A/N: Am back after a two-week long break! My two year old managed to wreck my laptop screen bringing all my writing to a halt.

Before I start the chapter, though, I need to mention two reviews both of which were left by guest reviewers.

The first one is- "Okay, so Ron was just checking Hermoine for bruises/ marks and such from harry because of his suspicions until she took the locket off him and he realised what he was doing? Ron noo my poor baby is so insecure and you're so right that locket is pure evil." Yes, that is absolutely spot on.

Yes, that is absolutely spot on.

The second one - "What a relief... that the chapter is finally over without ron doing anything stupid. The fact that how it would have destroyed him completely is one, but hermione definitely deserves a commitment before they make love, (despite the fact that she would have given herself to him willingly). Please update soon."

Again, something I have been wondering when someone would notice that Ron has not made any kind of a commitment or even acknowledged Hermione's feelings for him verbally. So, I was way too excited to see this review. Yes, she surely deserves that before things go further - it's kind of a fantastic coincidence that the review came just before this chapter. :)

And before I forget once again, I have to tell you all that the song that I mostly listen to while writing Ron/Hermione scenes for this story is A Thousand Years by Christina Perri.

All Characters still belong to JKR.

Chapter 44: Progression

She was sure she would find him once again at the top of the Bell Tower, although, technically speaking, the tower neither held a bell nor would do so anymore. It was just the one that stood higher than all the rest, giving an undisrupted view of the entire moor the Chateau stood on.

Walking up the spiral staircase that whirled its way towards the top, Hermione wondered why her father had named it so. Perhaps he had plans of a small settlement of helpers around the Chateau like their other properties, and the bell was to be used to summon them to work? With a heavy heart, she realised that she would never get to know.

Of late, Ron had taken a particular liking to this place. More often than not, he was found here, sitting alone and watching the forest towards the far east that marked the boundary of their property. Another common sight was him flicking the Deluminator on and off. Hermione was of the opinion that it had become a habit for him now, albeit a little annoying one. It was particularly disturbing when he did that while she was in the library busy searching answers.

The unease that irked her when she lacked solutions to every single problem life threw her way, plagued her all the time now. And to be honest, she was more than a tad bit miffed that her enormous collection did not hold the answer to their present problem.

What could that symbol mean?!

Her quick moving feet slowed without conscious thought as she once again began to mentally sort out all the books that she had yet to look into for that odd looking eye. She was almost positive it was not a Rune. Hadn't she practically searched through all the symbols more than five times now? But Harry's declaration that he had seen the symbol on Luna's father bothered her as did his insistence that they go and meet this Xenophilous Lovegood. She could not really locate this man from memory but it was simply hard for her to accept the fact that the editor of Quibbler knew something her books did not. Not that she voiced the thought aloud to the boys; they were strangely protective about Luna Lovegood.

So she kept holding back their plans of giving him a visit and poured herself headfirst into her research. It had to mean something. Dumbledore had personally drawn it on the book- it wasn't present in her own old copy.

As she reached towards the top, the gust of air got colder. It was almost the end of November and their stockpile of both wood and food was fast depreciating. The boys made frequent trips to the forest to collect as much firewood as they could but the rooms were way too large and the stone walls almost swallowed the heat in minutes. Even the warming charms were failing to hold out the cold that was getting stronger by the day.

Finally, at the very top of the tower, she pushed the door ajar and looked out - the strong air blowing her hair off her face and chilling her skin instantly.

Sure enough, there he was, sitting alone at the lone bench he had conjured and staring blankly at the gathering masses of grey clouds.

"Ron?" she called aloud to be heard over the wind, her teeth chattering. Ron had an abnormally stronger resistance to cold; she would surely have frozen out here.

He turned around at her voice, his face even paler than normal making the dark circles around his eyes all the more prominent.

She cast a shield charm and the invisible barrier blocked the wind out, suddenly plunging the small space into deafening silence in the absence of all the howling the gale was causing so far. A strong warming spell came next.

"Are you trying to freeze yourself to death?" she admonished branding her wand at him and huffing before collapsing down next to him.

"No, wouldn't that be a waste? The poor little Death Eaters will be left heartbroken." he chuckled dryly while she frowned.

She cast a warming charm on him and watched those pale cheeks flood with colour while he continued to look away. Hermione had not failed to notice that Ron was not the Ron from before. Sure, she had not really seen much of the fun-loving, jovial guy Harry mentioned he used to be, but even she knew him enough to know that there was something very different about him.

