No, Malfoy had written below Ron's best efforts to replicate the runes that kept the Dark Mark on Harry's arm. Why would I? You know I stopped taking Runes after third year.

Ron did know that, and in truth, had only asked because he half-hoped Malfoy would have seen something around the Manor, or overheard conversations between his father and other Death Eaters. After all, Hermione hadn't known what the runes were and she was still taking Ancient Runes, and… well, she was Hermione.

Harry hadn't said as much, but Ron had got the impression that he'd been more disheartened by the fact that Hermione hadn't known what they were than he had been by Bill and Dumbledore's apparent lack of information.

That was all right though; Hermione—once she'd settled down after learning about the Mark on Harry's arm and what Harry and the others were trying to do about it—had jumped straight into research, and it was likely only a matter of time before she found something that could help them.

It meant a lot of time in Grimmauld's library, but Ron didn't really mind. It wasn't all that different from what they'd been doing anyway, and this time they had Harry; he'd been much more present since his fight with Ginny and often occupied the end of the couch, responding to Hermione's questions or theories, or flicking through books of his own, or letting Ron coax him into a game of chess.

And, sometimes he did none of those things, and just sat still and quiet, and was very much not there even though he was physically only a foot or two away. It was hard to tell whether he was worrying about Remus, who'd left with Rosier to see what he could do at the werewolf camp, or was thinking about the Mark, or his hand, or about what had happened the night of the fourth task.

Other times—though much less often—he kept entirely to himself upstairs, and tonight was one of those nights.

With no small amount of apprehension, Ron adjusted his bundle so he'd have a hand free to knock.

Harry made a quiet, enquiring noise from inside, and Ron eased the door open.

"Hey," Ron whispered; Sirius had been patrolling Azkaban for most of the day, and had gone almost straight to bed when he got home.

Harry frowned a little, eyes on the pillows and bedding in Ron's arms. He was propped up on the window seat.

"I— I'm not sure…"

"If you don't want me here, I'll go," Ron said quickly. "I don't want to invade or anything, I just thought, or hoped, maybe, that you might be up for company..."

"You want to stay here?" Harry asked. He looked a bit disbelieving, and something in Ron eased.

"'Course I do," he said.

"Why?" Harry asked.

"You're my best mate," Ron said.

"Even after… everything?"

"Yeah," Ron said, with a small, sly smile. "I'm not upset - you apologised."

Harry huffed and tipped his head back against the wall to stare at the ceiling:

"You know that's not what I meant," he said, sounding a little annoyed.

"'Course I do," Ron said again. He dropped his bundle and crouched down to pull the spare mattress out from under Harry's bed. "I'm just avoiding the real point, because obviously it's not okay that you did everything you had to to get out alive."

"Even if I started a war?"

"You didn't start one, just didn't stop one," Ron said. "And yeah, Hermione and I hold a huge grudge against you for that—not stopping the war that she and I have been trying to force our way into for weeks. It's a bit awkward, really..." Ron grinned at him. Harry ran a hand through his hair and made a sound that was half a laugh, half a sob.

"Would you be trying to do that if it wasn't for me, though?" Harry asked.

"Maybe not to the same extent," Ron admitted, after considering it. "Can't speak for Hermione there, you know she likes a cause, but for me… I mean, my family are all involved. Maybe I'd be a bit happier sitting on the sidelines than I am now if you weren't so tangled up in it, but you are." Malfoy too, he thought. Especially now that they'd actually met, and Merlin, but Ron hated the idea of Malfoy in the same room as Voldemort. Harry sighed and turned to look out the window. "We said years ago we'd be right there with you. That hasn't changed, mate."

"Things were different then," Harry said.

"Yeah, maybe," Ron said, tucking his sheet around the mattress. They'd all been so young then, so innocent. "I wouldn't change a thing, though, if I had my time again."

"No? Not Voldemort coming back?" Harry asked. There was something dark in his voice, and a little challenging. "Or taking the diary from Ginny?"

"Obviously I wish some things hadn't happened," Ron said. He set his pillow down and lay back onto it. "But remember what Hermione said when you wanted to use the timeturner to catch Wormtail—"

"Yes, but I think that if we'd got him, you and Hermione wouldn't have been taken," Harry said, with no real heat. "And Voldemort might not be back at all—"

"Or you might have been killed or kidnapped instead, and Voldemort might've come back earlier," Ron said calmly.

"Yeah," Harry sighed. "Or that." He stood slowly and crawled onto his own bed, curling up on his side to face Ron, with his left arm tucked against his body. Ron rolled over to face him too, craning his neck a little to see up to the bed.

