False Fate
By MD1016
Part IV: The War
Chapter 20- The Fifth Little Death
The Great Hall was still the Great Hall just without the activity and noise of students. Much of the castle felt different now that Hogwarts was officially closed, and Gryffindor Tower lay in charred ruins across the central courtyard and much of the Western Quad. The Dark Tower took some of the brunt of the ancient falling stone as well, and now it leaned precariously to one side. But the Great Hall was intact, if quiet.
A call had gone out to Order members. Hogwarts had been breached, and the new reality that no place was out of the Death Eaters' grasp any longer had settled anxiously over the whole of Britain. Not safe at home any longer, many more had responded than Ron had anticipated. Even Ron's mum had come, much to his discontent. But, as Hermione pointed out, until they found and destroyed the fifth Horcrux, Darkness probably wouldn't be descending on Hogwarts, and his mother was more safe there surrounded by Order than at the Burrow. Probably. He tried to put his apprehension behind that, and ignore the vacant space in the castlescape where Gryffindor once stood.
"So, where's young Hermione on this fine day?" Hagrid asked, abandoning his heavy wooden spoon in his enormous bowl of porridge.
"Potions, I expect," Ron said. She'd been gone when he woke up that morning, and he missed his early morning snog. They all got up early now, of course, there was simply too much to be done, but Hermione was at her potions day and night, making strengthening draughts for Harry, and protective serums for the upcoming battle that always loomed in the backs of their minds.
"With Marchbanks?" Hagrid asked. Madam Griselda Marchbanks, had been an elder Wizengamot with Dumbledore, and had overseen much of Ron and Harry's O.W.L. testing back in fifth year. Ron wasn't sure if she was officially Order or not, but he knew that her name had been smeared along with Harry and Dumbledore's back in fifth year, and that she resigned from the Wizengamot when Umbridge was put in charge of Hogwarts, so she was all right in his book. Plus, she was brilliant at Potions.
"And Shacklebolt," Ron told him.
Shacklebolt and Moody had spent many hours devising defensive strategies for Order protection now that Hogwarts had been compromised, and one of the new rules was that no witch or wizard would ever be in groups less than three. A rule, while sound strategically speaking, meant that intimacy was next to impossible - even if they had the energy at the end of the day, which many nights Hermione didn't. Ron's frustration level rose exponentially every morning.
"Where are you off to today?" Ron asked, hoping to change the subject enough to think about anything but Hermione and her lips on him. "Anyplace exciting?"
"Got a list," Hagrid said happily, and pulled a folded piece of parchment from his coat pocket. Ron recognized the perfect, loopy script as his girlfriend's. "Potion ingredients, more bandages – still stocking up I suppose. I expect I'll find much of what we need in Hogsmeade, but I may go down to Edinburgh and take a stroll through Lynonvar Close. Diagon Alley being all Death Eater, and all."
Lupin sat down heavily next to Ron with Jack in a sling around his neck and chest. He dropped the Daily Prophet on the table with a grim look. "Have you seen?" he asked.
Ron hadn't. The headline read, "SCRIMGEOR TAKES WELL-DESERVED HOLIDAY." The photo beneath it was the hairy Minister in one-piece swimming trunks and water goggles pretending to dive into the ocean.
"Back page," Lupin said flipping the paper over. "At the bottom. Hidden between the article about proper owl care and the heat wave over Wales."
Ron leaned in and squinted at the tiny, waving font. "'Inferi – Latin for 'the dead' – have driven out the entire towns of Dover, Skegness and Kingston upon Hull creating havoc within the Ministry. The Obliviators and the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee are working over time to contain the damage. When asked if these recent attacks from the dead are linked in any way to the vampire attacks in Builth Wells Monday last, or the Werewolf maulings in Cumnock and New Cumnock respectively, the Minister responded with, 'I'm sorry, the Minister cannot be reached,' before slamming the door on this reporter. The Ministry's Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes has also declined to comment.'"
"The dead are walking," Lupin said ominously. "And they're walking this way. He's building his army."
"An' scaring the bejeezus out of the country in the process," Hagrid added.
"It doesn't sound like the Ministry is doing anything about it, either," Ron said darkly.
"I'm not certain there is much they could do," Lupin told him. "They've outlawed Dark Magic so long ago that the vast majority of wizards know nothing whatsoever about it. And those that do, well, they've been alienated by the Ministry, and so have gladly joined the other side. There isn't a person left in the Ministry that knows how to create an inferius any longer, let alone how to battle them. And they've driven the half-breeds out as well. I can tell you that nearly all of the werewolves that have joined Voldemort have done it out of self-preservation. They don't understand that he'll wipe them out himself as soon as he doesn't need them anymore."
"I know someone who does know how to battle the inferius and is also friendly with a vampire or two." Ron looked up to see Harry, pale and grey, swaying a little on his feet. He was supposed to be in bed. "Horace Slughorn."
"That's right!" Ron recalled Harry saying he also knew about Horcruxes.
"Trouble is, he'll have gone back into hiding," Harry told them, and then slumped down on the bench next to Hagrid, who offered him his breakfast bowl. Harry declined. "Dumbledore knew how to find him. He's probably a coffee table by now."
"Moody's good at tracking people," Lupin offered. This was, of course, an understatement. While he was an Auror with the Ministry, Moody was legendary for tracking and capturing dark wizards.
"Does Hermione know you're out of bed?" Ron quietly asked Harry from across the table.
"It's none of her business what I do," he said defensively.
"All right, mate. I just don't want her cross at me because you didn't stay put."
"I'm feeling better," Harry told him. "The draughts she's been feeding me have helped. I just can't sit in that bed anymore."
"You're not casting," Lupin asked, having overheard.
"I'm not," Harry confirmed. They all cautioned him not to spend any energy while his reserves were still low. And, while it would have driven Ron mad to refrain from casting, Harry seemed to take to it easy enough.
Moody, Ginny and Professor Flitwick came in then, looking like a motley crew. They'd been in the library, as far as Ron knew, quizzing Madam Pince on Slytherin and his locket, and the possible identity of RAB. The fact that they didn't carry any books or rolls of parchments with them was disheartening.
When Ginny saw Harry her eyes flared in frustration, but he had the good sense to look sheepish about being out of bed, and Ginny couldn't seem to resist. She sat next to him, kissed him lightly on the cheek, and pulled a small bowl of porridge from the central tray.
"No luck?" Harry asked. Moody took the seat on the other side of Lupin, and tucked into breakfast as well. Flitwick toddled down the aisle past them and climbed up on the bench next to McGonagall and an Order member called Elphias Doge, who Ron recalled had kept surveillance on the Malfoy Mansion during Hermione's kidnapping and hearing. On the other side of him was Dedalus Diggle and the squib Mrs. Figg, who had collected some clothes for Hermione and Ginny, as they'd lost everything in the tower.
Ginny looked at Harry and answered his question with a shake of her head. Ron hadn't heard more than a handful of syllables out of her since the night of the attack. He knew that Harry was concerned about her, too. Hermione said she just needed time.
"Do you still have the other locket?" Moody asked. "The fake?"
"As a matter of fact," Harry said with a grin, and produced it from his pocket. He dropped it in Moody's rough palm. "I've been fiddling with it, hoping it might inspire me as to where the real one is." He pulled out the slip of parchment as well, all yellowed and creased from age and use.
