AN: This short chapter serves as a break as we hop forward a few weeks. Next Chapter will be back to Harry and Hermione


Four Weeks Later

Ron

Click. Click.

Again and again, Ron Weasley tried the dials of the wireless, peering morosely at the bakelite contraption with the old-fashioned speakers. Next to him was a piece of parchment where he had scribbled ideas for the code that would unlock the broadcast that he was so desperate to hear. Life at Bill and Fleur's place was painfully sheltered and, as he was in hiding, he had next to no contact with the outside world. Bill had to still maintain appearances with his Gringotts job, Fleur too, had her position at the bank to keep. While they kept up their appearances, Ron stayed in the spare bedroom, agonising over his mistakes.

Click. Click. Harry. Nope, tried that already. James… no…

Ron considered his list again and picked another. As he did, his idle mind began to wonder, which was never a good thing when his mind had a habit of torturing him with bad memories. This time, his mind decided to play out the words Harry had flung at him, his voice breaking with the emotion he was showing.

"If things get too hard for me, where do I run, Ron? If I get hurt, who will patch me up? If I'm upset, who will comfort me? And if I die… who will mourn me?"

He sighed, lifting his hand from the dials, listening to the static, as he did, he could see Harry's pain-filled green eyes, the tears that he, Ron, had caused him. Ron had never once seen Harry cry in his life and here, he was seeing his vulnerability on full display.

Then Ron saw the answer to those questions in a single red mark on Hermione's slender neck. He knew what it was. Lavender had left more than her fair share of them on him the year before. But to see it on Hermione's neck, knowing full well that only one person could have put it there, made him lash out at the culprit. Harry didn't even move. He could have easily dodged, or even cursed him, but he made the conscious decision to take Ron's punch face on. Later that evening, he found a speck of Harry's blood on his hand. He spent a good five minutes washing them, trying to scrub the guilt away.

"He forgave you, then?"

Ron could hear Bill's voice as he washed his hands, coming from the bathroom doorway.

"Yeah but… they don't want me back."

Bill just nodded, watching him from the mirror.

"They have each other and they're safe. That's all that matters."

"They're together…" Ron had then said, turning the taps off. He couldn't face his brother, staring instead at the soapy water going down the drain. "Harry and Hermione… they're… they got together while I wasn't there."

Bill sighed in response. "Were you and Hermione…?"

"No… well… not officially. We never kissed or anything like that but… I thought she felt the same way."

Click. Click.

"Did Harry know how you felt?"

"I never said anything about it but I thought he had worked it out. I guess he doesn't owe me any loyalty after I bailed but…"

"You expected him to be the better man?" Bill asked. Ron had nodded. "Well, I'm not all that pleased that he would make a move knowing how you felt, but I don't really blame him either. It's easy to forget that Harry is just as much an idiot around women like the rest of us men."

"Well whatever he is, it worked." Ron then looked up to Bill, eyes wide, "she chose him."

Bringing himself back into the present, Ron went to pick another word.

Click. Click. Only static. If only his thoughts were the same, an empty buzz, so he couldn't keep thinking about how his two best friends were now a couple and how he was on his own.


Luna

The faint silvery glow of wandlight pierced through Luna's eyelids. She cracked them open, her eyelashes turning the world into a haze before she dared to fully open her eyes. A low moan across the dark cellar told her that her inmate had been similarly stirred from his restless sleep. She pushed herself up onto her elbows, turning her face to the barred gate that led into their prison.

There was a clink of keys and a scrape. After three nights of being a prisoner in Malfoy Manor, Luna had already memorised the sounds of captivity. There weren't very many of them. Occasionally, she could hear the sounds of activity above. A scrape of a chair being moved, raised voices, but nothing informative.

The barred gate swung open. A stooped man appeared. He shuffled into the cellar, his wand outstretched, finding both her and Mr Ollivander in their respective corners. He was carrying the tray of food, something which marked the start of a new day.

Luna rose to her feet, causing the man to snap his wand over to her. She didn't shy. He was different to the Death Eaters that had brought her down into the cellar after dragging her off the train. Something about the man told her that he wouldn't harm her. There was the hesitation in his eyes that the others didn't have. They had no qualms about who they hurt.

"He needs a blanket," she said to the man, "Mr Ollivander. He's old and it's very cold down here."

