Ron had been playing chess for years. And not only did he play it, he'd been the undisputed champion of Hogwarts. So he knew all about strategy, and how vital it was to gain the upper hand.

In the split second between the Death Eater's arrival, and the moment the dark figure registered awareness of Ron barreling at him, several different options raced through Ron's mind. Without any conscious thought he picked one and implemented it.

Sometimes, the best defense really was offense, and Ron utilized that strategy now. There was no time to pull out his wand. But instead of stopping or recoiling with shock, he picked up his speed and dipped his shoulder. His tackle took the surprised Death Eater in the stomach, and they both traveled several feet before landing on the soft grass.

A short scuffle ensued. Ron had a much more difficult time of gaining control than he'd expected, due to the portly nature of his enemy. He was nearly pinned by the Death Eater's weight alone, a couple times, before he managed to slip out from under him.

Then he was on top. He knew he should take out his wand and press his advantage, but anger suddenly flooded through him as though released from a dam. This was a Death Eater. Maybe one of the ones who'd done something to Harry. Instinct jostled with prudence, and Ron gave in to his temper by smashing his fist into the other man's face. He figured it had to be a man behind the mask from the height he'd possessed while standing, from the feel of (very well padded) muscles coiling against him, and from the masculine timbre of his voice when he said, quite clearly, "Gah!"

Ron took vicious satisfaction from the sound, barely registering the sharp, sudden pain in his hand. Somewhere in the back of his mind he realized that his punch had cracked his opponent's porcelain mask. Now blood dripped from the laceration across his own knuckles, matching the stream of red that trickled out from under the Death Eater's black mask. It galvanized him. Showing no regard for his own injury, he punched the same spot again. His reward was another cry of protest from the man on the ground.

The Death Eater was clearly not loving this turn of events. He rolled from side to side, and Ron wasn't sure if he was attempting to dodge any more blows that might be raining down upon him, or if he was simply too rotund to get up, otherwise. He resembled a tortoise turned upside down on its shell, craning and straining to right itself.

The image was so ludicrous that after a moment Ron sat back on his heels and watched, increasingly disbelieving, as the fallen man struggled to upright himself.

"Are you kidding me?" Ron said. It wasn't really intended as a serious question, but rather a perplexed response to the man's comical actions.

He'd faced enough Death Eaters to know that they lived up to their reputation. They were mean, fast, and brutal. This bloke might be mean, but it was hard to tell under all of the layers of soft flesh and the snuffling sound he made as he tried to staunch the flow of blood from under the mask.

"You broke by dose!" he blubbered. He held one slick red hand out as evidence, his demeanor outraged and accusing.

Ron's face was a picture of confoundment. His eyebrows had shot right up into his hair, his mouth was gaping open, and his blue eyes were wide with unrepressed incredulity. "What kind of Death Eater are you, anyway?" he demanded.

The Death Eater didn't respond. He was too busy endeavoring to breathe. Apparently finding the mask too much of a hindrance, he reached up and ripped it off, leaning over and gasping for air through his mouth.

Ron reckoned that if his eyes got any bigger they'd pop right out of his skull, but he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

"Crabbe?" he managed to croak out.

For indeed, it was none other than one of the former menaces of Hogwarts who stood before him, bleeding profusely from the nose. He rather priggishly tilted his head back, attempting to stop the flow of blood by pinching his nostrils shut.

Ron looked around quickly. He half expected to see Malfoy and Goyle materialize at any moment. One had rarely been seen without the others back in their school days. Much, he imagined, as he, Harry and Hermione had been.

The lawn remained empty save for the two of them, however, and Ron warily returned his attention to his rival. Now that the heat of the moment had passed, clearer thinking returned to him and he pulled out his wand. Struggling to keep his anger under wraps, he aimed his wand at Crabbe. "What are you doing here?"

Crabbe hadn't changed much over the past eight months. He was rather short for a young man of their age, and still quite round. His close-cropped hair only emphasized the size of the ears that protruded on either side of his head, and his beady little eyes stared dully back at Ron. "You broke by dose!" he insisted.

