Chapter 9: Don't Play with the Messenger

Neville and his men marched into the Leaky Cauldron, exhaustion coupling with their grief. Besides feeling whipped from the rumble, none had realized how big a city London was or how far of a walk it would be to the wizarding pub until now; it was now early morning. The Phoenixes were surprised to find a friend waiting for them.

"Colin! Merlin's pants, we forgot about you! Where the hell have you been?"

Colin smiled. "Damage control. I'm not the only one you forgot last night. We left Ron, too."

Now, Neville was really upset. "Oh my god! Where is he? If the Dementors get their hands on him…."

"Downstairs in the basement. I found him in an alleyway early this morning. Near the apartment complex where the Dementors live, no less."

"You probably just saved him, then! Wait…what the bloody hell was he doing near there, anyway?"

"He asked to be brought here, said he needed some Galleons from Tom. I'm gonna go check on him." Colin rose to leave and opened the door that led to the basement.

"Hey," Neville suddenly said. Colin turned. "I'm sorry we left you last night. You done good, Creevey. Real good." Colin smiled, and closed the door behind him.

Everyone else collapsed into chairs gratefully. Colin came back from the basement, this time with Tom, who served everyone in record time and then went downstairs again.

A few minutes later, the bell over the door jingled. Everyone turned their heads to see Pavarti standing in the doorway.

Both parties clearly recognized each other, for nobody moved and an awkward silence took command of the room. Pavarti visibly squirmed under the Phoenixes' glares.

"I'm looking for Ron Weasley," she said as confidently as she could.

The Phoenixes exchanged glances with each other, thinking they knew the purpose of Pavarti's coming. "He ain't here," Neville spat.

Pavarti didn't move. "He works here, doesn't he? This is his shift?"

"Called in sick today," Seamus shot back readily.

Pavarti wasn't going to be fooled. She knew from these boys' body language that something was up. Naturally, they would want to protect their friend, if malintention had been her purpose for coming, but it wasn't. This was for Hermione; this was important. And she now suspected, more than ever, that Ron was here.

She spied the door leading down to the basement. Bingo. If Ron wasn't down there, she was Albus Dumbledore.

"Mind if I check the basement?" she asked, casually walking over. Dean quickly blocked the entrance.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you. Tom doesn't let anyone into his wine cellar."

"I'm sure if he knew the circumstances, he would understand," Pavarti retorted, trying to ease past him, but Dean held firm.

"No, I don't think he would," Dean purred. "And anyways, what's your rush? You look like you need some male company. Your boyfriend's dead now, ain't he?" He brushed his hand across her face. The tactic worked; Pavarti backed away. The other Phoenixes exchange puzzled glances. If this was Dean's version of a distraction, they may have had other things in mind or done it differently. But, seeing as it was working for the moment, they decided to play along.

Soft touches soon escalated into bolder advances. The boys did not take it too far, but they were in the territory of what could be called "mock-rape." Pavarti tried to fight them off to no avail, and soon she was on the ground, buried under the gang, screaming for help.

Suddenly, rough hands violently threw the Phoenixes every which way; Tom had rushed up from the basement to see what the commotion was about. He helped a dishelved Pavarti to her feet.

Silence reigned once again. Pavarti was shaken, but angry too. So many reasons for this angst led her to say what she said next.

"Draco was right about you! All of you! You're nothing but pigs! If I saw one of you lying in the street cursed or bleeding, I would walk right by you and spit on you! Now, I have a message for your little friend downstairs in the basement: you tell him that Hermione is dead! Cormac found out about them, and shot her!"

With that, she stormed out. The door slammed on silence, but the malediction wasn't over.

"Alright, all of you! That's it! That is it! How low are you gonna stoop, messing around with an innocent girl! GET OUTTA MY PUB, NOW!"

Shocked at even Tom's turn on them, the Phoenixes quickly left. Tom leaned against the counter and sighed. He finally found enough strength in him to return to the basement. This was not going to be easy.

Ron was downstairs, rushing around and gathering a few last-minute supplies. He looked up when Tom approached.

"Everything okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," Tom lied.

"Great," said Ron, and he continued to pack, grinning from ear to ear. "You know what, Tom, I'll never forget what you've done for me, for Hermione. When we're married and have kids, we're gonna name all of them Tom, even the girls!"

"Ron, there's something I need to tell you…"

"And we're gonna live in the country, someplace where you can see the sky…"

"Ron, you don't understand, this is important…"

"I'll get a nice job and Hermione can use her magnificent brains to do something big…"

"Ron, I don't know if that'll turn out that way…"

"And the kids'll go to Hogwarts and-"

WHAM! Frustrated at Ron's lack of listening, Tom slapped him hard across the face before breaking down.

"What does it take to get through to you?" he blubbered. When Ron did not respond, he continued solemnly. "That was Hermione's friend, Pavarti Patil, upstairs. Hermione is dead! Cormac found out about you and her…. And shot her!"

Ron's face visibly twitched, it looked as though it would shatter into a thousand pieces at the slightest touch.

Then it did. When Tom reached out to comfort him, Ron brushed him without looking at him. "No," he said simply, in denial. Then the tears came. "NO!" he screamed before rushing out of the basement.

Tom tried to follow him; he knew if Ron set foot outside the pub, he would be at the mercy of the Dementors who wanted his blood. But the old man tripped on the stairs and fell on his face. He lay there, sobbing. He had been right when he thought things would become a whole lot worse. Things were now deadly.