"I'm not saying it's always been easy or fun," Ron said. "But we're all still here, still fighting." He smiled. "Still friends. Pretty brilliant when you think about it, especially given some of what we've been up against."

"That can't last, though," Harry said, voice cracking a bit. "We're going into a war, Ron. People are going to get hurt, or die, or— or— Aren't you worried? Aren't you scared?" His voice cracked again.

"Terrified," Ron said, with a shaky smile. "But when's that ever stopped us?"

"Maybe it should," Harry said. "You've seen what I put in the pensieve, you've seen what— what Voldemort's like."

"Yeah, and again: terrifying," Ron said, with a wan smile and a shiver. "But you got away."

"Barely," Harry said, curling himself more around his arm. His expression was shadowed.

"Still did," Ron said, extending a leg to kick Harry's mattress. Harry tried but didn't quite manage a smile. "All by yourself, too, because we were too rubbish to get to you in time. Imagine what we could manage if we were there to help."

"I don't— You're not rubbish. You— it was— there was anything else you could've done—"

"Thanks," Ron said. "You either, for the record." Harry blinked then scowled.

"You— that—" Harry grumbled and planted his face in his pillow. His remaining hand lifted up to make a rude gesture at Ron, who settled back into his own pillows, smiling.

"Sorry," Bill said, as if from very far away. Harry could barely hear him over the rushing of blood in his ears, and the sound of his heart, which was racing. His arm was on fire, not actually burning, but it felt hot and lumpy under his hand. It hurt, not quite as much as the Cruciatus curse had, but more than anything had in a while, and Harry curled around his arm even as hands pulled at his shoulders. "Let me—oh bloody—" Bill trailed off, swearing. Harry could hear other worried voices but he lost track of whose for a bit, eyes scrunched against the pain.

"Ron!"

Harry's hand was forced off his arm and another wrapped around his left wrist, and then, as quickly as it had come on, the worst of the pain vanished and Bill let out a sigh of relief. It still hurt, but bearably now. Harry opened his eyes and found Ron and Bill leaning over him where he was slumped on the couch; the latter had his wand out, and the former had his hands wrapped around Harry's wrists, though he released him with a look of apology when he noticed Harry was properly with it again.

"Sorry," Bill said, glancing down at Harry's arm with a stricken expression. The skin was red and blistered, though the Mark was as starkly pale as ever. "Here, let me…" He cast something and Harry's arm cooled, though didn't heal at all. Bill frowned, sighed, and tucked his wand away. "Do you keep dittany in the house?"

"Loads," Harry said. "Kreacher?"

POP!

"What can—" Kreacher cut off with a shrill sound, hands flapping.

"Can you get the dittany, please?" Harry asked. Kreacher disappeared without a word and was back in a second, clutching the small brown bottle. "Thanks," Harry said, unstoppering it. Kreacher watched over the arm of the couch.

"D'you want…?" Bill began.

"I've got it," Harry said. He winced as it landed and sizzled on his arm, but the blisters bubbled and sank back into his skin. Kreacher made a satisfied sound, and then turned an accusing look on Bill.

"Master Regulus didn't like his," Kreacher said, reaching out with a hand to pat Harry's elbow. "But Master Regulus never tried to maim himself, and Master Regulus' was much darker, much uglier—"

"I want it gone, Kreacher," Harry said, and rolled his sleeve up. He offered his arm to Bill. "Go again."

"I think we've tried enough for today," Bill said, putting his hands up. "Your arm—"

"Is healed and absolutely fine," Harry said, passing the dittany back to Kreacher. "Try again," Harry said, setting his jaw.

"Try what?" Bill asked, pushing his hair out of his face, though he spoke quite calmly. "The same thing as we have been for the last week? Because it's not working, Harry; all we've managed to do is hurt you, and you might be all right with that, but I'm not. Not when we're not making progress." Kreacher made an approving noise, then disapparated when Harry turned a glare on him.

Bill sighed and went to sift through the pile of books he, Hermione, Padfoot, and Dumbledore had pulled together; several were from Grimmauld's library, but at least four had been brought over from Hogwarts.

Harry opened his mouth but Ron cleared his throat and, when Harry glanced over at him, shook his head.

"Fine," Harry said, feeling nettled. "No more today, but tomorrow—"

"Mmm." Bill disappeared behind A history of runic magic in Europe.

"Chess?" Ron offered. "Or we could find the girls and see if they want to play Exploding Snap?"

"Snap, maybe," Harry said, a little grudgingly; making things explode might make him feel better. "Or we could build something with them."

"Sure," Ron said. "Hermione's with the twins, I think—I'll get her, if you get the cards and Ginny?"

