False Fate

by md1016

The summer after their 6th year at Hogwarts Ron, Hermione and Harry find themselves with switched Fates. From Ron's POV. A 7th book replacement. Strong sexual situations, not appropriate for children or teens under 17. Completed Oct 06, revised Oct 07.

16. Chapter 16

False Fate
By MD1016

Part IV: The War
Chapter 16 – Awkward Good-bye

Lupin was not well when Harry and Moody went to let him out the next day. Both Hermione and Molly were called in to Heal him as best as they could as Lupin, afflicted with lycanthropy, was not welcome at St. Mungo's or any wizarding hospital. Both women worked on Lupin until they practically collapsed from exhaustion. Then, he pushed them away, and hobbled down the stairs to the parlor where Harry and Ron and Ginny were waiting.

Lupin didn't see them though, he went straight for his son who was sleeping limply across Ron's lap. "Give him to me," he said, and raised his battered and bruised arms out, his sleeves in rags. Ron hesitated. Lupin looked worse than Ron had ever seen him, and he wasn't entirely sure that he'd be able to hold Jack without dropping him.

"Uh, Remus," Harry said, as kindly and gently as possible. "Jack's all right for now. Why don't you go and get a few more hours of sleep."

"Give him to me," he said again, this time more forcefully. "He's my son. I'm taking him away from here."

Ron looked at Harry for some sort of guidance, but he was no help. If Lupin wanted his son, he was his to take. Ron carefully lifted Jack so he wouldn't wake and, with a heavy heart, placed him in Lupin's ravaged hands.

"Where are you going?" Ron asked. "Back to your flat?"

"Away," Lupin told him, staring down at his child. He pulled the baby close to his chest, kissed his forehead. "He's his mother's son. I do believe his hair is pink."

"Away where?" Ron pressed. "Never away, away."

"Away from here. From this bloody war."

"No!" Ron cried out.

"Remus, are you sure?" This came from Ron's mum in the doorway. She and Hermione had followed him, and they both looked as if each of them could sleep for a week.

"No," he said, and then left.

Ron made to go after him, but Harry caught him by the arm. "You have to let him go."

"No! I let Hermione go, and look what happened!" he said with a hand outstretched toward her. "Look at what happened to her! It's my fault and I can't just let Lupin–"

"Yes, dear," Ron's mum said sadly. "You must."

"But why?" Ron demanded. "He's taking Jack! And where is a werewolf going to go that'll be safe for a baby? Who will watch Jack when Lupin changes every full moon? He's just grieving, is all. He's not thinking straight, see? He needs us."

"Ron," Hermione said. "It's no good. He has to do what he has to do."

"Right," he snapped. "I'd expect you to say something like that!" He knew instantly that it was a mistake. It wasn't only the stunned, hurt look on her face, but also that the familiar curl of emotions that churned in his belly. He didn't want to feel this kind of anger again. He didn't want to push her away. "No," he said quickly. "No, Hermione. I didn't mean that."

"You did," she said, a quiver in her voice. "You'd expect me to defend his leaving because I left, is that it?"

He shook his head. "No, it's not the same at all, is it? I take it back."

"You can't take it back, can you? It's out there! Isn't it?" Her voice went a bit shrill, and her eyes watered.

"Hang on," Harry said, holding out a hand to both of them. "Let's not get carried away."

Ron huffed in exasperation. "Hermione, you can't possibly get upset every time I say idiotic things! You'll be raving all the time!"

"Well, that's the truth," Ginny snapped, tartly.

"Look, I said I didn't mean it, and I didn't," Ron said, ignoring that last comment. "Please."

Hermione was still brooding, her arms crossed tightly in front of her, but she seemed to at least consider what he'd said. "I suppose you're understandably smarting," she allowed, though somewhat begrudgingly. "After all, you are abnormally attached to Jack."

Ron looked toward the front door again. "Where do you think he'll take - oi! There's nothing abnormal about my attachment to Jack! And anyway, it's hardly an attachment. Jack's just a baby, and he needs looking after, and I look after him."

"And you did a very good job of it," Ron's mum chimed in with a sugary voice. "But we have other gnomes in the garden at the moment. Remus will do what he needs to do for himself and his son. And when the grief lessens a little, we'll see him again."

"How long will that take?" Ron asked her.

"How long for the grief to lessen, you mean? Well, I don't know, dear, but I'll let you know," she solemnly told him.

---

Ginny returned to Hogwarts, and Hermione with her. The good-bye was awkward and brief, kisses were exchanged, but they seemed more out of duty than real desire, at least from Ron's point of view. He thought Hermione was still fuming a little, and in the two days since Lupin's departure they hadn't so much as held hands. Not that he'd really tried. He was terrified of saying or doing the wrong thing; so much so that Harry at one point glared at him and asked him what his problem was. Ron didn't know how to explain that he was scared of her without looking like the imbecile that he was.

When she was gone, though, he was miserable, and it showed during their lessons.

"Concentrate!" Moody demanded.

Ron felt that he was, but the result was always the same. There didn't seem to be much point. By the end of the session Ron was winded and sweating, and Moody just stood there, his magical eye sizing him up. "I see you got your hair back, pimple," Moody said. "So, you must've figured something out. So then, why are you such a waster tonight?"

"They had another row before she left," Harry said darkly. "And he refuses to send her an owl."

"Huh." Moody continued to stare.

"Look, if my magic is going to go wonky every time Hermione and I have a row I'll never be any use to the Order. I don't know if you've noticed or not," he said to Harry, "but we tend to bicker."

"This wasn't a bicker," Harry told him, crossing his arms. "You rather like the bickering, I think. This was you saying something unkind again."

"I apologized!" Ron insisted.

"Not really," Harry told him. "Trying to take it back really isn't the same as saying you're sorry."

Ron glared at him. It was clear whose side Harry was on. It was hard enough knowing that Hermione was angry with him still, but to have Harry rub it in was insufferable. And the thing was, Ron had a sneaking suspicion his poor performance during lessons had nothing to do with Hermione. Ron found himself at odd moments in the day thinking about Jack and wondering if he was getting enough to eat, or if he was warm enough. Or if Lupin knew the bounce that could calm him, or the bottom pat. He hated that he didn't know if they were all right. And he hated that Hermione was still mad over something small and petty. And that Harry was a prat over it, too.

"Fine," Ron snapped. "I'll send a bloody owl!"

"Pimple's right, though," Moody said, resigned. "He's no good to us if he can't be consistent. Tonks and I agreed that the easiest way to get him right again was to fix what's between him and his Love. But that'll take a lifetime and we're a little pressed at the moment."

"Can you help him?" Harry asked.

Moody shook his head. "Tonks would've been the best person – she was always good at the touchy-feely rubbish. Lupin might've been good, too."

And if it was possible, the mention of his two friends now gone made Ron feel even more miserable. Yes, the Order had lost a lot in those two, but Ron felt he'd lost infinitely more.

"I'll have to do some asking around," Moody told them, still appraising Ron. "See who's up to the challenge our pimple has become."

---

The next morning Ron went to the store, but even before he could see it he knew something was wrong. People were hushed and hurrying the opposite way, and no one seemed to want to meet his eyes. When he looked up at the cloudy, dismal spring sky he saw what had them nervous. The Dark Mark loomed above him, bigger than life; an eerie skull eating a knotted snake.

Ron bolted up the street to the store and skidded to a halt once he saw what was left of it. There were the four exterior walls in various states of ruin, all blackened and burned beyond repair. The snow around the store was also black with soot where it had not been melted away completely. There was no upper flat any longer, no roof, and most of the lower floor was rubble and burnt timber and debris. The only thing that remained even semi-intact was the front door, and the ashy sign that hung on it.

The sign wailed when Ron approached. "Oh, now you show up! Now you decide to open!"

The store was still smoking, so it was impossible to go in and see if anything else survived. Ron thought it would be a waste of time, anyway. The devastation was complete.

"Oi!"

Ron turned to see Dedalus Diggle hurrying toward him, his purple velvet robes billowing behind him as he ran. "You all right, there, chap?"

"They blew up my shop!" Ron told him, at a loss for anything else to say. He was too stunned to think beyond the ruin in front of him.

"This is your place, then?" Diggle asked, and then tsked the wreckage.

"It was," Ron said flatly.

"I'm fine," assured the sign. "Should anyone care. No one ever does."

Not even a minute later a dozen Aurors Apparated on site with a dozen muffled pops. Ron and Diggle were surrounded.

"Drop your wands!"

Ron pulled his from his back pocket and tossed it in the snow. "Fred and George are going to kill me," he muttered to himself.

The Aurors didn't detain them long. It was a quick check of their forearms to tell if they were Death Eaters or not, and then a swallow of Stooli (a form of Veritaserum that, while less powerful and over-all less reliable, could be brewed easily, quickly, and cheaply; three traits that made which made it ideal for Aurors to carry at all times) and both Ron and Diggle were quickly cleared. Stooli tasted of grape, and maybe a little lemon, too, and warmed Ron's insides like sherry. He rather liked it.

