What's this? I do exist! All you people who are actually staying with this and reading the chapters after all these waits are awesome. The ones who review are even better! I love reading reviews! Here's a bit of a longer chapter for you all.

Disclaimer: Not mine…blah blah blah…yadda yadda…you get it.

Over the years, it had become commonplace for those in those in the ranks of the death eaters to move into the main headquarters. It made them so much easier to monitor, to keep under control. External influences were cut down dramatically, as competition between the ranks to prove their worth increased. Only those who were in a critical placement outside the ranks, such as spies, were permitted to house elsewhere.

Harry still thought the bunk beds were hilarious, though.

The death eaters slept in a long dormitory with beds lining the walls, two trunks and two wardrobes for every bunk. Like Hogwarts dorms on steroids.

Chuckling to himself, he stepped down the center of the aisle, peering at the snoring faces around him. About half of the remaining force were out on patrols so these men were taking full advantage of their time off, catching up on some much needed sleep, much to Harry's delight. After all, it was much easier to talk to someone when they were sleeping.

"Hmm…where to begin?" He tapped his chin thoughtfully, thinking about all the death eaters he knew. Who might the mole be? Prattleburn? Yaxley? Derickson? No…he'd be too happy to lick Voldemort's toes if he got half a chance. Harry stopped to ponder that image for a moment, not quite sure whether it made him want to laugh or throw up more. Maybe the Dark Lord was ticklish? Shaking himself out of it, he continued. Maybe he should just pick someone at random and see where that led him.

Turning left, he found himself at the bedside of a younger death eater, Thomson, or something. The man was sprawled on his stomach, one sock-clad foot sticking out over the edge of the bed. Picture of dignity, that.

Harry crouched down, the better to see the man's squished-looking face. "Your name is Thomson, yeah?"

Thomson grumbled a bit in his sleep, and nodded. Harry grinned.

"Knew it! When'd you sign up to be a death eater, anyway?"

Thomson's voice was muffled by the pillow, but Harry had long hours of practice deciphering muddled words, and had no problem understanding. "'Bout three muns 'go"

"Ah, a newbie, then. Bet you get picked on a fair amount."

"Feckin' Malfoy…feckin' 'Strange."

Harry nodded wisely. "She is something of a psychotic bitch, yes. And I'm pretty sure I know where his cane disappeared to."

"'Sactly."

"You want to kill them?"

"Meh."

"Turn them over to the other side?"

"Sure, why not?"

"Have any conversations with Albus Dumbledore lately?"

"Wrinkly old fossil."

Harry snorted. Sleep conversations were always so much fun. "Can't be denied. Are you a mole?"

"No. 'M a deather." Thomson giggled a little. Harry noticed a drool spot spreading across his pillow.

"So you haven't betrayed Voldemort?"

"Feck no. Not s'pose t'say 'is name."

"Fair enough. I'll let you get on with your sleep, then. Dream of Bella's head on a pike."

"Crazy bitch."

Harry stood and picked another bed at random. Again, he conversed with the death eater, Roberts, who, though amusing, was not a spy. He repeated the process several times, until at last, some men began shifting around, waking up.

Deciding to have a bit of fun before he left, he made his way over to a specific bunk.

"Hello, Yaxley. Are you having a good night's sleep?"

"Mmm…yeah."

"Okay, is your teddy bear in it? The one your mum bought for you when you were six?"

By now, a few tousle-haired death munchers were sitting up in their bunks, stretching and rubbing the sand from their eyes.

Yaxley sniffed. "Mr. Tubby Bear?"

That got their attention. Harry held in his snort. "Oh, he's not there, then? I'm sorry. Where did he go?"

"Uncle Patrick stole my Mr. Tubby. Said I wasn't using him right." The large man sniffed again. "I miss my Tubby Bear."

Looking around, Harry noticed some of the men waking the others up, grinning and pointing in Yaxley's direction.

"If you got him back, would you use him right?"

A slow grin spread across Yaxley's face that would have sent babies into conniptions. "Mmm…heheheh, yeah. Use him right. Mr. Tubby. Tubby Wubby."

Harry stared at the man for five seconds before he could hold it no longer, then cracked up.

He wasn't the only one.

As he stood, it was with the consolation that although he hadn't found the mole, he had guaranteed the mother-raping pile of anal seepage in front of him would have a very bad day.

Howls of laughter filled the room as Harry traipsed out of the dormitory, still smiling to himself. "Ah, a man and his teddy bear."

Harry was making his way towards the main entrance to the manor when he paused, thinking. Maybe there was a way to ensure the Order got the right message when Voldemort gave the plans?