Lupin picked it up. As he read it, he began to frown. "'To the Dark Lord, I know I will be dead long before you read this. But I want you to know it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your match you will be mortal once more. R.A.B.'"
"You know who it is, don't you?" Harry asked him, surprised. "R.A.B.?"
"I…" Lupin hesitated. "Perhaps." He studied the note, and Ron thought his face grew even darker. "You must understand that I never knew him well, so I wouldn't know his script, or his word choice. I can't tell for certain if he actually penned this."
"Who?" Harry asked.
"R.A.B. Regulus Black." Moody's magic eye spun in his head and stared at Lupin through his ear. "Middle name of Arcturus, I believe. After his grandfather. And a couple of distant cousins or uncles. That family tended to recycle names quite a bit."
"Regulus?" Moody asked.
"Regulus?" Harry echoed. Ron knew what was going through Harry's head. Regulus was Sirius' brother. Another connection to his godfather. "But…Regulus was a Death Eater," Harry managed to croak out.
"They killed him," Moody said with a cheek full of porridge. A little spewed from his mouth as he spoke. "Some say he turned against them at the end, and some say he just got too close – knew the wrong kinds of secrets."
"If this is indeed Regulus," Lupin said, indicating the note he held, "then it would suggest both."
"So, Sirius' brother went into that cave by the ocean and stole Voldemort's Horcrux?" Ron asked. It seemed terribly far fetched to his mind. He recalled with all too perfect clarity the trial Harry had described to him and Hermione: the cave and its difficult-to-reach entrance, the requirement of a blood sacrifice to enter the inner chamber, the lake of the dead, and the goblet that had to be drunk in order to drain it. So much to go through for a Death Eater, even one who belatedly discovered a conscience. "Why would he go through all that and then not destroy it?"
"Maybe he did," Lupin said.
"Or maybe they got him before he could figure it out. As you now know all too well, they're not as easy to dispatch as one might think," Moody said.
"If it was destroyed, then the rod would've been the fifth little death," Harry said. And it's been longer than a fortnight. I think it's still out there somewhere."
"But where?" Ron asked. "We're not going to have to go traipsing through a creepy old cemetery and dig up Sirius' dead brother's grave, are we?"
"I doubt it would've been buried on him," Harry said.
"I doubt there would've been enough to bury," Moody retorted.
Lupin's expression got harder, and his pale complexion went a little greyer. There hadn't been enough of Tonks to bury, either. Her family had had a service for her, but that was after Lupin had taken little Jack and fled. He'd never seen the fuchsia flowers that had covered the room, or heard the kind, loving words of the people who missed her. It had been a difficult night for Ron, and it wasn't until much later that he was able to find any comfort in it.
Ron steered the subject back to the locket. "If he didn't destroy it, and it wasn't buried with him, then where would he put it? Surely he would've hidden it someplace safe. Gringotts, maybe?"
"Siruis never mentioned a locket to you?" Harry asked Lupin.
"If he had, I'm certain I wouldn't remember," Lupin responded. "He never mentioned a Horcrux or having any artifact once belonging to Slytherin, of that I'm certain."
"W-what…what would it have looked like?" Ginny asked, staring into her bowl. They all looked at her.
"Not like this, that's for sure," Moody told her. "It would've been gold, most likely. And heavy, if it had a soul in it."
"And it would've had the Slytherin crest on it," Harry said. "Hufflepuff's cup had her crest, and Ravenclaw's scepter had hers. And Gryffindor's sword has his."
"Why, Ginny?" Lupin asked, almost kindly.
"Well," she stirred her spoon slowly around the dregs in her bowl. "There was a locket…that summer we were cleaning out Headquarters. But it was black."
"Black, eh?" Moody said.
"It was heavy," Ginny said. "But I don't remember it having a family crest. We all tried to open it, but couldn't."
"I don't remember that," Ron said.
"You spent the majority of the time making tea to avoid housework," Harry reminded him. "I don't think you cleaned so much as a doxy from the curtains."
"Did so!" Ron had avoided an embarrassing amount of work.
"I don't remember it, either," Harry said and turned back to his girlfriend. She was eyeing another bowl of porridge. "What did we do with it?"
Ginny shrugged. "I think it was in the box to be tossed out."
"What?" This came from Harry, Moody and Lupin.
"Well, I can't be sure," she told them with a desperate tone in her voice. "It was a long time ago. It might not be the same locket." She looked to Harry, but he was lost in thought.
"Wasn't Kreacher rescuing Black family things?" Ron asked.
"Mundungus was poaching things from number 12, too. He might've gotten his hands on it," Harry said, agitated. Ginny looked worriedly at him.
"It might very well still be there," Lupin said slowly. "Ginny, what room was it in?"
"The parlor," she said, though she didn't take her eyes from Harry.
"If Kreacher had it, it might be in his den. In the cupboard, in the kitchen, under the water heater," Ron offered. "That's where it lived."
Harry hadn't heard this last idea, his eyes stared glassy past Ron's shoulder. "Mundungus is in Azkaban. Isn't he?" He looked at Moody, but didn't seem to really see him. "Do you think he'd even remember a trinket he pinched years ago after being in Azkaban all this time?"
"There's only one way to find out," Moody said gruffly. He pushed his bowl aside.
Harry nodded. His cheeks were very red, as if he had a fever. Ginny touched his arm. He brushed her hand away.
"You should be in bed," she whispered violently at him. "The draught is wearing off, isn't it?"
He nodded. "Hermione will be looking for me." He tried to stand, but stumbled, and if it weren't for Ginny he would've landed face down in Hagrid's porridge.
"All right, then," Hagrid said. "Up to bed with you." He picked Harry up like a rag doll and held him up by the scruff of his t-shirt. They walked like that back his quarters, with Ron and Ginny following. Moody and Lupin also followed, but only so that Hagrid could then be escorted back down to the Great Hall. There were a few words said about the redundancy of this. Hagrid wasn't one to take their three person system seriously, but Moody certainly was.
Hermione was there in the room when they arrived. "Harry!" she admonished and then hurried to his side when she saw the state of him. Hagrid dumped him on the bed, and Hermione helped him lay comfortably. Ron saw, with some surprise, that Ginny didn't seem put-out at all by Hermione's fuss over Harry. Instead she went to the small table near the couch and poured a glass of water from the pewter pitcher there, took a deep drink while holding her middle.
"Why do you never listen?" Hermione was saying. "You know you need to take better care of yourself." She went on and on while she pulled out a small stone flask and held it up to his lips. He swallowed down the contents, coughed and gagged at the taste, and then took the offered fresh cup of water from Ginny, all while Hermione continued to nag. "This draught won't work on its own, you know," she said. "You've got to get enough rest and enough to eat. Have you been eating?" A glance to the plate beside the bed that she'd brought him that morning told her he hadn't.
Once Hagrid, Lupin and Moody departed, Ginny, sitting next to her dozing boyfriend, turned to Hermione who was jotting things down in a bound journal on Ron's bed. "Do you," she began, and then started again a little louder. "Do you remember when we were cleaning out number 12 a couple of years ago?"
Hermione looked up and considered her. "I remember the doxies. And the bogart."
"There was a locket that someone found in the parlor. About this big," Ginny said, making a fist, "and quite heavy. Do you remember?"
Hermione looked off at nothing as she thought back. Ron felt his heart quicken a little. He loved it when she did that. But he didn't want to be caught staring again, so he went back to Dumbledore's journal. It was the only one to survive as Ron had had it in his own room when the tower came down.
