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Ron followed the group of rundown Aurors back into the safe house, disappointed and on edge. They'd just returned from raiding the last known Death Eater hideout in the country and had come back completely empty-handed. The teams were still out scouting for more but with every day that passed, Ron knew, the chances of finding Harry in time grew increasingly slimmer.

He'd been so confident in his decision to come over here. He'd honestly believed they'd be able to recover his best friend and he'd be there to help. He'd convinced himself that coming was the right choice, one that would make a difference. He'd thought it would be okay.

Now he wasn't so sure. He hated that he wasn't, but he knew how these things worked. He'd been an Auror for four years and he'd seen many terrible things even before that. And he wasn't sure he wanted to be there if things turned out badly, if they were too late, if Harry was…

If Harry was dead.

The thought echoed violently through him, its sense of wrongness reverberating in his very bones, and he quickly pushed it out of his mind. He couldn't think about that. Not now. Preferably not ever.

But he still couldn't deny the reality that pressed down on him like a boulder, even while he wished it weren't true.

Why was it always Harry?

Before he'd fully committed to the decision, Ron found himself crossing the small kitchen to where Joel Goodwin sat at the table, nursing a cup of ridiculously strong tea and intensely studying a file before him—maybe searching, as they all were, for something he'd missed.

From what Ron knew of him, Goodwin was a good man. He held the same rank Harry did—and Ron had—within the Aurors. They'd worked with him on a handful of cases over the past few years, but their gifts were usually focused in different areas. He was friendly, if not a bit introverted at times, and he was a good Auror, a decent leader. Ron didn't have a problem with him, though he was a bit concerned about the slightly older wizard's tendency to lean toward the safe side of protocol. He'd found that when it came to Death Eaters, a little flexibility was often necessary. But Goodwin was in charge here and as Robards had made perfectly clear, Ron wasn't to question his decisions.

The Auror looked up at his approach and nodded in acknowledgement. "Hey, Ron," he said stoically.

"Joel," Ron replied, nodding in kind.

"What can I do for you?" he asked, sounding as though he already guessed what he would say.

"That was the last hideout," Ron said simply.

Goodwin sighed. "Yeah."

"What do we do now?"

"Same thing we've been doing," Goodwin answered, "Keep searching. We'll start from the beginning, comb through everything we've got again. There's obviously another safe house somewhere that we haven't found yet."

"And if that doesn't work?"

Goodwin leveled him with a look. "It will."

"How can we be sure Knox and his lackeys are even in the country anymore? If they were smart, they'd have taken Harry as far as possible the moment they grabbed him."

"True," Goodwin allowed, "but I don't have to tell you how heavily guarded borders throughout the continent have been since the war. No one wants Death Eaters running lose in their country."

"And yet they made it here. Obviously they have their ways."

"It would have been a huge risk, especially while holding a skilled Auror against his will."

"And if they did manage it?"

"There's no proof of that," the Auror said evenly. "And regardless, we've got no jurisdiction anywhere else. The Belarusian Ministry has given us free reign to take down Knox, but you know as well as I do that the others are not usually so generous."

"And you don't think we should be working to convince them to help?"

"We have been and they are. But they have their own methods and they want to handle it themselves. No one is unaware of the importance here, but other wizarding governments don't take kindly to us inserting ourselves without going through the proper channels."

"Yeah, because Voldemort was a real stickler for the rules," Ron said sardonically, "He was just as much a threat to other countries as he was to us. He would have turned his attention to them as soon as he gained total control back home."

"I know—"

"They owe Harry just as much as we do. Someone ought to remind them of that."

Goodwin allowed him to finish, resigned. "Look, Ron," he said now, "I know how close you and Harry are. And I appreciate that you came out here to help, but I'm in charge of operations over here and I'm responsible for making sure nothing happens to anyone else. Harry's my friend too—" Ron doubted that—"and I want to find him just as badly as you do. But we can't handle this differently than we would any other case just because it hits close to home. There are rules in place for a reason and we need to follow them."

Ron studied him. "So you won't even consider pursuing other options until the smarmy bureaucrats in these countries give the okay. You do realize that might never happen, right?"

"Until we have adequate evidence that the Death Eaters are no longer in Belarus, we have no choice." His gaze softened slightly as he looked at Ron. "We've got to let our fellow law enforcement agencies to do their jobs and trust that if and until we're given clearance to move in ourselves, they can handle it."

Ron had no such faith. He gritted his teeth. This conversation was going nowhere. Logically, he knew it wasn't Goodwin's fault; he was just doing his job. Neighboring countries had been skeptical of the Ministry ever since the war. Kingsley continued to make changes to the way it operated as a whole and relations were slowly being built back up, but many places were still distrustful. Former ministers had, after all, allowed the government to become overrun with Voldemort's lackeys or had been Death Eaters themselves. What happened in the United Kingdom had stood to affect other places as well and Ron couldn't exactly blame them for being overzealous about the safety of their borders now.

