"We entreat you to help us, young Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore said, taking Ron's arm as the Order of the Phoenix and Ron's best friends looked on. He was nudging Ron's sleeve upward to inspect the scars left behind by the tentacled brains in the Department of Mysteries the year before. Almost cringing already, Ron waited for the headmaster to read them as a statement of the quality of Ron's heroism, but Dumbledore had a way of not saying what was expected.

"In your first year with us," he began instead, "you played - now, how did I celebrate it at the time - the best game of wizard's chess Hogwarts had seen in many years."

Ron glanced around the room, looking for the wind-up. His mother was holding his father's handkerchief against her face, dabbing her eyes. The twins stood with their arms folded, leaning toward one another with less hilarity than usual. Maybe that was just them grown up. Tonks stood beside Remus, bouncing on the balls of her feet, nodding as if it would help Ron and Dumbledore get on with it. She was the complete opposite of Kingsley Shacklebolt's calm admiration of the headmaster. Malfoy couldn't seem to lift his head in the presence of the cabinet he'd brought into the room months earlier. And Harry and Hermione looked on with big eyes and slightly open mouths - expressions identical to Ron's own.

Ron gave his slow reply. "If you say so, sir."

"Fiery boldness and cool cleverness are rare enough qualities. Possessing both and holding them in balance is rarer still," Dumbledore went on. "But the task we require at this time calls for both. It calls for you, Ron Weasley."

Ron found his father's face to ask him as best he could without words what the flaming hell old Dumbledore was on about. Arthur understood but answered only with a grave nod.

Dumbledore began to walk in a circle around Ron, like a sheepdog separating him from Harry standing at his side. "We've been puzzling over how to best use the Malfoys' matrimonial charm and Harry's connection to Voldemort to our advantage - to disembody him for another ten years or so, something like Harry's mother did, but without the casualty. It will be difficult and delicate, and I am sorry to say that the best plan we have come up with requires the risk of one more Hogwarts student."

As Dumbledore came to stand in front of Ron again, he stopped. "We need a student to make a trip through the vanishing cabinet."

"As a - a test?" Ron stammered.

"No, we're beyond that," Dumbledore said. "The cabinet is fully operational. I have verified the repair myself. Draco's efforts were successful enough."

It was not praise and Draco did not take it as such, turning slightly more toward his wife, as if for protection. She linked her arm through his and nuzzled his shoulder.

"If we send an adult member of the Order," Dumbledore explained, "the Death Eaters will recognize the gesture for the trap it is, and they will expect that if they travel to Hogwarts through the cabinet, they will emerge into an environment just like the one you see here - a battlefield insulated from students and ringed with waiting, drawn wands."

He waved his hand at the assembled adults.

"If we send a student, however," he continued, "there is deniability. A student with no apparation license may indeed have discovered and be using the cabinet solely for easy transportation to London."

Ron frowned. "Dangerous dark magic for skiving off."

Dumbledore chuckled, turning to Fred and George. "Misters Weasley, explain the next bit to your brother."

Fred unfolded his arms as he began. "Right, so George and I host a big spontaneous fake event at the shop on Diagon Alley - "

"But the meanies here at the school won't let anyone come, not even our adoring brother - "

"But we have a somewhat infamous history with a certain Hogwarts vanishing cabinet - "

"Or so said one snitch, once upon a time - "

"So we must have told you all about it and, là voila, there you are popping out of the cabinet in Borgin and Burkes with a plausible story about needing to get up to our shop on the sly."

"And that's how we let the cowardly Death Eaters know for certain their cabinet works safely for wizards," George finished.

Ron was nodding. "Right. So you all want me as bait to trap the Death Eaters so you can use the real magic on them? I get to London, make a break for it, up to Fred and George's, and then lay low while Death Eaters start filing through the cabinet for you to pick off here?"

Dumbledore stepped closer to him. "Mr. Weasley, in chess, if you bait a king with a pawn - offering a small piece with many restrictions who moves mostly in one direction as bait for the game's ultimate prize - will the king ever step away from safety to take him?"