"I think…didn't I try to get it open? None of the spells I knew at the time worked." Hermione nodded at Ginny. "It was an ugly old thing, wasn't it?"
"Harry thinks it's the fifth Horcrux?"
"What? No!" Hermione's fingers went to her mouth. Harry startled out of his light doze, and then settled back once Ginny touched his arm. "Is it still there?" Hermione asked. "Wasn't it thrown out? Blast it all! I don't know why Sirius was so insistent on clearing the place of his family's-"
Ginny cut her off with a glare and a hand up to stop her. Harry was still very defensive of Sirius, and she was smart to head off any tension before it had a chance to build. Though, with the heavy breath sounds once again coming from Harry, it was doubtful that he'd heard any of their conversation. Ron looked at his girlfriend's stern expression and was puzzled by how critical Hermione could be of Sirius, who everyone knew was cooler than cool, and still have tenderness in her heart for that deranged house elf Kreacher.
"The locket might not have been thrown out," Ron told her. "Kreacher was stealing stuff from the rubbish boxes, and also remember when Harry caught Mundungus with all sorts of Black family heirlooms in Hogsmeade. He was stealing from number 12 and pawning things."
"Voldemort's Horcrux was pawned?" Hermione looked scandalized. "Well, it did have something that looked like a crest on it. Someone was likely to think it valuable, even if it wouldn't open."
"A crest?" Harry sat up in the bed. Apparently he had heard the conversation, after all. "Slytherin's crest?"
"I don't remember. Actually, I don't think I recognized it."
Harry pointed to the stack of books Hermione had at the end of her bed, and then to the book at the bottom. Hogwarts: A History. Ginny retrieved it for him, and he flipped rapidly through the pages.
"Did it look like this?" he asked, holding up the book.
It was Slytherin's crest: a serpent in the shape of an S, with swords crossed on either side. Hermione hesitated.
"Could have been. I don't really remember. It was a long time ago, and I wasn't really looking that hard at it. I think I'd assumed it was the Black crest, but I don't know why I thought so."
Harry produced a handkerchief from the drawer beside his bed. "This is the Black family crest." Hermione went to his beside and studied the embroidery. She glanced from it to the image in the book.
"Why do you have a Black handkerchief?" Ron asked.
"Sirius gave it to me."
Well, that should've been obvious, Ron thought. It looked as if it had never been used. The few things his godfather gave him were prized possessions to Harry.
"It was this," Hermione said pointing to the book. "Or at least more this than that." More the Slytherin crest than the Black.
"You're sure?" Harry asked, his voice low and controlled. Ron could tell he was getting excited again and trying not to worry Ginny.
"No, of course I'm not sure!" Hermione snapped. "It was years ago!"
"We need to talk to Mundungus," Harry said.
"Well, not right now," Hermione told him. "Lay back and let that potion I made for you work."
"But-"
She looked sternly at him. "Harry, honestly, even if we knew where the Horcrux was, you're in no shape to dispatch it, let alone fight whatever it is that will follow two weeks after. Now lay back and nap. Let us do some of the work for you."
He turned to Ginny for help, but she was looking through the discarded Hogwarts: A History. With a huff of frustration he flopped backwards on to the pillow.
"Thank you," Hermione said, self-satisfied, and she went back to the other bed, and to her journal.
Ron glanced down at Dumbledore's writing again. Emma Thistleblow. She was a Muggle-born. Ron had read and re-read the five written pages where Dumbledore described her and her many wonderful attributes. She was lovely and smart – brilliant was the word he had used over and over. She was inquisitive and kind to those she felt needed some kindness in their lives. Ron looked up at his girlfriend, bent over her book, quill scratching away. Hermione was all of those things. Was it possible that Dumbledore once fancied a girl like Hermione? Was he ever eighteen? It was so hard to imagine a Dumbledore without a long, white beard, without spectacles and wrinkles and wisdom garnered from a century of life.
Dumbledore had lost his love, though. And Ron knew that had he and Hermione not been Fated, he would've lost her, too.
"Oh, my stars!" Ginny sat up straight. "Oh, my bloody stars!" She scrambled to Harry's closet and pulled her jeans off the door hook. From the pocket she pulled out a folded piece of parchment. Ron recognized it as the second prophecy.
"What is it?" Harry asked.
She ignored him. "Hermione, do you still have…of course you do. What were the words that the runes translated to? The runes on the scepter?"
Hermione stared at her for a moment, studied her face, and seemed troubled by what she saw. Then she flipped to the back of her journal and pulled out a parchment of her own. "What are you thinking, Ginny?"
"Tell me what the runes say once the code is broken."
Hermione read, "'Ultimate, Doom, Prophecy."
"No, the last one. The one you didn't think was likely. The most ancient translation."
"Uh…Prophecy, Secret, Forgiveness. But you're right, it is unlikely because…" She lost her train of thought as Ginny thrust her scrap of parchment in front of her and grabbed Hermione's quill from her hand.
"Here," Ginny said, and scribbled of the parchment. "If you capitalize Secret and Forgiven… Do you see? This prophecy came out of the scepter with the words Prophecy, Secret, and Forgiveness on it! Can you see it?"
"I…do…" Hermione said. "But…wait. This rune 'Forgiveness' is a noun, as in a person or thing that represents forgiveness. So, I suppose you could look at it as…Forgiven. The Forgiven."
"What are you on about?" Harry asked impatiently.
"But what does that mean?" Ginny asked her. "Even if we decided that Ravenclaw purposely had those particular runes carved on her scepter for a reason, and we're certain that 'Forgiven' and 'Secret' should be capitalized, how does that help us?"
Hermione read from the prophecy: "'The Dark One will end with an evil death, only if the Chosen can keep his Forgiven Secret.'" She slumped a little, as did Ginny next to her. "You're right. We've already decided that Ron's the Secret."
Ron knew, though. He understood, and it send a chill right through the center of him. He knew and they didn't. "I'm the Secret," he said to Hermione. "But you're the Forgiven." She just stared at him, as did Ginny and Harry. "You cast an Unforgivable, and were…forgiven. We are together the Forgiven Secret. We know the Fates meant us to be together. They see us as one." Tears rose in her eyes, but didn't fall. A lump formed in Ron's throat.
It was difficult to accept that they were Fated; that the Fates had singled them out, even with physical proof. It was even harder to know that the Fates had spoken of them as one in prophecy form. Yes, Harry in a prophecy was one thing – he was Harry Potter, after all. But Ron? Well, he wasn't anyone special. It just all seemed so terribly wrong. And yet, he knew with everything in him that it wasn't. He was the Secret and she was the Forgiven.
Hermione looked back down at the parchment. "'The Dark One will end with an evil death, only if the Chosen can keep his Forgiven Secret, only if the Chosen can protect his heart-" She gasped and looked to Ginny. "You're the Heart!"
"No, she's not!" Harry insisted. They all turned to stare at him now, surprised by his vehemence. "She can't be! She's not!"
"Harry?" Hermione said. "We know how you feel about Ginny-"
"It says that the heart will be broken. She's not the Heart with a capital H. It's not Ginny!"
"Harry," Ginny said, quietly and calmly.
"NO!"
Hermione skipped down and read: "'For some Hearts will surely be broken, and some deeds cannot be Forgiven, and some Secrets are meant to be told.'"