He turned slowly, and stared towards a staircase at the end of the hall. Voldemort's quarters were on the top floor of the building. They were well-protected, but Harry had yet to find a ward that affected him too badly in his current state. However, Harry had made it a habit to avoid the Dark Lord. His mind was too protected, so he was closed to anything Harry told him, making conversation fairly pointless, not that Harry would go out of his way to converse with Voldemort. However, he seemed to be able to sense that Harry was near; it was obvious he didn't know who was watching him, or where that person was, but Voldemort knew he wasn't alone. And after he'd shot that widespread buzzer through the room that had managed to make all Harry's hair stand straight up on end, he'd decided not to test his luck.

But, maybe he could just wait around outside the door, and wait for Mallix to show up. Mallix was Harry's name for the smug psycho duo competing for their lord's top graces, and while they, too, were closed off to him, they couldn't sense him like Voldemort. Maybe if he snuck in Tommy-boy's chambers between the dueling duo, Voldie's Harry senses wouldn't tingle so much.

Harry blinked. Shook his head. Started up the stairs.

Ron stared around at the silent trees. A soft breeze tickled his cheek, and the sun shone brightly down through the boughs. He sighed. Looking around, there was no way anyone would guess a war was tearing its way across the country.

Even the muggles, who everyone had been sure would be hit the hardest, were still blissfully unaware at how close they were to the brink of destruction. Maybe that's why the International Confederation of Wizards was doing so little to help. It had been a surprise move, but Voldemort had opted not to start his campaign anew with widespread destruction. Instead, he had been positively cautious, opting to guarantee that any and all opposition was crushed before moving on. And although they were hanging by a thread, Dumbledore's Order proved to be enough of a threat that Voldemort would not continue his campaign until every member was dead.

He had taken over the ministry, but at the moment, that was running actually fairly smoothly. Thus, the ICW would not interfere; the government overthrow was finished, and there was no anarchy in the British Wizarding World.

They were on their own.

A hawk screamed somewhere overhead, and Ron glanced up at the mostly clear sky, watching the small figure wheel and turn on the currents.

"Ron?"

He turned and smiled at the person stepping out from behind the nearest tree.

"Hey, Hermione. How are you feeling?"

Hermione looked far different than she had twelve years ago. Her hair was cut short, and had lost some of its bushiness. She was thin, her skin still a bit too pale. Across her left cheek, a deep, jagged scar marred the flesh. She had barely escaped with her life when the death eaters had come to call, and it had taken several months before she was able to walk again.

Now, four years after the attack, she ran a safe house deep in the Red Rose Forest near Liverpool. Any muggleborns or muggles who had been effected by the uprising were able to come here to the safe zone, affectionately dubbed 'The Camp'.

Carrying on in the tradition of their old school club, the DA, all able-bodied campers worked to educate the occupants of the camp, making sure children learned all the school material they would need later on in life, as well as how to defend themselves from attack and survive on their own.

Ron made it a point to visit at least once a month.

Hermione smiled. "A bit tired, but I'm doing well. Mrs. Parksey just had a son last night."

"Really? That's great! How is she?"

Hermione tucked her hands into the pocket of her sweatshirt and stepped closer to Ron, leaning with her back against the tree.

"She's doing well. Very well." Hermione was quiet for a moment, before snorting softly. "Guess what she's naming him?"

Ron shrugged. "What?"

"Harold."

Ron laughed. "Oh, Harry would be cringing at that."

Hermione smiled. "Yes, he would. I can't believe it; twelve years later and 'Harry', or derivations of that name, are still the most popular. I'd love to see his face at the thought."

Ron sighed, stretching. "Hey, Hermione," he started, his face screwed up in thought.

"What is it?"

He glanced over at her and smiled. "Probably nothing, but…I've been having some weird dreams the past few months. And there have been a few odd occurrences."

"Well, you'll have to give me more than that before I can tell you how crazy you are."

"Ha ha. Well, it started after we tried to take out the greenhouses that Voldemort was keeping in the old Forbidden Forest."

Hermione frowned. "How did that go? I never heard."

Ron looked away from her, focusing on the bark of a tree across from him. I thin line of ants marched their way up the trunk. "It was a trap."

"Oh no."

"Yeah." Ron crossed his arms and continued. "A lot of good people died. I only got out on a lucky shot; grazed by something that knocked me out of the way of an AK, but it passed so close I had a burn mark on my forehead. I fell down into a ditch and got knocked out, and by the time I woke up again, it was all over."

"Oh, Ron. I'm so sorry."

He glanced up at her distressed face, and shrugged. "We made a mistake. Someone we thought of as a friend double-crossed us, and we paid for it. Heavily. All we can do now is keep going and work so that all those who died didn't do so in vain." He rubbed a hand over his face, sighing again.

"Anyways, I was walking through the forest, because I didn't want to test whether or not the anti-apparitions were still up, and I had gotten pretty lost. But I was following these…they looked like footprints. Smaller than mine. And not like boots or shoes, but actual footprints. It was bizarre, and I knew there couldn't be some kid's bare footprints out in the middle of the Forbidden Forest in a heavy rainstorm, because that would mean the kid was still out there, but there you have it. So I was following them, and they just…ended. No more."

