Fate

by TheTrueSpartan

When Ron discovers that he can see the future, his entire fate is thrown off of its course. A story about adventure, friendship, growing up, and pushing forward through hardships. This story will get darker as it progresses, just like the original Harry Potter novels. It will cover all Seven Years of Hogwarts, but mostly from Ron's perspective. No Mary Sues, no Character bashing.

160. Chapter 160 - The Evil Man

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Ashes to ashes! Dust to dust! Ass to ass!

Enjoy!

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter, and I do not intend to make any money off of this. Harry Potter is the intellectual property of J. K. Rowling , and I take no credit of it whatsoever.

I was also inspired by Demon Eyes Laharl's: THE RED KNIGHT! and also from Random-Fruitcake04's: CHOICES! I hope you check them out as well because they are genuinely very good stories.

There's also a few more Ron fics out there that are on point! They're called 'There and Back Again' by Chuchi Otaku, 'Stay Standing' by Windschild8178, 'Scala ad Caelum' by GRND (criminally underated story, so go give it some love), and 'Cooking Like a Bachelor' by Avatar Vader. Please, go check 'em out! You won't regret it, spread the Ron love, people!

P.S: Starway Man is a chad! (I'm never removing this)

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Fate

Chapter 160 – The Evil Man

Ajax Chloros' POV

Monday 17st May, 1994 (Thessaloniki – Evening)

"Your teacher says that you're doing well in school, Julian," Ajax whispered, careful to keep his voice as gentle as possible. "Have you made any friends, yet?"

The boy didn't respond, focusing solely on his new colourful building blocks. Autism… What even is that? Most Muggles seem to know about it, but I've never heard the term in the Wizarding World. I mean, I don't exactly travel in the same circles as Healers, but still… His teacher is convinced that he's not like the other children in her class. I just thought he was shy, but it seems that I was very wrong.

"Do you like your new school?" Ajax continued, picking up a yellow block to inspect it. "It was very kind of your teacher to gift you these, wouldn't you say? Did you thank her?" Julian suddenly snatched the block from his hand, placing it back with the other yellow ones. Right… He's trying to organise them by colour. I shouldn't touch them until I have to pack them away. "You make sure to thank her first thing tomorrow morning, then. When people are nice to us, we have to be nice to them too. Promise me you'll say 'thank you', Julian." More silence, as usual, but Ajax was accustomed to it by now. "I'm going to start working on dinner. What do you want to eat, tonight?"

"Cheese," the boy answered, as if reminding Ajax of his most favoured snack.

"You can't have only cheese, Jul-"

"Cheese."

"How about a nice pasta?" Ajax negotiated, smiling fondly. "I'll sprinkle cheese on it, but you have to promise to finish the plate."

Julian gave a single, resolute nod, though his focus remained fixated on the task before him. What goes through his head, I wonder… Such a serious boy. If he pays that sort of attention to his studies, he'll go very far, indeed. Standing up and heading towards the kitchen, which was only a few steps away, Ajax took the chance to survey the small flat he now shared with his nephew. I should clean up, tonight. This 'Vacuum Cleaner' Mrs. Galanis gifted me… I'm eager to see what it actually does. She said it'll 'eat up all the dust in one go', but how? Does it come to life? Does it starve if I don't use it often? Absentmindedly, he collected the ingredients from the 'refrigerator', a clever Muggle invention that somehow converted electricity into winter's breath, before opening up the drawers to get a packet of ravioli out. His nephew was fond of their shape, and he would often count them before starting the meal, a ritual that Ajax found immensely amusing.

"I have to go to the café early in the morning, Julian," Ajax informed the boy. "One of Mrs. Galanis' sons, Troy, is sick, so she wants me to open up in her stead. I'll be waking you up earlier than usual. Is that all right with you?"

The boy shrugged in response, which was a lot more than he usually did. With that sorted, Ajax returned to his own task, preparing the ingredients as he hummed an old tune he'd once heard on the radio as a boy. He didn't even feel the urge to touch his wand this time around, opting to use a knife, instead. After a lifetime of blood and misery, of using his Magic as a weapon to kill, he finally felt free from the violence, and the relief never got old. Life is better as a Muggle man with a gifted nephew. I can't thank Mrs. Galanis enough for taking me in without asking too many questions. She is a good woman… Motherly and full of compassion. She's given me a new lease on life-…

A sudden knock at the door interrupted his thoughts, and instinctively, his grip on the knife's handle tightened. A visitor? Who? I have been careful not to share the location of this flat with anyone, not even Mrs. Galanis. Could it be a neighbour?

"Julian, go play in your room," Ajax instructed, but the boy remained silent and unmoving. …Of course…

Wondering if he was making mountains out of molehills, Ajax carefully slid the knife up his sleeve before approaching the door, opening it just enough to peer out of the crack. The moment his eyes landed on the plump, and all too familiar, Lord on the other end, Ajax felt as though his entire world had collapsed in a heartbeat. No… How can you be here?! Why are you here?! I don't understand! How did you even find me?!

"Is that any way to greet an old benefactor, Chloros?" Robert Bulstrode asked, holding a pristine toy broomstick in his hands. "Open the door, now, and address me properly."

For a moment, Ajax considered opening the door only to stick the knife he was concealing into the fat bastard's neck, but his experience with the man told him that such an act would only end with his eventual death. And Julian's… Bulstrode wouldn't come here alone. His men must be near enough to protect him, but far enough to avoid detection.

"Are you going to make me ask twice?" Bulstrode asked calmly, something dangerous flashing behind his eyes.

Ajax opened the door more fully, stepping aside as Bulstrode marched into the flat with a cool smirk. How did he find me?! I was so careful! Someone must've talked! One of my rivals, maybe?! I'll find them, and silence them forever!

"What a strange place to live, Chloros," Bulstrode commented, not hiding his disgust. "And amongst Muggles, no less. After all the gold I've put into your pocket, to see you living like this… I don't understand."

"Most of that gold was used to settle my debts, Lord Bulstrode," Ajax explained, closing the door. Freedom is not free, but a man like you could never understand that.

"And the rest?" Bulstrode asked, looking to him.

"My nephew has needs that must be met."

"Yes, his school is quite expensive, I hear," Bulstrode nodded. How long has he been watching me?! "Don't be so alarmed, boy. I sent a letter to your usual address, but when no one answered, I grew concerned."

"That is most kind of you, my Lord." If Julian weren't in this room, I'd cut your throat for this intrusion.

"Your associates told me what happened, though," Bulstrode smirked, again. "Is it true? Did someone really cut off your hand? Because, from what I can see, you still have both."

The scar circling his right wrist ached dully upon reliving the memory, and Ajax felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. …That boy… That monster…

"…They didn't use Magic… I had it reattached…" Ajax muttered, his eyes darting towards Julian, who was ignoring the two men. "Please, do not speak of it near my boy."

Bulstrode gave an understanding nod. "Be assured, your pain will be avenged." Oh, yes… Please, I would love nothing more for you to cross paths with that red-eyed demon. If the Gods are kind, you'll kill each other. "Now, before we discuss my business… I have a gift for your boy. Call him over."

Ajax studied the toy broom, and the red bow wrapped on its shaft, before letting out a soft sigh. "…Julian, come over here, will you? Lord Bulstrode has brought you a gift."

Julian looked to them, his gaze never meeting theirs, before he returned to playing with his blocks. Well, there you have it, Bulstrode. Fuck off, will you?

"What's the matter with him?" Bulstrode frowned.

"…He is a shy boy, my Lord," Ajax answered, knowing that the man wouldn't care about Julian's condition. "We don't get many visitors."

"I see," Bulstrode's expression softened a little. "My daughter… She too was shy at that age, especially around those her own age. Children can be… cruel… to one another, but I made sure that she never stopped trying to conquer her fears. I hope you do the same for him." Don't act like you care about him. If I refuse you, you'll kill us both. "I will leave this here, then, upon the counter."

"Thank you," Ajax said, moving past Bulstrode in order to kneel by Julian's side. "Go to your room, boy. Go on. Take the blocks with you." Julian ignored him yet again, much to Ajax's frustration. Just listen to me, please! I'm trying to protect you! "Julian, I'm talking to you. Don't ignore me. Take the blocks with you, or I'll throw them out." More silence, save for the sound of plastic blocks clicking against each other. Fine! Keep acting like the world around you doesn't exist! Like I don't exist! "Forgive me, Lord Bulstrode, but Julian can be difficult. May we speak somewhere else?"

Bulstrode raised an eyebrow, before giving a short nod. "You are too soft on him, I see, a mistake I myself am guilty of. Until recently, that is. He needs to fear you as much as he loves and respects you. It is the only way." Fear me? Never! My drunk father used fear to control me, my sister, and my mother, and I killed him for it! Julian will never feel that way, he will never lock himself in his room whenever I come home! Never!

Saying nothing in response, Ajax led the fat Lord out of the flat. "What is your business with me, my Lord?"

"I need your particular skills for a most delicate matter," Bulstrode started, walking over to the railing and leaning on it. "Muggles and their ugly, tall buildings… Tasteless apes…"

"…My Lord…"

"I come here on the behalf of two men, Chloros. Lord Corban Yaxley, and myself." …Okay… "There is a boy, a Blood-Traitor who has forgotten his place, and we need you to remind him of it." A Blood-Traitor? Ajax felt the blood leave his tanned face immediately, he'd heard this same song from Violet Parkinson. "You've probably heard of him, seemingly everyone has… Ronald Weasley." The retired assassin felt his knees grow weak, the monster's murderous sneer flashing in his mind. Not him… Not again… "The boy has become a thorn in my side, and I want him removed once and for all."

"…He is famous…" Ajax said, wanting nothing more than to refuse and return to the new life he'd grown so fond of. "…Very famous…"

"You will be properly compensated by myself," Bulstrode said dismissively, staring down at the roads beneath. "You see, Chloros, this is a complicated matter. My friend, Lord Yaxley, wishes to test the boy's limits. He wants to see if this boy is capable of murder in order to answer questions that plague him." Murder? Do they not realise who they're dealing with here?! Of course, they don't… He's clever… Every time I hear his name, people offer nothing but endless praise for his philanthropy. They don't know what I know… That boy has the Devil in him… "I, however, would prefer the boy's end in place of knowledge on his character. He has crossed me more than once, and for that, he cannot be allowed to live."

"Crossed you?" Ajax inquired.

"He has spread his poison, his sickness, to one I love above all," Bulstrode answered vaguely, turning to face Ajax. "I want you to kill him. Lord Yaxley will disapprove, of course, but he does not need to know about our arrangement. After all, accidents happen in your trade, do they not? Fatal ones?" So, your friend, who is more powerful than you, wants me to merely 'test' Weasley, but you want him dead? What game are these Purebloods playing, now? And why is that wretched beast always involved?

"…I have left that life behind, Lord Bulstrode," Ajax tried, again.

"By whose authority?" Bulstrode asked in response, raising an eyebrow. "That Muggle woman you work for?" Don't you dare touch her! "This will be my final contract for you, I promise. Once it's done, I will pay you enough gold to last you, and your boy, a lifetime." Liar… You'll silence me so Yaxley never learns of your betrayal. I wasn't born yesterday. "You can disappear anywhere you like with that gold. Fail me, and I'll make you disappear myself. You, and that boy of yours." The man then turned to leave, shooting one last look back. "I don't like making these threats, Chloros, but I need that Blood-Traitor gone, and you're the deadliest killer I've worked with. If someone can take him out, it's you. Once it's done, go to my manor… I personally won't be there, as I'm leaving for Magical Hungary alongside Lord Yaxley, but my people will see you well-compensated and taken care of." They'll execute me, you mean… Damn you… "Enjoy your evening with your boy, and rejoice in the knowledge that you two won't be living in that Muggle shoe-closet for long."

With that, Bulstrode walked away, leaving Ajax to tremble to himself on the cold balcony. …We were so close, Julian. We were so fucking close. Forgive me, because I can't escape my sins, no matter how hard I try. I've doomed us both, in the end. Drawing in a shaky breath, Ajax re-entered his flat, sealing the door behind him before falling against it and sliding down onto his rear. It's over… We're dead… If I fail Bulstrode, he'll kill us. If I fail Yaxley, he'll kill us. I attack Weasley, he'll kill-… Ajax paused, wondering what Weasley would really do. Would he kill us? He had the chance, and good reason too, and yet, he spared me. Because of Julian, I think.

Holding his head in his hands, Ajax felt his eyes sting out of mourning for the peaceful life he had only recently started to build. He should've known that it wouldn't last, nothing good ever did for him, and yet, he had failed to stop himself from getting attached to it. Getting Julian dressed and taking him to school, working alongside Mrs. Galanis and her rebellious, teenage sons, occasionally having a polite conversation with his elderly neighbours, all of it… He had grown to love it, and now, it was going to be ripped away from him, no different from everything else that he had ever cherished. I deserve this, though, don't I? All the sins I've committed, all the people I've murdered… This is them haunting me, isn't it?

The sound of timid footsteps approaching made him look up, Julian had walked over to him with a yellow block in his tiny hand. Ajax sniffled and cleared his eyes, not wanting the boy to see him in such a state.

"W-What is it, Julian?" Ajax asked hoarsely. "Are you hungry?" What am I going to do, Julian? I can't protect you. I can't keep my promise to your mother.

The blonde boy said nothing, offering him the yellow block with his gaze fixed on Ajax's hands. Confused, the tanned wizard accepted the block, staring at his nephew for an explanation.

"Do you… want me to play with you?" Ajax asked slowly.

"…No," Julian answered, leaving just as swiftly as he had walked over.

Ajax stared at the toy in his hand, and strangely enough, it comforted him. It soothed the fire rising from his belly, and so, he clutched it tightly against his chest. Not like this! I won't let Julian grow up alone and afraid like I did! I-… I won't let Bulstrode anywhere near him! I made a promise! Dragging himself up to his feet, Ajax withdrew the knife from his sleeve. Weasley… He might be the Devil in the flesh, but he's not the bastard who came knocking on my door just now! The one who did is going to pay! I'll kill him, and Yaxley, and anyone else who threatens me and Julian! I will kill them all!

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Ronald Weasley's POV

Friday 21st May, 1994 (Diagon Alley – Near Midnight)

"That… is such a sad tale," Ron mocked, feeling no sympathy for the child-murdering degenerate. "Isn't it sad, Solomon?"

"A proper tearjerker," Solomon grunted, eyeing Chloros as if he were a slab of meat. "Pulled on all the heartstrings, it did."

Chloros' serious demeanour remained unchanged; his determined eyes fixed solely on Ron. "I don't expect any sympathy, especially not from you, but Julian is an innocent-"

"My friend, Tracey, is an innocent, and you robbed her of her voice," Ron cut in, tutting. "You don't get to hide behind your nephew, assassin. Oh, no, no, no… I won't let you do that."

"I'm not trying to hide, Mr. Weasley-"

"You are!" Ron roared, his eyes flashing red. "You summon me here in the middle of the night, through this fucking criminal, no less, and you dare ask for my help?! After what you stole from my friend?! You fucking cockroach! Why should I care about your nephew's future?! Who is he to me?! Why shouldn't I let Robert Bulstrode gut him?!" Because you have to protect the innocent, even if they are related to murderers. Because that's your job, not only as the Champion of Fate, but as Ronald Weasley. Ignoring evil is evil, isn't it? That's why you have to protect that boy, because you're better than his uncle. "…You came here because you know that I'm not like the Purebloods you whore yourself out to… You came here because you don't want to die, and your nephew… Well, he's your ticket to safety, isn't he?"

Chloros stared at him in silence, before reaching into his robes and withdrawing his wand. Ron's lips quirked upwards, and he turned and cracked his neck. C'mon, then, you cunt. I'm standing right here, and as a final courtesy, I'll even let you take a free shot at me. The assassin suddenly offered the young Slytherin his wand, kneeling down before him. What is this? What are you doing?

"Kill me, if you wish, but promise to protect the boy," Chloros said strongly, his eyes even more determined than before. "My life was not a good one, both in circumstances and deeds, but Julian still has a chance, and if my death can secure that chance for him, then my own life, as wretched as it was, will have been worth it."

Ron frowned darkly, whereas Solomon let out a long whistle. Fuck… I want nothing more than to believe that he's a liar, but he's not lying, is he? I chopped off his hand, so he knows what I'm capable of, and yet, he still came here-…

"For what it's worth, I believe this sorry bastard," Solomon said, scratching his beard. "Men don't walk to their deaths as easily as this, not in my experience, not unless they're dying for something they love." Something, or someone… I know the feeling well.

"…Use him," Ravenclaw Ron whispered in his ear, no doubt hovering just behind him. "A talented assassin is not easy to come by. Use him, and when he's spent, get rid of him. Everyone, and everything, is just a means to an end for us. Use that Slytherin cunning of yours, Ronnie, and turn this insignificant worm into your righteous spear."

Ron drew in a long breath, closing his eyes and feeling his insides shift about in an agitated manner. Every muscle in his body wanted to tear Chloros apart, but his mind knew that such an act would not gain him any advantages. This assassin, like the Americans and the Death's Hand, could be a useful servant in the war, in fulfilling the mission, and to discard him now would only serve his enemies. And then, there's this Julian boy… Bulstrode doesn't strike me as a man who makes empty threats. If Chloros doesn't complete his mission, then it's only a matter of time before Bulstrode pays them another visit. I won't just have to secure the boy's safety, but also Chloros'. Damn it… Shielding the man who nearly murdered Tracey… And here I thought I couldn't hate myself any more than I already do.

"Get up, you spunk-guzzler," Ron bit out, gnashing his teeth. "Solomon will find you and your boy a suitable, and well-hidden, accommodation."

"I will?" Solomon asked, frowning. "…Right. Of course, I will."

"And you… You work for me, now," Ron hissed, eyeing Chloros up and down. "You'll be payed enough to tend to your boy's needs, but make no mistake, I own you, and when I want you to die, you'll fucking die. Your sins are not forgiven, assassin, and they never will be. You will serve, and once Julian is old enough to take care of himself, I'll rip your heart out and feed it to you." I swear this upon my Magic!

Chloros averted his gaze, before giving a weak nod. "…Thank you." Fuck you!

Ron growled to himself, turning to face Solomon. "So, Robert Bulstrode wants me dead, and Corban Yaxley wants to 'test' me… Make yourself useful, and find out exactly where they're running off to in such a hurry, hm?" The people Artyom hired have yet to fulfil a single bounty. Why is everyone so fucking useless? "And, if this assassin is lying, kill him and bring me his nephew."

"Another one for the orphanage?" Solomon grunted with a grin, while Chloros visibly tensed.

"No, this one will be mine to shape as I see fit," Ron returned, turning to leave. I'll raise him to be an Auror like Madam Roberts, or something. A man of honour and integrity, unlike his vile uncle. "No more owls to Hogwarts. If you need me, find my people at the Werewolf Sanctuary. I don't need the likes of Minister Bones learning about our 'relationship'."

"You're going to ignore the threat against your life?" Chloros asked, stopping Ron. "Those two will not stop here, especially not Bulstrode. They will find others to do-"

"Yaxley wants to test me, but to what end, I don't know, so it's best to ignore the challenge," Ron interrupted, not looking back. "And as for the Pig Lord… You will help me lay a trap for him, but for now, my only concern is securing Julian's safety. Once he's out of Bulstrode's reach, then I'll think of something. You just focus on doing as Solomon says, until you hear from me." He then looked back, grimacing. "Those who betray me soon come to find out that my vindictiveness knows no bounds. There is no border you can cross that I cannot, no safe haven you can find that I cannot. Never forget that."

With his threat issued, Ron gestured Marty to follow him out, but neither of them got very far before being stopped by Solomon, who rushed into their path. What now?

"Not so fast, Mastēmāh," Solomon wagged his thick finger in Ron's face. "You and I need to have a chat about the Fanged Grotto, and more importantly, about how I can acquire it." The fucking what? "Oh, have you forgotten, already? Getting too big for us, are you? Of course, you are. Why wouldn't you be? We're just mere mortals down here, aren't we? Baking bread just to make a living-"

"When you get to the point, wake me up," Ron interrupted, before snoring loudly.