By this time Moody arrived with Harry, who looked a bit peaked. "We heard your shop-" Harry began, and then his eyes went even wider as he saw the shop's smoldering remains. "I was worried…we didn't know if you were in there or not."

"Expect Mum will be, too," Ron said. "I should head to the Burrow to let her know I'm good."

"I'll go to Hogwarts and reassure the girls," Harry told him.

"It's only been two days, Harry! Honestly! Give the girl a rest!"

Harry stared blankly at him. "What?"

"I'll go to Hogwarts," Ron told him. "You go to the Burrow."

"Wait a minute - just what were you saying?" Harry's shoulders rose defensively.

"I think we both know what I was saying, Harry. You're like a sex maniac!"

"What?" Harry looked shocked. "What's your problem?"

"My problem? Where do I even begin? My dad and Tonks have been murdered, Lupin's gone and Jack's probably walking by now, Hermione hates me once again, I'm a complete waster, my shop had been flattened," he gesticulated wildly at the smoldering building behind him, "my best mate is bagging my sister, my mother is having a metal crisis, I'm the number two man in a war against the most evil and powerful wizard of all time – and I can't even cast straight! Oh, and by the way, his Death Eaters are targeting me, the Fates have screwed me, and I think I may be a virgin forever!"

Harry gapped at him, as did the small group of Aurors and onlookers who happened to be in the immediate area during Ron's rant. Several flashes went off, announcing the press' arrival.

One of the Aurors stepped forward and cleared his throat. "Yes, I should've mentioned, that Stooli that you drank, well, the after effects should last another ten minutes or so. I'd refrain from talking until then, if I were you. You might spill a bit more than you intend."

Harry took Ron by the arm and pulled him far enough away from everyone to not be overheard. "You took Stooli?" Harry asked. Ron was surprised he'd even heard of it. Ron hadn't.

"They needed to clear me, and I didn't want to go down to the Ministry. It was easier," Ron explained.

Harry shook his head. "Stooli will make you honest and forthright about what you know, Ron. If anyone had mentioned the Order we'd be front page news right now!"

"You're always front page news," Ron countered.

"The Order isn't!" Harry ground out. "Pull yourself together, mate! Go back to number 12 and wait until the Stooli's out of your system."

"You can't tell me what to do," Ron said peevishly. "I'm going to Hogwarts–"

"Look at me, Ron. I'm your best mate, right? You know I have your best interest in mind when I say that you don't want to go to Hogwarts. You don't want to see Hermione when you're like this, and you don't want to encounter anyone who might compromise the Order."

Ron narrowed his eyes on his friend, and weighed his words. "Yeah, you're probably right."

"Of course I am. I'll pop up to the school, and then to the Burrow, and check on you at the manse in a few, yeah?"

"OK," Ron agreed, somewhat reluctantly. He really did want to see Hermione again. "I miss her," he said as Harry turned to go. "She's only been gone two days. It's sick. I'm mental. She's ruined me."

Harry grinned at him. "Yeah. I know what you mean."

---

That evening Professor McGonagall turned up at their lessons in Moody's stead. "Good evening, gentlemen," she said by way of greeting. "Don't look so surprised to see me, Mr. Weasley. It's poor form." She wore her usual dark robes with a high collar, and her hair swept up in a bun. She seemed older to Ron, which he attributed to Dumbledore's passing. Most of the people at Hogwarts seemed to have aged disproportionately over the previous year.

"Professor, it's good to see you, of course," Harry said, recovering from the shock of her unexpected appearance at number 12 first. "We were expecting a lesson from Moody this evening."

"Yes, Alastor asked if I would conduct the lesson for him. It seems Mr. Weasley, here, is having some difficulty with emotional infiltration into his magic, and I, being slightly more comfortable talking about such things than Alastor, agreed to help where I can."

Ron never once considered Professor McGonagall to be an emotional creature. In fact, she was probably the most even-tempered, controlled witch he'd ever met. Ever proper, McGonagall was what Ron imagined Hermione growing into.

"Shall we begin?" she asked, though it was clear it wasn't really a question.

---

Moody turned up later that evening, grumpy as ever, and the fact that Ron had made no progress under McGonagall's instruction didn't help.

"This is not a game, pimple! People are dying!"

"I'm very aware of that," Ron said through gritted teeth.

Moody threw his hands in the air and limped angrily around the room. "Hogsmeade isn't safe anymore – that bloody joke store being burned out is evidence of that. The Death Eaters are on to us. I'm convinced they knew Tonks and Shacklebolt were Order, not just Aurors, and that's why they were targeted."

"That would mean…Lupin…" Ron felt his stomach drop. "Do we have any idea where he is? Him and Jack?"

Moody shook his head. "We have bigger problems," he insisted. "Horcruxes."

"They are a problem," Harry agreed. "Hermione and Ginny are doing all the research they can, but their resources are limited. The Hogwarts library simply doesn't acknowledge them. And quite frankly, I can't imagine Voldemort leaving bits of himself around where just anyone with a book could find them. There's got to be more to it. We need to give the girls a place to start looking."

"Agreed. And you," Moody said, his finger and eye pointing straight at Ron, "need to get your act together. Do whatever it takes. Kiss her, bag her, I don't care–"

"Alastor!" McGonagall said, scandalized.

"Just get the job done," he finished. He left grumbling about Fates and teenagers and the lunacy of it all.

---

It was the middle of the night when Harry woke Ron from a sound sleep. "Pack your things," Harry told him. "We're moving to Hogwarts."

"We are?" Ron asked. His head was still sluggish and groggy from the sexy dream he'd been having.

"It's safe there from the Death Eaters, Hermione and Ginny are there, McGonagall is there and she can tutor you at night, Voldemort spent seven years of his life there, which can't be ignored, and most importantly, Dumbledore's notes and things are there. He'd been doing his own research into the Horcruxes, hadn't he? He's the one who destroyed the Slitheryn ring. No sense in reinventing the wheel."

"You said Hermione?" Ron asked, having missed most of what just spouted from Harry's mouth. "What time is it?"

"It doesn't matter. Get dressed. Get packed. We're going tonight."

---

They arrived at Hogwarts' gates a couple of hours before the sun came up. Harry sent a message of their arrival by Hedwig, and so they had to wait for someone to come down to let them in. It was cold and raining, as it always seemed to be in Scotland in the spring, and Ron dropped his pack on the ground and had a seat.

"Suppose they'll let us stay in Gryffindor Tower again?" Ron asked.

"Doubt it. Ginny's there, of course, but they have Hermione in the guest suite in Gryffindor Tower. She says it's quite nice."

Ron looked up at his friend. "You've talked with her?"

"Got an owl yesterday. Didn't you?" Harry asked.

Ron glowered, and kicked at the mud puddle by his foot. "No."

"You said you were going to write," Harry chided him.

"I know, I know."

Filch was the one who finally came to fetch them, looking older and even surlier with his stringy long hair and hooked nose. He forced the two of them through a Dark Arts sensor sweep, which seemed ludicrous to Ron.

"Like you're going to have a Dark object," Ron sputtered on their long walk up to the castle. "And even if you did, what could Filch do about it?"

"You're nervous," Harry observed lightly. "I can tell."

"Don't be silly. What do I have to be nervous about? I can handle Filch."

"We're not going to see her tonight, you know. They're asleep."

"Well, naturally," Ron said. Of course he'd known that, hadn't he? He wasn't really nervous to see her again, was he? Surely not. He caught Harry watching him from the corner of his eye. "What?" Ron demanded.

Harry just shook his head.

They were put in guest quarters in the Ravenclaw Tower. There were two beds similar to the one's they'd slept in as students, but larger and obviously meant for adults. There were two wardrobes, a small sitting area with a double desk near the fireplace and a small, private loo. It wasn't a large apartment, but Ron hardly cared. He kicked off his shoes and fell into the nearest bed.

---

When Ron woke he was alone in the room, and the sun streamed in through the un-curtained windows. He got up and looked out - a bright and sunny day. He could see the lake and the Forbidden Forest, and a little of Hagrid's hut that was spouting white smoke. A momentary thrill of nostalgia washed over him. Hagrid was in his hut, and Ron was back at Hogwarts. And he didn't have to go to classes!

Ron did his toilet quickly and hurried down to the Great Hall, only to find breakfast long over and lunch not ready to be served. He ran into Seamus and Neville, though, and had a jolly good time catching up with them on their way to their Defense Against the Dark Arts class.

After that he headed down to Hargid's, who was thrilled to see him, and laughed a great belly laugh when he answered the door. When Ron stepped in the hut he found Harry already enjoying a massive cup of tea and a crumpet the size of his head.

"Oi!" exclaimed Ron. "Any more of those?"

Hagrid happily put a full plate and mug down in front of Ron at the table, and then sat down with them. "Blimey," Hagrid said. "I wasn't 'specting vis'tors. Good to see you both! Hermione came down a few days ago, and we had a right good conversation, we did." He became very serious then. "She's had a rough time of it, hasn't she? Poor wee thing. And such a pretty girl, too. Terrible to see what they've done to her. She's a tough one, though. I dare say she'll come out the other end of this right as rain."