"Ron?" she called softly while placing a hand gently on his shoulder; he jerked and scooted away as if her touch burned. Hurt and anger in equal measure bubbled inside her directing her feet to walk off right away. And she would have done the same if not for his voice.

"I-I'm sorry... I didn't mean it that way, Hermione," he muttered softly, and despite looking away she could feel his eyes on her face, finally.

"What is troubling you, Ron?" she asked wheeling around to face him, but by then, he had turned away again. There was a stiffening of the jaw and a laboured intake of breath, and she was almost hoping for that answer that hung at the tip of those lips before they parted and he let out a gentle whisper.

"Nothing."

Hermione let out a frustrated sigh, not bothering to hide her annoyance. Why couldn't he trust her?

"Ron, we are all equally in this mess. You can't just keep pushing us away!" she cried exasperatedly. It had been days, weeks really, of trying to make him speak up. But it appeared that Ron was busy building up an unbreachable wall around himself. It angered and saddened her in equal measure; she had really thought things would be different between them after that night- it had, but for the worse.

"I am not pushing you both away." he replied, quite noticeably contrite.

She let out a mirthless chuckle, choosing to stay quiet and he did the same.

"I have been wondering," he stated after a while and continued when she made a soft sound letting him know she was listening.

"Does the protection around the Chateau really prohibit Harry from leaving without me opening the doorway?"

It was her turn to look guilty.

"No," she replied meekly.

"Thought so," he said nodding.

"So?"

"So, so what?" she asked back, cursing her heart for melting at the sight of those blue orbs that were gazing at her. He looked tired, but the exhaustion appeared to be much more than something only physical.

"Why did you lie to him?" he asked; it did not appear as if he was angry, just curious.

"I didn't lie to him, not exactly..." she stammered as her cheeks coloured.

"Just did not tell him the whole truth," He chuckled and Hermione realised how much she had missed that sound.

"I was worried about him," she explained rubbing her cold fingers together not only to generate some warmth into them but also to hold back herself from touching him.

"I wasn't sure he would not walk away during one of his depression spells, you know? I know he keeps blaming himself for all these deaths and worries that he is putting the two of us in grave danger by his presence."

"Yeah, he does that, the barmy little git," he laughed causing warmth to spread all over her. It was strained and caused his skin to crinkle around his tired eyes but it was still a laugh. She smiled too; her cheek muscles aching slightly in the almost forgotten action.

"How does this work, Hermione?" he asked pulling her out of the blissful reverie. "Just assume that something happens to m-, I mean the guard, or say, he leaves; what happens to the enchantments?"

She took a shuddering breath, forcing the horrifying images away, images that lingered in her nightmares anyway - Ron captured and bleeding with a hoard of hooded Death Eaters surrounding him, laughing maniacally and one moving forward and raising his wand, pointing it at the inert, blood-soaked body lying ahead.

"Hermione?" he called again, looking curiously at her, obviously ignorant of her deepest fears.

"The Chateau seals itself." she exhaled, rubbing her palms more furiously. "The exit gets locked. And only the owner is able to move out, obviously to search and assign another guard," she replied in a trembling voice.

"Hm," he muttered almost to himself.

And then she did it. Throwing all her doubts away, she turned around and crashed awkwardly into his chest, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling herself as close to his body as she possibly could. As her beating heart crashed next to his, Hermione inhaled deeply, taking in the fragrance she had missed sorely all this time.

Not once after that night had he approached her or tried to touch her- not even for a kiss. She had been able to partly push aside her doubts because they had been busy with the strange symbol she had found, and also because he seemed equally aloof from Harry, which told her that it had (hopefully) nothing to do with his stupid notions of not being good enough for her. She knew he was troubled, worried, frustrated and tired; they all were. And perhaps, that one night of uncontrolled passion bothered him so because he was the one who had asked her to refrain in the first place? But she wanted to tell him that it was okay- she had known well enough what she was getting into, she had wanted it as much as him if not more... So, she had sought out each and every possible instance to talk to him, which, unfortunately, had yielded no results so far.

Hermione had to tell herself over and over again that it was in the best interest of everyone that they keep the happenings of the night to themselves and be just their old selves in front of Harry.

