Chapter Twelve
Hogwarts
After the debacle with the Hogwarts Express, the few families that had opted to send their children to Hogwarts for their magical education, did a one eighty and pulled their kids out before the first day of term had even started, many of them managing to notify the Headmistress before the lunch hour. With only the barest skeleton of students enrolled, Hogwarts had no choice but to shut down, and send those few intrepid children, who still chose to come, home. So, by September fifth, the iron gates came down over the main entrance, the large wooden doors were closed, the torches snuffed out and all personnel, both staff and Faculty, departed, leaving Hogwarts to be a ghost castle for an indefinite period of time. With the formal closure of the school for the first time since its inception, wards of all kinds appeared from out of nowhere, including a transparent blue, dome-like barrier that rose out of the earth from the front gates and cut across the sky and over both the towers, presumably touching down on the far side of the castle. It held for a moment before blending inconspicuously into the background. Minerva McGonagall stood, a small briefcase in one hand, a witch's hat atop her head, her cloak pulled tightly about her, staring at the marvel that was her home for three decades, and which she was now forced to abandon. Shaking herself from the torrent of memories that knew no end, she pulled herself away from the sight of her former home and climbed into one of the thestril-drawn carriages with Professors Flitwick and Sprout.
"It's the end of an era," Flitwick squeaked. "We'll all miss her, I reckon."
Sprout and McGonagall both nodded their assent. "I never truly believed it would come to this."
"I only worry for the children. What will they do now?"
"They will be home schooled, and some will be sent abroad."
None of them said it, but they all knew that it would be the muggle-borns who were hit the hardest. Many of them would never even be told of their magical abilities. Those exceptional few who were somehow informed would have to be affluent enough to send their children not only abroad but internationally so, where the tuitions were much higher for international students. Minerva wanted to do something about it all, she wished she could fight it out with You-Know-Who and his thugs, or go around finding the muggle-borns and taking them under her wing or at least just telling them about their abilities. Some of them would certainly end up hurting themselves or others as their magical abilities manifested themselves in greater and wilder acts of accidental magic. They would probably just end up being obliviated with the other muggles around them, until finally a burst of accidental magic so strong would simply cause them to blow up outright. Muggles would go on to call it spontaneous combustion, and it would be the talk of a few socially outcast people, rejected just like the alien abductees, who were more often than not poorly obliviated muggles. Sad, really. Alas, she decided she was getting too old for this sort of thing. Her heart hadn't really been in it for the second war, and more than anything she wanted to spend the rest of her days teaching children and then retiring. Frankly, with the war on, she was just thankful she could retire early and go somewhere far away, even the countryside would do, where she could forget about all the problems of the wizarding world and seclude herself even more than she already had.
Little did she know that, not one week after her departure, Hogwarts would reawaken in secret, teeming with the lifeblood of the next generation of soldiers dedicated to fighting the Dark Lord.
It was the middle of November. Ron had just finished looking through the design schematics for the Ministry of Magic, cross-checking it with the various notes that he and his soldiers had made regarding their own memories of the place and annotating the blueprints. As the leader, it had fallen on his shoulders to ensure that he knew the ins and outs of every facility they targeted for a strike, not that they had targeted any particularly difficult ones as of yet, even though, surprisingly enough, they had the floor plans for Malfoy Manor, which Ron was able to cross-check with his own memories of the place. Ron leaned back in his chair, letting the winter sun light his face from a nearby window. He exhaled and relaxed, his task for the moment having been completed, which was fortunate, as they planned to engage the Ministry that very night for a no nonsense stealth attack designed to procure one critical item - an item with which many of them were only vaguely familiar, and which the Ministry controlled strictly. A Time turner.
