A/N: Loads of thanks and excessive gushing are to be heaped upon my wonderful betas Christina Teresa and Seakays, as always.

Real life just keeps on being, well...real... which at times means real ugly, especially time- and energy-wise. But we keep plugging along. Also many thanks to recent reviewers mikebuhrow, Uncle Buck, Mist, Ender, and Dispatch - I really appreciate your kind comments. Hope you enjoy this one! NZ

Chapter 23

Surprise! Surprise!

Chapter 22 Summary: It turns out that what Starr, Ron, and Hermione hear entering Trey and Starr's cave is Leif, the young Yeti who Hermione had worked with in the lab. Ron becomes rather irritated at Leif's delight in finding Hermione in his territory, but they soon find that Starr is trying to hide a painted all in the cave from them. Through picture language with Starr and Leif, Hermione realizes this may be what the handlers have been doing inside the caves, but she doesn't understand why – especially when a picture message there decodes into something about killing horses. After all, she's never seen one at Trapperton. Starr is trying to tell Hermione something else in pantomime when Spyder storms into the cave, killing and eating a live opossum in front of them. Spyder makes an attempt to harm Ron and Hermione, but after first defending Hermione alongside Ron, Leif pushes both Hermione and Ron from the cave to protect them. Hermione's elbow is dislocated in the process, but there is unrest in the night forest, so the two friends head for the gates into camp anyway. While Ron and Hermione are hiding and trying to decide what to do about the dogs on guard, Leif appears again, having evaded Spyder once more. Leif uses Yeti healing to repair Hermione's elbow, then hurls a boulder at the padlocked and warded gates to jar them open a little. Two handlers appear to check the security of the gates, but they're distracted by more pressing Yeti matters in the forest. Using the dog biscuits and soft words from Hermione, she and Ron finally get past the dogs and succeed in making it back to her cabin.

>>>ES

Alastor Moody fell with a pflump! into the worn and sagging overstuffed chair. Cautiously, he pulled the threadbare ottoman toward him and lifted his bad leg – minus the wooden 'peg' -- onto it. As he finally relaxed a bit, the throbbing set in and he let out a low moan, knowing no one was around to hear aside from Wilhemina.

The old hound with the large pouches dangling beneath her sad, puffy eyes walked slowly to the aged Auror and laid her head on the man's elevated leg.

"Ah, Wilhemina, always a fine, faithful lass you are," Moody said, stroking the dog's head. "Pains me a good lot tonight, it does. I'll be off to Diagon Alley tomorrow for some more ingredients for that Ghostlimb Potion. But in the meantime, reckon the Firewhiskey'll have to dull the throbbin' instead."

Moody spent some time sitting there, lifting the bottle to his lips, taking long, deep swigs and then cradling it in his lap again. He wasn't sure how long it had been before he started to hear the voice. But for one of the few times in his life, he was actually hoping the damned thing was all in his head.

"Alastor?...Alastor?" came a thin, older woman's voice from the direction of the hearth.

Squinting his unfocused eyes at the firelight flickering on the wall next to him, he could tell it did have a decidedly greenish cast to it, unlike the orange-red reflections shed by the oak log fire alone. There was a good chance someone really was in the fireplace wanting to speak to him. He knew he would have to lower his leg and walk closer to the hearth for them to hear his reply, but the simple thought of the pain alone made him dread the task. His eyelids heavy with the effects of Firewhiskey, they fell closed, and sleep nearly took him before the voice came back.

"Alastor!" the voice scolded. "I know you're there – Miss Tonks told me she'd left you on the front stoop in pain with that leg, and that she watched you head inside to put it up not an hour ago!"

Arabella Figg. That's who that screech belonged to. Usually the woman wasn't so insistent since she so often was in doubt of her own mental faculties. She must really have something to say. Bugger.

Taking a deep breath and gritting his teeth in anticipation, Moody lowered his partial leg from the ottoman and felt the pain roll downhill into his knee. Damn. Whatever this woman wanted, it had better be good.

"Harry Potter, then! Does that mean anything to you, Alastor? This is about the boy!"

Harry!

Moody grabbed for his walking stick, adrenaline beginning to clear his mind slightly. Somehow he managed to get himself across the room to the hearth.

"Arabella?" he croaked. "What's the problem?" He leaned what weight he could on the walking stick, which swayed perilously back and forth as his body shifted, pain and alcohol affecting his ability to balance properly.

"Well, I'm not entirely certain there is a problem—" the woman started.

Moody rolled his eyes.

"But I couldn't reach Albus—off investigating some cave, Minerva said— she was busy with Hogwarts admissions and I thought someone ought to know," she continued. "Harry was here today when Mundungus and I were on watch – he was planning on helping with the cats, he said. Or-- was it that he was watering the garden?" Mrs. Figg's voice trailed off as she drifted off into her own confusion.

"Is that the gist of the problem then, Arabella? Can't remember why Harry was at your house?" Moody said gruffly.

