A/n: Surprise! It's been a while, hasn't it? I apologize profusely. Life just keeps rearing its ugly head, and writer's block does nothing to help matters.

This chapter was meant to be informative. It did no such thing. In fact, I believe it raised a new mystery instead of solving an old one.

But fear not! The next chapter is guaranteed to resolve one of the following:

A. The mystery that arises in this chapter.
B. A bit of the mystery regarding Pettigrew/Scabior's hand.
C. Your fears of me never updating again.
D. All of the above.

And with that, on with the chapter!

The Tales of Weasley the Father
By dieselwriter

Chapter 20: The Tale of Secrets

Ron's eyes narrowed on the parchment, trying to decide why exactly it was so confusing to him. One sentence splayed out in a bright red and pale gold on a fraying page should not require this intense scrutiny.

The expected attack on Valentine's Day hadn't come. Ron had received a conciliatory copy of the threat in his inbox the very next morning—Senior Auror Williams' attempt at an apology for leaving him out of the February fourteenth festivities.

It startled Ron that he was no longer annoyed at having been left behind. In fact, he felt more frustrated that he was wrong. At least if the attack had occurred when they had guessed, they would have been prepared. But now, unless Ron figured out the secret of the threat, there was no telling when an attack would come.

A chill ran down his spine and he turned to the door instinctively, expecting someone to be watching him. He found no one there but did hear the gentle padding of light steps echoing down the hallway. Curious, he piled up his papers and locked them up in his desk before heading toward the open door of his study.

"Rose? What are you doing?"

Ron stopped just short of the door to listen in as Hermione's voice replaced the footsteps. A small gasp was the initial response before his daughter gave a second and equally uninformative reply:

"N-nothing, Mum!"

"Then what's that all over your face?"

The hallway was quiet for a moment and Ron swore he could hear the gears churning in his daughter's head.

"Just some ink, Mum. Working on a project."

"What kind of project?"

"Nothing special," his daughter responded evasively, and he heard the footsteps return. "When's dinner?"

"Not for another hour," Hermione's tone sounded defeated.

"I'll be there," Rosie said awkwardly before a door shut and Ron suspected Hermione was left out in the hallway alone.

He made the rest of the way to the open door and peeked his head out, confirming his guess as Hermione turned to him with a pout.

"She's been acting rather secretive these past few weeks. This is the third time this week alone that I've caught her tiptoeing around the house."

"I haven't seen much of her recently," Ron said, scratching his chin. "You think she's up to something?"

"I haven't any idea what it could be," she replied, looking pensive. "But yes, I definitely think she's working on something. She's been cooped up in her room for the better part of a month."

"Well let's investigate then," Ron said, striding purposefully down the hall to the door leading to his daughter's bedroom.

"Ron," Hermione spoke up, following right behind him, "maybe we should just leave it alone. She's getting to be that age…."

Snorting at that prospect, he reached the closed door and knocked smartly, ignoring Hermione's look of reproach.

"Rosie?"

"Just a second!"

Ron frowned in confusion at hearing the discord on the other side of the door. Sounds of feet scurrying about and thudding heavily on the floor and the distinctive sounds of books snapping closed reached his ears.

"Rose, I'm coming in—"

"Hang on a sec, Dad!"

She sounded absolutely panicked now, and he couldn't help but open the door to see what the fuss was about.

Rosie was sitting on her bed, looking rather flustered as her hair was fluffed up more than usual and an ink stain graced her left cheek.

"What were you doing?"

"Just…just working on some practice Hogwarts' assignments."

"Where did you get practice Hogwarts' assignments?" Ron asked, disconcerted that this excuse actually sounded legitimate, and even more perturbed that any child of his would prepare over a year in advance for school.

"I'm helping Bobby before he goes off to school next year. One of his older sisters lent us some notes."

Ron frowned. It was a well known fact that he and Hermione were not very good liars. It was therefore a wonder where exactly Rose's deceptive talents came from. Ron suspected his sister's handiwork.

"Do you need any help with it?" Hermione asked, stepping forward, a sly look in her eye. Obviously she no longer held reservations about their nosing around.

"N-no, that's okay. I've figured them all out. Bobby and I are meeting up tomorrow to go over them."

"Oh," Hermione said, turning pleading eyes on her husband. Clearly she was stuck and hoped he had a new tactic.

Luckily he did.

"You know," Ron said, sitting on the bed next to his daughter, "it's not good to keep secrets from your parents, Rose."