The words seemed heavier now, more ominous, even though Ron wasn't entirely sure what they meant. "Doesn't sound good for any of us, does it?" he quipped, though not as lightly as he'd intended.
While Harry rested, everyone else calling Hogwarts home had work to do. Wizards and witches came and went at all hours of the day and night, filtered through several layers of security both at the main gate and at the entrance of the castle proper. Ron worked closely with Moody exploring strategy options with their available fire power. It became clear to Ron early on that this wasn't just a war between Harry and Voldemort, or even the Order and the Death Eaters. The entire wizarding world was fighting good against bad, light against dark. And it was difficult for Ron to remember that not all good could be relied on to help, and that not all dark was their enemy.
The merepeople and centaurs that lived on Hogwarts grounds were technically considered good creatures, as they weren't dark, but neither of them trusted wizards or man enough to be drawn to one side or the other. Both, however, had made it clear that should they go under attack – as the centaurs had the year before – they would respond with all due force. Ron rather thought that both would've joined their ranks had Dumbledore still been alive. The old wizard had a way of befriending even the most neutral of peoples.
Between meetings with Moody and the continued lessons with McGonagall, Ron's days were full and exhausting. He saw his mother at supper usually, which was pleasant enough, and got to play with Jack for a few minutes before he went down in the evenings.
Jackie was three months old now. Tonks had been dead for ten weeks. Ron hated that he was keeping track. Lupin still cried for her when he thought no one was paying attention. Ron worried for him. But not as much as he worried for Ginny.
With Harry, Ginny seemed almost her old self, though withdrawn, and maybe a little tired. Without Harry she was a person Ron had never met - angry and critical and cynical – when she talked at all. She avoided other people, particularly their mum. She had nightmares and often woke several times a night screaming so loud and rough that her voice was scratchy in the morning. But Ginny didn't cry. And she didn't smile anymore.
Hermione and Ron had been discussing just this on their way back from their nightly toilet when Sir Nick floated by. "Good evening to the both of you!" he said amiably as he turned and began to float backwards in front of them to keep up with their stride. "I trust you're finding Ravenclaw Tower quite comfortable."
"Hello, Sir Nick. It's fine," Hermione said. Ron greeted him with a "Hiya."
"Good, good," he said, and glanced over his shoulder before asking, "Can I trouble you for a moment of your time? My fellow ghosts and I are terribly upset by recent events, as I'm sure you are as well, and we can't help but think that the…infiltration…was far from and isolated incident. The Grey Lady has gone so far as to say it's a small taste of what is to come, and this has us…well, nervous. We see the preparations that are taking place in the castle. Well, in what is left of the castle, I should say. We want to help."
"You do?" Hermione asked. "Because you should probably know that we do anticipate another attack here, quite possibly the last attack."
"Last?" Sir Nick asked in a squeaky voice. "Yes, well…we – the other ghosts and I - are spirits bound to a place, and to be bound to rubble, well, it's exceedingly unpleasant, as one might imagine. Many of us worry, though, that it could be worse still if Hogwarts were to go the way of the Shrieking Shack. All those souls…lost forever."
"But…" Hermione said, confused. "They were already dead."
"Dead, yes," Sir Nick said somewhat defensively. "But there is a difference between death and oblivion."
"Sir Nick," Ron said, cutting in. "What about the portraits? Can we count on their help as well?" He was thinking of a communication system that would stretch out beyond Hogwarts to anywhere there were companion portraits. They'd have to distinguish the Dark from the rest, but he thought that could be done. Having the Hogwarts ghosts and portraits on their side could prove advantageous.
"I shall consult Sir Cadogan," Sir Nick said. He floated away and Ron's mind continued to work on the new possibilities. Most of their current Death Eater intelligence came by word of mouth from Order members. Trouble was, many of the Order members had been successfully identified – they were difficult to miss, actually. Anyone who was ever friendly with Dumbledore was suspect. So, gathering information was a difficult and dangerous process. Now, potentially any portrait in the school might link to one where conversations could be overheard without danger to anyone. Sinister plots might be witness, and then reported an instant later. They might actually know what was going on out there as it was happening!
"Don't you think we should've talked this over with Harry first?" Hermione asked.
Ron wasn't worried. He was certain Harry would appreciate the beauty in having an information network, and the ghosts would add extra security, especially when time ran close. He should tell Moody right away, though.
"You can make it back to the room, can't you?" he asked, already turning to take the corridor to the Professor's Corridor.
"Ron? Where are you going? We're supposed to stay together! It was your stupid rule, you know! And we're already a person down! Ron!"
"I'll be quick," he assured her, and broke into a jog.
How many ghosts were in the castle, anyway? Dozens probably. Ron only knew the names of the four House Ghosts and Professor Binns, who, when last someone had checked, was still teaching History of Magic to an empty classroom.
Down two corridors, and one set of stairs, through the vestibule and onto the professor's floor. Ron knocked. There was no response, which struck Ron as odd. Moody could be out on patrol, he supposed, or checking with new arrivals, or a hundred other things. There wasn't any reason for the uneasy sensation in the base of Ron's belly. And yet…there it was. Something was happening. He needed to find Moody. And maybe Hermione. He never should've left her on her own.
Ron rushed down hall after hall, the portraits whispering as he passed. He tried to tell himself that Hermione was fine – she'd had her wand, after all, and with all the Order in the castle, plus the multiple checkpoints, it was virtually impossible that someone should get in undetected. Surely Moody was just having a bite in the Great Hall. Or an extra leisurely bath. The more he tried to convince himself he was over-reacting, the more Ron knew something was not right. By the time he reached his corridor he was sprinting, and he didn't slow down until he was through the door.
Harry was still in bed, though sitting up and participating avidly in a conversation between Hermione, McGonagall, Moody and…Neville?
"Oi!" Ron said skidding to a stop. "Longbottom! I didn't expect – what the bloody hell are you doing here? There a war on!"
"Language, Mr. Weasley," McGonagall corrected.
"What's happened?" Moody demanded, still twitching from Ron's abrupt entrance. He did lower his wand, though.
"Neville's come to help us," Harry said energetically.
"You don't say!" Ron returned.
"We've yet to make a decision on that," Moody insisted. "I'm for packing the lad off! Too many children involved with this already!"
"And I agree," McGonagall seconded. "Mr. Longbottom, certainly your place is with your grandmother at times like this."
"My gran said I haven't got to come home until You-Know-Who is good and dealt with. She said my parents wouldn't do any less, and any son of theirs would do the same."
McGonagall looked appalled. Moody snorted his disgust. "Funny how we don't see your gran here, now do we? Ready to deal with You-Know-Who on her own?"
Neville just shrugged and looked a little lost. "Well, she is quite old."
"Welcome aboard, mate," Ron said. "Make yourself at home – although," he glanced around the room. It was already far too small for four people, especially when one of them wanted to be intimate with his girlfriend. "Just not here, right? Maybe Professor McGonagall can find you a room?" He looked expectantly at her, as did they all.
"Oh, all right," she conceded, though not gracefully. Her voice went a little shrill. "But I would like it to be known that I disapprove. Neville, regardless of your grandmother's obvious blindness to you, you would be far better off with as much distance between you and Hogwarts as you can get."
"All things being equal, Professor," Neville said earnestly, "I think I can be useful here. Like Hermione said, I'm good with plants and herbs. I can help her with her potions and Healing Salves. I'd like to be…useful."