"How did she seem to you?" Harry asked crumpet in hand, but not in mouth. Ron could tell he was trying to ask casually, but he wasn't quite pulling it off.

Hagrid didn't seem to notice. "Oh, well enough, for her. Got a few good smiles out of her, I did. Seemed, I don't know…sad, maybe? Or maybe she was just thinkin' o' other stuff. Yes, distracted, one might say."

The crumpet was Hagrid's usual hard-as-stone fare, and much to Ron's dismay completely inedible. The tea was strong and sweet, just how he liked it. "Did she mention me?" Ron asked.

"Uh…can't say as she did – want some shepherd's pie? Had it for breakfast and I've still a little left."

"Oh, yes, please," Ron said, grateful.

Harry, however seemed to be scrutinizing Hagrid a bit hard, and Ron wondered what he'd missed. He completely forgot to ask once the heaping plate was set down before him. The potatoes were cold, but that hardly slowed Ron up. He tucked in, and gladly.

"Officially, Hagrid, we're here to do a bit of tutoring. That's the pretense Professor McGonagall came up with to allow Ron and I to stay at the school," Harry explained. When Ron choked Harry assured him that any students Ron would be assigned would be first or second years, and never potions or divination. "Unofficially, Hagrid, I'm hoping for a bit of help from you. We'll need certain supplies that will help us find some items to kill Voldemort."

Hagrid winced at the name, and if truth be told, Ron did a little, too. "Supplies? What sort of items?"

"Items that Voldemort doesn't want us to have," Harry told him. Ron wondered why he didn't just come out and say Horcruxes, but then thought that perhaps Hagrid hadn't been let in on that particular bit of knowledge. Probably for the best, Ron decided, as Hagrid's secret-keeping abilities weren't as honed as his culinary talents. Ron spit out what looked like a rock, and placed it on the table beside the plate.

"I've got the gold," Harry continued, a disgusted look on his face as Ron kept eating. "But the climate has changed, and known Order members aren't safe walking the streets anymore. We're counting on our secret operatives, like you, Hagrid, a lot more now."

"Oh, well," Hagrid said, sitting up a bit taller. "Whatever I can do, you know that, Harry!"

"And, of course," Harry said leaning in to speak conspiratorially, "you can't tell anyone why we're really here."

"Mum's the word," Hagrid said quite earnestly. "Won't tell a soul. You can count on me, Harry."

"I know I can," Harry replied.

Ron narrowed his eyes at his friend, and wondered what he was up to. Telling Hagrid something was a secret virtually insured it would be all over the school within the hour. When they left, Ron questioned him on the way back up to the castle.

"You know Hagrid can't keep secrets, don't you?" Ron asked.

"I'm counting on it," Harry said grimly.

"You want people to know we're here collecting items to kill V-voldemort?" Ron didn't know why he was having trouble with that name again, but he was. "It would seem to me to be the kinda thing one might want to keep under wraps."

"I need Voldemort to know that I'm up here so that Moody and Shacklebolt will be able to move a little without constant threat. And, there was some Death Eater activity last night in the Lakes District. Moody's concerned that might be where Lupin is hiding."

This drew Ron's undivided attention. He stopped and tugged Harry's arm to stop him, too. "You haven't heard anything, though. Have you? He's all right, isn't he?"

"We don't know anything," Harry admitted. "I'm sure there would be more information if things had gone badly. But, if we can draw a little of that attention away from Lupin – if it is Lupin – then I say we do it. There's no danger here at Hogwarts. The extra security will keep the students safe enough. The Minister's seen to that," Harry added with a sharp edge to his voice. "And there are undercover Aurors all over the school, to add even more."

"There are?" Ron asked, glancing around.

"Professor Cothwaith, the new DADA teacher, and Kriskin, the Slytherin House Head, are both Aurors, as are several of the support staff, like the new Headmistress Waddington. People were up in arms that McGonagall was over-looked for the post, but she was the first to point out that the post needed to be filled by someone who could look after the protection and well-being of the entire school without the complications of McGonagall's Order loyalties."

"No kidding?" Ron said, stunned. "How do you know all this?"

Harry shrugged. "I ask questions. But mostly I'm not hung-up on a girl every moment of the day, and I think that helps. What are you going to do about Hermione?"

"What? Me? What's there to do?"

"Well, for starters, you could ask her to go with you."

Ron rolled his eyes. "What for? We're Fated!"

"Weren't you the one complaining that she took things for granted, just because the two of you were Fated? Yes, I do believe that was you–"

"Yes, I said that." Ron glowered. "So, she expects me to ask her to go with me? Did she tell you that?"

Harry shook his head and started back toward the castle. "The thing is, Ron, what you said to her, while it wasn't nice, it certainly wasn't as bad as what the two of you used to exchange. If you had said something like that a couple of years ago, you two would've had a row, sure, but then that would be that. You need to learn how to fight again."

"I thought you always hated our rows."

"Yeah, well, that's how you work things out. I don't have to like it for it to work, do I?"

Ron considered this. "'Suppose not," he said. "You and Ginny don't fight."

"Oh, yes we do. Just not quite so loudly," Harry told him. "Or often. Or over silly things. But then, we do other things to work out our differences."

"Yeah, I get the picture," Ron said flatly.

"So? Are you going to ask her?" Harry pressed.

"Do you want me to fight with her, or date her?"

"I want you to find a way to make it work," Harry told him.

"What do you think I've been trying to do? Moody said to bag her, Lupin said to adore her, you say to bicker with her – blood hell! Maybe Hargid's got some advice for me, as well!"

The clock tower struck noon.

"Great!" Ron said, his frustration totally forgotten. "Let's get lunch."

"But you just ate," Harry told him.

"Just shepherd's pie. I could do with a little roast."

---

The moment they stepped inside the castle walls they were noticed. Clumps of students from first years on up gathered and gossiped and pointed as Harry and Ron walked by. It got worse when they entered the Great Hall. Ron's mouth watered when he smelled the amazing aroma of lunch, but he was distracted by the startled gasp, and then a flash of ginger as his sister leapt up from her seat at the Gryffindor table and threw herself into Harry's arms. They kissed, however briefly, but it was long enough for rowdy whistles from the boys and blissful sighs from the girls to ring out. The girls, then, of course, dissolved into giggles.

Hermione got up too, her eyes wide and fixed on Ron. She hurried to him, but in a very different way. "Is everything all right?" she asked him in a whisper, leaning in close. "Who's been hurt?" He could smell apples on her breath.

"No one," Ron told her. "We, well, we've moved to Hogwarts."

This shocked her enough to take a step back from him. "You did? Whatever for?"

"Well, the shop was burned to the ground and–"

"No!" she said, and covered her mouth with her hands.

"And Harry's trying to make a distraction for Lupin, and I think we're going to be tutors."

Her hands dropped. "What?"

"And McGonagall's not the Head Mistress."

"Well, yes, I knew that. Are you quite all right?"

Was he all right? He hardly knew. His vision was so full of her eyes that he couldn't think of anything else, and his chest was too tight to breathe. "Will you go with me?"

Her brows knit in confusion. "Of course. Go where?"

He couldn't bring himself to clarify. He grabbed her shoulders and kissed her hard. Around him it sounded as if sirens were going off. Belatedly, he realized it was probably just their audience.

Hermione pushed him away. "What are you doing?" she demanded, low and harsh.

"I-I don't know," he whispered to her.

"Have you been Confunded?"

"I…I don't believe so."

"Harry," she said, talking past him. "What have you done to Ron?"

"Nothing," he heard from somewhere behind him. "What's wrong with him?"

"He looks a bit peeked. Are you going to be sick? Why don't we go up and see Madame Pomfrey?" Hermione suggested. "Ron, you're sweating."

"Am I?" He put a hand to his brow and sure enough it came back damp. "I think maybe I'm having a heart attack," he said, realizing for the first time that his heart was, indeed, pounding.

Harry grabbed him by the arm and pulled him out of the Great Hall. "It's all right," he said to Hermione over his shoulder. Give us a minute. He's not having a heart attack, already! Stay there!"

When they were clear of the doors Harry pushed Ron up against the wall so he'd have something to prop him up. "Get a grip, mate! You're losing it."

"I asked her to go with me," Ron said, and he felt half his mouth lift into a smile.

"You did?" This seemed to surprise Harry. "What did she say?"

"Yes, of course," Ron told him. "And then she wanted to know where we were going."

Harry covered his laugh. "Well, at least the foundation is laid. Ron? Breathe, Ron! Listen, it's Hermione. We've known her forever. It's just her, yeah? And you're already Fated, so it's like the work is done for you. You know she Loves you. We all know she Loves you, mate."

"I'm a waster, Harry, you know that. She could be unconscious and still I'd mess things up."

"What about the seed?"