"Cheeky, cheeky," Solomon chuckled, poking him in the chest. "Wake up, then, because I want that building, and the tunnels underneath it. We had a deal, we did, and I've done my part." Your spies gathering information for me and Emilia, you mean?

"You've done your part? When?"

"What? You found Fudge on your own, did you?" Solomon raised an eyebrow. "He fell out of the sky and into your path, did he? No… I did that, me. Oh, and who got rid of the body so well that it'll never be found? Me, again." He's right, I can't refute that.

"How am I supposed to get you the deed to a levelled building that the Ministry wants to fix up?" Ron asked, shrugging. "Sure, when I was leading the charge in fixing up Knockturn Alley, I could've pulled it off, but now? The Ministry's already setting up to begin the clean-up, and they'll find those tunnels and seal them up. You'll just have to find another way to continue your smuggling operation, Solomon."

"Don't act like you're not chummy with the Minister, lad, because I know you are." Chummy? I wouldn't go that far. "You'll figure something out." For fuck's sake… "You don't want twenty percent, anymore?" The Quibbler, the trunks of gems and priceless artefacts in my vault, the Americans… Gold is not a problem for me, anymore.

"I have other means of securing gold, now," Ron shrugged, again. "I'll see what I can do for you, but I can't make any promises. The Ministry wants to rebuild Knockturn Alley and put its stamp on it, so I doubt the Minister be willing to offer me an entire building because I asked nicely."

"Then, don't ask nicely," Solomon grinned maliciously. "I either get those tunnels, or you find another smuggler to help the Order. I didn't join you lot out of charity-"

"You joined because the Dark Lord won't let someone like you live in his world."

"You know what else stops me from living? My own people stringing me up because the revenue's dried up." A fair point. "The. Fanged. Grotto. You brand that name into your memory, lad, because it's important."

"Got it," Ron said dully, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. "Sort out Chloros and his boy, and don't let him out of your sight. I don't trust him."

"I'll be the angel on his shoulder, I will." More like the devil on his shoulder, but whatever.

"I'll be in touch, and remember-"

"No more owls to Hogwarts, yes, yes."

---

Saturday 22nd May, 1994 (The Sanctuary – Dead of Night)

"Merlin, are you still brooding?" Ravenclaw Ron walked past his chair, leaning against the fireplace. "You ought to get some sleep, the sun will be up in a couple of hours." Ron ignored his ghostly counterpart, his eyes staring into the fire for answers that he knew it didn't hold. "Ah, it's especially bad, tonight, I see. This sadness that's come over you, mate… You need to get rid of it-"

"Am I a good man?" Ron asked, his voice barely louder than a whisper.

"What?"

"Am I a good man?" Ron repeated, looking to Ravenclaw Ron solemnly. Good men don't do the things I do. They don't make compromises with evil like I do. They don't scheme like I do. They don't push people away like I do. They don't harbour assassins and their kin like I do. They don't fail to save people like I do. "I need the truth from you. The truth… The honest, cold, harsh truth. Without kindness, or ulterior motive. Just be my friend this one time, and tell me… Am I a good man?"

Ravenclaw Ron stared at the current Champion of Fate, all the twisted mirth gone from his pale face. "Am I the right person to come to for this? Do you think I'm good?"

"I think that, behind your madness and warped ego, there's a little boy who is filled with regret," Ron replied, much to his counterpart's annoyance. "A boy who misses his family, his sister, and hates himself for losing it all to despair. So, yes… You're the right person to answer my question. Am I a good man?"

Ravenclaw Ron groaned, before falling silent for nearly a minute. Well? Is that your answer? "Most of the time, you are. But, sometimes… Not so much, no."

"Good people aren't good only when it suits them," Ron stated, looking back to the fire. "And bad people… They convince themselves that they're good, even when they're not. I've become the latter, of that there is no doubt."

"Good and bad are just words crafted by society to protect itself," his doppelganger countered. "What you consider good is not the definite article, and the same goes for the old twat who's constantly trying to make you doubt yourself." Dumbledore… He thinks I don't see what he's up to, but I do. He's planting his ideas into my head, now more than ever, so I turn out just as passive and soft-hearted as him. And, in that regard, I'm no different from him, only I want him to become active and hard-hearted. Who's right, though? The greatest wizard in history, or the most important wizard in history? Who's right? "I thought you were done being manipulated by other people. I thought you were ready to figure out who you want to be." I've always known who I want to be, but now, I also know I'll never get there, because I've already failed so many times.

"I want to be a good man," Ron whispered, his fingers digging into the ends of the armrests. "And, tonight, once again, I failed at that."

"Because of Chloros?"

"He has spilled so much innocent blood, and yet, I'm harbouring him."

"We both know it's not him that you're harbouring," Ravenclaw Ron said matter-of-factly. "It's that boy of his being in danger that convinced you."

"And we both know that I can protect that boy without keeping Chloros alive," Ron countered. "I spared Chloros because I want to use him, because I've become a man who ignores evil when it suits him." A hypocrite… That's what I am. An angry, bitter, heartless hypocrite. "I ignore Greengrass. I ignore Solomon. I ignore the Death's Hand. I ignore the American Aurors. I ignore Artyom and London. And, now, I ignore the man who robbed Tracey of her voice. When does it stop? How long before I start ignoring the Death Eaters?"

"Then, don't ignore any of them," Ravenclaw Ron rolled his eyes. "Any half-decent chess-player understands that you don't waste your pieces just because you don't like their function. You use them, until you no longer need them."

"So, keep them around, and then, discard them when the time is right?"

"That was the plan, wasn't it?" It is, but no plan is unquestionable. No plan is above doubts, and I'm having those in abundance, tonight.

"Keeping them around changes my opinion of them. Take Artyom, for example. He's a hired killer who's shed innocent blood for gold, and yet, I've grown to care for him. I've seen his better nature, and now, the idea of removing him pains me. Justice is not meant to feel pain at the loss of a ruthless, remorseless killer. A good man wouldn't ignore Artyom's past crimes just because they're friends." But I do, and even though, deep down in my very soul, I know it's wrong, I can't help but care for him. It's only human, isn't it? To grow to love those you surround yourself with? And what sort of man kills those he loves? An evil one… Is that my lot, then? I have to be the villain, because the alternative is so much worse?

"The majority of people don't have your ambitions, mate," Ravenclaw Ron reminded him. "You don't get the luxury of being a good man in the current Wizarding World, because if there's one thing I've learned over the years, it's that good people don't make lasting change. They try to, certainly, but they always fall short. And why is that? Because no worthwhile revolution in history has been heralded without great suffering and streets full of blood." He then let out a long sigh, floating closer to Ron's chair. "Just look at Dumbledore, that pathetic, self-righteous fool. For all his power and influence, what has he really changed? Nothing. The Wizarding World is as corrupt, as rotten, as it's ever been. He might've stopped two Dark Lords, sure, but he never defeated the ideologies that birthed them. He can only deal with the symptoms, rather than the disease itself, because he wants to be a good man, but he fails to recognize that he is only as 'good' as this society allows him to be. He has, without realizing it, become a significant part of the problem."

Ron let out a soft grunt, giving a nod. "You're right."

"I often am." Don't get ahead of yourself. We both know why you're so quick to denounce the old man. "I can't answer your question without all this back-and-forth, but I can say this with absolute certainty… You care about other people, and in my opinion, that's good enough. Despite all the shit you've endured, all the dreadfulness you've witnessed, you still find a way to care enough to lose sleep over it. That has to count for something, doesn't it?"

Ron lowered his gaze, sinking into his chair. "…That's not good enough for me." Every man must be held accountable, even me. Especially me.

"Then, be miserable," Ravenclaw Ron said bluntly. "Sit here and mourn who you were, what your life could've been, but when you step out of this room, fight with everything you've got. You hesitate for even a moment, and you'll end up with just as many regrets as me."

With that, his older counterpart vanished, leaving Ron alone with nothing but a dimming fire to keep him company. "…Some honesty from him, at last."

"Tell me, what happens if your glorious schemes come to fruition? What do you do when you're in charge? And, pray tell, what happens to people like you?" Dumbledore's voice asked him, making him frown deeply. What would I do? I would destroy them, I think, and I wouldn't spare them a single thought afterwards. That's… not right, is it? Perfection is an illusion, a lie, and no matter how 'perfect' a world I bring about, it will have its problems, and those problems will inevitably birth those who want to bring about change. And many among that number will take drastic actions as I do, so if I destroy them, then am I not destroying myself? Am I not claiming that I have all the answers, despite knowing that I don't? Am I not a tyrant? Am I not like the Purebloods? Am I not like the Dark Lord himself? The Headmaster's way has proven to be wrong, but mine could prove equally disastrous. So, what should I do?

"The worth of a nation can be determined by how it treats its criminals," Harkin's stern voice reminded him. The worth of a nation… The worth of a world… Can it be determined so easily? No, I don't think so, but it does play a part. If justice is not tempered by compassion and wisdom, then good men like Sirius suffer just as terribly as those who truly deserve it. My perfect world, as I envision it now, is perhaps not so perfect at all… Perhaps, it will simply turn out to be a new kind of shithole… Why? Where have I gone wrong? What steps have led me here? And, how do I find another path? And, what could that path look like?

Ron shifted in his seat as an uncomfortable thought forced itself into his mind; what if there was no longer a road that led to him being a good man?

"So many doors in my life closed without me even noticing, and by the time I did, those doors were shut forever," Madam Pomfrey whispered, her voice dripping with regret. "That's what happens when you hide from yourself, Ronald… You fail to see the road you're traveling on, and it leads to places from which you can never return." Is this to be my destiny, then? To be the evil man? The cruel man? The devious man? Or, is the ghost in my head right? That I never had a chance to begin with, and lamenting what could've been is nothing short of foolishness? How many more decisions must I make that turn my stomach? How many pieces of myself can I give away before there's nothing left? Who could love the Champion of Fate? Who could forgive his numerous sins? Certainly not me… Certainly not my family… Certainly not my friends… Perhaps, in the end, I will die alone, and perhaps, that is for the best. After all, in my own 'perfect' world, there is no place for a monster like me. I am an evil man, and one day, good men will put an end to me, and, I think, in that final, bloody moment, I will finally be happy. I will finally know peace.

---

Albus Dumbledore's POV

Saturday 22nd May, 1994 (The Headmaster's Office – Morning)

Albus stared out of the window, his expression a mixture of confusion and dread, for Amelia's words had brought back memories best left forgotten. The evil that had chased him down in the form of his departed sister, the evil that had forced a portion of Tom's mangled soul to beg for death, the evil that held Ronald within its clutches, had found its way into their world. To Amelia, and any ordinary individual, none of this would make any sense, but Albus had experience and knowledge on his side, which meant that he knew just how powerless they were to the machinations of the Higher Beings. Is this part of Fate's plan, then? To use Ronald as a brush, and the Entity as the colours, to repaint our history? Why? What does she stand to gain through such chaos? Ronald has explained that his connection to the Entity allows him to alter Prophecies, to shape destinies anew, and with him becoming increasingly prominent within the Wizarding World, all of our destinies will, by virtue of him merely existing, be altered, either directly by Ronald himself, or through association with those who have crossed his path. This much makes perfect sense to me. What I don't understand, however, is how the Prophecy Records became a conduit for the Entity to look into our world, to give it the ability to interact with the Unspeakables. Could it be that, as the source of Ronald's power, it was able to establish a direct link to our world due to him undoing the Prophecies? Perhaps… There can be no certainty, of course, but I believe that Ronald himself is the link, whereas the Records are the evidence of the growing strength of this link-…

"You know something, don't you?" Amelia called out, and Albus let out a shaky breath. "I've been patient, Dumbledore, but enough is enough. If you know something, then I would have you share it with me."

"I know that there are powers in this world, and beyond, that are not for us to understand," Albus said, fixing up his expression before he turned to face her. "Whatever you witnessed within the Hall of Prophecy fits that bill, Minister, and you and I would be wise not to spread such knowledge to those who would be undone by it."

"Do nothing?" Amelia blinked. "That's your solution?"

"Do you have an alternative?" Albus asked plainly. "We don't even know what's causing this phenomenon, let alone what it means. What else can we do but turn it to our advantage?"

"Turn it to our advantage? How so?"

"One of the Prophecies tied Harry Potter and the Dark Lord together, as Harry was destined to be the one with the power to destroy the Dark Lord," Albus started, putting aside his own fear of, and interest in, the Higher Beings. "But all the Prophecies are now 'null and void', as Professor Croaker claims. This means that I, or anyone else, can destroy the Dark Lord, now. Theoretically speaking, of course." This is good news, if you ignore the cause of it. It means that I can shelter Harry, rather than putting him on the frontlines. I can honour James and Lily's sacrifice the right way.

"…I suppose," Amelia muttered, looking uneasy. "But, Dumbledore, we are not the only Ministry that keeps Prophecies. Whatever that infernal place was, whatever was behind it, it has surely targeted the other Ministries as well." She's right, but again, what are we supposed to do? Destroy Ronald? No. I will not allow anyone to harm him. He is a victim of this accursed power, more so than all of us combined. "I have to reach out to them, to warn them not to trust those who keep the Prophecy Records." That is both fair and prudent. "You didn't see Croaker… He was… damaged… The Healers told me that entire chunks of his memory were just 'gone', including most of his childhood. Whatever was behind this, I think it was feeding on him. On who he was, on who he could be. None of us have seen anything of the like before." This is most disturbing, given the nature of the 'Star of Madness' as Ronald has described it. What was it after? Did it want to find our weaknesses? Or, did it just want to hurt those poor souls? "I had to lie to the Healers and pretend like I didn't know anything for the sake of secrecy, but that doesn't mean that I'll just sit by and watch others suffer like he has. We have to send out a warning, and we must do so immediately." I must help her in this endeavour if I'm to keep Ronald safe. The cause of this 'phenomenon' cannot be discovered.

Albus gave a nod, moving back to his desk. "I will convene the International Confederation of Wizards. There, you and I will spread the word, but only amongst the highest-ranking Officials of each Ministry."

"Agreed," Amelia sighed out, her eyes becoming distant. "Thank you, Dumbledore." She's still shaken, isn't she? I don't blame her. "I've ordered my Aurors to search for those who worked under Professor Croaker. He gave me as many names as he could remember. Hopefully, they're in better shape than he is, and if they agree, we'll get them the help they need."

Albus couldn't help but smile a little at that, she was already proving to be more responsible than Fudge ever was. "I know it isn't easy to witness something that changes your perception of the world, Minister, but, in my humble opinion, you are carrying yourself quite admirably. Professor Croaker was right to trust you."

Amelia ignored the compliment, slowly rising out of her chair. "…I… need to sleep. At least for a couple of hours, before I can return to my duties. I'll be waiting for your owl, Dumbledore."

"Changing the world requires more than wit and determination, Amelia," Albus advised, remembering the young Hufflepuff who was always first in line to enter the classroom. "It requires patience, wisdom, and most importantly, ample rest. You always were too hard on yourself, but that must change, now. You hold more than just your own life in your hands, and should you waver, those lives could be lost."

The Minister lowered her gaze, removing her monocle. "…I understand, Headmaster."

"Sleep well, then," Albus bid her goodnight. "The world will still be here when you wake up, as will its problems." Problems that are becoming ever more complicated and dangerous, it seems.

---

Ronald Weasley's POV

Saturday 22nd May, 1994 (The Headmaster's Office – Midday)

"So, the great revolutionary, the woman who's going to birth a new Magical Britain, the Minister willing to burn the corruption out of the Ministry…" Ron started, his lips twitching upwards. "She got a tiny taste of my world, and in a heartbeat, she came running to you with her tail tucked between her legs?"

Dumbledore frowned ever-so-slightly, before giving a short nod. "Those are not the words I'd choose, but, in essence, yes."

Ron threw his head back and laughed spitefully, if he only he had been there to witness her terror firsthand. "That's pathetic, that is! And even after she kicked you out of the Wizengamot?! With a whole speech about you ignoring your duties?! She still came running to you for help?! Oh, Merlin! That's so fucking sad!" He then cleared his throat, wheezing. "Ah, Amelia Bones… What am I going to do with you, hm?"

"Let me remind you that, not so long ago, you came to me as well," Dumbledore said frankly, staring at him with a stern expression. "You too were afraid and lost-"

"Afraid?" Ron interrupted, shaking his head. "Oh, no, Headmaster… I didn't even know what fear was at the time. Not. One. Bit." With that, he stood up, his joints creaking and aching. Fucking kill me… I'm exhausted… "Destroy those Prophecy Records, if you want, but let me tell you this… It won't mean a thing. The Star sees all of time and space, across every Universe and every dimension, and humanity… Humanity is just one of the infinite courses it craves. It's better that you focus on Voldemort, instead." Stay in your lane, for your own good.

"It was feeding on the memories of the Unspeakables, according to Amelia," Dumbledore pointed out. "For what purpose? Are you not curious?" His persistent interest in the Higher Beings bothers me. Like a child who wants to stick his hand in the fire to see if it really is hot, the fool will end up getting himself burned.

"I am curious, sure, but also powerless to do anything about it," Ron shrugged nonchalantly. "Trust me, this shit is above your head, and if you think too much on it, you'll go as barmy as me. Leave it. When I see Fate next, I will tell her of this discovery. She can do with the information as she likes. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go teach Hermione and my sisters some mediocre Magic, and then, I have a date with a Centaur Chief." He walked down to the door, before looking back to Dumbledore. "If I catch you trying to make contact with the Star through the tainted Prophecy Records, I'll let it keep you for its 'amusement'. That's my first, and final, warning."

---

Saturday 22nd May, 1994 (Hafren Forest – Evening)

His surroundings were a blur, there were church bells ringing inside his head, and every so often, trickles of blood would come leaking out of his nose. Fucking Portkeys… I might as well start taking the Knight Bus from now on. It'll be less painful, at least. Groaning to himself, Ron kept moving forward, knowing deep down that the cause of his pain was himself. Sleep, and a healthy diet, make traveling easier, and although I have the diet under control, sleep is not so easily secured. Being at Hogwarts has turned into a curse. It's so quiet and peaceful there, which only makes the voice in my head stand out more. I need… action. I need to keep moving, keep fighting. I can't stop, because if I do, my thoughts will catch up to me and torture me. I can't stop-…

His foot slipped, causing his knee to wobble uncontrollably, which in turn resulted in him to falling onto his side. Fuck… Ow…

"Boss?! You okay there?" London was swift in rushing to his side, followed immediately by Daphne.

"Ron?! Are you hurt?!" her worried face came into view; he knew that her eyes had never left him since they had entered the forest. "We should stop and take a break, London. Portkeys and Apparition aren't good for his-"

"…I'm fine," Ron grit out, sitting up. "You lot can go on-"

"Ron, don't be ridiculous-"

"Go and get set up," Ron ordered, looking to Artyom. "Now."

The large Russian studied him silently, before giving a nod. "You heard him. Move on. He will catch up when he finds his legs." Thank you, mate. I'm just slowing us down right now, and I bloody resent that.

"Captain, are you mental?" London questioned, frowning. "He's sick, and only Merlin knows what sort of dangers lurk out here."

"If danger comes for him, it's danger I'm worried about," Artyom said bluntly, gesturing his team to follow him. "We have work to do."

The mercenaries exchanged varying looks, most of them visibly unhappy about leaving their sickly client, their source of income, alone in the woods, but, in the end, they did as their captain commanded. Artyom led them onwards, leaving Ron behind with Daphne and London. These two… Can't they see that I just need a minute to catch my breath?

"London, I told you-" Ron started.

"Stop it with the tough man routine, all right?" London scolded, adorning a deadly look. Um… What? Tough man routine? What the fuck is that? "You and the captain, I swear… C'mon, let me help you up to your feet. Give me your hand."

"…I don't need your help to stand up on my own bloody feet," Ron grumbled miserably, before gritting his teeth and forcing his body to stand back up. "…See? Easy…" I might've shit myself just then. That, or one of my organs fell out of my arse.

"Has he always been this stubborn?" London asked Daphne, who looked more dismayed than cross.

"I'm afraid so," Daphne sighed out, shaking her head as she took a step away from him. "Take your time, Ron. We'll go when you're ready."

