snape had put together.

And yet, he knew there was no choice. Hermione had mentioned feeling very 'hopeful' about the way the tests were going, although she did say she hated having to use mice.

In the meantime, Harry tried to focus on Ginny, and on Valentine's Day weekend. Some discreet asking around had led to Harry learning of a small restaurant in Hogsmeade, just off the High Street, called Fitzwilliam's, that, according to Seamus, was a good place to take a girl on a date. Romantic but not pretentious, and not all that expensive.

Then there was the little matter of a Halloween present. Harry went over and over the possibilities, but in the end, he decided a new pair of Quidditch gloves would do it--Ginny wasn't much for overly feminine gifts, and he remembered that she'd once eyed a pair in Quality Quidditch Supplies. He'd ordered her the gloves, and Hermione had wrapped them for him, tutting all the while that boys really needed to learn how to wrap gifts.

By the time Saturday morning came, Ron reported that he was 'getting there' with Pansy, but that he still couldn't pinpoint a location. He was certain, however, that she had indeed been taken, and that Death Eaters were keeping her somewhere, and that she was genuinely afraid, and looked weak and pale.

'They've taken her blood at least once,' he said, screwing up his face. 'Maybe that's why the scarf got all bloody.'

'Weird they didn't just send Malfoy her scarf from the get-go,' Harry said.

'Perhaps they just wanted to drive Malfoy even madder than he already is,' said Ginny, shaking her head.

'It's terrible,' said Hermione. 'He actually ran out of the Potions classroom yesterday. I think Nott and those two cretins were taunting him.'

'Yeah, well,' said Harry, 'if Nott has something to do with this, he's not saying so out loud. All he does is laugh, the sick tosser.'

At noon, Ron and Hermione joined the prefects, and a dozen Aurors, to supervise the Hogsmeade visit. Harry was amazed, frankly, that a visit to the village was even being allowed, after what happened to Anthony and Pansy, but the teachers must have decided that some level of normalcy would be easier on the students.

Of course, judging by the tight level of security, this visit to Hogsmeade was anything but normal.

Still, Harry and Ginny managed to make the best of it. It was freezing that day, so they bundled up well, and spent as much time as they could indoors. First at Fitzwilliam's, which Ginny declared was 'perfect.' Cozy, with a fire roaring in the fireplace, and soft music and, Harry was grateful to see, very few other couples in the place, and none of them Hogwarts students.

They ate a hearty lunch--Harry was relieved that Ginny didn't pick at her food but instead ate with some amount of gusto--and shared a piece of chocolate-raspberry cake. A man selling roses walked by their table, and Harry, feeling rather giddy, bought Ginny one.

She smiled and kissed him across the table, and then they exchanged gifts. Ginny appeared delighted with the gloves.

'Are you sure?' Harry said nervously. 'I know they're not all that romantic or anything--'

'They're wonderful, Harry,' she said sincerely, and she kissed him again, and he felt her happiness rush into him. Ginny then passed Harry a small box; he opened it to find a watch inside, except that it wasn't an ordinary watch. Its face was a miniaturized version of the Weasley clock, with the addition of his name and Hermione's as well as all the Weasleys.

'Wow,' said Harry. 'This is amazing.'

'You'll always know where I am that way,' she said, smiling. 'Not all that useful for telling time, but...'

'I love it,' said Harry. 'I love you.'

They spent the rest of the day moving from shop to shop, for the most part, except when they found a small alleyway here and there to kiss for several minutes.

In the late afternoon they wound up at The Three Broomsticks, and sat with Ron and Hermione over foaming mugs of hot butterbeer. The two of them looked tired and a bit irritable, owing, no doubt, to having to focus on Head Boy and Girl duties for much of the day instead of just spending time together. All too soon, it was time to head back to the castle, and reality.

It had been a lovely day; for a few hours, Harry was just a normal teenager on a date with his girlfriend. They held hands all the way back to the common room.

'You okay, Harry?' Ginny asked, squeezing his hand as other students came into the common room and began to mill about.

'Fine,' said Harry. 'I just...today was brilliant, and now...'

'I know,' said Ginny, smiling at him; she pressed her hand against his cheek.

A week later, Ron found the place where Pansy was being kept.