"What?" Ron had completely forgotten his birthday present. "You think I should take it?"

"Are you really all right, Ron?" Hermione asked, coming up beside Harry with concern plainly written on her face.

"He's fine," Harry assured her.

"Fine," Ron squeaked.

"Well, I need to get back to Arithmancy," Ginny announced. She smiled at Harry. "I'm so glad you're here." Then she stood on tip-toes and kissed Harry. His arms wrapped around her middle and he pulled her closer, much to the delight of the giggling gaggle of girls who happened to be passing.

Professor McGonagall was less thrilled. "Ahem," she said, clearing her throat. "Mr. Potter!" Both Harry and Ginny jumped apart and blushed darkly. "As you are here at Hogwarts in a minor teaching role you will refrain from kissing the students!" She turned and seemed to see Ron for the first time. "Oh, hello, Mr. Weasley." Then she eyed Hermione. "Of course, Miss Granger, you are technically not a student here, but rather an apprentice." And with that, she whirled around and left.

"What was that supposed to mean?" Hermione demanded, casting an accusing eye to Ron.

He had no desire to explain about his private lessons with McGonagall, or the advice he'd received from a multitude of sources. "Haven't the foggiest," he said with a shrug. That shouldn't be too hard for her to believe, Ron thought. Most of the time he hadn't a clue as to what people were taking about.

Ginny finished glaring at McGonagall's back, and then turned and flashed Harry a shy smile. "Well, I'll see you," she said.

"Tonight," he replied, and her face lit up. He quickly added, "We need to talk Horcruxes and figure out a game plan. Brainstorming."

"Oh," she said. "Right, then. Sounds good. Will I see you at supper?"

"Wouldn't miss it," Harry crooned suggestively. Ron's appetite vanished.

---

After their evening meal, the four decided to deliberate in Hermione's new quarters as the library was too public for the sort of conversation they would be having, and Ginny, who was still a student, wasn't allowed in professor's quarters – even if Harry and Ron weren't technically professors. Evenings were still a bit chilly in Scotland by mid-April, and Hermione lit a small fire in the hearth. They gathered there on cushions. Hermione had a roll of parchment and a quill, and she seemed keyed up to be actively doing something to help the Order again. Ron liked seeing her this way again; determined and excited.

"What do we know about the Horcruxes?" she asked, and looked expectantly at Harry.

"Well," he began, "I know that Voldemort made six in total – or at least that was Dumbledore's theory; six plus the one within his body, which makes seven, the most powerfully magic number. And of those six, at least three have been destroyed. His grandfather's ring – his mother's father was called Marvolo, and it was his ring with the black stone that was the Horcrux Dumbledore destroyed last summer. Then, there was Tom Riddle's diary, which I destroyed second year; and the gold cup that used to belong to Hufflepuff. Moody, Shacklebolt and I destroyed that last month."

"That leaves us with three," Hermione said, checking over what she'd just written down.

"Dumbledore thought that Voldemort's snake Nagini was could be a Horcrux. He said something about the unusual control Voldemort has over her, and how having a piece of his soul inside her might account for that."

"Sounds like he was reaching," Ginny remarked. "Can living creatures even be Horcuxes? What if they die? How long could a snake possibly live?"

"That's something we need to find out, but Dumbledore seemed to think so, even if it's not prudent," Harry said. "And don't forget about Slytherin's locket. Dumbedore and I went after it last year, but it had already been taken by someone calling themselves RAB."

"All right, then. Assuming Dumbledore is right," Hermione said, "that leaves us with two Horcruxes to discover and three to locate. That doesn't sound so bad. Harry, how did you figure out where to find Hufflepuff's cup?"

He shrugged. "A lot of guess work. I just had trouble believing that Draco would know about the Cave of Regret and the Cup of Oaths. I mean, it's not like he was ever interested in actively seeking knowledge out, was he? And the Cave, it's so remote and so seemingly random, and I reckoned that someone would've had to tell him to go there, at least initially, as he'd never find the place on his own. And why would someone send him there? And who? His father, right? But he's in Azkaban. Someone else who had control over him? I could only think of one other person who could make Draco do anything.

"But what would Voldemort want with the Cave?" Harry continued. "Did he want the Cup? While that was certainly a possibility it felt redundant to me."

"Right," Hermione cut in. "He already has his own version of the Cup of Oaths in the Dark Marks. And he can exert some level of control on his followers through the Marks, too, without having to depend on an oath. Voldemort wouldn't want the Cup, he'd consider it weak."

"He could've been using it as a test for Draco," Ron volunteered. "You know, to see what his abilities are."

"I think Voldemort's pretty good at sizing up people's abilities," Harry quipped. "I don't think he's under any delusions that Draco is capable."

"But, he trusted Draco's abilities in getting his Horcrux, didn't he?" Ginny queried. "I mean, that's what you're saying: that Voldemort sent Draco to fetch his Hufflepuff cup before you had a chance to find it."

"Well, the Horcrux itself wasn't very well guarded – at least in comparison to where he hid the locket. It took all of five minutes to actually get the cup. It was the destroying that took days and nights of doing, and blew up the Cave," Harry informed them. "If all Draco had to do was fetch it, then I'd say he was probably up to the challenge."

"Then Voldemort didn't size up Draco very well, did he?" Ron posed. "I mean, Voldemort sent him thinking Draco would do as ordered, but he didn't, did he?"

"Good point," Harry said. "It wouldn't be the first time Voldemort underestimated youth."

"Or," Ginny interjected, "maybe Voldemort was hoping to tempt Draco or maybe he had a plan to lure Harry there and he wanted Draco to be a look-out. I mean, where would someone like Draco learn a Fate curse?"

"Certainly not on his own," Hermione insisted.

"Certainly not!" Ginny agreed.

"Another good point," Harry said. "Regardless, there was a Horcrux there, and now there's not."

"But why the Cave of Regret?" Hermione asked. None of them had an answer. "If we knew that, perhaps we'd know where to look for the remaining two Horcruxes. Also, we should try to figure out the order he made the Horcruxes in. If we know where and who each were made from, that might also give us some answers as to what we're looking for."

"Well, from what I saw in Dumbledore's pensive…" Harry began and then his eyes glazed over as he stared into the fire, thinking. "I really do believe the first time Tom Riddle killed a person it was his father. And…well, I don't know for sure, but that could've been when he made the diary. I mean, it makes sense that the diary would be something he'd have on him, something before he was able to steal Marvolo's ring, right? And the diary, well, Riddle had no friends; not a single one. Dumbledore said several times that Riddle was incapable of real friendship, of compassion and love on any level. So, it also, then, makes sense that if he kept a diary it might very well be his only confider. And that would give it an extremely high value in his eyes. If he killed his father, and created his first Horcrux that day, certainly it would be with something he valued above all else in his possession, would it not?"

"That makes sense," Ginny agreed. "But why do you think it was created first? Before the ring? If he stole the ring from his dead father's hand, then why couldn't he have made a Horcrux of it then?"

Harry shook his head and thought again. "I think he went with the intention of making a Horcrux. that he took the diary with him and then lucked out when he found the ring. He was always on the look-out for trophies. And, he killed Moaning Myrtle, you know."

"NO!" the other three cried in unison.

Hermione continued, though, a little faster composed than the others. "Well, I suppose that would make sense. So you think he made the second Horcrux, the ring, from Moaning Myrtle?"

"Dumbledore didn't come right out and say it," Harry told them, "but I saw him question Riddle on the stairs right after the incident, and Riddle was wearing his grandfather's ring that day."

"So the first two Horcruxes were created while Riddle was still a student here?" Ginny asked, shivering a little at the idea. "While he lived in these walls? While he was still a kid?"

Harry nodded. "That's my theory."

Ron felt a little green.

"Three more Horcruxes. Any ideas what they might be? We've two personal items of Voldemort, the diary and the ring, and a locket from Slytherin and a cup from Hufflepuff. We still need to find the real locket, of course."

"Something from Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, then?" Ginny suggested.

"Makes sense," Harry agreed. "Voldemort stole the Hufflepuff cup himself, from an elderly witch. I think her name was Smith. Dumbledore said she was a descendant of Hufflepuff."

"We need to know more about Godric Gryffindor and Rowena Ravenclaw," Hermione said.

"Really? Isn't it all in Hogwarts: A History?" Ron teased.

"Why don't you read it and find out for yourself?" she countered.

"Yeah, you'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Actually, I would," Hermione said.

Was that a dare? Ron wondered. He remembered Lupin's suggestion and shuddered. "But I – I don't want to read it!"

Hermione rolled her eyes and went back to her parchment. "We have quite a bit of research. Shall we divide some of this up? Ravenclaw and Gryffindor should be easy to look up. Trying to find out Voldemort's connection to the Cave of Regret might take some more doing, as will the Horcrux research. I've been all through the restricted section last year and there's nothing on Horcruxes. Remember Harry?"

"Slughorn knows something about them," Harry told them. "Quite a lot, actually."

