A/N: Here's the first interlude! Hope you guys enjoy it, thanks to our wonderful Beta! Tell us all about your favorite scenes!

Chapter warning for; Explicit language

Next chapter update, 18th June, Friday, BUT, keep an eye out for the second interlude posted on the Friday before.

Interlude

...

Seamus takes so fucking long to go to sleep.

So long in fact, that Ron is tempted to just curse him into unconsciousness, or at the very least shut his damn curtains so he can sneak out. He's being agitated to the point of drugging his friends.

It takes his dorm mate fifteen additional minutes to close off his curtains and bloody lay down, and Ron uses his golden opportunity, he springs out of his bed, Harry's invisibility cloak already drawn over his shoulders, his shoes dangling in his hands by their tied strings as Ron soundlessly pads out of their dorm.

The swirl of stairs seems awfully precarious with him only in his socks, his speed and their lack of friction should be concerning if anything else, but Ron is in such a hurry that by the time he should be worried, he's already in the common room.

Hermione is by the fireplace, braiding her hair. Ron wants to linger and admire her face, illuminated by the hearth's glow, maybe run his fingers through her hair, smell the coconut oil she usually lathers between her locks to avoid fuzziness, kiss and just waste the night away like this, but they're already late as it is.

They have plenty of time for snogging anyways, it's not as if either of them sleeps.

"Hey," he drops the cloak, and she turns to hug him. Ron loves the way she smells. They kiss very briefly and then draw away. There's always more time for kissing, even though his body argues differently. This is all new to him. The feelings, the urges...the disgusting parts.

"Nobody saw you?"

"Nope," their voices are hushed, "Although Seamus takes too fucking long to call it a night."

She waits for him to put on his shoes and then grabs his hand after he pulls the invisibility cloak over them both. This has become more than a routine by now.

It's Friday night, and as habit compels them, every Friday night they use the floo in the room of requirements to get to Grimmauld place, in which they stay during the weekend with Sirius.

It's not a good or sound plan by any means, but the floo in the room of requirements is the only one that is not monitored, and people are unlikely to miss them here during the weekend thanks to Hermione's embarrassing plan.

A very elaborate plan which entailed Ron failing several subjects simultaneously on purpose, having a heated, very public argument about it with Hermione in front of a huge Quidditch crowd, and then cajoled into studying by a very stern Hermione who would 'lock him in the shrieking shack unless he studied'.

McGonagall covered it up for them.

Ron shouldn't have been surprised when it worked, in fact, it worked magnificently.

It worked so well, that even the Professors lauded Hermione for her efforts to salvage Ronald's O. , and his future career.

It stung a bit, how little his Professors knew him, but all in all, Ron didn't give a shit as long as it worked, and bought them time.

She squeezes his hand once they get to the third floor. Passing the doors to the room of requirements almost feels like dancing to them. He smiles down at her as they saunter back and forth and then patiently wait for the doors to appear.

"Hopefully not a kitchen again," she gently quips as they get in.

"But did you mind the midnight snack?" Ron shoots right back, the room is barren with the hearth in the middle. Jar of floo powder gleams emerald on the mantle.

He can't help it, when Ron is nervous or emotional or even remotely frustrated, he eats. It's his defense mechanism, and since Harry's abduction...well, Ron has taken to always having a small snack on him at all times. He wasn't wrong in thinking that Harry Potter would be the death of him one day. Not that he minds the food.

It helps, if only marginally.

Hermione's eyes roll fondly as they fold the cherished cloak, and she puts it in her messenger bag.

"Ready?"

But when is he ever? If it were up to him, personally alone, Ron would never be ready. He wasn't ready when mounting a chess piece and taking a shot for his friends, he wasn't ready to be almost devoured by giant spiders. And he wasn't ready when his uncle asked him to win their last game together.

He nods his head, regardless of the anxiety pooling in his chest, and they step inside the fireplace.

"Grimmauld Place!"

And whirling they go.

It's quiet, once they get there covered head to toe in soot. Hermione waves her wand over them both, there are heated voices coming from the kitchen. Another meeting.

Unfortunately, Ron knows that there isn't a single shred of a chance for them to eavesdrop, seeing as Tonks is sitting on the armchair right in front of them, surveying them both with a wide grin.

"Quiet night, isn't it?" She tilts her head to the kitchen, and Ron can faintly hear Kingsley's voice above the others. The words themselves however are not intelligible. Because of the wards, most likely. Damn Bill.