"Oh no...no...You see, he was here, then he was gone. I went to search for him and for the shortest bit of time we couldn't find him at all—"

"You and Dung?" Moody questioned.

"Well, once I eventually found Mundungus, he was glad to help," she clarified. "So, when we couldn't find him here, we went to the Dursleys to see if he'd returned there. They told us Harry was ill –vomiting, as it were– and had retired to his room."

"Did you see him then?" Moody asked, his head beginning to ache with the effort of focusing his eyes.

"No, we didn't," Mrs. Figg said. "You know those people, not very inclined to help us. They didn't want to let us in their house or tell us what time all this had happened. But they said they could, er, hear him inside his room. We didn't insist. Was that all right?"

"Can't say I wouldn't have felt better if you'd actually seen him, Arabella, but if the Muggles could hear him in there, we're probably in the clear." Even through his alcoholic haze, Moody could tell that Mrs. Figg was simply having an attack of the guilts and sought to relieve it by fire-talking to him. Chances are everything was as it appeared and all was fine, since the Muggles claimed they could hear Harry– certainly they had nothing to gain by stating otherwise and none of the usual alarms had been tripped. "Much indebted to you, Arabella, for letting us know. Tonks and I'll check on him when we're on guard tomorrow."

The relief in her voice was obvious. "Thank you, Alastor. Sorry to bother you so late." Then her head disappeared.

Crazy old bat, Moody thought. Better talk to Dumbledore about finding her some other duty for her besides being on watch for Harry. Then he stumbled back to his saggy chair, plunked his throbbing leg back on the ottoman, and listened to his old dog snore but for a moment before he drifted off to sleep himself.

>>>ES

They'd holed up in Hermione's cabin after returning from the habitat, trying to calm themselves with the simple comfort of being together and talking quietly about their summer apart.

While it was difficult to ignore the occasional Yeti yells, shouts, and barking coming from the direction of the habitat, Hermione began to tell Ron what had been happening at Trapperton in far more detail than she had ever included in her letters. By the time she'd stopped talking, Ron was stretched out on the floor, his head held up on one arm bent at the elbow, while Hermione sat cross-legged in front of him.

After that, and because there was still too much commotion going on outside for them to relax, Ron described how he'd met Leo, come to work in the Shipping Department at the Ministry, and how he'd obtained all of the information he'd found in the offices, both restricted and otherwise. This time he took a deep breath and held nothing back when he told her – obviously, leaving out some little bit of information could mean the difference between life and death in a place like this—though he'd had no idea the potential for danger was so great here even without the presence of someone like Umbridge He had so deeply sensed Hermione was in danger – only to find out she truly was. At least she won't need to worry about it much longer…he thought.

Though he had to stifle a yawn beforehand, Ron swung his long legs around into a sitting position, then pushed up to stand. "So what time do you reckon it is now?" he asked, hitching up his jeans before walking away and bending over to pick up one of the trainers he'd kicked off across the room earlier.

Hermione watched what he was doing with curiosity. "I don't know. Eleven…eleven-thirty, maybe. Why?"

Why is she looking at me like that? he thought. Surely she hasn't forgotten. "Because,"he snorted, "it's nearly time to go."

"Go?"

"Hermione, everyone in the world knows you're smarter than that. Quit taking the mickey. Come on. Get your things and let's go," he said impatiently, collecting the other shoe and taking the few steps to the desk chair to put it on. He truly did feel badly for the Yeti and their predicament– and Ron knew he could never willingly let any creature starve—but he also knew that between the two of them, they had enough information that they could alert someone. "You've got your evidence now, it's time to take it home. We'll go to the Ministry—or the Order -- once we get a bit of rest. Remember—midnight tonight? We agreed?"

The sheer force of her indignation alone seemed to lift her from the floor. "I never agreed to anything," she said, shaking her head. "You were the one who came up with the brilliant idea of leaving tonight. I just didn't…say anything."

"Come on, there's brave and noble, then there's stupid," Ron said, trying, and not managing very well, to stay calm. "After what happened out there tonight, don't you see you could just as easily get killed here by those prat handlers or those Yeti you love, even without any squat little flesh-carving Ministry officials coming to take revenge?"

"Look who's talking," Hermione replied, obviously getting a bit edgy herself. "Flying into a Ministry compound you knew would be warded in the middle of the night—"

"Yeah – to get you!" Ron interrupted hotly. "At least I had a damned good reason for what I did!"

The emotion behind that statement slowed Hermione down – not for long, but her voice was quieter when she spoke. "And so do I, Ron. Nothing's really changed. We know what they did in the caves now, assuming it wasn't just Trey and Starr's. But we can hardly take those paintings with us as the hard evidence any of those Ministry people would demand. Not to mention we don't know why they did it or what it means."

Ron tried to calm himself to match her mood, but the adrenaline was still pumping too hard. "Well – all right then--I'm going. I said I'd give you until tonight and I have—even went with you out there to try and find out whatever more we could…"

"I know," Hermione said meekly. "Thank you."