Ron shrugged, cautious about being tested. "Most of the time, no. It's a bad trade, not worth it."

"So what would we do, Mr. Weasley, to make a king rise to the bait of a pawn?"

"You don't, really," Ron said. But then he blinked, a chess board appearing in his mind's eye. "What you would do is maneuvre the pawn to the end of the board, and trade it for a major piece. Then you'd chase the king out of safety and into the battlefield."

Dumbledore smiled "Very good, Mr. Weasley. Should you accept this assignment, you will be no bait, no sacrifice. You may look like a pawn at first, but you will truly be the rook forcing the king into the open."

Harry snagged Ron by the sleeve, tugging him back to his side. "We'll go together. Ron's brilliant, and he's not scared of Death Eaters, but he's never faced - "

"I'm afraid not, Harry," Dumbledore interrupted. "You are needed here, as is Miss - Mrs. Malfoy."

Draco slipped his arms around Hermione's waist to make sure she stayed anyway.

Dumbledore resumed his circular walk around Ron. "Your brothers will hold the event at their shop, and you will make an attempt to get there through the cabinet, but you will not arrive. Instead, you will be sure to be caught, and turned over to the Death Eaters."

Molly's shoulders gave silent lurch. Arthur pulled her to his side, beneath his arm.

Dumbledore went on. "If the Death Eaters have had the good sense to commit your name and face to memory, they will recall that they last encountered you in the Ministry's Brain Room under the effects of an oddly intoxicating curse. Don't be embarrassed, Mr. Weasley, it's for the best. It means they will underestimate you. They will mistake you for a pawn."

Dumbledore placed a hand on each of Ron's shoulders. "You are not a fool. But you must play one. Divulge the repair of the cabinet. Tell them as much as you need to. Encourage them to come to us. Let them know the cabinet is kept in a secluded area of the castle. Boast about knowing Harry well. Tell them he's a ego-driven fool and that I am badly injured, that Professor Snape is disordered leaving school leadership in chaos."

"Snape disordered? Well, that's fair enough," Ron mumbled.

Dumbledore clapped his hands against Ron's shoulders one more time. "Yes, tell them whatever you need to, convince them to bring Voldemort himself close enough for us to reach him in his weakened state."

Molly couldn't hold herself back anymore. "We'll be there too, Ron. Dad and I and the twins, Bill - we'll be close by you in London or wherever they take you. We won't leave you to them."

Ron frowned. "Mum, that's a whole troop. Don't be so close you expose everything. I'll be alright."

"Yes, I'll see to it," she said.

Dumbledore smiled. "I've always admired large families. They're something like a chess set, full of different, moving pieces, all of them in need of defending, aren't they Molly? No wonder the sixth born son is an expert player."

He went on, pressing Ron. "Do you accept the assignment?"

Ron looked to Harry, then to Hermione. "I have to go alone," he said.

Dumbledore nodded. "Each of your best friends has an important role in the confrontation here. I will not stop your family from watching over you, but the only wits you will have to rely on are your own, and they will do."

Ron was still looking at Ron and Hermione. Their faces were pained, tense with worry. "Do you think I can do it?" he asked them.

"I hate it," Hermione said. "But if anyone can find a way through it, you can."

Harry stood fidgeting, looking for something to express other than the sick grief he felt at the thought of Ron meeting Voldemort - alone. "Bring him to me," he said. "Voldemort, Ron, bring him to me."

Pansy was livid, her rucksack on her back, her fists banging on the frame of the Fat Lady's portrait, her face set in stony resolve as she demanded entrance to Gryffindor Tower.

"Stop, you awful thing, stop hitting me, the whole of my world is rattling to its foundations," the Fat Lady's voice shrilled down the dark corridor.

"Open up then," Pansy said. "Or tell Ronald Weasley to come out."

"Sir Cadogan!" the Fat Lady was crying. "Cadogan, send out Weasley. For stars sake, hurry. She won't quit."

When the portrait hole opened it was Ginny Weasley, not Ron, who Sir Cadogan from the portrait inside the Gryffindor common room had sent out to speak to Pansy.