He leaned against a tree, drawing in several deep breaths in the hopes of drowning out his throbbing headache. Fucking Zotair… Calling me out here to ask questions I won't even answer… I have nothing to say to such a weak, pathetic man… Letting Greengrass go without so much as a scolding… What a fucking ponce… If someone had come into my home, murdered my people and my father, I would stop at nothing-…

"How are we going to get you back to Hogwarts, boss?" London suddenly asked, cutting off his thoughts. "Another Portkey, and you'll end up in St. Mungo's-"

"Maybe, if I'm lucky, my brain will explode and I'll just drop dead," Ron interrupted, mimicking her voice. "Or, better yet, your incessant yapping will annoy me to death. Just shut up, will you? I'm trying to collect what's left of my will to live here."

London raised her hands in surrender, also taking a step back. Daphne, on the other hand, narrowed her eyes at him, all her previous sympathy gone in a flash. Here it comes! The Daphne special!

"She's worried about you, you dolt, as am I," Daphne huffed in indignation. "Stop taking your frustration out on us. Let's go, London. He'll find his way to us when he's done being a grouch." Yes, please, kindly fuck off. Can't have a moment of silence with women around. They just keep talking and talking and talking, driving me mental in the process.

Daphne and London walked away from him in resignation, following after Artyom's trail, and once they were gone, Ron fell back against the tree and slid down onto his arse. Gods… My head… At least, I have quiet, now… I'll just… rest my eyes a bit-…

"You look like shit," came his own voice, and Ron felt his shoulder's sag. Not this cunt, please… Not now…

"I wish the Entity had murdered me," he muttered hopelessly, opening his eyes to see his ghostly counterpart grinning down at him. "Merlin, was there ever an uglier mug?"

"My nose could do with a bit of work, but the rest is fine, I reckon," Ravenclaw Ron giggled, making Ron roll his eyes. "Brooding by the fire, brooding out in the woods… Is no place safe from your angst?"

"Fuck you," Ron hissed, sneering. "Carrying you around is doing this to me, you fucking leech. I can't even use a Portkey without turning into a useless mess."

"Could be worse, though, right?" Ravenclaw Ron winked, he was far too amused for Ron's liking. "You could be the Entity's chew-toy, instead."

"I don't know which is worse, at this point," he sighed out, his head sinking. "Being molested by that evil prick, or having to hear your never-ending monologues about how nothing matters."

"The fresh air is doing you good, I see," his counterpart laughed, floating over to his side. "You've got your snark back, already."

"What do you want?" Ron demanded, looking back up.

"I couldn't help but overhear your conversation with Dumblefuck, and I figured now was a good time to hear your real thoughts on the matter."

"What 'real' thoughts?" he scoffed, revulsion dancing across his face. "This changes nothing for me. I don't care about what the Star of Madness is up to. It's trapped until the end of time, so it can creep around all it likes. My war is down here, against the Dark Lord, and that's that."

"You're not worried that Dumbledore might-"

"If he is stupid enough to reach out to such a power, just to sate his curiosity, then he deserves what's going to happen to him." Thankfully, I don't think he'll do that. He knows what's at stake, and what'll happen if we lose him. "Those stupid Unspeakables… I hope they're fucking dead, the lot of them. Here I am, stuck sharing a bed with evil incarnate, being tortured by it at every turn, and what do they do? They become infatuated with it, the fucking ingrates." Humans… A most foul species…

"Do you think Fate knows about this?"

"Probably," he shrugged tiredly. "But I don't think she cares. It's not her problem, right? Not until her precious 'Balance' is threatened. When that happens, she'll come running down here to crawl into my arse." Ron then exhaled loudly, his gloved hand reaching up to tug at his hair. "…I'm tired. My head hurts. My body hurts. My prick's all shrivelled up from the cold. I'm sitting on the wet floor of some dank forest, helping people who fucking despise me, all the while trying to teach my ex-girlfriend to be a better, kinder person than me, so when I inevitably piss off the wrong person and get myself killed, someone can continue my work in my absence… Why should I care about the games the Gods are playing? Why should I bother with them when they have forsaken me? You and Dumbledore… You're both idiots, pondering on matters above your comprehension just so you don't feel powerless and small. Well, let me make it plain for you… You, me, Dumbledore, Voldemort, Harry fucking Potter, everyone… We're nothing in the grand design of Creation. So, our best strategy is just to focus on our lives, on the lives of those around us. Look away from the stars, so you can look at what's in front of you."

Ravenclaw Ron gave a slow nod, mulling over Ron's words. "…Maybe, that's where I went wrong, eh? Too busy thinking about the grand design, about how fucked it all was, about how none of it mattered, so much so that I missed what was happening right in front of me." He then let out a mirthless chuckle, staring up at the darkening sky. "In a multiverse where all decisions have been made, all destinies have been recorded, the only decision that made sense, that mattered, was to end it all. The only thing that made sense was the Star of Madness. You're right… I might just be an idiot…"

"Well-spotted, mate," Ron groaned, gritting his teeth again as he raised himself back up. "This trip was the worst of the bloody lot… Just how much damage have you done to me?"

"How much damage have you done to yourself?" his doppelganger countered. "Training with the P-12 and Snape every day, running around like a lunatic every morning, and, let's not forget, your new habit of joining your mercenaries for training whenever you get the chance. Add studying late into the night on top of that, plus your brooding sessions-"

"I get it," Ron cut in, leaning against the tree. "I'm going to have to start taking Sleeping Draughts, or one of these trips is going to kill me."

"That's… not a good idea," Ravenclaw Ron advised, suddenly sounding rather concerned. "I mean, it'll solve your issue, but you have a history of abusing potions. Is it wise to create a new problem to solve an old one?"

"Fine, fine, fine," Ron waved a dismissive hand. "Stunners, it is. Again. I just love waking up with a Quaffle-sized bruise on my chest, I do."

"So irritable today, aren't you?" his ghostly counterpart returned to grinning. "I love it."

Ron drew in a deep breath, straightening up his back and rolling his shoulders. "…Onwards, then. One step at a time."

---

Thirty Minutes Later

When he finally wandered into the camp, the first thing he saw was London waiting for him with a steaming mug of tea. "There you are! We were ready to send out a search party for you!"

"Why doesn't the Portkey bring us closer to camp?" Ron asked, accepting the mug and gulping down the hot beverage. Ah, that's better… Something to wash out the taste of my own sick.

"Because we don't want to disturb the Centaurs any more than we already are," London reminded him. "How would you feel if people could just pop into your house out of thin air? Now, have you cooled off a bit? Or, do I need to throw a bucket of water on you?" I would shove your head up your own arse right after. Literally.

"I don't pay you to sass me," Ron shoved the mug into her hands, marching onwards. "Where is Zotair, then?"

"In his yurt," London answered, following after him.

"In his-…" Ron stopped, frowning darkly. "I come out here, in this fucking rain, sick as a fucking dog, and that prick is just sitting pretty in his shitty little tent? He doesn't even have the decency to come out and greet me?" Talk about ungrateful!

"It's a bad day for the Chief, boss," London told him, her voice grave. "That's what Jonathan says, at least." Jonathan? Oh, right, she means Reid… "You ought to speak to him, first. The Director, I mean. He's with Daphne, preparing fresh bandages for tomorrow. He's keen to meet you, I think." He won't be so keen when I'm in front of him, I assure you. Why did he have to be a Vampire?

"Let's go meet him, then," Ron sighed out, his heavy-lidded eyes scanning the camp. Forced to live like animals, and yet, they let their greatest enemy walk out of here unharmed. Weak. Broken. Pathetic. That's what they have become. I see no 'great warriors' here, just mongrels waiting to die.

He had felt great pity for them, great sorrow, but when he had learned of their Chief forgiving Greengrass for his unimaginable crimes, any sympathy he had for this Tribe had evaporated in an instant. These once-proud people, who bowed their heads to no one, had surrendered their very souls in the face of defeat, and now, whenever he thought of them, he remembered standing atop a certain tower, ready to give into his own despair. If Madam Pomfrey were here, she'd say that I'm 'displacing' my ill feelings about myself onto them, or some other nonsense of the sort. It doesn't matter. What matters is that I will never be like them, again. If Death wants me, it's going to have to work it's fucking arse off to earn me. And even then, I'll slap that cunt in the face on my way down-…

"Boss? Shall we go?" London tapped his shoulder, breaking him out of his thoughts. "Merlin, you're completely out of it, today. What's happened?" Where do I even start?

"…Let's just go."

Leading the way, it took Ron no more than a few minutes to find a makeshift clinic that Reid, and the mercenaries, had set up. It was on the far side of the camp, away from the yurts but close to the supplies. An ideal place to isolate those who might yet be saved, Ron imagined. What am I going to do about them? I'll start by going into the Forbidden Forest, there's a Tribe in there that might take the survivors in, but the chances of that happening are low. Centaurs are notorious for hating outsiders, including Centaurs from other Tribes. Well, at the very least, I'll get to meet Firenze, again, and thank him properly for saving my life.

Entering the Magically enlarged tent, the first person Ron spotted was Daphne, her sleeves rolled up as she bathed several bandages in clean water. She is making good progress, and no matter what anyone says, it can't be denied that she's stepping out of her shell every time she comes here. Dragging herself through that wet forest, digging latrines, helping Reid tend to those who can be saved… She's not backing down from any challenge. I should show her that I'm proud of her, but not in a manner that gives her a big head. She has a long way to go before she can even begin to think of herself as my equal, but still, good work requires praise. A smile, then? A genuine smile that shows her that I am watching, and that I am proud of her. Yes, that'll do nicely, but first…

He sensed a man approaching him from his right, turning to face Reid just as the tall, handsome Vampire came into view. He looked rugged, no doubt due to living in the woods for the last week, but despite that, there was an elegance to him that could not be ignored. He was a man in his element, and his dirtied, bloodied shirt and vest suited him perfectly.

"Mr. Weasley, at last," Reid offered the young Slytherin his hand, which Ron took without hesitation. "I've been wanting to-" he stopped abruptly, his nose twitching. My scent finally reached you, then? Took longer than expected, but then again, it smells quite rank in here.

Reid went to pull his hand back, but Ron tightened his grip and pulled the man closer. "Director Jonathan Reid… It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, face to face. Hm, you are handsome, just as Daphne described."

"What? I didn't-… No, I mean-…" Daphne stammered, looking between the two. "Ron, stop that, will you? Forgive him, Director Reid, but he's got a twisted sense of humour." Guilty.

Reid just stared at the boy holding his hand hostage, doing very little to hide his discomfort. "…A pleasure, yes… Mr. Weasley, are you aware-?"

"Oh, I am," Ron whispered, his lips twitching upwards. "It's all right, though. You've nothing to fear from me, unless you do something to earn my ire." With that, he let go of the Vampire, who promptly took a step back. "London tells me that you're going beyond the duty of care for these people. You have my thanks, and my respect. Anything you need, you just say the word. I'll sort it out personally." If I can tolerate the likes of Ajax fucking Chloros, then I can tolerate this man too. He wouldn't be here if he didn't care, and that means something. Whatever his past, he's dedicated himself to the Healing Arts for nearly a century, now, according to London. This man… This man is worthy of my respect.

Reid looked between Ron and Daphne, the latter stopping her work as she noticed that something was off with the Director of St. Mungo's. "…I uh… Right… Well, if I need something, I'll let you know." Trying to get rid of me, are you? "I must get back-"

"Tell me of Zotair, first," Ron cut in, ignoring the pleasure he felt from seeing the fear behind Reid's eyes. It feels wrong to feel this good… But look at him… Just look at how wary he is, because he can sense my power. Because he can sense that I'm the more dangerous predator, that I would kill him in an instant if he so much as bared his fangs at me. A good man would never feel this way, but I do, because I'm sick… Vile… Perverse… Evil… Nothing like this great man…

"The Chief is… going to get worse before he gets better," Reid started, matter-of-factly. "He vomits most of what he eats, because his body is not used to a healthy diet. I have him eating plainer foods for now, but once he begins to grow stronger, we'll get some proper nutrition into him. Today, he's too weak to even walk, so-…"

"Sorry to interrupt, boss," London rushed inside, leaning into Ron's ear. "The Chief is outside. He came to see you." Did he, now? That's more like it.

"What?" Reid frowned. "No, no… He needs to rest, London. Tell him to return to his-"

"I won't take up too much of his time, I promise," Ron said, turning to leave. "Return to good your work, Director. London, stay here and help, would you? Zotair and I will need privacy."

"Sure thing," London gave a nod as Ron passed her by.

Just before exiting the tent, he looked back to Daphne, smiling fondly at her and her drenched forearms. I'm certain I could never look that beautiful washing out the blood from used bandages. She blinked at him, taken aback by the look he was suddenly giving her, but soon enough, she was smiling coyly in return, her cheeks becoming rosy in short order. That'll do just fine, I think. He promptly stepped outside and saw Zotair standing tall in anticipation of meeting him, his crudely-made iron mask was not a welcome sight after witnessing Daphne's blushing smile.

"You came, Fire-Hair," Zotair whispered, leaning heavily against an old, but sturdy, branch. "And, once again, I did not see your arrival in the stars. You are most… intriguing…" Even the World-Eater can't see my future, mate. Your stars don't stand a chance.

"What can I say?" Ron shrugged, taking a step forward. "I'm an unpredictable man."

"You very well might be, but, I think, you have tapped into a greater power than mere unpredictability," Zotair chuckled weakly, turning around with great effort. Right on the money, eh? Clever man. "Come… Please… I would have us… share some words…" He's in pain, clearly. Well, that makes two of us, then. My head is still throbbing, and my legs are on fire.

"You wouldn't happen to have another branch lying around, would you?" Ron asked, following after the Centaur.

"Why? Do you need one?" Zotair asked in response, not looking back.

"Oh, yes… The Portkey here fucked me with great enthusiasm. It's taking everything in my power not to walk bow-legged right now."

Zotair chuckled, again, looking back this time. "You mask your anger well, young wizard, but your eyes… They betray you. There is an inferno behind them." Ugh… I hate intelligent people. They're much harder to con, especially when I'm irritated. "Was fulfilling my request an inconvenience for you?"

"Yes."

"I apologize sincerely, then," Zotair continued forward. "My curiosity has always gotten the better of me."

"Do you know what they say about curiosity?" Ron asked. "It killed the cat."

"I may walk on four legs, Phantom, but I am no cat," Zotair responded, a hint of amusement seeping into his strained voice. Phantom? I'm not dead yet, mate. "You are different from before. Stiffer. Irritated. Restless. Is it because I spared Lord Greengrass?" Again, right on the money. That's going to get annoying, isn't it? And, why is he calling that degenerate 'Lord'? Fucking hell… Where's his self-respect?! Where's his rage?!

"I don't enjoy conversing with weak-willed cowards, so yes, I'm not in the most sympathetic mood," Ron admitted, removing his mask entirely. "However, since you're a dying man, and I am not entirely without compassion, I travelled here to sate your curiosity. Ask me your questions, so I can be on my way."

"Then, allow me to start with a simple one," Zotair stopped, they had reached the outskirts of his yurt. "In my place, what sentence would you have passed upon Sebastian Greengrass?"

"Death," Ron answered without hesitation. "I heard that you Centaurs trample those who commit murder within the Tribe. I was hoping to see his crushed, broken body, but you denied me that." Still, I have other irons in that particular fire. The Americans, Bones, dad, Daphne, even Mary… One way, or another, I will see him punished. I will see them all punished.

"Is his daughter not your friend? Could you truly condemn the man so easily?"

"Justice knows no friends," Ron whispered icily. "Justice must be blind, dumb, and uncompromising in the face of a man like Sebastian Greengrass. The judgement you passed… It was wrong, and cruel, and weak, and it dishonoured your people. It spat in the faces of your dead children."

Zotair gave a slow nod, averting his gaze. "You are not the only soul who feels this way. The Tribe, or what's left of it, feel betrayed by my mercy. They question me, doubt me, and I admit with a full heart that I have earned these harsh feelings." He then looked back to Ron, limping closer. "Do you know why I truly spared him?"

"Because you feared retribution," Ron answered, frowning. "It's obvious, in hindsight. He broke you a long time ago, didn't he?"

"Death only births more death," Zotair told him. "If I had taken his life, as was my right, then soon after, his people would come to revenge their fallen Lord, because wizards have never cared for my rights. My Tribe would die, even the children, and in the end, the only one who would be left satisfied would be you."

"You speak like you have some great life waiting for you, you Inferius," Ron scoffed. "You're all dead, anyway, so you might as well die fighting, eh? Might as well get even before you go out? Might as well show that bastard that he may have broken your bodies, but your spirits remained hard as Goblin-Steel to the very end?"

"Ah, but it was not my life I was concerned with, Vengeful One," Zotair stated, coughing right after. "…I chose mercy, and in turn, mercy was granted upon a fortunate few within my Tribe. The Blood-Drinker has promised me that he can save many of the children, and even some of the warriors." Can't argue with the deluded, can you? "What say you to this?"

"I say that you got lucky, nothing more. The Healer who works for me found this 'mercy' you speak of, not you. And, let's go back for a second, shall we? You think I'd just let Greengrass' goons come here and kill everyone? You think I wouldn't be waiting out there in the woods for them? Hungry for their blood?" Ron then shook his head, smirking knowingly. "Why is it that wise men always claim the credit for circumstances out of their control? I'll tell you why… Because having a talent for that is what makes them 'wise'."

"It is true that I did not know that some of us could be saved, but I have also found that those who bring life into the world are rewarded with life-"

"Karma, then? That's your argument? Well, let me tell you something, Chief Zotair… Karma, fate, destiny, fortune, providence… They are my playthings, and wherever I am concerned, they have only as much power as I allow them to have. Why do you think you can't see me in your stars? My power renders destiny mine to shape, and only mine. So, no… Sparing Greengrass did not save your Tribe, it only allowed a murderer to walk away, and any blood he sheds now will be on your hands. And mine… Because I was foolish enough to place my faith in you. You, who have been left broken by your defeat, and now hide behind the mask of wisdom so no one sees just how afraid you really are." I know that fear, Zotair. It's mine, as well.

Zotair nodded, again, as if absorbing each word sent his way. "This power over destiny… How does a child come to possess it when even emperors fall to their knees before prophecy?"

"By being the wrong person at the wrong time," Ron answered, flashes of his first-self cowering before Fate replaying in his mind. "It doesn't really matter how I got this power, though, all that matters is that I got it, and not someone who'd use it only for themselves. For that alone, this world should be grateful."

The Chief Centaur stared at him, studying him, before bowing his head. "Heavy is the head that wears the crown, as they say." Heavier than you can even imagine. "As a boy, as a young warrior, I always dreamed of being Chief after my father, but now, I long for days free of such responsibility." …Me too…

"A man's lot in life is responsibility, and those who shy away from it are not men. They are worms who have learned to walk upright."

"On this, we can agree without debate," Zotair stated, his voice firmer than before. "I cannot say that my mercy was the right decision, but I can say this, sparing him finally broke his hold on my heart." …What? "Vengeance burned within my veins for so long that it left me hollow, but then, despite what the stars had shown me, he came to stand before me, again. Something had altered our destinies, his and mine, and for that, Phantom, I thank you. You gave me the chance to set myself free from a lifetime of hatred and contempt."

"…You're welcome…" Ron said dully, giving the Centaur a bored look. "At least, one of us came out of this clusterfuck happy."

"Not happy, simply at peace," Zotair corrected. "Perhaps, mercy can set you free too? Perhaps, it can douse the inferno within your heart?"

"I showed mercy very recently, and it brought me anything but peace," a look of disgust flashing across his face. "I will have peace when scum like Greengrass are no longer able to roam free. I will have peace when all men hold those who commit sin accountable. I will have peace when my enemies lie dead at my feet." I will have peace when the world no longer needs a monster like me to safeguard the weak.

"You are truly fascinating, Fire-Hair," Zotair whispered, his tone devoid of any judgement, much to Ron's surprise. "I have not met many wizards in my short lifetime, but I imagine there are very few who are like you."

"There are no wizards like me… Only me," Ron turned to leave, fixing up his tie towards the centre. "Rest now, Zotair. Your legs look ready to give out, and I don't have any desire to carry you to your bed."