Ron started stomping about the room, looking for his jacket. He knew he ought to leave the issue alone, but the frustration just wouldn't go away. "Reckon that's it. We'll just leave you here then. I'm sending Pig to find Harry wherever he is and tell him not to come –and –and -- I'm going!"

But she wasn't budging and Ron had a feeling it was already over. And she was still so maddeningly calm about it…

"All right. You do what you have to do."

Ron shook his head. "Damn it, Hermione! You have to come with me!"

As soon as the words burst out of his mouth, he regretted them. Nice one, Weasley. You blithering idiot! Since when did ordering Hermione Granger around do you even the slightest bit of good? Look at her—she's not going anywhere.

"Ron -- this is me," she said too damned reasonably. "How often have I ever listened to anyone who told me precisely what I can or can't do?"

"Maybe it should start when someone cares more about keeping you safe than you care yourself!"

Ron stormed to the bureau, where he'd wrapped a part of the ignition assembly in a scarf while they'd been gone from Hermione's quarters (at least, he thought, if someone were to break in and come across the motorbike, they wouldn't be able to make it run). The scarf dropping to the floor in his haste, he picked it up and pitched it back on the bureau top, alarming Pig into frantic flight around the room. Then the motorbike part slipped through his fingers and gave him something more to curse about.

Damn, this hero business really blows.

One thing he had discovered over the summer was that working on the motorbike had something of a calming effect on him and he was going to have to calm down, if only to get himself out of here. Walking to the motorcycle, Ron absorbed himself in checking everything to make certain it was once again ready for flight. He knew it was not only essential, but the only way he might find himself better able to think clearly and reason beyond the anger. Hermione was ignoring him now – he was aware she was simply leaving him alone to let off steam. She wasn't always in the frame of mind to be able to do that when they argued, but tonight, thankfully, she was.

Finally, he had checked everything he could three times over and he glanced over to the bed, where Hermione had propped herself up against the headboard and involved herself in a book.

Ron stood from his squatting position and sauntered disgustedly across the room.

"If only it was a rule!" he said, throwing himself into the desk chair and staring into his lap. "Then you'd follow it and come with me!"

More silence.

Finally she spoke softly, as if she didn't want to open another can of worms. "It's getting late – they may be leaving the habitat soon since it's a bit quieter. Are you --?"

"Shut it, Hermione," he groused.

Though he didn't turn to see her face, and didn't especially want to at that moment, he could hear the note of hope in her voice. Very little had warmed his heart this night, but the feeling that she wanted what she was about to get did encourage him a little.

"Then you're --?"

"No, of course not," he said sulkily, kicking at the desk underneath.

As he sat still in the silent and dim room for a number of long minutes, Ron found himself winding down. The waning adrenaline and the tension in his muscles were giving way to relaxation after the stress of the habitat visit and his bickering with her. He didn't want to fall asleep in the chair, but neither did he want to face her when it seemed like he'd so easily given in, either. It was a bit stuffy in the room, too, but he could make it a few more minutes…

Soon he heard her crawl down from the bed. She padded across the room behind him, cooed something soothing to Pig (who had finally settled back onto the bureau), and busied herself with doing something there. Ron heard a goblet clink and a mumbled spell.

He still stared into his lap, his head down—in fact, only his eyes shifted when he saw movement on his right. But he still refused to look at her. She'd leaned close to set a dinner goblet down in front of him. It was full of pumpkin juice; condensation beaded on the sides of the glass.

"It's from the dinner pitcher, but I Spell-chilled it," she said calmly.

He grunted a thank you, but still didn't move – didn't feel like he could move. She waited behind him near his right shoulder. She wasn't touching him, but he could feel her there. He could always feel when she was that close, in his dreams or wide awake; his senses wouldn't let him ignore her – ever.

"I—" he heard her start softly and with some difficulty, then pause before starting again. "I know you came to get me because you were worried. Thank you for coming --and for staying."

Ron snorted softly. At least in his dreams she was grateful. But even there she didn't need him. "Yeah – but really, what good am I? You have your bloody Yetis to heal you if need be."

She paused again before he heard her voice low and soft. "Yes, Leif did put my elbow back in position and it doesn't hurt as much, that's true."

He felt her body heat shift closer until the butterflies in his stomach told him she was leaning against his shoulder.

Could she be…?

Nah, I must be dreaming…

Ron had learned that his other senses worked overtime with his eyes closed and he fully intended to make the best of that. Tingles raced down his right arm as one long strand of her bushy hair slid down it when she leaned closer. His face was hot and the side of his body felt surrounded by her as she bent down to speak into his ear.

"But there are other things that hurt, you know—things that hurt much worse," she said. "Being here by myself made me remember just how much it hurts to be that lonely—and it hurts so badly." It was silent for a moment, then... "You healed that."

The tone of her voice told him she meant it. He felt her lips on his cheek-- soft and warm and trembling, and just the slightest bit damp.

He smiled to himself. This was his favorite part of the dream.

