False Fate
By MD1016

Part IV: The War
Chapter 21 – The Count Down

The first thing Ron was aware of was the smell of smoke and charred wood, and of blood. There was a tightness across his chest, and pain. He reached up to run his fingers over it and felt the hot, stickiness of blood-soaked fabric, and the tenderness of a fresh wound. He groaned at the pain, but it wasn't anything like it had been before. He would live.

Ron managed to open his eyes, and had to blink a couple of times to understand where he was: on top of the remains of a wall, up against what used to be a display case. He looked down. The gash that had been slashed across his chest was closed. His head swam and dipped. He felt cold. He vomited.

"RON!" It was Hermione's voice, and she called to him again. He twisted his head, tried to find her through the smoke. Oh, there she was. By the stair.

"RON!" she screamed again. "I need you!"

He had to force his arms and legs to move, and it seemed a tremendous effort. Still dizzy, Ron managed to push himself up onto his feet and hold his balance. He blinked a couple of times.

"RON!"

Somehow he climbed over smoldering timbers. It was dark, Ron realized, and most of the light to see by came from the small fires still licking the debris on the floor. He looked up and saw stars. What had happened to the second story? They were still in the shop, weren't they? Looking for…what was his name? The archi…what was it again? Ron blinked, but it hurt his head, so he followed the sound of Hermione's shrill voice.

"You hurt?" he asked, when finally reached her. She looked battered and filthy, but she was moving much faster than he was. She was covered in blood. And then he realized that her hand was pressing her once-green jumper between Ginny's legs, and Ginny was on her back on the stairs and she wasn't moving. The blood was Ginny's.

"I haven't the energy to get her back St. Mungo's," Hermione said quickly. "Can you Apparate her there?"

"What happened to Ginny?" Ron asked. "Why is there so much blood?"

"I don't know," Hermione said, and then a sob escaped her, and Ron realized that she'd been crying. There were clean tracks down her face where the tears had washed away the soot. "I think…oh, Merlin, Ron. I think she's miscarrying."

They were words without meaning to Ron, and he stared down at his sister, more pale and lifeless than he'd ever seen. "Ginny…" escaped from his mouth.

"Ron!" Hermione yelled, grabbed his arm to make him look at her. "Take her to St. Mungo's!"

"But you-"

"I'm fine. I've got to find Neville."

"Neville," Ron said, and then exhaled. Ron remembered the green light, and then the "DIE!" "He's gone, Hermione."

"I have to look! Take Ginny! She's losing blood!"

Ron wasn't able to pick her up, so Hermione helped lean her limp body against him, and he concentrated on St. Mungo's emergency lobby and began the little twirl. The squeezing began almost immediately, and seemed to last forever. When Ron finally opened his eyes again he was looking at a pretty young healer in white robes rushing toward him.

"Help her," he said. Ginny was lifted from him, and he watched as a half dozen other healers swarmed around her. They floated her behind some curtains and out of sight.

"Are you quite all right?" asked a deep voice behind him. Ron turned to see a small, dark wizard looking at him with concern. "May I?" he asked. Ron nodded. The healer reached out and touched Ron's head, then shoulder, then chest. "Patch job. We'll need to fix that," he said. "Stopped the bleeding, though. Who ever Healed you likely saved your life. Oh, and looks like a concussion. You might want to lie down over there-"

Ron was sick on the healer's shoes.

"Right, then," said the wizard, and he pulled out a wand and Disappeared the mess. "Why don't you have a lie down and we'll see about setting you to rights?"

"My sister," Ron managed as the healer lead him to a cot.

"They're taking care of her," the wizard said.

"She's called Ginny."

The healer nodded. "I'll let them know."

Ron began to feel better almost immediately. Whatever it was that the healers had done to his head forced the pain back to a mere annoyance and settled his stomach. They cut his shirt off him, and he didn't much mind as it was ruined already. The wound Hermione had sealed had been deep, the healer told him, and he'd lost a lot of blood. Ron was given a vial to drink, and told that he needed to drink plenty of fluids over the next few days, and that he should be fine.

"Your girlfriend mended this?" the healer had asked. Ron didn't remember telling him that Hermione was his girlfriend, but he nodded anyway. "Lucky you. Hang on to that one, I say. You probably would've bled out before you got here, if not for her."

That stayed with Ron over the next few minutes while he contemplated the ceiling and his own mortality. And then Neville. They'd been completely unprepared for the Death Eaters to show up. Go in, get the locket, get out - that had been the plan. It had been Ron's plan. It was his fault he hadn't thought of contingencies, hadn't planned for backup, hadn't brought more experienced people. It was his fault Neville was dead. A sinking sensation settled in his belly. It could've been Hermione.

And then she was there, staring at him, her eyes wide with tears. She was still a mess, and her fluffy hair was like a dark halo around her pale face. "They said you're going to be all right," she said, though she didn't sound as if she believed it.

He sat up for her. "I'm good. You?"

She rushed to him, and wrapped her arms around his middle. "I found Neville on Scrivenshaft's roof. He doesn't remember how he got there, but I figure he must've been blown there in the explosion. Can you believe it?" She pulled away from him and smiled through her tears. A laugh bubbled out. "He's alive! And aside from a few nasty bruises, he's going to be all right!"

Ron shook his head. He couldn't believe it. "But the Death Eater-"

"Killed the Horcrux," Hermione said, and a little hysterical giggle gurgled in her throat. "It protected Neville. A little poetic justice, I think."

Ron reached up and held her face as he kissed her gently on the mouth. He wiped a tear away with his thumb. "Have you seen Ginny?" he asked. "They won't let me see her."

She shook her head. "She's…" Hermione looked down and a tear dropped to Ron's wrist. "She lost the baby."

"She lost the baby?" The sentence didn't make any sense to him. "What are you talking about? Who's baby?"

"Hers," Hermione told him. Her voice hitched. "Hers and Harry's."