Over the last two months, the Phoenix Army had been very busy. Much of what they did was preparatory work, mastering warding, spell deconstruction, dueling, potions, stealth, guerilla and open combat. Key players had been given special assignments, including potion-making and the art of healing. Two of the muggle-born Ravenclaws, Terry Boot and Sue Lee, had been given one of the most complex tasks to date. Ron was acutely aware that any forward move by the Phoenix soldiers would immediately draw the attention of the Dark Lord and put him on alert. Immediately, the Dark Lord would, if perceiving a real and tangible threat, would switch from an aggressive stance to a cautionary one and would begin deploying more resources to reconnaissance and espionage. And that would be the kiss of death, he mused. There was no way they were skilled enough or had the resources to deflect the Dark Lord's scrutiny. No doubt he would deduce within days their hideout and immediately penetrate and crush the newborn resistance, unless they managed to be extremely mobile, which Ron didn't particularly regard as an option. No, he had envisioned another plan; one which would be more difficult, but which could produce highly prosperous results. It made him smile just thinking about the poor, confused purebloods, who tried to comprehend the threat they were dealing with through the lens of their medieval understanding of the world. It was bad enough that the stuff gave him a headache, and he at least wasn't nearly the bigot they were; hell, his own girlfriend was a muggle-born, and he even had difficulty with some of it.
The plan was based on some very simple principles. Ron was aware that, in certain circumstances, it was a sound strategy to overinflate the perceived strength of your forces in order to duly cow your opponent into submission. In some cases, a force ten times your size could be goaded into submitting without having to fire a single offensive spell. Often times a cleverly executed animation charm, some transfigurations, a sonorous charm and some misleading information could do wonders. However, this strategy, Ron was certain, would never work with the Dark Lord. Possibly with some of his followers, but only on the condition that they became convinced that a major assault was inevitable and that death or the infliction of permanent, grotesque wounds would be the inevitable result. As long as they had a secure fall back position, they would always retreat to it before surrendering outright, and Ron doubted if they would ever truly penetrate the Dark Lord's lair. As an overall strategy, it was out of the question, though Ron kept it in the back of his mind for use if the circumstances seemed favourable. No, this time around, Ron had the intention of doing exactly the opposite. They would strike in ways that would not alert the Dark Lord to their presence at all. If they executed their strikes properly, then the Dark Lord's resources would be stripped from him through a series of apparently random occurrences, untimely coincidences and the incompetence of his own soldiers. Better yet, it was Ron's hope that he would fracture the internal organization of the Death Eaters, sowing confusion and dissent from within, and, if managed properly, transform the alliances between the Dark Lord and the dark creatures into rabid enmity. Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee. It was an ambitious plan, to say the least, and required Ron to be something he never thought he would ever have to be - the ultimate Slytherin.
"Oy, boss!" Justin called from the entrance to the library. "They're ready!"
Here we go, Ron thought, putting away his files and heading toward the Room of Requirement, where he knew Terry and Sue were waiting.
"What do you have for me?" Ron asked, closing the door behind him and looking expectantly between the two eager Ravenclaws and the crates that were settled to either side of them.
"Ah, that is the question, now isn't it?" Terry said, his eyes twinkling mischievously. He flicked the lid off one of the crates and then put his wand away so that he could pick up a sleek, black pistol from inside. "Commander, allow me to introduce you to a .357 double action fully automatic Colt Python. It's one of the latest in light firearms available for use in underground magical warfare. Hold down the trigger like this-" Terry pointed the gun at the far wall and depressed the trigger, releasing several rounds into the dark. "Keep the trigger down and it will discharge rounds at a rate of one per second. The clips are charmed to duplicate rounds as fast as they are used, so you will never have to concern yourself with reloading. The kickback - it's okay you don't need to know what that is, and the sound of the report have both been taken care of to ensure better accuracy and stealth. Better yet, all the charms have been cast on the inner race of the barrel, and a coat of a distinctive polyester, known as kevlar has been applied to the exterior, which has the unique property of absorbing residual magic, thus making the weapons nearly undetectable by magic scans. You could walk right up to the Minister of magic with one of these and pop him off without any of his aurors being the wiser. That is until he collapses dead in a pool of his own blood, of course."
"Excellent," Ron said. "How effective are they for killing and incapacitating?"