But he could blame them for being so bloody difficult. This wasn't about national security, it was about Harry—Harry who'd saved the other wizarding governments just as much as he'd saved his own and who was currently at the mercy of Death Eaters. He deserved better, and Ron fully intended to give it to him.

If Goodwin wanted proof, he would give him proof. Harry might have been the Auror's friend, but he was Ron's brother—closer than that even, and he was not going down without a fight. Not for this. Not for Harry.

He had no proof outside of his own conviction, but Ron had learned long ago to rely on his instincts—and those instincts told him Knox was no longer in Belarus. If he were, he'd have been found already. He wasn't that good.

Somehow, Ron would find evidence, and then they could move. They were getting Harry back, even if he had to do it all himself.

Practice ended an hour early on Friday and Ginny, after freshening up in the locker room, decided to stop by the Leaky Cauldron for lunch to spare herself from having to cook. She ate alone, talking intermittently with Hannah Abbott as the witch stopped at her table between customers. She received numerous smiles and nods of greeting from witches and wizards who had no idea what she'd endured the past few days, what she was still enduring even if she was growing better at compartmentalizing the worry and fear, at locking it away until she was alone and better able to address it. Ginny returned the carefree acknowledgements, even while she feared the smile she plastered on looked as artificial as it felt. She was used to the attention by now, both as a professional Quidditch player and the wife of the Savior of the Wizarding World, but that didn't mean she always enjoyed it—most of the time, quite the opposite was true. She finished her food faster than strictly necessary and, with a wave at Hannah across the bar, left more than enough to cover the bill on the table and made to leave.

She entered Diagon Alley with the intention of finding an Apparition point to Apparate home, but as she stepped out onto the wizarding street, the prospect of going back to her too-quiet house suddenly seemed less than appealing. And she did need new Chaser's gloves. Quality Quidditch Supplies was only a short walk from the Leaky Cauldron and Ginny decided it would be a waste not to get them while she was here. It'd give her something to do for a few minutes, in any case.

But fifteen minutes later, Quality Quidditch parcel in hand, the prospect had not grown any more tempting. Ginny hesitated outside the shop, debating her options. It wasn't long at all before she set off further down the street, away from the Leaky Cauldron.

Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was at its busiest during the summer and Christmas holidays, when students were home from Hogwarts. It was not at all unusual to see lines stretching around the store during those times of year and family gatherings in those months had to be planned with the store's hours in mind. Throughout the rest of the year, the place saw marginally less business—while the lines were not almost out the door, there were few times when it was completely without customers throughout the day. Ginny was unsurprised to see a line of people waiting at the checkout desk when she arrived. Verity, the pretty witch who'd been working at her brothers' shop since the beginning, smiled and waved at her from behind the desk, ringing up a couple of wizards who looked fresh out of Hogwarts. Ginny returned the wave as she stepped inside, ignoring the appreciative glances the two cast her way, though she was well aware of them.

She was no stranger to that sort of attention either. She wasn't vain enough to put much stock in the way she looked, though she enjoyed dressing up every now and then when the occasion warranted. Ginny did not spend much in the way of time or money on her everyday appearance—not in the way some witches she knew did with elaborate hairstyles or cosmetics. She didn't go out of her way to impress anyone—she didn't have to, as Harry preferred her natural looks—but she was not unaware of the fact that she didn't much need to either. Her husband's biased insistence aside, Ginny knew she wasn't exactly an eyesore and while she didn't much care what others thought, she knew the years she'd spent with the Harpies certainly hadn't hurt anything either—especially as she grew further into her twenties. Harry liked to joke that she grew more and more out of his league every day, but she grudgingly had to agree with the gossip pages of The Daily Prophet that his own time with the Auror Department had left its mark as well. Though admittedly, their current predicament was proof that it maybe wasn't worth—

And that was enough of that. She'd been making an effort not to dwell on the impossible situation, especially while she was out in public, surrounded by uninformed strangers. Now was definitely not the time.

She moved further inside, her eyes scanning for a familiar head of red hair amidst the explosion of ever-present color lining every inch of the place. George was nowhere obvious, but that didn't mean he wasn't holed up in one of the aisles restocking, or in the back room somewhere.

"Hey, Ginny," Finn, a sandy-haired, rugged wizard who George had hired about a year ago to help with the tills, said as he turned from a display and noticed her. "What brings you here?"

Ginny shrugged. "I was in the area and thought I'd stop by. Is George here?"

"Yeah, he's around somewhere," Finn answered, scanning the shop. He was a full head taller than her and probably stood a better chance of spotting her brother than she did. "Try near the WonderWitch displays in the back there. He might be putting out the new batch of Cupid Crystals he finished with earlier."