Harry didn't even learn of this until sometime after dinner; Ron had gone back to his room to meditate, but when he finally showed up in the common room two hours later, he'd already told McGonagall what he knew: Pansy was being held in France, as Anthony had been, but in a completely different part of the country, in the northern town of Rouen, at the old, abandoned town hall.

Ron said nothing else; the common room was too crowded to talk in any detail, anyway, and if Harry wasn't mistaken, Ron didn't look like he wanted to discuss it. He was highly agitated--more than Harry had seen him in a while--and kept pacing and worrying his large hands. Ron's face was pale and his eyes were positively haunted. Harry could only imagine what Ron must have seen in his vision; whatever it was must have been nothing short of horrid.

Hermione urged him to try doing some homework to take his mind off things; Ron surprised all of them by doing just that, but the set in his jaw didn't hide his anxiety, and his eyes looked haunted.

He thinks she's dead, Harry thought.

At midnight, the four of them were all that was left in the common room, when the portrait hole creaked open.

Professor McGonagall came through, followed by Professor Snape, who looked pale as chalk. McGonagall's face was pinched and grave.

Ron's eyes widened, and he stood up slowly.

'They found her,' said McGonagall, her voice strained.

'And?' Harry asked, willing McGonagall to look him in the eye.

Instead, she looked at Ron; her face was sad and resigned.

'Miss Parkinson is dead.'

Ron let out a kind of choked sound, but then he nodded. Harry realized that Ron hadn't been expecting the news to be any different.

Hermione leapt up from the sofa and grabbed his arm, but he shrugged away from her, and began to walk away, his face frozen in shock.

'Ron...' Hermione whispered.

'Severus,' said McGonagall, 'please escort Mr. Weasley to the hospital wing.' She paused, and looked at Hermione, whose eyes were filled with tears, but who looked determined to keep it together.

'Take Miss Granger with you,' McGonagall added.

Professor Snape nodded, and went to Ron, placing a hand on his shoulder. Ron didn't even look at Snape, or acknowledge that Snape was steering Ron toward the portrait hole. Snape, for once, didn't look at all annoyed to be dealing with Ron. Rather, Snape's own face registered nothing but horror. Pansy was one of his students, and in his house. A Slytherin. And the Death Eaters had murdered her.

Snape, Ron and Hermione left the common room; Harry watched them go, feeling wretched.

'You two should go to bed,' said McGonagall tiredly, and she started to leave.

'Wait,' said Harry. 'Please...Professor. What happened...to Pansy?'

McGonagall paused, and took a deep breath.

'I suppose I can tell you,' she said. 'Miss Weasley will want to know, in any case, if she is to assist Mr. Malfoy in the coming days.'

Harry and Ginny exchanged looks.

'Mr. Malfoy has been made aware of...of Miss Parkinson's death,' said McGonagall. 'He's in the hospital wing, under sedation.'

Harry felt his shoulders sag.

'Miss Parkinson was tortured,' said McGonagall. 'Repeatedly. And...'

She took a deep breath.

'She was raped,' said McGonagall, her voice trembling. 'Repeatedly.'

'Jesus,' Harry whispered.

'Mr. Weasley saw part of this,' said McGonagall gravely.

Ginny sniffed and wiped tears from her eyes. McGonagall regarded her sadly.

'He will take this very hard,' said McGonagall. 'Ron, I mean.'

There's an understatement.

'They're sure,' said Harry. 'That...that the girl they found is Pansy?'

'Her parents still need to make a positive identification,' said McGonagall. 'But as of now, yes, the French authorities are quite certain. The girl they found matches the physical description of Miss Parkinson in every aspect, and her injuries are consistent with...with what Mr. Weasley saw.'

McGonagall let out a sigh, but then straightened herself up to her full height and looked at Harry and Ginny.

'It's time for you both to turn in,' she said. 'Try to get some sleep.'

She turned on her heel and walked slowly from the common room; Harry and Ginny watched her go, and it was only when they heard the portrait of the Fat Lady creak shut that they looked at one another.

Ginny bit her lip as tears ran down her face.

'This is awful,' she whispered.

Harry didn't know what to say. It was awful. He'd never liked Pansy Parkinson. She was mean and small-minded and had been only too happy to go along with Draco Malfoy when he'd been doing all he could to make Harry's life difficult.

