False Fate

by md1016

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

22. Chapter 22

False Fate
By MD1016

Part IV: The War
Chapter 22 – Thursday, Midnight

The antechamber off the Great Hall was large and dark and warm. Trophy cases lined the stone walls between the heavy columns that penetrated the humid space. Without windows, the room was lit by magic lamps and orbs that Moody created every so often and allowed to float against the ceiling while they worked. Ron wiped his bleary eyes, and his hand came away damp. It was warm in the antechamber; the air was heavy. Outside summer had hit with a vengeance – the Muggles were calling it a freak spot of weather, or global warming. Global warming, Ron thought with a snort, Muggles would believe anything.

"Five at the front gate," Moody said, and scooped up five chess pieces. He dropped them by the Exploding Snap cards Spellotaped together to create an archway through the wall of books that surrounded the mock up of Hogwarts. The pieces looked nervous, and clung to the small scraps of parchment they'd been given to hold, each with a different name on it. The white pawn holding Lupin's name sneezed and wiped his nose on the back of the little sign. He'd been complaining of the damp air in the antechamber all day.

"We can't put them there," Ron told Moody. "They'll be flattened."

"You'd leave the front gate unprotected?"

"Well, no," Ron admitted. "But we can't very well send five people down and expect them to hold off what's coming, now, can we?"

"Ten, then?" Moody pushed. "Twenty?"

"Anyone down there will be thrashed. They have superior numbers."

Moody eyed him, grunted. "And what do we have?"

"Homefield advantage," Ron said, scooping up the pieces at the front gate and set them back down well within Hogwarts' miniature stone walls. Moody had transfigured the model of the castle, and Ron crudely constructed the school grounds. "Anyway, we'll need Lupin in with us." He positioned Lupin's pawn inside the Great Hall next to the Ginny's and Hermione's queens, the Harry king, and Ron's knight, who was once white, but got into it with Hagrid's rook at the Exploding Snap gate. He was now singed on one side, and his little parchment name tag was half gone.

"You can't have everyone with you," Moody told him, glaring down at the majority of pieces within the Great Hall area. "You think you can protect them by keeping them close, but you'll have your own worries to deal with – and Harry's."

"Lupin has to be in the Great Hall with the sun Ginny will create. Otherwise he's all bestial, and he won't be of any use to us."

"It'll be a full moon that night," Moody barked. "Regardless of how adept your sister has become with that spell, it'll not be like daylight for him. No, he probably won't change, but his strength will be tapped, and he may very well be out of his mind."

"Then better the Great Hall than at the front gate," Ron insisted.

Moody grunted again. "He's a pawn. Pawns are meant to be sacrificed."

"Not that one," Ron told him flatly.

"Then which?" Moody asked. "Pick. You know how chess works. You know how the game is played-"

"This isn't a game," Ron said.

"Isn't it? War is a game that's played for keeps. Living is winning, that's how it works. Pick your pawns," Moody insisted. "Who will you sacrifice?"

"No one," Ron said. "I won't."

"Then how will you capture their king?" Moody gestured to the black king with Voldemort's name tired around his neck. The piece had refused to hold the nametag, and had broken down in tears when Ron had forced it on him. "How will you get your king into position? Everything costs, pimple. And now there's no price too high. Not in this game. Pick your pawns."

"No!"

"Do it!"

"No!"

"Protect your king, but get him into position! Who's going to get him there? Who'll be the ones to get him through the Dark Lord's ranks? Who will battle the werewolves and infiri and the rest of them? Who will duel with the Death Eaters? Someone's got to, pimple! Someone's got to be sacrificed!"

"Then let it be me!" Ron yelled, and slammed his own piece down at the front gate. His knight cried out and shook behind what was left of his sign. It wasn't a sacrifice made lightly or flippantly, but it was the only one Ron was willing to make.

"Just you?" Moody asked. "Against them all?" He picked up the little knight, who cowered deeper into Moody's fist. "It can't be you, though, can it? It's up to you to protect your king. You're his Second. You're his Smisurato." He placed Ron's knight down beside Harry. The two pieces looked at each other, the knight blew his nose, and then stared back up at Moody. "You're the one who has to keep him safe, pimple. You're the one who has to make sure he's got the power to finish the job. You've got your role, and so do the rest of us."

Moody picked up Lupin's piece, and his own, and placed them down at the front gate again. And then he added Shacklebolt and Hagrid and Charlie and Bill. "Five at the front gate to take down as many as possible. Then we retreat to reinforce those waiting at the main door." He nudged the castle McGonagall forward to stand next to bishop Neville, knight Firenze, the twins as pawns, and the queens.

Ron snatched up Hermione and set her back inside the Great Hall.

"Think it through, pimple. If something happens, it'll be better if you're apart."

"Never," Ron swore.

"If she goes down, you still have your king to protect. Harry's all that matters at this point. It's got to be Harry and the Dark Lord in the end, and you've got to see him there."

"You said I had to Love her, and that was all that mattered! And I do! I bloody well do love her, and I won't sacrifice her! Not even for Harry! Not even to defeat Voldemort!"

Moody's eyes narrowed on Ron. "You've got some nerve saying that name to me."

"I suppose I've got some nerve, then," Ron told him. "Hermione's with us. She's our healer. She's been training-"

"She'll help the others."

Ron shook his head. "No!" Then he picked up Ginny and Neville and Lupin and placed them all back inside the Great Hall. "Firenze can help at the front gate. And he's fast. When you all retreat he'll make it back safely to the castle for sure, but Hagrid, he's good for close combat, thumping people over the head and the like, but his magic's not always with him."

"Fine, then. Firenze at the front gate." Moody picked up the queens and deposited them once again next to the front door, and Dedalus Diggle's pawn.

"They won't agree to that. Ginny won't leave Harry," Ron told him.

"They'll do as they're told!" Moody insisted.

"Who? Hermione and Ginny? Have you even met them?"

Moody got in his face. "This is war, and they're the soldiers. They'll do as commanded!"

Ron grabbed the pieces up. "They're with me!"

"And what happens to them when you go down?" Moody demanded. "How distracted do you think your girl will be when she sees you take a 'Die' to the chest? Enough to get hit herself? Is that what you want for her?"

Ron threw the pieces at Moody, and stormed out of the antechamber. Fury boiled in his belly, clouding everything behind the buzz in his head and the stampede of his heart. He blew through the Great Hall, heard Moody call after him in a wave of swears, but Ron didn't look back. He needed air. He needed space. He headed out of the castle, through the stone circle, and out onto the grounds. He didn't care about the heat any longer, or the dangers that might lurk out in the open like that. He wanted to kick something, to hit until someone cried. He wanted to run, and that's what he did, all the way to the lake. His chest burned, his legs pumped, the hot breeze combed through his hair until he ran out of ground by the water's edge and had to stop. Sweat ran in rivulets down his face.

He'd said good-bye to his mother that morning, as had the twins and Charlie and Bill. She even cried when Fleur hugged her and kissed her cheeks. It had been hard watching her go, with little Jack in her arms. Ron couldn't keep the question of whether he'd see either of them again from his mind.

Mrs. Figg had gone too, along with the other non-combatants with the Order. The house elves were given the option, per Hermione's insistence, but none of them left. She just didn't understand that the creatures had no where else to go. Ron stared out over the black, smooth lake, and thought he knew how that must feel. There was no where on Earth that he and Harry and the rest of them could run to. The Fates would have their destiny in just a matter of days.

It wasn't until then that he heard Hermione behind him. He turned to see her running toward him. She slowed as she got nearer, and when she finally reached him he took her wrist and pulled her close enough to kiss. He pressed his lips hotly against hers, dug his fingers through her fuzzy hair. Her arms went around his middle as she kissed him back. How could he sacrifice her? What was the point of winning if she didn't survive?

He pulled away from her, watched the hollow of her collar bone as she tried to regain her breath. "I want you to go to my mother's," he told her. His lips were moist, and the breeze tickled across them. "I want you to stay there until this is all done."

"You know I can't do that," she said with a heavy sigh.

"I know," he told her. But it didn't keep him from wanting it.

"Everything all right?" Harry asked, coming in beside them. Ron hadn't even noticed Harry had followed him out, too.

"Moody's a git."

Harry smirked. "That's what got you riled up? You passed by a table full of roast, you know. "Real meat. When was the last time we had that?"

Ron frowned. "Not hungry, I guess."

"It must be serious," Harry quipped, only half-joking.

"What is it?" Hermione prompted.

He looked deep into her big, brown eyes. How had he known her for so many years and not noticed how breathtaking she was? Even now as her hair was beginning to grow out, and it was all fluffy and untamed, she looked like…

"You're a goddess," he told her.

"What?" She turned a little red and threw a nervous grin at Harry.

He shook his head. He didn't want to talk about it. And he didn't have to. In the next moment the Clock Tower bell began to gong. Once, twice, three times. All of them looked that way, and a quiet: "Peeves?" eked hopefully out of Harry. But then two more gongs followed a short break, and then the single told them that it was no prank. Marchbanks had given the warning. They were under attack.

"It's too soon!" Harry insisted as they broke into a sprint. "We've got three more days!"

"Where's Ginny?" Hermione called. "She'll be frantic looking for you, Harry!"

"Great Hall!" Harry yelled out, and they all headed in that direction.

Just inside the front doors though, at the bottom of the grand staircase, they all came to a skidding halt. A throng of Order members stood surrounding a figure Ron never thought he'd see again. Harry drew his wand and got out, "Avad-" before Ron Stupified him. He couldn't let Harry kill Snape, at least not until they knew why he was there.

As soon as the commotion died down, Snape was taken bound down into the dungeons to the nearest classroom (which happened to be his old Potions room). Ginny woke Harry, who promptly turned and punched Ron in the face.

"That felt good," Harry said, holding his fist.

Ron, hands full of his bloody nose, felt differently. Hermione righted him, though, and he wiped his face on his t-shirt.

"Where is he?" Harry demanded. "I'm going to kill him."

"First we should know why he's come," Hermione said pragmatically. "He arrived under a white hat."

"It's a trick!" he shouted, pouncing at her. "It's Snape!"

Hermione took a shocked step back, and Ron stepped between them. "Easy mate. We're all on your side."

"You knocked me out!" Harry insisted.

"And you broke my nose!" Ron countered.

"Yeah," said Harry, darkly. "Finally." He looked as if he'd like to do it again.

"Let's keep our heads," Ginny said flatly. "Snape's here. Let's see what he has to say for himself."

"He killed Dumbledore!" Harry insisted.

"So you're going to hit me in the face, now are you?" Ginny asked and gave him a glare that said she knew he wouldn't dare.