"Parkinson?" she said. "Trouble in paradise yet again? Funny how you never catch Harry and I in a spat, isn't it?"

"Just let me through," was all Pansy said. "He's in there and I need to speak to him."

Ginny stepped out of the portrait hole and onto the stone floor of the corridor, the edge of the portrait still in her hand, her body blocking the way inside, a smirk tugging at her mouth. "It's getting late, Parkinson. Almost curfew. You'd better come back tomorrow."

Pansy shook her head. "No. Tonight."

Ginny edged forward, the passageway tantalizingly open behind her. "There's no Inquisitorial Squad anymore, Pansy Parkinson. You can't force your way in here. Now go."

Pansy nodded. "I am sorry about the Inquisitorial Squad. It was misguided and very wrong of me. I should have apologized ages ago. Now, if you please - "

"Fight me," Ginny smirked. Tall and athletic, she widened her stance and propped her hands on her hips, showing no signs of yielding.

Pansy sighed, sloughing off her rucksack, then her cloak. She didn't stand much of a chance against Ginny and she knew it. But she had two older sisters at home, meaning she was accustomed to such odds. "Right," Pansy said, pushing her hair out of her face with both hands. "Not much of a square go, but come on then."

Ginny laughed at her. "You're joking."

"This was your idea. I said, come on!"

"Oh, give over," Ginny said, still laughing. "Come inside, you mad creature. I'm not even sure he's here, but go up and see."

Pansy picked up her things, took a breath as if diving underwater, and slipped inside Gryffindor Tower for the first time ever.

"That one," Ginny said, pointing to the staircase to the boys' dormitory.

The stench of adolescent males and their laundry got stronger as Pansy climbed but she pushed on. Which door was it? She listened at one and heard nothing but the same three sad guitar chords. She listened at another to hear a loud argument about quidditch. That could have been the right room but when no one spoke up for the Chudley Cannons, she moved on. At the third room she tried, she could barely make out the sound of loud whispers, like a furtive argument with life-and-death stakes. Nothing said Harry Potter and Ron Weasley more than that, and she rapped on the door.

Neville Longbottom answered, gasping at the sight of a girl and reaching for something to put on over his vest.

Pansy pushed past him, storming into the boys' room. Behind his glasses, Harry's eyes were wide and panicked. "Come on, you lot," he said, leading all of his roommates but Ron down the stairs.

The floor was thick with discarded, unmatched socks which Pansy was now throwing at Ron's head. "Ronald Weasley, how dare you?" she hollered.

He crossed the floor in a single inelegant step, taking Pansy's hands to keep her from touching any more socks, shushing her.

"How dare you send me an owl announcing you're leaving on some - mission. An owl? Honestly!"

"What? Already?" Ron said, craning his neck as if to see out the window. "That bloody bird. I told him to wait until I was off."

Pansy tore her hands out of Ron's grip. "Don't you blame Pigwidgeon. He did the right thing in telling me now."

"Did he? By sending you in here to throw a strop?"

"You're leaving me," Pansy said, her chin quivering, eyes glistening.

"Pansy - Pansy, love - no - "

"Don't you 'Pansy-love' me." She fought to stay angry, protesting his use of their pet name because it worked so well.

"I wasn't leaving you," he said, trying to gather her in his arms as she twisted. "Did you read my note? I'm only going away for a few days. For Dumbledore."

She stopped struggling and threw her arms around his waist. "I know what that means," she said. "It means you're off to do something dangerous. You're off to get hurt and scarred and maybe even killed. If I hadn't found out before you left, I might have never..." She couldn't finish.

Ron swayed on the spot, holding her more tightly. "It's not - well, yes it is dangerous. But - but Pansy, I warned you about this, in the hospital wing after I was poisoned. You remember. Being part of Harry's inner circle, having a family all tied up in the Order of the Phoenix, it means things like this are a part of my life."

"Take me with you," she said in a high, quiet voice against his chest. "I'm part of your life too."