She was serious and upset, and Ron couldn't wrap his mind around it. Ginny and Harry didn't have a baby. She was only sixteen. "No," Ron said, and he pushed Hermione out from between his knees. "No."

"I didn't know anything about it, either," Hermione told him. "I'm not even sure Ginny knew."

"How could she not know?" he demanded, and pushed off the bed. He couldn't sit still with this new knowledge. He paced the little alcove where they'd put him to recover.

"It's not always clear – not at the beginning-"

"He did this! How could he do that to her?"

"Oh, Ron," Hermione said, suddenly sounding tired. "I'm sure she was just as much a willing participant as he'd been."

"He wasn't careful!"

"Sometimes people aren't." She wasn't looking at him while she said this, but at his dirty trainers. "Sometimes people are caught up in the moment. Like we were, in the Prefect's bathroom…"

Ron froze. His heart skipped a beat. He remembered that night in the Prefect's bathroom. Portions of that memory he'd replayed over and over for weeks afterward. Suddenly it was difficult to swallow. "What are you trying to tell me?" Ron asked, though his voice seemed to have left him and it came out more as a whisper than anything else.

"Nothing," she said quietly. "Just that it wasn't Harry's fault. It wasn't anyone's fault. These things just happen sometimes."

"Hermione…" he begged.

"I'm not," she said quickly. "Three days later I knew for certain I wasn't. But we weren't careful that one time, and it could've happened to us, just like it happened to them. Don't blame Harry-"

And as if she conjured him, Harry was there, and his hand was on Ron's throat, and Ron was pressed against the wall. "What did you do?" Harry demanded through gritted teeth. "They said she nearly died!"

Ron choked, but couldn't get a word out. Hermione screamed for Harry to stop, and pulled on his arm. Ron was less worried about being strangled and more scared of the wiggle he felt clawing its way around his well. He pushed back against Harry's shoulders, and when that didn't work, Harry's face. Harry had to be drawing his physical strength from Ron, there was no other explanation. Earlier that day he couldn't even walk on his own. And now the sides of Ron's vision were starting to dim a little, and white lights sparkled everywhere. Harry's angry eyes poured into him.

"What did you do," Harry said again. This time there was no question.

"Harry! You're going to hurt him!" Leave it to Hermione to remind them of the obvious. Harry wanted to hurt him. Ron could see it in his eyes. "Harry, please! It wasn't his fault!"

This made Harry turn on Hermione. "You left without me!" he spat at her. "Without even telling me! And you took her!"

"Oh, Harry," Hermione said, and more tears followed. "I'm so terribly sorry!"

Harry shook his head, gave Ron a shove, and turned. "They won't let me see her," he said, his back to them. "They say she's in a bad way."

"She lost…a lot of blood," Hermione said, and Ron could see her dance around the heart of the issue. "Her back was broken in the fall, but they've got that mended all ready."

"Then why won't they let me see her?" he asked, pleaded really, and he turned back to her. His desperate eyes searched hers in an intimate way. "What could possibly have happened that they won't let me see her?"

"I…I think," Hermione began, and then had to start again. There was something unspoken going on between them, and Ron knew she was about to tell Harry a truth he wasn't prepared to hear. "I think it's not so much that they won't let you see her as, well, I don't think she wants to see you. Right now. Just now. I'm sure-"

"But why?" Harry demanded. His hands fisted, and Ron could tell from the tension in his body that he was forcing himself not to grab her.

"Maybe you should sit down, mate," Ron suggested quietly.

"Why? Please! Somebody bloody tell me what is going on!"

And Hermione began with the four of them going to the shop, and then questioning the archimagitect, and then the Death Eater's arrival, and the fight. And how Ginny was Punched back and hit the stairs hard enough to splinter the treads down the middle, and how she was pregnant and how Hermione couldn't stop the bleeding. And how Ron saved Ginny's life by getting her to St. Mungo's faster than anyone else could've, but that the baby was lost. Gone.

Harry's expression slowly went blank as he processed the story. Ron was waiting for the wiggle inside him to grow, but it never did. If anything Harry began to pull back.

"Harry, breathe," Hermione said, and she touched him, but he jerked away.

Shaking his head he turned and left the alcove and every step he took down the corridor came faster and faster until he was running around the corner and down the next hall. Ron followed with Hermione beside him. Ahead, Ron saw as one of the healers tried to prevent him from going into Ginny's room. Harry lifted a hand, and Ron felt a tug, and the healer was thrown back against the wall. Harry hadn't taken his wand out, and he hadn't spoke a word.

When Harry disappeared into her room, Ron no longer felt the pull on his energy. By the time they caught up to him, Harry was already by her bed, holding her hand. Their heads were bowed together. They cried together. Harry's hand went to her belly, and hers covered his.

Hermione pulled at Ron's arm. "Give them some time," she told him quietly. Ron nodded. That was why Harry had stopped siphoning off Ron's magic, Ron realized - Harry wanted to be completely alone with Ginny.

Neville showed up a moment later looking a little worse for wear. "They said Ginny was-"

"Harry's with her," Hermione said quickly.

"Oh," Neville said, and he looked toward her door. "Is she going to be all right?"

"We don't know yet." She turned to Ron. "We have fourteen days."

He hadn't even thought about the prophecy. A fortnight was what it promised after the fifth Horcrux was destroyed. Fourteen days before the most evil, powerful wizard in the world was going to come for them.

"Harry's not ready, Ron. None of us are ready," she added, grimly. "But especially Harry. And now this. What are we going to do?" She wanted an easy answer, something that would reassure her. Ron didn't have any for her.

It wasn't completely surprising when hospital security showed up and hauled Harry away. He had, of course, assaulted a healer. But he didn't fight them, he didn't have the energy. Halfway down the hall his feet stopped working and they had to drag him. At the end of the hall Harry went completely limp. Ron and Hermione ran to him, all while the healers bent over him and tried to determine the problem.

"He's weak," Ron called to them, and then when he was close enough he added, "His magic is weak."