Harry turned with his hands on his hips and Ron watched as he forced himself under control. "It's just Snape?" Harry asked. He spit the name out. "He came alone?"

"Looks that way," Ron told him.

Harry glared at him, and then Hermione. His expression softened a little when he turned to Ginny. "Fine, then. But when you're done with him, he's mine."

Ginny didn't argue, though Ron was sorely tempted to. Harry wasn't joking around, and he wasn't exaggerating. He really did mean to kill Snape. Ron followed them down to the dungeons, feeling very unsettled.

---

When they went into the Potions classroom, McGonagall was already there snorting her displeasure. Shacklebolt and Moody had Snape under wand, and tied to an arm chair. Lupin sat passively by as Snape glared at nothing. The rest of the Order had gone back to their preparations now that the threat was contained. Harry stayed close to the door, leaning against the stone wall with his arms and legs crossed. Ginny left him there, and took a stool near the front of the class, as did Hermione.

"You've got our attention," Ron told Snape from the back of the room. He didn't want to be too far from Harry. "Go on, then. What do you want?"

Snape's eyes glazed over a little, and he seemed irritated that he had to address Ron at all. Then his dark eyes slipped over to the unmade bed. "Love what you've done with the place."

"Thanks," Ron quipped. "And you're looking well. I see the Death Eaters are treating you right." There was no question that Snape was as pale as ever, or his hair as long and greasy as Ron remembered, but there was a hollowness in his cheeks that hadn't been there before, and it made his hooked nose even more pronounced, his dark eyes more beady, his expression more pinched. His dark, tattered clothing hung loosely on his bony frame. He looked like a beaten dog - an ugly, beaten dog. But, it was Snape's missing left arm to which Ron was referring. It looked as if it had been severed just below the elbow, though with all his robes it was hard to tell.

Snape's eyes narrowed. He studied Ron now as if he'd not really seen him before.

"What do you want, Snape? Certainly you didn't stop by for a chat about our decorating choices."

Snape turned his attention on Harry, who was drawn about as tight as a bowstring. "I've information. Crucial information."

"We're listening," Ginny said stiffly.

Snape's gaze narrowed on her for half a second, and then flew back to Harry. "I see you've kept your little friends close."

Harry didn't say anything – didn't even breathe, from what Ron could see. Ron took a step forward. "We're waiting," he said.

"You are aware, no doubt, that there has been a marked change in the type of magic the…other side…is practicing?" Snape turned to Ron. "Surely even you've noticed." Ron didn't rise to the bait. He waited like the rest of them for Snape to continue. It didn't take long.

"It's not a new type of magic," Snape told them. "It's old. It's Shared Magic. The Dark Lord can Bundle."

Lupin and Moody both wheezed their shock, McGonagall gasped. "Severus, you can't…is this true?"

"Give me Veritaserum if my honesty is in doubt."

"My thoughts, exactly," said Moody, and he gave Lupin a terse nod before he disappeared out the door.

"Severus," McGonagall said, in a reasonable tone. "Why are you here?"

"I thought that was obvious." What was obvious, Ron thought, was that Snape hated them all. He even snapped at McGonagall with disgust.

"You can't expect us to believe you want to help," McGonagall continued. "Not after what you've done."

"I did what had to be done," Snape said, with no apology in his voice. "As I do now. Nothing matters beyond the Dark Lord's defeat. You know it, Minerva, as well as I. As well as Dumbledore did."

"You dare say that name!" Harry leapt forward, shocked into action.

"Easy, Harry," Lupin warned.

"Still have a hot head, I see," Snape sneered. "Just like your father."

Harry raised his wand, and Ron had to step in the way. "Move!" Harry commanded.

"You can't," Ron told him. "Don't let him goad you."

"Why can't I?" Harry yelled. "Let me finish him now! The same way he did Dumbledore!"

"Harry," Ron said under his breath and taking a step toward him. "You're the good guy."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry demanded.

Ron stepped in even closer. These words were only for Harry. "It means that you can't kill someone who's unarmed and tied to a chair just because you hate him."

Anguish twisted Harry's face, tears of frustration and hatred filled his eyes, his whole body trembled with tension. His wand didn't lower. Moody came in while Harry still stood like that, and the old wizard paused for a moment to take in the scene. It didn't faze Moody, though. He continued to the professor's desk, pulled out a beaker, and poured a thick, green liquid into it.

"From your personal stock," Moody said to Snape with his gargoyle grin. "So we know it'll be strong enough."

Snape refused to look at him. With his arms bound, Moody had to hold the glass, but Snape drained every last drop, closed his eyes, and tilted his head back. They all waited for the potion to take effect.

Ron was more worried about Harry at the moment, though. He began to breathe again as his friend finally lowered his wand, turned and walked out the door. Hermione glanced at him over her shoulder and nodded to Ron silently encouraging him to follow.

He found Harry on the Grand Stairs, sitting with his head in his hands.

"Don't say anything," Harry told him.

"Right," Ron muttered, and dropped down on the steps next to him.

"I would give anything to be you right now," Harry said in a low, quiet voice. "Or anyone else, really. Anyone but Harry Potter."

Ron couldn't really blame him. It had to be difficult living up to the name and the legacy; to be the Chosen One, marked from birth – well, almost birth. Harry carried a lot of responsibility, and a lot of guilt. Ron hated to see what it was doing to him.

"Snape deserves to die."

Ron couldn't argue with that, either. "The thing is," Ron said, "you don't deserve to kill him."

Harry balked. "I don't? I deserve it above anyone else! It should be my right!"

"Killing someone – it's not an honor, Harry. It's not something to be earned. It's a horrible, brutal act, and it never leaves you. It creates a darkness in your soul that will never die." Ron had thought he'd killed Draco once. Harry met his eyes, and Ron continued. "You've seen the change in Ginny, I know you have. And she killed that Death Eater in self-defense."

Harry dropped his gaze to his hands. "She'd already known darkness," he said. "She's known true hate because of Tom Riddle. She was only eleven when he did that to her."

Ron didn't know what to say. He remembered Ginny at eleven; she'd been another girl entirely.

"I'm not like you," Harry said. "I wish I was. I wish I could look at Snape and not see Dumbledore's last expression; I wish I could look at my girl and not know all the horrible, disgusting things Riddle did to her. I wish…" Harry shook his head, and then dropped it back into his hands. "But I do see the instant Dumbledore was murdered in Snape's face, and I do know what happened to Ginny, and I didn't do anything to stop either of them! I couldn't protect them then, and I can't protect any of you now!"

"It's not your job to protect us, Harry, it's our job to protect you."

"No. You're in this because of me. If you'd never met me-"

"I'd be right here, anyway. In case you hadn't noticed, my whole family is here. My parents were Order members before you and I were friends."

"Your parents joined the Order because of what happened to Ginny. And she ended up with that diary because of my connection to your family."

Again, Ron was stunned into silence. He didn't doubt Harry had his facts right. He just was shocked that he never knew this, that he'd never thought to ask.

"And Hermione," Harry continued, looking at Ron from the corner of his eye. "She'd be home in Kent with her wonderfully oblivious Muggle parents right about now. She'd be safe. Your dad would be alive."

"Maybe," Ron conceded. "Maybe the world would've been better if we hadn't been mates. But then you'd be alone here, talking to yourself, facing Voldemort on your own, and…and we never would've been mates. Or, maybe Hermione and I never would've met – Fated or not, Ginny would be dead without you saving her from Tom Riddle – there's nothing that says Lucius Malfoy wouldn't have dropped that diary into her pail even if you hadn't been with us that day. Or, maybe Voldemort would've come into power years ago if we hadn't become friends, and Hermione and I hadn't helped you get through to the Sorcerer's Stone, and you would've had to face him with all his power as a corporeal being as a first year – long before you'd ever heard the word Horcrux. Maybe, Harry…maybe things happen for a reason. Maybe the Fates had the three of us friends, and all the rest of it, too, so that you'd be the person you are now, sitting on this step, so that you can defeat Voldemort this time. And maybe the Fates linked me and Hermione not only to help you defeat Voldemort, but to remind you that we're fighting for good. You've got friends, Harry. The best of the best. We'd do anything for you – even Stupify you. Even sneak out without telling you. And, I'm not saying it's right or wrong, or that I wouldn't do things differently if I had a chance to do them over – especially with what happened to Ginny - but I am saying that you've got friends. People who are completely loyal to you. And he doesn't. The Fates want us to win. They've given us the prophecies, they've given us Love, they've given us time to grow up and come into our own so that we can understand what's at stake. Maybe they knew you weren't ready at a year old to face Voldemort, and that's why they left you with your scar; so you'd remember what they've given you, so you wouldn't take it for granted."

Harry didn't say anything. He just sat there and stared at his shoes.

"Or, maybe they didn't," Ron added with a shrug. "All I know is that we're here now, and we are mates, and the world is what it is. Killing Snape isn't going to change that. He's not important enough. But killing him will change you."

Harry stared at him for a moment from the corner of his eye, studied him. "You took the nonesuch seed, didn't you? I thought you were going to save it."

"For Hermione? It would be wasted on her," Ron quipped lightly. Ron hadn't thought of that seed in months. It was funny that Harry would assume.

Harry stared at him for another moment, and then gave an amused snort. "You're bloody mad. You know that, don't you?"

"Just enough to make me the right man for the job," Ron told him, echoing Harry's words to the Minister of Magic. Harry's brows rose at this.

Ron cleared his throat. "Look, we should get back down there and see what Snape will cough up under the influence."

"You go," Harry told him. "Find me if he says anything important."

"Where will you be?"

Harry shrugged and pushed himself to his feet. "With my thoughts," he said. "I need to sort through some things."

---

When Ron made it back to Potions, Snape was spouting a flood of insults, most of which were aimed at Lupin, but several "know-it-all mudblood's," made it out in the few seconds it took Ron to walk in, and those were undoubtedly meant for Hermione. Had he not been drooling on himself, Ron would've drawn his wand. But, as he was, it was plain Snape was not in control anything he was spouting. Ron took a seat next to Hermione, who gave him a weary smile of acknowledgement.

"Let's go back to what you were saying, shall we?" Lupin asked, as if they were having a pleasant conversation. "About the Horcruxes. You said we'd gotten it wrong, yes?"

"Of course you got it wrong, you disgusting half-breed! You said there's a sixth Horcrux!"

"Voldemort didn't make six?" Lupin asked.

Snape snarled, rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes, he made six. Six, six, six. So that with the soul in his body, there would be seven. He's a genius. The Dark Lord knew of the magical power of seven. Six Horcruxes plus the one left inside."

"Then what happened to the sixth Horcrux?" Lupin asked.

Snape glared at him in distain. "Honestly? You can't figure it out? James would've had it by now, Remus. Or certainly Sirius. You pale by their comparison."