"Is it gonna take too long?" Hermione asks, ever the diplomat. They're not going to try getting in the meeting again, having tried and exhausted that option long ago.

When adults decided to be bullheaded, bullheaded they stayed. Ron generally doesn't find the strength to argue with that, and shudders to think of himself becoming one of those same adults himself one day.

"Well they've only gotten warmed up," Tonks' hair blooms into a dimmed yellow, "But Sirius said you guys should start without him."

They nod their thanks and pass by her as they enter the hallway, Ron catches sight of Sirius' mom's portrait, desolate and dangerously silent beneath the dusted curtain. He can't even imagine Sirius tolerating the live version of that hag.

No wonder he ran away. This place reeks of misery, and Ron is convinced that no amount of cleaning will ever rid it of that odor. Pain always lingers. In Ron's personal second-hand experience.

"Do you think he's happy?" He asks Hermione as they're doing the stretches, in the room Sirius deliberately emptied and charmed for their training.

"Sirius?" Hermione asks, she has her right leg stretched to the side in a lunge.

Ron hums, "Yeah. Being cooped up here. This place is rarely a source of good memories, I reckon."

In his mind, he imagines Harry in that place, forced and imprisoned in Dursley's home, even though they are long dead. He imagines the pain, and the misery, and the utter bitterness. Harry is too good to be engulfed and taken by these emotions, but Sirius isn't.

She drops her arms and looks at him. "I suppose he is a bit frustrated."

Ron thinks it goes a bit beyond frustration. The man looks outright devastated most times. There's this haunted look in his eyes that makes Ron uneasy. He's been locked up in Azkaban for over twelve years, so that is supposedly normal, but then again... he's been locked up here for two years too.

If every room, every window, and the door feels this stifling, and hostile to Ron, then he can just fathom how much worse it is for Sirius.

From one prison to another.

"Frustrated or depressed?" He muses, flexing his shoulders. His wand held tight in hand.

Hermione regards him again, "I don't think it's our place to think of those things, Ron. If it's something we see, then surely others see it too."

He knows that she knows better. She almost always knows better even if Ron doesn't. And he knows that she sees the way they all treat Sirius. Like some liability, some mindless child in need of a guardian. And as far as Ron has seen, Sirius either doesn't bother tackling that behavior, or doesn't care enough to fix it.

Like Harry, the man seems to think he knows when to give up a fight, at exactly the wrong moment.

"They treat him like…"

Hermione looks away. "I know."

"And no one does anything about it," he replies.

They start flinging random hexes at the overused targets, at the far end of the room, and Ron feels the tingling in his chest morph into an acute itch.

He wants to know why. Why do they do this to the man? Why doesn't Sirius do anything about it? Is this what will happen to Harry if Ron and Hermione aren't around?

Harry.

He shouldn't have let that thought progress that far. Now he feels miserable and misses his best friend.

"He's an adult, Ron. I just…"

"He reminds me of Harry."

There. He said it. It's been bugging him for so long. This tiny little fact, perched on the edge of his mind. It's unsettling but it's true. The haunted look in his eyes, the haphazard way he dresses, and this weird energy around him, as if he's ready to jump into action without the slightest bit of hesitation or caution for his own safety.

She holds his gaze, her shoulders slump. She sees it too, more than that, it seems as if she's thought about it before it had even occurred to Ron.

"He does." Hermione sighs, "It's not…" she clears her throat, "Harry won't turn out like him." Her voice is firm with conviction, and Ron wants so badly to believe her, "We'll be fine."

They're not fine now.

Ron wakes up every day feeling like he lost a limb. And he keeps thinking and he keeps wondering whether Sirius and Remus still feel the same way after losing Harry's dad.

Then he thinks about Harry dying, and then once he's in that loop, it takes him ages to get back out.

"Hermione I…"

The doors barge open.

"Enough chit-chat!" Sirius slides into the room, his wand slashing in air, and a disarming charm aims at Hermione. She ducks the charm and scowls.

"Not fair," she says.

Sirius raises both eyebrows, he's in his blue dressing gown, as always, and he looks exhausted.

"Good meeting?" Ron can't help but ask.

It makes Sirius pause, instead of his usual sarcastic comeback. Ron pauses too.

This is new.

Sirius' eyes are wary and undecided. As if he's about to do something that others most definitely will not approve of. Ron is an expert in that look, having lived with the Twins, and occasionally Charlie all his life.

