Sirius had been restricted to paperwork for the entire month of November thanks to his arm. When he'd finally put his foot down with Scrimgeour and asked to ease back into more exciting things, Scrimgeour's solution had been to volunteer Sirius to help Lyra Finch with her lunchtime self defence sessions.

Fudge hadn't been happy about his involvement, so while other, non-Order aligned Aurors led the sessions, it was Sirius' job to stand off to the side and cast Shield Charms to protect the participants from stray spells.

Hopeless, Amelia had called the Ministry staff during November's Order meeting, and Sirius, after a few days of helping out, actually thought she'd been generous with that descriptor.

Sirius flicked his wand and a shield bloomed between a young woman from Magical Maintenance and a balding man from Magical Transportation. He sighed.

"Chin up, Black," Robards murmured as he walked by, eyes flicking briefly away from the session's attendees to Sirius' sleeve. "How's the arm today?"

"Better," Sirius said. It was true that he was improving, but the rate at which he was improving was still impossibly slow—certainly far slower than he'd hoped. He massaged his forearm in the futile hope it would relieve the ache that had been there for almost two months now.

It didn't. He flexed his fingers.

Robards' eyes didn't miss the movement, but he didn't get the chance to comment on it; at that moment, the doors to the small courtroom they were borrowing groaned open. Someone from within the cluster of attendees was so startled by the sudden arrival of their visitor that they let out a yelp and flicked a Stunner toward the doors.

The spell missed—not that Sirius was at all surprised—but Marlene did not look impressed. After a moment she turned away from the attendees, eyes roving the room until they landed on him. She held up an envelope.

Sirius couldn't decide if he was more curious or concerned by that, or just excited to have an excuse to leave. He tucked his wand away and went to join her.

"This just arrived for you," she said, once they were out in the corridor and out of earshot of Finch's lot. "I thought it might be too important to leave waiting on your desk." She offered him the envelope.

Sirius took it with his right hand, fingers shaking, and slow and awkward to close over the parchment. His forearm twinged in protest.

Sympathy crept into Marlene's scent.

There was a Hogwarts seal pressed into a blob of emerald wax on one side, and Sirius' name written in a familiar hand—McGonagall's—on the other side.

Marlene, he was sure, would have checked it for spells before she saw fit to carry it down to him, but Sirius still lifted it to his nose and sniffed; he could smell Marlene on it, of course, and the musty scent of owl, and McGonagall, but that was all; if anyone else had touched it, they'd gone to great lengths to keep their scent off it.

Sirius tore open the envelope with his left hand. It was a brief letter—a request for Sirius to meet with McGonagall at his soonest convenience—but it made him uneasy all the same.

Marlene, who'd been unabashedly reading the letter over the top edge of the parchment, looked up. "If it was properly urgent, she'd have sent a patronus," she said.

"Or Harry would have," Sirius agreed. Harry's stag had become a common fixture in Grimmauld of late. With his mirror still being held by Umbridge, and the post being checked, Harry's only way to get messages out of Hogwarts at the moment was using the message parchment he'd given Sirius, and with patronuses.

Even so… Sirius glanced back into the courtroom, which was alight with spells and shouts of Stupefy and Protego. "Reckon Robards'd mind if I borrowed his Floo?"

Molly Weasley was sitting in one of the chairs in McGonagall's office when Sirius stepped through.

He raised his eyebrows, intrigued despite himself.

"I'd assumed Fred and George," Molly said to no one in particular. "But perhaps not." She looked at McGonagall.

Had Harry and Ron got into a duel with Hydrus Malfoy or one of the other problematic Slytherins, Sirius wondered. Or had Harry and Ginny had another explosive argument, like the one over the school holidays—

"It has been brought to my attention in my capacity as the Head of Gryffindor House, that Mister Potter and Mister Weasley—along with Miss Granger—are intending to sit their Defence O.W.L. over the Christmas break," McGonagall said.

"Draco too," Sirius said.

"Mr Malfoy has been withdrawn by his father at the recommendation of our High Inquisitor." McGonagall pursed her lips.