"Aw, is that why you've brought a rucksack?" he said, jostling it with one hand. "You're all packed up to leave with me and keep me safe?"

"Stop making it sound so stupid," she said.

He gave a low laugh as he slid the pack and cloak off of her back, setting them on the floor at their feet. "I can't bring you, love."

"Stop coddling me, Ron - "

"It's not me, it's Dumbledore. He's a teacher, remember? He's fussy as anything about parental permission for under-aged students. My parents have consented to let me do this but yours - can you imagine what yours would have to say about it?"

She wiped her face on his sleeve. Of course her parents would hate it. They might even make her come home for the rest of the year if she asked about it. But it was still a ridiculous technicality. "Don't hold my parents against me," she said.

"Your parents are clearly not what I am holding against you right now," he said.

She nearly laughed.

"Love, I'm sorry about the owl," Ron continued. "I thought it would be easier and I was dead wrong."

"Yes, you were."

His heart was beginning to pound out of something more than self-defense. "Maybe I was afraid that if I saw you, kissed you goodbye, I wouldn't be able to leave."

She turned her face up, slowly. "Then don't leave."

"I have to. It's decided. The whole w - " His words were cut off as she flung her arms around his neck and hopped up to clamp her legs around his waist, her mouth on his silencing whatever excuse he was about to speak.

This time, Ron didn't worry about where to put his hands. He gripped her thighs and staggered backward, moving to lean against the post of his bed. It wasn't where he expected it and he fell between the posts, Pansy crashing down on him, straddling him, breaking for the impact so they didn't smash one another's teeth but then snogging him furiously.

"Take me with you, Ron," she said as he fought for breath, as his hands moved up the outer edges of her thighs, over his hips before he dropped them onto the bed, clutching the sheets instead.

She groped for his wrists and pulled his hands back to her waist. Ron sank his fingers into her sides, finding not the knit of her jumper but the warm smoothness of her skin beneath it.

"Sweet supernovas, Pansy..."

She spoke into his mouth. "Take me with you. Please."

"This isn't even my bed. It's Harry's."

Pansy wasn't dissuaded, her hand inside the collar of his jumper, stretching it out terribly as she moved over his skin, his shoulder and the muscle in his chest.

Ron had to take control before he lost it but he wasn't sure how or, at the moment, exactly why. He rolled over, on top of her now which gave him more control but not in the way he intended. He crushed Pansy with everything he had, her hands coming out of his clothes to brace his head, working their kiss. He moaned against her. "Love, what are we doing?"

"Yeah, what ARE you doing?"

It was Harry, standing in the doorway.

Ron wrenched himself sideways, off of Pansy, sitting but not ready to stand yet.

"Honestly, your own bed is right there," Harry said, pointing.

Ron wasn't apologizing. "Yeah, well. At least she's not your sister, right?"

Harry flushed. There was another story here, some other mishap in this bedroom. "Just clear off it, would you? I'll be back in three minutes," Harry said, closing the door.

Ron turned back to Pansy, not to pick up where they left off but to trace her brow and the line of her nose with one finger. "I have to go alone," he said. "And I won't be able to write. But I'll think of you whenever I can, and I'll love you all the time."

She rolled into his side and he pulled her up to hold her against his chest again.

"Stay close to Harry while I'm gone," he said.

She frowned. "And Ginny? Not possible."

"Draco then," Ron said. "You've always liked Draco, for some reason. And he'll keep you close to Hermione and there will be real protection in that. Just don't retreat to those Slytherin gits."

She frowned. "How are we ever going to fix this without my Slytherins? Aren't you learning anything?"

"Right. Alright," Ron said, squeezing her and kissing her forehead once more before letting her go. "Thank you for coming to - to see me off. Take good care of yourself while I'm gone. I guess you'll know how."

Moonlight was the best light for Draco Malfoy. Hermione had always known it but it was never more clear than when he lay on their bed, his back bared as the moon moved past their window. The ornate window grill threw black shadows on his white skin. She sat on the mattress tracing them with her finger as he sighed into their pillows.