He and Hermione lean closer to the man with tightly held breath.

"Actually…" Sirius looks over his shoulder, and then presses his lips together, rocking on the heels of his feet.

Ron can literally see the decision being made in his eyes.

Sirius then whips his wand at the doors and they slam shut with a loud bang.

Sirius' eyes have a determined gleam, and a jolt of thrill goes through Ron's chest. He's going to tell them stuff.

"We need to talk, kiddos," Sirius hastily grabs their arms, "Come on, gather around."

Hermione throws him a glance, then turns to Sirius with narrowed eyes, "Is something wrong?"

News. Her eyes are screaming at him.

News. But whether good or bad, is not certain.

It can't be too catastrophic. Sirius wouldn't be locked up here in the training room with them if Harry was….gone.

Ron feels his lungs tighten.

"Well, few things," Sirius ushers them to the far corner of the room, to their break spot, equipped with two sofas, and a lovechair, the latter being Sirius' favorite seat in the entire house. It's worn red and embroidered with golden thread across the back and the armrests. It's probably the most Gryffindorish thing in this place.

Sirius lowers himself in the armchair, sits at the very edge. "The order doesn't want you to know these things, but I think...I think you deserve to know."

Hermione makes a meek noise beside him, and Ron grabs her hand. "Is it about Harry?" She asks.

Sirius' hands clench upon the armrests. Every second that passes feels like a battle to Ron, to stay deathly still for the man to take his time.

"Partly," Sirius admits reluctantly, "But, I can't continue unless you kids promise not to go snitching around," he looks so nervous, "I could get in a shit ton of trouble for this."

Ron and Hermione don't even need to look at each other before answering.

"We promise."

It's somewhat empty of a promise, because unless they know exactly what information they're getting, then promising not to do anything about it seems a bit redundant. This is just reassurance for Sirius' sake.

The man licks his lips, runs a hand through his hair, "Okay. Alright," he jolts to his feet, "Sit tight, and give me five minutes. Do not move. I need to go fetch Remus."

Hermione squirms, "Is that a good idea?"

Because they both know that there is no way Sirius would go against Remus's word, and Remus is too level-headed to give them information even Sirius is hesitant about.

Sirius, though, doesn't look concerned at all, just a bit distracted, "Getting Remus?" He hums, "Hermione, that's always a good idea," he stares at them both for a moment, "Don't move."

He disappears from the room and Ron and Hermione are left by themselves, in a brittle, vulnerable silence that neither breaks.

Every breath in Ron's ears feels like a typhoon, because this has to be about Harry. He can't even begin to speculate what it is about Harry that grips every nerve in his body and demands they stay still.

If it's good news, and good by Ron's standards is Harry safely back with them, then there is no reason for this hushed-up ritual they're being put into.

If it's bad news, and by bad, he's thinking Harry to have….died. Then Sirius will not hesitate for a second before telling them, and then burning this place to the ground.

Hermione sinks down on the sofa, and Ron goes down with her, gripping her hand in a bruising manner that she fully returns.

There's absolute silence, and then there's shuffling.

"Sirius, tell me you didn't," Remus hisses, or Ron can hear him doing so, behind closed doors.

"I wouldn't be dragging you three floors up, if I hadn't. Please, just…"

"Just what?!" There's a groan, "Sirius, they are fifteen years old! We can't just blurt out these stuff to kids."

Blur out what? It's driving Ron insane. Hermione chews on her lower lip from his right.

"If it had been James…" There's a long pause, and Ron imagines both men, staring at each other with a lost gaze.

If it had been James.

But it was James for them too once. They've already lived through the worst of their best friend's life; his death.

"...Remus, they need to know."

Ron can just imagine Remus shaking his head, white in the face with rage, "What if they decide to do something about it? We're not their parents, Molly and Arthur will skin you if anything happened to-"

Mom and Dad? Ron hasn't spoken to them in what feels like ages. In spite of being here, to train with Sirius once a week, Ron has utilized every chance at his disposal to avoid his parents.

Not because it worries them to see him like this, but because deep down, and irrationally so, he blames them for Harry's predicament. He's not sure why, exactly. But he does.

"But it won't!" Sirius exclaims, "Just trust them. If we treat them like adults then they will behave like adults. They're mature, they won't do any crazy shit."

Hermione squirms in her seat, "They definitely don't know that we can hear them."