Ron rolled his eyes. "And you're a Death Eater. Your crime outweighs mine, I'd say. How'd you get to be one, anyway? You're not clever enough to've managed it on your own. Still trailing after Malfoy, I'd wager."

Crabbe's only response was a baleful glare.

"Where's Harry?" Ron asked next. He didn't really expect an honest answer to that question, and so he wasn't disappointed when Crabbe merely folded his arms and continued his silent defiance. He watched him carefully, however, and noted a blink of consternation. What did that mean? Crabbe didn't know where Harry was either? If that were true, then it lent credence to Dumbledore's supposition that Harry was still alive.

Ron circled Crabbe slowly. "The Death Eaters here three days ago…was that you lot? And maybe a couple more of your mentally deficient friends for backup?"

"I'b dot tedding you adythingk," Crabbe said sullenly.

All traces of sarcasm gone now, Ron took a couple steps closer to Crabbe, pointing his wand directly at the other boy's face. "No one's ever accused you of being intelligent, you know. But I hope you're not thick enough to test my patience right now," he said chillingly. He leaned in close and allowed some of the cold anger burning within him to show around the edges. He kept his voice low and threatening. "You have no idea how close I am. If you don't want to find out, I suggest you answer my questions."

He was pleased to see a glint of trepidation creep into Crabbe's eyes. "Now," he said again, "Was that you three here the other day, fighting with Harry?"

Crabbed glowered at him. "We didn't doe Potter would be here. Or you, or duh budblood."

Ron grabbed a fist full of Crabbe's robes and shoved him against the tree, thrusting his head forward so they were face to face. "What did I tell you about testing me?" he gritted out. "You call her that again, and I'll make you regret the day you were born."

A little shaken by the ugly violence coiled apparently just beneath the surface, Ron stepped back and released the other boy. The fear in Crabbe's eyes had intensified, and to Ron's surprise he felt a little nugget of shame burrow into his heart. He didn't like it, and tried to lower the level of intimidation that charged the air between them. "Of course, if I looked like you, I'd regret being born every day of my life, anyway," he tossed off.

The barb made him feel better. Perversely, Crabbe appeared to feel better too.

Relieved to be back on familiar ground, Ron resumed his interrogation. "So it was you. Come back to finish the job, did you?"

"We weren't part of the original bission," Crabbe sulked. "We just came back to get - "

He broke off suddenly, and his gaze dropped down to his right for a moment. Then it flitted back up to rest somewhere over Ron's shoulder. It appeared very much as if he'd remembered at the last second not to look at something.

Ron abruptly remembered the flash of red he'd glimpsed at the base of the tree. He narrowed his eyes. "What are you after?" he demanded. Keeping his wand steady in its aim, he crouched slowly.

Ron reached one hand out blindly, feeling around at the base of the tree, never taking his eyes off his captive. His groping fingers fumbled over ash and bits of charred tree bark, then encountered something smooth and hard. He closed his hand around it and rose again, stepping several feet away to discourage any sudden show of spine on Crabbe's part. Only then did he examine his prize.

As far as he could tell, it was some sort of amulet. It was marginally larger in diameter than a fifty pence piece; the perfect crimson circle looked like a dark pool of blood in the palm of his hand. In fact, it was so dark that Ron wasn't sure if he held a stone or a jewel. Near one edge there was a small hole, and he thought that maybe it was meant to be worn on a chain or cord around someone's neck. He tilted his hand back and forth, and watched as the reflective surface of the amulet seemed to shimmer with a light of its own under the dying sun.

Looking closer, he could just make out some writing etched into the surface near the edges. They were strange markings, punctuated by symbols he'd never seen before.

Sudden excitement gripped him. This was it! This was what he'd come looking for! A clue as to where Harry might be. He had to get back to the mansion and see what –

"Gib dat back!" Crabbe shouted, surging forward. He snatched at the amulet.

Ron closed his fingers around it tightly, yanking his fist away from Crabbe's outstretched hand. The other boy's pudgy digits swished through the air inches too short of their target.

"Right," Ron rolled his eyes, "like you had a chance."

