Silent and strong wings flapped nervously and excitedly. White feathers leapt here and there wildly. A bright, greyish beak clipped and clicked with interest. A pair of amber eyes, large like two big oranges, examined the fox boy with a mixture between a natural interest and surprise. A pair of clawed legs stepped on his table with a firm grip.

"Hedwig!" gasped Ron, pouncing forward to take a hold of the owl.

He saw a piece of parchment rolled up on the owl's leg. At first he was basically startled at this event, not because of the fantastic and unnatural appearance of an owl carrying mail, but due to the fact that this was happening just now, when wizards where a thing of the past. Ron was oblivious as to who the writer of the letter could be, obviously not Harry, he was long gone, but where did Hedwig come from? The boy unrolled the parchment and opened it, patting the owl gently.

"Dear Ron" Now he recognized the neat and clear writing, although slightly unruly and rushed, it still could only belong to one person.

"I know it has been long since we last met. I can't say I haven't missed you, because I have, but things are just not the same they where before. You might be wondering why I am writing, right?"

"I am wondering a load of things right now!" gasped Ron thinking aloud, and receiving an urging hoot from the female prey bird.

"Well, it is simple. Strange things have been going on lately. It might surprise you, but yesterday night Lavender went out for a walk, and the next day we found her horse injured, and she was dead. She had been attacked by some creature because her body was literally slain!" Ron observed that the writing in this two sentences was more shaky, as if the hand that was representing those thoughts was trembling.

"I know it is a strange request, but I believe you and I, together again, can solve the mystery. Maybe it's only the fact that I need a real friend with me right now, don't get me wrong, your sister is a great friend, but I need you! I don't know how you are going to do it, but please, try to get to Hogwarts as soon as you can.

Love.

Hermione"

Ron gasped, shaky. That spirit Dumbledore was speaking about had murdered Lavender. Hermione, his sister, anyone could be next! He felt so useless and so guilty at that very moment that his world was blurry and his vision darkened. An angered hoot from the large owl brought him back to reality, and he stared at the female thoughtfully.

"What can I do Hedwig? I can't get there with this looks!" the boy inquired, expanding his arms like wings to accentuate the presence of his animalistic features.

The owl simply gazed at him as if saying "use your imagination!", eyes narrowed and chest inflated.

"Yeah, what am I to tell her? I've got allergy or something?" snapped Ron angrily, unconsciously baring the small fangs that had grown in his mouth.

Hedwig simply stared at him, her looks seemingly saying "precisely!", although the boy was not so sure about that idea. He would comply however, and he knew that. It was not only the fact that he wanted to see Hermione with all his might, but also the fact that she was in danger, and refused to loose the little that had remained after the war.

"OK!" Ron said suddenly, throwing his hands to the air in a giving in manner.

"Dear Hermione. I'm coming!" his answer was brief, but he had much to do before his departure, and didn't want to flow his feelings upon a piece of parchment. Hedwig flew away content, although magic was gone the owl seemed to have a natural intelligence.

Ron trashed about the house, seeking into the wardrobes, pulling out every item contained in them.

"Whoa! I didn't even think I had this!" he wondered himself at a small action figure of Spiderman.

The boy lifted his bed clothes and looked under it, between the mattress and under the pillow. He then pulled the bed away from the wall, relying completely on a very brief intuition, and one very accurate at that since he found that which made his house become a battlefield.

"There it is!" he held the item up like a trophy he had just received.

It was his old broom. Dusty and tore here and there, the branches were just bent the wrong way, the once polished wood was now opaque, lacking all glow, and had deep gashes here and there from various collisions. From the looks of it there was a minuscule chance of putting the precious item into flight, or at least having a long, secure trip. However, Ron had to try, because without the platform 9 ¾ or the Hogwarts Express in function there were very little chances of getting to the castle in time.

"Well, here goes nothing!" Ron sighed staring at the broom with a look of mistrust.

"You are doing this for Hermione, you know you are!" he told himself like a mantra while situating his right leg over the other side of the handle such that the broom remained between his legs.