"Good," said Hermione. "You work on him, Ginny you can see what there is in the library about Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, and I'll see what I can find out about Horcruxes and if they can be made of living creatures. If we can discount Dumbledore's theory, then we narrow our field a bit."

"I doubt we'll be able to do that," Ron remarked. "Hadn't Dumbledore been working on this for years? One would think a wizard with as many brains as he had would've gathered if a Horcrux can be made of a living thing or not. My bet is that they can, or there's not evidence that they can't."

Hermione stared at him for a moment, and then a slow, wide smile spread across her face. Ron felt himself go hot.

"Also," Harry added, "could you try to find out if there's a better way to destroy them? I don't relish the idea of going through that ordeal again if it can be helped."

"Right," Hermione said, head back down as she scratched intently on her parchment.

"Wait," Ron said, sitting up. "What am I going to do, then?"

"Research involves books, Ron," Ginny teased.

"Well, I can study, you know," Ron said sulkily, "I managed seven O.W.L.s, didn't I?"

"Why don't you see if you can find any surviving descendants of Gryffindor or Ravenclaw?" Hermione suggested. "The Ministry probably knows."

"Right," said Ron, though now a task was put to him he was feeling a bit overwhelmed.

"It's getting late," Ginny said, "and I have to be back in the dorms soon. Care to walk me back to Gryffindor Tower, Mr. Potter?"

This pulled Harry out of a thinking daze. "Oh, right. Sure."

They got up and went to leave, but Harry kissed her before they went out the door. It was longer and wetter than Ron felt was absolutely necessary, and he stared into the fire and tried very hard to pretend it wasn't happening. When he heard the door shut, he turned to Hermione. "Guess they had to get that out of the way before they went back out in public," he quipped. "Wish they'd consider us public."

She gave him a faint smile. "Oh, Professor McGonagall asked me to give this to you." She pulled a small folded piece of parchment from her jumper pocket. It was sealed with red and gold wax and McGonagall's stamp.

Ron tore it open. He'd never received a note from a teacher before, and he felt a little anxious. Had he already gotten into trouble? He wasn't even a student! Could she give him dentension?

"It's telling me we'll start our lessons tomorrow evening," he explained after reading her loopy, slanted writing.

"You're taking lessons?" Hermione asked. She sounded almost jealous.

"It's for the Order," Ron told her, and then he explained about his troubles with consistency and emotional magic, as Moody had taken to calling it. "She's going to try and sort some things out for me, I suppose."

"What things?" Hermione asked, though he thought she probably knew, as she was staring into the flames and not looking at him. This was one of the many things about girls Ron didn't understand. If they knew, then why did they ask?

"Hermione, what is it about us that makes this so difficult? Why can't it be as easy for us as it is for Harry and Ginny?"

Her brows worked as she considered his question. "I suppose, because you're not Harry, and I'm not Ginny," she said after a moment. "They're a lot alike; both stubborn and strong and loyal. They both love Quidditch and flying. They both know how to bend the rules just far enough to get what they want, and how to take care of themselves in a fight."

"We're not so different," Ron insisted.

"Name one thing we have in common," she challenged. "Besides Harry and Ginny."

"Well," Ron said as he thought. "We both…uh…" He liked food and sleeping and Quidditch and sweets. Had Hermione even shown any interest in any of those things? She liked books and homework and picking the crisp off her fish. "Come to think of it, why do you even like me?" Ron asked. "Why did you ever become my friend?"

The answer was obvious, of course. "Harry," they said in unison.

"But at the end of the day, Ron, it wasn't ever Harry I was thinking about."

"No," he quipped, "I rarely thought about him, either."

She smirked. "I'll go with you," she said, and her eyes immediately went back to the fire.

Ron had to fight the 'Go where?' that was dying to bust out of him. "Good, then. It's official."

"Good," she echoed, and smiled at him. He smiled back. "So…do you want to snog, or something? Since it's official."

"Always," Ron breathed. "I'm eighteen."

She rolled on to her knees, and crawled toward him, and he did the same. They met on the cushion between them, nervous and too self-conscious to know where to begin. He leaned down to her, afraid to actually touch her, and as she looked up to him they brushed lips. Barely contact, and still there was something tingly about the warmth of her lips against his. He kissed her again, tentative and shy, aware that they were making some sort of promise through the small kisses.

His heart began to speed up a little, and he felt it thumping hard in his chest. He wanted to feel her throat under his fingertip, run his hands through her short, soft hair. He wanted to find that special place at the base of her spine and smooth his palm over it, but he waited for a sign that it would be all right to touch her with anything but his mouth. Where were her hands? He opened his eyes and pulled away a little and found she must've thought much the same as he did. Her arms were up and bent as if to embrace him, but somehow they'd gotten frozen in mid-air. When she came to her senses and opened her eyes she blushed to discover he'd been watching her.

Slowly he took her hands in his, and led her palms to his sides. Then he cupped her neck, ran his fingers up to curve around the back of her head, and he kissed her again. She instantly deepened the kiss, and her tongue quickly found his. Her body crushed against him. They both groaned. Thrills of excitement twittered through Ron's middle and seemed to boil deep within his pelvis.

Skin on skin, and he realized her hands had made it under his shirt. The muscles of his stomach jumped as her fingers smoothed over them. His breath caught and he wasn't sure he'd ever find it again. His head started to buzz. She ran her fingers down, then, over the front of his jeans, and his whole body jerked. A strangled grunt ripped out of his throat. He stopped thinking at that point and pushed her backward on to the floor. He dove after her. She pushed and tugged at him until his hips were nestled snuggly between her thighs, and he found himself thrusting as he hungrily kissed her neck.

Slow down, he told himself, but he couldn't bring himself to stop. She felt so incredibly good, and soft, and he was so bloody excited! One of her hands grabbed his and pulled it down, and it took him a second to realize she'd lifted the hem of her shirt and placed his palm over her breast. He was momentarily torn between kissing her neck and looking at her bra – and the hard nipple just below it. He whimpered knowing breast always wins out over neck.

"Blood hell," he whispered under his breath, as he watched her round breast move between his fingers. He'd felt Lavender's, but only through her jumper, and it was nothing – nothing – compared to Hermione's perfect body. He ducked his head, and kissed her nipple through the fabric, suckled a little, gently explored it with his teeth. Hermione's response was immediate; she grabbed his head, whimpered that high-pitched sound that went straight to his crotch, and she bucked up beneath him giving his privates even more to scream about.

Slow this down, he warned himself. Then, he hooked a finger around the cup of her bra and pulled it aside. And there it was, all pink and puckered and wet from his mouth. He latched on and she cried out again – a similar sound he'd heard coming out of his sister that time he'd walked in on her and Harry.

"Oh, my!" It was McGonagall's shocked voice, but Hermione was already pushing Ron off of her before he registered it.

His mind refused to work, and his body cried foul at being so abruptly parted with such pleasure. He did manage to push himself up to sit on his heels. Luckily, Hermione had the presence of mind to push one of the pillows from the floor over his lap as she righted her top.

"I was – what I mean to say is, I heard – I thought, oh bugger," McGonagall said in a most un-McGonagall-like way. "Never mind, then. Mr. Weasley!" Ron sat up a little straighter, not even able to contemplate the horrible fate that might be in store for him. But then, McGonagall glared at him over her spectacles and said very clearly, "Carry on." And then, she left.

"Carry on?" Hermione echoed, incredulously.

A second later the door swung open again. "Oh, and Miss Granger," McGonagall said, her eyes averted. "I trust you will keep your door locked in the future. We can't have the students asking all kinds of uncomfortable questions and getting fresh ideas, can we?" And then she left, again.

Hermione held out her hand and her wand shot right into it. She waved it at the door. Ron heard the door lock.

"Whoa," he said, still staring at her wand.

His admiration left her with a shy smile. "It just did it one day. Held out my hand and the wand was there. It knows lots of little tricks like that," she said, though she didn't look pleased. Actually, Ron thought, she looked thoroughly kissed. "I can't believe she saw us," Hermione whimpered, and then dropped her face into her hands. "How mortifying!"

Ron grunted his agreement. But now that she was gone, couldn't he have the boob back?

"You should probably go," Hermione said, sadly. "I didn't really think things would get as carried away as they did."

Ron grunted again. He seriously doubted he could walk at the moment.

"I'm still grieving," Hermione continued, seemingly oblivious to Ron's discomfort. "Or, well, I should be. I'm fairly sure this isn't how one behaves when they're grieving. I mean, he was my finance, after all, and was about to be my husband. And he died. He died for me. I shouldn't be able to kiss you like that. Should I? Oh, what's wrong with me?" She jumped up from the floor and fled out of the room. Ron would've gone after her if he'd been in any shape to.

He sat there for another ten minutes waiting for pressures to recede, and blood flow to return to normal. Then he waited another ten for the excruciating pain in his bollocks to wane. It was about the time Ron could finally make it to the small couch that Harry came in. He sat down next to him.

"So," Harry said.

Ron closed his eyes as the heat climbed up his throat and cheeks.