"I always did," Lupin said lightly. "Tell us about the sixth Horcrux."

Snape's eyes rolled to the back of his head, and for a moment Ron thought he was passing out. But then he gave an exaggerated sigh and said: "Six plus one. The one died the night the Potter brat survived. That left only the six Horcruxes. See how the math is so clean, Remus? See the beauty in Arithmancy? Of the six, one was used to bring the Dark Lord back into his new body. The snake still lives, yes, but she no longer holds the Dark Lord's soul. From the moment he returned to a body, there have only been five Horcruxes. Surely you noticed how he looked that night in the graveyard, Potter!" He spit the name like a curse. "Surely that pathetic, weak mind of yours was able to deduce why his features were so…snake-like! Did you think that was coincidence? Did you think that was normal? Or perhaps you think it was the evil in him coming out? SNAKES ARE NOT EVIL!"

Ron turned around, but Harry wasn't in the room. Snape was out of his mind.

"So, there are no more?" Ginny asked in a halting voice.

Snape's black eyes shot to her. He licked the side of his mouth, already wet with uncontrolled saliva. "No more!" His eyes bore into hers, and Ron thought he sensed a smile curling at the corner of Snape's thin mouth. "Miss your daddy, little girl?" A line of spit dripped slowly from the side of his mouth and hung for a moment before it broke off and joined the wet front of his shirt.

To Ginny's credit, she didn't flinch. "Draco's weak. He's a coward," Ginny said defiantly. "You and I both know that was never his magic that murdered my father."

Snape's eyes widened the smallest amount, but Ron could see he was surprised. "You've figured that out, then?" Snape asked, in a monotone. "Then, tell me, if you can, who killed your blood-traitor father? Who stopped his heart in his chest with a single…word."

Ginny was so pale she looked grey. She licked her lips. "Voldemort."

Snape flinched but barely moved, barely spoke when he whispered, "Do not say that name to me."

"Is she right?" Moody demanded as he leaned in close to Snape, his magic eye going wild over its subject. "Was it You-Know-Who?"

Snape looked from Ginny to Moody, and then back to Ginny again. "After a fashion," he reluctantly allowed. "Malfoy, the younger, of course said the release. I'm sure you all witnessed it. I was told it was…something of a spectacle." The right side of his mouth gave the smallest snarl. Or was that a smile? "The magic wasn't his, of course. That kind of power…" For a moment Snape's eyes glazed over. "You have no appreciation for true genius."

"How did Malfoy do it, then?" Moody demanded.

Snape sized Moody up, and then looked past him as if he weren't even there. "As I said, the Dark Lord has mastered Shared Magic. He has learned how to Bind."

Lupin's face drew even tighter. "But surely," he said, "You-Know-Who would not be so reckless as that. Bound Magic? Truly?"

"Limited," Snape said. "But I assure you, he can Bind. He's given each of his followers one Charge."

"And how many different spells?" Hermione asked. All eyes in the room landed on her.

Snape seemed startled that she knew to ask. "Three," he said tersely.

"The three Unforgivables," Hermione said confidently. "'Obey', 'Pain', 'Die'."

Snape nodded begrudgingly.

"What are the counter curses?" Moody demanded.

"The counter curse to 'Die'? You must be joking," Snape said smugly. "You would be dead before you ever heard the word."

"No spell is uncounterable," Hermione told him.

"Really?" Snape sounded amused. His lip curled, and a line of moisture leaked out the corner. "Tell me the counter to The Killing Curse. Or The Cruciatus."

"Just because I don't know them doesn't mean they don't exist. Rule number seventeen in the Basic Laws of Magic states: 'No magic exists in a vacuum. Each part has a reasonable, weighted counterpart.' Therefore-"

"Oh shut up, you filthy little mudblood! No one cares that you can memorize useless bits of minutia!"

"Actually, I care," Lupin said. "Because she's right. Severus, do you know the counter curses?"

"You don't need counter curses," Snape said, and their surprise gave him a moment of satisfaction. "It's a Bound Spell," Snape told them. "All you need is-"

"And Unbinding Amulet," Hermione said, almost to herself. And then she jumped up from her chair. "But protective amulets – specifically Unbinding Amulets - are incredibly powerful and complex protective magical items! Even if we knew the correct incantations – even if we had the power and skill – it would take weeks of work to Weave the kind of magic it would take to create one amulet, let alone enough for the Order! Wouldn't it?"

Snape didn't move, didn't flinch or gloat. He was almost calm, tied to the chair.

"This is why you've come," Lupin said to him. "You've come to help us make the amulets. You know the incantations."

Through narrowed eyes Snape glared at him as if he resented that Lupin had guessed correctly, but he didn't contradict the accusation.

"We know he's coming Thursday, midnight. Is there enough time?" Hermione asked, and was rewarded by a look of astonishment on her former professor's face.

Darkness would descend Thursday, midnight. Odd really, Ron decided, because Thursday didn't really feel like a day one would battle. Maybe a Monday, or a Friday. But Ginny had applied her Arithmancy and drawn up a series of complicated charts and diagrams, and she seemed to feel that the numbers agreed with the full moon that night, and the alignment of Mars and Neptune (Hermione had done the Astronomy charts to coincide with Ginny's work), that the Universe was almost begging for something monumental to happen. And Thursday was two weeks to the day from the destruction of the last Horcrux - it was hard to get around that bit.

So, Thursday it was.

"How could you possibly know?" Snape asked, his voice low and quiet.

"Is three days enough time?" Hermione asked, and her voice went a little shrill. Ron made a mental note to see that Hermione got some sleep. "There are sixty of us! Can we make enough?

"If we start now," Snape said, glaring at her, his lip curled into a snarl. "There should be enough time to make seven."

"We?" Ginny challenged.

"Unless you can Weave, then yes, we." Snape glared at Moody. "I trust you can Weave. There will, of course, need to be two of us."

Moody nodded, and gave a grunt.

"Untie him." This command came from behind Ron, from a voice he barely recognized as being Harry's. He had no idea how long Harry had been there at the door. "Give him what he needs, but Moody, he's your responsibility. If he makes even the slightest move toward treachery, blast him into the next world."

---

Harry and Ginny disappeared after that, and Ron reckoned they just needed a bit of time alone. He wished he could take that same time with Hermione, but she seemed endlessly busy – as were they all, really.

After a wasted hour in the antechamber where Ron finally decided to put away his chess pieces before they broke up from the anxiety, Ron returned to Potions. Hermione and Neville were hunched over a table separating out ingredients and artifacts for the amulets. Moody and Snape stood at the professor's desk bent over a large white candle, wands drawn, and mouths moving. They were mumbling so Ron wasn't able to understand their incantation, but that hardly mattered. It was clear they were Weaving. Ron stood there in the doorway for a while, watching them. They'd done it before, he could tell. Probably not that particular spell, or together, but both had certainly Weaved at one time or another.

When Hermione noticed him at the door, she gave him a smile and he climbed on to the stool beside her. She was stuffing bits of this and that into small cinched pockets. "I thought amulets were necklaces," Ron said quietly.

"I thought so, too," Neville offered. He seemed happy to have that small connection.

"Amulets can be anything that can be charmed and transported on the body," Hermione told them.

Neville glanced almost nervously over his shoulder. "Do…do you think they can hear us?"

In the time Ron and Harry had grown into men, Neville had, as well. He was less gawky, than he'd been in his youth, Ron thought, but he was far from handsome. His teeth were still too large, his cheeks too rounded, his nose too bulbous; but still, Ron reckoned he was good enough for most girls. After all, Ron was no looker either, but he'd never heard Hermione complain. In fact, he'd be shocked if she did. Girls weren't like blokes that way. Of course, Neville didn't have a girl, so far as Ron knew, and Ron had Hermione because of the Fates...

"Ron? You all right? You have the most peculiar expression on your face." Hermione was smirking quizzically at him.

"So, why haven't I heard of Bound Magic?" Ron asked, changing the subject.

"Because you never paid attention in History of Magic, and it wasn't on the tests, so you never bothered to read my notes over it. Of course, Binns only spent about ten minutes on it because Binding is more or less considered archaic. It's a type of Shared Magic – as old as Love magic," Hermione explained. "And it's difficult. You have to be very powerful, very accomplished, to be able to Bind."

"It's where a wizard casts a spell and then freezes it, right?" asked Neville. "And then he can give it to someone else to Release with a password. Gran told me fairy stories about wizards who Bound their spells. But who believes fairy stories?"

"The thing is," Hermione continued, "that the magic's power is based on the initial conjurer's abilities. So, if it's Voldemort who's handing out the spells, it's essentially his power that we're dealing with." She looked down at the small bag in her hand. "Oh, Ron…your father thought he was dealing with Draco. He thought a Muffle Hex would be enough."

"But…" Ron had to shake his head to get the memory of his mum's scream, out of his head. "But why didn't he think of that? I thought the Ministry was supposed to be good at that kind of stuff."

Hermione shrugged. "All I can say is that Bound Magic, like all Shared Magic, it's something that we don't do now. Moody talked about contamination as a reason why it fell out of practice, but I can tell you from my own experience that it's, well, not something I'd ever want to do again."

"It's not so bad," Ron told her.

"For you, maybe. It took me days to recover, and my mind was all mushy…"

"You Shared Magic?" Neville asked, in awe. "With who?"

"Harry," Hermione told him. "And only the once. Ron does it all the time. He's quite good at it."

"Yeah, well..." Ron said modestly.

"Blimey!" Neville said, excited. "Do you expect you'll be doing it when…You-Know-Who attacks?" Poor Neville looked like he wanted to say the name, but he just couldn't get it to come out.

"They've been practicing for ages now," Hermione said proudly, "for that very reason."

Neville's excited face darkened. "Do you suppose…it'll be like at the Ministry? That he'll chase us?"

Ron never forgot it was Neville and Luna who were there with them at the Ministry, the only two to respond when the DA was called into action. He did underestimate the effect that episode had on his other schoolmates, though. Ron had had Harry and Ginny and Hermione to talk to about what had happened. But who had Neville turned to? Certainly not his Gran.

"I'm sure it'll be different this time," Hermione told him. "We have a lot more people on our side, and we've got a plan going in – don't we, Ron?" Her brown eyes looked pleadingly at his.

"Oh, sure. And it'll be good, too. Snape's got inside information, see," Ron assured.

"I don't mind the fighting," Neville said, staring at the herbs squeezed between his finger and thumb. "And I don't mind getting hit. It's just the chasing…it's scary…" He nodded a little, and went back to stuffing the bags.

