Chapter 18

Espionage and the Hesitant Hero

It was getting late in the afternoon and Ron wondered how the twins were doing with Harry. Then, on his walk back to the Shipping Department lifts, Ron was deciding just how to go about telling Leo that if all went well, he wouldn't be here after today. The man had done so much for him, he wished he could have given him more notice. They did make a pretty damned good work team, Ron thought, and he was definitely going to miss the gruff shipping supervisor. But at least while he was here, he had nearly caught him up on getting all of those stacks of parcels out of the department and on their way. There was only a row and a half left stacked near the back of the room now. Piddle didn't even have anywhere to hide and sleep these days and made his displeasure known to Ron by sending him an evil sneer each and every time he passed him. (The sneer looked so familiar that Ron had even had the audacity to ask Piddle if he was in some way related to the Malfoys.)

Ron began his talk with Leo by telling him how fine the motorbike seemed to be running because he knew that would please him. He told him that he had tried it out, that it purred like an enormous Kneazle, and that riding it was just as wonderful as Leo had described. Then he proceeded to tell him that there was somewhere he needed to go, that it was urgent and he had to leave tonight--and that he wasn't certain just when he would be back.

Ron didn't expect Leo to be happy about the news and he wasn't. But he did seem to act as if he understood.

"I don't reckon this wouldn't have anything to do with that H. Granger, would it?" Leo asked.

His head snapping around to stare into Leo's face, Ron was almost speechless. "What?"

"H. Granger?" Leo repeated, looking at him expectantly.

"How--how did you know?"

Leo snorted. "You think the people in Space Dislocation haven't been wondering why that same little box keeps being sent and returned from Trapperton by and for H. Granger over and over for a week now? And that no one had better cross your path when you're on your way to pick it up because you'll mow them down?" Leo laughed a full belly laugh now. "They've been asking me if everything is okay with that--it is my job to know these things."

Ron felt his ears going hot; he looked down sheepishly. "Sorry."

"Hey, no problem if you watch yourself," Leo said. "I was sixteen once, too, you know. Though we did scan that box for Explosion Spells--just in case."

Ron rolled his eyes.

"...And after finding out you just 'happen' to know the Ministry Security Charm for decoding encrypted names..." Leo said accusingly.

Ron grimaced. "You know about that, too?"

"Careful who you under-estimate, Wissle," Leo warned. "Good thing I trust you, though heaven knows why. But I figured it was all for the same noble cause. She must be some little witch."

"Actually, it does have to do with her," Ron admitted, feeling his entire face burning now. "In fact, we have to go tonight."

"We?" Leo repeated. "You mean, you and-- " He looked at Ron expectantly.

Ron nodded. "Yeah--him. It'd be better in the dark because then, if anyone hears us, they'll think that maybe it's just a Muggle air-o-plane."

Leo's eyebrows lifted and he looked at Ron quizzically. "A Muggle airplane?"

Realizing his mistake from the tone of Leo's voice, Ron tried desperately to think of some way to cover himself. "Erm, I meant a train. Told you I was really tired. A train, of course-- near the road -- well, they do sound a bit different. I mean, if an airplane was going by, then maybe they wouldn't --"

"Wissle!" Leo interrupted in a tone that stopped Ron short. "You're not by any chance going to fly that motorbike to Scotland, are you?"

Sputtering, Ron could think of nothing else to say. "Erm, actually--"

Ron was rather famous for his ability to bluff his opponents at chess, partly because he'd trained himself not to let them read his thoughts through his expressions. But apparently that ability wasn't quite as strong when he was this tired and frantic.

Leo read him like a book. "Well, I'll be damned--you lucky son-of-a-- that flying motorbike really does exist! And everyone I ever knew always thought it was legend! Are you like--some secret government agent or something?" Leo stopped and spoke in a very affected, deep voice. "Wissle--Renald Wissle--double-o-sixteen." The huge man laughed hard at his own joke.

Ron was too stunned to say anything. He just shook his head and smiled lamely.

"You have my word, Ron --if something led that motorbike to you, there was a purpose--and likely a damned important one, too. They'll never get it out of me where you are-- erm, I take it your parents are in full support of this, right? So if your dad comes down here asking questions, I should assume he knows everything?" Leo's eyes twinkled as he watched for the look of panic on Ron's face.

"No--erm, actually, they don't really know--"

Leo smiled at him warmly. "Then I just forgot everything you told me. Memory like a sieve, I tell ya."

Ron returned his smile. "Thanks."

"Oh--" Leo said, reaching into his pocket. "Here." He held out four Galleons, several Sickles, and some Knuts, dropping them into Ron's hand when he held it out in confusion.

"What's this for?" Ron asked.