"It's more than his magic," one of the healers said. "He's been infected. Looks like it's been there a long time."

"Infected?" Hermione asked. She looked horrified.

"By a particularly bad curse. Can't you see what it's done to him?" This from another healer. "How he's managed to walk around I'll never know."

"He threw Angie against the wall," the first healer told them. "Didn't even need his wand!"

Harry's arms were checked for the Dark Mark.

"Oh, for magic's sake," Hermione snapped, "he's Harry Potter!"

"Doesn't seem to make much of a difference these days, does it?" the healer asked. Then he produced a wand and levitated Harry into a nearby room.

"What's going to happen to him?" Hermione called after them. "What are you going to do? Is he going to be all right?" No response came. She turned to Ron. "Tell me he's going to be all right. Lie if you have to, but I need to hear it."

She stepped against him, pressed her forehead into his chest. Ron wrapped his arms around her. "He's going to be all right," he told her dutifully. "And Ginny. We're all going to be just fine."

That night Ron made love to Hermione in their bed at the castle, slowly and moodily. For a brief few minutes he was able to forget about everything that was happening and just sink inside her. Even Moody's rant when they had returned to Hogwarts fell away. It was a blissful snatch of time, and over all-too quickly.

"Most of the potions Neville, Marchbanks and I have been working on are finished," Hermione whispered as they lay together under the sheets. She'd retreated back to her side of the bed once they were done. "Ron, I failed you today."

He turned and looked at her in the dark. "What d'ya mean? You save my life, Ginny's life-"

"I've been training to be a battlefield healer. And when you and Ginny and Neville were hit, I didn't stop to help you. That's what I'm supposed to be there for. Like the Death Eaters who attacked Viktor and his family. You know Voldemort will have at least a few who hang back and heal. It should've been me."

"There was so much happening at once," Ron told her. "You had to make instinctual decisions."

"If I had gotten to Ginny sooner..." she whispered.

"No," Ron sternly told her. He rolled on his side and propped his head on his hand. "Don't do that. She took a Punch to the stomach. There was nothing anyone could've done." She took a deep breath, like she was trying accept what he'd said.

But Ginny made him think of other things, like what they'd done – or not done – in the Prefect's bath. "Hermione," he said quietly. "You're sure you're not…with child?"

"I'm sure," she told him. "Don't worry."

"If you were, well, you could tell me. I wouldn't be…mad, or anything."

"I know," she said.

"The thing is," Ron said, and he reached out and ran a finger down her arm. "The thought of having a baby…with you…you and me…well, it's not so bad as I once thought."

"Jack's gotten to you," she said, and he could hear a smile in her voice.

"I think you've gotten to me," Ron told her, with all seriousness.

"But don't you want to wait? Until Jack's a little older. Until we're a little older?"

"You're bloody right, I do! But if it happened, well, it wouldn't be the end of the world, that's all."

She reached out and brushed the hair back from the side of his face. Her touch was feather-light. "You think Ginny knew and didn't tell anyone? That she was afraid?"

"I don't know," Ron said, but he did think that. It was like a fist in his chest. And if she had told them, any of them, then she never would've gone with them to Hogsmeade, and she never would've gotten hurt.

"Well," Hermione said as she leaned closer to him. "I'm not Ginny." She pressed her lips to his, and then her tongue. He returned her kiss. His hand found her hip under the blankets, slid down over her rear, and he squeezed her to him.

But he couldn't make love to her again. He couldn't get the thought that Ginny had been pregnant out of his head. Another little Jack had died. Ron pulled away from his girl, and settled on his back once more. She went with him this time, though, and nestled in the crook of his arm. He was happy to hold her close.

"Harry won't forgive us for going without him," Ron whispered. "Even if there wasn't anything he could've done, he'll never forgive me for going without tell him. And taking Ginny."

"I know," Hermione whispered back. "But maybe he's not supposed to. 'For some Hearts will surely be broken, and some deeds cannot be Forgiven, and some Secrets are meant to be told.'"

"The Fates knew this would happen? They tried to warn us, didn't they?"

"Or maybe just prepare us for the inevitable."

Moody was briefed once they got back to Hogwarts that night, as were McGonagall and Lupin. Preparation for the attack began that night. Ghosts and portraits were put on full alert, all non-combating Order members were evacuated to some stronghold unknown to Ron for security reasons, and the rest began to seal off the castle. There wasn't any way they could defend the entire structure, so entire wings were closed off with powerful Locking Spells. The fewer places the Death Eaters had to hide, the better.

The Inferius had made it over the Scottish boarder and were closing in on Howarts with alarming speed. Werewolf attacks had become more and more frequent, and the newest estimates had their numbers in the hundreds. All news of vampire activity had ceased, which worried Moody the most. They hadn't gone, he'd insisted, which meant they were waiting.

It was the next day, just as Ron and Hermione were going down to the main gate to go to St. Mungo to see Harry and Ginny that the alarm was raised. Both of them whipped out their wands, and the Grey Lady was with them, but as she wasn't corporeal, there wasn't much she could do to help. Luckily the three Order guards at the gate already had the situation in hand.

The short, round figure at the gate didn't look like an Inferi, Ron decided. Far too much flesh. And he didn't wear the black robes of a Death Eater.

"Is that Slughorn?" Ron asked. It was hard to tell through the gates, but the squat figure did look a lot like their former Potions teacher.

"Hard to tell," Hermione said, and started once again down to the gate.

When they arrived it was clear that he wasn't going to be allowed entrance.

"But-but-but," Slughorn stammered. "But I've come at great physical peril to myself! Do you have any idea who I am?"

Sturgis Podmore, one of the guards currently on duty, and an Order veteran of two wars now, held a firm wand on Slughorn through the gate. He looked a lot like Ron dad, Ron decided, only dark in coloring and thinner. And taller. "Just go home, Slughorn," Podmore commanded. "We're under lock-down. Things are going to get ugly here very shortly, and we all know you don't want any of that."