On cue, Mr Ollivander gave a breathy wheeze of a cough. The man's gaze skittered over, his expressions flashing over his face in a fast sequence. Luna caught them all. If there was one thing Luna understood, it was people. People were fascinating to study and watch. More so than to engage with, that just made things awkward and she'd rather watch and learn. Observation was the key to survival.

"If he is sick, he will be healed," the man said, turning his face from her. He set their tray down. Like the other mornings, it was set with bread, broth and two apples. Luna's gaze went to his left hand. She noticed it on the first day. At first, she thought it was a glove, but then she caught sight of the reflections. It was living metal, a prosthetic. She had never seen magic like it before. Despite the bleakness of her current situation, she was still incredibly curious. Locked in the cellar with only a poor, sick old man for company, her curiosity was the only thing keeping her mind working.

"He is sick," Luna insisted, "and isn't a blanket less bother than healing?"

The skittish man straightened and turned his wand back over to Mr Ollivander. His watery eyes flicked back to Luna, and his shoulders slumped. He was nervous, scared, and very unhappy.

"W-what about you?" He asked suddenly, turning to her. He ranged his wand up and down, checking her for ailments, it seemed. "Are you sick?"

"No, but I suspect if it gets any colder, I will be. Doesn't it make sense for your hostages to at least be healthy? We can be healthy and miserable, you know." She tilted her head to one side as she confronted her jailor over their living conditions. Again, emotions spasmed over the man's face. She caught sight of one in particular that interested her. Guilt.

When he noticed how intently she was studying him, he made to leave. He appeared to want to get out of the cellar as quickly as possible. Luna followed.

"Well? What harm will a blanket do?"

The man wheeled around, wand outstretched.

"Back off, girl."

"Please. Just… think on it at least," she said, but stopped following him. He frowned at her, fiddling with the keys, as he went to unlock the gate and leave. She watched him fumble and eventually creak open the gate. He slipped through, his metal hand clanking on the bars as he pulled it shut behind him.

Luna sighed as he locked it, but then his eyes met hers through the bars.

"Eat the broth while it's warm," Peter Pettigrew said, before leaving the cellar on a search for two blankets for the two prisoners.


Remus

It was one night until the full moon. Remus Lupin could feel it, as he always did, the sharpening of his senses, the relentless hunger, the flashes of violence that he struggled to control as his temper flared at the smallest things. Wrapped up in his warmest cloak, he stood out in the Tonks's family garden, looking up at the thing that was the bane of his existence. And yet, in that moment, he feared something greater than the impending transformation. His heart was sick with fear. All the terrors he had endured during his life, and there had been many, none came even close to the state of fear he was currently living in.

His wolfish instincts were more alert than ever before. Fierce protectiveness steeled him against his fear, had him standing sentry in the night, on watch. Inside the house were his wife, his unborn child and his mother-in-law. Three people that had become the centre of his world. And they were in terrible danger.

Other wolves he had met over the years had told him that werewolves are no danger to their mates and their offspring. Even when in the mindless form of the beast, his protective instincts would remain. Tonks and his baby would be safe from him. But he wasn't the danger. The full moon would force him to lock himself away so his transformation would cause no bloodshed. While locked up, he couldn't protect his loved ones. They would be completely vulnerable.

He heard her step out onto the porch. Not just her footstep, but the huff of her breath, the surging of her blood, the pump of her heart. His hearing was unnaturally keen, as it always was on the eve of the wolf.

"We're going to be fine, Remus," her voice was soft, warm, and so very sincere. Her hands pressed on his shoulders, confirming her presence to him.

She gently turned him around. Her brown eyes were her own, natural eyes. Her mousy blonde hair her own, her heart-shaped face, gentle smile. She stood before him, all Nymphadora Tonks.

Not just her. He looked down to her midriff and then brought his arms around her. He pressed his forehead against hers.

"Harry was right," he said quietly, "I was a coward for leaving. And now… I'm more scared than I ever have been because I have to leave you. The wolf in me is making it harder. You're my pack. My instinct is to protect you."

Tonks hummed. "You know how much I love it when you talk werewolf to me."

"If you can embrace me for what I am, I should start to do the same," he said, "if our child is… different, I should show from example to never be ashamed of who we are."