Ron cleared his throat, and followed Neville's glance over to Snape and Moody. There was a shimmering net of magic hovering above the flickering candle flame. It sparked as it grew more and more solid. Moody seemed lost in a trance, but Snape's keen eyes looked fascinated with the way the spell was materializing. Snape's blue magic blended with Moody's green.

The ability to Weave was a rare skill, and far beyond anything ever taught at Hogwarts. Wizards with exceptional ability had to apprentice for years with a wizard mentor to learn how to Weave their magic successfully with another's, but Ron had also heard that there were some in the Ministry that could Weave, like the Unspeakables. And the Obliviators. Moody had most likely learned it through the Ministry. But where had Snape?

"You know, it's odd," Hermione said, her head cocked to one side. "Weaving is also a form of Shared Magic – though a wizard doesn't take another wizard's magic inside himself. It's more the weaving of two magics through and into an object. But, Weaving isn't really a taboo like Bound Magic."

"Well, we need Weavers, don't we? Who else would enchant the portraits? And certainly that's how we got the Sorting Hat," Ron said.

"You're forgetting the Sorting Hats terribly old. It belonged to Godric Gryffindor."

"You think he Weaved it?" Neville asked.

"It's possible, I reckon. He was supposed to have been a very powerful wizard. Of course he'd need someone else to help-"

"Now, Granger!" Snape said excitedly, "bring the first amulet!" She hopped off her chair and hurried over with the red velvet bag. Moody was still lost in his incantation; Snape continued with his terse instruction. "When he begins the cycle again, drop the satchel over the Weave. Be sure to get your hand out of the way, Granger. We'd hate to add any fresh scars."

She positioned the bag and waited.

Ron swallowed. He'd never seen an item enchanted before. Not with a Weave, at any rate.

"Now!" Snape yelled, and Hermione let go and quickly turned away. There was a brilliant white light, a sort of silent mini-explosion. When the bag hit the candle flame, the fire and candle - as one - disappeared. The amulet thudded lightly to the table.

"It worked," Neville said, awestruck. "That was brilliant, that was!"

Moody took a step back and blinked a couple of times with his good eye. "Think I'll sit a spell," he said, and then limped over to one of the stools. "Forgot how much energy that takes."

"Yes," Snape said, as he stared at Mad-Eye. Then he turned on Hermione. "Have you finished with the other amulets?"

"I've – no. I've still got to collect something for Ron's and Lupin's. But I've got the rest."

"No matter," Moody said. "It'll take another couple of hours to get the next one made. We won't be ready for the last two until tomorrow." He grunted as he twisted his metal leg off. "I could use a Firewiskey."

---

Ron stared down at the dark school grounds from behind the crenellations of the Astronomy Tower. The night sky was blanketed with stars and the biggest, orangest moon he'd ever seen floated ominously over the Forbidden Forest. The heat was bearable up there thanks to the strong south wind that played through Ron's hair and robes, drying the sweat on his face and neck. He touched the green amulet that rested against his chest.

"Are you scared?" Hermione's voice was quiet beside him, and half of it was carried away on the heavy breeze.

"No," he told her, truthfully. He felt curiously calm. He looked at her, though, and was certain she wasn't sharing his serenity. "This is it," he told her. "Everything in our lives has led to this moment. It's finally here, and it's…this is how it's supposed to be."

She stared into his eyes for a moment. The little light that was coming through the tower door cast a stark shadow from the red-orange glow of the moon on her face. It had been a long time since he'd seen her in Hogwarts robes. Ron thought she'd never looked so lovely.

It had been short days followed by even shorter nights since Snape's arrival, but this day, Thursday, seemed to have lasted a lifetime. The preparations were finished. The castle sealed. The ghosts had reported excitedly on an hourly basis that nothing had changed. At noon Hermione led Ron to the empty Ravenclaw Tower's second year boy's dorm, and they'd made love in the heat of the sun through the window. He'd watched every bit of her as she moved with him, and afterwards she stared into his face as if to memorize him. With all the emotions churning inside, it had been difficult to find his release, and he wasn't sure that he'd been able to give her hers.

That was hours ago, now, and Ron wished for that time back, to be able to make love to her just once more.

Behind them on the Tower's rampart, Harry and Ginny were whispering, and then came the distinct wet smacks of kisses exchanged. Ron wondered if Hermione wanted to be kissed, but her pensive profile didn't hint that she did. She clutched the blue amulet tied around her neck as she stared out over the lake. Even this late, because of this moon, it looked as if it were on fire.

The bell began to toll, and beside him, Hermione jumped. Ron looked to the Clock Tower. Eleven thirty-two. Then he scanned out, past the deserted village of Hogsmeade, and into the valley beyond. There was something there, something dark. Something moving.

Ginny saw it, too. She came up on Ron's other side, touched his arm, laid her cheek against it. "Guard him," she said in a quiet, but hard voice. "Protect him."

"With my life."

Her eyes lifted to him, and for a split second Ron felt an echo of what she'd looked like her first night at Hogwarts, full of the excitement and joy and tremendous relief. She'd been a little girl who'd finally made it to the one place she'd spent her whole life wishing to be. When he blinked it was hard to reconcile the witch who stood beside him with that girl he'd called sister all those years ago. Ginny was strong. She was brave. She was amazing. She should've been the Smisurato. She would've been brilliant.

The bell sounded again, and Ron turned to search the night. There was even more movement behind them, through the mountain pass from the west. So they were to be surrounded. It wasn't anything he hadn't already anticipated. "Harry," he said. "Plan A, then. And we should go downstairs. The Death Eaters won't wait for the rest." No, they would most certainly sweep in ahead of the undead, and leave them the leftovers.

"Dobby!" Harry called. An instant later the house elf appeared.

"Yes, Harry Potter, sir!" The little creature wore a crude armor over his knitted britches made of a skillet and a cookie sheet tied together with kitchen twine and belted around his waist. If the Death Eaters came armed with eggs and scones, Dobby would certainly be ready.

"It's Plan A. Please alert the ghosts and portraits, and speak to Moody personally. I'll be down in a moment." Harry seemed calm, Ron saw. And perhaps a little sad.

"Yes, sir! Good luck, Harry Potter, sir!" And Dobby disappeared.

Harry turned then, grabbed Hermione, and hugged her fiercely. She buried her face in his neck. Ron turned away, to give them their good-bye.

And then, to the south he saw the dark horizon bubble like blood in a cauldron. Plan A was a good plan. It would work well. There was no Plan B.

Ron felt a small hand slide into his. "You've been a good brother," Ginny whispered.

"Only the best," Ron told her. This earned him a snort of humor. "And you've been a brilliant sister."

"Right, then." Harry was behind them, and he took Ginny by the hand and led her down the Tower.

Hermione stood alone by the rampart, and stared glassy-eyed up at the sky. She looked a little lost. Ron stepped up behind her and wrapped his arms around her, kissed her temple. She inhaled deeply. "You protect him, Ron Weasley," she said in a broken voice. "But you follow the plan. You hear me? Follow that bloody plan of yours!"

"I will," he told her.

"Someone we know is going to die tonight," she whispered.

"Yes," he said. Probably many someones.

"Please, please, Ron. Please don't let it be you."

"I won't," he said.

They stood quietly for a little while longer as the darkness slowly approached.

---

The Great Hall was dark and hot, and that, combined with the sight of sixty or so Harrys made Ron a little motion sick. Harry came up beside him holding a stone flask. "Where've you been?"

Ron downed the contents, and gagged at the flavor. Second year came back to him in a flash, only that time he'd turned into Crabbe. Or had he been Goyle? Ron suspected they would've tasted equally bad. He handed the flask off, and waited as his flesh and bone and hair molted. His hands became Harry's. Ginger fringe turned dark. Another Harry came up behind him and handed him a set of glasses.

"Chudley Cannons," said another Harry behind him, and Ron responded with the agreed, "Licorice wands."

Harry looked relieved. "If I was at all narcissistic I'd be having a jolly good time right about now. Instead, I feel as if I've just come out the wrong end of a funhouse."

"Yeah, it's off-putting," Ron quipped. "I don't think I've ever been so ugly."

Harry jabbed him with his wand. "Ready to make a go of this?"

"Been ready for ages," Ron said lightly. "Been waiting on you."

Harry smiled, and then looked away. It had to be odd, Ron thought, to look your best friend in the eye and see yourself. Harry grabbed his shoulder though, and gave him a little shake. Then, he raised his wand at the ceiling, and shot a trio of yellow sparks into the air. The room parted, and the Harrys melted back into the walls. All save for one. Moody. As Harry's Seventh he stood alone in the center of the room.

The clock tower began to chime the hour with a tremendous GONG.

Ron reached out with his magic and found Hermione. He couldn't tell where she was, but she gave him a little nudge back, and he withdrew content. The room was completely silent except for the thundering GONG. GONG.

The furniture had been removed. GONG.

The magic ceiling was off, and the vaults above were dark and empty. GONG.

Sweat dripped down the back of Ron's neck, down the middle of his spine. GONG.

His heart started to pound. GONG.

Ron lifted his amulet to his lips. GONG.

GONG. GONG. GONG. GONG…

And nothing happened. It was Thursday, midnight. Where was Darkness? And why hadn't it descended? Moody had suggested that it might take some time for the Death Eaters to break the anti-Apparation and other protective charms on the castle. Rape, Lupin had called it.

"Plan A is brilliant," Harry whispered beside him. "I hope it keeps working this smoothly."

"They'll come," Ron told him.

"I'd rather they didn't, if it's all the same to you."

"Oh, it's all the same to me."

Plan A had everyone in one room. No one out guarding save for the ghosts and portraits who were more look-outs than anything else. Peeves had been told he had free-reign over anyone in a hood. Ron had never seen the poltergeist so gleeful.

"Don't suppose they'll bring tea, do you?" Ron asked. "I could go for a biscuit."

"How can you possibly think of food at a time like this?" Harry asked.

"It's my stomach that's thinking. I'm just giving it voice."

A deafening CRACK! reverberated through the room, and its contents dropped low, covered their ears. In the next instant a hundred robed figures appeared. And, for a long heartbeat no one moved. Several of the Death Eaters threw off their masks, as if they couldn't believe the dozens of Harrys staring back at them. They hesitated, as Ron knew they would. Voldemort would want to dispose of Harry himself, and no doubt had ordered that he was to be left alive, if not unscathed.

But the Harrys were under no such orders, and with their targets wide open, they attacked. The Death Eater contingent was instantly cut in half. Ginny's brilliant sun was cast at the ceiling. The room was suddenly aglow in a rich, golden light as screams rang out over the sound of casting and blasting. The smell of burning fabric and flesh filled the air. A bolt of green shot by Ron. He ducked away in time.