Any moment now, she would move and he could…

What? No response?

Any moment now, she would move away from his cheek and touch her lips to his, and time would mean nothing…

She's taking so long…

Any moment now, she would settle on his lap and they would wrap themselves together in each other's arms, her lips hot and wet on his, and they would be so totally absorbed in one another that nothing else in the world would matter…

The anticipation was killing him…

She knew what to do on any other night, why was she so damned slow tonight?

Hold on -- you know what to do, Weasley! What are you waiting for?

Gently reaching one hand behind her head into that gloriously soft and frothy hair, Ron answered his own question. Part by instinct, part by reflex and mostly because there was not a flicker of willpower left in him to fight what he felt for her any longer, he pulled and turned his face to hers, his mouth to her lips, and he laid his feelings for her there. He felt her warmth, her softness, the delicious flavor of her that was every bit as luscious in this dream as in any other before it, if not more so. The summer dreams were welcome to stay forever… long moonlit nights imagining what perfection it would be to kiss Hermione… for only a dream could deliver a feeling this perfect…

She began to pull away a little but the adrenaline from some earlier bit of stupidity he couldn't remember was still pumping in his veins. It joined with the feelings her kiss was causing in him and it made him hungrier somehow. Not only did he pull her closer to him, but he kissed her more intensely. He'd kissed her this hard in the dreams before – and she'd only liked it.

Hermione made a wonderful little noise in her throat and he felt a twinge in his middle – she liked it this time, too Yet something was odd about that noise. His mind ordered her to come sit in his lap in this dream, too. She didn't move.

Then, far away, a metal gate clanged and a dog barked.

Ron's eyes flew open. Gates? …And dogs?

Oh, great mother of Merlin. He was kissing Hermione for...

Real?

Ron pulled away, gasping at his own boldness; his hands dropped as if she were made of hot coals. In one swift move, he'd jumped up from the chair and knocked it on its side. How he wished he'd been under it, pushed through the floor to crawl away and hide. For some minutes, his tongue was too much in shock for coherence. "I…I…"

He looked down at himself in alarm. Had she cast "Inflamare!"? Because he certainly felt as if he was burning up. He couldn't look at her – he couldn't!

"I…I…that!" he spat out as he stared at the floor. Damn, Weasley! Sound like you own a brain, you git! "Oh, Hermione, I didn't mean that! I'm sorry! I thought I'd fallen asleep, I mean I thought I was dreaming and—and—"

She stood looking at him blankly, after scrambling to regain her balance and stand straight once he'd released her head.

"I mean, especially after the mates thing--Tod—and—" he flung his arm in the general direction of the bed, but he couldn't look at that either.

Hermione looked as if the last few minutes had completely overwhelmed her. "You... thought you were...asleep?" she asked in confusion.

He finally let his eyes dart to hers for a moment before he nodded hopefully. But again, he didn't get the response he was expecting.

"After all this time you finally do something amazing like that and then tell me you thought you were asleep?"

He'd missed something -- he glanced one more time. There was a very dangerous spark in her eyes, but he wasn't sure how he'd put it there. He'd expected her to be angry from the start, when she wasn't, but now that he'd explained himself to keep her from getting angry, she was...Please let me understand girls – for five minutes…five minutes! he prayed. I'll do anything!

"Well – yes. No!" Ron floundered. " I mean, I didn't know if I was – I just reckoned if someone was being that nice to me that I was asleep – I didn't know it was you!"

Her eyes were narrowing – this couldn't be good. "So someone saying nice things to you wouldn't have been me, then? Is that what you're telling me?"

"No! I mean, yes! It could have been you, but—"

"Oh, now I see – it could have been me, but it wasn't," Hermione said tersely, crossing her arms in front of her. "So you thought you were dreaming and when you turned to kiss this dream girl, you just happened to run into me, but it had nothing to do with me because I would never be that nice. Does that about sum it up?"

Whoa… Too many words at once. Too long of a day. Too many long days in a row. Think, think. You're getting in deeper, Weasley, start digging—what are you saying…digging? Excavate like a madman, fool! How did this happen? And whatever you say back, it's got to be right! Argh, the pressure!

"So – what?" she demanded. "Kneazle got your tongue, then? Well, oddly, mine's fine. Who was it in that tasty little dream, then? That cutesie little Veela-looking third year with the long hair? I've seen you watching how it swings behind her. Or at least you certainly can't ignore something that swings behind her. Or maybe it's someone you've known a while, perhaps? Lavender Brown, maybe? Ever since you won the Cup for Gryffindor, she pulls her shirtfronts lower and hikes her skirts higher the instant she sees you coming. Surely you've noticed. So who was it, Ron? Who?"

All Ron could manage while his brain was on overload was to hold up his hand, trying to stem the flow of white-hot hatred coming his way. "A moment, just …please…"

"We're talking years that a lot of things have been on hold here, Ron—years," she said coldly. "It seems to me you've had a lot of moments and I don't think giving you any more of them is going to help."