Not that she didn't miss Ron every night. Not like she did not miss the passion or the peace that had come as an aftermath. She hadn't slept as peacefully and deeply as she had done that night. It was excruciating painful to keep to her room nowadays when she knew he was just across the hall, barely a few steps away... And it was not all about the sex either. It was almost like he had expressed everything she wanted to hear in actions, especially the last kiss... And she wanted those moments again.

Curled in the arms of the man she loved beyond all, she thought back to the night he had made her a woman - well, almost.

It had been strange and a little empty to wake up in her bed instead of his the next morning, but it had warmed her heart knowing that he must have carried her back and tucked her in. And with a sigh, she had realised that it was the right thing to do. It would have been mortifying if Harry had found out.

She wanted to ask why he had stopped that night, though, why he had not gone all the way. And even now, pressed onto his chest, hidden from his view, her cheeks coloured sharply at the realisation of what she was thinking.

It was only minutes later that she realised that Ron had made no effort to hug her back. He was stiff as a board, his hands limp at his sides.

She let go of him haltingly, first pushing herself back slightly to take in his face, expecting with a sickening feeling in her stomach, a growl or a disdain in his eyes. What she saw, however, was an undiluted pain.

"I am not the guy you think I am, Hermione," he said in a heart-breakingly heavy voice and she groaned aloud pushing him away. Not again!

"DO YOU REALLY HAVE TO DO THIS, RON? EVERY. SINGLE. TIME?!" she cried, leaving the bench and moving away and turning around to face the snowy white grounds, hating the tears of anger that hazed her vision.

Scraping of wood on the floor told her he had left the bench too. She half expected his arms on her shoulder, she hoped for words that told her he was not going to spoil the memories and break her heart, not again. She could hear his footsteps coming closer and held her breath, hoping against hope. But he stopped a little distance away; no arms came up to touch her. She let out a whimper while fury coursed her veins.

"Hermione, y-you don't understand..."

"Then explain, Ronald!" she spat back crunching her teeth in frustration, without bothering to turn around. If he intended to hurt her again, at least she would not give him the pleasure of seeing her broken self.

"I can't... I should but..." she heard a haggard exhale of breath and he stopped midsentence, infuriating her all the more.

"Very well, I'll just leave then," she responded coldly and stomped her way to the door.

"'Mione,"

She stopped because how could she not when he called her that?

"I- You must know, I..."

She turned around folding her arms over her chest and glared at him. He looked broken and her stance softened despite her anger. A huge part of her heart wanted to go and hug him again but she refrained because Ronald Weasley had more to say- surely he hadn't broken her heart enough for his liking.

It appeared as if Ron was struggling with words and he finally collapsed on the bench again.

"I have something to confess, Hermione... I've been trying but haven't been able to gather enough courage to do it," he said hunched low and looking at his shoes, and Hermione could almost feel her heart throbbing madly in her chest.

"I will do it eventually because you gotta know... You might hate me and," he ran his long fingers through the long fringe, "heck, you will hate me, I know and I'll never get the chance to tell you that-" he looked up to meet her eyes and her hands dropped to her sides of their own accord at the sight. Perhaps even her heart stopped beating for a while.

"- I never stopped loving you, Hermione..." he said and she froze.

"I was angry for a while but even when I hated you, I was still madly in love with you, It's kind of barmy but..I always will, you know?" She stood stunned, unable to move as he got up and walked closer. It appeared as if he was struggling to touch her but then he shoved his hands deep into his pockets and looked away so she could not see those eyes anymore as he spoke. She knew she was breathing through her mouth watching him as he leant against the wall and released a long sigh.

"I know everything will end when I finally find the guts to confess, and I am not telling this as an excuse or to make you forgive me when you know the truth. I swear 'am not! I am only telling this now because once you know the truth, you'll probably hate me - just as much as I hate myself, perhaps more and I'll never get another chance to tell you how much you mean to me."

He waited for a few minutes as she tried unsuccessfully to wrap her head around all that he had just said.

He turned towards her finally and she found his eyes lingering over hers and stopping for a moment longer on her lips. A small, strained and sad smile broke on his face and he shook his head a little.

"I do it all wrong, don't I?" he chuckled and she continued to watch him, stunned.

He pulled out his right hand and brought it close to her cheeks but at the very last minute, pulled it back.

"Even when you hate me and will not wish to see my face, I will still love you, 'Mione. But please remember, I'm not saying all this just to placate you and make you forgive me."