"Yes, well." McGonagall touched his shoulder tenderly. "Come with me. We'll see if we can find you a bed. Mr. Weasley, do not think that I didn't notice you arriving in such haste alone. If you are to take a leadership position and assist in the creation of rules for others to follow, we expect that you will be setting an example." And with that, she left with Neville on her heels.
Moody followed, but grumbled under his breath: "They've got infiri, vampires, werewolves, and an army of evil wizards. What have we got? Teenagers!"
Ron decided he'd wait until morning to tell him about the ghosts and portraits.
Number 12 was dark and damp, and it felt once more as if the walls were crawling. They'd only been gone a couple of months and already they had a doxy infestation and something large was knocking around inside the grandfather clock in the entry. Ron worried it was a boggart. Once Moody determined the coast was clear, Ron and Hermione headed to the parlor, Moody and Shacklebolt went down to the kitchens, and Ron's mum with Neville and Ginny headed upstairs – all searching for a locket that might be black or gold, but was certainly heavy and held a piece of Voldemort's soul.
"I think there used to be a cabinet over there," Hermione pointed to a cabinet-less space in one corner of the room. "I think I remember cleaning it out."
"Well, we can't very well search what isn't there any longer, can we?" Ron said. Hermione immediately went to the books shelves and rummaged among them. He would never understand her. "You think one of us stuck an old, un-openable locket among the books, do you?"
She rolled her eyes and sighed with exasperation. "Ron, please. I just want to be sure we've checked everywhere."
In truth, there weren't many places to put a heavy piece of jewelry in the parlor any longer. Since Harry had had the archimagitect in, the house's furnishings had been pared down to the minimum for comfort and style. Countless curios, old chairs, and dusty knick-knacks had been removed from the manse without Ron ever missing them. Which led the mind to wonder…
"The archimagitect," Ron said. "What do we know about him?"
Hermione turned and looked at him. "The archimagitect?"
"He had access to this whole place. He took it apart and put it back together again in a different order. He touched everything, didn't he? Wouldn't have been hard for him to 'move' something away, now would it?" Ron could see the concern cloud Hermione's face.
"I'm sure Harry had him cleared or something, before he hired him," Hermione said, though she didn't sound sure at all.
"Cleared by whom? The Ministry? The Order?"
"Moody, I'd assume," she said. Her brows rose and fell as she spoke, a sure sign she was worried, too. "Ron, you don't think he'd be so careless, do you? I mean, this is the Order Headquarters. He must've at the very least…" She didn't finish that thought. Her eyes locked with his, and in that moment they exchanged more than glances. Ron heart began to race, his mouth went dry. He witnessed the instant she knew what he knew, believed what he believed, and it was thrilling. He couldn't help but smile. She couldn't help but return it.
Which made Moody's abrupt entrance all the more infuriating. He came in with Shacklebolt. "Found nothing," he said gruffly. He stopped abruptly when he saw Ron and Hermione.
Shacklebolt bumped into him with a mumbled, "Sorry mate." The healers at St. Mungo's had done as much as they could for the scar that ran jaggedly across Shacklebolt's face. But much of the left side of his mouth remained paralyzed in a droopy fashion that affected his speech.
Moody didn't give him a chance to talk. He stepped forward and demanded: "What're you two doing, standing there, smiling at each other like that?" His magic eye sized them both up, then disappeared into his head, presumably to make sure everything was all right upstairs.
Ron and Hermione exchanged innocent looks.
"What's happened?" Moody demanded again. "Did you find it?"
"It's not here," Hermione said bluntly.
Moody's magic eye refocused on her. He took a couple of limped steps toward her. His eye was telling him something. "You're going to tell me you know where it is?"
"No," she told him. "We don't know. But we think Harry might."
"Only he doesn't know it," Ron added.
Moody's eye spun around to Ron a fraction of a second before the rest of his head did. "What do you know, pimple?"
Ron shook his head. "It's what Harry knows that's the key."
"It's Mundungus, I tell you!" Harry insisted from his angry perch on the bed. His legs were crossed tightly, as were his arms across his chest. "Someone needs to talk to Mundungus! We're wasting time with this rubbish!"
"But," Hermione said stepping forward. Ron touched her arm. It was useless to fight Harry when he was like this. She knew it just as well as he. Harry had been left to convalesce physically, but mentally he'd been doing acrobatics in that bed for the last few weeks. He was beyond stir-crazy, and his patience was thread-bare.
Hermione gave Ron a stern look. It was difficult for her to let anything go, especially if she believed she was right. She conceded, though, however reluctantly, and stepped back beside Ron.
"Talking to Mundungus isn't as simple as you seem to think," Moody snapped at Harry. "It's not a tea party, Harry. The man's in Azkaban."
"Without the dementors," Harry reminded them all. "The ministry's in charge of the prison again."
"You still can't very well walk in the front door!" Moody insisted.
Harry's eyes narrowed. "No, you're right." He threw back the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed.
"Now, Harry!" Hermione began.
"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" Moody challenged him.
"What I should've done ages ago," Harry told him. He tested his legs, and then stood, and he seemed as surprised as anyone that he didn't collapse. "Now, if you would," he said and pointed at the door. "I need to dress."
"Now wait one bloody minute!" Moody demanded. "We need you whole-"
"No," Harry told him. "You need me to defeat Voldemort. And in order to do that, we need this Horcrux. Mundungus has it. And I'm going to get it." His voice was low and controlled, and Ron recognized it from that afternoon he and Harry had gone to the Ministry together. Never in a million years would Ron even think to speak to Moody that way. Never would he dare. But Moody didn't hex Harry, didn't even argue further. He glared a little, and his eye refocused on Harry. Then he shook his head and limped out the door. Most everyone else followed.
"Ron," Harry said to stop him. When the door closed it was just Harry and Ginny, and Ron. Ginny hadn't budged from her seat on the bed, one leg tucked under her and the other draped over the side of the mattress. "It's not that I don't believe what you said. You made a good point about the archimagitect. But it's Mundungus. I'm sure of it."
"What makes you so sure?" Ron asked.
"Because I saw him, Ron. I saw him with Sirius' stuff."
Ron shrugged. "It could be Mundungus, I suppose. Or you could be irrational the way you always are when Sirius is concerned. Either way, it's your call, mate. I'm with you."
"That's…" Harry inhaled deeply. "Thanks. I knew you would be, but I needed to hear you say it." He went to his trunk for clothes, and Ginny got up to help him. Ron decided it was time to leave.
Before he closed the door behind him he heard Ginny ask, "Uh…Harry. You did check out the archimagitect, though, didn't you? Through the Order or the Ministry or something? Right? You checked references?"
"I…uh…" Harry's hesitation made Ron look up, and Harry's gaze met his for the briefest moment. "I'm not sure," Harry said. "I think so."
What he didn't say was that, at the time, he'd been so deep in Hermione that he might've checked out the archimagitect and not even remembered. Or he might've blown bubbles out his arse.
"So, what's the plan?" Ron asked as they passed the magic windows in the Ministry corridor. Today they showed a calm pastoral scene with fluffy white clouds and flocks of birds flying in V formations.
"Just follow my lead," Harry said. He was walking slowly, but with determination. "I might need some energy, if we're here too long. I'll signal you."