She looked up at him with her big blue eyes, and for a moment Ron was sure she was going to spill.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Dad."

"I'm just telling you now for future reference," he said, trying to lock eyes with his daughter. She, however, had her eyes trained at her open bedroom door, as if hoping it would suck her parents out into the hall. "I remember one time, in fact, that I kept a secret from your Uncle Harry. It was one of the only things I ever kept from him, and it could have killed him."

Rosie, who had removed her eyes from the door in order to roll them in anticipation for his story, blinked in surprise at the last line.

"Killed him?"

"Well…" Ron contained his smile and glanced at Hermione, who seemed equally intrigued at his near-fatal secret, "I doubt Dumbledore would have let it happen, but these were dragons, and I think they would have eaten Harry up whether or not they had the Headmaster for an audience…."

His best friend was going to die in two days. As much as he hated to admit it, he was concerned by this.

Ron rolled over in bed, his agitation and anxiety causing him to be unable to fall sleep.

Harry's bed was empty. Ron found himself even more annoyed with the fact that he cared about where he was and, more importantly, what he was doing without him. Ron hoped sincerely he was preparing for the First Task.

It had been over three weeks since Harry's name had been pulled from the Goblet of Fire, and it had been over three weeks since Ron had taken to ignoring him as much as possible. And it was therefore very close to three weeks that he had found himself feeling incredibly lonely.

Hanging out with Fred and George and Lee was only as fun as long as it took the twins to start picking on him. Hermione wasn't fun, period. Dean and Seamus were nice enough but they weren't the same as hanging out with Harry. Joining Neville to figure out Trevor's favorite food forced Ron to consider contacting others outside of Hogwarts.

An owl from his mum had not been effective; her writing was scrawled quickly and was full of concern over Harry. His father's letter had been short and boring. Bill's was likewise short, although his was far more intriguing since it touched briefly on his encounter with a new curse nearly decapitating him.

But Charlie's letter had been the shortest of all:

Ron- Sorry, I don't have any time to write. I'll be seeing you soon though!

It had also been the worst.

The only time Charlie was ever too busy to write was when dragons were involved. And the only reason Charlie would be seeing him would be if he were coming to visit Hogwarts. And the First Task was soon.

Which meant Harry's first task was dragons. He'd have to fight a dragon.

Ron's stomach squirmed uncomfortably as he tossed to his other side in bed. It didn't matter what position he chose, though; he couldn't have felt further from sleep.

He had known for the better part of a week and yet he hadn't told Harry. He had hardly seen him, in fact. But that suited Ron fine; out of sight, out of mind.

Ron sat up in bed, rubbing his weary eyes. He peeked through the curtains to find Harry's bed still empty. This was ridiculous; it was one in the morning…where was he?

The covers were torn off of him and his legs were on the side of the bed before he realized what he was doing.

"Don't be stupid," he muttered to himself, placing his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands. "Who cares what he's doing?"

But Ron knew the answer to that one.

He did.

"This is stupid," Ron repeated even as he put on his slippers. "Maybe getting his arms torn off by a dragon will bring him to his senses."

The mental image of Harry running away from a dragon with stumps for arms did not alleviate the knot in his stomach. The image was quickly replaced with a two-armed Harry hunched over a stack of textbooks in the common room, feverishly turning pages in search for an answer to an unknown task.

Maybe he had lied, but there was no way Harry could have expected this. Even if they were in a fight, there was no way Ron could let this happen.

He ambled as quietly as he could in the dark to the door and descended the stairs, feeling inexplicably nervous.

"But you can do it alone."

Ron jumped at the deep, slightly familiar voice. That certainly didn't sound like a Hogwarts student….

"There is a way, and a simple spell's all you need. Just—"

It suddenly went quiet but Ron continued climbing down the stairs, intrigued.

"Go! Go! There's someone coming!"

That was Harry. Ron made it to the bottom of the spiral staircase, finding his old friend standing in front of the fireplace. But where had that other voice come from? Ron glanced around the room but, not finding anyone there, asked:

"Who were you talking to?"

Harry's face changed from one of shock to one of anger.

"What's that got to do with you? What are you doing down here at this time of night?"

"I just wondered where you…"

The look on Harry's face—the one that clearly shouted that Ron was worth nothing more to him than the dirt on the bottom of his shoe—made the knot in his stomach melt away with hatred for the bespectacled jerk.