"What's Hermione doing with the twins?" Harry asked, but Ron was already heading upstairs. Harry listened for a moment, then headed downstairs; Ginny, Fleur, and Percy were in the drawing room, Fleur examining the contents of the drawing room cabinets through the glass, while Percy leafed through the Prophet and Ginny played with Crookshanks on the carpet.

All three of them turned to look at him.

"Snap?" he asked Ginny. She raised her eyebrows, but shrugged, scratching Crookshanks behind his remaining ear, and got to her feet.

"Zese are important things?" Fleur asked, waving at the cabinets.

"Not really," Harry said. "Stuff from Padfoot's family, mostly." They'd have binned most of it if they hadn't wanted it to help the locket horcrux blend in, though the locket had been destroyed two years ago now, and everything had stayed.

"Family heirlooms are important," Fleur said, frowning at him.

"You didn't know Padfoot's family," Harry said. "Regulus—his brother—was all right, but his parents were pretty awful." He glanced at the scorched place where Padfoot should have been on the Black family tapestry.

"Hmm." Fleur frowned. "Zen why keep zem at all? Why not sell zem and use ze money to buy nice things instead? New heirlooms, even."

"I'm not sure these are safe to sell," Harry said. "Some of them are dangerous." Though, in fairness, the locket had probably been the worst of all of them and it was no longer a threat. Nor, really, did he think it would have been too bad in someone else's hands; the locket probably hadn't been able to possess people the way the diary had, else it would have tried with him or Padfoot, or Kreacher before them. That wasn't to say it was harmless, but as far as they'd ever seen, most of its danger had come from the horcrux inside and the only way to access that had been parseltongue, so it wasn't really like someone could accidentally—

"'Arry?" Fleur asked, looking worried, but Harry barely heard her.

"Forget the cards," he said to Ginny, and trusted her to follow as he raced back up the stairs and burst back into the library. There were footsteps on the stairs behind him. "Bill," he said, yanking back his sleeve. "The runes—could they be parseltongue, somehow?"

"Of course," Hermione said from the doorway. She, Ron, and Ginny were standing there, though Ginny was the only one who didn't have her wand drawn; Hermione and Ron tucked their wands away even as Harry looked at them, though, and Hermione hurried toward a bookshelf and began scanning titles.

"They could be," Bill said. "I assume you're implying Voldemort speaks it…?"

"He was the Heir of Slytherin, Bill," Ginny said. "And his monster was a basilisk."

"I didn't say it was far-fetched," Bill said. "It would actually make a lot of sense. But I can't say I'm excited about it as a concept… parseltongue's very much a spoken language, at least as far as I know—"

"So Voldemort made a written one up," Ron said, going to sit beside Bill on the couch. "You said you thought he might have made them up—this just means you were right."

"Ron, parseltongue is incredibly rare," Bill said, rubbing his hands over his face. "As a spoken language, you can really only learn it through speaking, and without speaking it, I very much doubt we're going to be able to guess at the meaning of any of those." He lifted one hand to wave at the parchment with the runes on them. "Even Dumbledore doesn't speak it, and he speaks just about every other magical—"

"I speak it," Harry said. Bill raised an eyebrow, and his scent was interesting; surprised, but wry, or resigned or something, like he didn't think he ought to be. Harry smiled, a little wry and resigned himself.

"And so does Ginny," Ron said. "How do you not know—"

"Yes," Bill said, staring at Ginny. "How do I not know!? Gin—"

"The only one I've told on my own is Charlie," Ginny said, folding her arms. "Mainly because I thought he'd think it was cool and that's what I needed to hear at the time. So unless you or Fred or George have been going on about it—" Ron blanched and shook his head. "—I really don't know how anyone else would know."

"Aha!" Hermione said, plucking a book from the shelf. She sat down right where she was and began flicking through it. Harry'd give it to the Blacks; they might have been a terrible family to Padfoot but their political leanings and interest in dark or questionable magics did mean they had a very conveniently stocked library.

"McGonagall might've said something to Mum and Dad," Ron muttered.

"Why would she? McGonagall only knew I knew how to open the Chamber," Ginny said. Bill sighed and tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling. Ron caught Harry's eye, visibly amused, then reached over to pat Bill on the shoulder.

"I'll send a message to Dumbledore," Bill said, pushing himself off the couch. "It'll save us time tomorrow, and hopefully he'll bring anything the library has on the topic..." He strode out of the room.

"Anything useful?" Ron asked, nodding over at Hermione, who was still flicking through her book, though her expression of satisfied interest was rapidly giving way to a frown.