"Thanks, Finn."

"No problem," the wizard said with a grin, "I'd stay and help you look but I've got to go help Verity at the counter before she hexes me."

Ginny smirked. "It's alright. I can manage."

"Alright. See ya, Ginny," he said and then walked off, leaving her to her task.

She caught George just as he finished placing out the newly made products. He straightened and stepped back just as she approached, walking right into her. "Oh!" he began quickly, whirling around, "I'm so sor—Oh, its you."

"Wow, thanks so much," she replied dryly, raising en eyebrow.

Her bother shrugged. "Better you than a paying customer."

"You're a real charmer, you know that?"

He grinned. "I try. What are you doing here?"

"I came to say hi," Ginny explained, "I was passing through." She held up the parcel with her new Chaser's gloves.

"Hi," George replied easily, gesturing for her to walk with him.

She fell into step beside him as he moved toward the back room. "How are you?" she asked.

He glanced sidelong at her. "Shouldn't I be asking you that?" His voice held only the slightest hint of wary sympathy. Ginny ignored it.

"I asked you first."

She was pleased when he let it drop. "I'm bloody busy is what I am," he replied easily, opening the door and leaving her to follow him through. "I'm going to wring Ron's sorry neck when he gets home. Git could've told me he was planning to leave town. He was supposed to help me replenish the storeroom yesterday. Instead I was here an extra four hours doing it all myself."

"I wish I'd known," Ginny said, "I would've helped."

George gave her a wry look. "Then I would have been here even longer, teaching you all the spells to make everything."

Fair enough. She didn't know them. She'd helped out at the shop the summer before her seventh year at Hogwarts, but she'd been underage for nearly all of it. Mostly she'd worked the floor.

"They can't be that difficult," she countered now, "if Ron knows them."

George laughed. "I'll tell you what. If you ever get tired of all that fame and glory, come see me. I'll teach you all there is to know."

She smirked. "I'll keep that in mind."

He met her eyes then and his smile faded. "How are you holding up?" he asked seriously.

Ginny sighed. "Am I allowed to say I hate that question?" she asked, avoiding having to answer.

"Yes," he answered with understanding. He'd received enough versions of it himself in the months following the war. Of the lot of them, and understandably so, he'd taken Fred's death the hardest.

"Well, I do."

"I'm not going to push it," he promised earnestly, his eyes on her, "But we're here for you, Gin. Whatever you need, you know that."

"I know," Ginny replied softly. She did. Other than Hermione, she hadn't seen much of her family over the past few days, not since she'd first learned of the situation with Harry and had sought solace at the Burrow. She knew they were all aware of what had happened—news spread fast in her family—but they'd largely allowed her her space. Her mother, of course, still checked in with her daily to make sure she was okay, but she hadn't forced anything, and Ginny was grateful. She adored her family, but they tended to lack subtlety at times and she knew they'd all have felt the need to bring it up with her. She wasn't sure she would have been able to handle it. She'd wanted distraction, not attention.

George nodded. "Good." She saw it then, for just a second. He was worried too, scared of losing Harry just like she was. And he had his own reasons, she knew, for wanting him home. They all did. Harry had grown close with all her brothers over the years—even Percy to an extent. They all loved him—and they'd all lost enough. Ginny wasn't sure whether to take comfort from this realization or not. In some ways, it made her burden slightly lighter, but in others, it only made it worse. Could they survive yet another loss? Could she?

She didn't want to think about it.

George moved toward a nearby shelf then, grabbing a clipboard from its ledge and skimming it before producing his wand and Summoning a box from a high shelf. He looked inside and then checked something off on the page. "Were you planning to stick around for a while?" he asked, looking over at her, the box of products still floating beside him.

Ginny shrugged, shoving her recent thoughts aside with some effort. "Not if you're busy. I really just didn't want to go home yet."

"Understandable," George said lightly, Summoning two more boxes to his side. "I have no qualms with putting my sister to work. Can I interest you in restocking shelves?"

Ginny snorted. "Don't you have actual employees for that?"

"Yeah, but we're a man short and the weekend rush is starting. I want to be prepared."

Ginny blinked. It was Friday. Of course it was. A part of her knew this—the part that had been subconsciously counting the hours and days since she'd first come back from Kingley's office. The rest of her had lost track of the days—it had been the longest week ever. "What time is it?" she asked now.

George, apparently caught off guard, glanced down at the wristwatch he wore. "Er… about half one. Why?"

"Teddy's coming at three."

He looked at her. "Is he?"

"Why wouldn't he? He comes every weekend."

George only asked, "So you're not going to help me then?"

Ginny smirked, setting down her things and grabbing an extra set of magenta robes hanging by the door. "I'll help you, you berk. I've got an hour. What do you need done?"

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