"Nothing. I'm going back to bed."

"Just thought you'd come nosing around, did you?" he shouted back.

Righteous anger bubbled in his gut and he could feel his face getting hot.

"Sorry about that," he spat back, unable to help himself. "Should've realized you didn't want to be disturbed. I'll let you get on with practicing for your next interview in peace."

It'll be the last one you give.

Ron didn't even have time to react as Harry grabbed one of the Creevey brothers' badges and threw it at his forehead. It hardly hurt, but he couldn't help but stare at Harry, a mixture of hatred and surprise coursing through his veins.

"There you go. Something for you to wear on Tuesday. You might even have a scar now, if you're lucky….That's what you want, isn't it?"

Ron watched him as he passed and climbed the stairs behind him. The second Ron heard the door to their shared dorm room close he picked up the badge and threw it across the room. He then proceeded to take the box full of badges from the table and chucked it as well.

"Ron?"

Ron turned furious eyes to the bottom of the staircase and felt his face heat up again, this time in embarrassment. A pink robed Hermione stared back at him through the darkness, Crookshanks held securely in her arms.

"I thought I heard Harry…what are you doing up at this hour?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Ron said, a little too meanly, as he made his way across the room and flumped down unceremoniously in a chair.

"Couldn't sleep," Hermione shrugged, finding a chair next to his and sitting down with Crookshanks in her lap. "What did you do to your forehead?"

Ron rubbed the sore spot and shrugged.

"Did you get into a fight with Harry?"

"We're already in a fight, Hermione."

"Ron, you need to talk to him," she said, stroking the large tabby in her arms. "You know he didn't sign up for this—"

"I know he didn't."

Ron felt just as surprised as Hermione looked at this sudden revelation.

"Then why—"

"Even if he didn't put his name in, why doesn't he just quit?"

Hermione gave a sigh, as if attempting to deal with a rather petulant child.

"There's a binding magical contract—"

"Like Dumbledore would give a damn about that, if Harry said he didn't want to compete."

"Then who do you think put his name in? Some upperclassman pulling a prank?"

Her sarcasm was not lost on Ron.

"Because we don't know some upperclassmen who would find this uproariously funny."

His sarcasm was not lost on her either.

"No upperclassmen is smart enough, Ron. Not even your brothers. Moody thinks it must have been a Dark wizard using a Confundus Charm—"

"Moody thinks Dark wizards cast Cheering Charms on house elves to cover up their impending rebellion against humanity."

Hermione's dark look made him switch tactics rather abruptly.

"No matter who put his name in…Harry wants to play along with it. He likes the attention. He wants this."

That's what you want, isn't it?

The vision of the armless Harry running away from a dragon came back to his mind, and he ground his teeth in irritation at the whole thing.

"Well I say let him have it."

A silence followed this statement, and Ron threw a careless glance over at Hermione. Her honest brown eyes were watching his and her hand was suspended over her cat in mid-stroke. Crookshanks seemed peeved that she had stopped as he reached up for the frozen hand with a lazy swat of his paw. Realizing this mistake, she broke eye contact and continued her methodical petting.

"When has Harry ever wanted any of this?"

She didn't look back up at him, keeping her eyes averted as if the question caused her embarrassment, but her earnestness left Ron taken aback. He felt himself swallow impulsively, as if trying to get a bad taste out of his mouth.

Tell her.

"He's going to get himself killed."

About the dragons, you git.

"Ron, I know you're worried for him—"

"Worried for him? I'm not worried for him…"

Hermione's expression told him she saw right through this lie, but mercifully decided not to comment.

"I'm going…" he was about to say 'to bed,' but the idea of being in the same room with Harry made him change this mind rather quickly, "…for a walk."

"Well, I'm going to back to bed," Hermione said, standing up. Crookshanks yowled grumpily at the sudden movement. "But Ron, I really wish you would talk to Harry about this—"

"He doesn't want to talk to me," Ron muttered, his forehead twinging rather unnecessarily at the reminder of their last 'talk.'

"But you want to talk to him."

It wasn't a question, and Ron turned to find her giving a hopeful grin.

"No, I don't. Not anymore."

And this time it was the truth.

Talk to HER then!

But both her eyes and grin had fallen, and he found that he couldn't bring himself to give her any more bad news. Or at least that's what he told himself.

"So you two are just never going to talk to each other again? That's the end of your friendship?"