He hesitated, debating. He really didn't like the idea of letting Crabbe go so that he could cause more mischief. But his mission here today was to find something that might lead them to Harry, not to detain a bumbling Death Eater who was more of a danger to himself than to others…unless those others happened to be wearing suits made of treacle tarts.

No, Ron had no use for Crabbe, now. His priority was to get back to the mansion and let the professors get a crack at translating the writing on the amulet. Reluctantly, he lowered his wand slightly. It was still aimed in Crabbe's general direction, but no longer so that any blast of magic would take the other boy through the brain.

"Go on," he said. "Clear off."

Crabbe's ponderous brows drew down in confusion.

Ron sighed. This was like trying to convince the dog trailing after you to go home. "I don't have the time to deal with you right now, Crabbe. But if you don't shove off, I may change my mind."

Ron stepped closer. "And if I find out you had anything to do with Harry's disappearance, and you're just not telling me…you can be sure I'll find you again."

Crabbe uneasily watched him step back, and then slowly pulled out his wand. He disapparated with a sneer, leaving Ron alone atop the hill.

VV

Night had fully fallen by the time Ron made it back. Upon returning to the mansion, he set out to find Hermione. He knew he should take the amulet to Dumbledore straight away, but it couldn't hurt to let his freakishly brilliant friend have a look at it first, could it? She was bound to have some ideas. If nothing else, it might brighten her up; Ron would do just about anything to take away the hopelessness in her eyes.

Eager to share the find with her, Ron mounted the stairs two at a time until he reached the second floor landing, where he encountered the two most deviant members of his family.

Inseparable as always, Fred and George staggered under the weight of two huge burlap sacks, which Ron could only assume contained supplies for their next deadly prank.

Employing the word 'deadly' to describe the twins' devious inventions was no longer an exaggeration. The whole while the brink of war had loomed closer on the horizon, Dumbledore had been looking ahead…and he was not a man to waste ability when he saw it.

Just before the attack on Hogwarts eight months ago he'd proposed a contract with the founders of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. The deal was this: he would aid them in their research, allow them unlimited access to raw materials, supplies, and workspace, and be conveniently looking the other way whenever one of their experiments went awry. In return, they would – for the duration of the war – dedicate at least half their time and energy to creating 'pranks' of a more sinister nature.

At first, Fred and George – not to mention Molly Weasley – had been dubious about the idea. But ever since the attack on Hogwarts, they'd applied themselves with a fierce determination and fanatical glee, and found that they were quite good at the darker side of mischief making. More than a few of Voldemort's minions had fallen prey to Weasley Whipping Wands, and that was only one of the more successful products. They discovered that their talent for destruction was abundant, indeed…much to the lament of Death Eaters everywhere.

Whatever they were carrying in the burlap sacks, Ron knew it meant certain misfortune for the bad guys, and he grinned with anticipation.

"Hullo George. Fred," he greeted them. "Working on a new way to bring doom to the enemy?"

"As always, dear brother," Fred replied jovially, "as always."

"Witness the fruit of our genius," George invited. He dropped the sack from his shoulder and rooted around within it for a moment before retrieving a pair of thick worker's gloves. He pulled them on, snapping imaginary latex with a wicked grin before delving back into the bag.

The next item he pulled out was tiny, cute and furry. Ron wasn't what he would consider to be well versed in the area of dog breeds, but he believed this might be called a teacup poodle. It was a miniscule thing, and it sat in George's gloved hand delicately quivering the way small, nervous dogs tend to. It looked up at him with big brown eyes.

Ron frowned, unclear on how this innocuous puppy was supposed to help the Order, and experiencing a vague sort of bad feeling in his stomach at the thought of something so innocent being used as a tool in war. He reached out a hand to give it a scratch behind the ears, but George smacked at him with his free hand before he made contact. "Uh uh uh," he tsked. "You don't want to go petting this little pooch, my most dimwitted of siblings."

"He's always been this way," Fred said sadly. "You'd think he'd have learned his lesson by now. Since when does anything we make actually function the way it looks?"

