Harry Potter and the related characters are the sole property of J. K. Rowling. No malicious intent or ill will is meant by using those characters and events in this fictional work.

Ron awoke just after noon, his head throbbing. He rubbed his eyes, tried to sit up, but the overwhelming urge to vomit hit him fast, and he shot up and barely made it to the bin in time. After retching again, he moaned pitifully and slumped to the ground.

"All right, Ron?" a voice asked, the young man perched on the end of another bed. He tilted his head, as if deciding something.

Ron groaned again and closed his eyes as his head lolled back against the wall. "No, I'm not," he mumbled through barely opened lips. "What...what happened to me?" He looked toward the one who'd spoken to him, blinking quickly. "Har...Harry?"

Harry stood up, moved toward him, and then knelt down. "Yeah, it's me." He exhaled sharply. "What's the last thing you remember?"

Ron's eyes stared blankly ahead, unblinking. "I don't...I don't remember." He squinted, as if trying to see a distant memory before him. "I think...I remember pieces of things, but they don't...they don't add up to a whole." He tried to move again, but he lurched.

Harry's quick reflexes and powerful magic brought the bin in front of Ron just as he threw up again. "I think you've got a rather awful concussion," he said. "You took a pretty good knock to the head."

"How?" Ron questioned, sliding the bin back against the wall, but keeping it beside him. "I don't...it wasn't...the war? No, that was...a while ago. Quidditch? Did we...did we at least win?"

"Haven't started playing yet," Harry said, looping an arm under Ron's. "Come on, mate. Back to bed with you." He steadied Ron and eased him back over to his bed, made sure he was lying comfortably, and then asked, "You really don't remember? Anything?"

Ron closed his eyes again, giving another pitiful moan. "The last thing I remember, vividly, clearly, is you and Hermione going camping, or something." He furrowed his brows, making his closed eyes clench a bit tighter. "There were spiders. So many spiders."

Harry chuckled, watching a glimpse of the friend he knew and loved peek through the cracks a bit. "Rest, Ron. Mione and I got all your missed work, and McGonagall is sending Madame Pomfrey up here in a while to check that bump on your head."

"Mm kay," Ron mumbled, and the next moment he was fast asleep.

Harry looked toward the door, shaking his head. "You really did a number on him."

Draco stepped into the light of the room, his cloaked arms folded and his trademark blonde hair in his eyes. "He deserved it," he sneered, his eyes narrowing at Ron's weak form. "If I hadn't..."

"I know," Harry said. "Thanks." He took a step and gave Draco a brotherly squeeze on the shoulder. "Did you go down to Borgin and Burkes?"

Malfoy nodded, crooking his finger and beckoning Harry toward the common room. "Don't want him to hear us, even if he is half-mad at the moment." He sat on one of the red and gold couches, and then watched Harry move as he did the same. "Caractacus broke down the moment he saw me. Tears, begging me not to hex him."

Harry chuckled. "Well, after what he did with all of your father's things, he probably thought you would." He waved a hand toward the fireplace, watching it roar, and then snapped his fingers toward the tea cart in the corner. The silver pot tipped on its own, pouring three cups full, and then the cream and cubed sugar settled itself into the tea. A spoon rose off of the cart and stirred the cups, one by one, and then, very slowly, the three cups flew through the air toward Harry.

"Three?" Draco questioned, holding out his hand and chuckling as one cup of tea landed in his open palm.

Harry, holding two cups, nodded as he sipped the one that had been claimed as his. He eyed the common room door and as soon as he swallowed, the painting swung inward, singing an off-key aria. "For her," he said, smiling as Hermoine walked in, dropped her books and scrolls onto the center table, and sat almost on Harry's lap. He handed her the remaining cup and kissed her cheek.

"Oh, thank you," she said, turning her head and returning his kiss, a short one on the lips.

"if you don't mind?" Malfoy said, rolling his eyes.

Harry laughed. "Right, sorry, go on."

Draco took a sip of his tea before speaking. "Once I told him I had no intention of hurting him, he sniveled and sniffled, and then asked what I wanted." He looked back toward Ron's dormitory, and then leaned forward. "I asked if he knew anything about someone making wands with cores of Thestral hair, and he went completely white. He stuttered out an apology and told me some leftover Death-Eater came to him, two weeks ago, paid him a rather large sum of money. Told me he was commissioned to make two of them. He did, he said, and the first shattered into bits when he tested it. The second was stolen from his back room, Monday last."