"Will you return in the foreseeable future?" Zotair asked, stopping Ron. "I enjoyed this conversation, brief as it was, and would like to indulge myself, again." I should just say no, but then again, perhaps I can get something out of this that'll help Daphne along her path.

"I might…" Ron turned around, looking the Centaur up and down. "But only if you indulge me, as well."

"What is it that you want, Phantom? I, and my people, have nothing left to give." Oh, but you do.

"My friend, Daphne, she is quite taken with you," Ron started. "When she speaks of you, it is with the utmost respect. I'd say reverence, even. You sparing her father woke something within her, and I would like that something to grow."

"That's very strange of you, given that you disagree with my judgement," Zotair rightfully pointed out. Not so odd at all. I don't want her to become bitter, unforgiving, and heartless like me. She has to be better. She has to be Daphne Greengrass, not the Champion of Fate.

"The world doesn't need another Ronald Weasley, one is more than enough to get the job done," he stated plainly. "What it needs is more compassion, more kindness, more harmony… I am not equipped to teach these virtues, but someone like you is. I am not asking you to take her under your wing, but if you could speak with her, if you could help her figure out what she wants to stand for, then I'd be grateful enough to return for another debate. That is my price." I don't like taking control away from myself, but for Daphne's future to be as bright as the sun, I'd do anything. And, if nothing else, this will prove to be a valuable experience for her.

"I do not wish to expose her to my illness-"

"But you're willing to expose me?" Ron cut in. "A cowardly response, Zotair, one that I will not accept. If you have a problem with who her father is, then just say it, and I won't bring this up, again, but don't try to trick me."

Zotair hesitated, but eventually, he gave a reluctant nod. "You are right. She is not her father. I have already glimpsed a strength beating within her heart that her father could never hope to harness. Very well… I shall guide her in seeking, and nurturing, that strength." The strength he speaks of… Could it be 'Love'? Ugh… The Headmaster's probably dancing atop his desk right now…

"Then, we'll have another debate one of these days. Try not to die before then, will you?"

---

?

His eyes fluttered open, his body feeling as though it were put together with stone and molasses. Where… am I? I was at the camp, with Zotair, wasn't I? We were just talking, and then… What happened? Weakly, he looked around as his vision began to clear, and alarmingly, he realized that he was in a room at St. Mungo's. I know these ugly, white walls… What. The. Fuck? Why am I here? With a throaty groan, he sat up and rubbed his eyes, trying to remember how he had ended up here, but despite his great effort, he couldn't find the memory that would answer his many questions. This is either a dream, or the Portkey back landed me here. Either way, I need to figure out what's going on-…

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a toilet flushing, followed shortly by Charlie stepping out of the adjoining bathroom. Why are you here? Bloody hell, whatever happened must've been serious. His older brother paused when he spotted Ron sitting up, before relief overtook his face entirely.

"Ronnie, you're awake," Charlie whispered excitedly, shifting closer to the bed. "You gave us a right scare there, mate. Mum and dad will be so relieved-"

"What happened?" Ron cut in, looking around the empty, dark room. "What am I doing here?"

"You don't remember?" Charlie blinked, sitting at the edge of the bed. "You had another seizure, a pretty terrible one, and your bodyguard, that Artyom fellow, he carried you here in a rush." Fucking Ravencunt! He'll be the death of me, that damn lunatic! "Ron, you've been out for nearly a week, now." WHAT?! A WHOLE WEEK?!

"Please, tell me you're joking," Ron panicked, before promptly trying to get off the bed. "A fucking week?! Fuck me!" My work! I've wasted so much time-!

"Oi, don't do that," Charlie grabbed him by the shoulder, keeping him in place. "Stop that, you maniac! Ron! I'm serious!"

With a little more strength, his older brother easily pinned him to the bed. "Let go of me, you gorilla-"

"You are staying right here, while I go and get a Healer," Charlie instructed, his voice laced with the anger he was infamous for. "I will tie you to this bed if I have to, so don't force my hand, little brother. Stay. Here. You got that?" Ron frowned deeply, resenting that he was too weak to cast Cutis Terra in order to move Charlie out of his way. "Say you got it, now. Or, I'll sit on you and start singing." Ugh… He used to do that to the twins and Percy whenever they got uppity with him…

"…I got it…" Ron grumbled, relenting. "…Fuck… A week? I can't believe it…" I was supposed to get in touch with the Tribe in the Forbidden Forest. Fucking useless… That's what I am… Oh, and all that homework that still needs doing… Damn it all-…

"Well, not a week, but close enough," Charlie said, moving off of him. Huh?

"How many days, Charlie?"

"Four," his brother replied, and Ron drew in a sharp breath. Fate give me strength… "It's Wednesday, today. Just a little over eleven last time I checked."

"Then, say that, instead of saying it's been a week-"

"I said 'nearly a week', didn't-?" Charlie started, but swiftly stopped himself. "You know, let's not have an argument. You're up, and that's all that matters. Let me go and get the Healer, yeah? Do you want something to drink? Something to eat?"

"I'll have some poison if you can find it, thank you," Ron gave a sarcastic smile, before frowning, again. Nearly a week… Still, four days is hardly any better. I need to get out of here as soon as humanly possible.

---

Thirty Minutes Later

"So, basically, I'm perfectly fine," Ron summarised, giving Healer Geoff a bland look. "Just a bit of exhaustion, that's all." And, by exhaustion, I mean a soul leech who wears my beak-nosed mug and laughs at me at every opportunity.

"Externally, yes, you are mostly in good health, but again, I recommend another brain scan," Geoff sighed out, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Mr. Weasley, for all we know, the damage has spread further since the last time you and I went through this-"

"No, thanks," Ron refused. The 'damage' has definitely spread, but I don't even know any more if it really is 'damage', and I'm not in the mood to answer questions that I myself have no answers to.

"Ron, stop being stubborn," Charlie scolded, before looking to the Healer. "Let me talk him around-"

"I said no," Ron cut in, his voice turning deadly. "I will not repeat myself, so drop it."

"Why? What's wrong with you?" Charlie demanded, frustrated.

"I will not have this threat of imminent death hanging over my head, fucking me up with dread and anticipation," Ron told them, his jaw clenching. "I told you, Healer… I can't sleep. Knowledge can sometimes be a burden, believe it or not. It can cripple, cause indecision and doubt, and I won't no part in that, anymore. If I am to die, then so be it, but I will not let this illness control me. My indecision can cost lives, and you should understand that as a bloody Healer."

Geoff let out another sigh, before giving a weak nod. "Very well… I won't press the matter, as I can only recommend a course of action. However, there is one matter on which I must press… Both out of duty, and out of sheer curiosity."

"What matter?" Ron asked sternly. He's beginning to irritate me.

"Your forearm…" Geoff answered, gesturing towards it. Oh, fuck me… I completely forgot about that. "When we removed your clothes, we saw the bandages around it. Bandages that smelled of Numbing Balm… Mr. Weasley, what exactly gave you those wounds?" Ron pressed his lips together tightly, shooting his right forearm a quick glance. Fresh bandages on it. They've been keeping my forearm numb for me. "We tried everything to close those… holes, but nothing worked. Nothing. It's as if they cannot be Healed, or changed in any manner, and I've never seen anything like that. What caused that injury?" A fucking idiot of the highest calibre caused it.

"Answer him," Charlie added, looking ready to wallop Ron over the head. "Even Pandora has never seen Magic like that, Ron, and she used to explore the most niche Branches of Magic for a living." Ah, so they've all seen the injury, then. Mum, dad, Pandora, Xenophilius, probably even Sirius… Brilliant. Just fucking brilliant, honestly. I love having my hole fingered relentlessly by the Universe. Feels amazing.

"I… practice Magics beyond the understanding of people like you… Average people, I mean," Ron shrugged, deciding that he didn't have to explain anything. "I caused the injury, and yes, you are right, it cannot be Healed. It is a permanent scar upon me, and upon reality itself."

"Reality itself?" Geoff blinked repeatedly, whereas Charlie gaped.

"Are you just making shit up?" his brother asked, looking between Ron and the Healer. "What do you mean by 'upon reality'?" It's the only way I can describe it, really. After giving it much thought, I believe that 'reality' itself, around my forearm, at least, has been devoured. Nothing can undo that, no different from anyone being capable of undoing the work of the World-Eater. It doesn't just eat worlds, it eats everything. Time. Space. Memory, even, according to Bones. Whatever it touches, directly or indirectly, it simply ceases to exist. It becomes 'nothing'. That's why I'm an 'Anomaly'. I shouldn't, and don't, exist within the Tapestry of Time, within Creation, exactly like the Entity. Its power is… beyond understanding… The Void, nothingness actually being somethingness, it's all just so mental. I mean, I could be completely off the mark here, and there's just no way of knowing-…

"Mr. Weasley? Please, elaborate further-"

"I don't think I will," Ron interrupted. "Knowledge can also be dangerous, and weak men are always consumed by it. Know your place, Healer. And you as well, Charlie. The answers you seek… I don't think you'd survive them. So, drop it and move on." If anyone else asks me about my forearm, they'll get the same answer. I'm not dealing with this fucking headache, and no one can make me. I'm sick of people and their never-ending curiosities.

"Then, I have no choice but to report this to the Ministry-" Geoff started.

"Do you want to go home? At the end of your shift, I mean?" Ron asked plainly, his eyes digging into the Healer's. "Finish that sentence, and I promise you, they'll never find you. Your loved ones, the Ministry, no one. And people will look for you, because you will be missed, but you won't be found. Ever. There will be no closure for your cherished ones, no recovery, only endless grief, and all because you tried to back me into a corner." More powerful people than you have tried that, and where the fuck are they, huh? Where's Fudge? Where's Violet Parkinson? Where?

"…Ron…" Charlie muttered, giving him a disturbed look. "…Fucking hell…"

Ron, however, just kept staring at Healer Geoff, holding his gaze until the man lowered his own. "Well? I'm waiting, mate. Finish the sentence. You saw who brought me here. Did he look like a man you want to run into outside of this building?" He then leaned forward, sneering. "Any man, woman, or child, for good or evil, who gets in my way, tries to stop my work, will be eviscerated off the face of this Earth, unless they're strong enough to eviscerate me, first. And you… You don't look strong enough to me, Healer… No, you wouldn't even last a week. So, be smart, and just walk away. Don't ever bring this up, again. Cut it out of your memory, and live, hm? Doesn't that sound better than ending up in a volcano, or the sea?" Geoff said nothing, but Ron knew that the man agreed because the heavy silence told him so. "You have my gratitude for taking care of me, for placing fresh bandages on me, but don't think for a second that your kindness will stop me from ending you. Get out."

Geoff wasted no time in leaving the room, muttering unintelligible nonsense under his breath as he did so. Once he was gone, Ron leaned back on the head of his bed, frowning darkly. I need to get out of here. If I stay, there will be more questions that I can't answer, which will only breed suspicion both here and in the Ministry. I'm supposed to be avoiding the spotlight, and I'm fucking it up like some stupid twat.

"Bet he wishes the seizure did me in, now, doesn't he?" Ron broke the silence, looking to his mute, and visibly dazed, brother. I think, tonight, of all my siblings, he's come the closest to seeing who I really am behind the mask. I should give him a few minutes to adjust-…

"…I used to write down Spells for you," Charlie muttered apprehensively. "Do you remember? In that little journal of yours? You'd light up every single time, and in a heartbeat, you'd be attached to my leg. And me? Well… I'd hold back Spells just because those hugs meant the world to me, so I'd give them to you one at a time, no matter how much you begged." I remember. "Now, you're telling me that you've delved into Magic so… profane… that you can't even take the time to explain it to me?"

"Yep," Ron shrugged. "Do you have a problem with that?" If you do, then say it. Go on. Stop playing on my heartstrings, because that won't get you very far with me. They've been turned to stone, you see? Because my heart can't take any more pain.

"…What happened to you, Ron?" Charlie asked, his expression falling. "And why won't you tell us? We'd understand… We would, I promise-"

"People always say that, before they get the explanation," Ron stated, remembering how Greengrass had begun to lie to him out of fear. "I've trusted people with the knowledge of who I really am, with what's inside of me, and they spat in the face of that trust. Never again, though. No… I'd rather fuck off entirely than be hurt like that once more." I saw him as my father… My own fucking father… I'd have died on the spot if he so much as asked me to. Merlin, I loved him so much, but it wasn't enough, because he grew to fear me. Behind that proud smirk of his, fear was running rampant, and I never even noticed until it tore my heart out of my chest and stomped on it. "Monsters, Charlie, are not loved. They are not understood. And you know what? That's right. That's how it should be." Who could ever love Ronald Weasley? A murderer… A hypocrite… An evil man disguising himself as good… Sebastian Greengrass couldn't love him, and neither could you. I am, and will always be, alone. That is my fate.

Charlie shook his head to himself, whispering under his breath. "…You're one fucked up kid, Ron…" He then adorned a rather serious expression, locking eyes with his little brother. "But if you think I'd ever stop loving you, then you're fucking stupid too." Ron raised an eyebrow at that, somewhat surprised. That was unexpected. He usually never says things like that. "I taught you how to fly a broom, yeah? Broke my fucking wrist in the process, because you never fucking listened to my instructions, thinking you'd be some prodigy, or something. Oh, I got you started on learning proper Magic, more so than Percy ever did, remember? He just filled your head with his theories, but I taught you incantations. I fucking raised you, you arrogant twat, when dad was fiddling with his toys and mum was chasing after Ginny, that little hellion. And, sure… We've fought a few times over the last year, and things got out of hand, but even when I was fucking livid with you, I loved you." Ron looked away, feeling increasingly uncomfortable. "Keep your secrets, but don't act like you know everything about everything. You're fourteen, yeah? An angsty bag of raging hormones, that's what you are. Don't ever tell me that I'll stop loving you, because I just won't. You're not the only stubborn shit named Weasley." With that, Charlie stood up with a displeased frown plastered on his face. "I'm going to the Burrow to get you some actual food. When I get back, you'd better be here. I swear, Ron, I'll fucking wring your neck if you run off. You're going to eat, and then you're going to sleep. You can do whatever you want come morning, but until then, your arse doesn't leave this bed. People are too soft with you, Merlin help me… The only language you're capable of understanding is a strong smack in the face, and I'll gladly give you one whenever I think you need it." The Universe loosens me up, and then, my brother fucks me. Nice. "Stay in the bloody bed, you got that?!"

"…I got it," Ron agreed, just so he'd have some quiet. Charlie is like a wind-up toy. Once he gets going, he just keeps going and going and going, until he fucking explodes. Best to stop him now, before I end up in a headlock, or worse.

---

Thursday 27th May, 1994 (St. Mungo's – Early Morning)

Ron awoke at first-light, as he always did, his body having grown dependant on his routine. Time to leave, at last. Yawning, he began to sit up, only to stop because something heavy was keeping his left arm from moving about freely. What the…? His eyes pinched into narrow slits, Ron examined Charlie's bulky form sleeping on a seat beside his bed, he'd held Ron's hand through the night by the looks of it, whilst using his forearm as a pillow. …I was having another nightmare… I was running from the broken Hourglass, its prisoner hunting me down like a rabbit caught in a maze…

Ron's expression softened for a moment, the stony heartstrings trembling within his chest, but he was swift in suppressing his emotions in exchange for control. What he said to me last night… What if he's right, and I'm wrong? Am I brave enough to test my theory? No… I don't think I am… How can I protect them if they run from me? And how do I protect them from myself? His usual tiredness crept onto his face, and with subtle movements, he freed himself from his brother's hold. I need to get dressed and get to the Black Lake. I've rested more than I deserve.

He shuffled silently to the bathroom, locking the door behind him. "Marty? Can you hear-?"

His partner-in-crime popped into the room with a crack, his large eyes brimming with tears as he stood atop the toilet. "MASTER!"

"Shhhh," Ron cringed visibly, raising his hands. "Not so loud-"

"Master is awake!" Marty jumped off the toilet and rushed him, clinging to his leg.

"Marty, stop that!" Ron hissed, nearly losing his balance. "Merlin's Beard! Have some dignity, please! I'm not even wearing any pants beneath this gown! You're going to get your eye poked out!"

"Marty was so… scared…" the Elf sniffled, his snot clinging to the gown. EW! Marty, please! "So scared Master would not rise from-"

"Stop!" Ron raised his voice a little, his patience coming to an abrupt end. "You will control yourself, now!"

"Forgive Marty, please," the Elf pulled away, using his pillowcase-top to wipe his nose clean. "But Marty is overjoyed… Overjoyed, and so very relieved…" Our bond must've felt so weak to him with me in here. Damn… I hate putting him through this.

Again, Ron's expression softened, and this time, it remained so as he knelt down to meet his friend's gaze. "I know, mate, I know… I'm sorry I scared you, again. Come here. Give me a proper hug, eh?"

Marty smiled shakily, silent sobs still wracking his tiny body as he shifted into Ron's embrace and wrapped his thin arms around the young wizard's neck. They held each other for many silent moments, both of them equally glad to be reunited with each other. You're the only person this monster needs at his side, Marty. Even if the entire world turns on me, I know you never will, because we're a part of each other.

Eventually, Ron slowly pulled away, giving the Elf an encouraging smile. "No more tears, okay? I'm right here, and I'm not going anywhere anytime soon." Marty sniffled and nodded, swallowing thickly. "…I'm sorry… I'm so sorry, Mart-"

"N-No, Master… Marty u-understands…" the Elf whimpered, trying his best to regain his composure.

Unable to help himself, Ron pulled Marty into another hug, squeezing him tightly. "I mean it, all right? I'm here! I'm in front of-!"

A knock at the door stopped Ron mid-sentence, followed by Charlie's lethargic voice. "Ronnie? You in there? Are you okay? I heard… voices…" Shit! Marty must've woken him up!

"I'm just reciting some incantations," Ron promptly lied, pulling away from Marty and gesturing him to remain silent. "I think better on the throne, that's all. Nothing loosens your mind like loosening your hole, I say." Marty's face scrunched up in disgust, whereas Charlie let out a laugh. "I'll be right out after I shower."

"Sure, I'll go and get us some breakfast," Charlie responded, and once Ron was certain his brother had left, he focused on Marty, again.

"That was close, wasn't it?" Ron sighed out, standing up. "Look, we'll have to do this another time, okay? Right now, I need to get out of this place, and I can't do that in this thing… I need my running-"

"Marty will return with the clothing, at once," the Elf smiled more fully, looking a little more like his usual, cheery self.

"Thanks, mate," Ron said gratefully, tugging at the gown and pulling it off. "I'll be in the shower. Leave the clothes on the counter. We'll have a proper catch-up at Hogwarts, hm? You free for lunch?"

"Marty is on duty for lunch, but not for dinner."

"Dinner, it is, then. Bring Custard with you."

---

One Icy Shower Later

"So, he was here, then? Greengrass?" Ron asked, noticing from the corner of his vision that Tracey had already demolished her portion of the bacon and eggs Charlie had brought. The nerve of that fucker. Showing his face when I'm on my deathbed.

"Yeah, and Tiberius, and Muriel, and Tracey's parents, and a whole bunch of other people… It was pretty busy in here, honestly," Charlie nodded, rubbing his stubble. "Dad took a couple of days off from work, but then he was called in by the Minister herself. I think, he's getting a promotion." Filling a vacant seat on the Wizengamot, probably. He's a Ministry-man, through and through, and that's what Bones is in desperate need of to solidify her revolution. "Mum and Pandora stayed the longest, but little Lysander got a bit sick, so they decided to look after him together." It takes two women to look after one sick baby? "I know what you're thinking, but I reckon Pandora wanted to distract mum for a bit. For her own good, you know? What else, hm? Oh, how could I forget? Daphne was here. Told us you were too stubborn to stay down for long, and she meant it. She's a good one, I've always thought so."

"And the others… were with her… Even Draco…" Tracey added, her voice barely escaping her throat. "Theo left you… some flowers… But they got remo-… removed by the cleaners…"

"So, it's safe to assume that there's some drama in store for me in the near future," Ron said, not hiding his annoyance. Just what I needed, eh? People whining and crying in my direction.