"But I wanted it to be you in the dream –" Ron started lamely.

"And yet it wasn't," she finished, "because I would never be that nice. Trust me – if that's what you think, then I won't ever let it happen again, that's for certain." Hermione whipped around and stomped to the side of the bed, grabbing what looked to be a neatly folded set of pajamas from under her pillow; then she headed for the loo.

Weasley, you've got maybe three seconds here! "No! Wait! In the dream it was you—I mean, I was awake and it was you, and it was you I wanted to—"

SLAM!

She was gone and obviously refused to hear anything else. "Kiss-- and when we did, it was brilliant…and amazing…" Why couldn't he have told her that sooner? And he'd never got to tell her that he didn't want her to think he was trying to get her to...well, you know, with the bed, and the kiss and he knew she wasn't like that...Two seconds too late, but it might as well have been a lifetime, and well it could be now, for all he knew… "and now you could give a graphorn's arse…"

Ron turned the chair upright, then slumped into it, his eyes tingling and his body unable to hold itself up any longer. Why hadn't he left like he said he was going to do? Then this would have never happened. Maybe their friendship would have been no different, but at least he wouldn't have made things worse, like this. Why didn't he just take the motorbike now and fly off into the night? Better yet, why didn't he just go fly the thing into the forest and crash it on purpose and give Hermione a break for the rest of her life?

If nothing else, I'm waiting until she's in bed before I move. Though it's true things have quieted some out there…

Deep in the throes of trying to decide whether to stay or to go, Ron leaned his head back in the chair and closed his eyes to help relieve the headache nagging at him. The scars on his arms were beginning to sting a bit, too, and he was trying to ignore the pain from both as he heard Hermione rustling around in the bathroom. Could you have mucked up this hero thing any worse, Weasley? Why do you even—

Two loud pops broke the relative silence outside, startling Ron to his feet immediately as a lone dog began barking. At the same time, the bathroom door opened and Hermione poked her head out, a stricken look on her face.

"Did you hear that?" she asked tensely.

Both of them looked over to the bureau, where Pig was sleeping soundly with his head beneath his wing. Ron had never owled Harry.

Nothing else needed to be said. They both knew precisely what had happened. Ron dove for his shoes, ignoring her question. But he was certain she never noticed as she disappeared into the bathroom. Mere moments later, Hermione rushed back out in her pajama T-shirt and walking shorts, then sat down on the edge of the bed to rapidly tie on her boots.

Everything they'd just been through tonight was forgotten—at least for now. Harry needed them.

Both Ron and Hermione scooped up their wands and rushed to the door. Ron stopped and turned to her before he twisted the doorknob.

"I'll see if it's clear first. Then I'll start looking for Harry," he said. "Will we need –?"

"Dog biscuits?" she finished for him. "Don't know – I'll go for some first, then find you."

He started to turn back to the door when she grabbed his arm. "Ron?" She seemed to be fighting some angry emotion within herself, but by the end of that moment, was looking up at him with big, worried eyes. "Don't do anything stupid – okay?

"Me?" Ron snorted and looked down at her with the most confident smile he could muster under the circumstances. "Never. Come on."

Oddly enough, the smile lingered on his face as he checked for anyone else out and about in camp in the brightly-lit, again-noisy night.

So she knows, too. No matter what else happens between us, sometimes we're just so good together…

>>>ES

Ron waited until he could see the tail end of Harry's robes slip through the doorway into Hermione's cabin, then he checked for anyone else about. Seeing no one, he quietly slunk his way up the steps and followed his best friends inside. Ron incanted "Lumos!" along with Harry, then waited silently for Hermione to close the door behind him and set the Silencing and Security Spells.

"Bilius?" Harry said, setting Fred's broomstick against the bureau and turning back to them with a smirk on his face. He looked at Ron. "Isn't that your—"

Behind Hermione's back, Ron made an urgent cut-off gesture across his throat to keep Harry from continuing and fervently hoped that Hermione hadn't heard much of their exchange as she moved to the corner and dropped the sack of dog biscuits there.

"What did you say, Harry?" she asked cheerfully.

"Nothing," Harry said slowly, glancing at Ron. "Just mumbling to myself again – long trip alone in the sky at night. I'll have to get used to having other people around to talk to again." He reached around Hermione to accept her brief hug.

"Oh, it's so good to see you, Harry," Hermione said, releasing her friend. "It seems like it's been so long! And it almost makes me forget I'd like to kill you both for even thinking of bringing you here."

"Well, thank you...I think..." Harry said sarcastically, "—And I really appreciate the warm welcome with the huge spotlights and the barking dogs... What more could someone want who's trying to sneak in quietly?" Harry reached up to unclasp his robes, then hung them on the end of Fred's broom; he slipped off his rucksack and left it on the floor as well.