"Yes, yes," Slughorn said. He gripped the iron gate and pressed his round face between the bars. "Anyone with half a brain can see that. Put two and two together, I can." He noticed Hermione and his face lightened. "Ah, my dear, go and fetch your friend Harry, now there's a good lass."

"Harry's not here," she told him. And then to Podmore she said, "He's coming with us. Send a ghost up to tell Moody he's come to help. We'll be back from St. Mungus as soon as we can."

"Come on," Ron told Slughorn. "Though I'm not sure you'll be enough to cheer Harry at the moment."

"St. Mungo's?" Slughorn echoed, and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to dab at his face. "So the rumors are true? You-Know-Who's attacked him?"

"Not yet," Ron told him. "He's still got thirteen days."

Harry was awake when they got there, and Ginny was sitting by his bed. The two of them looked the pair: pale, thin, sad. Ginny wore jeans and a shirt, though, - not the hospital robes that Harry wore - and Ron took this to be a good sign. Neither of them said anything when he and Hermione came in, but Harry nearly jumped out of the bed when he saw who they brought with them.

"Slughorn!" Harry said, shocked. "What are you…? Where did Moody find you?" Moody had been looking for the elusive Horace Slughorn for more than a week now.

"I came on my own," Slughorn said told him. "I'd like to think I'm a wizard of some honor, and I've a debt to pay."

"The Death Eaters destroyed your home, didn't they?" Harry asked sardonically.

"It wasn't my home, but how they found me I'll never know."

"He's been telling us about Horcruxes," Ron said to Harry. "And they can be living creatures, but it's more than just killing the creature, you have to-"

"You need to leave," Harry interrupted him. "Now."

"Oh, Harry," said Hermione.

"You, too," he told her. If looks alone could kill both Ron and Hermione would've been dead a hundred times over.

Ginny touched Harry's arm. "Harry-"

"No!" he snapped, and yanked his arm away. "I won't have them here as if I trust them!"

"You trust me, don't you?" she asked quietly. She didn't meet his eyes, as if she was afraid of what his answer might be.

"I love you," he whispered.

"That's not the same thing," Ginny told him.

"No," he agreed, "it's not."

Her face shifted in pain, and she nodded her head ever so slightly. "You need them, Harry. The prophecy demands it. 'The Dark One will end with an evil death, only if the Chosen can keep his Forgiven Secret.'"

Did everyone have the blasted thing memorized? Ron couldn't imagine where they'd found the time.

"The Fates have told you," Ginny murmured low, "that you need them."

"They also told me to protect you, and I didn't manage to do that, did I?"

She shook her head. "That was my fault, not yours."

"Not to intrude, but there's nothing productive about placing blame at this time. What's happened has happened, and we've less than a fortnight now to-" Hermione stopped when Ron touched her arm.

"Shall I begin by telling you what I know about thwarting vampires? They're a strong, seductive lot, but you'd be surprised what a pot of spaghetti can do to them." Slughorn offered one of his disarming grins and pulled a chair from the corner to rest his bulk on. "Now I got this from Blodwyn Bludd, himself – oh, yes! A particularly colorful fellow, I assure you, and a bloody good singer! No pun intended, of course."

Harry dozed off and on that day, as healers came in and fed him potion after potion. Hermione took notes as best as she could. Ginny remained quiet and withdrawn, and towards the end of Slughorn's diatribe on Gideon Crumb, The Weird Sisters bagpipe player, and his "ignorance of all things were-," Ginny's eyes became heavy and she started to slip to one side as she drifted off. Ron guided her head down to his shoulder, and she settled against him. Harry watched this with an indecipherable expression.

"And I told the boy, 'Crumb!' I said, 'You must understand that werecats can't be domesticated!'"

"Uh, professor," Hermione said, politely cutting in. "Thank you so much for everything that you've told us today. I'm sure we'll have hundreds of questions for you, but at the moment I think we'd best get Ginny back to Hogwarts and into bed. She's had a difficult couple of days."

"She's good to go, then?" Ron asked.

Harry nodded, his eyes full of his girlfriend. "I wish I could go back with you," he said. "They're saying at least a month in here for me."

"Uh…Harry?" Hermione said hesitantly. Her eyes went wide and questioning at Ron. "Didn't anyone…I thought I told you. About the Horcrux."

Harry's brows furrowed even farther. "I thought you said we had the Horcrux. That Neville got it."

"Well, he did," Hermione said. "But then the Death Eaters-"

"No!" Harry cried, and Ginny sat up, startled, and her wand was instantly in her hand. Ron tried to calm her as Harry went on with, "Don't tell me the Death Eaters took it! That Voldemort has it!"

"Oh, no," Hermione assured him. "They certainly don't have it, and that's a good thing, right? It's good that they don't have it. That Voldemort doesn't have it. It would've been devastating if they'd managed to steal the locket. Devastating. But, they don't have it, thank Merlin. But…well…well, I'm afraid that there was a bit of a-"

"A Death Eater blew it up," Ron said, unable to take her nervous blabbering any longer. "He tried to kill Neville with that 'Die' curse, and instead hit the Horcrux and blew half the store to bits in the process. Neville's fine, by the way."

"It's…but then…" The realization of just what all of this meant filtered through his brain and registered on Harry's face. He looked down at his boney, pale hands helplessly. "I can't possibly defeat him like this. I can't possibly - how many days do I have? I can't possibly…"

"Of course you will!" Ginny said fiercely, and burst into tears. She grabbed her stomach, and Ron thought she might be sick, but in the next moment she bolted from the room.

"I'll go after her," Hermione said, and before she reached the door Harry called her name.

"Tell her…tell her I love her," Harry said. "Tell her…"

"We'll be back to collect you tomorrow," Hermione said. "We don't have a month. I wish we did, but we don't. Get as much rest as you can tonight, and then, tomorrow you can tell her yourself."