"Hermione ran into the Common Room just as I was leaving. She looked pretty-"

"Upset?" Ron asked. "Sounds a bit right."

"Worked up, I'd say. And sporting some fresh bites on her neck. She started babbling things that I'm pretty sure I wasn't meant to hear, and I thought I'd pop around and see how you're getting on. From that smile on your face I'd say fair."

"I'm not smiling," Ron told him, and forced his facial muscles to relax.

Harry chuckled. "It's brilliant, isn't it? I mean, at first it's a bit of a shock that it's happened and all, but then, when you get a chance to absorb, it's ruddy brilliant!" It had been a long time since Ron had seen Harry so animated. And he seemed almost relieved, Ron thought. "You did a charm, right? You remembered just before?"

"Just before what? What are you on about?"

"A Contraceptive Charm – oh, never mind, it's Hermione after all. I'm sure she took care of–"

"We didn't," Ron said flatly.

"Oh," said Harry. He instantly deflated. "Oh, well, then. I'm sure Madame Pomphrey know's some 'just after' charms, as well. Do they have just after charms? They must."

"Harry," Ron said. "We didn't have sex."

"Oh," he said, and then seemed at a loss. Ron rolled his eyes. "Why not?"

"When Professor McGonagall walked in on us, it kinda broke the mood. But honestly, Harry, I don't know that we were that close. I mean, it was brilliant and all, but I wasn't thinking about anything beyond a real good snog. Well, and her tatties, which are lovely."

"Yeah," said Harry. Ron glared at him, and Harry quickly steered the subject back to safe territory. "So, McGonagall? No wonder Hermione was upset."

"And McGonagall just said, 'Carry on,' like she wanted us to do it."

"I expect she does," Harry told him. "We all do."

"Well, it's none of your business! Lot of busy-bodies is what you are! I don't like the pressure. It's bad enough you got me to ask her to go with me!"

"Yeah, but she mistook you," Harry reminded.

"Naw, she said later after you and Ginny left tonight that she'd go with me. So, it's official."

"Congratulations!" Harry clapped him on the shoulder. Ron glowered at him. "What? It's not a good thing?"

"Of course it is! It's bleeding fantastic! But I didn't want to ask her because you wanted me to. I wanted to do it because, well, I wanted to! I don't want to bag her because Moody wants me to, and I certainly don't want to read with her! I feel like she's some sort of homework assignment and who wants to date homework?" Then he added in a small voice: "Hermione always did my homework."

Harry didn't say anything, so Ron continued. "I know everyone wants us to…do it. McGonagall even said, 'Carry on,' as she ran back out the door. But honestly, Harry, what's it going to fix? How will doing that change my magic?"

Harry considered his question. "Remember last year when I got the Felix Felicis Potion from Slughorn? And you thought I put it in your pumpkin juice? And then you went out and played the best game of Quidditch in your life, even though I didn't give you the potion? You made your own luck that day."

"So? I sleep with Hermione and suddenly everything is right as rain between us? We become you and Ginny? I don't think so. And neither does Hermione. She basically spelled it out for me tonight. We're not you. We're not even close. And us…being together, it's not going to change that, is it? And all this prodding and pushing, it's just making things, I dunno – weird."

"Then don't," Harry told him.

Ron eyed him. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, don't do it if you don't want to."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Of course I want to! I always want to."

"Then what is your problem?"

Ron scowled. Harry didn't understand. But then, he had his girl - his perfect compliment. Actually, he'd had two perfect girls. "Is it really all that great?" Ron asked, defeated.

"Yes," Harry told him without hesitation. "But really, mate, don't do it if you're not ready."

"What about McGonagall and Moody and the rest of them?"

"Bugger 'em," Harry told him, a smile on his face.

"And what about my magic, then? You'll be minus one Smisurato."

Harry shrugged. "Then I'm minus one Smisurato. Look, there's more to a relationship than sex and snogging. I think Moody and them reckoned sex might be faster than actually figuring out your emotions and then dealing with them, but maybe for you that's what it'll take. When it's right for you and Hermione, it'll happen."

"Yeah," said Ron, already feeling a little better. And then he thought about what Harry had said. "Wait. I have to figure out my emotions and deal with them? Doesn't that sound a little much for the likes of me?"

"Yeah, well, I suppose that's why they were thinking sex might be faster," Harry said dryly.

"Ha ha." Ron was not amused. "Maybe she won't want to. No one's bothered to consider how she might feel about it. I mean, she's already done it, so she knows that sex is for the bloke. Maybe she'd rather just stick to the snogging. She seems to like that fair enough."

Harry turned to him with a puzzled expression. "What are you on about?"

"Well, come on, Harry. It's not like she can top-off, or anything. She's a girl, after all."

"What? Girls can…top-off. If that means what I think it means."

"Right," Ron said, and snorted his amusement.

"I'm serious. Girls can top-off." And Harry did sound serious, too. But the whole subject was far too ludicrous for Ron to even contemplate.

"Oh, sure," he said. "Without bollocks, girls can top-off!"

"They have other bits, Ron. They don't need bollocks."

"No, they can't," Ron said, now not at all sure.

"You're going to have to trust me on this," Harry said. "Didn't your five older brothers teach you anything?"

Nothing of consequence, it seemed. "So, then…Hermione…she's…"

"Uh…yeah," Harry said, going a bit red about the ears.

"And with Viktor, too? I mean, did she even sleep with him? Maybe she didn't. What do you know? Has Ginny said anything to you?"

Harry gritted his teeth. "Look, this situation is weird and complicated. Even though I don't have those feelings for her anymore, I do still remember…and it's weird. I don't think we should discuss Hermione like this. I mean, I really don't want to think about the two of you like that, and I'm sure you don't want to think about us–"

"No!" Ron said quickly.

"There are just some things that need to be off limits."

"Absolutely," Ron told him. "Agreed."

"It's not that I'm not happy for you both…I am. And I'm mad about Ginny, but I reckon you know that."

"And I'm happy that you and Ginny are happy. But we don't need to talk about it. I get it. I shouldn't have asked."

They were silent for a moment, and then Harry said quietly, "You're my best mates, the both of you. Wait until it's right."

"What if it's never right?" Ron asked.

"Well, I suppose there are worse things. She's here, and she's safe. And we're together."

"Cheers."

---

The following morning Harry was given a list of five fourth year's names, all of whom were having a bit of trouble with their DADA class, and weren't expected to even make A's on their O.W.L.s the following year. Forty girls showed up, and several boys as well, including Terry Boot who glared menacingly at Harry from his pout in the corner. McGonagall didn't mention the extra students, and Ron supposed it couldn't have been very surprising that half the school would turn out to see The Chosen One lead instruction in Defense Against the Dark Arts.

McGonagall then led Ron and two sixth years out - both girls who seemed resentful that their tutor wasn't going to be The Harry Potter - and over to the infirmary where Hermione waved happily, and Madame Pomphrey gave him a knowing nod.

"Right, then, Mr. Weasley," Professor McGonagall began. "This is Charity Knowles and Ruby Wu. Both young ladies have yet to successfully Apparate and their birthdays are rapidly approaching. As you've achieved your license you're perfectly qualified to assist them in their attempts to master the skill. Should you have any splinching, Madam Pomphrey is at your disposal and she can fetch the Ministry's Accidental Magic Reversal Squad. Come to think of it, try very hard not to splinch. It may take them a while to get through Hogwarts' heightened security, and it can be very disconcerting to be separated from a leg or arm for any length of time.

"Of course, you won't be able to Apparate out of this room, and you have only until the stroke of eleven before the anti-Apparation spells will once again blanket the infirmary, but I have every confidence that the three of you can make progress in the next two hours." Her brows rose a little, and Ron got the distinct impression that she was looking for the same assurances from him.

"Oh, yeah," he lamely said, "two hours should be plenty of time."

McGonagall remained unconvinced. "Very well. And Mr. Weasley, shall we continue our lessons this evening? I thought, perhaps you and Miss Granger could meet me in my Transfiguration classroom at eight."

"Hermione, too?" he asked, surprised. "Uh…sure. We'll be there."

The tutoring session proved harder than Ron had ever expected. Simply explaining the Apparition principles of Destination, Determination, Deliberation wasn't enough, nor were his woefully inadequate descriptions of the turn one was supposed to do in order to Disapparate. Hermione's had always looked a little like a ballet move, and so Ron felt as his students were girls that was probably the best way for them to go as well. He tried to describe the sensations they should be feeling; the tingling and the squeezing of every bit of him, the nausea and giddiness. Of course, Ron didn't really know how he managed to Disapparate and turn up in roughly the right spot. It had taken a lot of doing just to get it right the first time, and then once he had he just tried to do the exact same thing over again. He demonstrated a few times, and then Ruby burst into tears and cried out that she'd never do it and she was just a waster.