"She knows, then?" Sirius asked. He wasn't completely surprised. They'd done what they could to contain the news, but the Defence O.W.L. was only two weeks away. The examiners would be making preparations, and finalising schedules; Sirius imagined Harry and Draco's names in particular would have triggered a lot of interest.

"She knows," McGonagall agreed grimly.

"And she's had Lucius pull Draco out?"

McGonagall inclined her head. "Our High Inquisitor has announced she will not allow students to retake her subject after a failed O.W.L.."

"So pass or fail, no more lessons with Umbridge?" Sirius grinned. "The kids'll be pleased."

Molly made a disapproving sound, though Sirius couldn't have said if it was directed at the kids or Umbridge.

"No more Defence lessons at all, including into N.E.W.T. level," McGonagall said grimly. "And therefore ineligibility to sit Defence N.E.W.T.s… at least while she holds enough authority at Hogwarts and the Ministry to enforce it."

"Right," Sirius said. It was a limitation on the kids' futures and education that was far from ideal, though if Umbridge remained in the Defence role, Sirius doubted any of them would—formally—pursue Defence into N.E.W.T. level anyway.

"Lucius Malfoy found the notion concerning enough to veto Mr Malfoy's participation," McGonagall said. "Which is well within his rights as a parent."

"Are you suggesting we do the same, Minerva?" Molly asked. "With Harry and Ron, at least—Hermione's not ours to make that decision for, technically, but if the boys pulled out then perhaps she—"

"I," McGonagall said, "am of the belief that students stretching themselves academically is something we as teachers ought to be encouraging, rather than attempting to punish them for." Her nostrils flared. "I also believe—as I told Lucius Malfoy and our High Inquisitor—that all four of them are very capable of passing. However, as Defence Against the Dark Arts is not my specific field of expertise—" Her lip curled in a way that made Sirius think she was quoting someone. "—and I am also unaware of any additional activities they may be undertaking as part of their preparation—" Her eyes gleamed and faint amusement swirled through her scent. "—I cannot definitively comment on how ready they are. I am also not aware of which members of the Wizarding Examinations Authority will be conducting the examination."

At this, McGonagall gave Sirius a rather loaded look, which he took to mean Umbridge might be trying to pull strings where the examiners were concerned.

"As such," she continued, "if you have any doubts, it may be worth reconsidering the timing of the examination, given what is at stake should they fail."

Sirius thought of the Ministry staff in Finch's sessions and how they compared to Harry and his friends. "They're not going to fail," he said.

"I hope not," McGonagall said. "Because my—desire to see the students in Gryffindor House succeed aside—I would also very much hate to see Dolores Umbridge's satisfaction if they did not."

Ron couldn't sleep.

It wasn't a once off, either; in fact, he didn't think he could remember sleeping less in his life, and that included the few months last year where he'd regularly forgone sleep to keep Harry company when Harry was unable to sleep because Voldemort was peppering him with nightmares.

There were simply not enough hours in the day to fit their normal, fifth year lesson and homework load, Eihwaz, the additional preparation for their O.W.L., and the other essential things like eating, Quidditch practice—which had thankfully been deemed an 'allowed' club and reinstated—and helping Malfoy navigate the increasingly precarious path that was his decision to spy for the Order.

And, of course, to do the things they could very much do without but were laden with all the same—namely, Umbridge and her Inquisitorial Squad.

There was, of course, the hassle of being followed everywhere, the constant docking of house points (not that there were many available to dock these days…), and worry about the fallout following that disastrous night back in October when Hermione had been interrogated. Not about what Umbridge might know or remember; Ron and Malfoy knew exactly what she knew, thanks to Malfoy's mind magic, though uncertainty about whether the memory charm would hold seemed to be on the others' minds a lot. No, instead he worried what she might say or do with that information that might put them in a tricky position with Eihwaz, or the Order, or the Ministry, or Voldemort.

Or a trickier position, Ron thought, as he rolled over, punching his pillow in the futile hope that that might help. There was nothing simple about their current situation.