Terry's good cheer went up a notch. With a theatrical wave of his hand, the room supplied a life sized Snape look-a-like. "Permit me to demonstrate." Terry fired off a round, which, in a speed faster than the eye could process, caused what looked like a miniature explosion in snape's chest, with blood pouring out and spilling across his clothes and down onto the floor. ""did I mention we're using hollow-tipped shells?" Upon impact, the tip of the bullet explodes, sending metal fragments like shrapnel into the surrounding tissues and organs, thereby causing maximum damage."
"And it punches clean through a magical shield?" Ron asked.
"Like a hot knife through butter."
"Perfect. You've both done excellent work. How many do we have and how long will it take to train a cadre of assassins?'
"Ah, but that's not all, mon capitain. We're getting ahead of ourselves," said Sue, her own mischievous smile looking somewhat feral. She tipped the lid off another crate and drew out a glistening silver pistol. "This here is a petite little .22. Unlike the muggle equivalent that Terry's holding, this fox has been magicked to the hilt and is the most advanced in magitek weaponry to date. It fires at a rate of four rounds per second with an unlimited clip. Each bullet is tipped with silver, unicorn essence and cobra venom, compliments of our potions department, making them the ultimate killing tool for humans, werewolves and vampires. The rapid fire is especially good for taking out high velocity objects. It has a high-sensitivity trigger and a signature ward, for instantaneous switching from safety-on to safety-off, and the bullet itself vanishes four seconds after discharge, leaving no trace of its presence, save for the three poisons. Even better, once keyed to the user, it will be useless to anyone else. Its only drawback is that it will scream enchantments to anyone who checks. I suspect that even somebody who is magically attuned will pick up on it without even looking. Still though, it's your best bet in an all out firefight."
Ron was impressed, to say the least. "Can we have all three teams outfitted for tonight?"
Terry shook his head. "No, we figured the Ministry crew wouldn't be needing it. As such, we've only created enough for the two that are going into hostile territory."
Ron nodded. "That's fine. In all likelihood, we won't need it on our raid at the Ministry. It just would have been nice to get them used to having them. We should at least start training them. How long do you figure before we're all competent with them?"
"Hold on, hold on!" Terry said. "You're still getting ahead of yourself. We haven't shown you the best part."
Ron quirked an eyebrow. "You mean there's more?"
Terry kicked off the lid of yet a third crate and pulled out what looked like a cumbersome vest. "Flak jackets," Terry said. "Made of the same high density polyester that the outer shell of the muggle guns are made of. As I said before, the stuff absorbs magic at a phenomenal rate, making the stuff nearly impervious to assault. Which reminds me, the guns are immune to summoning and expulsion charms. Anyway, these babies will stop everything we can throw at them, short of the unforgiveables. And when I mean everything, I mean everything. We tossed every curse we could think of, even some of the darker ones. It simply won't get through. I don't know what it is about the unforgiveables that makes them unique, but-"
"You cast an unforgiveable?" Ron interrupted, looking intently at Terry.
"Er, well, yes. Just the ones. We hit each other with the Cruciatus, though it didn't really work. Neither of us could maintain it, but we felt enough to know the jackets didn't protect us."
Ron nodded again. "The unforgiveables are magic that is directed at the soul, so it will connect to you via your aura, which extends past the clothes you wear. Ironically, the more powerful the wizard, the more susceptible they are to the curses, as the magic provides an in to one's soul."
"Really?" Both Ravenclaws looked keenly interested, and surprised that Ron was in possession of the information. He had had his own special project to deal with since his conversation with Olivander, and that was to uncover everything he could about the light magics of Merlin. As such, he was finding out more about the unforgiveables and soul magic than he had ever wanted to know, despite how interesting it did seem at times. Truth be told, it was all rather frustrating, and Olivander's suggestion about the patronus had proven far more fruitful than immersing himself in the bowels of the library. When he had first started attacking the subject, he hadn't been sure which he was worse at - trying to feel for the magic inside of him and understanding the differences between soul magic and body magic, or trying to wrestle an eclectic array of arcane scrolls written in middle English, old English and Latin. Not to mention the occasional Greek bit or even, at this Ron couldn't help but shudder, Sanskrit.