"But…but we've only just started," Ron said, confused by the girl's theatrics. "And learning to Apparate may very well be the hardest thing you'll ever have to do at Hogwarts. Loads of witches and wizards never even get their licenses, which is why we have the Floo Network, so if you don't, you don't. But let's not give up until we've at least given it a good go, right? I was a slow learner, myself, and I managed. The key, I think, is to believe in yourself. I believe in you," he added for that extra boon of confidence.

After that the girl had beamed at him with her luminous black eyes and full-lipped smile. And while neither Charity nor Ruby managed to Apparate so much as a hair, they both left giggling and waving to their tutor.

Ron felt the session was a success, all told, but when he looked over to Hermione she just glared at him, turned her back, and went on with whatever she and Madame Pomphrey were doing.

She was cool to him over dinner as well, and when Ron tried to ask what he was supposed to have done she changed the subject.

"I'm learning loads from Madame Pomphrey. Loads. Of course, adapting the spells to battle conditions might prove more tricky, and I'll have to carry an assortment of draughts, just in case. There are several that take months to brew, like Milk Flush, so of course there will have to be preparations made." Hermione wasn't really talking to anyone, Ron decided. And she certainly wasn't looking at him.

Once they got up from the table Ginny leaned in close and whispered, "What did you do now, you git?" while wearing an angry glare.

Ron didn't have a chance to respond.

"Hermione, wait a moment," Harry said. "I know you and Ron have a lesson with Professor McGonagall late this evening and it's bound to run into the night, but I was wondering if we could still meet after? In your quarters?"

"Well, certainly," she said somewhat stiffly. "But I thought…why can't we meet now?"

"Funniest thing, actually," Harry said while stifling a grin. "An old friend of Ron's has turned up and has asked to meet you."

"Meet me?" Hermione asked.

"I've an old friend?" Ron asked.

"His name is Amoro. Miguel Amoro."

Hermione's eyes went wide and her jaw dropped. "Miguel Amoro? The Fatologist? You're having me on!"

"Never," Harry said, now smiling broadly.

"Wait," Ron said holding up a hand as if to stop time for a moment so he could catch up. "You've heard of Miguel Amoro? The Portuguese?"

"Is he that Fate bloke who's writing Ron's life's story?" Ginny asked.

"He's what?" Hermione gasped.

"Well, it's never my life's story, but well, he's done some interviews," Ron said, trying not to enjoy the way she looked starry-eyed at him. "There might be a few chapters…"

"He's interviewed Ron and myself," Harry said, "and he'd like to do you, as well. I didn't promise you'd give him the interview, but I did say I'd introduce you."

"Oh, my stars!" Hermione exclaimed. "Do you think he'll autograph my books? I've got all twelve that he wrote – translated, of course-"

"I'm sure he will," Harry said with a chuckle.

"You've got twelve of his books?" Ron said, stunned.

"Of course she does," Ginny grumbled irritably at her brother. "She's Hermione. And the moment she found out she was Fated, what do you expect she did? Don't be a clod!" And then she cuffed his shoulder for good measure.

While Ron moped over his wounded arm and ego, Hermione fluttered around spouting everything she'd ever read about Amoro while Harry led her to McGonagall's office for the interview. For one brief moment all that energy had been focused on Ron. For an instant Ron had glimpsed what he imagined Harry's life to be. No one had every looked at him in awe before. And he'd never felt his heart swell so large. Now, of course, he realized that it wasn't him that she was seeing. It was Amoro.

Oh, what he wouldn't give to be the kind of wizard to make her giddy.

---

At eight that evening Ron went up to Professor McGonagall's office. Amoro had gone already, and when Ron came in he found Hermione sitting in an arm chair opposite the professor, who sat behind her desk. They had been chatting, it seemed, and Hermione stopped talking mid-sentence once Ron was through the door. She gave him a little smile. She looked nervous.

"Ah, Mr. Weasley. Good of you to join us on time. Please, take a seat."

Ron sat in the chair beside Hermione, who was now resolutely staring at the front of Professor McGonagall's desk.

"First, I believe," the Headmistress said, peering at them over her spectacles, "we should define a few things, just so we're clear. No sense speaking two different languages. Miss Granger, would you care to tell the class what you know of Love Magic?"

Hermione wore a smug little grin as she explained: "Love Magic is the most ancient form of magic – older than the pyramids in Egypt, older than the stone circles in this country, older than anything man has ever made that is left standing on the earth. Some say that Love Magic is as old as the mountains, which is, of course, ridiculous because everyone knows mankind hasn't been around nearly as long as the mountains-"

"Wasn't Harry protected with Love Magic?" Ron asked. "Isn't that what scarred him?"

"That's correct," McGonagall said solemnly. "Lily Potter evoked the Ancient Magic when she sacrificed herself. I dare say she didn't even know she was doing it. We don't teach Love Magic anymore, and for good reason. It can be dangerous and unpredictable. And it can be especially cruel when applied to the Dark Arts. But there are some, Mr. Weasley, like yourself, who are instinctively drawn to it. You've probably used it all your life and never really understood what you were doing. Hogwarts should, of course, test all first years for their Love Magic quotient, I've said it to Dumbledore dozens of times over my tenure here, but he saw no point as so few students would even register a level one. And, I suppose, most of the teachers here wouldn't have the foggiest as to what to do with a student with such…abilities.

"Incidentally, Mr. Weasley, I would assume from what Alastor and Remus have explained, that you would be off the Love Magic Quotient scale. Gifted, one might say. Which may explain a little of your other unique ability. Both stem from Ancient Magic, you see?"

"If Love Magic is a gift, then why does Moody want me not to use it?" Ron asked. "He's been trying to get me to find my Pure Magic for ages now."

"Yes, well," McGonagall said, sitting back in her seat. "Many people see the clouding of emotions in magic to be more of a disability than anything else. Because for most, emotions are not easily controlled. And, the application for which Mr. Moody was trying to teach was very specific. Mr. Potter, who has very little practical experience with Love Magic, was overwhelmed by it – as would we all be, as none of us are versed in that particular type of magic any longer. It is a shame, Mr. Weasley, that we are not able to properly hone your gifts here. My hope is to help you understand them better, and perhaps to allow you to adapt to Pure Magic when you find it necessary."

"But…are there other people like me?" Ron asked.

"With your Smisurato abilities? I daresay no," McGonagall said decisively. "With your natural inclination toward Love Magic – or Ancient Magic - yes. A few. And, I'd even go so far as to say that most of them – have absolutely no idea why they're not able to control their magic as well as their peers. A few may not be able to control it at all. But, as I've already explained, this is a considerably small percentage of the wizarding population – far too few, I'm afraid, to have garnered any interest for further contemporary studies. Oh, yes, Mr. Weasley, you may consider yourself very much alone in your abilities. But not in other things. For instance, Miss Granger is here with you this evening, and I, of course, will always do my utmost to assist in your education – for as long as that might take."

The way she said that made Ron think he might be old and grey before she'd retire from her post. "Uh…thank you, Professor."

"Very well," she said, rising. "Let us begin."

Ron and Hermione stood, too, and waited as she Disappeared their chairs with a wave of her wand. "Please stand with your backs together." They did as she commanded, though Ron saw the same hesitancy in Hermione that he felt; neither of them knew what to expect. "Very, good. Miss. Granger, please close your eyes and think of a dark color. Just that color, not anything associated with it. See it in your mind's eyes. Imagine it surrounding you."

Ron could feel the heat of her through the back of his shirt, breathing against his back.

"Now, Mr. Weasley, I want you to think of your happiest moment. Then think of only an instant within that moment, and hold it within your mind's eye."

His happiest moment? That was easy – winning the Quidditch match for Gryffindor in fifth year and being carried off the field under a serenade of "Weasley is Our King!" His smile faltered as another image shot past: one of Hermione all battered and bloody and unconscious in his arms, and Harry collapsed on the cave floor behind him.

"Mr. Weasley, one thought, please. And Miss Granger, the color should be a pleasant one for you. Please pick a dark color that you like and focus on it."

How had she known? Ron wondered. He ventured a tiny peek and found McGonagall glaring at him. Eyes shut tight again, he tried to conjure up the Quidditch match, and suddenly he was remembering the kiss he'd shared with Hermione the night Tonks died. No, no! he schooled. That was a terrible night. Tonks was dead and Lupin went bestial, and Shacklebolt was terribly hurt. Happiest moment, he told himself. The best moment of his life…

And then he saw dark, burnt orange. An autumn orange. The deepest color in his hair.

Now, that couldn't be right. He squeezed his eyes tighter. Kissing Hermione, holding Hermione, touching his lips to her pink, scarred breast. Orange.

This time when he opened his eyes McGonagall was holding her wand out, her own eyes closed, and he and Hermione were enveloped in a shimmering mist. "Focus, Mr. Weasley," she corrected without breaking her own concentration. Ron closed his eyes again.

And once again the Quidditch victory turned into Hermione in his lap, kissing the bloody hell out of him on his mother's living room floor. Was that really the happiest moment of his life? Surrounded by all that grief and sorrow? He shook his head. No, his happiest memory was the Quidditch game where no one died and no one suffered. He pushed the rest out of his mind. And apparently, he pushed back against Hermione as well because she gave a yelp of surprise and he felt her fall away from him. When he opened his eyes McGonagall was glaring at him once more, and Hermione, who had caught herself, was half way across the room.