"At least you were flying in on a nice, quiet broomstick," Ron said. "My ride was a bit more—"

The motorbike! Ron thought in a panic. Harry hadn't seen it yet—and it was to be his birthday present! Ron dove for the sheet that had been rolled up into a ball on Hermione's bed. He was well aware that he was risking her wrath by doing so, yet he whipped it from the bed, snapped it fully open, then let it settle over the motorcycle looming in the dark corner.

"Ron!" Hermione said in alarm (and quite predictably, Ron thought). "What are you --? Oh. Good point." She gave Ron a knowing look and moved to adjust the sheet over the front of the great machine.

Harry stood looking from one of his best friends to the other in confusion. "Starting with that stuff already then? You are aware that you two drove me quite mad with that wordless talking thing you did all last year at school?"

"Sorry, Harry," Ron said. "It's just that – oh, what the hell – shall we?" He looked at Hermione inquiringly.

"It's your present to give," Hermione said. "Though I'd wager that if you do wait, it'll be hard to keep him from stumbling over it in a room this size."

"Right, then – let's do it," Ron said.

"Present?" Harry echoed, still sounding confused. "But I've just got here..."

"Some help here please, Hermione?" Ron asked. "Lumos Maximus!"

Hermione repeated Ron's spell, they both held their wands high so that the light showered down on the enormous sheet-covered mass, and Harry simply stood there looking lost.

Ron handed him a corner of the sheet. "Happy late birthday, Harry. Just give it a good tug."

Harry, still looking perplexed, took the corner and yanked it hard. The sheet whipped away behind him and fell to the floor, revealing the huge, glinting motorbike.

Harry's jaw fell. He stared. Then he stared some more. Then he looked as if he was about to speak when he worked hard to bring his lower jaw up to meet the upper. But the best he could do was swallow once it got there --and there were still no words.

It had been too long of a wait for someone with no more patience than Ron had. He was getting worried that Harry had recognized the motorbike right away as having belonged to Sirius and that the feelings had overwhelmed him. Too soon, he thought. You git, Weasley, it's too damned soon.

"Look...Harry, if it's going to be a problem—" Ron started gently.

"No!" Harry forced out. "It's. God, it's –" Then he returned to the silence and the staring, only now he began to move closer, reaching out as if to touch it and make certain it was real.

Ron looked blankly at Hermione, who shrugged.

"Ron – where--?" Harry choked, sliding his fingertips down the new leather seat. And staring some more.

Ron thought quickly. If Harry hadn't realized yet that the motorbike had been Sirius's, perhaps it would be better to ease him into it slowly. "Lots of places, actually – you know, bits and pieces. It's an older model, a bit difficult to locate parts for, but—"

"It's bloody spectacular," Harry said in awe.

Ron registered surprise at Harry's words – he was quite familiar with the 'bloody' vernacular himself, but it sounded so oddly– foreign – coming from his best friend. When he looked over at Hermione, she scowled back accusingly, as if to say, "Now you've got him saying those vulgar words, too."

"But where did you ever get the money?" Harry asked, circling and touching more animatedly now, his mind seeming to recover from its initial shock and drowning in a million questions at once. "These things cost a fortune. And how did it get h—" Harry stopped short and looked up.

Ron hadn't anticipated this. Obviously he hadn't driven the motorbike right through the gates and up the welcoming red carpet into the center of camp. And obviously Harry knew he'd got here much too fast to have driven at all.

Harry's jaw had dropped again. The shock had returned, this time apparently accompanied by realization. But this time Harry was staring at Ron.

Ron watched his best friend dig deep inside of himself and draw up the ability to say four somber, meaningful words.

"It flies. Doesn't it?"

Ron's eyes slid nervously to Hermione, who was still holding up her wand for light and watching Harry with concern as she bit her lower lip. Harry's words held at least a thousand times the weight of any normal statement. And they required confirmation. Ron turned back to his best friend, faced him head on, and with a sincere and solemn stare deep into Harry's eyes, Ron slowly nodded.

A fleeting smile danced its way across Harry's face, followed by a look of wonder; next a scowling frown took its turn, leaving in its wake an expression of deep gratitude.

"I don't know where—or how – or what you did to find this, fix it, bring it here, but I can feel it was his," Harry started. "This is, without a doubt and by far, the best ruddy birthday present anyone's ever given me. Thank you, Ron." Harry quietly took the few steps to get to his best friend. They half-embraced, half-shook hands quickly, each clapping the other on the back before Harry stepped back and turned to continue ogling the motorbike.

A great sigh of relief swept over Ron and he could tell by looking at Hermione that she felt the same.

The three friends stayed up much of the night together, talking and sharing the events of their summers. Ron and Hermione filled Harry in on what they felt was happening at Trapperton, then Harry told them all he'd heard while hiding out in the rhododendrons.

"Some of us actually have to get up and work tomorrow— well, actually, later today once the sun's up," Hermione said. "I'm going to have to get at least a few hours sleep so as not to be completely a blithering idiot."

"At least you have a good excuse for being up all night, what with all the noise in this place," Ron said. "You're probably tired, too, Harry. We'll talk more tomorrow—especially about the motorbike."