But her fate was so cruel, so violent...it made Harry feel sick just to think about it. Nobody deserved what Pansy had experienced.

Harry's voice got stuck in his throat. Instead, he pulled Ginny to him and held her while she cried softly. A few tears of his own leaked onto her red hair.

Pansy Parkinson's death made the front page of The Daily Prophet, with the news that her parents had positively identified her body, but the account was so sanitized that within half a day, rumors began to percolate throughout the school, each one more grisly than the last. Harry found himself yelling at three third-year Ravenclaws for gossiping about how Pansy had been cut up into little pieces and mailed to her parents that way. The third years tittered guiltily and hurried away.

Draco Malfoy didn't attend classes for a week; Hermione mentioned that he spent the entire time in the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey was so concerned for his mental state that she assigned an Auror guard to Malfoy, on suicide watch.

'You don't really think Malfoy would kill himself,' Harry whispered to Hermione one morning at breakfast.

'He might,' said Ginny softly.

Harry glanced at her and squeezed her hand. She smiled at him sadly. She'd been to see Malfoy a few times, to try and take away the worst of the agony, and it had taken its toll on her. She was exhausted, and always looked as if she were about to cry. Harry hated Mrs. Tonks and Madam Pomfrey for asking Ginny to help Draco. Even if Harry felt sorry for the git and wouldn't wish that kind of misery on anyone, he didn't like the idea of Ginny being put through hell one bit.

And yet Ginny, as usual, insisted it had to be done.

'I need to do this to get stronger,' she said. 'For you.'

Which meant, of course, that Ginny and Harry would be training soon, beginning in a few weeks. What had seemed like a good idea a few months ago now didn't appeal to Harry at all.

Ron, meanwhile, spent the week barely speaking. He threw himself into his work and that week got some of the best marks of his life; Harry couldn't remember a time when Ron had taken Head Boy duties quite so seriously; in Quidditch practices, Ron's focus was absolute, and his playing fierce. He hadn't spoken a word about what he'd seen happen to Pansy, and nobody, not even Hermione, asked him about it. Harry wouldn't have been surprised if Ron had extracted those horrible pictures from his mind and dumped them into his Pensieve.

Their match against Hufflepuff was probably the most mournful Harry could remember. The late February day was bright, sunny and cold, and yet it had the atmosphere of a funeral. After the initial shock and rumors, her death seemed to sink in, and a renewed pall fell over the students. Harry might have been content to scrap playing the match at all, but for the fact that the distraction seemed to be helpful to Ron.

So Gryffindor and Hufflepuff played. Gryffindor won, but not easily. The Chasers were off that day, and Ginny played particularly poorly, although Ron played one of his best matches so far. When Harry caught the Snitch, Hufflepuff was up by seventy points.

Ginny's poor play put her in a terrible mood and later, alone with him in his dormitory, she ranted at Harry about all that had gone wrong; Harry wisely allowed her to vent her spleen, until she broke down and cried, and he held onto her. He hated that she had to see Malfoy and deal with this. Didn't she have enough to worry about?

Ginny's sobs subsided after a time and she looked at Harry sheepishly and apologized. He shushed her, and she kissed him, and before long, they were rolling about on his bed, pulling impatiently at their clothing. Harry remembered, just barely, to remove his glasses and to shut the bedcurtains and put up Silencing and Imperturbable Charms, and it went on for a while, until Ginny took Harry's hand and guided it where she wanted it.

'Are you sure?' he gasped.

'Yes,' she whispered. 'Please...'

Harry felt little stars exploding behind his eyes as he touched her; it was over quickly, and she came hard, and it was the most beautiful thing Harry ever saw, and he followed right after her. They lay still for a while, and when Harry regained some semblance of composure, he realized she had fallen asleep.

In sleep, Ginny's face softened; the lines of worry in her forehead disappeared.

That's how she should look all the time. Peaceful.

Harry shifted and arranged her gently around him, pulling her close. She sighed and snuggled closer to him, and they slept.

Later that night, Ron finally seemed to come back to himself. Harry couldn't begin to know what had brought the change, but at dinner, Ron was at least partly his old, determined self. He kept his arm around Hermione all through the meal, and she smiled gently at him to the point that Ron had to remind her to eat.

'Okay, Ron?' Harry asked.