"Don't be like that," Charlie clicked his tongue. "There's poor sods out there who have no one to worry about them. You're one of the lucky ones, Ron, having so many people drop everything just to sit at your bedside."

"Yeah, that's me, the lucky one," Ron fought the urge to laugh, picking up his plate and offering it to Tracey. "Here, have it. I know you're still hungry."

"Oh, no, Ron… I couldn't…" Tracey rasped, shaking her head.

"Eat," Ron pushed the plate into her hands. "You look light enough to float away because of the wind. Are they not feeding you in here?" Whose legs do I have to break to get you some proper meals, huh?

"They are, but… it's hard…" Tracey muttered, shooting him a grateful smile as she tore up a piece of bacon and popped it into her mouth. "I eat so much… but I always want… more…" And the Healers are trying not to stuff her, because they don't know what I know. She needs to leave this place. She walked here just fine on her own, Charlie told me so. She's ready, I reckon.

"Talk to your parents about returning to Hogwarts for your exams, at the very least," Ron instructed, and she gave a nod. "You've been doing your homework, yes?"

"…Yes…" Tracey replied with a practised smile, but Ron knew she was lying, so he kept staring at her. "I've been doing… a little, okay? It's so… boring…"

"You want to repeat third year?" Ron asked in response. "You want to get left behind?"

"…No…"

"Then, get on with it. I didn't bust my arse bringing you that shit just to watch you ignore it. How many times do I have to tell you to grow up before it sinks into your head, Tracey? People who don't take time seriously always end up with regrets. Don't be like those twats, yeah?"

Charlie looked between the two, before letting out a bemused chuckle. "Does he always lecture you lot like this?"

"Yes," Tracey rolled her eyes, before shooting Ron a cheeky grin. "It's cute, actually… He wants to… say 'I love you'… but ends up scol-… scolding us, instead… He's actually very sweet… and sensitive… for a boy… Don't let him trick you… for even a second…"

Charlie laughed mockingly, much to Ron's chagrin. "He's always been a sensitive one, my brother. Did you know that he used to sulk around the house whenever he thought people weren't paying enough attention to him? He'd pull this sorry face and just go from room to room, trying to guilt everyone into spending time with him. And the moment someone agreed, he'd start grinning like a madman. Emotional, and a top-class manipulator."

"I don't remember that," Ron said dismissively.

"Don't worry, the rest of us do," Charlie teased, chuffed that he could still get under his little brother's skin. "It's nice to see that some things never change."

Ron grunted to himself, before moving off the bed. "This is where I leave you two, I reckon. The morning is slipping away, and my feet are beginning to itch. You can continue to share lies about me behind my back."

"Wait… Before you go…" Tracey croaked, shooting Charlie a quick glance. "Um… What happened… to your arm, Ron?" Her too? Really?

"Don't bother, lass," Charlie spoke before Ron could. "Whatever the truth is, he has no intention of sharing it. Healer Geoff, and I, got nothing out of him. No, actually, we did get something… We got a load of rubbish, and a bunch of deranged threats." He thinks I was making things up? Fair enough. My life is weirder than anyone can imagine.

"Well, I want to… know…" Tracey adorned a more serious expression. "You knew how to… do up my bandages… because of your arm, right? How long have… you had that… injury?" What should I tell her? Should I tell her that it happened while I was going mad with grief over her? While I was being punished for being a weak, pathetic coward? Or, should I just leave? What are they going to do about that? What can they do?

"You just focus on yourself right now, all right?" Ron said nonchalantly, heading off. "Keep painting, and get that homework done."

"Real mature… Ron…" Tracey rasped, no doubt rolling her eyes as she did so. "Maybe, you ought… to grow up… too?"

The Champion stopped at that, feeling his blood boil in an instant. What the fuck did you just say to Us? However, just as swiftly as his rage had reared its ugly head, Ron forced himself to suppress it, using Professor Snape's teachings to stop himself from extending Tracey's stay in St. Mungo's. …It's fine… She likes getting the last word in, as always… And, more importantly, she doesn't know who she's really talking to. Control, old boy. Stay in control. Find someone who fits the code, and then take your anger out on them, instead.

Silently, Ron left the room, already pissed off about the questions he'd have to face with everyone who'd seen his otherworldly injury. I'll just ignore it all, I reckon. Ignorance is bliss, as they say, and the truth would only confuse and frighten them.

---

Blaise Zabini's POV

Thursday 27th May, 1994 (The Black Lake – Morning)

"He'll be back any day, now," Blaise assured Pansy, who had taken to moping about everywhere she went due to Ron's absence. "Sulking about it won't change anything-"

"I'm not sulking, Blaise," Pansy interrupted, vexed. "I'm just-… Ugh… You wouldn't get it…"

"You feel guilty, because you've been avoiding telling him the truth, and now, you're worried you won't get the chance to."

Pansy's shoulders sagged as she muttered under her breath. "…Okay, maybe you do get it…"

"I do, and I don't feel particularly sorry for you," Blaise started. "You've had plenty of time to come clean, Pansy, and I even promised to help you when you did, but you've used every excuse to avoid that particular conversation. All you're doing now is stressing people out with that sorry face of yours-"

"Do you have to be so mean?" Pansy groaned.

"I'm not being mean, I'm being honest with you," Blaise frowned. "If you want someone to hold your hand and tell you whatever you want to hear, go to Longbottom."

"Hold my hand?" Pansy laughed scathingly. "I'm always the one who has to do that, not him. He's so… awkward… He doesn't take any initiative, nor does he show any affection unless I do it first. Oh, and if Granger is around, he's always looking over his shoulder! It's so pathetic! It's like she owns him, or something!" She's ranting to someone who couldn't care less. "He hasn't asked me out on a single date yet, Blaise! Not even a walk! Daphne was always telling me about how special Ron made her feel, how he'd bring her gifts and perform romantic gesture after romantic gesture, and I've had none of that from Neville!" Blaise shifted uncomfortably in his spot, drawing in a long breath. "Honestly, I'm going to break up with him before the Break… I thought he'd get it together if I was patient, but he's just becoming more and more… Neville-like…" Neville-like? That's a decent insult, actually. I should use it on Malfoy, sometime. "I should do it right before the exams so he's so miserable that he fails them."

"That would be incredibly petty, Pansy, and you'd regret it."

"…I know… I'm just talking here, Blaise… Venting, that's all." When did I become the person people vent to? I don't mind if it's Ron, the bloke has a lot of problems, but when it's Theo, or Pansy, or even Daphne, I just can't understand it. "You're a great listener, Blaise. Thanks. I feel better, already."

"…Right…" he gave her a deadpan look. "So, will you stop sulking about?"

"Hmmm, no," Pansy smirked. "It got your attention, didn't it? So, I'll just have to keep it going, now."

"Then, I'll just stop-"

"RON!" Pansy's eyes suddenly lit up, before she broke out into a run.

By the time Blaise had gathered himself and turned around, she was already attached to the redhead. He's back! At last! Relief washed over him as he saw his best mate up on his feet, again, so much so that he couldn't help but smile when Ron lifted Pansy off her feet and spun her around, much to the raven-haired witch's delight. Daphne was right, no seizure can keep him down for long. Still, this one must've done a number on him… He was gone for several days.

"It's rare to see you down here, Pans," Ron smiled proudly, planting her on her feet. "Did you miss me that much?"

"No, I just wanted to be sweaty and gross first thing in the morning," Pansy laughed, clinging to his arm.

"Ah, so you did miss me," Ron teased, giving her a kiss on the cheek before looking to Blaise. "And you… I knew you wouldn't stop just because I'm not around."

"It's become a habit," Blaise shrugged, centring himself as to not be controlled by his excitement and joy. "The others were here too, but they finished early and left to get cleaned up."

"Was Harry here?" Ron asked, and immediately, Blaise felt a tinge of annoyance. What were you two whispering about the other day? He robbed your best mate, and you don't even care.

"Yes."

"Are you trying to become friends with him, again?" Pansy asked the question on Blaise's mind, sounding more curious than bothered.

"Why not?" Ron asked in response.

"Because he can't be trusted," Blaise answered bluntly. "Because he violated your privacy. Because he tried to 'expose' you to your own family out of envy. Because he's an over-praised, arrogant Gryffindor who will never respect you. Because the world is offered to him on a silver platter, whereas you have to work yourself to the bone to get what little you have." Because he humiliated me in front of the entire school, and everyone praised him for it.

"…Blaise…" Pansy muttered, visibly taken aback by his short rant.

"Displacement, mate, learn what it means," Ron chuckled, utterly unbothered. Displacement? What's that supposed to mean? "I reckon, behind his laziness and lack of direction, lies a truly noble individual. Someone who has strong values, and is definitely not afraid to fight for them. I… like that. I like it quite a lot. And, don't forget, he is Harry Potter… It's wiser to be friends with such a legend, instead of being his enemy." Whatever… Do what you want, as always. "Do you want to come for a lap with me?"

"…What?" Blaise frowned a little. "Where did that come from?"

"From my beautiful mouth, mate," Ron gave a cheeky grin. "C'mon, let's go right now. Pansy, do you want to join us?"

"I want to take a shower," Pansy let go of his arm. "I'll see you both at breakfast. And, Ron… I'm really happy that you're back. I missed you."

"Thank you, Pansy. I would say that I missed you too, but I don't remember anything."

"…Thanks… You're so sweet for a prat…"

---

One Lap Later

"Ah!" Ron exhaled, raising his arms to his sides. "Of all of Hogwarts, this place has to be my favourite! It's quiet, it's serene, and best of all, no one comes here! At least, not during this time of day!" Blaise nodded along, panting for air. That's it for me. I'm hungry, cold, and incredibly thirsty. I need to get back to the castle-… "I'm really proud of you, Blaise." Huh?

"Pardon?" the wheezing wizard managed, visibly taken by surprise. "…What did you say, Ron?"

"I said I'm proud of you," Ron turned around, his 'golden smile' already in place. "I know I don't say it often, but I've been watching you since I came back. You've been training harder than ever, you've been relentless in finishing up your homework, and you've been looking after Pansy. I'm proud of you, mate, and I want you to know it."

Blaise blinked, slowly straightening up his spine to stand up taller, despite feeling both uncomfortable and pleased. "Um… Thanks, I suppose."

"Am I embarrassing you?" Ron sniggered, and Blaise frowned in response. "That's not my intention, I promise."

"Then, what is your intention?" he asked, knowing that Ron was not someone who spoke without motive.

"My intention is to tell my friend that he's earning my respect. More so than usual, I mean. I know you're angry about what happened at the tournament-"

"I'm not angry," Blaise lied swiftly.

"You are, and I won't pretend like you don't have a good reason for it. However, I will say this… Don't let outrage drive you, please. It's just not worth it. Just focus on yourself, on what you're doing right, and forget about that sham of a tournament. As someone who spends most of his waking moments pissed off, I know how poisonous anger can be, and if you let it, it'll destroy the good in you." Bloody hell… Where is this sappy tripe coming from? "I don't want to see that, Blaise. I want to see you get ahead, to find success, and, hopefully, one day, to get rid of the shadow that looms over you." My murderous mother's shadow, you mean…

"What happened at St. Mungo's, Ron?" Blaise asked, his eyes darting towards the redhead's right forearm. I shouldn't ask about that strange injury of his. If he kept it hidden for so long, then he doesn't want to talk about it. I ought to respect that.

"Nothing happened," Ron shrugged. "I was just reminded, once again, that I'm not exactly in the best shape. I could lose my life at any given moment. So, I want you to know that I'm proud of you. Just in case, you know?"

"Don't talk like that-"

"And I also want you to know that blaming others for your failures is what cowards do, and that's not you, Blaise. You're strong. Stronger than Theo and Draco. Stronger than Daphne, Tracey, Millie, and Pansy. And, one day, you might even be stronger than me, but not if you let anger consume you. Trudging about Hogwarts with that bitter frown on your face, sulking in the dark corners of the common room, vomiting up poisonous words about people you know nothing about… You're better than that, all right? Don't be like me, please. Just… be you… Be Blaise Zabini, the wizard who turned away from a life of privilege because the cost was too high. It suits you better, and it'll take you further than your resentment ever will."

And with that, Ron turned on his heel and ran off to continue his exercise, leaving Blaise behind to ponder his words. Anger, huh? I suppose, he picked up on that, even though I tried to keep it contained. I won't lie to myself; I know I've been acting… different… I'm angry, and resentful, of so many things. Ever since I left my mother's house, I've just felt so… powerless… So pathetic… I'm not used to feeling like this, but instead of adapting as any clever Slytherin should, I've been letting my emotions control me. I've been letting my anger control me. Ugh… I don't know how to stop feeling this way… I don't know what my future holds, anymore, and that scares me more than it should. Ron says that I should just be Blaise Zabini, but I don't even know who that is, exactly? I mean, I've never even thought about what I want to do after Hogwarts. I was always planning to live a comfortable life, writing my poetry and painting the stars, but now? Now, I'll just be another cog in the Ministry, probably, and I resent that… I resent that I don't have what I used to, but at the same time, I'm glad for it too. What's wrong with me? How can I be this confused? How do I stop feeling this way? I wish someone would just come along and tell me how to be an orphan with not a Knut to his name, but it seems I have to figure it all out on my own.

---

Nymphadora Tonks' POV

Friday 28th May, 1994 (Ministry of Magic – Midday)

"Oh, hello, Arthur!" Tonks smiled pleasantly, stopping the man just as he exited the elevator.

"Tonks, how are you?" Arthur greeted distractedly, clutching onto three separate briefcases.

"The usual," the young Auror shrugged. "Need some help there?"

"Oh… No, no, that's all right," Arthur chuckled tiredly. "Busy day, that's all. I was just about to head to lunch, sort these papers out away from the noise."

"Wizengamot papers, huh?" Tonks smirked, glad that the man was finally getting recognition for his years of service.

"I can't really discuss that with you, or anyone," Arthur answered sheepishly, it was impossible to miss the flicker of excitement behind his eyes. "Classified stuff, all of this." I bet!

"Well, don't let me keep you," Tonks laughed, giving the man more space.

"Enjoy the rest of your day, Tonks-"

"Wait, before you go… How's Ron? Any change yet?" she asked, and Arthur promptly deflated. Is that a no, then? Damn… I wonder if he ever got around to sharing that will of his with his parents like he promised he would.

"He um… Well, he's up and about, again, so there's that," the man mumbled, and Tonks beamed at him. He's up?! When did that happen?!

"That's great news! You and Molly must be so relieved!"

"…We are, of course…" Arthur nodded, clearing his throat. "Anyway, I'd best be on my way."

"Is everything all right? You seem… bothered…"

Arthur let out a sigh, before pressing his lips together. Well? What's wrong? "He woke up last night, when Charlie was with him, and he left St. Mungo's first thing in the morning." They let him leave that fast? Why? "Didn't even get a chance to see him, Molly and me. Busy boy… Always in a hurry…" He didn't share the will with them, did he?

Tonks adorned a sympathetic smile; it was becoming quite apparent that Arthur was burying himself in paperwork to avoid dealing with his emotions. "I'm really sorry, Arthur. For you and Molly both, I mean. I shouldn't have brought him up-"

"No, it's fine," Arthur cut in. "We're glad he's on the mend. That's what matters, right?" …Right… "Take care, Tonks."

"You too, Arthur."

As she watched the man leave, she couldn't help but feel a familiar gloominess wash over her. Her head was still messed up from the raid on Knockturn Alley, and being a Metamorphmagus was doing more harm than good as a result. Her hormones were constantly in a state of flux, she was regularly changing form in her sleep, and the smallest bit of bad news made her feel as though the world was out to crush her soul. I've never felt this out of control when it comes to my body and my emotions, which are both, unfortunately, directly linked to one another. Merlin… I need a fucking vacation… This building, and everyone in it, is depressing me to death…

---

Ronald Weasley's POV

Friday 28th May, 1994 (Edge of the Forbidden Forest – After Classes)

"Are you sure you're up for this, dear boy?" Dumbledore asked, and Ron merely shrugged. "Centaur-Kind is proud, despite their lowly status within the Wizarding World, and that pride can be a dangerous thing. Their laws are ancient, barbaric, and without mercy. To even walk into their territory without permission is a crime punishable by death."

"They'd kill me for stepping foot inside their territory within the Forbidden Forest?" Ron asked, looking to the old wizard. "By what right do they claim this land as their own? They are only here because wizards allow them to be here. Should they not be grateful? Or, at the very least, be somewhat tolerant?" Firenze saved my life without hesitation, so I have to believe that not all of them are war-hungry fools.

"They've been here for over a century, now, and in that time, they have grown increasingly short-tempered with their wizard neighbours. They tolerate me, and Hagrid, yes, but that tolerance does not extend to the rest of Hogwarts. Please, allow me to do this for you. Return to the castle-"

"I do not fear them, Headmaster, nor will I turn and run in the face of their savage laws. I will speak to their Chief, man-to-man, and then, I will be on my way. If they try to harm me, I will fight back, and that will not end well for them. Arrows are nothing in the face of lightning, after all." Baubillious was made specifically to blind Centaur-Kind, if I'm remembering right. Their eyes are stronger than ours, able to see even in pitch-black darkness, but they are also more vulnerable to bright lights as a result.

Dumbledore let out a despondent sigh, shaking his head. "I do not wish to trample on your hopes, my boy, but they will not accept those children. Chief Magorian is not a merciful Centaur, from what little I've heard about him, nor does he tolerate those who keep the company of wizards. By meeting him, you will be exposing Firenze, and Chief Zotair's Tribe, to terrible danger."

"They would harm Firenze simply because he saved a pair of wizard boys?" Ron asked, frowning darkly. "Would they truly be so cruel to one of their own?"

"They would, yes."

"So much for enlightenment and wisdom," Ron muttered, looking back to the forest. "Then, I won't mention anything about Firenze, but my business is too important to ignore, Headmaster. I see no other option but to meet with this Magorian. Zotair is already passing into the next world, and without him, his people won't last long. I have a short window to save those who can be saved, and I'll be damned if I fail."

"Your compassion is, as always, your greatest quality, so I will not argue with you any further," Dumbledore said, following his gaze towards the forest. "Instead, I will ask that you not be discouraged when Chief Magorian proves himself unworthy as a leader." He sounds so certain of it. He is probably right, but I must try, nonetheless.

"Sorry 'bout keepin' you two," came Professor Hagrid's voice, followed by a lazy bark from Fang. "Tired old mutt refused to get up without a bribe." The large man then moved in front of Dumbledore and Ron, shooting an apologetic smile back. "Haven' been in there for a good while, but summat's got our forest riled up righ' and proper." Really? "We'd best be on our guards, Headmaster. Yeh too, Ron."

"Oh, you can count on me, Sir," Ron said with a pleasant smile. I got my Untraceable Wand back from Artyom, and I'm eager to use it, again.

"Lead on, Hagrid," Dumbledore ordered. "The sun will be setting soon, and I'd rather not trip in these robes. They are amongst my favourite."

---

One Hour Later

The Forbidden Forest seemed endless, sometimes, much like the forest above Mt. Greylock. Ron was certain that there were no Enchantments placed upon it, and yet, he still felt as though he could walk within this shadowy maze for an eternity and still never find the other end. Octavia's seed, Cedrella, will grow up in this dark place. I hope that doesn't affect her too much-…

"Here shoul' be good," Hagrid suddenly stopped, they had come upon a very small clearing. "Headmaster? Wha' do yeh reckon?"

"You know this forest better than I ever could, Hagrid," Dumbledore chuckled, his high spirits unaffected by the darkness around him. "If you think this location will serve us well as a meeting spot, then send out the signal."

"Ron? Are yeh ready?" Hagrid asked, and the young Slytherin gave a silent nod. "Right, then. Stan' back, yeh two."

Ron and Dumbledore did as they were bid, whereas Hagrid aimed his heavy crossbow into the sky. The moment he applied pressure to the trigger, a smoking, yellow bolt whistled through the air, disappearing through the leaves and into the sky. How are they going to see that? The trees here… They seem to enjoy not letting any light through. The Centaurs' camp must be on higher ground, then. Someplace with a good view of the forest, and, of course, the stars.