A swift, strong kick on the floor, and the broom began to stumble upwards. Ron began to feel the lack of magic on his precious item, feeling the comfortable cushion had almost faded, leaving the hard wood to contact his backside. Groaning rather loudly, and rolling his eyes, Ron maintained the broom as steady as he could.

"This will be a long journey!" he thought remembering depressively the accident with his father's Ford Anglia on the beginning of his second grade.

With those thoughts, Ron swooped past the window expertly, and flew up rapidly, avoiding as much as he could to be seen by the unsuspecting muggles. Unfortunately, luck was not to be his companion on this desperate journey, for just as he exited his window and old woman was on the front building watering her plants, and a girl was smoking a cigar just two windows higher. Both pointed at the unbelievable vision while considering their mental state.

"Crap, why did I have to choose a first floor?" Ron groaned, slapping his forehead with his right hand.

Just as he did so, the broom stumbled left and right, threatening to loose stability and fall. Immediately, and with alarm, the boy took a firm grip on the handle, and swore not to let it loose in the whole trip. That would tire him more, but at least he was almost safe, as long as the magic didn't fail right now. Ron leaned forward and gained a much higher speed. He raised until he was sure people would mistake him for a plane, heck, cars at this height looked like little ants. Then it was just forward, and he knew the way, he had done it flying various times, on a car, a thestral, and his very own broom several times during the terrible war.

The wind shook his tail and his red hair, raising the black coat until the new appendices was visible. He breathed in the refreshing air, and let it penetrate his lungs, cooling his blood. The journey seemed to be promising, but Ron knew better than to rely on first impressions, for the sun was high, and even at such speeds the air was bound to heat and inflate greatly.

Indeed, it was not long until his body was pearled in sweat. Drops of salt trickled his forehead. His knuckles were white from the force and pressure he was maintaining on the handle, and he could feel the palms wet and sticky already. The sun's potency harmed his eyes and made them itchy and teary, blurring his vision and making him almost collide against an unfortunate hawk. The heat became unbearable in little time, a period of a couple of hours, and his tongue lolled out, and dripped dehydration from time to time.

"This will definitely be a long journey!" he deduced with an exhausted gasp, licking his dry lips with a thick tongue.

Ron welcomed the fall of the day, dusk was the time when temperatures began to lower into a much cooler and comfortable weather. The sun tinted the sky into flaming tones of red, orange, pink and violet, and a cool summer breeze blew. The boy raised his head slightly to enjoy the welcoming slap of the lower temperature hitting his face, dry tongue and aching eyes. His muscles ached from the effort of maintaining the unsteady broom on the air, and his legs were numb from the lack of use they were receiving. However the head gone made it easier for him to continue the journey without fainting.

Night had extended the black, velvet veil across the once pale skies of igniting white and pale blue. Stars were splashed here and there, thrown like small jewels of glittering crystal, tossed into a silk blue veil to sparkle in a silent, millenary chat of knowledge. A large moon glowed on the sky, emitting silver rays that tenderly caressed Ron's tan skin, making him feel more comfortable. It wasn't until all those events happened that Ron caught a first glance of the castle.

Immense, strong, powerful, millenary and almost fragile into its own wisdom. It was all of this things at once, although to Ron it represented a full, strong deception that hit him across the stomach painfully. It was just an enormous shadow cut against the darkness, only a sombre spectre of what it used to be. A flickering flame tinted the darkness with tones of orange, yellow and a comfortable, warm illumination. That was the only representation of life it could gather right now, the rest of the building had lost it natural glow and was immersed into the darkness of night, and the silvery rays that attempted hopelessly to raise the colossus back into its glory.

"There it is!" Ron smiled sadly to himself, taking a deep breath of fresh air, and staring with sombre eyes at the place which had once been his home.

With those final thoughts, Ron started the descent. The wind slapped his face harder, almost painfully, the light raced past him like a halo, and the grass became more defined and accurate. The old broom started to shake more violently, and the speed began to increase to an almost uncontrollable state. However, everything was fine, everything was under control, that was until Ron realized some inopportune fact.

"Uh oh!" he gasped in a sharp exclamation, "I forgot how to land!" his yell was like a howl, a terrible, startled and frightened howl at the realization that just dawned upon him.