"Stolen?" Hermione queried, sipping her tea. "That young Slytherin, he must've gone to work with his father, hung around back there, and when the coast was clear, took the wand for Ron."

Draco looked at Hermione. "I asked him, you know, what this so-called Death-Eater looked like, and he said he couldn't see his face but had thin, red hair." He downed the rest of his tea in a single gulp, and then tossed the cup and saucer into the air. In slow motion, they flew toward the dishpan on the lower shelf of the tea cart. "I think it was Weasley," he said. "And I think he knew that we would notice if he left the grounds without one of you, so he enlisted the help of that brat. It was his wand all along, he just needed a way to get it into the castle without raising suspicion."

Hermione looked at Harry, then. "Has he woken up, yet?"

Harry shook his head and took the final sip of his own tea. "He was up and about for all of about five minutes. He tossed his sauce a few times, told me the last thing he remembers is us camping in a sea of spiders, and then he conked out again." He let his spent dishes make the same journey Draco's had.

"Good," Hermione said, sipping. "I'm grateful he doesn't remember what happened last night, for a lot of reasons, but mostly...did you know you called me your wife?"

Harry narrowed his eyes. "You are," he said, not seeing the problem.

"No, you called me your wife, while you were yelling at Ron," she said, her eyes trying to explain as much as her words. "Harry, we've gone back five years, and while we may be sharing quarters, and obviously in a rather publicly broadcast relationship, you're still only seventeen. We haven't gotten married yet, as far as anyone here is concerned, other than Draco."

"Well, shit," Harry said with a laugh. "If he would've caught that last night, there'd be a whole new level to his fury, wouldn't there?" He kissed Hermione's forehead, and then looked back at Draco. "Did you ask him about any other cloaks and stones roaming about?"

"You've got the only stone," Draco said. "That much we know. Not for lack of trying. Burke even tried to hire Nicolas Flamel's great-great-great-great grandson, but the poor kid has no discernible talent for alchemy. The cloak, though, while you've got the only one known to exist that won't fade or lose power, they're easy enough to make. There were four in the shop when I was there, took them all with me when I left, so you-know-who wouldn't be able to get his hands on them."

Harry raised one eyebrow, twisting his lips in a confused coil. "Excuse me?"

"Weasley," Draco said, as if Harry should've known exactly who he'd meant.

"Oh, right," Harry returned. "Just...haven't heard anyone say that since...since Voldemort."

Draco blinked. "I hate to say this, but it is rather fitting." He looked at his friend with a gravity in his eyes. "He's after the same things Voldemort wanted from you, though for an entirely different reason. Dumbledore, bastard that he was, gave you everything you needed to defeat Old Snake-Eyes. He gave you the cloak first, then made sure you'd be the one to take possession of the stone, and then he worked his wretched dark magic to make certain you'd win that battle, taking sole ownership of that wand. Even with all his deceit and torture, he gave the Deathly Hallows to the one person who'd never use them for selfish gain. Well, except to bring back your bloody bird."

Hermione blinked. "McGonagall gave me the Time-Turner, you were given Gryffindor's sword and that bewitched snitch, maybe...maybe Dumbledore knew, since he knew he was going to die anyway, that all of that power had to be left in your hands. He just never counted on you discovering the truth about him, all he had done, and your refusal to carry on his legacy and finish what he started."

Draco nodded. "History repeats itself, right?" he said, biting his lip. "That's why we're here. We had to come back, or, at least, Sirius believes we did, to keep Weasley from becoming the next Lord Voldemort, to keep your son from having to live the cursed life you did. Sirius said Ron wanted your boy to suffer, in exactly the same way you had. I know what that means, and I know damn well you two would sacrifice yourselves just the same as your mum and dad did for you, Harry." He blinked and his eyes opened wider as if he realized something. In fact, he had. "And Sirius brought me back, with you, to do what he couldn't do the first time 'round. Help you end it before it starts. Which can only mean one thing." He looked at Hermione, smiled, and then looked at Harry. "I'm going to be his Godfather."

There is much more to this tale. Reviews are appreciated. Thank you for reading.

Peace and Love

Jo