Leo shrugged. "Doesn't matter--call it back pay -- and just in case."

"But I still owe you for parts."

Leo pursed his lips and frowned. "All right, then. Which of those parts that I brought you make that baby fly?"

Ron was surprised by the question. "I don't know for sure--it's, you know, not in any of the manuals--but probably parts of the accelerator and the suspension."

"Then some of those parts are on me," Leo stated. "This is just me being selfish, you know, so don't you think nothin' of it. When will I ever get the chance again to claim I contributed to something as famous as that motorbike? That, technically, I bought some of those parts to make it run again? It's like being a bloody celebrity or something. It would be an honor just to know for the rest of my life that I helped put that motorbike back together for Harry Potter. An investment, of sorts-- and braggin' rights, if nothing else."

Ron shrugged this time. "Just-- please don't go bragging until we get Hermione back, okay?"

"Ah, yes," Leo said. "The fair maiden--waiting to be rescued by her knight on shining armor."

Ron coughed at the absurdity of the joke. "Er... yeah."

"Wait a minute," Leo said. "You're going to be flying into Trapperton, right?"

"Yeah."

"Then you're not leaving until I make one last delivery," Leo said. "Otherwise, you can kiss those letters of recommendation from me goodbye. You're gonna stay put, right?"

Ron looked at the clock. Technically, he still had thirty minutes of work left; it probably wouldn't do for him to get home any earlier than normal--or do anything any differently than normal if he was going to get through this without him and Harry being caught.

"I'll be here," Ron said.

It took Leo nearly twenty minutes to make his 'final delivery'. But he returned with a bit of parchment on which a somewhat complicated combination of spells and charms was written. He handed the parchment bit to Ron. "A farewell present for you."

Ron shook his head in disbelief. "This couldn't be what I think it is."

"Okay, whatever you say," Leo said, grinning. "But it is. Be careful, though--that spell reversal's used for testing by Ministry Maintenance - only lasts a few minutes-- maybe four or five."

Written on the bit of parchment was the means to temporarily reverse the Security Spells on the main camp at Trapperton.

"How in the hell did you get this?" Ron asked.

"Haven't I told you a thousand times before? I--"

"--Know someone," the two of them said together in unison, laughing.

This didn't look good.

Ron had just walked into the kitchen at the Burrow after Flooing in from work. Everyone he expected to be there was: his mum, his dad (who had Apparated a short time earlier), Ginny, Fred, and George. But the twins just weren't acting as he expected somehow. Obviously Harry couldn't be here with them since his escape had to remain a secret, but still...

"Hello, everyone," he said, trying to appear chipper when all he wanted to do was grab Fred and George by their shirtfronts and demand, "Where's Harry?"

The two of them were doing a good job of sounding deeply involved with everyone in the conversation about the newest celebrity on the wireless. But George was the one who took the opportunity to signal Ron. Since his face wasn't visible to the rest as they turned to greet Ron, George pointedly rolled his eyes toward the ceiling, promptly rubbing his cheek on the side closest to Ron with two fingers held in a "V" formation.

Ron tried not to smile. The message was obvious: upstairs, two minutes. Ah, those two were born for a life of sneaking about, he thought, believing that perhaps they had actually delivered Harry right into his room. Brilliant, they are, if they managed that! "Right, then," he said, turning to go back through the door he'd just come in. "Reckon I'll be off to change before dinner." A quick glance in George's direction to confirm and he was gone.

The twins walked through Ron's door precisely two minutes after he'd arrived to find nothing different about his room other than the fact that the ghoul had left a small mound of wood shavings piled on his bed.

"There's a problem," Fred started quietly, flopping into the squashy orange chair.

"With that delivery you wanted us to make," George continued, flopping onto the bed and flicking the shavings off the far side.

Ron, still standing, had been looking out of the window in tense confusion before he crossed the room to close the door. He'd been right-- this didn't look good-- and his tension cranked up a notch with every word the twins uttered. "What problem?"

"Can't be today," Fred said. "No delivery today-- or tonight."

"What?" Ron asked in disbelief. "But you said you could do it! We've got to go tonight! We can't wait-- what if their 'dignitary' arrives early? We might not be able to get Hermione out."

"No choice, Ron," George said quietly. "Even we wouldn't be able to slide Harry past Moody and Tonks--and that's who's on watch until noon tomorrow."

"Noon tomorrow? Maybe they change shifts before that--twenty-four hours seems like an awfully long watch," Ron said. "How do you know they're on until then?"

"Tsk, tsk, little brother. So little faith," Fred said, shaking his head at his twin. "Oddly enough, Arabella Figg was today's winner of our weekly drawing for the Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes sampler pack. Right, George?"