George shook his head in identical sorrow. Then he brightened when a young boy of about twelve came up the stairs and joined them on the landing. "Hey you. Second year, right?"

The boy looked surprised at having been addressed, but bravely answered the question. "Ye…yes, sir."

"Want to earn a galleon?" Fred asked.

The boy's eyes – fixed on the puppy – grew large and round. With obvious hopes of being asked to walk the dog, he nodded vigorously.

"All right, then," George said, "catch."

He chucked the poodle at the second year, who made a startled move as if to catch it. He never got the chance.

Ron's jaw had dropped when George tossed the puppy at the boy, but what happened next was beyond anything he'd ever expected.

In mid-air the puppy changed…twisting and morphing into something else entirely. In flight, it resembled nothing so much as a large wad of used chewing gum, and by the time it reached the astonished second year it had grown to about the size of a full-sized man. When it hit the boy it stretched, somehow pulling itself around to envelope him completely. Within seconds the unfortunate lad was completely cocooned and making faint cries of distress. Through the translucent membrane Ron could see the boy's fists ineffectually pummeling at the inside wall.

"We call them Hush-Puppies," Fred said proudly.

"Observe," George added, pointing to the struggling boy as a reference. "The victim is completely unharmed. He has an unlimited supply of air, because the membrane is semi-porous. He is, however, rendered absolutely helpless - "

"And silent!" Fred interjected.

"And silent, thank you Fred, so that he, she, or it cannot cast any more spells or warn other Death Eaters of the Order's presence."

"We almost called them 'Bowwow Bombs', but 'Hush Puppy' is just so cute," Fred added.

Ron watched the writhing pillar uneasily. "So the puppy is…"

"Not really a puppy, of course," George said. "It's an illusion, and a brilliant one, I might add. That was Dumbledore's input. This way they don't even have to be lobbed like grenades. You can just leave them sitting around like land mines. Then as soon as a Death Eater touches it - "

"Because really, who could resist a puppy?" Fred asked.

George continued seamlessly, " – he's a goner. And if someone on our side touches one, it's not fatal. You know, Fred, I think this is some of our best work, yet."

"I quite agree," Fred replied.

Mentally swearing to never again pet stray dogs, Ron tore his eyes away from the poor boy locked up inside the Hush Puppy. "Well that's…interesting. Good work, you two."

Fred and George puffed up like toads, proudly thrusting their chests out in unison. Ron looked from one to the other. "Riiiight. Well anyway, I'm just back from the house…"

"Oh yes," Fred said attentively. "We heard you were going back there to look for clues as to where…well, to look for clues."

"Did you find anything?" George asked.

Ron wryly realized Hermione had been right. Even Fred and George were hesitant to say Harry's name. It was almost superstitious in nature, as if they thought by mentioning him they'd jinx his safe return. It was also sort of annoying.

"I did," he finally said. "And I want to run it by Hermione before I take it to Professor Dumbledore. Have you seen her?"

He was perplexed when the twins shared an assessing glance before turning back to him.

"Hm…yes, well…" George said.

"She was outside earlier, wasn't she?" Fred asked his counterpart.

"Yes!" George said excitedly, latching on to Fred's question like a life preserver. "You're absolutely right; she was."

"But…she's not anymore?" Ron asked hesitantly.

Fred absentmindedly shoved the Hush Puppy containing the boy aside when it squirmed too close. "Er, well, no," he admitted.

Ron was starting to lose his patience. It had been a long day, and Fred and George's suddenly furtive behavior wasn't really making it any shorter. "So where is she now?"

His brothers exchanged another odd look, and Ron's unease returned in the form of a jumpy feeling in his stomach. "What is it?" he demanded. "What don't you want to tell me? Is she okay?"

"She's fine," Fred placated him. "Honestly. It's just that…well…"

He looked to his twin for help, and George sighed before addressing Ron. "It's just that you're not going to be happy when we tell you."

"When you tell me what?" Ron wanted to know, expecting news of some sort of disaster.

Fred cringed a little, in anticipation. "When we tell you who she spent the day with."