They looked at each other for a long while and Hermione fought to get her jumbled thoughts straight. A part of her heart recovered from the surprise (shock?) and yelped in joy although she could still not believe he had actually spoken those words- words she had been waiting for months to hear. But underlying everything, there was this sinister foreboding as his words echoed in her ears.

I am only telling this now because once you know the truth, you'll probably hate me - just as much as I hate myself, and I'll never get another chance to tell you how much you mean to me.

She wanted to ask what truth he was talking about but held back. Whatever it was, for once, she wasn't sure she wanted to know.

"Let's go," he called after a while and she followed wordlessly.

...

Locked up in a room, inside a cupboard and protected by heavy enchantments, a tiny piece of black heart thudded in a rhythmic symphony. To all, it was merely a locket, albeit a cold, heavy one at that, but what the fools did not know or appreciate to the full extent, was that the piece of soul inside belonged to the greatest wizard of all times encased within an article belonging to the great Salazar Slytherin himself.

And how were those fools supposed to know? No one had delved so far into the realms of magic as he, Lord Voldemort had. There was little known about the Horcruxes, for most lesser wizards were afraid to make one. But he had; not just one but many. And no matter how much the old fool Albus Dumbledore had told the Boy, no one, not even Dumbledore himself knew everything. He did not know that a Horcrux was not an inert case for a soul, it was very much a living thing. Unable to perform physicals tasks, yes, but perfectly capable of saving itself. Or perhaps it was because, he, Lord Voldemort was the greatest wizard the world would ever see, that even a fragment of that great soul was capable of sensing the one who could be a possible threat. And it was also capable of harming, and if necessary, killing this so-called threat to survive.

And that was where the ginger haired boy came in.

It was surprisingly not Harry Potter- the proclaimed Chosen one, or the Granger girl who had turned to be a disgrace to her own kind, but the son of a filthy blood traitor who posed a threat. Yes, inside that freckled chest lay the heart that held the strength to destroy this piece of Lord Voldemort himself.

But only if he won this fight against Lord Voldemort first.

Ron Weasley was an easy target. A heart full of insecurities and self-doubt and a cauldron full of temper bubbling just below the surface. The perfect mix to act as a puppet; the best arsenals for mental torture. The doubts he carried about his worth in the eyes of his family was easy to make worse; the lust he carried for the girl(there was no such thing as 'love' as the foolish liked to believe) was easy as a charm to intensify; the tiny seed of jealousy that lingered for his best friend's achievement was a child's play to stroke till it consumed him completely.

But the best part was that noble heart, guilt and the sense of intense loyalty and chivalry. It made the game so much more enjoyable.

Yes, the boy had sensed him and kept him locked up after that one night. Pity the girl had thrown the locket off; a little more time and Ronald Weasley's soul could have been damaged forever. He had refrained from wearing the locket after that incident, at least partly aware of its strength intensifying upon physical contact. But it was still in his room. And as long as Ron Weasley was in a close vicinity, the game went on.

Weasley's senses had caught on but all was not lost yet. The hapless boy blamed himself and it was easy to plant images in his head and make him a monster in his own eyes.

It went on every night and every minute that he was in this room. The stupid boy had begun to loathe himself for things he had been manipulated to do- such were the side-effects of having a foolish, noble heart.

How much longer till he fled or went insane?

Not long, not very long...

...

A couple of weeks later

Harry dropped a load of wood into the grate and lit them up with his wand. The warmth of the crackling fire spread much-needed heat into his limbs. They were running short of firewood again.

"Ron?" he called loudly. The library was huge and a maze of towering shelves. It was highly likely that both Ron and Hermione might be somewhere sorting books and unaware of his arrival.

"Ron!" he called again, louder this time but the silence of the room remained as it was, unbroken and heavy. Wondering about the whereabouts of his friends who were supposed to be here chalking out details of their planned trip to Godric's Hollow, he paced around the room once more, calling out for them at every turn. Finally, realising that he was alone, he walked towards the door to call them back; there was simply no point wasting precious heat.

As he made his way towards Hermione's room he paused opposite to the large oak door, a strange beckoning of sorts pulling him towards it.

He pushed the large door open and entered.

Ron's room was as messy as his. Unmade bed and clothes on the dresser were familiar sights but what pulled him was the drawer on a small oak wood table that sat next to the bed. Drawn as if by some invisible force, he knelt down next to it and pulled the handle. It did not budge.

Harry felt the sense of urgency increasing inside him. He pulled out his wand and slowly but steadily undid all the wards. Feeling extremely exhilarated for some unknown reason, he pulled open the drawer. The Locket lay peacefully inside it.