"Amazing coincidence, that," George agreed, winking. "Anyway, once we were in the neighborhood to deliver it to her, it would have been utterly rude not to stop by and see our old friend Harry this afternoon, knowing that he's had a time of it lately and all. In fact, Mrs. Figg was all in favor of it-- was even kind enough to let us know that she would be watching the poor boy with Dung Fletcher tomorrow noon. Makes getting him out then look a lot more promising."

Ron grimaced. "But -- tomorrow..." he moaned. "And Pig's not back yet. I've got to let Harry know--"

"Oh, he does," George said. "And he thinks you ought to go tonight, too -- without him -- and let him catch up if we can get him out."

Ron was dumbfounded. "Go -- without Harry?" He'd never considered that. Him? Alone? On a rescue mission? Of course, he'd been willing to fly alone to Hermione's house. But that was an entirely different matter. The flight itself was risky, but he knew he'd be landing in friendly territory (well, once Hermione was done being furious with him). He'd flown the Anglia to Hogwarts, but Harry was there...Harry was always there... Yet at Trapperton he wasn't sure just what he was flying into--or what he'd find once he landed. And alone? The scars on his arms began to hurt and his head was buzzing just thinking about it. "I don't know..."

"Harry said you'd say that," Fred said. "He knows the Order is watching him like a hawk-- says they even have aTracking Spell on his broom. But he thinks you should go on, in case something goes wrong on his...our...end-- said at least one of you would be there to help Hermione that way. Harry seemed to think you could get away with being gone longer than he could without anyone checking up on you. "

"Not to mention he was acting really weird when he said you ought to go tonight," George added to Fred's vehement nods.

"Weird?" Ron asked, looking up from where he'd been staring at the floor in thought.

"Yeah," George answered. "Kept rubbing the back of his right hand--and he was dead serious."

Rubbing the back of his hand? Ron thought. Yeah, so he had Harry thinking on it now, too. But I don't know if I can do this alone.

Fred suddenly squirmed his way up to sit straight in the squashy chair. "What time is it?"

George looked stricken and checked his watch. "Show time. We'd better get downstairs. Ron, you're off to the third floor hearth--Harry should be there in a bit, checking in from Arabella's, though Godric knows what he told her. The kid's bloody briliant at working his way around stuff like this, did you know? Anyway, we've got to make sure he hits the third floor hearth with the Floo, so we're off to the first floor in case something goes amiss."

"But--what's--" Ron stammered.

"Don't know. He wanted to talk to you. 'Personal message,'" he said." George spoke the last words while on his way out, but stopped in the doorway when he saw Ron standing there, bewildered. "Well? Go!"

Ron shook himself out of his trance and headed for the third floor. He quickly built a fire, cursing when he burnt himself while not paying attention. Luckily, he didn't have to wait long. Harry's head appeared in the green flames and Ron fell to his knees so they could talk quietly.

"Ron! You there? I haven't much time, but--"

Ron could hear a woman's voice in the background from Harry's end, but he couldn't make out what it said.

Harry turned to the side. "Out in a moment, Mrs. Figg! I'm still looking in here for Muffypoo!" He looked back at Ron and rolled his eyes heavenward, shaking his head. "The things I do for you and Hermione!"

In spite of the seriousness of the situation, Ron couldn't help himself and smiled. He noted Harry looked much more like himself now that he was planning a way to get a break from Privet Drive and the Security Brigade. It felt too good to see Harry not to make him feel a little better, too--and besides, he couldn't pass up an opportunity like that. "Muffypoo?"

"One of her blasted cats--had to cat-nap the thing earlier and keep it in a sack under the front porch so I could tell Tonks and Moody I was coming to help her find it. Anyway-- here's the thing--you've got to get to Hermione, Ron--tonight. And I wanted to tell you in person to make sure you'd promise me you'd go."

"I know you said that--the twins told me. But it'd be better if I waited for you, so we could--"

"No! I'll get there as soon as I can--if I can. But if you've found a way to get to Scotland, you need to get there. Tonks and Moody go to this place just over the back fence in the alley to check in when they're coming on watch. They talk for a while usually-- before they patrol--and sometimes about what they've read in the Prophet .Of course, they don't know that if I hide behind the hydrangeas, I can hear them - it's the only way I get any news from the wizarding world. Tonks was going on about how stupid the papers were to print rubbish when so many people knew it wasn't true. She went on about some other stuff, but eventually she said: 'Like, for instance, printing that Dolores Umbridge is in St. Mungo's for 'medical reasons' when lots of people, including Kingsley Shacklebolt, would swear they saw her in the Ministry of Magic just this week."

Suddenly Ron didn't feel well. Something awful seemed to crawl up into his throat from his stomach and he wasn't certain it was going to stay put. "This week?" he squeaked out.