"I'll tell you about it after tonight," he said. "I have no doubt it would appeal to your Ravenclaw sensibilities. Perhaps you can even give me a hand."
Terry and Sue both exchanged looks, which did not go unnoticed by Ron. He merely waited for one of them to speak up. It was Sue. "You know, we'd been wondering what task you've set for yourself. I mean, you've never really been famous for hanging out at the library. No offense," she added quickly, and then continuing, "I mean, it's just that, we're all wondering what it is you're doing. You've been rather tight lipped about it."
Ron had to agree. It wasn't so much that he wanted to keep a secret from others; he just wanted to make sure he had a grip on it before presenting it to his comrades. He was all too aware of his lack of intellectuality, and he was deathly afraid of being shepherded into the position of a lab rat for a bunch of overeager Ravenclaws.
"Yeah, I mean. I saw you in the old Charms classroom not two weeks into our time here, and there was this weird silver glow coming from underneath the door." Terry shrugged. "Would've bothered you, but I figured it wasn't really my place."
"Not to mention Luna noticed that there was an order for a scroll from the Lyceum. I mean, it's the Lyceum for God's sake. And what was more impressive than the fact that it came from you-" Sue continued to look sheepish at this proclamation- "what was even more bizarre was that they granted the request. I have to confess, I am deathly curious. Commander, what is it that you are doing that requires you to contact one of the foremost, oldest and prestigious academic institutions this side of Christ? And the other side too, for that matter."
Ron smiled. "Ah, I see I'm not going to be able to fend you off for much longer. In truth, it's not really a big secret, at least not one I'm keeping from you guys. I'm not even sure how useful it'll be in the overall scheme of things, but I thought I should at least explore it, since it's a peculiarity that Olivander told me about, and I'm not going to leave a stone unturned; at least not if I can help it." Ron leaned against one wall and pulled out his wand, twirling it casually as he pondered what to say next. Finally, he decided on just showing them. "Silently he conjured a fully corporeal patronus - one Harry would have been hard pressed to match, and he did so without even taking the moment to concentrate that always made the charm so difficult in the presence of dementors. The patronus, despite the ease with which he cast it, was not particularly impressive; nor was the form, which was that of a large butterfly, which was now floating about comfortably in the still air.
After letting them have a moment to digest what they were seeing, Ron waited for one of them to respond. Eventually, they did, quizzical expressions on both their faces. "It's a patronus, right?" Terry asked.
Ron nodded.
"Well," Sue began hesitantly. "It's nice, I suppose. I mean, you did it rather quickly. Is there something special about it that I'm not seeing?"
Ron smirked. With another casual wave of his wand and the recollection of another happy memory, another patronus oozed out of his wand, taking shape from that eerie silver mist. This time it was a large bee.
"Two patronuses?" Terry asked, now seeming a bit more intrigued.
"I believe the correct construction is patroni, Mr. Boot," Ron corrected, his smirk widening into a grin. He sent the butterfly to go sit on Sue's shoulder, while the bee was sent to guard the door. Ron then casually waved his wand yet again, and this time, three hawks flew from his wand, surprising Terry and Sue even more. Ron sent them to go form a pincer formation around Terry, all the while eyeing him warily, and, while both Sue and Terry were now looking at the three birds of prey, Ron deftly summoned yet more patroni, all in rapid succession: a lion, a tiger and a bear.
"Oh my!" Sue said aloud, gasping at the sight of all the fully corporeal patroni now sitting in the room, all of them blinking and affixing their gazes to the two bemused Ravenclaws.
"H-How?" Terry asked, staring dumbfounded at all of them.
Ron's smile never left his face. "Attack me."
"What?" they chorused in confusion.
""With the Cruciatus."
It took a moment for Ron's words to register in their brains, and neither of them, upon realizing what Ron said, drew their wands. They couldn't quite understand what it was that Ron was asking of them. Certainly they didn't want to curse him, though, having keen intellects, they deduced that it wouldn't be as easy as they would normally expect.
Eventually, Terry drew his wand. "Are you sure?' he asked hesitantly.