Ron looked at Harry for a long moment. 'Yeah,' he said. 'Firenze talked to me and...Hermione...I'm better.'

Harry could guess what Hermione's role in making Ron feel better entailed. The two of them were smiling at each other, in their own little world for a moment, and Harry didn't begrudge them that; he knew how it felt.

'How about you two?' Hermione asked, at last breaking away from Ron's eyes.

'Fine,' said Ginny, smiling softly. 'Well, I played like absolute shite today, but...we won, didn't we?'

'You didn't play like shite,' said Harry.

'Harry, you're sweet, but I was awful today,' said Ginny, grinning at him. Indeed, her mood was greatly improved. Harry tried not to laugh; he knew why she felt better.

'You look refreshed,' Ron commented wryly.

Ginny and Harry both blushed and exchanged looks.

'We...took a nap,' Harry said.

'A nap,' Ron repeated, but he let it go at that, and smiled and shook his head.

Things were not fully back to normal when Ron's birthday rolled around.

Draco Malfoy had returned to lessons. He seemed to be taking a similar approach to things that Ron had taken: he threw himself into his work. But Draco's eyes were haunted and bloodshot, and it was rumored that Madam Pomfrey had given him a powerful anti-depressant potion.

Ron, meanwhile, was training as hard as ever, in Quidditch practice, and especially in Tactile Sight. Firenze specifically wanted him to focus on Harry, so Ron asked Harry to borrow a piece of clothing. Harry gave Ron his favorite Weasley jumper, the old one with the dragon on the front.

'You want my knickers, too, Ron?' Harry joked.

'No thank you,' said Ron, shuddering. 'I might see you and Ginny...eugh.'

Harry blushed. 'We haven't...I mean...we're not...'

Ron held up his hands. 'I get it,' he said. 'You're not shagging my sister. But I assume at some point you will, and when you do, I don't want to know about it.'

Ron's eighteenth birthday was relatively quiet, which seemed to suit him just fine. They wound up having an impromptu party in the seventh year boys' dormitory. All the boys were there, along with Ginny, Hermione, Lavender, Parvati and Luna Lovegood, who sat demurely on Neville's lap.

Ron appeared overwhelmed when the seventh year Gryffindors announced they had pooled their money for his birthday gifts. The first thing was a brand new set of top of the line Quidditch gear.

'Wow, cool!' Ron breathed, as he pulled out the shiny leather padding and the bright crimson jumper. He held the jumper up to him and grinned.

'Thanks,' he said.

'It was Harry's idea,' said Dean.

Ron looked at Harry. 'Thanks, mate.'

He and Harry hugged, very fast.

'Kiss him!' Seamus yelled, snorting with laughter.

'Piss off, Seamus,' Harry and Ron said.

'Hey, I want a hug!' Dean joked.

'Okay,' said Ron, shrugging, and he half-hugged, half-tackled Dean, until they were both howling with laughter and wrestling on the floor. Very quickly, Seamus and Harry joined in. Neville stayed seated, looking a bit bewildered. Luna started to get up and gestured to him to join the pile, but he shook his head and pulled her back onto his lap with a goofy smile.

The girls all exchanged looks.

'Men,' they said, as one.

After a few more minutes of roughhousing, Ginny called a halt, and shoved Ron's other presents at him: there was a new jumper from Mrs. Weasley, blue this time.

'Finally, no maroon,' he said, pulling the jumper over his head.

There was also plenty of sweets from Ginny; baked goodies from Mrs. Weasley; a Muggle game from Mr. Weasley called Risk; a new book on Quidditch strategies from Charlie; another book from Percy, a biography of a famous Auror from the 19th century; a new set of plain black work robes from Bill, and from the twins, a few of their latest products, none of which Ron was willing to try.

'I don't want to blow up the room or anything,' he said.

Seamus and Dean then presented Ron with a bottle of Ogden's Private Label, and Neville conjured up glasses. Very soon, all but Hermione were sipping firewhiskey, but it was a measure of Hermione's good mood that the only thing she did was to lock the boys' door securely and remind them not to get too drunk.

Lavender and Parvati presented Ron with a bright orange t-shirt emblazoned with the legend 'Weasley Is Our King.' Ron blushed furiously when they both kissed him on the cheek.