He and Malfoy had messed up. They'd tried to manipulate Umbridge and got it wrong, and it had almost cost them everything. Malfoy had been able to salvage some of that, but not the fact that Hermione had been interrogated, and subjected to an Unforgivable.

But Ron's guilt—which could not be assuaged by an apology—was not the worst part.

Where do I draw the line? Malfoy had asked ahead of the second task last year. If a bruise is okay, is a cut? What about causing them pain? Emotional distress?

At the time, Ron had joked that Malfoy was making him emotionally distressed with the question, but it didn't seem even remotely funny now.

Because the worst part was that, while Ron might not be prepared to cross those lines, the fact remained that he had, and though the guilt was not necessarily lessening over time, he was becoming less hindered by it, more used to its weight.

He'd succeeded, perhaps, at being less useless than he had been a few years ago, but what sort of person was he becoming instead?

There was a rustle of blankets and then a bleary, sleepy sound from Harry's direction, followed by a sniff. "Ron?" More rustling, and then a shape moved in the dark. Ron heard Harry's glasses scrape quietly on the bedside table. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Ron lied. "Just having trouble sleeping. Restless, I think."

Harry was silent for a moment, and Ron wondered just how much he was able to smell—the guilt and discontent? The nerves, now that Ron had started thinking about what Harry might be able to smell? There were no others around to distract him here, or to attribute certain scents to, or for Ron's own scent to be lost under. He felt exposed, and rather thought he should have pretended he was asleep.

"It'll be nice to be home for Christmas," Harry said after a moment, barely loud enough for Ron to hear; clearly, he didn't want to wake the others.

Ron seized the topic gratefully. "Yeah," he breathed back, knowing Harry would be able to hear him. "I mean, it's always nice, but this year it'll be a bloody relief. No Umbridge for a couple of weeks. No Inquisitorial Squad." Ron sighed. "No Malfoy either, though."

Despite Snape's best efforts and several attempts by Harry to force dreams, none of them were any the wiser about Crouch and Pettigrew's plans, or Voldemort's, and how—or even if—Ollivander fit into them.

The only thing they did know was that whatever Crouch and Pettigrew had been working on would happen soon. Malfoy was hoping he might be able to learn something useful from his dad before it was too late, though as far as the others were concerned, he'd been ordered back to the Manor for the holidays so his parents could make sure he didn't sneak off to sit his O.W.L.s with the rest of them.

"Is that what you were thinking about?" Harry asked.

"A bit," Ron said. "Sort of." He hesitated, picking his words carefully. "It just… everything feels like it's slipping a bit out of control."

"With Draco?" Harry asked.

Ron's head snapped toward him, though it was too dark to make out more of Harry than his vague silhouette. He twitched a finger and a ball of dim, red light bloomed out of it, lighting the space between their beds.

Ron wasn't sure what exactly he'd been afraid of, but there was none of it in Harry's expression. He didn't look angry, or suspicious, or hurt. He looked amused, mostly, and still half-asleep. "Or Lucius, rather," Harry continued with a wry twist of his mouth.

"Yeah," Ron said. There was no harm in admitting to that much. "It— we've been trying to figure out how to… handle him, I guess—me and Malfoy. But with limited success."

Harry was quiet for a long moment. Then, he turned and looked over his shoulder at Malfoy, whose hair was tousled and mouth hanging open in a way he'd never have allowed if he was awake. "I think we're doing all right, all things considered," Harry murmured..

"Yeah?" Ron asked. Usually he was the optimist of their group, but he couldn't manage it just then; he was tired, and it was just him and Harry awake and speaking into the dark. It felt safe to be honest. "What part of Umbridge's general presence, and the Ministry's rubbish, and Dumbledore's curse, and Sirius' arm, and Hermione being interrogated do you reckon is the all right part?"

"Hermione's all right."

Ron wasn't a particularly good liar—never had been, or at least, not when it came to any lies more important than who'd eaten the last of Mum's baking, or was he sure he was going to be able to get his homework done on time if he and Harry went for a fly first? But these days, he was pretty good at directing a conversation so he wouldn't have to lie, and better still at keeping secrets. In his surprise and his desperation to hear Harry's thoughts on the matter, he failed to do either of those things

"What do you mean?" he asked, and even he could hear how unconvincing his attempt at casual, slightly confused curiosity sounded.