This worried Ron, and he studied his friend's profile. It had been nearly six weeks since they'd destroyed the scepter Horcrux, and Harry still looked sickly. It was amazing that he'd been able to stay on his broom as far as the Main Gate, and then Apparate on his own to London. Hell, Ron was amazed that he was still upright.
"I don't think that's such a good idea," Ron said finally. They both knew it, of course. The more Ron fed him in this condition the weaker Harry would grow, and the longer it would take him to recover his own strength. And, at the rate he was currently going, Ron rather thought it could take years. They didn't have a years.
"Just follow my lead."
The Minister refused to see them, of course. Harry went in, anyway, and left the Undersecretary balking at his nerve. The Minister stood and glowered at Harry's entrance. He didn't seem to notice Ron at all.
"Why do you bother to announce yourself if you're going to force your way in anyway?" Scrimgeour asked.
"Why do you bother to deny me an audience when you know I'm going to force my way in?" Harry countered. "But I haven't come to discuss manners and civility."
"Merlin's beard!" The Minister said, taking in Harry's appearance for the first time. "So, the rumors are true. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has attacked you!"
"Repeatedly," Harry told him. "But this was not him – or at least not him directly."
"But you look like death warmed over!"
"A necessary casualty, I'm afraid," Harry quipped with a lightness that betrayed the dark underneath. "Fortunately my girlfriend doesn't seem to mind."
"Yes, well," the Minister said, and trying not to stare. To Ron's surprise, Harry took the un-offered leather arm chair opposite the Minister's heavy desk. Scrimgeour's smile was like that of a lion showing his teeth. "So, what do you want, then?
"I'm in need of something. Of a missing key to defeating Voldemort." At the Minister's shudder Harry turned to the Undersecretary who'd followed them in, a ferret-like man with a weak chin and fur-like hair. "You'll understand when I say that what I have to say to the Minister must stay between the Minister and myself. And my Smisurato," Harry added, when the little man looked to Ron. Harry indicated Ron with a jab of his chin. "And that secret is still safe, I trust."
"Of course," the Minister assured somewhat defensively. He waved to his assistant, who then scurried from the room. "Now what is it?"
Harry took his time, made sure he had the Minister's full attention. "Mundungus Fletcher. He's in Azkaban."
"Now why do I know that name?" the Minister asked, sitting back in his chair and tapping his finger tips together over his broad chest. "Fletcher, you said?"
"He was caught pretending to be an Inferius at a crime scene. He's a petty thief, actually. And not a very good one."
"Another Stan Shunpike, is it? Well, I'll say to you now as I have in the past: I do not release Azkaban Prisoners because someone asks me to!"
"I'm the Chosen One," Harry corrected him. "Not just someone. And I don't want him released. I just need to speak to him. Here. Now."
The Minister's bushy brows rose. "You can't honestly believe that I would bring an Azkaban prisoner here."
"And now," Harry said confidently. "We're in a bit of a rush."
The look of shock on the Minister's face melted into mirth and he let loose with a huge, rumbling belly laugh as he dropped into his chair. "You had me going for a minute, there, Potter!" he said, wagging his finger at Harry. "You're one cocky redcap, I tell you!
"Either I talk to Mundungus now or Voldemort will be able to get the key to his vulnerability before I do, and all will be lost. Assuming, of course, that he hasn't already sent his Death Eaters in to get Mundungus."
"Into Azkaban?" the Minister scoffed. "Don't be insulting! I've got three dozen Aurors guarding the place."
"Lucius Malfoy played heavily in the attack on Hogwarts a week or two back," Harry said flatly. "And as I understand it, he was one of Azkaban's more famous inmates. If they can get out, sir, I can assure you they can get it. Our biggest and best hope right now is that Mundungus has what we need, and luckily, thus far, he's managed to remain over-looked by Voldemort."
"Please!" The Minister said with a wince. "Not that name. Not here."
"Very well," Harry told him. "I trust that you now understand the importance and sensitivity of the situation. We should have the meeting here, in your office…" The Minister began to protest, but Harry talked over him. "…as it's the most heavily defended and un-snoopable room in Britain."
"You honestly think I'm going to do this?" asked the Minister. "You're mad."
"Just enough to make me the right man for the job," Harry agreed. He leaned heavily on one arm of the chair and deliberately tapped his ear three times. The Minister didn't seem to have noticed, but Ron did. Was this the signal? One might reason that if there was going to be a signal then one might discuss what that signal was supposed to be ahead of time. Especially when the signal was about a very bad idea.
Harry and the Minister went another couple of rounds, but Ron hardly heard them. He was concentrating on bringing his cold up from the depths of his well and reaching out for Harry. He found him and was shocked at how very little there was in his well. It was dangerous, what Harry wanted him to do. Risky. And Ron didn't understand the point. Mundungus didn't have the Horcrux, and Ron was certain the wizard didn't know where it was.
Perspiration broke out around Harry's ear and a drop slowly began its downward track. He was counting on Ron to back him in front of the Minister. And Ron had given his word that he would. Of course he would. Slowly Ron allowed his magic to pool around Harry's, and then he felt Harry tug at him. Ron willingly gave whatever Harry took.
Harry sat up straighter in the chair. He managed a stiff smile. "I'm glad we could come to an agreement, then, sir," he said to the Minister. "We'll wait here for Mr. Fletcher while you make the arrangements. And, if you don't mind, Minister…a chair for my Smisurato?"
"Of course," the Minister said through clenched teeth. Then he stormed out of his own office.
Harry took a deep breath and smiled wanly at Ron. "Thanks, mate. That was a life saver."
Ron nodded, but he wasn't so sure.
It took an hour for them to bring Mundungus in, and Ron was appalled by what he saw. The old man's blood-shot, baggy eyes were crusted with grime and filth, and his once stringy, ginger hair was now a muddled grey streaked with a year's worth of dirt and grease. He was what squat men become when they're underfed and under exercised: gaunt the way starved cows become. His sad, dirty face was covered by a beard so thick and matted it hardly looked like hair anymore. Ron wasn't certain he understood where he was. The wizard looked dazed.
When he saw Harry, Mundungus dropped to his knees on the floor. That's when the stench hit Ron.
"Help," was all Mundungus was able to get out. It was quite possible it was the first word he'd uttered in a year.
"You stole things from the Black Family Mansion, Mundungus."
"No," said the man groveling on the floor. "I wouldn't. Not me. Help. Please."
"I know you did," Harry insisted. Ron didn't know how he was able to stand there, looking down on the pathetic wizard at his feet. Ron had to look away. "I don't care anymore. I just need to know what happened to the things you took."
Mundungus shook his head. Ron could see the lice crawling across his scalp. "It's gone. All gone."
"Did you sell it?" Harry demanded. "Pawn it?"
"I don't…I don't…help." The man broke down into shallow sobs.
"There was a locket. A large, heavy, black locket. What happened to it?"
"I don't," Mundungus said between gasps. "I don't…"
Harry dropped to one knee and grabbed Mundungus by the beard, forced his face up, forced the man to look at him. "Did you ever find a large, black locket?"
"It wouldn't open," Mundungus whispered.
"Where is it?"
"Kreacher. That wretched house elf."
"Kreacher doesn't have it," Harry said, his voice getting very dangerous. Ron felt him pulling more energy.
"It wouldn't open," Mundungus repeated. "Worthless. Ugly. I let the beast have it. I took the candlesticks instead."
Harry dropped him, and he fell to the floor. The man began to sob again. The Minister looked horror-struck by what he'd just witnessed, and the state of the man on his carpet. And the smell.
