A/N: I am so sorry I haven't updated for so long! I have had a mountain of work and an awful case of writer's block, which I know is no excuse. In fact, to punish me, you should read this chapter and then review it telling me what a terrible person I am. That'll teach me.

Emma Barrows – Thank you! The next chapter will come along sooner, I promise!

Fippets – Ooh, I do love tension dances. They are my favourite type. And I fully intend to see the zombie dance.

Rubber-duckiesofdoom – Yay! You're back! And I'm glad you like it!

Repercussions

It was a love story, Alicia and Robert. A whirlwind, passionate affair that had taken them both by surprise. It didn't matter that they had been young, it didn't matter that they had been completely wrong for each other, it didn't even matter that by the time their son was a year old they had already signed the divorce papers. Ultimately, they had fallen out of love with each other as quickly and violently as they had fallen in love with each other. There was no pretence of staying friends; the only reason that they even stayed in contact was for Jack's sake. But, even so, Alicia knew that she had had something special with Robert, something that most people spent their entire lives looking for, and she was convinced that she would never find love like that again.

Lost in thought, Alicia was so startled by the doorbell that she jabbed her mascara into her eye. Half-blinded, she staggered around for a few moments trying to find her shoes. She stumbled downstairs and, having regained her sight, quickly checked her hair in the mirror before opening the door as nonchalantly as possible.

Standing on the doorstep was Harry, looking, as Alicia liked to put it, deliciously Quidditch tousled. After giving her a swift kiss, he stepped back and looked at her.

"You look fantastic," he said, twirling her round on the spot.

Alicia beamed. "You look great too."

"Ready to go?" asked Harry, bashfully ignoring the compliment, as usual.

"Absolutely," said Alicia.

Never say never, she thought, as she pulled the door closed behind her.

Harry hummed to himself as he appeared with a pop in front of Sally and Ron's front door. The pair had always assured him that he was perfectly welcome to apparate straight into the house at any time, but Harry had decided not to after catching them in a rather compromising position on the kitchen table one evening. He had also taken quite a while, and a lot of persuading, to start eating off that table again.

He rang the doorbell and waited for a reply. Nothing.

Peering through the letterbox, he knocked on the door.

"Ron? Sal? It's me! Come on, open up, this is important. I know you're in, the lights are on."

There was a movement inside the house, and then the sound of the door being unlatched. Sally opened the door, slowly.

"What?" she asked, in a tone of voice Harry had never heard her use before.

"I…Sal, what's wrong?"

"Nothing. What did you want?"

Harry pushed on the door, forcing her to step back and let him in. Shrugging, she sighed and went into the living room. Harry followed her and sat down beside her on the sofa.

"Sally, tell me. What's wrong?" He looked around. "Where's Ron?"

Sally shut her eyes tightly and shook her head, as if trying to block out the question.

Kneeling in front of her, Harry took her by the shoulders.

"Tell me," he said.

Sally opened her eyes. "I…I don't know," she said slowly.

"What?"

"I don't know where he is."

Harry stared at her, trying to understand what she had just said. "But…what do you mean?"

"He's gone, Harry!" she said, angrily. "Walked out! Left us! Left…me."

Inhaling sharply, Sally closed her eyes again. This time Harry knew why. She was willing herself not to cry.

"We had an argument," she continued, not meeting Harry's eyes. "A stupid argument! The next morning he had already left when I got up. I assumed he had gone off to work in a sulk. But then he didn't come home that night. I've been waiting since then, all this morning, and all day today. He's not answering my owls, he…" Sally broke off, silent tears coursing down her cheeks.

Acting instinctively, Harry put his arms around her. Resting her head on his shoulder, she continued to cry.

"He's been working late every night for a while. At first I thought it was to do with the Death Eaters, but that died down ages ago. You don't think…I mean he would have told you if…"

"Ron is not having an affair," said Harry emphatically, hugging her tightly. "He's just being a stubborn idiot. He's probably sulking over at his parents' house. You know him, you know how pig-headed he can be, but ultimately he loves you."

Before Sally could reply, a small figure in a white nightdress appeared in the doorway. Wiping her eyes quickly, she turned to her daughter and gave her a weak smile.

"What's the matter angel?" she asked, in an excessively cheery voice. "Couldn't sleep?"

Emily nodded.

Harry stood up. "I'll take her back to bed."

"Thanks."

Getting the five-year-old back to sleep was more difficult than Harry had originally anticipated. Reading her a story, singing a song and playing an imaginary trombone all proved useless - the latter seeming to actually have the opposite effect.

As Harry racked his brains for another idea, Emily sat up and looked at him intently.

"Why is mummy sad?" she asked.

Great, thought Harry. Start with the easy question.

"Well," he said, sitting on her bed, "she's sad because she wants to talk to your daddy, and he's not here at the moment."

There we go. Not a direct lie, and not too much of the truth.

"Why isn't he here?"

Harry groaned inwardly. Come on kiddo, you're killing me here!

"He's...he'll be back soon," said Harry, skilfully evading the actual question.

Emily carried on staring at him for a few seconds, and then lay down and closed her eyes.

As Harry re-entered the living room, he could see Sally talking to the Floo.

"I'm sorry Kingsley," she was saying, "I don't know where he is."

"He didn't come into work today," replied Kingsley.

"Well, to be honest…" started Sally, and then stopped. "You mean he went to work yesterday?"

"Yes. Didn't he tell you what happened?"

"No," said Sally becoming visibly agitated, "I haven't seen him since…"

She was interrupted by a frantic knocking on the door. With a strangled cry of exasperation, she rushed to answer it. After a short conversation with the person at the door, Sally returned looking pale.

"That was Sturgis Podmore," she said, slowly. "Clara has gone missing. And I think Ron has as well."