"Yeah--so she's not where the papers think she is--or where they're saying she is. But we don't know why not. Think, Ron. You didn't see anyone at the Ministry lately who could have been her, did you?"

Ron didn't have to think long. "No...no...I've been trying to put this thought out of my mind for a couple of days now, so I'm sure if I'd seen someone who resembled her...But see, it would depend on the timing, too. I'm hardly ever upstairs in the mornings, so if she was there then...Maybe I should go in to work for another day tomorrow, to see if I can find her and what she's up to--"

"But what if she's already gone? What if you miss her somehow?"

"But if I could find her and find some way to intercept her--"

"How are you going to do anything in the middle of the Ministry of Magic? And what are you going to do? Make a wizard citizen's arrest for not being wherever the papers say she is?"

Ron frowned and sighed. "Bloody hell, Harry, what are we going to do?"

"Well, you're going to Scotland, that's what," Harry said. "And I'm going to find out what else I can and get there as close behind you as possible. The only reason I wouldn't go is if the twins tell me that you've made it there and back again with Hermione before I find a way out. You're leaving a copy of the map with the twins, right?"

"Yeah." Ron could hear the woman's voice screeching in the background again.

"Come on in, Mrs. Figg," Harry called to the side again. "What? It's locked? And the key's gone? How did that happen? Well, just a moment--I'm under the table--be right there." Harry spoke in what Ron knew to be his friend's best tone of mock-innocence; of course, Harry was also holding up a door key for Ron to see. "She'll be off to get Moody and Tonks outside in a minute--I'd better go. Hey-- how are you going to get there after all?"

"Er, oh yeah--about that," Ron stammered. "Well, I thought we'd be going together and I found this way, but I'm not sure now--"

"What? You found a way for two people to go, but it won't work for one? What is it? Another car? I know it can't be your broomstick because that's definitely a one-seater."

"No--no broom--still under spells," Ron said vaguely. "Well, what I have'll work for one, but that's not exactly the problem. It's just--"

"What?" Harry kept glancing nervously to the side as if someone was likely to walk in the door on his end at any moment.

"Harry, what if a bloke has something he's fixed up for someone else, but the first bloke finds he needs it before he gives it to the someone else? Would it be wrong if the bloke used it and then made sure it was still rightfully fixed up all special for the someone else later?"

Harry shook his head in confusion. "Ron, what are you on about? You find any way you can to get to Hermione. We don't know if it's a life-and-death matter yet, but if Dolores Umbridge is somehow mixed up in it, it can go that way pretty fast. And I'd say if that's the case, then anything goes to make sure things turn out all right. I gotta go. Good luck, and I'll be there soon as I can." Harry's head disappeared and the flames in the hearth returned to a golden yellow-orange.

Ron sat back on his heels to think for a moment. Harry's news about Umbridge being out and about was not at all what he'd planned on. In fact, not much about this whole escapade was turning out the way he'd planned. This morning, he'd figured that by now, Harry would be waiting for him at the twins' shop or somewhere and that they'd get together, plan out exactly where to go, then simply ride off on the motorbike together to save Hermione. But there was no reason to even think about that now...

Apparently, time was even more of the the essence than Ron had originally thought. Harry was right; he needed to go tonight. What if Hermione had been wrong about the arrival date of their dignitary? What if Umbridge was following her own agenda rather than Phelix Nardstone's itinerary?

What if you can't get Hermione out by yourself, Weasley? For the first time in a long time, the scars on Ron's arms began to tingle ominously, then pull tighter and tighter. Pain seeped in through his scalp and fired straight for the center of his brain, bouncing from there to connect with the throbbing in his arms. He wrapped both arms around his head, feeling he had to hold tight just to keep his skull from exploding from his shoulders. He could feel his face contorting and he fought to stay upright in his kneeling position, breathing in gasps, then holding it to try and control the pain. How could he even think about trying to go and save Hermione like this?

Hermione...thinking...his dream...Slowly, vaguely, through a white, veiled haze far away from the blinding red pain, Ron fought to remember an image of Hermione sitting on his bed, telling him to think positive thoughts. She'd told him that was the only way to heal his thought scars, both those that could be seen and those that could not. He concentrated hard on that image and that idea, and the pain began to lessen a little.

He wasn't completely a stupid git, after all. And he didn't always need Harry. He'd been chosen as prefect over anyone else in his year. He had been the one who'd made the critical plays to win the Quidditch Cup for Gryffindor without either his brothers or Harry. He'd managed to rebuild Sirius' motorbike when even Hermione had been in doubt. And he'd managed to find her when she was an entire country away. He could do this.

And he had to.