"Wha's this really 'bout, Headmaster?" Hagrid asked, turning around. "Not like yeh to come out here to meet this lot, and with a studen', no less. A bit strange, all of this."

"Ronald has a request to make of their Chief," Dumbledore answered, looking to the redhead. "Perhaps, he would like to explain it to you." I wouldn't. It's not his business. He's just the guide. "Ronald? Go on."

Ron gave the old wizard a deadpan look, before facing Professor Hagrid. "I am trying to help a Tribe that is facing extinction. Some of them, however, can still survive, but not on their own. They need a new Tribe, and this is the only one I know about."

The behemoth of a man nodded to himself, before grinning. "Yeh're a good one, Ron. Hermione's always singin' me yer praises, and I don' blame 'er." Hermione talks to me about you? Hm, I remember that the trio are very fond of this man. They even took me to his shabby little hut once.

"The Headmaster believes that Magorian will deny my request," Ron added. "Do you think the same, Professor?"

"Oh, I wouldn' know, 'onestly," Hagrid started, resting his crossbow on his shoulder. "Magorian's a bitter one, no denyin' tha'. Doesn' like wizards very much, won' even let his people talk 'bout them. Sees these woods here as his own, and I've seen him kill for them." Centaurs… Unless it's about stars and planets, they don't really use their brains, do they? "Yeh best not mention Firenze savin' yer hide to 'im, Ron. It'll end bad for the poor bugger."

"I will be careful," Ron promised. "I want to thank Firenze, but not if it costs him his life. I just… don't like that a good deed is seen as something punishable within this Tribe. Magorian must be a right twat to see compassion as sin."

"Try not to cuss in front of Chief Magorian, Ronald," Dumbledore's lips twitched upwards. "I don't believe that you and he share the same vocabulary."

"I won't make any promises about that, Headmaster. A cunt is a cunt, four-legged or two-legged, it doesn't matter." And I kill cunts who get uppity with me, because that's who I am. The biggest, cruellest cunt in the playground.

"Ron, none of tha', yeh 'ear?" Hagrid frowned deeply, jerking his head towards Dumbledore. "Show some respect before the Headmaster."

"Oh, fear not, Hagrid, for I have become quite used to his colourful language. I would even go as far as to claim that it is… endearing… in that it never ceases to change." See? When I call people cunts, it's endearing, because I mean it. "Now, we should all remain silent, for I sense the herd coming to meet us." You do?

Ron closed his eyes and focused his mind, reaching out to the Magic all around him. After a few moments, he too felt something in the far distance. It felt like a hurricane, a natural disaster, stampeding straight towards them. They are not happy about being summoned, are they? This is going to end poorly. The feeling grew stronger and stronger, until suddenly, Centaurs clad in primitive, fur-armour burst onto the scene, running circles around them with bows already nocked and at the ready. Ron drew in a calming breath as he reopened his eyes, studying the encircling Centaurs with a calm expression. They want to intimidate us, by the looks of it. They want to show us who these woods belong to. Infantile fools. Do they not know what the Headmaster is capable of? Do they really underestimate us wizards to this day? Despite us defeating them with little effort several times over the centuries?

Bored of this pointless display, Ron waited with a dull look on his face, until the largest of the Centaurs came to a halt before Hagrid, who was shielding those behind him with his large body. "Hagrid! You dare to summon us?! We have opened our camp to you, have we not?! What is the meaning of this?!"

"Yeh have opened your 'ome to me, but not to them," Hagrid answered, stepping aside. "I didn' mean to insult yeh, Magorian." So, this is him, then?

Chief Magorian was chiselled and tall, the stoutest Centaur Ron had ever seen, with dark, long hair, and a high-cheekboned face, and unlike his fellow Centaurs, he wore nothing but the quiver on his back. His dark eyes blazed with pride and vanity, and when he looked down at Ron, he sneered in disgust. Well, fuck you too.

"I know you, old man," Magorian turned his attention to Dumbledore, his voice deep enough to rattle the scales off a snake. "The wizard in the stone tower. My father spoke of you often."

"Chief Naranthir was a friend of mine, yes," Dumbledore smiled, bowing his head out of respect. "I was saddened to hear of his passing."

"Were you?" Magorian scoffed, not believing it. "Why then did you not attend him in his final days? Why did you not come to bid him farewell on his next journey?"

"The news of his passing reached me only when it was too late," Dumbledore replied, smiling sadly. "I mourned him, however, despite knowing that he had already found his ancestors within the Eternal Woods. Your father was a tracker of great renown, was he not?"

Magorian studied Dumbledore closely, before giving a short nod. "He taught us all, and he taught us well. I always questioned his fondness of you, a wizard, but perhaps, I was too premature in my judgement."

"Perhaps, you were," Dumbledore laughed cheekily, eliciting an amused grunt from Magorian. "Chief Magorian, this young man beside me is Ronald Weasley, and he has a proposition for you. For the sake of the friendship your father and I shared, I would ask you to listen to him."

Again, Magorian looked to Ron, and again, he sneered in disgust. "This boy… What are his triumphs? What has he achieved that emboldens him to stand before me with a 'proposition'?"

"Ron is a bright lad, Magorian, and he's got 'imself a heart'o'gold, he does," Hagrid spoke up, whereas Ron moved to the front.

"A heart of gold, and too many triumphs to count," Ron said, meeting the Centaur's gaze without any fear. "If you want to test me, we can do it right here. I'll leave you your ears, but the rest of you I will break." Dumbledore smiled sheepishly, whereas Hagrid shot Ron an alarmed look. "Well, Chief Magorian? What say you? Shall we speak? Or, shall we fight?"

Magorian peered deep into the redhead's eyes, and then, he rose up onto his hindlegs. Ron, however, remained unfazed, merely raising an eyebrow at the pathetic attempt to intimidate him. Magorian's forelegs dug the ground up upon landing, and he let out a menacing laugh that made Fang whine loudly in fear.

"A warrior's heart!" Magorian announced, and the other Centaurs let out strange calls and pounded their chests. "Speak to me, boy! I would hear more of your voice!" And that's how you win respect, by being a complete fucking lunatic.

"There is another Tribe of Centaurs, and unlike yours, it is on the brink of extinction," Ron started, keeping his eyes fixed on Magorian's. "Disease has ravished them, hunger has torn their bellies, and thirst has cut their throats. They are teetering on the edge of the Eternal Woods, and soon, they will join their ancestors. However, I have intervened, and now, some of their children, as well as some warriors, can be saved-"

"This herd bows to a wizard?" Magorian asked, not hiding his revulsion. "Then, let the crows feast on their bones! Do not speak to me of these mules!"

"They do not bow to me, nor would I ask them to," Ron continued. "I simply eased their pain, pain that was caused by a greedy wizard, and now, I have the chance to save some of them. That is why I've come here. Your Tribe is strong, and it will only grow stronger if you take in these children and warriors. I have come here on their behalf, because they will not survive without you."

Magorian looked around, studying his people's stony expressions. "No."

"You will not even consider it?" Ron asked, masking his frustration. "Not even for a moment?"

"No."

"Why? They are Centaurs, just like you-"

"They are not like me, boy," Magorian cut him off, his grip on his bow tightening. "I do not need the aid of wizards to cling to life. I do not allow wizards to enter my camp and act as my saviour. I do not lower myself to grovel at the feet of another herd. These children and 'warriors' you speak of, they do not deserve my mercy, nor do they deserve the Eternal Woods. They are a disgrace, and I would sooner kill them with my own hands than allow them to spread their shame to my people."

"There is no shame in living, Chief Magorian," Dumbledore chimed in. "Ronald went to great lengths to convince them. Please, take a moment to reconsider."

"I will not," Magorian said with a strong sense of finality. "Go back to your castle, boy, for you will not find me as easily swayed as the weakest of my kind. I do not want the enfeebled children of a failed herd sullying my people's honour and strength. They will find no life here, only death."

With that, Magorian turned and stormed back to his herd, who all followed his lead back into the deeper parts of the Forbidden Forest. Fucking hell… What a cunt…

"If you say 'I told you so', I will break your nose, again," Ron warned Dumbledore, his gloved hand pinching his eyes.

"I would never be so crass, dear boy," Dumbledore assured him, whereas Hagrid looked between the two. Horseshit!

"Wizards are cunts, Centaurs are cunts, Veela are cunts, I am a cunt… Everyone's a fucking cunt…" Ron grumbled, fighting the urge to bash his own head open against a tree. "What am I supposed to do, now?"

"There are other Tribes, Ron," Hagrid suggested. "Though, fair warnin', they'll say the same. Ruddy stargazers… Not interested in nothin' closer'n the moon, I always say."

"Perhaps, Asmodeus can offer you some insight into the matter, Ronald," Dumbledore advised sagely. "He has, somehow, gotten through to many Chiefs within the States, and helped forge new relations between the Centaurs and the American Congress."

"Yeah, the States, not the Chiefs here," Ron clicked his tongue. "And, don't forget, he had a Dryad in his pocket." Mine is still to be born. "Fuck it… It can't hurt, right? I'll need Fawkes tomorrow, if that's all right."

"I will ask him," Dumbledore patted Ron's back encouragingly. "Come along, my boy. You tried, and for that alone, I am most proud." …Thanks, Headmaster…

Ron let out a tired sigh, before following after the Headmaster and Professor Hagrid, ignoring Fang whimpering at his heels. Headmaster Harkin is my only hope, then. I was hoping to avoid going to him, seeing as he lives so far away, but the old man is right. Harkin knows about Centaurs, and if I'm lucky, he'll come back with me to help me sort this out.

"You have grown tall, young one," a familiar voice called out, and Ron stopped immediately. Is that…?

The Slytherin turned on his heel just in time to see Firenze step out from behind a thick tree, his white-blond hair and astonishing blue eyes exactly as Ron remembered them. It's you… My saviour…

"Firenze?" Hagrid called out, whereas Ron could do little but smile and stand to attention. "Wha're yeh doin' back 'ere?"

"I wished to listen more to this young man," Firenze said, gently trotting over until he stood before Ron. "I am pleased to see you, again. Do you remember me?"

"I do, Sir," Ron's smile grew larger as he gave a nod. "You saved my life, and I never even thanked you for it. Please, allow me to make up for that, now-"

"There is no need, friend," Firenze smiled back. "I heard what you said to Chief Magorian. I am proud to have helped you in your hour of need, now more than ever." The fair Centaur then looked towards Dumbledore, before bowing his head in respect. "Forgive my people, Headmaster, for they have become unsentimental due to these woods, and Chief Magorian harbours a great resentment within his heart for relying on your good grace."

"There is no apology needed," Dumbledore returned the respectful gesture. "Our kinds have quarrelled often, so some bad-blood is to be expected."

"Shouldn't you be with the herd, Sir?" Ron asked, concerned. "If they found out that you're speaking with us, wouldn't they be angry?"

"Firenze is a scout, Ron," Hagrid explained. "Movin' with the herd would get 'im in trouble. He's always at the back, or at the front. Ain' that right, Firenze?"

"It is," Firenze answered. "Worry not for me, friend. As far as the herd is concerned, I am doing my duty. Now, tell me more of this Tribe you spoke of. What tragedy has befallen them?"

"Not a tragedy, Sir, a calamity," Ron started. "A calamity named Greengrass… They were poisoned because they were an inconvenience to this wizard, and over the last decade, their lot has only gotten worse. They've lost children, mothers, fathers… Now, only a handful of them remain, but I have the chance to save some of them. I was hoping that your Tribe would take in the survivors, but that's not going to happen, is it?"

"No, it will not," Firenze said, not hiding his disappointment. "We Centaurs are a tribal people, and before Wizarding-Kind pushed us all into the shadows, we often waged war upon one another for land, game, and a good view of the stars. In Chief Magorian's eyes, this Tribe you speak of are a threat to his people, and so, he will never accept them."

"What about other Tribes? There must be some that will listen?"

"I'm afraid not, young one." You're joking… "We Centaurs live hard lives, and there is no place for weakness in the wild. These children and warriors you speak of, they will always be seen as damaged, as liabilities, and no Chief will weaken their Tribe for the children of another. It is… disappointing, but my kind is just that, isn't it? Disappointing…" Hold on, does he not like his own people? "You, however, are to be commended, which is why I remained behind to give you my perspective. I hope it proves useful to you."

"I'm certain it will, Sir," Ron said gratefully, though he couldn't help but feel dejected. "Thank you. For my life, and for taking the time to speak with me. I promise, I will find a way to help them, no matter how difficult the task proves."

"I believe you, Ronald Weasley," Firenze smiled, bowing his head. "Goodbye, for now."

"Goodbye, Sir."

---

Friday 28th May, 1994 (Sanctuary – Night)

Ron subtly looked up from his plate, giving Daphne a sheepish smile when he saw her glaring at him still. She had Custard on her lap, and even as she stroked the happy creature most tenderly, her displeased gaze remained fixed on Ron. I should say something, shouldn't I? Before she throws a glass at my head? Why did Marty have to be on duty, tonight?

"You're not hungry?" Ron asked, and Daphne drew in a sharp breath. Fucked it up!

"I told you I wanted to go with you into the Forbidden Forest, Ron," Daphne grumbled, narrowing her eyes. "You said you'd think about it, but then, you went without even telling me."

"I did think about it, and I decided against it," Ron sighed out, leaning back in his armchair. "Daphne, the Forbidden Forest is a very dangerous place."

"You went with Professor Hagrid and the Headmaster himself!" Daphne huffed in indignation. "I would've been perfectly safe with Albus Dumbledore watching over me!"

"Things almost got out of hand, even with them there," Ron tried pathetically. "And I-… I'm sorry, but I just can't put you in that sort of danger-"

"It shouldn't be your choice, Ron, it should be mine." Merlin, please come down here and slit my throat! I beg you!

"I know that, but I still…" Ron started, but trailed off. "Look, Daphne… Even if those Centaurs had decided to trample me to death, it wouldn't hurt me half as much as seeing you get an arrow in the arm… I can put my life in danger easily enough, but when it comes to you… No… I can't bear the thought of that, all right? I'm sorry, but that's just how it is."

"Hm…" Daphne's expression softened a little. That worked?! It worked! Press the attack!

"I mean it, honestly," Ron gave her a meaningful look. "If you were with me, I'd have spent the entire time worrying about you-"

"You don't have to butter me up like I'm a piece of toast," Daphne cut him off, shaking her head to herself. "I get it, Ron, but I still don't like it."

"That's fair," Ron conceded. "Let me make it up to you, eh?"

Daphne raised an eyebrow at that, clearly interested. "Make it up to me? How so?"

"I'm going to the States tomorrow, and I'd like you to come with me. Headmaster Harkin of Ilvermorny has a great deal of experience when it comes to Centaur-Kind, and he may be able to help us figure this out. What do you say?"

"Travel to the States? Via Portkey?" Daphne asked, it was hard not to miss the sudden trepidation in her voice. "Ron, is that wise? You just-"

"We'll be going with Fawkes, and I don't know why exactly, but with him, I don't get sick whenever I travel," Ron said reassuringly. "Well? Do you want to go on a holiday with me?"

"A holiday?" Daphne snorted, her lips twitching upwards playfully. "Let's hope this one is less eventful than the one in France."

"Ah, France… Do you remember our plan to explore Paris on our own?" Ron couldn't help but smile nostalgically. That didn't go over so well with her parents.

"I remember how angry I was when father denied us the opportunity," Daphne smiled back. "There was so much I wanted to show you, just us two, but, in the end, we just went wherever mother and Astoria wanted to go. Ugh, and Astoria… She made my blood boil all day long! I couldn't get a single second with you alone without her ruining it!" I remember we had quite a few moments to sneak kisses, actually, despite Astoria's attempts to steal my attention.

"We still had fun, though, right?"

"We did," Daphne agreed, her smile slowly waning. "Strange to think about all that's happened since, isn't it? I really miss those days…" Me too. "Mother's left the country, Ron. She's gone back to Germany." What? She has? Alone?

"How do you know this?" Ron asked, his brow furrowed.

"I finally mustered up the goodwill to read the letter she sent through Pansy," Daphne began, her expression crestfallen. "Do you remember the letter from Eric Schwartz? About my grandmother being mistreated by my grandfather? My mother has decided to do something about it. She's left my father to go rescue my grandmother."

"That'll end well, I'm sure," Ron muttered under his breath. "Why would she go by herself, though?" Is the rift I'm building between them working? Good. They will be easier to tear down if they're on their own.

"Because my family is being torn apart by my father's past," Daphne whispered miserably, not hiding how much all of this was weighing on her. "Tori doesn't even know what's going on, I want to be anywhere but close to them, and now, my mother's left my father. My family is dying a slow death, Ron, and I can't help but feel like we deserve it."

"Deserve it? You and Astoria don't deserve-"

"Don't we?" Daphne interrupted. "I have more gold in my personal vault than most people will ever see in a lifetime, and now, I know where that gold has come from. It's blood-money, no point in denying it. Honestly, I should just give it all away."

"That won't help anyone, Daph, least of all you," Ron said, his voice soothing and gentle. "You know it won't. If you just give it away, it'll end up in the hands of the selfish and the greedy. Better to use it yourself, I reckon, because, at least then, you know where it's ending up."

"…I just want to switch off…" Daphne admitted, averting her gaze. "…I want to be anyone but me right now…" Bloody hell, I didn't realize she was struggling this much. It's easy to forget that most people aren't like me, able to keep moving forward despite how high the shit gets.

It was not lost on him that he was behind quite a bit of Daphne's misery, as he was actively seeking the downfall of her parents, and so, with that in mind, Ron decided to show her that she would never be as alone as she feared she was. Ravencunt will consider this a waste of time, but I can't let Daphne go through this alone. It's pathetic, I know, but I just don't have the strength to see her this upset and not do something about it.

"You should eat, Daphne," Ron suggested. "Tomorrow is going to be a long day, and you'll need your strength."

---

Nymphadora Tonks' POV

Friday 28th May, 1994 (The Leaky Cauldron – Night)

"Seven kids?" Rodney gaped at Seth, who nodded solemnly. "Fucking hell… What the fuck…?"

"The same kids who went missing from the camps?" Tonks asked, and again, Seth gave a solemn nod. Gods be good… We were all so desperate to find them still alive… Fuck… "In the sewers, you said? Why? Why down there?"

"Because everyone figured the sewers were in shambles after those Muggle bombs went off," Seth managed, his hollow eyes fixed on his tankard. "Now that the Ministry is finally clearing up the rubble, I was asked to escort a team of Officials to check the damage down there. Spent the entire day surrounded by shit… And then, we saw them… Just discarded like trash… Poor little blighters…"

Tonks took a long swig, her hair colour turning to a sickly shade of white. "I'm sorry, Seth, that's-… That's just really fucked up…" That raid was the biggest mistake in the history of the Ministry, I'm fully convinced of it. I hope I get to live long enough to see Fudge get kissed by a Dementor, and that Umbridge bitch too. "Are you going to be all right? You've moved back in with your parents, haven't you?" I don't think he should be alone, tonight.

"…Yeah… Mum usually waits up for me…"

"This murderer…" Rodney seethed, gnashing his teeth. "We need to find this fucker, and we need to put him down. No Dementors, no Azkaban… Put him on his knees, and blow his head off with Reducto. I've been talking to some of those American Aurors, and that's what they do when they run into a proper menace like this twisted prick. No paperwork needed, they say-"

"That's murder as well, Rodney," Maria finally spoke up, she had taken to being extra quiet whenever Tonks was around out of sheer guilt.

"Is it? I don't think so," Rodney hissed into his tankard. "When you're running around killing children, dumping their bodies in the fucking sewer, then, as far as I'm concerned, you're a rabid dog. And what do we do with rabid dogs?"

"…We put them down…" Seth drew in a sharp breath, nodding weakly. "…He's right… If I find this killer, whoever it is, I'm going to kill them…"

"Don't say that," Tonks warned, looking around them. "If anyone overhears you, you'll lose that Auror badge in a blink."