He held it by the chain and pulled it out.

...

Their relationship was, in one word, uncomfortable. Sure they pretended to be normal in front of Harry but Ron could see it for himself. The worst part was that there was nothing he could do about it.

He knew Hermione wanted answers, she was Hermione Granger after all, but after his proclamation, she was also apprehensive. The end result was that when they were not discussing their plans or if Harry wasn't around, she was a fidgety self. He knew she had no clue what to make of his confession of love and he took no initiative to approach her or explain after that day. Ron often wondered if their discomfort was obvious or if Harry noticed; he seriously hoped not.

The guilt burnt his insides and now it was almost like a constant pain that simmered under the surface, getting worse every time she looked at him. He felt ashamed when she asked if he was okay, every time they sat for their meals and she noticed if he was eating or not. He did not deserve it. He did not deserve her, or her love - not even her sympathy or forgiveness. He deserved nothing.

He tried to build up his failing courage and admit what he had done- admit everything from his doubts to his jealousy and the creepy, ugly way in which he had checked on her. But he could not pull in the strength. It was not because she would hate him for it- he had made peace with that eventuality, it was everything he deserved. But he worried that the truth would destroy her self-esteem. After all, he had almost soiled her body and her love along with his soul. Every night his brain churned out images of those moments. Ever single night he saw the whole act from a distance. He saw the evil lurking in the eyes of the man who touched the petite girl on the bed, and he saw how he touched her, used her and disgraced her. Every night, he lived the horrors of that night again and again.

And she would do the same when he told her. He could not tell her, not yet- not till they won the fight. Then, when she would be back in the safety of his family again, he would tell her and leave. They would take care of her, Harry would - Fred would, he knew for sure.

"Harry should be back," she said softly and he turned at her, almost surprised by her presence. Picking up the plate of baked potatoes, their only ration for the night, he walked ahead as she followed.

...

They found the fire burning merrily in the grate but the dark haired boy was nowhere around. Placing the plate on the table near the fireplace he turned towards her.

"Must be in his room, I'll get him," he said.

"I'll bring our notes here," she replied with a nod.

.

Ron pushed open the door to his room, the magicked candles were alit notifying that someone was already present in the room.

"Harry?" he called in confusion.

"Ron," came the controlled reply behind him and he turned around. His best mate was sitting in the high back chair near the empty grate.

"What you doing here, mate? We were in the library waiting for you," he said walking towards him.

"Really?" asked the other man sarcastically and Ron stopped mid stride.

"What's wrong, mate?" he called and then he saw. The locket was dangling from the chain that was wrapped around Harry's fist.

"You tell me. Weren't you suppose to keep this safe and with you all the time?" he asked looking towards the gold object as if it was the most beautiful thing on the planet. It looked sickening.

Ron strode forward, eager to pull the blasted object off Harry's hand but the moment he reached for it Harry swung his arm away.

"I am keeping it safe," said Ron, eying Harry carefully.

"With simple spells which anyone can break? How intelligent."

Ron fisted his palm, telling himself over and over that it was the locket speaking and not Harry but his own frustration and temper were getting difficult to control.

"Give it to me, Harry. That bleeding thing plays fucking games with the mind," he said inching closer, debating internally whether to snatch it off forcefully.

"Is that your excuse for cribbing about everything?" barked Harry and Ron paused to look at his best mate.

"Oh, don't look at me like that!" hissed the younger boy. "What are you doing apart from mopping around all the time while Hermione and I are slogging our arses off trying to find answers, Ron? Nothing, just nothing," he added. "All you are trying to do is get into Hermione's knickers. Get a fucking grip, we are in a Hunt, for fuck sake."

"Give it back, Harry," he called again, barely managing to control his temper.

"No, you have done enough. I'll take care of it now,"

"No, you won't," he said and snatched the chain from the younger man's hands, feeling vindicated for a minute before a punch landed into his gut and he yelped in pain. The locket sprang out of his hand and slid on the floor and under the bed.

He straightened himself with difficulty to find Harry storming away.

...

It had been a couple of months since that incident.

Their friendship had come back to almost normal, albeit a little strained. Harry had apologised soon after and agreed that the Locket was much more evil than they had previously assumed it to be. He had told Ron how it made his deepest thoughts all the more worse and that he hadn't meant those words at all. He told Ron that Ron was the backbone of the trio, their strength and the two had hugged and patted each other on the back to declare all was well. But Ron continued to carry the Locket in his pocket rather than keep it locked up after that Horcrux-driven outburst from Harry. No matter how much he wanted to believe otherwise, something had broken inside him that night when he had heard it in his best mate's voice that he truly was the worthless one.