"Quite."
Taking a deep breath, Terry aimed his wand and said in a clear crisp voice, all the while Sue looking pensive, "Crucio."
It took another moment for them to realize that nothing happened. Both the Ravenclaws blinked.
"Try again."
Terry obliged. "Crucio." Again, nothing. This time, Sue drew her wand, now intrigued. She uttered the incantation and watched as nothing came out of her wand.
"Having a bit of difficulty, are we?" Ron asked innocently.
Both of them put their wands away and said, "Okay, we bite. What's the deal?"
Ron chuckled. "Come on. I'll explain it over a bite to eat. We should get Neville here too and go over tonight's raids, just to be safe."
With that, the trio left the Room of Requirement and headed down to the kitchens, where Dobby and Winky remained, the last of the house elves of Hogwarts.
Ron and two soldiers penetrated the outer doors of the Ministry. They had, ironically enough, taken the same route that Harry and company had taken on their mission to rescue Sirius from Voldemort at the end of fifth year. Once inside, they deftly maneuvered through the main atrium, all three of them disillusioned and stealthing past the brethren in complete silence.
"What floor?" Neville asked.
"Level nine," Ron responded, taking position behind Neville and Luna. Once the elevator doors were closed and they were descending, Ron summoned a patronus in the form of a sparrow and sent her flying down through the walls and toward level nine.
"What was that for?" Neville asked curiously. He had been given the Coles notes version of Ron's patroni, but he still couldn't figure out what purpose such a charm would have for their present situation.
"Reconnaissance," said Luna, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.
Neville merely raised an eyebrow questioningly, but he did not pursue the issue. Clearly Ron did not see fit to correct Luna, so Neville just assumed that she was either correct or that Ron simply was not prepared to divulge what may have been key information in an exposed space.
Unsurprisingly, the lift reached level nine uninterrupted and opened into the enclosed octagonal space that all three of them remembered so clearly. it was for this reason that they had been selected for the Ministry task, which wasn't nearly as dangerous as the other two raids. Also, being purebloods, the three of them would have been the least effective entering into muggle environments and acting like muggles. "Which one?" Neville asked, but Ron and Luna merely stood about waiting expectantly, Ron's only comment being, "You'll see."
Within a minute, Ron's sparrow flew towards them through one of the doors and perched atop Ron's shoulder, having done its duty. Luna made to head to the door that the sparrow had come through, but Ron stopped her with a hand gesture, and took a moment to cock his head, as if listening to a report by the sparrow.
Neville watched this transaction acutely, attempting to glean some important piece of information. Clearly, the sparrow had notified them of the right door by moving from room to room without triggering any of the wards. Of course, that meant that Ron could somehow communicate with his patroni on some level, the only question remaining was to what extent. When Ron was satisfied, he left the patronus to guard the lift, presumably to watch for any movement that would signal that the lifts were being accessed. Neville had to marvel at Ron's artful forethought as they moved swiftly and silently into what Neville had dubbed the "Time Room". In it were the familiar knickknacks from that battle so long ago, including the strange jars of swirling substances, the brain-like creatures that had molested Ron and many other things, including the plain brown door that led them all to the Hall of Prophecies. Still meeting no opposition, all three of them began casting detection spells in search of anything that would signal their presence to security. They found no less than fifteen protections on each of the various objects. Luna was the first to begin dismantling the wards, which she did with quiet and efficient ease. Ron continued sending small, innocuous looking patroni into the other rooms in search of any potential threats. Still there was nothing.
"Seems rather easy, doesn't it?" Neville asked quietly.
Ron merely nodded his assent, taking inventory of the objects in the room.
"You would think with the Death Eater's loose..." Neville trailed off. He supposed that it would do no good to speculate on the whys and hows of the Ministry. They had gathered the best intelligence they could and if they were missing some critical piece of the puzzle, they would simply have to proceed without it, as planned. There was simply nothing else to do.
Luna dismantled the second last ward before pausing and turning to the others. She said, "This last one is beyond me. I suspect the Ministry has already been alerted to our presence. I am sorry."