"How many more years to his sentence?" Harry asked him. His hand was black where he'd touched the prisoner.
"I…uh…" It took a moment, and a throat clearing for the Minister to recall. "Two."
"Reduce it," Harry told him. "To time already served. He's a petty thief. He doesn't deserve this."
The Minister shook his head.
"You will," Harry said. "Not because it's politically advantageous or because people will hail you merciful and wise. You will do it because it's the right thing to do."
"I can't…" the Minister said. He couldn't seem to look up from the weeping creature on his floor.
"I rather think you can do anything you put your mind to," Harry told him. "You are the Minister, after all. You just have to do it."
Two guards came in then, and hauled the limp, crying form that was once Mundungus out of the office. There was a large smudge on the carpet where he'd been. Ron followed Harry out. He couldn't look at his friend, and neither of them spoke until they got back to Hogwarts. And even then, neither said a word to each other.
"You didn't see him. He was scary," Ron said the next morning in the third floor girl's washroom. No one used it because it was fairly close to where Gryffindor Tower had once been and still smelled strongly of smoke. This made it an ideal place for Ron and Hermione to be alone. Ginny and Harry were back in the room being alone as well.
"He's Harry," Hermione said with exasperation. "How scary could he possibly have been? And you said he freed Mundungus."
"I said he tried. Who knows what the Minister will do?"
He watched as she pulled her hair back and began to scrub at her face. Her morning ritual was an odd one. Wash this bit, soak this bit, scrub this bit, but not this bit over here. It was all skin as far as Ron could see. He looked down the rest of her skin as well. After they'd made love she'd quickly showered and then dressed in her knickers. The rest was in plain sight for him to enjoy.
"And anyway, it shouldn't matter if he's scary or not. You knew what might happen if you gave him energy. He can barely walk now. Ginny acted his crutch this morning." She had a way of nagging him and rubbing soap on her face while standing mostly naked that made him feel all warm and tingly. "Ron, honestly!"
He looked up to see that she'd discovered his roaming eyes. "What? You're standing there like that and I'm not supposed to look?"
She sighed.
"Anyway," Ron said, "I think you missed the point of the story. Mundungus said he never took the locket, but he remembered it."
"Yes," she said with an exaggerated sigh. "He said Kreacher had it, but Kreacher most certainly didn't have it. It wasn't in the manse-"
"Because," Ron said feeling the excitement within him grow. He knew what was going to come next and he couldn't wait to see the expression on her face as she came to realize what he'd worked out. He couldn't wait for that moment shared between then when she came to think what he was thinking. He felt giddy at the thought.
"Because the archimagitect found it!" he continued at last. "He was rearranging things, and that included the cupboard in the kitchen where Kreacher lives. He found it and took it!"
She did look at him, but the light didn't come on as it had before. The anticipation inside him fizzled.
"But why?" she asked. "I mean, yes, I can see how it's possible, and initially I thought it was probable. But it did make more sense for Mundungus to have stolen it. If you stop and think about it."
"But Mundungus didn't steal it. He took the candlesticks instead."
"The silver ones?"
"Forget the candlesticks. It's the archimagitect. We need to find him."
"Oh, all right. Do we know his name even?"
"Harry does," Ron told her.
"So why aren't you having this conversation with Harry?" Hermione asked. And in the moment after she asked the question something struck her and she turned and looked at Ron. "Tell me why you aren't having this conversation with Harry, Ron."
He sheepishly looked down at her calves and the thick, ropey scar that stretched across the left one. "You know. He'd want to go. And you know he won't do. It's got to be you and me. And Ginny. And maybe Neville."
"Neville?"
"To even out the numbers."
"Not Moody?"
"Fine, Moody, then. Whatever! But we need to get the information out of him without cluing him in on what we're going to do with it. I need you to talk to Ginny. Convince her that this is how we protect Harry."
"You can't expect she'll lie to him. I mean, I wouldn't lie to you." She rinsed her face, studied her reflection in the mirror, and then her reflection looked at Ron. "But you're right. Harry's out of this for a while. I'll see what I can do."
Neville Longbottom had yet to make his oath to the Order, so officially he wasn't accompanying Ron, Hermione and Ginny to Hogsmeade. Although, technically Ron, Hermione and Ginny weren't officially on Order business, either, as Harry and Moody knew nothing of their plan. Neither did anyone else.
"This feels wrong," Ginny said under her breath for the hundredth time.
She wasn't just talking about the deserted streets of the wizarding town on a beautiful late spring evening, where there should've been a hundred bodies milling about, enjoying the warm air and cool breeze, the fluffy pink sunset clouds and the fading pale blue sky; and where there should've been busy little shops, but instead half of them had been burned to the ground, or else disappeared all together. Curtains slid closed as they passed. Shutters slammed shut. "This feels wrong," Ginny said again. Ron knew she wasn't talking about the silence in the air that even the birds didn't puncture. She was talking about Harry's absence.
Hermione put a hand on her shoulder. "All right, let's remember the plan. We go in, find out if he's got the locket, get the locket and leave. We don't destroy it under any circumstances, even if we could, which I doubt." Her brows played as she spoke, and Ron knew she was nervous.
"Because destroying the locket would start the fortnight timetable?" Neville asked. "I still don't quite understand that. Where did the new prophecy come from?"
"Same place as the last two," Hermione told him. "Trelawney."
"Professor Trelawney?" Neville echoed. "Merlin's beard! But she's dead!"
"We saw her die," Ron told him. "She died giving the prophecy."
"Oh," Neville said.
They continued to walk down the deserted street. A light wind rustled Ron's hair and sent a chill down his spine. It did feel wrong, Ron decided. Honeydukes Sweetshop was closed and dark, and no sugary smell wafted out as they passed by. The Three Broomsticks was burned out, just as Weasley's Wizard Wheezes has been. Gladrags was gone, too, or at least Ron thought it had been Gladrags. Not even a sign remained in the empty lot beside the Golden Box, where Ron had bought the luck charm for Hermione's birthday so many months ago.
Ginny stopped them under the Gold Box sign and pointed to the second story window that jutted out from the face of the building like an afterthought. The small sign read in green and white lettering, "Rourke O'Rourke, Archimagitect and Notary."
"This is the place?" Ron asked. Ginny nodded. Hermione tried the door. It was locked, of course. And the drapes had been tightly drawn.
"Think anyone's home?" Neville asked. "I don't see any way up to Rourke O'Rourke except through the store. Do you?" Ginny shook her head.
"Well, either they're not here, or they are," Hermione decided, and she pulled out her wand and cast a Knocking Charm at the door, and when that didn't work she cast it on the window above.
When Ron looked back down at the door again, the old hag was staring at him with her milky, sightless eyes. He gave a little startled cry that later he knew he would deny.
"What d'ya want?" the woman asked, toothless, and creaking.
"We need to speak to Rourke O'Rourke," Hermione said loudly and clearly. "The archimagitect upstairs."
"Aye, well, 'e's not 'ere! Go 'way!" And she disappeared behind the drapes.
Hermione huffed her frustration, and started to Knock on the door again, this time with vigor. Ginny rolled her eyes and pulled out her own wand and cast: "Alohomora!" The door flew open and banged on the small table behind it. There was a small crashing sound as whatever was on the table fell to the floor.