Intentionally or not, he had completely bolluxed his chance to keep Hermione out of harm's way in the Department of Mysteries. It wouldn't happen again. Not on his watch. He was ready, he was damned well willing, and he would force himself to be able.

He could do this.

Struggling to his feet from his kneeling position before the fireplace, Ron cautiously removed his arms from around his head. The pain was diminishing -- once again, Hermione had been right. Now it was up to him to give her the chance to be right for many years to come.

He considered skipping dinner to get everything prepared, but he just as quickly dismissed that as a bad idea. Missing dinner would only raise suspicions that something was afoot, even if it turned out to be just his mum wondering if he was feeling well. He didn't want anyone to be watching him more closely than usual tonight -- things were going to be difficult enough as it was. Besides, perhaps he'd better get something into that stomach that was queasy with excitement and apprehension. Though he had fully intended for him and Harry to be back here with Hermione before this time tomorrow evening, the plans were already going awry, and who was to say just when he would manage to find something besides a year-old Peanut Poltergeist to give him some much-needed energy?

Steeling himself to act as calm and normal as he possibly could while his mind and heart were racing, Ron walked to his room, quickly changed clothes, and headed downstairs to dinner.

"Yes, but how are we going to manage to get anything done in the shop when one of us has to be hiding all the time?" Fred asked, bouncing a small squishy ball off of the cabinet next to him and catching it repeatedly as he talked.

"Easy. We don't," George answered, leaning back coolly against a table behind him and quickly pushing upright again once the table began to give way. "There's a wall between the front and the back rooms, no? And just this morning while you were at Popple's for the Mungwood, I hired a fairy to watch the front door. Starts tomorrow, he does."

Fred and George were chattering away at one another while Ron did some last-minute checking on the motorbike systems. The three boys had managed to make their way through dinner without giving away anything and had decided on their way to the shed (where they thought they might have some privacy to discuss details) that they'd done a bang-up job indeed on deceiving virtually everyone.

"A fairy?" Fred asked in disbelief.

"Yeah," George said. "He comes highly recommended--and he'll work for cheap."

"Well, that's all good then. But there's no need to make comment on his personal life, you know. Strictly speakin', it's against the law."

George looked perplexed. "His personal life?" He furrowed his brow and was uncommonly quiet for a minute or two; then came the look of realization. "Oh -- I didn't hire a poof, you dolt! I hired a fairy! Well, he's part fairy, anyway, though he hardly sounds like one-- but the wings are real. He's agreed to live over the door and let us know in the back when anyone's come in. Can be a bit tetchy sometimes--tends to blow his cigar smoke in people's faces when he's hacked off, his old employer says -- but I think he'll come 'round. Besides, maybe that'll discourage some of our more, erm, unpleasant customers. We can afford to be a bit pickier these days."

Fred gave his twin a nod of understanding. "Hmm. Sounds like a plan -- and it just might work, even for this."

"Yeah, see? We can just keep on with our invention work in the back," George explained. "When someone comes in, Howard checks them out -- Howard's the fairy, 'course. So the fairy checks them out--if they're customers on the list we've given him, he comes back to let us know and one of us goes out front. If they're someone we don't want to see, he tells them we're out. Simple."

"Brilliant, George," Fred agreed. "Do I want to know where you found this bloke?"

George considered for a moment. "Mmm -- no."

Fred was nonplussed. "All right then. So - you filled in on the plan then, Ron?"

"You've told it to me in bits and pieces, but I don't think I've ever heard it start to finish," Ron said, standing from his squatting position on the far side of the motorbike to pull at a loose cable and tuck it in tighter.

"So we find a way to liberate Harry from Privet Drive tomorrow--" Fred began.

"That's all you've got?" Ron asked. "You 'find a way'?"

"Well, when you're dealing with something like this first part, you have to kind of play it by ear, you know?" George explained. "We think it will have something to do with sending a note to Dung Fletcher about some outrageous deal on Dustless Floo Powder for him to fence. Then we'll have him meet us somewhere that we're not going to be, but we haven't worked out the details, no."

"We think we can entice him away from being on watch, if only for a short while," Fred said. "Then all we have to deal with is Mrs. Figg--and that's a piece of cake, right, George?"

"Right. But it gets better after that," George said with an encouraging tone. "You see, we have Harry leave his wand at Privet Drive, because that's the way they'd be most likely to track him."

"That and his broomstick," Ron said. "But that leaves him defenseless-- and grounded--"

Fred held up his hand, palm forward. ""Hold on, hold on, don't get ahead of us. This is our bit of espionage, you know--you have your own to play with."

Ron rolled his eyes. "All right. Go on."

George sighed. " Where were we? Oh, yes. After that, we're going to give Harry Fred's--"

"No, George's--" Fred interrupted.