Their lips met. Remus brought his hands around her waist, moving her closer. The scent of her had him growling in his throat. She gave a soft laugh in response.

After a moment, they parted lips and held each other for a while. Tonks rested her head against his chest. He listened to the dual heartbeats, hers and the child.

"I can't imagine how it must have been for James and Lily," Remus said after a long moment of silence. "I… I only now realise... now that I feel that fear."

Tonks moved her face, looking up at him.

"Did you… see them while they were in hiding?"

He sighed. "Before the Fidelius, Sirius, and I would visit. Until it was clear that you-know-who was hunting them down. I… will never forget that night. We were so afraid… Sirius especially. He had just heard that his brother had been killed. It was so real then, the danger, the deaths…"

"Was Harry there?"

A small smile pulled at Remus's mouth. "Oh yes. I saw him quite often. I was at his Naming as well. He threw up on Sirius… it was hilarious."

Tonks gave a chuckle. "I bet he did it on purpose."

"Very likely. We knew that Harry would be just as much trouble as James," his smile faded, "it never fades… the anger at the injustice that Harry never got to know them. He didn't even really have time to get to know Sirius. Or even me."

Tonks's arms tightened around him. "You'll see him again, Remus."

The woman in his arms had the uncanny ability to know what he was thinking. He suspected that it had something to do with her Auror training, having been taught the value of perception.

"Would he even want to see me?" He said quietly. "I… attacked him, Dora. I jinxed James and Lily's boy."

"And he'll forgive you… I know he will," she assured him, "just as you forgave him."

"It was my fault for forgetting that as much as Harry looks like James, he has his mother's fiery temper." he brought his hand up and played with a tendril of Tonks's blonde hair. "As much as I want to make amends, I also want him to stay in hiding. Did you see The Quibbler? "

Her brow furrowed and she shook her head.

"It looks like they've got to Xenophilius. Headline: Undesirable Number One at large. "

Tonks cursed under her breath. "Do you know if anyone has sent word? The Lovegood live near the Burrow, don't they? Someone should check on them."

"The Burrow is too closely watched, but I expect they will notice the same thing. It's very likely that it'll come up on Potterwatch."

He couldn't help but feel a surge of respect towards his former students for their achievement in setting up a rebellious radio channel and still evade the Ministry's attempt to shut them down (and kill them).

"Perhaps you should take the twins up on their offer," Tonks suggested, "speak on the radio yourself. There is a chance that Harry is listening. Mum said that Harry had seemed very much in open defiance of the Ministry and not afraid of getting his hands dirty."

Remus considered the advice. After Halloween, when Andromeda had returned from Godric's Hollow, she had been ecstatic with the news that Harry Potter had made an appearance and was on a mission. Remus had pelted her with questions, horrified to learn that Harry had declared a blood feud, but then intrigued to hear that he had come there to speak with Bathilda Bagshot. He knew the woman from her relationship with the Potters, but he had no idea that she was still alive. As curious as he was that Harry had chosen to visit a historian of all people, he was mostly worried. Harry was taking risks, making public appearances, and it reminded him horribly of Sirius.

Please be careful, Harry.

"It's an option," Remus said, then he gave a shiver as he realised how cold he was. "I think we ought to head back inside. Enough moon-gazing for the night."

"It is rather cold," Tonks remarked.

Before they could make their way back inside, Remus heard the approach of elder Tonks witch. His senses picked up several things. Her rapid heart rate, the scent of tears, the crinkle of parchment, harsh breaths that edged close to sobs… all things that culminated into Andromeda Tonks being about to be the bearer of some very bad news.

He pulled Tonks around as her mother stepped out from the house. Her face was streaked with tears and she gave a shuddering gasp. She tore towards them, throwing her arms around them both.

"M-mum? What is it?"

Then came the news.

"Oh… Dora… it's your dad." Andromeda pulled her daughter into her arms. Her sobs rent into the cold stillness of the night. "He's… he's been… murdered."