The enormous wood doors began to pound, and Ron briefly wondered how the throngs of undead had gotten to the castle so quickly, unless it was even more Death Eaters banging to get in. Snape had never been able to pin down a number for Ron. Between two and eleven hundred, he'd said when pressed. He was no help at all.

It was difficult to see through the throngs of bodies all dressed in robes, half of which looked like Harry. Ron aimed for a hood, and stunned a Death Eater before he was able to aim properly. Two Harrys went down not far from him, and one of them cried out, grabbed his leg, and then Disapparated. Plan A, then, was working. Get them out, get them healed, if possible, and get them back in the fray. There were multiple Disapparitions throughout the room. Ron wondered how Hermione was dealing with the influx.

He was hit with a curse that left a purple flame against the outside of his left thigh. Ron screamed in pain as he went down, and instantly Harry was by his side. Ron clutched at his leg, but couldn't find any wounds. It felt as if the muscles were tearing inside, as if the bones were being ground to dust.

"What is it?" Harry yelled over the chaos.

"Dunno!"

"Plan A," Harry insisted.

"I think Hermione was hit with this back at the Ministry battle," Ron got out through gritted teeth. It was getting hard to think. His ears were roaring. The pain was tremendous.

"EPISKEY!" Harry called, and some of the pain receded a bit, at least enough for Ron to be helped to his feet.

Another Harry went down, and with heart and adrenaline pumping Ron was back in the thick of it. He shot down a Death Eater, and missed several others. He dodged, and wove through the crowd, trying to keep his Harry within sight, for fear of losing him to the throngs.

Then Ron saw three masked men, standing off to the back, just as Hermione had so careful described to him. They didn't seem to be interested in attacking, and once one of them shot out a blast from his wand and it hit one of the downed Death Eaters, Ron knew he had his target. "Four o'clock!" he called to Harry, who instantly turned to see what Ron was yelling about. They had to take out the healers.

Fighting through the crowd was difficult, doing it while trying not to lose Harry was even more so. There were several times a Harry bumped into him, or elbowed him without even realizing it. The fight was hard, and people were diving left and right trying to avoid being hit. At one point Ron heard a comforting: "Constant vigilance!"

Harry managed to get the first of the three healers down, but then the other two Disapparated before Ron could get a spell out. That Ron hadn't counted on. Would they Disapparate to some common rendezvous point, or just to another part of the hall? Ron tried to think just as Harry was blasted so hard he flew backwards and landed like lead on the stone floor. Ron jumped for him, covered him with his own body to protect him from any further attacks, and concentrated hard on Hermione in the kitchens. One excruciating moment later he appeared there with Harry lying unconscious beneath him.

"And who are you?" Hermione asked, her voice shrill and panicked. She was clearly overwhelmed with the dozens of Harrys lying hurt and bleeding and mangled around the tile floored kitchen. House elves were running here and there with water, clean rags and bandages.

"Hermione!" Ron called. "It's him! It's Harry!"

"No!" She dropped down beside him, and touched her fingers to his throat. "What was he hit with, do you know?" Ron shook his head. His amulet was intact, so they knew it wasn't that.

Hermione bit her lip, pulled out a handful of vials from a pocket, and selected the milky white one. "Tilt his head back," she ordered, and Ron helped her pour the potion down his throat. Harry choked a little, but swallowed.

"Will he be all right?" Ron asked.

"I've no idea," she said bluntly. Behind her a Harry screamed, and she cringed. "Give him this in five minutes," she said, handing him a second milk. "I'll be right back." Then she hurried off.

When Ron's Harry started coming around, Ron gave him the second vial. He drank it, shook his head. "What happened?"

"I didn't protect you is what happened," Ron said bleakly.

"You mean I managed to get myself shot. Right. Let's not do that again."

"Agreed," Ron told him. He helped his friend to his feet. "Good?"

"Will do," Harry said with an obviously painful shrug.

Hermione hurried over. "Take this with you," she said, and shoved several small bottles of the white liquid into each of their hands. "It's a general flush. It won't work on everything, so come back if it gets…which one of you is Ron?"

"I am," Ron told her.

"He is," Harry said, as he pointed.

Hermione threw herself at Ron, and kissed him hard on the mouth. "Be more careful!" she pleaded, and then, staring at his mouth, she added: "This is very weird."

Ron and Harry Apparated back to the Great Hall, where there seemed to be even more Death Eaters. Or, maybe it was that the Harrys were being thinned out a bit. The hall doors were still holding, though Ron thought he saw shadows of figures against the outside of the stained glass windows. The windows had been magically protected of course, to be as strong as the doors. But if wizards could Apparated within the castle walls, then there was no telling which spells the Death Eaters could break through. Ron had tried to allow for them to break through the doors in his strategy, but it was no good. He needed the doors and windows to hold. At least until morning.

The clock tower sounded. One.

A fire broke out at the far end of the room, and several Death Eaters were engulfed. The nightmare scene of finding Ginny in the corridor watching over the charred remains of the Death Eater she'd killed the last time they'd attacked shot through Ron, and he worried she was over there. Harry was worried, too.

"Bill and Fleur and Neville are with her," Ron reminded him. All the Order had been divided into units. No one was fighting alone.

Harry wiped the sweat from his face with the sleeve of his robe, and then refocused. "There," he said, and pointed. Five healers, focused on their burning brethren. Harry and Ron aimed together. They got four of them before the last got away. Ron's heart raced in triumph. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, and he scanned the room for more targets.

"WATCH IT!" Harry yelled, and pushed Ron out of the way just as a Cutting Curse sliced through the air where he'd just been standing. From the floor Ron aimed and hit the Death Eater who'd shot at him. The wizard fell over, Petrified.

Harry rolled to his feet again, and was already blasting through a cluster of enemy. Ron found himself scrambling to catch up. His leg bothered him. Another Harry Apparated away, and in his wake he left one who was clearly dead. His head had been blown half off. There was a great pool of blood on the flagstone floor. Several Harrys slipped and fell.

Before Ron was able to get past, two masked men ran between him and Harry and it was all Ron could do to tuck down and roll out of the way. He hit the ground hard, and his shoulder and leg protested with burning anger when he tried to get to his feet again. Ron hit one of the Death eaters with a Jelly-Legs Jinx – it was a first year spell Ron had been good at, and at that moment it was the only thing in his mind. He chided himself on the silly spell choice, and forced himself to recall the list of battle spells Moody had drilled into him over the last eight months. Confundus, Entrancia, Expelliarmus, Incendio.

He aimed and yelled: "Petrificus totallus!" and a Death Eater went down. Behind him another turned to see his comrade fall and aimed at Ron.

"Muffilato!" Ron got out just before that Death Eater managed the incantation, and nothing more than a series of green sparks came out of the Death Eater's wand. Ron ducked, and was hit in the back, but he managed to keep to his feet.

"CHUDLEY CANNONS!" Ron heard Harry call, and he tripped a couple of steps in that direction. The Muffled Death Eater took aim again, and Ron shot him from under his left arm with a Stun Spell.

"LICORICE WANDS!" Ron called, and Harry immediately grabbed his shoulder.

"You all right?" Harry demanded. He'd been hit with something because the left side of his face was smudged with what looked like soot, and his glasses had been quickly and haphazardly cleaned.

"Fine," Ron told him. "You?"

"Where is the slimy bastard?" Harry wanted to know. "It's been hours! What's he waiting on?" A bolt of blue flew by them, close enough to light up the right side of Harry's face. They turned and fired together; Harry with Expelliarmus, and Ron with Rictusempra, the Tickling Charm. Harry gave him a sideways glance.

"Interesting choice," he said.

"Shut it."

Ron was tired, and there was so much going on around him. Where was Voldemort? "He's after you," Ron told Harry. "He's not going to waste his time with a petty battle. He'll wait, let his minions do all the heavy lifting, and then swoop in at the end when you're worn out to finish the job. It's a pretty good strategy, that," Ron told him. "If you don't care who dies."

There was a loud CRACK beside them, and Ron jumped, aimed, and hit the figure with "Sectumsempra!" The other Harry went down screaming, holding his chest.

"Bloody magic!" Ron swore, and he and Harry dove down to cover Ron's victim. Harry tried a Suture Spell Hermione had shown them both, but it didn't slow the bleeding much. Ron fiddled with the white potion Hermione had given them – his fingers were shaking too hard to get the cork out.

"Who are you?" Harry asked his doppelganger.

Ron knew. He recognized Neville's striped amulet. "Where's Ginny?" Ron asked.

"Dunno – lost her and Bill an hour ago?"

"You lost Ginny?" Harry barked, and Neville cried out as his second Suture Spell went awry. "Where? Where did you last – oh, bugger it all! Never mind!" Harry jumped up and ran off, and Ron was torn. But he had a job to do, and at the moment Harry had to be his only priority. "Can you Disapparate?" Ron asked. "Stick to the plan?"

Neville nodded, and in the next second he was gone.

When Ron looked up, Harry was one of the dozens of Harrys running about the room, jumping and casting and falling and Disappearing. Ron started off in the direction he saw Harry head in, and reached out with his magic. "Licorice wands!" Ron called into the crowd. The Harry by the door was struck down with 'Die'. That couldn't have been the Harry, Ron told himself. The Harry had his amulet. It was comfort, but not enough; because Ron knew it was someone else he knew, and someone he cared about.

"Licorice wands!" Ron yelled again, angry and panicked, but got no response. His magic groped about, came into contact with several horrible energies, but nothing he recognized as being Harry's. He tried to look for Harry's amulet, but everyone was moving so quickly, and Ron felt like he couldn't move fast enough. He clutched at the pain in his thigh as he wove through the combatants, and tried to avoid direct hits. He had to dive to the floor, and the pain in his leg blinded him momentarily. He broke out into a cold sweat and retched.

And then, from the corner of his eye he saw the healer that had escaped earlier – or, if not him than another. It hardly mattered. The Death Eater was sending Mending Charms to another Death Eater near the Great Hall's door. And there at the door were three others trying to break the door's Locking Charms. They were trying to open the room to reinforcements. Ron forced himself up, blinked the dizziness back a little, and aimed as he rushed determinedly toward them. He was able to down two before he was hit by a great, green blast. It propelled him backward through the air. He hit two Harrys on his way down, his head slammed hard into the stone floor. His ears rung. The false sun was nearly blinding from this position, and it was difficult to focus, but he was sure he saw Harry above him, pointing his wand down at Ron's chest.

"Aguamenti!" Harry yelled, and doused Ron in a spray of cold water. When Ron looked down at his chest, he realized that his amulet had burst into flames, which must've lit his robes. He'd been hit with 'Die'. Just like his dad. Ron touched his chest. He was still alive.

"All right, mate?" Harry asked.

Ron managed a nod, though it felt as if his head split open all over again, and he had to close his eyes to keep the world from spilling into it.