"What was that for?" she demanded.

He mumbled an apology and didn't look up, knowing she was probably glaring at him, too.

"What is it, Mr. Weasley?"

He shrugged.

"I would prefer you to look at me and speak in response to my questions," McGonagall said tartly.

"Sorry, Professor," he said, meeting her gaze. "I don't know what the problem is."

"Did you think of your happiest moment?"

"Well, I tried to, but other things kept popping in."

"What other things?"

His eyes slid over to Hermione before he even realized it, giving him away.

McGonagall expression didn't change. "You were trying to recall the memory you use for your Patronus, weren't you?" When Ron nodded she continued, "well, much has happened since then. It's very likely that you've a new memory to use."

"No," Ron insisted. "It can't be my happiest moment. I mean, yeah, it was smashing for me, but there were so many horrible things happening then. It just can't be…"

"Mr. Weasley, we don't get to pick and chose which moments in our history to keep or return simply because they're not perfect-" McGonagall began.

"But Tonks died! And Lupin! And Shacklebolt!" He realized his folly immediately from the stern frown on her face. "I'm sorry to interrupt, Professor, but how can my happiest moment be when Tonks died?" It didn't make sense. He shook his head.

"Tonks' death wasn't that moment, I'm certain. But it may very well have coincided with a moment your mind recognizes as being among the happiest in your life. Great joy and great misery often lie side by side. Tears of happiness and tears of grief are just a cord away from each other."

"But Tonks!" Ron said again, and the upset within him began to work its way up into his throat. "We'd become close. I delivered her baby, for Merlin's sake!" That only made him think of Jack, and the grief of losing him as well. He missed Jack terribly. And it wasn't an abnormal attachment!

"Well, this wasn't how I'd planned it," McGonagall said, "but we work with what we're given. It's clear you're in some distress now, so while you've got all those emotions so close force that happy memory up to the surface. It's all right if they share equal space as long as you're looking at that wonderful moment. Now, Mr. Weasley, light the hearth."

He focused on that kiss, which seemed so distant with the grief so close, turned to the fireplace and took aim. "Lumos," he said, and there was a brief shower of sparks that shot up about a meter from the log in the hearth, but nothing more.

"Your emotions can make you stronger, Mr. Weasley, it's your natural state. But only if you use them properly; you can't allow yourself the distraction. Think of Miss Granger in that happy moment and cast the spell!"

He closed his eyes and shoved the grief down and pulled up the feel of Hermione on his lap, his hands in her hair, his lips on her neck. This time the fire did light. So did the tapestry just above the mantle. McGonagall doused it with a flip of her wand and turned to Ron.

"Very nice, Mr. Weasley. That, in essence is what we will continue working on for your remainder of your stay at Hogwarts. Now, one last exercise before we call it a night. Miss Granger, please take Mr. Weasley's hands, if you will."

Hermione took his hands in hers. She was soft and cold between his fingers, and while her hand was slender, her grip was strong.

"Now, the both of you, this is an exercise that I expect you to do every day, whether we meet or not. It's not particularly difficult or taxing, so there will be no excuses. Mr. Weasley, you start first. Say something nice to Miss Granger."

"What?" Ron asked an amused Professor McGonagall.

"You heard me. Say something nice. Don't look at me, boy!"

Disgruntled, Ron turned back to Hermione. He'd been had-over. These were supposed to be legitimate exercises! Hermione's expression was unreadable. And she didn't look as if she was breathing. "Uh…" he said. Something nice, he told himself. Say something she'll want to hear. "Uh…"

"Any day, Mr. Weasley," McGonagall pushed.

It would've been easier to come up with something without the audience, Ron thought grumpily. "Uh…you're very pretty."

Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes. "I think there has to be an ounce of honesty in it, Ron."

"What?" he asked defensively. "You're pretty."

"Yes, and you're brilliant," she snapped dropping his hands. "This is a complete waste of time."

"Wait," he said, and stopped her with a hand to her am. "Come here." He pulled her back to him, somewhat reluctantly, and he gave her a sheepish grin. "Thank you for coming here tonight. I know that's not a compliment of the seventh order or anything – probably doesn't even rate a one, but it's honest. And yes, I think you're very pretty. You're the prettiest non-veela I've ever known."

She dropped her eyes to hide a grin of her own. "Thank you," she whispered. "And I figure that was a compliment of the fourth order."

"And that," he told her, "is a great compliment for me. Fifth order, I reckon."

Having now completed their assignment, they both looked expectantly at a confused Professor McGonagall. "Yes, well…I suppose that will do. I will never understand your generation, I fear. Good night to the both of you."

---

Once they were dismissed they went back to Hermione's quarters where Harry and Ginny were already snogging. Harry called it waiting.

"Yes, I can see how long you must've been waiting," Ron said flatly as he assessed the flush face and swollen lips on his sister.

"Never mind that," Hermione said, and settled on the floor in front of the fire. "I've not had any luck in the Horcrux department, but I've had another look at the prophecy, and there are some things that have me unsettled."

"I find the whole blood thing unsettling," Harry grumbled.

"Listen here," she said, and then began reading the poem from a bit of folded parchment: "'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches,' that's the first line," she said. "What does it tell us?"

"That the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches," Ron said. "Thought it was obvious."

"Shut up," she told him. "It tells us that A – this is before Harry was born, and B – that it is possible to vanquish Voldemort."

There was a general grumble of acceptance of her interpretation, so Hermione continued. "'Born to those who have thrice defied him.' Harry, did your parents thrice defy Voldemort?"

Harry shrugged. "Must've done."

"Might be worth check out," Ginny said.

Hermione nodded. "'Born as the seventh month dies.' That's pretty straight forward. This person with the power to vanquish Voldemort is born at the end of July. No real mystery there. So, then, 'and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal,' is interesting. Voldemort gives the Dark Mark to his followers. But Harry's scar was the result of Voldemort's magic clashing with the Ancient Magic that protected Harry, making Harry most certainly his equal in power – at least at that moment in time. Also, the fact that Voldemort hunted him down and singled him out also can be interpreted as Harry being Voldemort's mark. Voldemort marked him as an adversary metaphorically, and then physically as well."

"What?" Ron asked. "Are you starting to make some of this up?"

"We haven't even gotten to the complicated part yet, Ron. Please keep up." Ron, sufficiently chastised, pulled his legs up and wrapped his arms around them.

"'But he will have a power the Dark Lord knows not,'" Hermione quoted. "Dumbledore assumed this was Harry's ability to love, and perhaps that's what it is."

"Seems so," Harry said. "If love and compassion are completely devoid in him, then it stands to reason that they might be used as weapons against him."

"Yes…" Hermione said, though it was clear she had an alternate interpretation.

"What do you think it means?" Ron asked.

"Later," she said. "Let's move on to the next bit. 'And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives.' Any thoughts?"

"Yeah, it means Harry's got to kill him, or he's going to kill Harry," Ginny said darkly.

"Or we both snuff it," Harry suggested. "Though I like your way better. Better odds."

"'And either must die…'" Hermione quoted again. "It says either, not both. Either means one or the other, it never means both. Bring me either the blue quill or the red – you'd bring one or the other, wouldn't you?"

"Suppose I would," Harry said, lightening a little. "So then, one of us will survive?"

"Harry," Hermione said slowly, "let's look for a moment at the last line. "'For neither can live while the other survives.'"

"Meaning either Harry's got to bite it, or Voldemort does," Ron suggested. "Because both can't live at the same time."

"No, actually," Hermione said delicately, "it really doesn't say that. It says live and survive. They're not really the same thing. One suggests sustaining life while the other implies surviving an event. And, as Harry is most certainly alive, as is Voldemort – or at least there's some semblance of life there; he has a body and is moving about. So Harry still lives and Voldemort has survived."

The three of them say silently and waited pondered this new bit of information.

"So, the prophecy is wrong?" Ginny asked, hopeful.

"I don't think so," Hermione said. "The prophecy was cast before Harry was born. And it talks, I believe, about a specific event. An event where Voldemort marked Harry as his equal, where one didn't live while the other survived."

Harry touched his head. "The prophecy has already come true? It's over?"

"I think so," Hermione said. "It's really the only way it makes sense all around. You survived, so therefore Voldemort couldn't live. And he didn't."

"But what good is it if it's already over?" Ginny demanded. "The prophecy is useless! It leaves us back in the dark!"

"That's prophecy for you," Ron quipped.

And then, Hermione read it again for them all to hear:

"'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches

Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies

and the Dark Lord will mark him as equal,

but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not

and either must die at the hand of the other

for neither can live while the other survives.'"

"But…then…" Harry said, haltingly. "Then…the prophecy is done with. And the Ministry…it was all for nothing…and Sirius…he didn't have to die…"

End of chapter 16