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Hermione had been pondering about the past events. She gazed at the moon thoughtfully, her sad eyes, or a warm colour, were dull and numb. Her chin rested upon her palm, and her lips were pursed in a faction of depression. She had been distant and silent, attending her classes with her greatest rigor and severity, and working the horses beyond their limits to relieve her own, troubled heart. Today, however, it was different, for her eyes had gained some sparkle, and on her left hand was tightly clutched a piece of yellowish parchment.

"Oh Ron!" Hermione sighed, her mind an ocean of confusion.

It was this time that you begin to ponder about changes, the hair, the style, clothes, will he have grown fat, or thinner, or will he just be the same as always? When it takes you so many years to see a friend, you encounter yourself in this same state, waiting and wondering whether every person that passes by might be your friend. Hermione wondered all of those things, hence she could not deduce his presence into a flood of people, for all that walked past the prairies was the wind and the moon's tender rays.

Suddenly, Hermione stood up straight, tense. Her eyes were staring sharply, studious, at the same spot they had been fixed before, the pale moon. Gears in her mind began to function at full speed as something seemed to be amiss in the horizon. Alarm shook her body, hence, instead of freezing it, the girl began to manipulate some ideas to cause havoc, and obviously situate all the group in safety.

A dark spot seemed to be falling upon her lands. It had an undefined shape, but the wings of a bat seemed to be flapping behind it savagely, and a horn or similar came out of its forehead, or chest, Hermione didn't know. As the wild flier became clearer, Hermione realized that the creature was out of control, and that the horn was the handle of a broom. A muffled yell, dim and numb from the far distance, reached her ears in a hysteric, yet familiar tone, all too familiar.

"Oh my goodness!" she exclaimed, barely deducing who the valiant rider of the ancient broom was.

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"How did I land? How did I land? How stupid can I be to forget how to land? It's like forgetting which is the break pedal of your car!" Ron snapped angry with himself

The boy pulled the handle up, steering the broom into a more parallel direction in comparison to the floor, hence reducing speed and avoiding a terrible collision with the floor. Once he had managed that, not with little effort for his muscles were already tired and numb, he glided bordering the lake and the forbidden forest. The moon stared itself on the black surface, but the place had never been as silent and still as it was now. Ron flew over the cottage that had once belonged to the now lost gamekeeper, Hagrid, decreasing in height as he flew. He also saw the place where the greenhouses had been, now occupied by wooden structures of similar size and shape.

He was now in the main esplanade in front of the entrance, which was vast enough to allow him a safe landing, although a harsh one that is. The broom was now shading the grass with the slick, thin figure. Ron lowered his legs and prepared himself to place his feet on the ground. As he did such action, his body was propelled forward. The broom collided with the floor, and he flew, face first, into the ground. The fox boy spinned over himself and landed with his face kissing the grass.

"Aww, crap…" Ron groaned standing up with some effort, caused basically by his numb, tired muscles, more than the hard collision.

Hermione emerged from the main door, and saw the boy already standing, his back to her. He was dressed on a long, black coat, and a red cap that matched nothing with the dark style. The boy seemed to be putting something over his mouth, while dusting the black clothes from all remains of grass and debris. Hermione smiled delighted, happier than she had ever been, seeing that her friend was in perfect shape, or seemed like it.

"Ron!" she called in a loud, delighted scream.

The girl raced towards him and pounced into a tackle, hanging her slim and fibrous figure from the boy's neck. The embrace was tight, full of care, of anxiety, of thirst. Ron had turned around, and was startled at first, ambushed by the woman, dressed in nothing but a short, night gown that was slightly translucid. The boy returned the hug with equal pressure, equal hunger. He closed his eyes and breathed in the woman's scent, sweet smell of nature mixed with a tint of the stronger aroma of equine.

"I've missed you!" Hermione broke the silence, making Ron snap off the trance he had immersed himself into.

"I've missed you too, Hermione!" he said with an eager voice, exhausted but utmost delighted.

"Tell me everything!" the woman said with a broad smile, pulling away and gazing at him from head to feet, "starting with why you are wearing such a ridiculous outfit!" she commented, falling in a fit of giggles.