George frowned. "No, Fred's broomstick and wand so that if the Aurors or anyone is checking to see who's flying to Scotland, the magical tracker will show it as Fred Weasley instead of Harry Potter. It's perfectly feasible that we'd fly to Scotland on business, right?"

"We're also going to have Harry tie on another broomstick registered to the shop, and this is where another piece of brilliance kicks in to cover your arse, dear brother," Fred added. "The extra broomstick will make it look as if there are two people flying together. Then we tell everyone that you went with George--"

George flinched. "You mean Fred--"

"No, George," Fred said tersely, but with a twinkle in his eye, "because we needed Ron to help us find a source for a particularly combustible type of Muggle fuel he happened to have worked with--something to make our explosives just a bit more spectacular. Only thing we have to worry about is to make sure that we know which of us is supposedly flying to Scotland andgone--" Fred glared at George, "--and that people can only ever see one of us at a time."

"Bloody brilliant, eh?" George asked. He and Fred looked at one another, then back at Ron, both of them beaming.

"Not bad, not bad. So what do you tell the Order when they notice Harry's gone?" Ron asked.

"This is where it gets a bit dodgy," Fred said.

"We think we can play the old shell game with Harry's whereabouts for a day or two, but you two can't be dawdling around there in Scotland," George said. "We can't hold out forever on this one. The Order's just too damned good."

"The old shell game?" Ron asked, setting the twins off again.

"A Muggle magician's invention to make you think something's in a certain place--" Fred said.

"--Where it may or may not be. We learned about it in Muggle Studies."

"Well done for a Muggle invention, too. If we can get Harry's relatives to believe Harry's at the Burrow--"

"And Mum and Dad still believe that Harry's with his relatives--"

"Then if we can manage to dodge the Order for a few days -- with the fairy's help, I reckon--" Fred glanced at George, who nodded.

"With any luck, we can keep them confused enough --or in transit between the Burrow and Privet Drive enough-- that it should give you two some time to work."

"Yeah," Ron snorted. "As long as we don't go through all of this just to have the Order and Mum and Dad kill us all several times over."

"Oh, but that's your part," George said. "We're depending on you and Harry to make everyone see the urgency in Hermione's situation. Otherwise, our gooses are all well-cooked."

"Oh, that makes me feel loads better," Ron said, feeling the weight of both his nerves and his decision to go to Hermione's rescue. As worried as he was that Dolores Umbridge was on her way to Trapperton, he was almost as concerned that perhaps she wasn't. What if he'd jumped to conclusions over just a hair bow and some pink parchment? Because if it turned out he had...If he went through all of this, flying to Scotland, disrupting Harry's safety net, getting the twins in trouble with the Order, only to find that some crotchety old miser was off to Trapperton alone for a Ministry-sanctioned holiday...

He forced himself not to think about that now. He couldn't allow himself to. He was already in this deep and had dragged the twins and Harry right along with him. Another hour and his parents would be in bed, the twins in place to intercept them and make some excuse should they be awakened by an unusual roar near the woods. Another hour and he would be on his way to Hermione. He wondered if he was supposed to feel this cold and nervous and clammy with a huge, disagreeable knot in the pit of his stomach. Didn't the heroes of the world always feel bold, daring, and oh-so-sure of themselves? Why couldn't he be like them? Surely they never had any doubts.

Ron looked up and in spite of his tension, couldn't help but smile. "You two are pretty damned good, really. Now if only it works."

"If only?" the twins said in unison.

"Of course it'll work," Fred said indignantly.

"Our plans almost always do," George offered.

"I keep telling you not to say almost, George," Fred scolded.

"Reckon we'd better get inside now," Ron said. Spotting the black leather bomber jacket he'd worn the other night where he'd tossed it aside on a table, he picked it up and laid it across the seat of the motorbike. No telling what the weather was like in Scotland or at two thousand feet aloft--he thought it would be a good thing to take along, rather than a long, draggy cloak that could get caught in the wheels. "I think the motorbike's set now and I've got a few things to put together in the house before I go. Besides, I've got to let Mum and Dad see me heading to bed. They think I've got work tomorrow."

"Ah, the end of your brilliant Ministry career. Percy would be so disappointed," Fred teased.

"Pity it had to end so soon," George added wistfully. "Whatever will Mum say?"

"Shut it," Ron said irritably, before dousing the oil lamps and steering his brothers to the shed door.