When she left, Harry closed his eyes and let his head fall back into the pillow supporting him. "You should all get as far away from me as you can. When Voldemort takes power you won't be safe anywhere near here. Go to Australia if you can. Hell, go to the moon."

"If Voldemort wins, there won't be any point," Ron told him. "But he won't. He can't. The prophecy promises an evil death to the Dark Lord-"

"If I do hundred things, and I've already blown half of them!"

"You have to keep Hermione and me with you," Ron corrected. "And you have to keep Ginny safe."

"Exactly!" Harry yelled.

"She's safe, mate. Yes, she's in pain, and yes her heart's broken…" Was that what the prophecy meant? Not that the Heart would be broken, but that her heart would be? Or his? "Ginny's here, though. She's alive, and under the circumstances I'd say she's doing well."

"She just lost a baby!" Harry barked. "Our baby! How well do you think she could possibly be doing?" He shoved the heels of his hands into his eyes. "Bloody hell. I can't believe she was pregnant."

"Oh, my," said Slughorn, his eyes alight with this newest bit of gossip. Ron was sure he'd entertain parties with this conversation for decades to come.

And then, even with both Ron and Slughorn sitting there, Harry dissolved into tears.

Ron turned to their former professor. "Do you mind?" he asked. "We need some privacy."

"Oh. Oh! Certainly," Slughorn said. It took a little doing, as they'd been sitting there for hours, but Slughorn managed to push himself up from the chair and toddle out the door.

"Harry, mate. I'm really sorry for what happened. We all are, but me in particular. You were right when you said that it was my fault. It was my idea, and I was the one who didn't want to tell you, just because I knew you weren't in any shape to come with us. I had no idea that the Death Eaters were so close to getting the Horcrux, too. We were just going to go and get it, and then get back to Hogwarts before anyone knew we were gone. That was the plan. In and out, easy-like."

"It's never easy," Harry told him, and sniffled.

"No, I suppose it's not." Ron looked down at his knees while Harry dried his face with the blankets and made an attempt to compose himself through a lot of snorts and deep breaths.

When he was ready, Ron continued. "It was never Ginny or Hermione, it was all me, so be angry at me."

"I am," Harry told him darkly.

Ron hadn't expected such a frank response. "Well, good then. You deserve to be. And if you can never forgive me, I completely understand."

"I won't," Harry assured.

"Uh…all right." This wasn't going how Ron had envisioned it in his head.

"She can't…have any others," Harry said without looking at Ron. "Babies, I mean. They said there was too much damage done. There won't ever be any more."

Ron's brows rose and an strange twisting clenched his gut. That he really hadn't expected. With one Punching Spell not only was Ginny's baby killed, but all her future children as well. She'd never be a mother. Harry would never have a Jack. "I'm…I'm sorry." It was such a lame thing to say, but Ron didn't have any other words. "Harry-"

"Just…get out," Harry said weakly. "Please, just go."

Ron nodded even though Harry had closed his eyes to him. There was nothing else he could do there, and there was too much to be done back at Hogwarts. He found Hermione and Ginny in the corridor, holding each other. Ginny was weeping on Hermione's shoulder, shaking from head to foot. Hermione had tears down her cheeks, too, as she looked to Ron with weary eyes.

Moody had told Ron once that before the war was over that he would become an intimate of grief and loss. Ron had never imagined that all of them would.

It felt so good to hold Jack once they got back to Hogwarts. Remus seemed to understand Ron's need to coddle the baby, and settled back to enjoy his evening tea while Ron held Jack on his lap and played with his tiny fists. The evening was quite civilized, Ron decided, considering what was approaching them at that very moment. The primary Order members had gathered in McGonagall's quarters, without Ginny, who had collapsed into bed, still crying, as soon as they got back to the castle. Hermione had made her a weak sleeping draught, and she'd settled into sleep an hour or so later.

Moody added Firewhiskey to his own tea cup, and Hermione held out hers for a dram as well. His magical eye swung around to focus on her, but Moody poured the drink without comment, which she thanked him for. Slughorn finished off his fifth cake, and helped himself to another. No one else seemed to have much of an appetite.

"So," said Bill, finally breaking the silence that had followed Slughorns lecture on defeating all things dark and undead. "Basically the inferius' weakness is fire and sunlight."

"As long as they have flesh on bone, of course," Slughorn added generously. "Without the flesh they're skeletons, and that's a completely different spell. We've not seen any evidence that You-Know-Who has any necromancers under his control who can animate a skeleton. I don't doubt that there's one or two out there, mind you. But, well, it's the Inferius we're worried about at the moment."

"If we burn the flesh from the Inferius…?" Hermione asked.

"Yes," Slughorn said. "You've always been a bright one. If you burn the flesh from the bones then they cease to…live is the wrong word."

"Then, the vampires," Bill said. "They're deathly allergic to silver and sunlight, but as we expect them in the middle of the night, and none of us has any experience in Muggle combat – except for Hagrid-"

"Oh," Hagrid spoke up over his own bucket of Zombini's, "I've never used anything more than a club. Wouldn't know what to do with something silver."

"Yes, well, that doesn't give us much on the vampires, then, does it?" Bill asked as glumly as they all felt. "Which leaves us with the werewolves. I think we're all aware that there's not much beyond brute force that can put them down. We should, I suppose, go over some of the better Cutting and Punching Hexes."

"It's no coincidence that all of these creatures are of the night – and that the attack should come at night," Slughorn said lightly. "Is it?"

"Well, of course not," Hermione said smartly. "If they came while the sun was up the vampires would fall terribly sick and burn up, the werewolves would be in their human forms, and the Inferi wouldn't be animated, would they? That doesn't take a genius to work out that Voldemort would choose to attack at night."

Slughorn looked expectantly at her and smiled. "Work it out, my lovely little genius," he said encouragingly. Hermione glared at him, but Ron could see she was mentally going back over what she'd just said. She looked to Ron for help.

"What?" he asked. "You're the lovely one." This made her smirk sarcastically.