"Don't be," Ron said. "Or at least, you can apologize later. What's this last ward?"
"I suspect it's a time ward. If it is, then it operates by existing out of phase from our own time. It is probably a few milliseconds ahead of us, which, as far as I can tell, makes it impossible to break, unless we have the right primer when it's activated. That, or there's a time alteration device here in the room that will undo it."
Four of Ron's patroni converged on him at that moment, indicating that they were being boxed in from four sides by a force of unknown size. "We have five minutes to break the ward and beat a hasty retreat." Ron began rapid firing detection wards on all the other objects in the room, and both Luna and Neville followed suit, until Luna happened upon the time reversal jar. "I think this may be it. It seems to have a circular or recursive pattern that suggests it goes both forward and backwards through time. I could be wrong, but it might be used to retract the ward back to our own time."
"I'll take your word for it, soldier," Ron said, continually scanning the three doors that led into the room they were in. He turned to Neville and said. "None of the wand signatures are dark. Whoever's approaching they're not Death Eaters. Most likely aurors and other Ministry personnel." Neville nodded his understanding and kept his wand at the ready, maneuvering himself in between two glass cases so that he was protected from incoming fire from at least two of the doorways. Their position was precarious at best, since they had multiple openings to defend attacks from, and because they were in a room full of dangerous materials. It was like dueling in a minefield.
Luna, meanwhile, took two minutes to dismantle the wards and tentatively extract one thin strand of the swirling viscous air pocket from inside and began ensnaring the time turner. Slowly, she drew it to her, until she had it in her hands. Smiling she turned to Ron. "Extraction phase complete, sir."
"All right. Let's move." The trio renewed their disillusionment charms, and Ron sent a contingent of patroni ahead of them to scout and misdirect any aurors. As they closed the door behind them and re-entered the room with the multiple doors, they heard the click and swoosh of air as somebody opened a door from somewhere behind them. "That one," Ron said, locking the door they just came from and going through the next one to the lifts. Once there, they took the lift to the main floor and apparated from the atrium, encountering no opposition whatsoever. Mission accomplished.
That night the soldiers celebrated the success of their tripartheid blitz, and, in the customary fashion of youth, expressed their jubilation through song and dance, and, most important of all, drink. Ron, Neville, Dean, Terry, Sue, Luna, Collin and Dennis, Katie, Hannah, Ernie, Susan and many others joined in the festivities in the Gryffindor common room, fire whisky and butter beer pouring in through the Honeydukes passageway like water, all the while the Wizarding Wireless blaring out tunes as if they had all just won the Quidditch World Cup. It was a small victory, they all knew, but a critical one nonetheless, more because it was a milestone, a symbol that they could go out into the world and do things, make changes, ghost like shadows through the dark right under the enemies' noses. It was a good feeling.
Katie climbed onto a table, shouting at the top of her lungs, "Phoenix Soldiers 3! Death Eaters 0! What do you all say to that?" Everyone cheered, raising their respective drinks.
Terry jumped onto the table, coming very close to Katie. He made an exaggerated bow and asked, "Fair lady, may I have this dance?" A slow song was crescendoing on the radio, and several people in the audience whistled and cat called to a very embarrassed Katie, who, all the while blushing, accepted and took Terry's hand. She was about to jump off the table to dance on the ground floor, when Terry deftly caught her in his arms and asked innocently, "Where are you going?"
"Er-?" Katie began, but she didn't have the chance to finish her sentence, because Terry held her close and bent her backwards, leaning in himself to give her a kiss. When they pulled back up for air, the girls in the crowd giving a contented sigh, while the boys rolled their eyes, Katie had a dazed expression on her face while Terry looked hopeful. The pair danced and would continue to do so for the entire evening.
Somewhere during the night, Neville and Luna found themselves together, Neville tackling alcoholic beverages for the first time in his life, his mind and body still riding the rush of exhilaration from their successful theft. He wasn't quite sure what Ron had in mind with the time turner, but he knew they were powerful devices, and whatever its purpose, it would have devastating effects on their enemies, assuming they didn't blow themselves up with it. "You're looking very lovely tonight, Luna," Neville said tentatively.