"Sirius might," Ron shrugs.

Is that how much trust they have in Ron and Hermione? Well to be quite fair, neither is above doing what needs to be done when it comes to their friend, and each other. But this level of distrust points to two possibilities.

Either the information is too vital to share, to the extent that Sirius and Remus and a handful others are the only people in on it.

Or they just assume that Ron and Hermione are going to babble everything they hear to everyone in the vicinity.

Ron can't decide which possibility he hates more.

"If it had been James, you would have done anything to know. We owe it to them, and Harry."

So it is about Harry. Well of course it is. Ron feels stupid. He hates feeling stupid. More than that, he hates feeling helpless.

There's another long pause.

"No one will know," Remus says, not as a question, but an order. No one will know. Meaning, no one can know.

"No one," Sirius repeats back at him, "but the four of us."

"And if they decided to do something stupid, you will be taking responsibility."

Here, Ron glances at Hermione, and she looks back at him with a curled mouth.

Should they be doing something stupid?

"How worse can it get?" Sirius says, "I'm already locked up here."

Remus, as accurately imagined in Ron's head, is pale and tense like a wooden plank. The full moon might be near, judging by the state of his sunken eyes.

"Look me in the eyes," the man says, "and vow that you will not stray one inch from your positions after this conversation."

Hermione scoots closer to the edge of the seat, "You know us, Remus. We won't do anything stupid."

The man doesn't budge, "Vow. Because if you do, if I find out that you have, then I will personally deal with you. This is sensitive information."

"We promise," Ron swallows, stares into the man's amber eyes, "We will not do anything. You have our word."

Sirius puts a hand on Remus's shoulder, but the man flinches away. He seems a bit mad still.

"There are two things that we are about to tell you. Don't ask for more, this is final."

They nod.

"The first is, that we have become aware that Dolores Umbridge, whilst not marked, has Death Eater affiliations."

Time stops. So do the pieces. In his mind, the board that he has so intricately set since the attack rewinds, and just keeps rewinding.

Oh no.

The shock in his face must be catastrophically evident, because Sirius leans toward him, "Yes, Ron. She was the one aiding in Harry's abduction."

She was the one. And of course, she was. It's so clear in his head, it makes so much sense. He remembers, closes his eyes, and remembers the manic look in her eyes. The gleam on her face every time she saw Harry in class. The evil smirk on her lips every time, every fucking time Harry caught her gaze.

It went beyond the malicious Ministry boss body. It was pure hatred.

Nearly every move he's made since then is wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

His body contains it all, and he wants to jump out of his skin, just to get away from his own mistakes.

"Ron? Listen to me, you are both not to do anything about this, nothing at all. The situation is precarious, the safety of you and every other student depends on this…"

He hears them, but in his head, he's just removing one piece after another. One scene, one memory, one instance of that bitch torturing his best friend.

And him. In that detention the day after Harry was taken. Her just looking at Ron with narrowed, glinting eyes. Not flinching once as Ron revoked Harry's name one time after the other to get a rise out of her.

She was with you know who.

"She infiltrated…"

"No, Ron," Sirius interrupts, "the Wards don't let her let them, or any undesirable company onto the grounds. After the breach...we made sure of it."

"How can Dumbledore not know this before hiring her?" Hermione sputters, she looks red in the face, and Ron tries so hard to stay in the present.

"This is brand new information to all of us, Hermione. Our first priority, with the ministry disposed, was ensuring your safety."

"You can… I'm sure the Order members can take on her, if you really wanted to."

She looks at Ron again, "That means you don't want to," she finishes, and deflates in her seat again.

"We don't want to lose the element of surprise, curly," Sirius leans back in his armchair, crossing one leg over the other, "We need to give him the illusion of complete control, so that…"

"So that you can throw him off once the time comes. Get rid of her, lock Hogwarts up. Fortress. You're making a fortress," Ron finishes. His thoughts are in shards and fragments.

He is so angry. So enraged that he can literally feel his rage coursing in his veins, up to his crimson ears.

He wants to kill her with his bare hands, throttle her, see her punished.

But logic is pushing back at him. He hates himself for this, for agreeing with the Order. For seeing the strategy behind this seemingly mindless decision.

He doesn't want to, but he does.

Remus exchanges a look for Sirius, "There's something else…"

Sirius smiles, for the first time for how long, Ron doesn't know, "Harry is coming back."

And the world starts again, and he feels Hermione breathe.