"If you know the answer, Horace, please do let us in on it," McGonagall said tiredly. She's been working just as hard as the rest of them, and Ron knew she was in need of sleep as much as he was. Maybe more – she was old, after all.

"In a moment, Minerva," Slughorn said genially. "She's almost got it."

Hermione didn't look so sure. "Surely there's not a spell to create day out of night," she slowly said.

"Sprites abound!" McGonagall exclaimed, and nearly bounced out of her chair.

Moody sat up as well. "You know the spell?" he demanded of Slughorn, almost accusingly.

"Oh, no, no! I assure you, I don't even dabble in the Dark Arts!"

"How could it be a dark spell if it's creating daylight?" Ron asked.

"Because it would change the very fabric of the natural world," Hermione explained.

"Right, but turning the sun on is a long way from animating the dead," Ron quipped.

"You'd be changing the rotation of the Earth about its axis, Mr. Weasley," McGonagall said tartly. "I would assume even you would see the inherent danger in that."

"But he doesn't even know the spell," Ron protested. "What good does this do us?"

"No, I most certainly don't know that spell," Slughorn said with a grin on his face. "But I do know another." He finished off his cake, licked his fingers clean, and pulled out his wand. Then he aimed at the high ceiling above them. "Solaris minute," he called out, and instantly a blinding yellow ball blazed down on them.

The demonstration was impressive, made all the more so when the ceiling caught fire. Once the sun and subsequent fire were doused, they began to talk animatedly about what this meant for the Order. Certainly their strategy for the final battle would change, and Ron would have to discuss tactics with Moody. And Harry, he reminded himself. Harry would be back the next day, one way or the other. Seven Order members had volunteered to protect Harry at St. Mungo's that night, and were instructed to escort him to Hogwarts the next morning as soon as he was able to walk. Harry would most certainly have something to say about all of this.

The next day Harry arrived looking remarkably better. He was still weak, and the Apparition from St. Mungo's and the short broom flight to the castle had physically drained him enough for him to collapse on his bed and slip almost instantly into sleep. Ginny settled the blankets around him, touched the side of his face with a tenderness that left a lump at the back of Ron's throat. She truly loved Harry. Ron could see that plain as day. When she looked up and found Ron staring at her, her face crumbled, and she fled the room.

"Ginny," Ron called after her, and he caught up to her down at the far end of the corridor. She stopped when he touched her arm, and pushed herself against the wall. Her head hung and arms wrapped tight around her middle as she sobbed. It killed him to see her hurting so much. "Can you talk to me about it?"

She shook her head.

"To Hermione, then?"

This brought out another gut-wrenching sob. She covered her mouth in a useless attempt to keep it in.

"It's about Harry, isn't it?" He didn't have to be brilliant to figure that out. She nodded. "Did you two have a row?" He couldn't imagine that they'd had enough time together to fight, but he was grasping at fairy dust. She shook her head no, and inhaled deeply to ward off any further fits.

"It's about…" He motioned to her belly.

"No," she whispered.

"Then it's just Harry, then?"

With a sigh, Ginny looked up to the ceiling. "I'm so scared for him," she managed to get out before she hiccoughed another sob. "Ron, he's not even pretending anymore that he can best V-vo-" She couldn't force the name out. "He knows that he's too weak to put up any kind of real fight. I'm going to lose him, Ron. Because no matter what the rest of us do to protect him, in the end it will be between Harry and You-Know-Who. And Harry can't win."

"You're forgetting one thing," Ron told her. "In the end, Harry has a Smisurato."

"You?" she laughed and cried together. "Against the most powerful wizard in the world?" The she hung her head again and sniffled. "I'm going to lose you both."

Ron collected her in his arms, and squeezed her slight form tightly. She hugged him back. "If you want to go back to the Burrow, no one would think less of you, you know. In fact, Harry might be relieved. It might make things easier for him."

"I can't," she told him. "The prophecy says the Chosen has to protect his Heart in order to defeat the Dark Lord. I have to be here to be protected."

Ron held her out at arm's length. "You don't know that," he said. "It doesn't have to be a literal protection. It's not a literal heart, after all. He could be protecting you by sending you away-"

She pulled Ron back to her. "Oh, Ron," she whispered. "If he's going to die, then I want to be with him."

Ron stroked her long, smooth hair. He'd never done that before, never had this closeness with his sister. With the petty childishness of their youth gone, Ron wanted nothing now for her except to live a long, happy life. He hated the idea that she might have neither. She was his baby sister, his only sister. And for the first time what that really meant dawned on him.

Ron looked up, and saw Harry standing just outside their door. He didn't know how much of their conversation Harry had heard, if any at all; the shadows hid his expression.

"You should talk to Harry about this," Ron whispered in her hair.

"I can't. He's got too much to worry about already."

"I'm sure he's already worrying about this on his own," Ron told her. "I'm sure he's worrying about you."

"If it was Hermione, and not Harry who had to face You-Know-Who…"

"Don't ask me that," he whispered into her hair. "It's bad enough that it's Harry. I know you love him, Ginny, but he's my best mate. I can't imagine living without him, either."

"You're girlfriend's watching us," she said, and he thought he heard a small smile in her voice. Ron turned and saw Hermione over his other shoulder. She stood still, looking worried about intruding.

"You're boyfriend is, too," Ron told her, and Ginny twisted in his embrace to see Harry still standing down by their room. "Come on. Hermione's not had a chance to see him since he got back from hospital. Let's give them their moment." He raised his arm and beckoned to Hermione to join them, and then started back toward Harry.

They all filed in the room, Hermione with an arm full of vials, presumably for Harry to try. The girls went in first, and Harry tugged gently at Ron's shoulder, pulling him aside.

"Everything all right?" Harry asked. "With Ginny?"

Hermione put her free arm around Ginny's shoulders as they walked to the small table. It was difficult to imagine anyone being all right in her position. "She will be," Ron said at last. "When we win."

"Right," said Harry, darkly.