Severus

The silvery shimmer of the pensieve was frustratingly invasive as Severus massaged his throbbing temples after a grueling few hours of organising his memories and reapplying his occlumency shields. As unpleasant as it was, it was a necessary safeguard, one that would protect his cover and keep his true allegiances safely concealed. Thankfully, his feelings towards Potter, his animosity and loathing, were true enough that they satisfied the Dark Lord whenever he sent his mental probes his way. Yet now his other sensibilities were interfering with his facade, his worry for the safety of the students. With most of them out of the castle and returned to their families from Christmas, he could feel some relief. No longer having to feign approval for whenever a child was screaming in agony, or paint on a sneer in the face of unbearable suffering.

Before him, the image distorted in the surface of the pensieve, was the memory that he was determined to cast out of his mind. Yet it was essential to his cover. The Dark Lord needed to find the memory of Severus torturing Harry Potter and witness him enjoying each scream that ripped out of the infernal brat's mouth.

What he didn't want the Dark Lord to see was how Potter had looked when he rolled himself over, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. He didn't want the Dark Lord to know how he had felt when he met those green-eyes and saw Potter's pain within them. Pain and fear. The look of betrayal. A look that haunted him throughout his adult life. Just as he had once betrayed the friendship of Lily Evans, he had betrayed her again by harming her son. A child so important to her, she had laid down her own life to save him. And he, Severus Snape, had delighted in extracting that child's pain.

He did not fool himself. He didn't care for the boy. Especially not when Potter's presence in the castle and his escape resulted in the worst round of Cruciatus he had endured since returning to the Dark Lord's service to convince him of his loyalty. He played his part well enough to make his mistakes appear like incompetence, rather than calculated decisions. Torturing Potter had been necessary to maintain his facade, turning his back to the boy and giving him the opening to disarm him had also been necessary.

"It must be done, Severus."

His dark eyes snapped up to the wall above the desk where the many portraits of headmasters and headmistresses past had observed his moulding of his own mind. Until then, each had silently watched as he painstakingly extracted his memories and adjusted them. The one who had broken their silence was Severus's predecessor.

"There is no other way."

He ignored the elderly wizard in the frame and looked over instead to a haughty man, the only other Headmaster of Hogwarts who had been in Slytherin. Phineas Nigellus Black.

"The portrait is still non-functional?" He asked the portrait. Professor Black gave a sniff.

"Still. Though I admit I have some relief that I am spared the sounds of a teenaged romance. One would think with their responsibilities, they would possess some decorum."

Severus had no interest in how Potter and Granger were spending their time while in hiding, only that they stayed hidden and alive.

"It is more than likely that they learned how to cast a Fidelius Charm," Dumbledore said, his painted figures lacing together. "Phineas cannot reach his portrait because, as far as you are concerned, it no longer exists."

"The Fidelius is among one of the most complex protective charms in existence," a snooty Headmistress that Snape couldn't recall piped up. "Two seventeen-year-olds could not master such a charm."

"You underestimate our Miss Granger, Cynthia." Dumbledore smiled. "And you forget that they are not alone. Phineas overheard them discussing Bathilda Bagshot. It is very likely that when Harry went to Godric's Hollow, he made her acquaintance." He sighed. "Harry has likely learned much from her… especially about me."

"Whenever they are now, I cannot reach them. If you are so desperate to talk to the boy, you will have to find a different messenger." Phineas snapped harshly.

"Potter will not react well if I make contact. He reacts first and thinks later."

"Then contact someone he will listen to," Dumbledore suggested. "You must maintain your cover for the good of the school, but Harry must know about the location of the cup. He has acquired a means to destroy it if he obtained basilisk venom from his trip to the Chamber. He is close… closer than I dare hope."

Severus swept from the desk, pacing, rubbing at his temples. "I cannot write letters to the Order, Albus. While my post is not monitored, where it ends up certainly is."

"It is likely Potter will leave the safety of the fidelius again to go on another reckless public outing," Phineas said dryly, "when he does, I will listen."

Severus returned to the pensieve, glancing up at Dumbledore.

"Pointing Potter on track for this horcrux is doable, if difficult, but you forget, Albus, that even if he somehow manages to track them all down, there is still one horcrux that he will not be able to destroy. Not himself."

Albus Dumbledore met the black, onyx stare of Severus Snape, his eyes unfathomably sad.

"We can only hope that then Harry unites the Hallows." A painted tear rolled from his blue orb, falling onto his pure-white beard, then he finished the sentence in a near whisper. "Before it's too late to save him."