As they walked in, the old woman screamed, and a man in his forties came thundering down the stairs. He was dressed in trousers and a collared shirt, but both were shabby from wear and washing. His blond hair was about as long as Ron's, but wavy, and the curled ends bounced as he came to a halt, wand drawn.
"You're not Death Eaters!" he yelled. "You're just common thieves!"
"There's nothing common about us," Ginny assured him.
Her calm worried Ron. "We're not thieves," Ron insisted. "Are you Rourke O'Rourke? The archimagitect? We need to talk to you."
The man's light colored eyes narrowed behind thick-framed glasses. "About what?"
"You did some work for Harry Potter," Hermione said.
He jutted his chin in the air. "I don't talk about my clients – no matter how famous they are. You're groupies, then?"
"We're part of his army," Neville said, and Rourke burst out with a snort of amusement.
"You?" he said. His wand hand lowered. Apparently he no longer considered them a threat. "Get out."
"You know Harry's the Chosen One," Ginny said in voice much the same Ron had heard come out of Harry when speaking to difficult adults like the Minister of Magic. "You know he's the One to defeat Voldemort."
The hag shrieked, and Rourke raised his wand again, pointed it at Ginny's head. "How d-d-dare you!" Rourke stammered. "How dare you sat that name!"
Ginny took a step toward his outstretched arm, and Ron wasn't fast enough to stop her. "You took something from Harry's place. You took a locket."
Rourke narrowed his eyes at her, pursed his lips. "Who are you?"
"You took the locket, and we need it back."
"I took nothing!" he insisted.
"The locket's incredibly important," Hermione told him. "No matter what price you think you can get for it, it's worth more than that. Harry needs it to defeat Voldemort. It's the only way to stop him!"
Rourke's wand whipped to Hermione now, and Ron stepped in front of her. "Easy now."
"You keep saying that name!" Rourke yelled. "Who the bloody hell are you?"
"We need the locket," Ginny said again. "You will give it back to us."
"I don't have any locket!" Rourke insisted. "Now get out!"
"It's a weapon," Hermione told him, stepping out from behind Ron. "It's not something you can just sell. And it's ugly. No one will buy it."
Fury lit Rourke's eyes. "You think so, little girl? You think the Slytherin crest isn't worth a fortune?" A tinge of excitement flirted through Ron's chest. Rourke did have the locket!
"But it's just money," Neville said.
"Spoken by someone who's never had to worry about eating a day in his life," Rourke snapped. "You have no idea what it's like! For what I can get for that piece of junk my mother will never have to worry where her next meal is coming from! I'll never have to worry about getting another client again!"
"But-but it's just money!" Hermione insisted. "You're an archimagitect! Surely you don't have to worry for money like that!"
"Really?" Rourke said with a mocking expression. "And how many new magical buildings do you think get built every year? Every ten years? Every century? The Pure Bloods are the only ones with enough money to build new, and what do they do? They live in their run-down, old family homes generation after generation after generation! The last great commission was Gringotts – and that was five hundred years ago! Do you have any idea what it's like to have a useless talent? To be good at one thing, and one thing only, and have no one want it? Want you?"
"Yes," said Neville. "It's awful." Ron glanced at him – Neville was serious.
"That ugly locket, as you so blithely put it, will insure food on my table and clothes on my back. It will take care of my mother better than my profession ever could!" Rourke leveled his wand at Ginny once more. "I'm not giving it to anyone. Now, I won't say this again. Get out!"
Ginny raised her empty hand and held out her palm to him. "Give us the locket," she ordered.
The situation just got dangerous, Ron realized. Rourke was a man with nothing left to lose, and Ginny either didn't see this, or didn't care. She was taunting him. He needed to get her out of there.
Before he had a chance to do anything, though, the wall behind him blew in. Hermione crashed forward into Ron's back, and Ron, then, in turn, fell against Neville. The explosion and subsequent blow shocked Ron for a moment or two, and when he was able to move again he twisted his head up and peered through the dust in the air. Five black-robed Death Eaters were walking over the debris, the one in the lead, with his silvery white hair trailing below the back of his hood, pointed a long, black wand down at Rourke, now on the floor.
"You know what I'm here for," Lucius said almost genially. "Let's not make this any more painful for you than it really needs to be.
The hag coughed somewhere to Ron's left, and he saw her wrinkled, boney hand push a large chunk of plaster away. "I have it," she croaked out. "My son gave it to me to sell. I have it! Don't hurt him!"
"Then you will, no doubt, give it to me," Lucius said with a cruel smile.
"It's…it's around my neck," the hag told him. Her voice was wobbly and weak.
"Mother!" Rourke screamed, and in the next moment the old woman screamed as well.
Malfoy flicked his wand at her, and the locket soared into his hand, large and black and solid. Ron heard the slap of flesh and metal. "Thank you," Lucius said, and turned to go.
But Ron couldn't allow it to happen. He couldn't let Voldemort get his Horcrux back. In one movement he rolled, aimed and shot Malfoy in the back with the first spell he could think of. "Rictuseptra!"
Lucius immediately stopped and grabbed his sides. His hood fell to one side, and Ron could see his face twisted in agony as he began to laugh uncontrollably. Not the most brilliant of ideas Ron had ever come up with, but at least he hadn't gotten away. Another Death Eater then aimed at Ron, and he was able to roll out of the way a split second before the board his head had been on burst into blue flames. Hermione was moving now, too, and Ron saw her crawl toward Lucius. The wood ceiling overhead groan threateningly. It was just a matter of time before it came down on them all.
The other three Death Eaters made a mad dash for Lucius, who had collapsed under the Tickle Spell, and was now fetal trying to fight the laughter. One aimed at Hermione, and Ron hit him with, "Eat slugs!" The man staggered back, but it took a few seconds before he ripped off his hood and doubled over.
Neville shot another Death Eater, and Rourke another, but the last hit Ginny in the stomach with a Punching Charm just as she was getting to her feet, and she flew through the air, and landed hard against the stairs with a cry. Ron and Neville hit that Death Eater at the same time. Then not even a second later Ron was sliced with a Cutting Hex shot from the wizard vomiting giant slugs, and he felt the terrible burn sear across his arm and chest. He cried out, which distracted Hermione just long enough to be hit by the Cruciatus Curse. She screamed in agony and Ron cried out for her. After that things went a little hazy. He fired a couple of Trip Jinxes, and possibly a Stupefy Hex, but he may or may not have hit anyone. Neville flashed by him at one point, and Hermione screamed again. Ron tried as hard as he could to get to her, but his head was spinning and his chest felt as if it was on fire. When had it gotten cold? He reached out to her with his magic, needing to know that she was still there, and he found her easily. He held back, focused on not giving or taking. He felt her magic surge and swell around him as she cast hex after hex. There was nothing shallow about her well as she fired her spells, and Ron realized he was hearing fuzzy blasts somewhere in the distance, and knew they were coming from her.
Reassured, Ron managed to open his eyes and sit up. Neville had the locket clutched to his chest. Three of the Death Eaters had recovered enough to battle, as had Rourke. Ron saw the green bolt of energy come out of the third Death Eater's wand and, as if in slow motion, he watched it soar through the room, past him and then Hermione. It lit the shadows and rubble with an eerie, sickly light before it hit Neville square in the chest.
It wasn't until it was all over that Ron realized the incantation the Death Eater had used. "DIE!"
The room exploded. Ron felt airborne. And then everything went silent and black.
End of chapter 20