Hermione set up a line of vials, and once Harry climbed into bed she explained: "These are from the healers at St. Mungo's. They said one dose every hour for the next two days. After that, every twelve hours. At that point, Harry, you can start taking these. They're strengtheners that will assist the other potions. You get one blue vial with the others every six hours, and one yellow vial in between the others every twenty-four. I've written it all down so you can keep track of which you've taken and when." She produced a parchment and placed it on the table.

"Can't…won't you give them to Harry?" Ginny asked, eyes wide and watery and worried.

"Uh…" Hermione glanced at Harry, but he didn't meet her gaze. "I'm…that is, Ron and I, well, we've got a bed down in the Potions classroom now. I'm down there all the time anyway, and it makes sense that with the two of you needing to rest that you should have more quiet and privacy."

It did make sense, but Ron knew it hadn't been Hermione's idea. Harry wanted them out.

"You're going to sleep in Potions?" Ginny asked, startled by the very idea. She turned and looked at Harry, who was busying himself with righting the blankets over his legs.

"There's just a couple of things I need to get," Hermione said lightly, "and then we'll be out of your way."

"I didn't realize you were in my way," Ginny said pointedly.

Ron watched as Hermione collected some books and a shirt of his, and a couple more things from around the room and dumped them all in his trunk. "It's important to rest, Ginny," Hermione reminded her. "In two days we're going to start up our lessons again, and begin to review all the offensive and defensive spells that Moody and Slughorn have devised. It's going to mean long, exhausting days. Take advantage of your time alone."

Hermione pulled out her wand and levitated Ron's trunk out the door. "Harry…" she said before she left. "I'm sorry I didn't realize you'd been infected by that curse sooner. In retrospect the symptoms…well…I'm terribly sorry-" Her voice broke and she hurried out.

Ginny started after her, and then turned to glare at her boyfriend. "Harry James Potter! What have you done?"

His sister's voice sounded so very like his mother's when she was about to go on a rampage, that Ron decided to follow his own girlfriend.

The Potions classroom still looked – and smelled – like the Potions he had known so well for six years. The exception was that the last two rows of desks had been pushed aside to allow for a bed, and now, Ron's trunk. All the other desks, including the Potions Master's, were completely covered with flasks and beakers and cauldrons bubbling away.

On a tall stool, a small, stooped old witch dressed in mauve robes was hunched over a particularly large cauldron, stirring rhythmically; twice to the left, three times to the right. She smiled as they came in, but turned, turtle-like, back to her brew.

Ron looked between the bed that sat so very out of place, and Griselda Marchbanks, who had given him an E for his Potions O.W.L.s. "Uh…Hermione," he whispered to her from across the room. "She's not staying all night, is she? She's got a room of her own, yes?"

"You don't have to worry," Hermione said with a smirk, and in a normal voice. "Madame Marchbanks is quite hard of hearing. And yes, she has a room of her own."

Ron looked back at the bed. Hermione hadn't yet transfigured it into a double. "So, Harry kicked us out?"

"It was bound to happen," she told him. "And anyway, they should have some privacy. It'll help with their recuperation."

"He's got us living in the dungeons," Ron said flatly. "It's not about privacy."

She sniffed a couple of bubbling flasks, and lowered the flames under them with her wand. "No. He made it quite clear that he's still upset."

"He told me he wouldn't forgive me," Ron said.

She looked at him, startled. "He said that?" Then she thought about it and shook her head. "There's not really anything to forgive. Even if he'd been there the outcome most likely would've been much the same. And if he'd refused to let us go, then Voldemort would now have the Horcrux, and Harry can't want that. No, he's just upset. Understandably. And he's taking it out on us. Well, you actually," Hermione said with an apologetic expression. "He just needs some time."

"That's your answer for everything, isn't it?" Ron snapped. "Time can't possibly fix everything. A week doesn't go by and then bang, it's all back to normal!"

"He's grieving," Hermione said sternly. "And so is Ginny. And he's anxious over this battle. And he's still healing. Harry's got a lot on his plate at the moment."

"I'm not saying he doesn't," Ron insisted. "But I'd like, once again, to draw your attention the fact that our bed is in the dungeon."

"Oh, Ron, I chose to put it here," she said with a heavy sigh. "I need to be with the potions all the time, and this was easier for me. If you don't want to sleep down here, then you can find someplace else."

Ron sat up. This had gotten his attention. "Someplace else?" he asked, and his voice went a little squeaky there at the end. "You mean for me?"

She spared him a glance, and then went back to adding a leafy something to one of the cauldrons. "I meant for us." There was a self-satisfied smirk at the corner of her lips just dying to show itself. "I don't really care where we sleep. I don't plan on doing too much of it."

"Oh, well, then." Ron relaxed a little. Moving the bed, finding another empty room, it seemed an awful lot of work. "Here's fine, I reckon."

"Mmm." She didn't sound surprised. "Weren't you supposed to find Lupin?"

"Oh. Right." Ron was to take Jack for the rest of the day to give Lupin a bit of a rest. And, as it was probably close to dinner, as his stomach was growling, he decided to head up to the Great Hall to see if he could find him there. "Hungry?" he asked Hermione.

"No time," she told him, distracted by the Half-Blood Prince's writing. Her finger ran beneath a line of scrawl in the margin and she added a pinch of some red powder and began to stir the contents of the glass flask. It turned from green to blue.

He left her there, buried in her work, certain she hadn't heard him go.

It was three nights later than Ron found himself impaled on a tree. He looked down at the arrow protruding from his shoulder, at the brown quail feathers on the shaft, and wondered how he'd managed to find himself in this predicament. It seemed odd to be shot by an arrow, archaic. Not to mention bloody painful. The awkward way he sort of hung there by his shoulder with the heavy trunk behind him, holding him, up didn't help as much as one might imagine. He lifted his wand with his other hand, but he hadn't a clue as to which spell to use. Funny how Arrow Removing Charms had never come up during his studies at Hogwarts.