"Which are you?" Harry asked.

"Ron," he gasped out.

"Good, then. It's Kingsley.

"They're trying to open the doors," Ron warned him.

"Can you Disapparate?"

"Think so," Ron told him.

"Then follow the plan," Kingsley said. They were the last words Ron would ever hear from him.

Ron managed to Apparate down to the kitchens, but he appeared on top of the low, wood countertops, beneath a pile of used bandages, and so it was a few minutes before one of the house elves noticed he was there. Ron by this point was in and out of consciousness, and when Hermione filled his vision, he wasn't entirely sure she was really standing there. He had to reach out and touch her cheek to know he wasn't dreaming.

"Love you," he mumbled. Her eyes went wide.

"Ron? Ron, is that you?"

"I think so," he told her. He tried not to think too much. "Head is killing me."

Her fingers touched his forehead, and skimmed over his skull until they hit the tender patch at the back, and he threw up on her.

"Right," she said. She cast a couple of spells, and had him drink a vial. He managed to keep it down, but just. "Where's Harry?" she asked.

"Looking for Ginny. Neville lost her, and he went mental and ran off. I couldn't find him again."

"Ginny's down here," Hermione told him. "She's all right – don't worry. I was about to send her back up."

"I've got to get back as well," Ron said, and forced himself up and on to his feet. After the initial wobble he started to feel better. Well, less bad, at least.

"You need to wait ten minutes," Hermione told him, holding his waist to steady him.

"In ten minutes Harry could be blown apart up there. Several Harrys have been."

Hermione gasped and touched the front of his robe. "Ron…your amulet."

"Saved my life," he told her. "Thanks for that."

"Take mine," she insisted, and pulled it from around her neck.

"Keep it," he told her.

"You need it more than me! Please, Ron! Take it!" She forced her amulet around his neck.

"You said they needed to be personalized. That's your amulet."

"It's got your hair in it. It knows you," she said. "Take it and be safe. And find Harry."

He nodded, met her eyes. He hated leaving her. He hated having to go back up there. Somewhere the Clock Tower gonged three.

The Death Eaters at the doors had been stopped, and least for the moment, though the doors gave a little more under the almost constant battering from the other side. Ron forced himself to focus on finding Harry, and while he kept a watchful eye over the crowd, Ron reached out and searched for his friend with his magic. It was difficult with all the people in the room, and the noise and stench of flesh and blood and death and fear. Ron wiped his face with the back of his hand. Harry was in there. Somewhere.

'Licorice wands' hadn't worked last time, so now Ron abandoned all attempts at pretense. "Harry!" he yelled. "Harry! She's all right! She's safe!"

At the far end of the hall one of the Harrys turned abruptly and began to run toward him. Well that was much easier, Ron decided. Of course, it called heaps of unwanted attention to Harry and Ron stunned no less than five Death Eaters aiming at Harry on his sprint to him.

"You found her?" Harry demanded, chest heaving, sweat streaming down his red face. "I've been searching the bodies for her amulet-"

"She's with Hermione," Ron told him, and then quickly added, "she's fine. Hermione said she'll be back up here before long."

Harry's relief was tempered by this last bit of information. "I had Hermione's promise that if Ginny ended up in the kitchens for any reason at all that she'd keep her down there until this was all over. Is that Hermione's amulet? What happened to yours?"

Ron shook his head, still scanning the room. "You know that's not how this is going to play out, mate. Hermione can't keep her out of the fray. We need seven at the end, and she's one of them-"

"No!" Harry insisted.

"She's your Heart. She has to be there, Harry. You know the plan. And besides, as strong as Hermione is, she's overrun down there. I doubt she could keep Ginny even if she wanted to."

Harry whirled around, raised his wand for a fight. "Let's get this done. I want this over, one way or the other."

Everyone involved was growing tired, both Order and Death Eater alike. And Ron knew it was time to move into Phase Two. Ron wished Ginny was there, because she was far better at the Sun Charm than he, but he said the incantation and aimed at the brilliant little star, which turned a deep crimson. The whole room went red for a moment, and all through the room the Harrys pulled out the small candy Fred and George had given each of them. Ron took his out and bit down. Orange cream, his favorite. He chewed, swallowed, and just a few seconds later he felt more alert, more awake. His body still ached, particularly his head and leg, but he felt as if he'd just had a leisurely nap. The fight renewed.

It wasn't until nearly four in the morning when the first of the Great Hall windows shattered. Vampires flew in by the dozens, and appeared only marginally effected by the mock sun. They swooped down over the crowd like great black birds of prey, landing with a grace that belied their deadliness.

Ron had known this might happen. After all, Lupin's semi-transformation earlier that evening, while not complete, had been enough to drive him out of his human mind. Slughorn's solution had been simple: garlic, and lots of it. Each of the Harrys quickly pulled cloves from their robes and ate them raw. Ron's own eyes watered as he forced his teeth through the pungent heat. But it was better than a vampire bite, he told himself. He aimed as he chewed, and hit one vampire with, "Incarcerous!" so hard he flew backwards a dozen meters as magical ropes wrapped tightly about him. The vampire hit the wall hard, bound tight as a mummy.

"Brilliant!" Harry shouted in appreciation, and fired off his own spells at a group of Death Eaters charging a fallen Harry.

A shrill scream came from somewhere to Ron's left, and he turned just as the Great Hall's doors gave way. A throng of Harrys ran that way, wands blasting, and several werewolves were cut down as even more Harrys forced the doors closed again. Three of them were blasted in the back with green bolts and fell dead against the Gryffindor crest carved into the door. Both Harry and Ron turned and gave their friends cover while another handful of Harrys tried valiantly to secure the space again.

And then something truly wondrous happened. The real sun began to lighten the sky outside. The vampires slowed, the banging on the Great Hall's doors became more and more erratic. The tide was turning. Of the Death Eaters who had been battling all night, less than half remained, and once the vampires took to the air and fled out under the protection of the short-lived, deep morning shadows, the Death Eaters began to Apparate out.

"Tell your Lord," Harry called out to the last few, "that we're done playing! If he wants me, he's to come and get me! Otherwise, tell the coward to bugger off!"

The last of them popped away, spitting as he left.

Then, the disguises that had kept Harry anonymous all night long began to fail. Ron felt the change within him like a fire boil through his skin. Whatever Hermione had put in the Polyjuice Potion to give it the longevity they'd needed, had a painful side-effect. Many of the Harrys fell to the ground as they became themselves again. Moody, Dedalus Diggle, Bill and Fleur, Ron saw them all fall to the ground as the pain of changing back played through them. It wasn't long until his own knees buckled, and he fell forward on to his hands.

When Ron looked up, Harry was bolting across the room. Ginny stood by one of the enormous pilasters that held up the cathedral ceiling. She held her middle and looked pained, though not half as much as Ron, surely. How has she managed to stay upright? He tried to force himself to his feet, to follow Harry, protect him. He tripped and fell flat on his face. Well, at least his feet were back at their proper size again. Ron's second attempt was met with limited success, as well, but he managed to at least catch himself before he fell back to the floor.

"Phase three!" Harry shouted. The room seemed to hesitate. Then he shot a blue flare into the air, and it extinguished the sun. "Phase three!" he repeated. This time remains of the Order, save the pre-chosen few, Disapparated out.

Ginny flew into Harry's arms, and they hugged each other tight; and, as Ron forced one foot in front of the other and he closed the space between them, he saw that it hadn't been pain that had made her cry. Beside her, on the floor, lay Charlie, too still, too pale for life. His blue eyes stared empty up at the ceiling. Ice flowed through Ron's veins and his heart turned to a lump in his chest. Ron had to force his gaze from his brother. They fell on the figure beside him on the floor. Draco Malfoy. Half his face was covered in blood, and he moved as if not fully conscious of himself or his surroundings.

Ron approached with a drawn wand. "Did he kill Charlie?" Ron demanded. Ginny pulled away from Harry, and the two of them looked at Ron. "Malfoy! Did he kill Charlie?"

"Don't do it, Ron," Harry said in a voice that was too calm, too controlled.

Ron felt like screaming. "Give me one bloody reason!"

"Because you were brilliant tonight," Harry said calmly. "Because you did everything you should have, and you don't deserve to have his death on your hands."

"I should've killed him ages ago," Ron said. "I thought I had for a while."

"I know," Harry told him. "It was horrible for you."

"Better it was horrible for me, than the horrible things he did to Hermione," Ron spat out. "You're never going to let him go! And I could end this now. He'd never hurt her – or anyone again."

"No," Harry said. And then he pointed his wand at Draco. "Incarcerous." Ropes were conjured, and they wound themselves tightly around Draco's body.

"You don't want to become like me," Harry said to Ron. "Not when I want so much to be like you."

There were bodies all over the Great Hall, contorted and bloody, both Death Eater and Order alike. Hagrid's head had been blown completely off. His body was unmistakable, and had ripped through the Harry-sized robes it had worn when the potion faded away. Great, bloody, hairy corpse. Horrible. Ron had to look away to keep his sanity. And McGonagall by the door. And Amos Diggery. And Savage, the Auror. And Elphias Doge, who'd kept an eye on the Malfoys while Hermione was held captive. There were more, but Ron couldn't bring himself to look any closer. Exhaustion and relief mingled with the grief, and he found himself fighting back emotion.

"Dobby!" Harry called, and a second later the house elf appeared. Before Dobby could get a word in Harry ordered him to fetch Hermione and Lupin.

Ron turned and found Neville by the professors' platform, where their table once sat. He was on his knees, sitting back on his heels, looking stunned at Griselda Marchbanks' body. She had a gaping hole in her torso where her heart had once been. Not far from him Moody was struggling to stand. His good leg had been badly injured. Ron limped to him, needing to be useful, and not wanting to think about anything beyond Mending.

"Is it something you can fix?" Ron asked him.

Moody glared up at him for a moment before saying, "If I could have, I would have by now! That bloody Malfoy hit me with 'Shatterius'. My femur is in about 20,000 pieces right now. I managed to Muffle the pain well enough, but the leg will never bear a load again. Bloody bastard knew it was what happened to my other leg, I reckon."

"You should've Disapparated," Ron told him. "We're into Phase Three."

"And who's going to be his Seventh, then? Eh, pimple?" Moody demanded. "If not me, then who?"

"Shacklebolt," Ron told him. He'd already made a back-up list in his head. He'd been too afraid to commit it to parchment.

"Dead," Moody said.

Ron couldn't process that at the moment, and just went to the next name. "Dawlish."

"Dead," Moody barked. "So's Minerva and Doge." He shook his head. "It's gotta be me, pimple. We'll Sever the leg and put me on a broom. I'll lose it anyway."