"You would never believe me if I told you!" Ron groaned, feeling his cheeks flush with a tint of intense crimson, the heat rising upon his face.

"You look more tan, or is it me? I mean, you have always been so pale!" Hermione commented, taking a close look at the deep chestnut of his eyes.

"Actually, that is the problem, I'm kind of allergic to the light, so I have to wear this, so my skin doesn't burn!" Ron said rapidly, a quick voice that was a tone or two higher denoting his tension.

"That might have been a believable excuse had it not been for the scientific fact that tan skins can't be allergic to the sun because of the large amount of melanin found in them. Also there is the fact that it's night so I presume you can take that off, what are you hiding Ron?" Hermione fought back with the weapons she knew best, her own brains, knowledge and wits.

"I'm not hiding anything, take it or leave it Hermione, but I haven't come all the way from London on an old broom only to argue with you." Ron snapped alarmed, his voice was far from hard or angered, but mostly frightened, and Hermione realized that.

"Oh, all right, you are incorrigible after all!" Hermione said placing her arms in jars, and looking apparently serious.

"But.." Ron began, raising a tan finger to make some point clear, one about avoiding arguments, one about their ages, and the past they had ran across together.

"But… I am so glad you have come!" Hermione finished, letting her cherry lips curl in a bright smile, one of pure bliss and delight.

"Herm, I don't want to annoy you or anything, but I have flown all the way from London on an old broom, my butt is kind of achy and my muscles are all tired, I'd appreciate it if you could show me the way to my room!" Ron moaned making his point clear by rubbing the sore arms.

"Oh, of course Ron, but you know the way to your room." Hermione's brown eyes sparkled with a look that seemed a mixture of mischief and delight Ron had never seen in her.

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If he had been told, the Anthro would not have felt worse. There he was, before the spherical entrance to the Gryffindor common room, staring intensely, doubtfully at the sparkling inside. The hot colours of a tentative flame seemed to sparkle in the chimney, and a warm breath blew from inside, calling him. However, Ron's heart shattered upon walking past the well known corridors. No ghosts, no moving pictures, no voices, nothing to remind him of the life that once reigned inside this thick, stone walls. The vision of the Fat Lady had touched him deep inside. He was not specially fond of her, but had grown to accept her eccentric character as part of his own, little world.

"At least you haven't been here to see them all die." Hermione commented in a comforting tone, as well as telling him the horror that was seeing magic fade between her fingers, and that she could do nothing to avoid it.

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"Hermione, you can't be serious!" gasped Ron staring at the enormous creature before him.

"Get on him, Ron, I'm going to teach you how to ride!" Hermione snapped severely, dressed in her ridding suit.

"But Hermione, he is too big, and he doesn't seem to like me!" Ron snapped with pleading eyes, gazing sideways at the enormous, black horse that stood next to him.

Indeed, Ron was not kidding, for the large Freisian horse could scent the fox in the boy's blood, and although not nervous, he was not trusting him much. Hermione had decided that Ron had to learn how to ride, in case he was needed to pursue the spirit that lurked within the woodlands. It was after breakfast, and everyone had been delighted to see him present, and also curious to see him dressed like a gothic with no clear style.

"Absurd Ron, why wouldn't he trust you?" inquired Hermione angrily, pointing at the animal. "Get on him, now!".

"If only you knew!" muttered Ron under his breath, gritting his teeth and fangs, and sending Hermione a nasty look of dislike.

He obeyed however, as much as he disliked the situation he was being forced into. Doing just as he had been explained, the boy placed his right foot over the stirrups. Both hands were firmly placed upon the horse's ridding saddle, and the reins were held short and firm to keep him from moving or stirring. The fox boy impulsed himself upwards, then placed the right leg over the other side of the saddle, sitting over the male freisian.

"See? Now it wasn't that hard, now was it?" inquired Hermione, smiling with her eyes at the awkward boy.

"No, it wasn't specially hard, but I am slightly uncomfortable!" Ron groaned narrowing his eyes rather annoyed at the position he was forced to take.

"Oh, come on Ron, it's like ridding on a broom!" Hermione gasped, glaring at the boy with a slightly annoyed tone.