"No, actually," she said, shutting the book with a snap. She set it aside, then shuffled across the carpet to retrieve parchment and a quill. Harry watched her with no small amount of trepidation. "Voldemort is British, isn't he, Harry?" She glanced at Ginny too, satisfaction returning when both of them nodded. "Come and sit here, then." She patted the carpet beside her and pulled the coffee table over so she could spread her parchment out atop it. Harry went to stand above the table and Hermione patted his knee: "Don't loom."

Ron snorted from the couch as Harry sat. Hermione began to write, and in her neat handwriting, the alphabet appeared, along with what appeared to be the phonetic pronunciations for each letter. Next, she inked on what Harry—though he might not have a few weeks ago—now recognised as the runic alphabet, and its phonetic pronunciations, as well as what each rune meant.

"I think if Voldemort was born here and was educated at Hogwarts, then it would be these alphabets he'd have used to form the base for parseltongue," Hermione said, tapping her work. "At least I hope so. If he's gone and based it off another language this is going to get awfully complicated." She shook herself, tapped the a she'd written, and looked at Harry expectantly, curiously. "How would you say that to a snake?"

Ginny came to peer down at the parchment.

"I don't know if you would," Harry said. "It's just a letter… it's not going to mean anything to a snake." He looked at Ginny, who shrugged. Rather than disappointed or frustrated, Hermione brightened:

"Oh! So the language is built around meaning rather than spelling. I should have thought of that." She nodded and leaned over the parchment again, quill scratching. "What about these, then? How would you say them?"

Magic, she'd written. Then, snake, spell, mark, mine, follow.

"Magic," Harry said. Hermione, quill poised, gave him a strange look.

"English," Ron told him, just as he had in Myrtle's bathroom a few years before. One side of his mouth quirked up a little and Harry wondered if he was remembering too. Hermione and Ginny glanced uncertainly between them, and then shared a look themselves.

"So…?"

"It's been a while," Harry muttered at last. "And it's easier when there's actually—" An idea struck him, and he drew his wand. "Accio Regulus' puzzle," he said, and there was a distant metallic sound from upstairs, and then muffled shrieking. Harry heard a door open, a yelp, and then Walburga Black's voice became clearer:

"I should have known you'd be the one to disturb me! Shame of my flesh! Kreacher!"

"Oh, shut up," Padfoot said, and the door slammed shut again. He must have cast a spell on the door of Kreacher's little room because Harry couldn't hear Mrs Black after that, though he doubted very much she'd actually fallen quiet. There was another metallic clinging sound and then Regulus' golden snake puzzle hurtled into the room.

Ginny squeaked and twisted aside, and Harry held up his hand to catch it. A moment later, something else small and golden hit him in the shoulder and dropped into his lap. Part of the head, he realised, probably taken off at some point so the snake wouldn't wriggle around everywhere. He pressed it back into place and the snake shivered to life.

Footsteps on the stairs announced Padfoot, who stuck his head into the library, tired eyes skimming over the four of them and the snake wriggling in Harry's hand. He raised his eyebrows. Harry glanced down at the snake.

"We think the runes might be parseltongue," Harry said, and Padfoot blinked at him.

"Wait, wait, say that again," Hermione said, tapping Harry's elbow. "And what did you say?"

"Parseltongue, mate," Ron said, when Harry stared at Hermione. Then, to Padfoot: "We think the runes holding Harry's Mark in place might be parseltongue."

"Oh," Padfoot said, looking at Harry. He yawned—he'd had an overnight shift at Azkaban and had slept the whole morning—and scrubbed a hand over his face. "It would make sense, I s'pose." Harry grimaced.

"How'd you know?" Ginny asked, eyes wide, staring at Ron. "Or was it just a coincidence that you translated for Harry?"

"Did I?" Ron asked, grinning. "Brilliant."

"Harry," Hermione said, less patiently now, tugging on his sleeve. "Repeat that, slowly." Harry did, and Padfoot gave a little shudder from the doorway.

"Sorry," Hermione said, "was that eshaa or or heshah?" Harry gave her a blank look.

"I don't really… hear it when I say it," he said. Though, he suspected Hermione had just mangled the sounds so badly that they didn't mean anything at all, since he hadn't understood them. "Just… we think the runes might be parseltongue."

"Definitely w—e," Ron said, and when he spoke, Harry could hear the soft, hissing undertone, though he'd stumbled over the word. Hermione nodded determinedly and scribbled something down. "Can you teach me to swear, Harry? Do snakes swear?" Harry looked to Ginny, helpless.

"Focus, Ron," Hermione said, clicking her tongue. "Here, Harry, how would you say 'magic'?"