"Since I won't be here with you tomorrow doing all of that talking, I'm giving you my two cents right now," Hermione said as she sat cross-legged and faced them in their circle on the floor.

Ron knew from her tone of voice precisely what was coming. He glanced sideways at Harry and rolled his eyes, thinking that Hermione was unable to see him. But when he looked back, either she had caught his expression or the slight upward curl at the corner of Harry's mouth, because she scowled at him fiercely before turning back to Harry.

"Harry, you shouldn't be getting involved in this at all. In fact, you shouldn't even be here. I think you should get some sleep tonight, since obviously you're tired from flying, but then tomorrow, as soon as it's dark and we can get you out of here, you need to be on your way back to your aunt's and uncle's house. Dumbledore and the Order will be furious and frantic knowing you're gone—"

"But I don't think they know – if the twins are up to their usual game," Harry said.

Hermione wouldn't give in. "Whether or not they know, it's the principle of the thing. You're there to be protected and who knows what could happen to you here?"

"Oh, so now you're starting to think it's dangerous here, eh?" Ron said. "Because before, you were saying that there was no way Umbridge was coming, so—"

"Oh, shut up, Ron," Hermione interrupted. "You know very well why it's more dangerous for him than for us and don't pretend you don't."

"But now that I've actually made it here," Harry began reasonably, "wouldn't it be more dangerous for me to fly off into the night alone?"

Hermione paused a moment. "Well...take Ron with you. He wants to go anyway, he said. You two have a broomstick and a motorbike between you. Should be fine. I'll be fine."

"Nope," Ron said stubbornly, shaking his head. "Not going. Sorry, Harry."

"Why not?" Hermione asked.

"You're not going – I'm not going," Ron said shortly to her.

Hermione made an exasperated noise and stood.

"If it makes you feel any better, Hermione, I'm not ready to go back. Not yet, anyway," Harry said. "All of that security stuff, they were on me night and day. I was going mad. So what good would it do me or anyone else if I was protected from Voldemort, but gone mad as a coot? Might as well be dead."

"Don't even say that," Hermione said, frowning. "It's not funny, even when you're joking."

"I'll stay and we'll see what we can do about your Yeti if you two won't leave," Harry said. "Sounds like something weird is going on. And it's not my saving people thing, either. These things aren't even human – are they?"

Hermione sighed in frustration, shook her head, and walked down the short hallway to the closet where the blankets and pillows were kept. Ron heard her make a soft whimper as she stretched her recently-repaired elbow to reach for the extra bedding. He stood and strode back to help, lifting the items from the high shelf and carrying them out to the desk, where he set them down. He picked up the one extra pillow so that Hermione could hand Harry a blanket, then leave one for him. Though Ron was reminded then about the mystery of the extra pillow on the floor that morning, he assumed this would not be a great time to bring that up.

Harry stepped away from where he'd been visually inspecting the motorbike again and went to get the blanket Hermione held out to him. He turned, apparently to spread his blanket on the floor, but not before Hermione spoke.

"Wait, Harry – here's your pillow." She turned to Ron and snatched away the pillow he was holding to give to Harry"There are only two pillows and he doesn't get one. Ron's working on making his dreams just a little less frivolous and enjoyable. Perhaps a nice hard floor for a pillow will help with that." Then she wheeled abruptly to walk into the loo.

Harry stared after her, holding the pillow in front of him. "Erm...wow. Is that just because you won't take me back to my aunt and uncle's?"

Ron picked up his blanket and started to shake it out to spread on the floor. "Probably part of it. But don't worry, mate, it's none of your doing—she was already all hacked off before you got here. I'm quite good at getting myself in trouble without you, you know."

Harry seemed surprised. "So you come to save her and – she's peeved at you?"

Ron sat down on his blanket and pulled off his trainers, throwing them under the desk one at a time. "Long story, really, but yeah. Girls. Go figure." Rolling up his leather jacket for a makeshift pillow, he sat it on his shoulder, then flopped to the floor and was asleep in minutes.

>>>ES

"Ron," Harry said groggily. "What are you doing?"

"Shhhh!" Ron hissed, peering out of the narrowest crack he could make in the door opening and still see through it. He heard Harry yawn, rustle around in his blanket on the floor and imagined his best friend was up on one elbow by now, watching the back of him. Turning his head, he saw Harry squinting at him through narrowed, sleepy eyes.

"Okay, she can't hear you now," Ron began. "I'm following Hermione to work. She won't go home – so she's stuck with me tailing her, simple as that. I'm making sure there are no surprises for her in the morning mail. Be back soon. I hope." Ron started through the door, then turned back to Harry. "Oh – better put up the Security and Silencing Spells once I go, just in case – you know them from last night, right? When I come back, I'll knock twice, stop a few seconds, then knock once more."

Out of the corner of his eye as he was drawing the door shut behind him, Ron saw Harry flop back onto his pillow. Must be nice, Ron thought dryly, momentarily rubbing his neck to relieve the kink that had settled there sometime in the night.