In the next moment the arrow was gone and Ron slid down the tree into a heap at its base. He caught a flash of Hermione fly by, and then another blue blast that missed her by inches. When she looped around, she hit his shoulder with some sort of orange glow - there was far too much noise and chaos to understand what charm she used - and the searing pain was gone. Ron found he could move, could stand, and he leapt up in search of another vampire to dispatch.

It wasn't long after that he heard Ginny's call for "Solarus minute," and an enormous orange-ish yellow ball exploded to life just above the forest they were fighting in. Instantly, several of the vampires Ron could see turned into bats and fled. One, off to his right was so wounded by the hexes Harry had hit her with, that the vampire simply collapsed to the ground. Her skin peeled back like plastic under heat. She screamed a horrible howl, and then burst into flames. Within minutes she was nothing but ash.

"Good work!" Moody said, as he called them all to meet near the mossy boulder in the heather clearing.

Harry was sweating and winded, and he pulled his glasses off to wipe them with his shirt. Ginny came up beside him, also breathing hard, her ginger hair pulled back from her flush face.

Hermione, however, looked as if she'd been having a fine time. She bounded over a downed tree and met the rest of them with an enormous smile that Ron found contagious. It was Neville and Elphias Doge who looked worse for wear. Neither, it seemed, was used to prolonged exercise. Firenze, the only centaur professor Hogwarts had ever seen, trotted up beside Moody, and Hagrid lumbered to Moody's other side. They'd all come for the night lesson, to brush up on their own skills as much as to help Harry and the rest of them get some practical battle experience.

"Weasley," Moody snapped, meaning Ginny, of course. "How many enemies did we face?"

"I counted eight."

"There were thirteen," Hermione quickly corrected. "Seven got away."

"Potter," Moody said after an appraising look at Hermione. "How many did you down?"

"Two," Harry told him. "But I downed them both three times. They don't like the stay down."

"A good lesson," Moody said gruffly.

"They were able to fly away when Ginny made the sun," Neville said glumly. "I thought the sun was supposed to kill them."

"Only if they're too weak or damaged to fly," Moody told him. "The key is to incapacitate as many as possible before we sun them."

"But surely we're not out to kill as many vampires as we can," Hermione challenged. "We just don't want them to attack us. The sun will protect us."

"It's them or us," Moody barked at her. "Never forget that!" Then he turned to Ginny. "Nice spell work there at the end. McGonagall says you've been working hard in your lessons."

Ginny nodded at the praise but it didn't seem to please her.

"This has been a productive evening," Firenze said. His deep voice vibrated right through Ron. "We should return to the castle now."

"Aye," Hagrid agreed. "The real sun'll be up afore long, and we don't want to disturb the li'l creatures in this forest any more than we 'ave to."

Ginny pointed her wand at her sun, and muttered, "Extinguish Solarus." The sun turned white and then folded in on itself with a bang. They were left in a darkness spotted by the shadows of the false sun.

They turned and headed back to the Portkey by the light of Harry and Moody's wands, and Ron slipped his hand into Hermione's as they walked. "You were brilliant," he whispered to her. "Thanks for the shoulder."

"Oh," she said, and then looked at the torn, bloody hole in his shirt. "Is it quite all right? I'd forgotten."

"Quite all right," he assured. They were behind Firenze, and Ron watched as his palomino tale swished in time with his cadence.

"Harry's doing better," Hermione remarked. "Did he need any magic from you tonight?"

"No," Ron told her. "But this wasn't too magic intensive. Just a lot of running and rope binding hexes."

"And still, there was a time not too long ago when he needed your energy just to walk," Hermione reminded him. "He's come a long way in a week."

"You've talked with him, right?" Ron asked hopefully. "Has he said anything about…you know…me?"

She turned and looked at him through the dark. "Not really."

"I know, I know. Time. It's just, well, if we're going to snuff it in the next week, I'd like to go out knowing my best mate doesn't hate my guts."

She squeezed his hand. "When is Lupin going to take Jack to the Burrow?"

"Soon," Ron told her. It was all happened so quickly. All non-essential persons were to be evacuated over the next several days.

"She's already got Crookshanks, Pig, Hedwig, and Arnold. She's collecting a menagerie." Hermione sounded amused. Ron was not. He worried about his mum, and what would happen to her if they didn't make it through.

"Bill will be here tomorrow," Ron told her in quiet tones. "With Fleur."

"And Fred and George?"

"Soon, I expect," Ron said. The twins would surely show up.

"That's five of your mother's children," Hermione said quietly. "Five of seven."

"Six," Ron said flatly. "Charlie's coming, too." Then something that hadn't occurred to him before bloomed in his mind. "What have you told your parents?"

She didn't speak for a number of steps. "Nothing," she said quietly, at last. "Just that I might not be able to contact them for a while. I don't think they really understand what's happening. The Muggle news is…spotty. The Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee might actually be doing too good a job."

"When was the last time you saw them?"

"Ages ago," she told him. "Ages and ages."

"Maybe you should go home for a couple of days," Ron suggested.

"There's no time," she said quickly, not even considering the idea.

"Neville and Marchbanks can watch over the potions and things."

"No," she said succinctly and then changed the subject. "Ginny's been working on some Arithmancy charts for all of us, and for the battle. There are some interesting correlations between the numbers and the prophecy. Did you know that you and I have the same heart number?"

"I don't even know what that means," Ron told her.

"Anyway, you should probably talk with her about it. It might be helpful as you finalize your strategies."

They walked along in silence for a while, and when they reached the flower pot on the old, wide tree stump, he pulled her to him. There was nothing to say, no reason to stop her other than he needed to touch her, needed to feel connected to her. She went willingly into his arms, leaned her body against his, forehead to forehead. It was just a moment, a span of breath and heartbeat, but it was enough to carry him through to the next.

When they broke apart she offered him a small smile, which he returned. They joined the others with their hands on the terracotta pot, and an instant later they were gone.

End of chapter 21