"I worry about the weasel," he said.

She sank onto the mattress beside him, folding her arm around his waist. "Me too."

He turned his face to her, the moonlight lighting his hair but leaving his expression hidden in shadows. "It's all down to that bloody cabinet - to the stupidest thing I've ever done."

"No," she said. "It's down to our matrimonial charm - to the most brilliant thing you've ever done." She couldn't see his face but she could still find it well enough to kiss him on the mouth. They'd been together alone in their room ever since dinner and he tasted and smelled just like her. She pushed harder against him, nudging him up off his stomach and onto his side, so the light would illuminate his profile - a literal turning of him from darkness to light.

"If I get your best friend killed, how will you still love me?" he said.

She smiled against his shoulder, ignoring his maudlin questions about a love she did not believe he doubted. "He's your friend too. You worry about him for himself, not just for me. Admit it."

He sighed into her hair. "I admit it."

She lifted her face toward his. "You liking my friends - that is actually quite," her lips were almost touching his as she spoke, "alluring."

He smiled. "Is it? Why didn't you say so? Potter and I could have been best friends by now."

She ran her finger tip along the scar on his chest. "If when we tear his and You-know-who's souls off our charm, and Harry's hate for you is anything like as strong as his hate for the Dark Lord, we will have a devastating problem."

He closed his hand over hers, pressing her palm to the scar. "We won't. Not after we've both been trying so hard, Hermione. He held me down while my Dark Mark burned. Now maybe I can do something like it in return when the Dark Lord comes for him."

She tipped her forehead against his chin. "You will, I know it."

The Dark Lord no longer held court in the dining hall at Malfoy Manor. The upright carved wooden chairs were gorgeous but he needed to recline rather than sit. He had taken the house's master bedchamber now that Madam Malfoy had quitted it. The room had been purged of its narcissus flowers and gowns and made fit for the cold darkness that suited the Dark Lord. The snake Nagini lay coiled beside him on the bed where Draco Malfoy was conceived.

His right arm, from fingertips to neck, was withered grey flesh on bone. It had been that way since the day Snape left with the Muggle and Madam Malfoy. Since then, the Dark Lord had hardly slept. It wasn't just because of the loss of Snape, though this had disordered the Dark Lord's mind even more than he had expected when he raised his wand against him.

Something else had changed - something inside of him. The young Malfoy and his witch had altered their charm somehow. This alteration must have been what had struck him down in the drawing room, what had taken his arm. How much more could they take before he was forced back into the form of an incorporeal wraith, hiding in a horcrux, hoping any of his mad or incompetent or back-stabbing servants remembered their oaths and found him? And did Young Malfoy and the witch know what they had done? The boy had refused to answer the call of the Mark, so he must know something.

He couldn't linger, waiting in Malfoy Manor any longer, especially since the building itself could not be trusted not to lash out at them. Lucius was here now but he couldn't seem to command his own house, not like a true master ought to be able to. It must have switched its allegiance to Young Master Malfoy while Lucius was away.

With his left hand, the Dark Lord stroked the cold, dry snake at his side. It rippled against him, tense like the greedy anticipation inside him made visible. The boy needed to be destroyed, which meant getting rid of the witch first. If it was a simple matter of storming Hogwarts through the cabinet it would be done by now. But the Dark Lord suspected taking the boy and the witch together might be too dangerous, especially inside Albus Dumbledore's school. One of the three elements of the equation - the boy, the witch, or the headmaster - needed to be eliminated before he would strike.

Lucius - it all came down to that beautiful idiot. If in the end he became nothing but a suicide assailant, so be it. That result was risky and unpredictable yet better than nothing. But the better plan would be for Lucius to step into the vanishing cabinet's trap and use his position as Young Malfoy's father to take him away. Ah, but then there would be love, so dangerous and ridiculous, and it would lead the witch - the Granger girl, her twisted sense of heroism well-known - to offer herself in Young Malfoy's place. And, ignoring his son's pleas Lucius would agree, and bring her to stand before the Dark Lord for the first, and the last time.