'Can I kiss you on the cheek, too, Ron?' Seamus chuckled.

'I think Hermione might get jealous,' said Ron, winking at her.

She rolled her eyes and kissed him soundly on the lips, which brought a chorus of whistles.

'Hey, Hermione, aren't you going to give Ron his present?' Dean asked.

She turned to Dean and drew herself up to her full height.

'I will be giving Ron his gift in private,' she said, her voice full of dignity. Naturally, the entire room filled with laughter; Ron's ears went pink; even Hermione giggled and snuggled up to her boyfriend.

Harry watched it all with a kind of ache in his heart. It was good to see Ron laughing again; it was good to be in this room, celebrating a birthday.

And yet, Voldemort was still out there. Pansy was still dead. Harry still had to save the world.

The warm feelings brought by Ron's birthday party faded relatively quickly as March began in earnest. Harry was swamped, with lessons, filling out the Auror applications, keeping up with Quidditch practices, the whole lot. And next week, he would begin training with Ginny.

Defense Lessons became more and more difficult, but every student seemed that much more determined to do well. The pall of Pansy's death seemed to have lifted, and the students were approaching defense with unprecedented determination. Even Draco Malfoy seemed to grit his teeth and force his way through lessons, although Harry had to admit to himself that the Slytherin looked as though he might crack at any minute. He wondered how Draco was holding it together, really. Even with Ginny helping him, Draco was now truly, completely alone. Pansy had been his only friend.

It was on Wednesday that Hermione told Harry he would be needed to test the blood protection potion.

'Professor Hopkirk wants to see us all on Friday,' she said.

Harry nodded and grimaced. The more he thought about drinking the potion, the more uneasy he became. After all, the potion contained blood from Ginny, Ron and Hermione.

'That's nothing,' said Ron. 'You drank unicorn pee when you had to regrow your bones, remember? Well, it wasn't just unicorn pee, it was Skele-Gro, but it has unicorn pee in it.'

'Oh, yeah,' said Harry, rolling his eyes. 'Thanks for the reminder.'

'And don't forget, Harry,' said Hermione, 'last year you drank that potion Luna made, it had her blood in it.'

'Sometimes I think it's better not to know what's in the potions we drink,' said Ginny.

When Friday morning rolled around, Harry resigned himself to the fact that he'd be in for an uncomfortable evening. Hermione had warned that the tests on the mice with the potion showed the potion to be incredibly strong and produce an instant reaction in the drinker, but that the effect wore off after only a few minutes, leaving the drinker exhausted.

'We're still fine-tuning it,' she said, as they walked with Ron and Ginny to the Great Hall. 'But we can't use the mice anymore, they don't give us a clear enough picture.'

'Can't I just use Hopkirk's Shield Charm to protect myself?' Harry complained. 'She said I've got it down pat.'

'And what if your back is turned when a Death Eater strikes?' said Hermione. 'Shield Charms require constant vigilance. This potion could protect you even if you're distracted, or if you're fighting with someone else.'

'We're supposed to practice constant vigilance, anyway,' Harry countered.

'You know what I mean,' said Hermione.

Harry was about to say something else as they entered the Great Hall, but the sight that greeted them froze Harry's throat.

'Bloody hell,' Ron said, and his face broke into a grin.

'I can't believe it,' Hermione whispered, and she, too, was smiling. Harry was speechless. He felt Ginny grab his arm and give it an ecstatic squeeze.

Standing at the foot of the High Table, beaming at them, was Hagrid.

A/N: Another chapter down. And yes, I have another cliffhanger, and the chapter probably runs on too long but, you know, be glad, because I was seriously considering ending it when McGonagall told the Quartet that Pansy was dead. I decided to make the chapter longer because there was more information I wanted to include, and I really wanted to end the chapter on a somewhat happier note, considering all the angst that's going on.

If some of you disagree with what I did with Pansy, well...sorry. I know it's disturbing, but Death Eaters are disturbing people. I do not intend to delve deeply into Ron's memories of what he saw, either, because if it disturbs Ron, well, it disturbs me even more.

I hope, too, that the changes in perspective aren't confusing. They are necessary right now and will almost certainly continue. Harry is the essential focus of this story--he is going to be very busy for the rest of the story--but Ron's insight and POV are also crucial to the way things will play out.