So far, it had gone stunningly well. Ron had checked over everything he needed, mostly just taking along those same things he'd thrown into his rucksack several weeks earlier (but he did think to get some fresh water). He was now walking the motorbike out to the edge of the woods, mentally revising the map in his head and the landmarks he'd set himself to watch for. Hermione's most recent letter crunched in his back pocket along with a basic map he'd drawn for himself, since he'd had to leave the map he'd, erm - borrowed from Sharpe's office -- with the twins for Harry. His dark jeans and the black leather bomber jacket camouflaged him in the night for the most part and the moon was but a sliver that did little to illuminate his bright hair.

Ron had left a note of explanation for his parents in his room, telling them that he'd gone in early for work and would be off with Fred for a day or two on business (Fred had lost the final round of "rock/parchment/scissors" to George). The truth was that since he didn't always cross paths with his dad at work in the Ministry, Ron was hoping his parents wouldn't even notice him gone or look for the note until he was already in Scotland.

As he walked, Ron covered and re-covered his steps in preparing to leave. He was certain that everything about the motorbike was in order -- he'd even used Magical Ropes to lash an extra tank of petrol to the back with his rucksack because he had no idea what kind of gas mileage to allow for flying. Thinking of flying made him stop and gasp for a moment until he remembered that he'd shoved the parchment Leo had given him with the Security Reversal Spells into his front pocket instead. He patted it just to reassure himself.

Only one loose end was left to keep nagging at him--and that was Pig. With a normal day's post, Pig should have been back long before now, but Ron hadn't seen any sign of him. At first, when the little owl wasn't back after Ron had arrived home from work, Ron hadn't thought much of it; he hoped that what was possibly keeping Pig was some post Harry was sending with up-to-the-moment news regarding Umbridge or Harry's escape, or both. But when it came time for Ron to leave and Pig still wasn't back, it became a source of worry. If nothing else, Pig's arrival at the Burrow after Ron had left would likely signal to his parents that he was gone for sure. After a long journey, the annoying little twit had a habit of circling whoever was supposed to feed him until they dropped everything they were doing and did so. Ron had left some dry owl treats in Pig's bowl, but those were hardly his favorite and he'd often been spoiled by some fresh little bit of Ron's last meal that had been saved. Unfortunately, if Ron wasn't there to complete the task, Pig would probably seek out Ginny or Mrs. Weasley, both of which would be wondering why Pig wasn't going to Ron instead. If this whole thing gets bolluxed up because of that little twirp, he's off to the pillow factory...

Ron stopped and sighed heavily. He was at the edge of both the woods and his great undertaking. Once he left here there was no going back. This was his last chance to retreat, hope that everything he'd seen and assumed from his discoveries at the Ministry was wrong, and that Hermione would be all right on her own. Or - it was also his last opportunity to go back and explain everything to his father, hoping that the Order would see fit to investigate in Trapperton before it was too late. Your last chance to wimp out, Weasleyhe told himself harshly.

But in truth, the cold, sweaty palms, the clamminess, and the self-doubt of earlier this evening were gone. This felt right. It was what he knew he had to do. The fact that he'd intentionally turned off the negatives in his mind and let his heart take charge set him free in a way that he'd felt only a few times before. If anyone had ever seen something he'd done in the past as heroic, that was why-- those were moments he hadn't had time to mull over what he was doing, to hash and rehash the pros and cons in his head. He had acted. His heart had told him what to do and he'd done it, no time to waste and no questions asked. No one ever talked about a hero's mind-- but a hero's heart? Yes--that was where the source of being a hero lay. Ron was putting his heart in charge tonight--and it spoke to him loudly on Hermione's behalf.

He swung his leg over the motorbike, setting his heel on the kickstarter and pulling the key from his right front jeans pocket. He smiled a bit as he looked at the key in his hand and thought of the wizard who must have held it this way so many times long ago.

"How many times, Sirius?" Ron asked quietly. "How many times did you hold this key in your hand, ready to fire up the engine and speed off somewhere to prove your loyalty to your friends? How many times did you ignore the rubbish your mind was telling you and follow your heart to play the hero? I know for a fact you played hero at least once on Halloween fifteen years ago. And that's the reason I know you'd understand why I'm doing this. You know I want Harry to have this motorbike--and you can be sure that no matter what, it'll be his as soon as this is over. But I also know you'd never keep a friend from the chance to save another who was in trouble, no more than you'd deny that in my shoes, you'd be doing the very same thing. Thanks for the lift, Sirius, wherever you are."

With that and a deep breath, Ron shoved the key into the ignition, turned it hard, and jumped to slam his heel down on the kickstarter. The gratifying roar of the motorbike rumbling beneath him only strengthened his resolve.

It only took a minute or two for Ron to clear the top of the trees at the edge of the woods. He had planned to fly over forested and unpopulated areas as much as possible-- piloting a Ford Anglia over London to Hogwarts had managed to teach him a thing or two, after all.