Harry, though he would have been well within his rights to, didn't scoff, or laugh at him. He didn't even look at Ron as he spoke, which Ron appreciated. His eyes traced the hangings of his four-poster. "I know you blame yourself for what happened with her and Umbridge. For… I dunno, not being chosen for questioning instead, or not knowing what was going to happen so you could go and help, or something like that."

There wasn't anything safe Ron could say in response.

"It's all over your scent every time you're near her," Harry added. He did look at Ron then, and one side of his mouth quirked up.

Ron grimaced. Hermione had been working to overthrow the Imperious curse, and as such, had spent a lot of time rubbing her nose of late. Now that he thought about it, though, so had Harry, but clearly for different reasons. "Sorry."

Harry shook his head. "That's not— I didn't want an apology. I just… know a bit about guilt," he said. "The rational and the irrational kinds."

"Got a coping mechanism you're willing to share?" Ron asked. He tried to make it sound like a joke, but wasn't sure he succeeded.

Harry's smile was small, and soft, but very much there. "Doesn't always work, but sometimes I remind myself we're all still here. Still fighting. Still friends."

It took Ron a moment to realise that was something he'd said to Harry during the summer holidays, shortly after Harry'd shared the truth about what really happened in the graveyard after the final Triwizard task.

Ron felt something warm kindle in his chest.

That Harry was quoting him surely meant Harry thought the words were worth repeating.

And maybe they were.

Didn't it count for something that they were all still at Hogwarts, when Umbridge was doing her best to expel Harry? Didn't it count for something that they were all still alive, despite everything they'd faced over the years?

Didn't it count for something that there was still a battle to fight, that, while it felt like an impossible one at times, one that Ron didn't always know how to fight, that he had not yet truly felt it was pointless or just a matter of time until they lost?

And the fact that they were all still friends… that wasn't just something.

It was everything.

"Fair point," Ron muttered, pulling his bedding tight around himself.

"You're all right, then, Weasley?"

Ron twitched at the sound of Malfoy's voice, and looked over Harry's shoulder to see him squinting at them both through eyes heavy with sleep. He must have been listening for a little while.

"Sufficiently reassured?" Though there was a slightly condescending tone to Malfoy's voice now, Ron knew it was for show; the question was genuine.

"Yeah," Ron said.

"Excellent," Malfoy said. He buried his face in his pillow, so his next words came out muffled. "But if you'd like us to all still be friends in the morning, I suggest you put that light out and go to sleep."

"Sorry," Ron said, biting back a laugh, while Harry sniggered into his pillow. He flicked a finger and darkness reclaimed the dormitory.

"Goodnight," Harry whispered.

Ron heard the soft clink of his glasses on the bedside table, and settled into his own pillow, thinking that—maybe—sleep might be possible again. "Night."

"Shh!"

So, I suppose I should start by confirming I am in fact, alive and well haha

This hasn't been a planned break - it was a combination of life being super busy, and me focusing my creative energies on another (original) project, but then then the longer I went without writing/updating Influence, the harder it got to get into the headspace to pick it back up again, and here we are two-weeks-shy of a year later...

I've been keeping an eye on my accounts during my 'time off' and want to say thank you to you all for the messages and reviews you've all been leaving. I'm not sure I can properly put into words how much your support means, so I'll just settle for saying it means a lot, and is both incredibly humbling and motivating to know how many people this story and its characters have reached, and to know that people are still so actively engaged with it it 12 years after I first started writing. So again, thank you 3

I'm sorry to say I haven't spent the past almost-year secretly working on this story, so I haven't got whole backlog of chapters waiting for upload. I'll be writing as I go, as usual, and don't know what my update schedule's going to look like either, just yet - life certainly hasn't settled any! But, I'm here and I'm ready to dive back into this world and these characters' heads again, so we'll see where that takes us :)

MarauderLover7