"…I don't care…" Seth muttered, looking like a lost lamb. "…Fucking hate this job, anyway… Wish I never signed up to begin with…" The others exchanged looks, knowing that, deep down, they all shared the same feelings and frustrations. "The nightmares… The hatred behind everyone's eyes… Being treated like meat by the higher ups… I'm fucking sick of it all… Should've just helped dad with his shop…"

A heavy silence fell upon them, and Tonks took the chance to down her entire tankard to wash out the terrible taste of her job. "…I'm going to get us another pitcher. Anyone want anything to eat?"

When no one responded, she had her answer. Right, then. Two pitchers, it is. A liquid diet is an Auror's best friend, after all. She made her way over to Tom, gesturing with her fingers that she wanted two large pitchers. The bartender, as always, offered her a sympathetic look, before swiftly getting her order ready. He's a good bloke. Doesn't treat his patrons like shit, even if they're Aurors.

"You lot all right, tonight?" Tom asked as he placed the pitchers on the counter.

"…We're fine," Tonks lied, reaching into her pocket for some coins.

"Consider these on the house," Tom raised his hand, surprising her. "Just um… Just hang in there, all right?"

Tonks just stared at him, before nodding dumbly. "…Thanks, Tom…"

"Don't mention-" Tom started, but stopped abruptly, his eyes turning to someone behind her. "Haven't seen you in here for a while, Jane. You joining Tonks and her friends?" Did she follow me here from the Ministry?

Tonks turned to face the woman she now answered directly to; Madam Jane Roberts. As always, the old bat had a sour look on her face, her high-and-mighty righteousness shamelessly pouring out of every part of her being. What does she want from me? I filled out my reports and logged my arrests for the week. Please, tell me she's not actually here to drink with us. We're tired enough as it is.

"Tom, take those pitchers to Tonks' friends," Roberts ordered, her amber eyes fixed on the Metamorphmagus. "She'll be coming with me." I will?

"Why? I'm done for the day," Tonks questioned, earning herself a frown. Right… Can't even ask basic questions without her getting her knickers in a twist. Chain of command, and all that tripe… "I'm not going anywhere with you without an explanation. And don't give me that look, yeah? You're intruding on my weekend." Roberts just continued staring at her, disappointment seeping into her wrinkled frown. "…Fuck's sake… Fine… Let's go… Sorry, Tom, but can you-?"

"I'll sort them out, don't worry," Tom said reassuringly. "And, Jane… They're just kids, all right? You lot are pushing them too hard-"

"That is for us to determine, barkeep, not you," Roberts silenced the man, before turning to leave. "Come, Tonks." What a bitch… If she didn't save my life during that raid, I'd turn into a tiger and maul her.

---

"You… want me to gather information on Ronald Weasley?" Tonks whispered, staring at Crouch in disbelief. "The Ronald Weasley? The one who's dying? The one who's seen as Magical Britain's golden child? The one who the Ministry is now supposedly working alongside with? Does the Minister know about this?"

"She does," Crouch answered, there was a coldness behind the man's eyes that always gave Tonks the creeps. "I wasn't in agreement, at first, but then the boy put Alastor in St. Mungo's. He's a danger to this Ministry, to the people this Ministry serves-"

"Ronald Weasley is a danger to the people?" Tonks interrupted, looking towards Roberts with the same disbelief. Has everyone in this building gone mad?! "I thought I was in training to become a Hit-Wizard, Madam Roberts. What is this?"

"A waste of time and effort, that's what this is," Roberts turned her frown towards Crouch. Ah, so that's why she's so grumpy, tonight.

"That is for me to decide, not you," Crouch told the older witch. Now, that sounds familiar, doesn't it? "And, you, Tonks… You're close with his family-"

"Hardly," Tonks scoffed. "I know his mother and father through the Order, and I was in the same class as his brother, but that's it."

"Alastor has informed me that you're resourceful," Crouch said, displeased with her cutting him off, again. "Time for you to prove it. I want to know everything about that boy, do you understand? Everything. I want to know what his designs are, what goes on in that zoo of his-"

"Zoo? The Werewolf Sanctuary, you mean?" Tonks was appalled, her hair turning red. "Sir… Those are people you're talking about… The people this Ministry was supposed to serve, but instead used as a scapegoat for over a century. Ronald Weasley and his allies helped them, not us-"

"Is she always this impudent?" Crouch demanded, looking to Roberts.

"No… She's been drinking, again," Roberts answered, the judgement lacing her voice was impossible to ignore. "But, in her defence, this assignment is a waste of her time and talent. With all due respect, Sir, we have bigger problems than Ronald Weasley. The killer in the camps remains at large, the Americans have vanished on their hunt for the missing Azkaban escapees, and we have a backlog of cases a mountain high. I need an Auror as resourceful as Tonks out in the field, not chasing after ghost stories about a boy who's been through more than enough."

"Your fondness for that boy is blinding you, Roberts," Crouch clicked his tongue. "I expect better from an Auror with your experience. Now, let me make this very clear… This is not a discussion, you two, this is what's happening. Tonks is to be reassigned from the Hit-Wizard program for the time being. Her new assignment is information gathering on Weasley. His family, his friends, his associates, even his pets. I want there to be no more secrets where he's concerned. And if she finds information that we can use to weaken his hold on the public, she is to bring it straight to me." What?! He's already dying, you heartless lizard! And you want to drag his name through the dirt?! Just like Fudge?! Just like Umbridge?! Why are you all so intimidated by a child who wants to help the downtrodden?!

Tonks felt her hands morph into a pair of gorilla fists, thick fur sprouting up to her elbows. "…When I told my mum and dad that I wanted to be an Auror, they begged me to reconsider… Not because they thought I couldn't do it, but because they didn't want me to see the ugliness hiding beneath the surface of the Wizarding World… We fought, and I threatened to leave and never come back… I wanted to help people, to use my gift for good-"

"Tonks, you have your orders," Madam Roberts said, subtly shaking her head. Fuck your orders! Fuck this Ministry! Fuck being an Auror! "An Auror follows orders, always."

"No different from a slave, right?" Tonks asked icily, pulling out her Auror badge and crushing it in her beastly hand. "I fucking quit, then! Go fuck yourselves!"

She tossed the crumpled badge on Crouch's desk, her outraged gaze clashing against his infuriated one, before she turned on her heel and marched out of the office. I'm done! I'm done working for this corrupt, sick government! Serving the people, my fat arse! They just serve themselves, and if anyone makes them feel even a little insecure, they lose their fucking minds! She could hear Roberts following after her, and when she reached the elevator, the older witch finally cornered her.

"Tonks, what are you doing?!" Roberts hissed, pissed off. "What the fuck was that in there?!"

"You tell me!" Tonks shouted, and Roberts promptly took a step back. "He is a boy! A fucking kid! And he's dying! What is wrong with you people?! What is wrong with you, Jane?! You're really going to spy on a sick child because your superiors feel inadequate?! A child you used to train?! A child you clearly care about?!"

"…Orders are orders, girl," Roberts answered, sounding a lot less certain than she wanted to. How can you say something like that?! How can you not feel disgust when you look in the mirror every morning?! "We might not understand them at the time, we might not even agree with them, but our orders help keep this country at peace-"

"No… That's the sort of thinking that ended with us trapped in Knockturn Alley… That's the sort of thinking that destroyed hundreds of lives… That's the sort of thinking that got Rufus Scrimgeour killed… 'Orders are orders'… There is something wrong with you, you spiteful Harpy. Something is rotten in your shrivelled up soul. No wonder you're alone past fifty, or whatever your age is… Get the fuck out of my face. I'm done with this thankless job, and I'm done with this bloody Ministry! Bones can give all the speeches she likes, but she'll never be able to burn away the corruption because it's fucking everywhere!"

The elevator arrived with a ding, and Tonks wasted no time in rushing inside, pounding on the ground floor button. The last thing she saw before the shutters closed was Roberts' face, the old witch looked uncharacteristically frail and worn out. Guilt swiftly moved in to lay siege to Tonks' Hufflepuff heart, which, in her somewhat drunken state, caused her to let out a primal scream. Fuck! I just lost my fucking job! I just wasted two years of my life! Went through hell for absolutely nothing! What are mum and dad going to say when I return home unemployed?! How am I going to explain that I quit just before becoming a proper Auror?! FUCK!

She hunched over and let out a sob, knowing that she was utterly ruined, now!

---

Ronald Weasley's POV

Saturday 29th May, 1994 (Abandoned Classroom – Afternoon)

"You've not spent any time with me since you came back, Ron," Ginny complained, frowning at him. "Can't you see how worried I've been? How worried we've all been?"

"I thought you were done with America," Luna added, not so subtly shooting his right forearm a glance. The only thing I'm done with is this bleating. Though, at least, I should be grateful that no one is bringing up my injury. It's almost like people are finally understanding that I won't answer their questions, no matter how hard they try.

"My business in America is concluded, yes, but there's a man there who can help me here," Ron shrugged. "You two know what to practice, now. You don't need me to hold your hands. Shields, stunners, and Disarming Charms. Practice your accuracy, and then-"

"We're not here to train, you idiot," Ginny cut in, frustrated. "We're here because it's the only way to convince you to spend any time with us. You're so thick, Ron! Honestly!"

"There's no need for insults, Ginny," Hermione chimed in awkwardly. "Whatever he's up to, it has to be important. Right, Ron?"

"…It is," Ron said, giving Ginny a warning look that made her reconsider her strategy. "Don't be petulant with me, little sister. If you don't want to train, then leave."

"Fine!" Ginny snapped, taking Luna's hand in hers. "Let's go, Luna! Lord Weasley's too busy for us mere mortals!"

With that, Ginny all but dragged Luna, who gave Ron a quick smile and wave, out of the room, leaving behind only Hermione and the vexed Slytherin. Annoying little bitch, I ought to slap that Gryffindor sass right out of her. The problem is that she won't survive it, because she's tiny and weak.

"…You've all got temper issues, you know that, right?" Hermione broke the silence, shifting in her spot.

"…I know."

"So… I guess, I'll be practising alone, today…" Don't you start whining, now.

"You're making good progress, Hermione," Ron said in a deadpan voice. "You don't need me hovering over your shoulder."

"I know, but it's not really about that," Hermione sighed out. "Your sister is right, Ron. We like spending time with you. You're funny, and encouraging, and-"

"I don't treat this as me spending time with you lot," Ron told her plainly, not caring for the disappointed look on her face. "I've already told you, Hermione, your life is going to be in grave danger very soon. This isn't some bonding exercise to me, and it shouldn't be for you, either. This is about keeping you alive. This is about preparing you for the future."

"I get that, and I'm not saying that I don't take this as seriously as you do," Hermione adorned a more confrontational expression.

"Then, what exactly are you saying?"

"I have to spell it out for you? Really? You were hospitalized for several days, Ron! Ginny was beside herself with worry! She barely uttered a word until you suddenly came back, but you've been ignoring her! And Luna! And your brothers! And we're not stupid enough to not realize why! It's your arm, right? Whatever happened to it, you don't want people to know, so you've been avoiding us! Percy keeps telling everyone to not bring it up, but Ginny's losing her patience with you!" Percy? He's behind this strange silence from my siblings? "Like I just said, you all have temper issues! And you're probably the worst of the lot, if I'm being honest! Why don't you just tell them what happened to your arm? Is it Dark Magic? It is, isn't it? Why else would you want to hide the truth?" Merlin, once she gets going, she just doesn't stop. I though Charlie was bad, but she's downright mental. Mental, and exceptionally annoying. Does she not realize I can snap her neck like a twig?

"Are you done playing the Weasley whisperer?" Ron asked, pleased to see how annoyed his casual response made her. "Ginny can lose her patience all she likes, I don't care. And I don't care about how curious you are, either. You lot can discuss and make theories amongst each other all you like, but don't bring them to me. My arm is my business, and that's that. Practice your Wandless Magic, and read the books I've selected for you. We will not have this conversation, again."

Hermione pursed her lips, as if she'd sucked a lemon, before turning on her heel and marching away from him in a huff. That works for me. Silence is bliss. Without another word, Ron left the classroom and headed down towards the dungeons. The castle was bursting with activity, as was always the case on weekends, but thankfully, Ron managed to reach his destination, another abandoned classroom, without being disturbed. Is anyone around? Let's see.

After looking up and down the dark corridor, and failing to sense anyone besides Daphne, who was on the other side of the door, Ron summoned Marty with a thought. The Elf cracked into the corridor instantly, a bright smile on his face and a handwoven basket in his arms. Finally, someone who doesn't irritate me.

"Hello," Ron greeted, smiling back. "Is everything sorted?"

"It is, Master," Marty reported, offering him the basket. "Bacon sandwiches, bread and cheese, a beef pie, dried fruits and smoked nuts, and a bottle of red wine." Wine? I asked for freshly-squeezed juice.

"Marty, we're underage," Ron pointed out, taking the basket from the Elf. "And wine is… kind of nasty…"

"No picnic is a picnic without wine, Master," Marty instructed. "The Mistress will understand."

"Or, she'll think I'm trying to get her drunk," Ron sighed out. "Either way, thank you for this. It means a lot."

"Marty is happy to serve, and teach, Master," the Elf sniggered like a child. "Marty wishes Master luck on the quest to win back the Mistress' heart." Huh?! Where'd that come from?!

"I'm not doing-" Ron started, but Marty Apparated away before he could finish. "…Cheeky bugger…" I hope she doesn't see this gesture as me coming onto her. I just want her to relax for an afternoon, instead of stressing about things out of her control. That… is incredibly hypocritical of me, isn't it? Fuck it, I'm doing this, anyway.

Drawing in a deep breath, Ron entered the classroom, where he found Daphne waiting for him in a yellow sundress topped with a flower-laden sunhat, a combo that took him completely by surprise. Why's she all dressed up like that? I mean, I don't mind… Not one bit… But it's a bit strange, init?

"Trying to show me up, are you?" Ron chuckled, closing the door behind him.

"It's too much, isn't it?" Daphne smiled blushingly. "I wanted to make an impression on Headmaster Harkin. It's not often you meet a Headmaster of one of the Eleven." Don't stare at her tits! Don't stare at her tits! Don't stare at her tits!

Ron's neck craned on its own so he could get a good look at her bosom. "…Mission failed…"

"Pardon?" Daphne raised an eyebrow.

"It's nothing," he muttered, shaking his head clear. "You look lovely, Daph, as always. Just one problem with that dress, though…"

"What? Does it have a stain on it?" Daphne asked, looking down at herself.

"Ilvermorny sits atop a mountain," Ron reminded her. "You're going to freeze up there."

"…Oh… Right… I'm scatterbrained lately, I really am… Stay here, I'll go and get changed-"

"No, no, it's fine," Ron quickly interrupted, the thought of her wearing anything else made him feel oddly anxious. "Here, take my jacket. It'll keep you warm."

He planted the basket down, and finally, Daphne took notice of it. "What's that, Ron?"

"Oh, this? It's um… Well, I thought that um… I thought it'd be nice if we had a… picnic, you know?" Why is this so hard? I was literally ready to fight a Centaur Chief to the death yesterday, and now, I'm struggling for words? What's wrong with me?

"A picnic?" Daphne asked, sounding amused all of a sudden. "You had Marty prepare us a picnic? Really?"

"You don't want to have one?" Ron asked slowly, barely managing to hide his disappointment. …I'm an idiot, aren't I? What am I doing? I'm the Champion of Fate, the Son of the Void, not some-…

"I didn't say that, did I?" Daphne chuckled, eyeing him up and down. "Is that suit freshly-pressed? For me?" …Perhaps…

"Are you really wearing that dress to impress Harkin?" Ron asked in response, and this time, it was Daphne who started stammering.

"I uh… O-Of course! Like I said, I want to make an impression on him! He's a-"

"Headmaster of one of the Eleven?" Ron finished for her, and she gave a strong nod. Lies! You know I like sundresses, especially when they're on you!

Deciding to keep his thoughts to himself, Ron took off his jacket and walked over to Daphne, placing it around her shoulders. She smiled up at him gratefully, pulling the sides together so the jacket fit her more snugly.

"…Thanks."

"Once we're done with Harkin, we'll go to the woods behind the castle. They're absolutely beautiful, and we'll find ourselves a nice little spot to have our picnic."

"Now that sounds like a proper holiday activity," Daphne beamed. "Thank you, Ron. This is very thoughtful of you. I know I haven't been myself-"

"I understand," Ron stopped her. "You've nothing to explain to me." With that, he went back and collected the basket. "Fawkes! I need you!"

---

Thirty Minutes Later

"It's all very… grey…" Daphne commented, both of them waiting in front of the ebony door that led to the Headmaster's office.

"The Grey Castle is grey, is it?" Ron snorted. "Your powers of observation continue to impress me, Lady Greengrass."

"Har-har," Daphne rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean, Ron. Compared to Hogwarts, this castle is sort of… ugly… Uninviting, even. My heart feels cold just because I'm standing in it." She's not wrong about that. I'm glad I don't study here. I'd be even more melancholy than I already am.

"The Curse on this land might be responsible for it, or it might just be the fact that this castle is full of sad memories," Ron shrugged, and Daphne waited for him to elaborate. "From what I've learned, these walls have witnessed a great deal of heartbreak. Isolt Steward, the witch who founded Ilvermorny, built this castle to be a home for her family, but that family fell apart in her own lifetime. One of her daughters was born a Squib, and this daughter grew to resent her mother as she got older. And, one day, she ran away to spite her family, which broke Isolt's heart."

"That's terrible…"

"Places have memories too, I think. And this place… It's filled with sad ones, which is why it's so cold." And I've added to those sad memories, unfortunately.

"The Curse you mentioned… Is that what led to Octavia's death?"

Ron felt himself tense immediately, had he not told her to never mention Octavia to him, again? "…Partly."

"Partly?"

"What does it matter, Daphne? She's dead. End of story. We're here to learn about Centaurs, not Dryads."

"I think, it matters a great deal, Ron," Daphne said softly, giving him a sorry look. "Because I'm scared you're blaming yourself for her death, and I can't figure out why. Why won't you just tell me what happened? Why can't you even bear to hear her name?" Because she was our age, and she died like some fucking mad dog in some dirty fucking cave. Because I was too busy feeling sorry for myself to pay attention to what was happening around me, and an innocent paid the price for my negligence. Because the Champion failed… I failed… And she died…

Ron kept his mouth sealed, his jaw clenching tightly as he remembered the outrage on Bethzy's face as she accused him of Octavia's murder. Thankfully, however, he didn't have to stay silent for long, as the ebony door before them parted, revealing a large set of stairs. About time!

"Come," Ron ordered, leading the way forward.

They travelled up the stairs in silence, and although Ron could feel her staring into his back, she was wise enough to not push him any further. The larger ebony door atop the stairway came into view, and as they neared it, it swung open to reveal the Headmaster's well-lit, immaculate office. What the…? What happened here? Ron cocked an eyebrow as he entered, admiring the freshly-painted walls, the repaired statues, including the Horned Serpent statue that Harkin himself had obliterated, the marvellous lack of spiderwebs, and, of course, at the clean-shaven, upright wizard sitting atop his pristine, marble, thronelike chair. Hello, handsome. Where's Harkin? And what have you done with him?

"Good morning, Headmaster Harkin," Ron greeted, his lips twitching upwards. "You clean up well, Sir. Last time I was here, you looked like shit left to bake in the sun."

"…Ron," Daphne clicked her tongue, shooting him a furious glance. What? He did!

"Good morning, Ronald," Harkin greeted back, his voice a little too gentle for the redhead's liking. "And good morning to you as well, Daphne Greengrass."

"You know my name, Headmaster?" Daphne blinked, before standing up straighter and giving the man a proper curtsy. "It's an honour to meet the Headmaster of Ilvermorny. I have heard wonderful things about you and your charitable works."

Harkin smiled softly at that, obviously pleased by her good manners. "Come, both of you. Sit with me."

"Seriously, what happened here?" Ron asked, both him and Daphne taking a seat across from the pale wizard. "Did you do this?"

"It was William," Harkin admitted easily enough. "He claims that I've shamed Isolt's room for long enough. You just missed him, by the way. He comes here every morning to force me to tidy up." He's taking care of you, you mean? Good on him. His love for Isolt, even after centuries, is something to behold. And, even though he won't say it, I think he's starting to respect you too, Sir.