He was flying slowly, at least long enough to verify his direction with both the North Star and the "Point Me!" Charm when he saw-- it. It was difficult in the murky darkness to see what it was, but in the distance there would be a momentary flash of something light-colored, then it would disappear. At first he thought he was imagining things; but then, another minute or two would pass and it would appear again, only closer.

Of course, he had realized from the outset that there would be other things besides a wizard on a motorbike flying in the summer night sky. Any number of night birds or even Muggle contraptions were in flight every night. Worse yet, he was quite aware that many wizards traveled by night on their broomsticks to avoid being spotted. He was only praying that there wasn't a wrench in the works of his plan so soon.

But as the thing got closer, his clearer perspective told him that it was small, whatever it was. Probably much too small to be a Muggle contraption like an airplane (plus it had no lights); it seemed too small to be a human as well. A sigh of relief shuddered from his lungs as he realized it was only a night bird.

Ron watched the point where the bird was still approaching. He was tempted to ignore and just try to dodge it, but the thing kept coming right at him--and he found that quite curious. Surely Dumbledore hadn't found out already and sent one of his little 'pets' to find Ron, along with a note attached that said something like, "Mr. Weasley, Not only are you expelled from Hogwarts, but the Ministry will be dealing with you once this parchment completes its magical task of plucking you from the sky."

It was close enough now that Ron could see the somewhat top-heavy shape of an owl in flight--perhaps just a messenger owl. But once he realized it was too small for most messenger owls and the bird tilted a certain way such that the very dim moonlight caught on his wings, Ron realized that he'd seen those very wings on many a moonlit night from his window.

"Pig!" Ron shouted before realizing someone below might just be able to hear him. He dampened his volume some, but tried to keep his voice intense. "Pig, it's me!"

Pig's wings ceased to flap in apparent shock as he looked up in response to a familiar voice and a very unfamiliar loud, mechanical noise. Within a moment he started to plummet straight down and the little owl began flapping furiously to regain his altitude. Looking completely perplexed by what he saw before him, Pig at first seemed to want to head straight for Ron to deliver his post. But on approach, the owl stopped his forward progress and began to circle around the motorbike, apparently put off by the motorbike engine's volume.

"Pig, it's all right," Ron encouraged, trying to get him to come closer while still keeping the motorbike aloft. "It's just loud, it won't hurt you." Making sure he could balance the bike one-handed, Ron lifted his arm away from the handlebars and held it out toward Pig to land on.

This movement seemed familiar to Pig, but Ron couldn't deny the terror in the little owl's eyes as he truly tried to calm himself enough to land, but couldn't bring himself to do it. The bird started off again on another large circuit around the motorbike.

Unable to think of anything else to do without crashing, Ron just gestured to Pig to follow behind him. He didn't want to let Pig return to the Burrow, for precisely the reasons he'd thought of earlier. But he also wasn't sure if his owl could make it to Trapperton after the long flight to and from Harry's house that day. There was also the issue of that letter from Harry...

After a mere ten or fifteen minutes, Ron looked back to see that Pig had fallen some ways behind him. He gestured to the little bird again, to encourage him to keep up. But he could tell from the tortured and frenzied flapping of the little owl, quickly followed by a complete ceasing of any movement, that the tiny bird was getting very tired. Ron also knew that if he was told to, loyal little Pig would fly until he dropped.

Wondering if he could maneuver the motorbike so quickly without heading into a downward plummet himself, Ron twisted his hand to rev the engine and accelerate, at the same time pointing the bike almost straight up. With a huge loop in the sky, Ron swept down on Pig; the owl barely had time to react, much less fly away when Ron reached out to snatch him out of the air with one hand, just like an errant Quaffle.

Holding the owl up in front of his face so the two of them were eye-to-terrified, huge-golden-eye, Ron spoke soothingly to his owl to try and calm him. Just holding him tightly and allowing him to get used to the noise seemed to help, but Ron wasn't sure what to do with him after that--unless...

Ron looked down his shirtfront to where he'd earlier zipped up the bottom of the bomber jacket. The stiffness of the leather and the zipper bowed the jacket forward a bit and made something of a pouch--just about the right size for a frightened little owl. Besides, there, the terrible din would be muffled some.

"Now this isn't going to hurt--in fact, it should be quite warm and comfy in there," Ron explained to Pig. "And this is very, very special, you know. Not many owls get to ride through the sky on another giant bird--even if it is one that's rather noisy."

Pushing Pig's little body into the 'pocket' of his jacket, Ron could feel his pet stiffen and panic at first. But the warmth or the comfort or the beating of Ron's heart finally calmed the wee owl into relaxing. Oddly enough, Pig relaxing against him made Ron sigh loudly and he himself relaxed some--not that he needed it, much.