Hermione was listening avidly, and glancing at her, Ron could almost see her jotting down mental notes as she committed his story to memory.

"Whosever footprints those were, they didn't double back at all?"

Ron shrugged. "I don't know. They could have. I wasn't exactly in top tracking form at the time. But after the tracks ended, I just started up in some random direction. After awhile, I could hear this scratching noise up ahead, like something scraping across wood, so I looked for it. There was this small grove of trees, and when I pushed through, there was writing on the side of this massive log. It said, 'don't follow the spiders, Ron.' I realized then that was where Harry and I had travelled in second year, when we followed the spiders. I'd nearly stumbled back into Aragog's den."

He stopped and watched Hermione closely for a reaction. She looked stunned, and was already thinking out any possibilities.

"Who else knew about that incident?" She finally asked.

Ron chuckled. "Hagrid, Dumbledore, Fudge, Malfoy, and of course Harry."

She frowned. "You think it was Harry?"

Ron chuckled, the idea that had been gnawing at the back of his brain coming finally into the light. "I don't know, Mione. It's crazy. There's no way it could have been him, but…" He shrugged.

Hermione nodded. "But. No one knows what happened to him. Voldemort never celebrated like we thought he would at the murder of the Boy Who Lived. We don't know what happened to him. It might not be as crazy as it seems." She hesitated, thinking, before she continued. "What about the dreams you mentioned?"

Ron chuckled again, feeling insane just talking about the dreams. Hermione was the only person who would even consider sharing with, and even now he felt somewhat embarrassed.

"Well, sometimes I dream that I'm lying in my bed and Harry's there next to me, and we just talk."

"Talk?"

"Yeah. About regular stuff. Things from school, things from everyday life. Just like we used to. We just spend the night chatting with each other. Sometimes he helps me work through problems that I've been facing during the day in missions and such, and sometimes we talk about quidditch. But it feels so real, you know?"

"What does he look like in your dreams?"

Ron suspected that if anyone else had asked that, he would have chafed at the implications, but Hermione sounded genuinely interested, so he supposed she wasn't preparing to send him off to an institution quite yet.

"Horrible." He admitted. "His clothes are all ragged, he's got blood all over. He limps pretty bad on one leg, and his arm's broken a few centimeters above his wrist. He looks like some of the prisoners we've rescued in the past."

"Like he's been tortured?"

"Yeah. Like he's been tortured. But he doesn't seem like he's in any pain. Actually, sometimes he seems crazy, like he isn't all there, but I don't think he feels pain. At least he doesn't show it to me, if he is. He's either serious or ridiculously cheerful, depending on what we're talking about."

The sky was steadily darkening as the forest around them quieted, but neither Ron nor Hermione seemed to notice.

"Do you think Voldemort may have done something to him so you can only see him in your sleep?"

Ron laughed. "No, I don't think Voldemort would be able to figure out a way to do that to someone. I doubt even Dumbledore'd be able to. Nope, I just think this is a case of someone sliding down the slope and clinging to some shadow of the past to stay sane. I guess he's become my part-time conscience or something."

Hermione laughed. "Merlin help you, then."

Ron smiled back. "I know, I know. I'm in trouble now." The smile slid off his face, and he found himself staring at the tree across from him again. "Sometimes I can almost feel him there when I'm awake. Like he's whispering in my ear. It's comforting, in a way. Terrifying though."

There was a long pause.

"I can't help but wonder if he's really dead or not. If he was a ghost, we'd all be able to see him, wouldn't we? And…he wouldn't have been able to carve in that wood, if he was."

He jumped slightly as Hermione put a hand on his shoulder. He hadn't seen her move. She smiled at him, and pulled him into a tight hug, which he fell gratefully into. Ron blinked sharply at the stinging in his eyes.

"Am I going crazy, Mione?"

"No." She whispered in his ear, holding him tight. "But I think you have a very good friend looking out for you."

Ron let out a slightly strained chuckle.

"You know I'm going to do everything I can to try and figure this out."

"What should I do?"

He felt Hermione shrug slightly. "Accept it. Maybe next time you have a dream with Harry there, ask him if he's really there, or trapped, or something. Try and find out if he knows what happened."

"I tried asking him once, but he kept changing the subject. I kind of gave up when I realized I was getting frustrated at a dream."

Hermione tightened her hold on him for a moment, before letting him go.

"Maybe it isn't all a dream. Especially if you feel him when you're awake." She looked into his eyes, and he remembered why he had loved her so much in school. Why he still did. She continued. "The next time that happens, try and…latch onto that feeling somehow. I don't know. But I don't think you're crazy, Ronald Weasley. I don't want you to think that either."

Ron smiled, somewhat shakily, and took a deep breath.

"Okay."

She smiled back at him. "It's getting late. Do you want to stay here, or head back?"

Ron looked around, realizing just how dark it was. "I should get back. Hermione?"

"Hmm?"

He gave her one more swift hug. "Thank you. For everything."