It wasn't difficult to find out where all of the excitement was this morning. Ron had barely snuck halfway around the back of the camp before he saw a large group of people exiting the same building where those two lovey-dovey house-elves lived in the back. From his hiding place behind a small shed, he could see that most of the people were large, unkempt-looking men talking loudly and occasionally laughing, but Dr. Voyde and Carl were among them.

Bringing up the rear of the group was Hermione, carrying a stack of loose parchments and walking next to a man with dark brown hair, disheveled lab robes, and brown trousers. The man was waving his hands about as he talked non-stop, apparently to her, and continued on as if nothing had happened when she halted to run back a few steps and retrieve from the dirt a quill that had somehow escaped him. Scurrying to return to her place beside him, Hermione nodded and would occasionally give a one-word response or shuffle the parchments she held. So that must be the famous Dr. Null, Ron thought. Don't look so much like the Kneazle's pajamas to me, Mr. Brilliance!

Ron watched as, oddly enough, the entire group walked to the center of the open camp quadrangle and stopped there, still chatting but lowering their voices somewhat.

Dr. Voyde stepped closer to Carl Smeggers and pointed to her wrist.

"Attention!" Carl said loudly. "We have three minutes. And stand back!"

Everyone in the group moved to form a rough circle, except for two of the large men, who continued to talk and laugh. Carl stepped forward, quickly cuffing one of them in the back of the neck, after which they moved aside with everyone else.

Moments later, something began to materialize in the opening the group had made. As the vision became clearer, Ron was surprised to see a house-elf standing behind, and apparently directing, some kind of machine. It wasn't until everything solidified that he realized there really was a human body there somewhere: the wizened little old man whose office Ron had broken into was settled so far down into the Mobilus chair that he could barely be seen. (At least he didn't bring along that hellion for a secretary! Ron thought.)

Dr. Null stepped forward first and grabbed the old man's hand, shaking it gently. "Dr. Nardstone – Phelix – it's been too long. It is my pleasure – no, my honor -- to welcome you to Trapperton. I trust you'll find our complex more than worthy of all of the generous donations made to us via the Ministry, and find our studies of great value to all of wizardkind."

The old man wheezed something unintelligible from Ron's distance, but from all he could see, even Hermione scowled as if she'd heard nothing.

Ron noticed that Dr. Voyde had had an odd expression on her face from the moment the house-elf and the old man had arrived. She at first acted as if something was missing, her eyes darting everywhere in her concern, until the house-elf handed her some kind of sealed parchment. While Dr. Null was welcoming the Ministry official, Dr. Voyde read the parchment, looked mildly relieved, folded and pocketed it somewhere within her robes and straightened, turning her attention back to their guest.

Dr. Nardstone seemed to have finished with Dr. Null and was swinging his aged, crumpled hand around as if to make some signal to the house-elf to turn the Mobilus chair. Turn him, the elf did while the old man seemed to search every face in the group.

Taking a quick step forward now that she was done with her parchment, Pamela Voyde leaned over and threw her arms around the old man's scrawny neck. "Here I am, Uncle Phelix!" she said cheerfully. "Can't fool you, can I? Welcome to Trapperton! I've missed you so!"

Uncle Phelix? Ron thought. Hermione never told me the geezer's Dr. Voyde's uncle. Wonder if she knew?

One look in Hermione's direction gave him his answer, not to mention what Dr. Null thought of it as well. Both of them stood with concerned, confused, and somewhat flabbergasted expressions on their faces, staring in shock at the surprise family reunion before them. None of the others in the group seemed fazed by it in the slightest.

Dr. Voyde led off toward the housing buildings with Uncle Phelix and the house-elf in tow. As Ron watched the rest of the group break apart and wander away to various areas of the camp, something began to trouble him. Phelix Nardstone was indeed now here in Trapperton, but there was no sign of Dolores Umbridge. Apparently, he'd been wrong – again – and had been duped by misreading signals or putting two and two together to make five. Some hero you are, Weasley. Coming to save Hermione from the phantom ex-professor. But he'd been so sure! And so worried... Oh well, probably nothing to worry about now that we've seen who is – and isn't – coming, at least until Hermione gets the bright idea of heading into the habitat again.

Once the area was clear enough that Ron could be certain no one would see him, he worked his way back through the shadows toward Hermione's cabin and Harry. Hermione had headed off to the lab building with Dr. Null, collecting the random parchments the man dropped as he walked along, so Ron knew she would likely be busy for some time to come.

On his way back, Ron thought about what would have made him feel worse: being right about Umbridge, or being wrong. He knew Hermione would scoff at him now, especially for bringing Harry into it and flying him all this way from his place of protection. He sighed. What a stupid git you are, Weasley! All that showed up was a house-elf, an old man, and a parchment...

The scars on his arms began to tingle with all the self-criticism, but he couldn't help it. Some people just aren't meant to be heroes, he thought, and I'm meant to be one of those who aren't.