Ron starred down at the wizard's flattened thigh, and touched his own. It ached something awful, but at least it was in one piece. Ron could fight. Moody could not.

"Harry!" Ron called, though he didn't look back at his friend. "Moody's out!"

"I'm in, I tell you!"

"This is war, and we're playing for keeps," Ron quote Moody's words back to him. His voice sounded oddly flat to his ears. "You're a liability now. Harry needs a new pawn."

Moody's eyes narrowed on Ron, and a slow, deliberate smile contorted his face. "Well, Ronald," he said. "You've finally come into your own, then?"

Harry came up beside Ron, a grim expression on his face as he realized the extent of Moody's injury.

"Call Dobby," Ron told him. "Tell him to fetch Snape."

"Can Snape Heal him?"

"Snape is your new Seventh."

Harry stared at him stunned. "No. He'll never do it."

"He will, if you ask him. You need a Seventh."

"I'll take Diggory," Harry decided.

"He's dead," Moody snapped. "Ron's right. Snape is the only choice. He'll do it if you ask it of him."

"He hates me," Harry insisted. "We'll do without."

"You won't!" Moody barked. "Swallow that Potter pride, and do what has to be done! You need a Seventh. Snape will do it!"

"He killed Dumbledore!"

"Yes, he did," Ron said. "But at this moment in time, none of that matters. The only thing that matters is that Voldemort is defeated. Your only job is to see that that happens. And Harry, the worst is yet to come."

Harry's eyes were hard on Ron, and his anger was mirrored in Ginny's face. "He's right," she said. "Fetch Snape. Let's get this over with."

Harry shook his head, but he called Dobby, anyway. And while they waited for Snape, Hermione and Lupin arrived. Never had Ron been so happy to see two people, but his relief was tempered by their reaction to the carnage around them. Hermione saw Hagrid's body and screamed a miserable, "No!" Ron went to her, and she threw herself into his arms. She smelled of blood and sour bile. Dark circles ringed her eyes. He wanted to protect her from what was to come.

"Hagrid," she whimpered.

"There are too many to count right now," he told her. "We don't have much time."

Lupin, haggard and weak, touched Ron's shoulder, and then his head by way of greeting and relief. Ron gave him a nod.

Snape arrived in the next minute, bloody and limping. "I was summoned." His tone and humor were flat.

"Can you fight?" Harry asked. "You're wounded."

Snape's black eyes narrowed on Harry. "I'm fine," he said slowly.

"My Seventh is out," Harry told him, and motioned to Moody on the floor behind him. "I need a new one." It was clear Snape knew what Harry was getting at, but he waited anyway, and forced the words from Harry's tight throat. "Will you fight by my side, and help me to defeat Voldemort?"

Something changed in Snape's expression, some small twitch of his eye that held resignation and a fleeting look of relief.

There was a twinge in Ron's stomach, and suddenly it all made sense. Ron understood that this was the real reason why Snape had come to Hogwarts. It was almost beyond belief. "You severed your own arm," Ron said to him. "You did it yourself so that when you faced your Dark Lord you would be free from his control. You knew this would happen."

"I did," Snape admitted.

"But how? Did you hurt Moody?" Harry accused.

Snape's nose wrinkled as if Harry's stench offended him. "You are not the only one to receive prophecies. I was told long ago what my role in all of this would be. Your mother was very…clear."

Harry's eyes lit with fury, his knuckles went white around his wand. "I don't believe you," he bit out.

"Why am I not surprised?" Snape said dryly. "Of course, it was far more a curse than a prophecy. I don't believe for a second that she had the Sight, or you never would have received that scar…and still…the other things she promised that night have happened."

"What night? What are you talking about?" Harry demanded.

"There isn't time for this," Ron began, but Snape talked right over him.

"The night your parents were killed, of course," he said, his voice smooth as silk. "The night the Dark Lord murdered them."

"You were there," Harry accused, a new level of hatred registering in his eyes.

"I was, and though I was not the one who ultimately betrayed them, it hardly mattered. Your father and I had been enemies from the start, but Lily – she and I had been…friends. It was a betrayal for me to have simply been there. And, when she asked for my help, I refused. I've many, many regrets in my life, but that is by far the most painful."

"You expect me to believe you even cared that she died? As if you're even capable of that level of emotion."

"I grieved!" Snape roared. "I did not go there that night with the knowledge that she would die! When she threw herself in front of you I made to stop her – I would have stopped her, had the Dark Lord not stunned me into submission through the Mark!"

"You cut off your own arm?" Neville asked, dazed not only by that realization, Ron knew, but also by the previous hours of fighting. "But why? What could Harry's mum possibly have said to make you do something like that?"

"She said…" Snape began, and then he frowned and looked at Harry. "That is between Lily and myself."

"There is nothing between you and my mum," Harry snapped.

"You never answered his question," Ron prompted. "Will you be his Seventh?"

There was no time for Snape to respond. Despite the dim sky brightening outside, the room became darker and cooler, which was something of a welcome break for Ron, still sweating as he was. A gust howled through the room, and in its wake a series of cracks and pops filled the air. Half a dozen Death Eaters Aapparated in among the bodies littering the floor. At their center stood a half-human figure that could only be Voldemort.

His eyes were slanted like a snake's, but red and glowing in the new morning light. His nose was nothing more than slits, his bald head covered in scales. He looked more snake-like than Harry had described and Ron wondered, as his insides turned to liquid, if that was due to the destruction of the Horcruxes; that with the different pieces of his soul now dead he was that much less human.

Panic quivered through Ron as he stared at the evil that had terrified him his whole life, the wizard who was legend and myth and curse all in one. This was it. He reached to his side and found Hermione's arm. She gripped his hand, and then they broke apart to protect their charge.

Snape stepped in front of Harry, as a Seventh should, and Ron to Harry's right, as his Second. Somewhere behind him Ron heard Moody's, "Constant Vigilance!" and then a small, "Good hunting, Ronald!" before he Apparated away. Now was the most dangerous time. Who would cast first?

Voldemort looked serenely around the Great Hall, his fangs bared as he smiled at what he saw. "Ah, yes. Severus. Such a disappointment." He flicked his wand at Snape, a move Snape must have anticipated because he parried it so well.

Harry said something in parcel tongue at this point that caused Voldemort's serpentine head to jerk towards him. "That's the problem with today's generation: no respect for their elders."

"You're not my elder," Harry said with the same confidence that Ron had witnessed with the Minister. "I saw you born three years ago. And I'll see you die today!" He raised his wand, as did his nemesis, and their bolts of magic shot to each other, connected, and fanned out through the room, creating a second magical ceiling, this one just inches above the combatants.

One of the eager Death Eaters aimed, and Snape Stupefied him before he was able to get the incantation out. After that, spells from both sides were volleyed all over the place. Ginny had a Shield Spell wrapping her and Snape – as he was the Seventh, and therefore hers (as Harry's Third) to defend. She protected Snape, who defended Harry. They all knew their responsibilities, and though he'd not verbally agreed, Snape was fighting fiercely for the Order. Ron felt a surge of pride for his comrades. Neville managed to down one of the Death Eaters before he was hit in the shoulder. Ron saw him fly backwards from the corner of his eye, but he didn't have time to see if he was all right. He dodged a blast, and hoped that whatever Neville had been hit with, Hermione could handle. She was Harry's Fourth, the Protector.

Harry began to grunt under the strain of the connected wands. The energy ceiling began to buckle up, and then it exploded into a shower of magical sparks. The blast was deafening, and Ron was thrown to the floor. His leg erupted in a fresh bolt of agony that shot all the way up his spine. He cried out, though he managed to swallow some of it, and grabbed at his thigh.

"Ron!" He heard Hermione scream. Her voice sounded a long, long way off.

"I'm good!" he yelled back. He tried to scramble to his feet, but his leg gave out twice before he managed to get upright, and in that time Lupin took a shot of blue magic to the stomach. He went down hard. There was no time to spare, though. Harry and Snape and Voldemort were exchanging fire, hot and heavy. It was amazing to see, actually; the skill and talent so very obvious. Harry was in his element here, as horrible as that was. This was where Harry Potter the wizard became Harry Potter the legend. This was where he lived up to his mythos. Ron would've been tempted to cheer his friend on had the stakes not been so high. Instead, Ron tried to focus on his own responsibilities, as Harry's Second. He returned fire, and then set about analyzing the other side.

Voldemort was the only one firing at Harry, so the orders there were clear. Two of the Death Eaters were down, and of the four remaining, only one seemed to be guarding his master. The others were…what? Distractions? Meant to take care of the Order? If the Guard was Voldemort's Seventh, then which was his Second? Ron met the critical, light eyes of Lucius Malfoy, and Ron knew – he knew! And as Malfoy's eyes went wide, he knew Malfoy knew as well. Standard wizard dueling protocol insisted on a Second to quantify changing strategy in the field, and Malfoy was Voldemort's.

Malfoy's smug grin set Ron's stomach boiling, and his wand flew up just as his enemy's did. They fired, but Ron was younger than Malfoy, and was able to then drop to the ground, and roll to one side before getting another, critical shot out.

"Obliviate!"

His first missed Lucius, his second grazed his arm and chest. It was enough. Malfoy stumbled forward, his long, silver-blond hair flew into his face, and when he managed to swipe it aside, there was a look of complete incomprehension in his arrogant eyes. He spun around, took in the devastation in the room, and then, as luck would have it, his gaze landed on Draco tied over by the door leading to the antechamber. He trotted over in that direction, having completely forgotten the battle.

Voldemort faltered, and Ron wondered if he sensed Lucius' confusion through the Mark. He gave a snarl born of frustration, and shot at Harry with a non-verbal. Snape didn't react fast enough, and part of the spell hit Harry in the stomach. He cried out, grabbed his middle, as he was hit by part of the purple beam. Snape, who'd gotten the majority across the chest, went down. Ron couldn't see any damage on either of them, but he didn't doubt Voldemort had done something horrible. Harry's whole face had gone stark white, and he was now sweating profusely. Snape was unconscious.

The clock in the tower chimed six.

From somewhere to Ron's right, a Death Eater called, "Die!" and Ginny screamed an anguished, "NO!" Ron couldn't help it. As he turned he saw his sister dive in front of Neville. She took the spell in the chest, and fell crumpled to the floor. Hermione was on her in a second, and Ron had to yell, "Neville! FIGHT!" to pull Harry's Fifth back into the battle. Then he grabbed Harry's arm to keep him from rushing to Ginny's side.

"She's got an amulet!" Ron reminded him.

Harry tried to jerk away, but another bolt came right for them, and Ron had to throw them both to the ground to avoid it. Furious and a bit mad with exhaustion and fear, Harry leapt up, holding his belly, and unleashed on Voldemort. For the first time since the Death Eaters arrived at midnight, Ron felt Harry inside his well.