"William is the oldest Pukwudgie here," Ron told Daphne. "He actually helped establish Ilvermorny, back when Isolt was still kicking about."

"Really?" Daphne asked, looking to Harkin for confirmation. "That must mean-"

"Yes, Miss. Greengrass, he is quite old," the Headmaster gave a nod. "Though, his senses, and tongue, are as sharp as ever."

"He must be a great source of wisdom, then, being as old as he is," Daphne whispered, awed by how long Pukwudgies could live.

"A certain sort of wisdom, sure," Ron added, remembering how vicious Pukwudgies could be. "William's people are nothing like us, Daphne. They're a little too… primal… for civilised society."

"They respect strength, above all, and it is Isolt's great strength that has tethered them to Ilvermorny," Harkin explained. "Do not make the mistake of seeing them as Elves, Miss. Greengrass, for they will cut your throat if you vex them."

Daphne shot Ron an alarmed look, and all he could do was shrug in response. "Just be glad that Hogwarts has Elves instead of psychotic hunters who want to murder anything that can potentially kill them."

"…Right…" Daphne muttered, nodding to herself. "Oh, and please, call me Daphne, Sir. There's no need for you to be formal with me. I am but a student, after all."

"And a well-mannered student at that," Harkin smiled, again. "Very well, Daphne, I shall use your given name. Now, tell me, what has brought you to me?"

"A proud chicken made of fire," Ron quipped. "He's flying about the mountain, so I'm sorry in advance if he spooks your students."

"Spook them?" Harkin smirked. "Oh, no, Ronald… It is my students he needs to watch out for. They are enamoured by him, and by you, as well. It is not often that a teenager and an immortal bird lay siege to their home, after all."

Daphne shot Ron another look, his grand tale about his fight with Brightbeak sounded a lot less epic, now, and a whole lot more barbarous.

"…I was drunk, it doesn't count," Ron said dismissively, shifting in his seat. "Anyway… Now that we've got the pleasant conversation out of the way, let's talk about why we're really here. I want you to explain to me why Centaur-Kind is so cuntish."

"Pardon?" Harkin blinked, whereas Daphne let out a resigned sigh.

"Why. Are. They. Cunts?" Ron repeated slowly, and Harkin frowned as a result.

"Boy, it is too early in the morning to hear such language. Speak plainly, or better yet, allow this polite young lady to do the talking."

"Daphne, please explain our situation to the man," Ron gestured Daphne to start, his lips twitching upwards. "And don't leave anything out. You can trust him." If he can't help us, then I don't know what to do.

---

One Sordid Story Later

"…What a disaster," Harkin sighed out, dismayed.

"See? I told you he'd get it," Ron chuckled, whereas Daphne continued to avert her gaze. "Oh, don't be like that! It was your father who caused this, not you! You're brilliant, because you're doing everything in your power to fix someone else's mess!"

"As alarming as his jolly tone is, given the subject in question, he is right, my dear," Harkin said, offering Daphne a pitiful smile. "Children are not to blame for the sins of their parents. If they were, mankind would've ceased to exist long ago. What matters is what you choose to do, and from what you've told me, you have found the righteous path."

"I think so too, Sir," Daphne muttered, shame still lingering in her voice. "With some help from my friends, of course."

"So, any ideas on what to do next?" Ron asked. "The Tribe in the Forbidden Forest won't help, and according to Firenze, neither will any other Tribe."

"Have you tried the Ministry?" Harkin asked, and Ron immediately laughed.

"Is that meant to be a joke, eh? The bleeding Ministry? No, I haven't tried them, because I already know what their answer is going to be."

"I've heard promising things about Amelia Bones," Harkin countered. "Perhaps, they will surprise you?"

"There's a saying in our Ministry, in case you've forgotten it… Whenever someone is about to be sacked from their job, they say that this sorry individual is being sent to the Centaur Office."

"…Yes, I've come across it too."

"It's true, then?" Daphne asked, frowning. "How distasteful."

"Centaurs themselves play a part in this problem, you must understand that," Harkin started, leaning forward. "They are hostile towards anyone who is not Centaur, and quite often, towards each other, as well. They are a hard people, prone to isolation and delusions of grandeur. Their power to divine the future from the alignment of stars and planets gives them a great sense of self-importance. They are held back by their pride, ego, and unfortunately for everyone, violent tendencies."

"Are you sure you're the man who helped reconnect the Centaurs and the American Congress?" Ron had to ask. "You sound like you dislike them a great deal." This is what I sound like whenever I talk, or think, about Veela-Kind. Bunch of horny, hedonistic whores, the lot of them.

"I do not dislike them, but I do not ignore their shortcomings, either. I am no different with Wizarding-Kind, Goblin-Kind, or even Elf-Kind. I met a woman not so long ago, a powerful and wise woman, and she showed me that our species does in fact determine our behaviour." This sounds awfully familiar… He's talking about the High Mother, isn't he? "She, of course, believed that blood played a vital role in her theory, however, I found that it's the culture, the environment, that people find themselves in that determines their behaviour. Centaurs, for good or ill, have been chased back to their final refuges, and are forced to live ever-harder lives because of wizards and witches. We have taken the entire world for ourselves, have we not? Through extreme, and unjustifiable, violence?"

"So, everyone really is a cunt," Ron nodded to himself. "That's my famous theory, by the way. Feel free to share it with others."

"Ron, seriously?" Daphne frowned, again. "…Show some respect, please."

"…I think, I will rephrase it," Harkin drawled. "Uncouth boy… Does Dumbledore truly tolerate this attitude of yours?"

"He's welcome to try and stop me, as are you," Ron smiled invitingly, and when Harkin didn't take the bait, the Slytherin sniggered to himself. Smart man. "So, in essence, the Ministry won't do much, and even if they agree to, they'll make a dog's breakfast of the whole affair. Other Centaur Tribes will never accept those 'damaged' children and warriors, because they don't want to foster any weaknesses within their own ranks. And without a Tribe, these children and warriors will either die out, or they'll be captured by any threat that passes them by."

"I do not envy your task, Champion," Harkin said, and Daphne raised an eyebrow in response. "I will speak to the Chiefs I have grown familiar with, but I wouldn't hold out hope if I were you. I only ever managed to bring them to the table. They never once compromised on their traditions, nor did they ever attempt to show good faith. The process was entirely out of my hands once the negotiations began." Then, why does everyone praise you so much?

"Then, Sir, how did you repair the relationship between them and the American Ministry?" Daphne asked curiously. A good question. "If no one was compromising, then how could peace be achieved?"

"The American Congress went to great lengths to appease the Centaurs, in truth," Harkin answered. "They compromised time and time again, they gave land and rights, and most importantly, they promised to keep Wizarding-Kind away from the Sacred Sites of the Centaur people. I do not agree with a great deal of politics, especially in regards to the Congress, but it cannot be denied that they have worked very hard to repair relations with those they once oppressed. Our own Ministry back home could learn a great deal from their American cousins."

"Oh, they already are," Ron assured the man. "Haven't you heard? There are American Aurors roaming the countryside of Magical Britain, now. Hunting down the escapees of Azkaban."

"Then, it is only a matter of time before the British people witness the brutal nature of those thugs," Harkin said despairingly. "President Harper is playing a most devious game, I believe. It's as if his goal is to unite the 'United' States of Magical America against the entire world." Oh, that's exactly what he's doing, and his two biggest goons, Reyes and Wilkinson, are leading that charge. Little does he know, though, that my venom has reached even their hearts. "I am sorry that I cannot be of more assistance to you two. You find yourselves in positions that no child should be in… The imminent discovery of the fact that the world is a dark, chaotic realm, and we are all to blame for it, including Centaurs."

Daphne gave Ron a hopeless look, discouraged by Harkin's words. I should say something, before she starts thinking of giving up.

"The moment we stop fighting for light and order to prevail, that's when your words become true," Ron said sagely. "I will not stop fighting for them, and neither will Daphne. Wherever there is a fool willing to risk it all, there is hope." Fuck! I'm smooth, and wise, and handsome, and charismatic, and downright suave when the moment calls for it, aren't I? Shame that I'm a fiendish degenerate the rest of the time, though.

"He's right, we have to keep trying," Daphne drew in a sharp breath, giving a strong nod. "Your words have helped, Sir. They have given us the perspective of one wiser than us, and for that, I thank you." Arse-kisser.

Harkin smiled at her, again. "Your mother has raised you well, my dear. Never lose sight of your grace, it will become your greatest weapon yet." And it'll only work when someone like me makes a world where grace is actually effective, instead of just a weakness to be exploited. I've chosen my successor well, I think.

"Any last bit of advice, Headmaster?" Ron asked, preparing to rise.

"You must be firm, decisive, in the face of Centaur-Kind… There is no other way to earn their respect. They are scholars, yes, and wisemen, but they are also warriors. They've been shedding blood since before Wizarding-Kind went to the Fae for tutelage. It is their way, and those who fail to realize that end up under their hooves." That explains Magorian and his people getting riled up when his intimidation tactic failed miserably. If Centaur-Kind thinks they're tough, then they don't know the meaning of the word, but I will teach them. I will show them what an unstoppable force does to an immovable object.

"If someone agrees to take them in, send me an owl," Ron stood up, picking up the basket. "Now, would you mind if Daphne and I used your woods for a picnic? We came all this way, and I really want to show her that Ilvermorny isn't as ugly as she thinks it is."

"RON!" Daphne went as red as a tomato, whereas Harkin just blinked in the face of Ron's mad grin.

---

Saturday 29th May, 1994 (Mt. Greylock – Nearly Midday)

"You're meant to savour it, Ron, to experience it and its journey," Daphne giggled, taking a sip directly from the bottle. "Mmm… Let's see, then. I taste… a subtle oaky flavour because of the cask it was stored in. I can also tell that the grapes were grown in Italy-"

"How? How can you tell that?" Ron rolled his eyes. "You're just making it up, aren't you?"

"I am not! Mother taught me the importance of such knowledge!" Daphne laughed, swirling the bottle before taking another sip. "You just don't have as refined a palate as I do, that's all."

"I'm just a lowly peasant, yes," Ron nodded, reaching forward and taking the bottle from her. "Now, this, Daphne, is how you drink wine."

With that, he brought the bottle to his lips and threw his head back, taking several long gulps. "No! Ron! You animal! Give that back!" Sniggering, he handed the bottle back to her, grinning in the face of her horror. "Beast of a boy, honestly! Marty spent his spare time handpicking the perfect bottle! If he saw you disrespecting it, he'd cry!" I'm about to cry, actually. That tasted like arse-crack sweat.

"The only alcohol worth savouring is punch, if you ask me."

"Punch isn't a type of alcohol, you dolt. It can be mixed with alcohol, like gin and rum, but by itself, it's just a sugary drink."

"I know that, I was just saying that I like the stuff Pansy ordered from the White Wyvern. Before it burnt down, that is."

"That was a good punch, definitely," Daphne nodded her agreement, slowly adorning a more sombre expression. "…I hope the owners didn't get hurt in that disastrous raid…"

"They're probably dead," Ron shrugged uncaringly. And the man who got them killed is also dead.

"That's an awful thing to say," Daphne chastised. I should be more careful with my words. I tend to lose my filter even more so when drunk.

"Awful, but true," Ron countered, taking the bottle back. "It's best to put it out of your mind, Daphne. It happened, and being sorry about it won't change it. The people truly responsible for it will have their day in front of justice, which is all that matters." Lucius fucking Malfoy, the mysterious Vampire leader, the Dark Lord… They will pay for their crimes, and they will pay most dearly.

"I don't think that'll happen, Ron," Daphne said, shaking her head. "I mean, Fudge already ran off, didn't he? The powerful and corrupt never meet justice. If they did, there wouldn't be so much death and misery in the world." Talking about your father, are you? "…Why did Chief Zotair spare my father, Ron? What did you two talk about?" Damn, she was in a great mood, and all it took was a couple of words to bring her back down, again.

Ron let out a sigh and took another gulp, shuddering because of the strong taste. Poison! "…He was just curious about me, nothing more."

"Liar," Daphne muttered, staring at him. "You lie so much, now, Ron. I feel like I can't trust anything that comes out of your mouth." …What? Where did that come from?

"I think, you've had a little too much, Daphne," Ron said blandly, noticing how flushed her face had become.

"…Maybe, but I'm just speaking my mind, something you've forgotten to do. You were always secretive, and weird, but now, you're like some stranger wearing my best friend's skin. It scares me… You scare me…"

Ron averted his gaze, feeling as though his own jolliness had been dragged through the mud face-first. "…For what it's worth, Daphne, I scare myself too."

"I can't help but feel like it all started here. The change in you, I mean. You left as Ron, and came back as someone else." That's not far from the truth, really.

"…It started on the Astronomy Tower," Ron shrugged, again, remembering the savagery the Entity unleashed upon him for his weakness. "What do you want from me, Daphne? I put all this together for you, just to make you smile, and you start telling me what a piece of shit I am?"

"I didn't say that even once," Daphne gave him a pitiful look. "And I already told you that I think this is lovely."

"Then, why are you ruining it?" Ron asked crossly. "We were having a laugh, breaking the rules like we used to, and you start whining, again. Whine, whine, whine… That's all you people ever do, and yet, you still have the gall to ask me why I keep my distance, now? I just want some quiet, that's all. Some peace. Is that really too much to ask for?"

Daphne carefully considered his words, remaining silent for several seconds. "You do deserve peace, Ron, everyone does, but if it comes at the cost of pulling away from the people who love you, then what is that peace really worth?"

"How am I pulling away from you?" Ron asked, his hold on the bottle tightening. "I'm sitting here with you, aren't I?"

"Are you?" Daphne asked in response. "I always get the feeling that you're somewhere else. Somewhere terrible, and cold, and cruel…" How am I supposed to argue with her when she's the Ronald Weasley whisperer?! Bloody hell… "I'm right, aren't I?" …Yes.

"No."

"Another lie," Daphne exhaled, and Ron let out a groan.

"What. Do. You. Want?" Ron asked, again, frowning darkly.

"The truth would be nice."

"The truth about what? About Octavia? About what really happened under this mountain? Is that what you're after?"

"That would be a good start," she gave a soft nod, her voice was so gentle and understanding that it made Ron livid. Listen closely, then!

"All right, here's the truth… Octavia was a naïve, stupid girl. Some would say that she was too pure for this world, but the truth is that she was weak of mind. She was tricked by her own 'friends', and she betrayed me and the people I was with in order to sacrifice our Magic to heal her Sacred Tree. Unfortunately for her, she was also on the menu, and although we managed to survive, she suffered a horrific, agonising death. There's your truth… She's buried in these woods right now, Daphne. That's what happens to naïve and stupid girls. The world buries them and moves on, so that's what I'm trying to do. I'm trying to move on, but you keep bringing her up and it's pissing me off. I tried to help her, okay? But I had my own fucking problems to deal with, so I didn't pay enough attention to her, to her words… And she died… And, now, all I can do is regret ever meeting her…" His face suddenly twisted from anger, his hand almost crushing the bottle. "By what right does she visit me in my dreams?! Why does she keep fucking smiling at me?! Why is she haunting me?! It was her fault, not mine! Why do I always have to take the blame for everything?! I almost died here, for fuck's sake! People I love almost died here! And it was her fault! So, why do I care so much about this idiot?! Why do I get this painful knot in my stomach whenever I hear her name?!"

Daphne just stared at him, clearly taken aback by his impulsive rant. Well?! You like that?! You like the truth?! All I wanted was a nice afternoon meal with you, to cheer you up, and you fucked that up for no real reason! Why do I even bother?!

"It feels good to let it out, doesn't it?" Daphne asked abruptly, smiling a little. Ah! You're so aggravating! If you didn't mean the world to me, I'd punch you in the face!

"Fuck, no," Ron shot back. "…This entire picnic was supposed to be about you… And I'm ranting all over it like some fucking lunatic… It doesn't feel good, or cathartic, or whatever… It feels like shit…"

"I don't want it to be just about me," Daphne shifted closer to him, oddly relaxed given his agitated state. "I think, you needed this too, no matter what you tell yourself." She then reached for the bottle, prying it free from his vice-like grip. "Can you take me to her grave? I want to pay her my respects."

"…Why?" Ron deflated, the knot returning. Why are you putting me through this, again?

"Because she saved our friend's life with her kindness," Daphne said, peering into his eyes. "She had her faults, as we all do, but when it mattered, she was kind. That's why her loss hurts you, because it hurts me too. I never even met her, and yet, knowing that I won't ever get the chance to now makes my heart ache. So, take me to her grave, please. I need to do this." Will this help her discover herself? Will this aid her in her journey to become my successor?

Ron let out a long sigh, his head hanging low. "…Fine. It's not far from here."

---

Daphne finally opened her eyes and took a step back, a sad smile on her face. "Thank you for saving my friend, Octavia."

Ron shifted in his spot, Harkin's grief-stricken voice constantly cursing him in his head. "You are an evil man, Ronald Weasley. She couldn't see it, because she was gentle and pure of heart, but I do." I threw her death in his face right here, just so I could channel his anger and pain towards my enemy-…

"Ron?" Daphne called out, turning to face him. "Do you want to say something before we go?"

"…You are the devil…" Harkin's voice accused, and Ron lowered his gaze. I'm worse than that… I'm the Champion of Fate, the harbinger of death and disaster.

"…No, I have nothing worthwhile to say," the redhead whispered, swallowing thickly. "If you're done, then let's go."

Daphne nodded softly, making her way over to his side and holding his gloved hand. "Thank you for doing this. I know it's not easy for you to be here, but it means a lot to me. I didn't want to miss this chance, not for anything." Shame that Brightbeak isn't here. He must be out hunting, or something. I'll have to bring her back here someday so they can meet.

"…Fawkes, come to me." With a flash of orange flames, the Phoenix appeared atop Ron's shoulder. "Take us back to Hogwarts, please."

Fawkes shrieked in response, fire pouring out of his wings and engulfing them, and when it dissipated, Ron and Daphne found themselves standing before the Stone Gargoyle that safeguarded Dumbledore's office. Home sweet home, eh?

"I need to return Fawkes to the Headmaster," he said distractedly, letting go of her hand. "…Sorry about shouting during the picnic-"

He stopped abruptly when he felt her lips make contact with his jaw, her unexpected display of affection jarring him. What was that for?! "The picnic was perfect, Ron. Everything was perfect. Thank you." She gave him another kiss, before taking a step back. "I'm going to go sleep off the tipsiness. Can't help Director Reid if I'm feeling lightheaded, right?"

"…Right…" Ron mumbled, his ears turning red. "…Um… Sleep well, then…" She's still planning to go that accursed camp later in the day? That makes me glad. I've never seen her so determined. It's quite something.

"We'll have to finish the rest of that bottle later," Daphne said, her lips twitching upwards at the sight of his blush. "And thank you as well, Fawkes. I hope you enjoyed the outing." The Phoenix hummed a lovely tune in response, peering down at her with great interest. "I'd give you a kiss too, but I'm scared you'll burn my lips." Fawkes spread his scarlet wings boastfully, making Daphne chuckle as she turned to leave. "Goodnight, you two."

"…Hm," Ron grunted lowly, whereas Fawkes continued humming his tune. Control, old boy. It was just a peck. Don't let something so minor get under your skin. Control.

Drawing in a sharp breath, and centring his mind, Ron gave the Stone Gargoyle its password. Once the guardian had moved aside, he made his way up the spiral staircase and knocked on the Headmaster's door. I'll join Professor Snape for some extra training after this, I reckon. He's been very distant with me since he learned the truth about what I did.

"Come in, Ronald," came the old man's voice, and Ron entered the office without delay. "Impeccable timing, as always, dear boy." Impeccable timing-…?

The Slytherin was taken aback to see the office filled with people, all of them staring at him. Professors Snape, McGonagall, Sprout, Flitwick, Remus, and Sinistra stood furthest from Dumbledore's golden, clawed desk, and directly across from the Grand Sorcerer sat Arthur, Molly, Bill, Charlie, Kirsten, Sirius, Andromeda Tonks, and Nymphadora Tonks. What the fuck is this? What fuck-up has caught up to me, now?

---

AUTHOR'S NOTES: A couple chapters left until end of third year... God, thank you...