"Fine, well, if it's that easy, I guess it will work just like a broom then!" Ron commented shrugging, then leaned forward, holding the reins tighter.

Nothing happened, as it was not a command the horse could understand. Instead, Balkan stirred slightly, and placed the weight over his other leg, moving only lightly. The boy glanced at the black stallion with a look of dislike and incoherence.

"It's not like that, let's make it easy for you. Press at the sides of the horse strongly, no kicking, only pressure. Do that with the balls of your feet." Hermione explained calmly, staring at the boy with a look of delight.

Ron did so, and the sensitive horse began to move. It was a short, calm pace, hence the elegance of the beast was so visible. Ron grinned as if it was the first time he had ever flown, his childlish joy was so visible, so bright it illuminated his features such his smile trespassed the white mask.

"Ok, your back straight, I believe we can even gallop on this session!" explained Hermione with a wide grin.

"Gallop? Oh no, not that!" Ron gasped with a sharp breath, staring at the girl as if she was a phantom.

"No? We'll see that!" Hermione said with a malicious smile.

Ron took a firm grip on the male horse's reins, pulling on the bite to keep him steady. The young girl took out the whip and clashed it such that it emitted a loud, dry sound, like a very old twig tearing and falling. It was immediate, and unexpected, the horse stood inches from the ground, his hands only barely feeling the soft sand. Seconds later, the animal had began a calm gallop across the field. Ron was making a great effort to maintain balance, and to attempt to stop him.

"I'll kill you for this Hermione!" he yelled hysterically through his efforts to remain steady on the saddle, his whole body bouncing over it.

"Let your waist loose, and keep the hands steady, reins firm!" explained the professor calling at the boy with a loud, clear voice.

As this suggestion were put on practice, Ron's sudden fear became adrenaline of pure bliss and delight. He was thoroughly enjoying the experience, once he was glued to the saddle and could control the animal. He grinned, and was almost tempted to retire his mask, in order to breathe in a gulp of pure, fresh air. He knew he couldn't do that, hence decided he was going to enjoy this time fully. He added more pressure to the horse's sides, and let his head loose, yet firm and steady. In response, Balkan speeded up, his gallop was faster, steadier, and the air broke against them, whistling into their ears. Ron could have never imagined he would ever enjoy as much as if he was mounting a broom, but now he had found that muggles also knew how to fly. Hermione followed the couple with a delighted, gentle smile, seeing the past in her present.

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A shadow, dark and capable of blending in with the night. The sombre figure evaded the Common Room in silence, and escaped into the fresh light of a decreasing, setting sun. The youth rushed towards the stables, hair igniting like flames flowed behind the slender body. Everything was ready, and she knew it. A bow and a quiver full of arrows was hanging from her shoulders, a short blade was placed in her dark belt, the black pants and the black shirt and vest, inherited from her years as assassin.

"Come on Bankara!" she told the young racing horse, once she was on her back.

As if a silent voice urged her on, the mare started off at a full gallop and penetrated the gentle, pale mist that floated into the depths of the woodlands. Ginny was ready for a fight, a fight to death against the murderous spirit that crouched into the woodlands. She was ready, her weapons, her former, old tools were sharp and ready to slash. Although the nature of the creature was not defined, she would not waste a try at getting revenge.

The horse galloped into the woodlands, swift and agile like a fawn, quick and valiant like the pureblood she was. Ginny mounted like the experienced rider she was, her face concentrated, her eyes gazing back and forth, examining every inch of the forest she could reach. She had ran away in silence, not letting anyone know, and only because Hermione would have never approved.

"Ginny!" gasped a ragged, tired and hoarse voice.

The girl expertly made the animal pass from a full gallop to a sharp, instant stop. She looked right, from where the sound had come from, the voice, the all so familiar voice that filled her heart with doubts and joy.

"It's you? But how?" inquired the girl, staring at the bearer of the voice with incredulous eyes.

To Be Continued…

AN: Sorry it took so long to write, but I've been working on other stories I wanted to get done quickly. Anyways, here it goes, another chapter, and I'm so totally loving how the story is turning out. Well, please, review and leave your comments.