Harry hit Voldemort over and over with a volley of Cutting and Slashing Spells, with a Burning Curse, and with The Cruciatus. But Voldemort just threw his head back and laughed, his wand raised, a single Protective Charm taking all the magic Harry could throw at him. Harry wasn't deterred. He reached down deeper, and Ron felt his cold float higher within him. Then another wand started firing at Voldemort, and Ron realized Neville had managed to incapacitate the last of the Death Eaters, who was vomiting up a seemingly endless string of rotting rodentia. With Harry so deep in his well Ron could do little more than raise is wand in a threatening stance, but then spells came from the other side of Ron as Lupin regained his feet, looking about as sick as the morning after Tonks had died. He lowered his head and bore down, shooting spells, if not fast, then at least strong. Voldemort's laughter stopped, but his serpent's eyes looked more intrigued than worried.

"Is that…? But no, it's can't be. Can it?" Voldemort began, and a smile snaked across the slit he called a mouth. Fangs glinted in the magic that pooled over his Shield. "Harry – you found yourself a Smisurato. How quaint. How wonderfully archaic. I wonder which of you it is…"

More shots from over Ron's right shoulder, and Hermione joined their fight. And then, Ginny on the left, by Harry's side. They all called, all yelled their incantations, over and over, and Ron saw at all once Voldemort's plan. Shooting this hot it wouldn't take long for them to exhaust the vast majority of their energy wells. Harry was already weak. Lupin would probably be the first to fall away, and then…it didn't matter. None of them would be able to keep up the blasting for any length of time. And in the end, it had to be Harry, didn't it? Harry and Voldemort.

Ron looked over at his friend. Sweat had pooled behind his glasses, his hair was spiked and clumped with it. His face was pale, his dark eyes blazing, almost as if with fever. Harry was fighting for his life. Ron couldn't see how he was going to win.

Snape started firing again, as he slowly rose from the ground. His expression was one of complete concentration.

Harry dropped to his knees, a grimace of pain and exhaustion on his face. "Retreat!" he gasped out. Snape grabbed his shoulder, and they Disapparated out. It was Lupin's job as Sixth to see that everyone got away, and Ron gave him a terse nod before he closed his eyes and materialized in the dining room at number 12. Red morning sun streamed through the gauzy drapes, coloring Harry who'd collapsed on the floor. Snape was over him, casting.

"He all right?" Ron asked, though it was obvious he wasn't.

"Dolohov's curse. Where's that blasted girl?" Snape snapped. Hermione Apparated in a moment later and Snape called her to him. "You cast the Regenerative while I Seal the wound," he commanded. "We must act quickly."

Neville appeared on Ginny's sleeve, who immediately flew to Harry's side. Then Lupin.

"He's coming!" Lupin shouted, and a second later Voldemort was there. In number 12. Ron stood stunned. It was impossible! How could he possibly...

Voldemort struck before Ron could finish his thought, and Snape threw himself over Harry's body in an attempt to shield him. The Cutting Curse sliced his torso in half, and a shower of blood sprayed across the room. Half of him landed on Harry, who grunted at the impact, the other half on Hermione.

"War Room," Harry said on his next gasp.

Ron, Neville and Lupin hit Voldemort hard, forcing him to conjure a Shield, which prevented any more attacks while Hermione and Ginny got Harry to his feet. Ron fed him a little energy, enough so that he could climb the stairs. They followed, fighting backwards up to the second landing where Harry threw open the linen closet and said the incantation that transformed the shelves stuffed with towels into a portal. One by one they climbed in, but the door was too narrow to allow people already through to continue to cover those on the outside. Ron saw immediately that whoever was last through the door would easily be shot down.

"What are you waiting for?" Lupin yelled over their blasting.

"Harry!" Ron called through the closet. "Close the door!"

"Ron! Inside!" Lupin shouted.

But Ron shook his head.

"Both of you! In!" This was Hermione's stern voice. "Trust Harry!"

Trust Harry? Harry couldn't see what was happening in the narrow corridor. Voldemort was less than a meter from Hermione's old bedroom door! When he lowered his Shield he would certainly flatten them both.

"You first!" Ron called to Lupin.

With frustration on his haggard face, Lupin grabbed Ron, crushed him against his chest, and hurled the two of them as one through the opening where only one should've fit. They hit the metal floor on the other side, and before Ron could untangle from Lupin and roll out of the way, a rush of wind swept into the room. Voldemort had made it inside.

Ron scrambled to his feet, and felt the heavy slam of metal on metal as the magical door sealed itself shut. The War Room was their last resort; the back-up to the Plan. It was the only part that Harry had insisted on, and the only part Ron didn't know anything about – and not by his choice. Harry had said he knew what he was doing, but now Ron worried. This couldn't be right – couldn't be what Harry wanted. To lock them all inside with Voldemort? Ron couldn't see him – he was on the floor behind Ginny and Hermione, the both of whom were, with Neville, hurling hexes at the enemy. Lupin started fighting almost immediately from the other side, but Voldemort's Shield went all the way around.

Harry was hardly drawing any energy, and Ron prodded him a little with his magic. He got no response. Panic began to twitter in his chest. "Harry!" he called. Again, nothing.

The room, with its plain, smooth ceiling, walls and floor wasn't overly large, and it quickly filled with the smell of discharged magic and hot metal. They were all still firing, not that it achieved anything except that it forced Voldemort to remain on the defensive. Again, Ron saw no way out of their situation. It was only a matter of time now.

When Lupin collapsed, Voldemort waved his off hand through the air. And through his own Shield Charm he was able to send Neville and Hermione flying. They hit the wall hard, and slid down into crumpled heaps. The next swipe tossed Ginny and Ron against the opposite wall. There was nothing between Voldemort and Harry now, who was on his back breathing heavily, his head to one side as he watched his nemesis advance.

Lupin shot a Shield Spell over Harry, and a shimmering gold net cocooned him. Ron tried to stand and fell on his bad leg.

"Enough playing," Voldemort said. "Shall we get down to business? I want to see what makes you so Chosen." He lifted his wand. "Crucio!"

Beneath Lupin's Shield Charm Harry screamed in absolute agony. The veins of his neck and face rose as his body twisted to get away from the pain.

"Tell me, Potter, why the Fates would choose you." Voldemort let up on the spell and Harry coughed up a little blood. He didn't try to sit up.

"You chose me," Harry told him, his voice weak. "Not the Fates."

"Nonsense," Voldemort hissed.

"When you came to my house all those years ago, when you killed my parents and marked me - you chose me then. You could've picked any magical child born around my birthday, but you didn't. You chose me." Harry licked his lips. "Because I had what you never did. I had a loving family. Neville's parents were already gone…Bellatrix LaStrange had already driven them out of their minds. But I still had my parents. And they had friends – true friends! Great friends!"

"Not all of their friends were so true," Voldemort said. "And what will your friends do for you now?"

Voldemort raised his wand, and Harry raised his, and they both yelled, "AVADA KEDAVRA!" at once.

Lupin's Shield Charm exploded with a BOOM that shook the whole room, as their magical streams linked again. Only this time Ron could feel Harry inside his well, and through Harry, Ron could feel Voldemort, and was very wrong. Moody had warned them so many times never to share energy while Harry was touched by Voldemort. Ron could feel the rotting tendrils of magic slither into him, felt his cold grow even colder as his magic was swallowed up even though it was still inside his well. Ron gave a guttural grunt, and tried to push Voldemort out.

"Ah," said Voldemort. "So it's the red one."

His hold inside Ron became even stronger, and Ron's magic flew out of him faster than it ever had before. He tried to tamp down on it, tried to fight, but it made little difference. Voldemort's control was unlike anything he'd ever experienced. It was, as Snape had said, genius.

"What are you doing?" Harry demanded, and Ron knew he was yelling at him.

"I can't…" was all Ron could get out.

Harry held his wand with two hands, and still he was slowly losing the struggle. "Ron! STOP!"

"I…can't…" Ron closed his eyes, tried harder, and felt a horrible, painful ripping sensation.

"Ron." Harry eeked out through clenched teeth. "Stop feeding…me! Give it all to him!"

Harry was brilliant. He was bloody, brilliant. But would it work?

"Hermione…share with Harry! You and Ginny together…" He heard her begin to protest. "When I say…you and Ginny…together…" The pain was starting to take over his whole body, cloud his mind. Ron struggled to get out, "Seventh order, Hermione…this is…seventh order magic…nothing else matters…give Harry your magic…"

Ron's connection with Harry was thread-thin, and it would take nothing at all to sever it. He took a deep breath, screwed his eyes shut against the horror that was surely to come, and yelled: "NOW!"

Harry was gone from him in an instant, and Ron turned his entire focus on that remaining tentacle drawing from his well. He stopped fighting and instead reached all the way to his cold and forced it up and up through Voldemort's hold until Ron knew he was inside the belly of the beast. The stench was unlike anything Ron had ever imagined. It wasn't just a smell. It filled his every sense a hundred times over with putridity and loathing and unquenchable desire. Ron pushed deeper and deeper into the evil, into the hatred, fighting his way in, stuffing magic through. Voldemort knew he was there, and at first he welcomed the flow, pulled Ron in deeper.

There was a ripping, and Ron knew what it meant this time. He was ripping the very fabric of his magic from the walls of his well. But he didn't stop. He refused to give in, refused to be defeated. He was quickly reaching the end of his endless supply of energy. Hermione was right, nothing in nature was endless.

Oh, Hermione, he thought. The ripping was harder to ignore, and soon, he knew, he'd burn out completely. In that second Ron understood what it took for Snape to sever his own arm.

"Stop," he heard inside his head. It was Voldemort's command, Voldemort's voice in his mind.

Ron had no ability to even attempt to fight Voldemort's control, and he cried out as his magic stopped flowing and then slowly began to retreat, because along with Ron's returning magic, Voldemort came with a vengeance. He was going to burn Ron out, going to turn his own weapon against him. And Ron couldn't stop him; he'd had no Occlumancy - though even if he did, it was doubtful that even as a Smisurato Ron would be any match. Voldemort was a tidal wave, and Ron was standing on the beach with his arms out stretched trying to stop him.

And then, braced for the crush, Ron heard the words over his own thumping heart; heard Harry's voice deliver the death blow on a cry. There was no victory in that voice, only a wish for it all to be over. Ron felt the blow through Voldemort – an instant of shock, of disbelief. There was a claw that, for a split second, grabbed Ron's magic, and when the talons were gone so was the cold in Ron's well.

He fell backwards into the easy void of unconsciousness knowing Voldemort was dead, and that the price had been paid.

End of chapter 22