"The new moon tends to bring out the Quilberhian Snumpfits," she responded in her usual, serene way.
"Of course, of course," Neville agreed, not fazed in the least by her response. He continued to stand next to her, enjoying the slight warmth he could feel from her body, as it osmosed its way across the small space that separated them.
Luna turned and looked curiously at him for a moment, idly twisting her distinctive necklace in one hand. "They seem to be especially drawn to you tonight."
Neville considered the statement for a long while, before he finally smiled and turning his attention to her. "Luna, would you care to dance?"
"It would be an honour, Neville."
Neville laced his fingers through Luna's and they proceeded to lose themselves amidst the melee of bodies and alcohol, and, more importantly, connect with one another amidst the beat of music, the din of laughter, taste of wine and the peculiar, intoxicating, sour sweet smell that always fills the air when so many people's energies are brought into close contact with one another.
Ron watched from a distance, a glass of chilled Scotch in one hand, his mouth curved in a contented smile as he watched everyone enjoy the moment, bask in merriment, live life comfortable in the knowledge of their togetherness and their place in the world as the next generation of fighters. He was happy, yes, but he was also sad, and it could be seen in his eyes, which seemed to glow while beset by shadows in one corner of the room. He had spent the evening congratulating people, playing the leader, smiling, giving strength, and, of course, suffering the interminable solitude that comes with his position, his thoughts invariably drifting to one person. A girl.
Ron couldn't help from letting his mind wander through the vast repertoire of memories that he had of Hermione during their time together over the last six years, ranging from her irksome encyclopedic knowledge of magic to those soft tender kisses, her shy uncertainty, her insatiable thirst for knowledge, which he had come to find endearing. By midnight, even though the party was still in full swing, Ron finished his drink - he had moved onto firewhisky - and went to the seventh year dorm room where he and Dean and Neville had holed up. He was tired in a good way, the kind of tired that made you feel like you had accomplished something, a fatigue that rest could quell, a fatigue deep in the muscles. However, Ron found that he could not drag himself into bed. Instead, he stared out the window, thin streaks of dark blue lining the otherwise black and grey sky, all the while he watched, idly scanning the Hogwarts grounds for signs of movements. Occasionally, a shadow flitted here and there, though whether because of an animal or because of a breeze blowing about the fallen leaves, Ron could not tell.
Where had things gone wrong? he wondered, not for the first time, or the second, or even the hundredth. "Where are you, Hermione?" he asked softly in the night air. He remembered the first time someone had asked him about her, wondering where she was, why she wasn't part of the PA. It had been Padma Patil, of all people. Apparently Hermione had made quite an impression on Ravenclaw House, and had been the envy of many of her peers, for her keen mental acuity, many of them confiding to Ron over the last two months, often over drinks, about how unfair it was that a Gryffindor was the smartest witch at Hogwarts. He remembered getting drunk one night with Katie, the fire crackling merrily in the fireplace, exchanging old war stories about Quidditch, the various characteristics peculiar to each of their positions, the fun times, the bad times. He remembered vividly how the firelight had turned her otherwise pale skin golden, her dirty blonde hair cascading around her face, making her blue eyes shine. He remembered how she had looked, leaning in tentatively towards him, closing those few inches between them as they revelled in their own memories of happier times, she daring to brush his lips with hers, he letting her. It had been a chaste kiss, and it was never repeated, though he often caught her glancing his way on the sly, an expression of both wistfulness and sorrow adorning her features. It was hard not to dwell on the quagmire of emotions and desires that moments like these brought on, the din and laughter and music still faintly audible from across the room and through the stairwell to the common area. His keen ears could even pick up her laughter, musical it seemed, and Ron imagined Terry having made some clever, witty joke to set her off. He was happy for them; he didn't doubt that one bit, but it didn't alleviate his own torment. Not that it mattered. Most of the time, often under the brilliance of the winter sun, Ron was able to quash down the nuclear wasteland where his heart should have been.