When he's walking around with no arms, that'll probably be the end of it, technically.

Ron quickly turned his smile into a grimace as Hermione gave him a puzzled look.

"Listen," Ron said, growing a bit impatient with her nagging to speak to him and his head's nagging to spill to her, "I tried talking to him, okay? He doesn't…"

Want me as a friend.

"…Want to talk to me. He's moved on to bigger and better things with this tournament. So just…leave it alone."

Against Hermione's wishes and his better judgment, he turned around abruptly and walked out of the Common Room, not before giving the box full of badges he had previously thrown a solid kick.

"You knew about the dragons?"

"You'd let Uncle Harry go up against dragons blind just because of a fight?"

Two pairs of eyes were staring at him in surprise. Ron felt his ears flush at the unwanted attention.

"Yes I knew, and that's exactly the point, Rose. You shouldn't keep important secrets. It's just a good thing Hagrid's a big blabbermouth and told Harry about the dragons."

"And you didn't tell me?" Hermione replied incredulously, looking extremely put out.

Ron raised an eyebrow at her in a silent attempt to remind her that they were here to get information out of their daughter rather than him.

"Right, well," Hermione turned to Rose, still a bit flustered, "the moral of the story is that if something's bothering you, you should certainly tell us. That way mythical creatures won't attempt to eat your best friend."

She threw a withered look at Ron who deflected it with a small grin.

"I agree," Rosie said, bouncing off the bed. "So if I ever have a secret involving dragons attempting to eat anybody I'll let you know."

She went over to the door and held it open, an invitation for them to leave. Ron glanced at Hermione but she didn't seem to have any ideas either. With nothing left in their parenting arsenal they left the room together, but right before the door closed on them Ron took a glance over his shoulder. A small, familiar, bright green booklet poking out from under her pillow caught his attention right before he was face-to-face with her bedroom door.

He turned to his wife and the sneaky grin spreading across his face made her shake her head quickly.

"No."

Her flat out response couldn't prevent the excitement of his discovery flood through him.

"Whatever it is I don't want to hear it!"

"But Hermione," he said, following her as she stomped down the hall, "I saw something!"

"That is a total invasion of her privacy! I don't want to know what it is!"

But Ron's hunch was already making him run down the hall to his study, bypassing Hermione. Upon entering he dove to the floor, reaching his long arms under the couch where the discarded and unimportant literature usually ended up.

"No, Ron!" she shouted, grabbing onto his legs to pull him away from the chair. "If it's something she needed to share, she would have! This—isn't—right!"

"Aha!"

Ron's fingers grabbed onto a thin pamphlet as Hermione successfully dragged him away. He brought it up to the light and frowned at the little green booklet that held a striking resemblance to the one he saw under Rose's pillow.

"What's she doing with a copy of my Healing pamphlet?" Ron asked, holding the booklet Healer Casey gave him before leaving St. Mungo's up for his wife's inspection.

"I'm not interested," she said, folding her arms in defiance. "I will have no part in this."

"But look at it, Hermione," Ron pleaded, shoving it directly in front of her face. "Why would she have this—"

"I told you I'm not getting involved in this. It has nothing to do with either of us."

Before Ron could convince her otherwise she left him alone in his study. Sighing in defeat, Ron rose from the floor and sat back at his desk.

Pulling out the scarlet and golden threat, he spread it and the little green booklet in front of him.

Perfect. In just one afternoon he had doubled the number of impossible mysteries he had to solve.

A/n: Well, guys, as of this Sunday I can no longer use college as an excuse for not updating. That's right; dieselwriter is graduating from college. Huzzah.

What this means for you readers: hopefully more updates. I have lots o' summer plans, but they don't start until mid-June so that means with any luck I'll be able to get up more chapters. I'm hoping for my next update to come within the next week or two.

Be on the lookout for a new mini-fic to celebrate the release of the sixth movie. It will be coming soon to an Internetz near you!

Right, well, I again apologize immensely for the long wait, but I hope you haven't given up on me! I'll really need the support in the next few weeks as I look for a job and do other awful adult stuff. But enough of the pity train: thanks a million to all of my reviewers! I've missed you all!

~dieselwriter

P.S.: I missed this story's 1st birthday. I am truly pathetic. Happy belated birthday, Tales! I've enjoyed writing you!

P.P.S.: The correct answer to the multiple choice test at the beginning of the chapter was D. Birthday cake to all of you who got it right!