However, things looked slightly different now after both of their little trips took them almost to the edge of their graves. The memories of coming almost face to face with Voldemort at Godric's Hollow still made the hairs on his arms stand on edge. Had it not been for Hermione's quick thinking they would be all dead. She had saved them at Xenophilius' too. Neither of the trips yielded many results, only leaving behind more questions about their Hunt and Dumbledore and one scary reveal- Lord Voldemort was looking for the first Hallow, the Elder Wand.

The theory of the Hallows made Hermione angry and even more crazed about her research than she already was, but behind all that, he knew, she was scared. He was too. Harry's broken wand did not help the situation in the least. At least, she had found out that Godric Gryffindor's sword being Goblin made and having imbibed the Basilisk venom was capable of destroying the Horcruxes. Harry was now formulating plans to break into Hogwarts but Hermione was vehemently holding him off. Ron knew they would give in to Harry's call eventually. And to be honest, he quite preferred to die while trying to retrieve the sword than hold on to the Locket for all eternity. One would have thought months of the same torture would have made him immune, but quite the contrary he could feel himself disintegrating slowly. He was barely holding on and only for two things. The first one was for Harry to finish this blasted thing and the owner of this locket, and second- seeing his friends to safety on the other side of the war. He wasn't very hopeful that anything would heal his scars, ever.

He leant over the railing on the small balcony that jutted out of Harry's room and bringing out the Deluminator from his pocket, began flicking it again. He could hear the two people in the background who were, once again discussing the Peverell brothers and the possibility of the Hallows. Hermione looked frantic sitting amidst the scattered books. She had claimed over and over again that the existence of the Hallows was a myth, citing that nothing she had ever read so far proved or hinted at their existence. He turned away as Harry reminded her once more of the symbol Dumbledore had drawn in his own book, the symbol of the Hallows that was also present in the copy of the letter he had written to Grindlewald. Ron chuckled softly to himself realising that Hermione quite possibly cursed herself for picking up that book from Bathilda's shelf every single time.

The snow had begun to melt and the weather was changing. He looked at the forest again and felt in his pocket for the blasted Locket.

When would he ever be free from this curse?

Something deep in his gut told him that it was almost time- but for some strange reason that thought scared him as much as relieved him.

The tall, hooded visitor was restless.

"I don't have all day!" spat the figure next to him while Keeper of the Records, Thomas Might's shaking fingers went through the list in the parchments in front of him, a bunch of other spread all over the desk.

"Please, I'm checking, my Lord," he replied fearfully, squinting in the dim light of the candle in the musty old room, deep in the heart of the Ministry.

"The Dark Lord does not like to be kept waiting," the cloaked man reminded him. "Do you wish me to tell him that you could not find out one simple information?" he asked in a slow drawl.

He gulped and fingered the list faster but with more attention.

"Here it is, my Lord!" he cried in relief finally.

"Madame Isabella Chastain!" he noted the number next to the name and hurrying over to the next room, sorted through the piles and piles of scrolls to pull out an old dusty one. Returning as soon as he could manage, he handed the scroll over to the visitor to see, finally breathing in relief.

It was snapped out of his hands with impatient urgency.

The hook-nosed man read through the scroll with a blank expression and finally rolling it back, stuffed it inside his cloak.

"You have done well. The Dark Lord will be happy," he said in a soft, silky but deadly voice and Thomas felt his heart thudding again. He fumbled for his wand which was lost somewhere below the parchments and scrolls as black dead eyes looked into his own.

"Your reward," said the visitor and a couple of Galleons were dropped on his palm and he eased for a while, looking up to thank the cloaked man.

But his smile died on his face; a wand was pointed at his temple.

"Obliviate." came a small whisper before all went blank.

A/N: This was a difficult chapter to write considering the various, different scenarios it encompasses. This was always going to be a complex chapter to write and sequence, needless to say, I'm looking forward to your reviews.

The next one is the first of the four(five, perhaps?) most crucial chapters of this story.

Thanks to all of you for sticking with this story for so long and keeping me motivated. I'll reply to all your reviews for the previous chapter in this space in some hours because my fingers desperately need some rest.