I ALMOST didn't write these next two chapters.

Though important, I usually skip The Muggleborn Registration Commission chapter during the rereads, as I am in much too big of a hurry to get to the core of the Horcrux hunt. However, not everyone thinks like me, and I need to stick it out, , of how I feel. So, here we are.

I broke it up into two chapters. It was getting too long.

On with the fic!


Chapter 201: Let's Start the Bullshit

Morning came too quickly for my liking. The sunlight streaming through the heavy curtains of the room was sharp and blinding, piercing through my eyelids like a bloody hex. For a moment, I tried to ignore it, burying my face deeper into the pillow, but the knot in my gut wouldn't let me. Today was the day.

I shifted slightly, and that's when I noticed her, Hermione. She was still curled up against me, her head tucked into my shoulder, her soft, steady breaths brushing against my neck.

Her hair, wild and bushy as always, was sprawled over the pillow, and her lips curved into the faintest smile. She didn't look like the Hermione who spent her days bent over books, muttering plans, and occasionally snapping at me and Harry for being "reckless." She looked... soft. Content. Happy, even.

I couldn't help but grin. Watching her like this made something in my chest tighten in a way I wasn't used to. I leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the forehead. "Morning," I murmured, my voice rough from sleep.

Her eyes fluttered open, and for a second, she just stared at me, like she didn't quite know where she was. Then, she smiled—a sleepy, warm smile that made my stomach flip. "Good morning, Ron," she said, her voice husky with sleep.

Her hand reached up, brushing lightly across the scars on my arm. The scars didn't hurt anymore, not really, but they were still annoying to see everyday. Hermione's fingers traced the lines slowly, her touch soft, like she was trying not to hurt me. I hated those scars. They were ugly, raw, and too much of a reminder of my mistakes. But when she touched them, it didn't feel so bad. Like she was telling me they weren't something to be ashamed of.

"Do they still bother you?" she asked, her voice quiet.

I shook my head, though it wasn't entirely true. "Not really. Just... itchy sometimes," I lied. I didn't want her worrying more than she already did.

Her brows knitted together, that thoughtful look she always got when she was trying to solve a problem. "You could've been killed that day," she said softly, almost to herself.

"So could you," I said quickly, not wanting her to start blaming herself for something none of us could've stopped. "And Harry. And Neville. And Luna. And Ginny." I sat up and stretched, the mattress creaking under my weight. The air in the room was freezing, Grimmauld Place as cold and dreary as ever. "We got out, didn't we? That's what matters."

She didn't look convinced, but she didn't argue. Instead, she reached up and smoothed down her hair, though it didn't do much good. "Did you sleep at all?" she asked, pulling the blankets tighter around her shoulders.

I shrugged, not wanting to admit how much tossing and turning I'd done. "Enough," I said, grinning to lighten the mood. "I mean, I could've done without you elbowing me in the ribs, but other than that…"

Her eyes narrowed, but there was a flicker of amusement there. "I do not elbow you in my sleep."

"You do," I said, smirking now. "You've got a mean right hook, too. Malfoy'd be proud."

She swatted at my arm, but it was more playful than annoyed. "Don't be ridiculous," she muttered, though there was a small smile on her lips. For a moment, it almost felt normal—like we weren't in hiding, like we weren't about to do something insane. But the weight of what lay ahead came crashing back too quickly.

Hermione must've felt it too, because her smile faded, replaced by that serious, determined expression she always wore before a mission. "We'll be alright," she said quietly, as if trying to convince herself as much as me. "We've planned everything. We'll get the locket."

I nodded, though my stomach was still twisted in knots. "Yeah," I said, forcing a grin. "Piece of cake."

She didn't look convinced, but she didn't press me. Instead, she stood, reaching for her wand and smoothing down her jumper. "We should wake Harry," she said, glancing toward the door.

"Yeah, alright," I said, dragging myself out of the warmth of the bed. The cold wooden floor bit into my bare feet, and I shivered as I reached for my wand on the nightstand. The sunlight in the room felt too bright, too cheerful for what we were about to do. But there wasn't any time to think about that.

Today was the day. No going back now.

I volunteered to get Harry myself while Hermione freshened up. Let her have a bit of alone time to sort out her thoughts.

I made my way to Sirius's room and knocked before coming in. My knock must have done the trick, because Harry was already rubbing his eyes as I was coming in.

"You look terrible," I said as I stepped into Harry's room, attempting to make a joke. His hair was sticking up worse than usual—more wild and tangled than normal—and there were dark circles under his eyes that made him look like he hadn't slept for days. Then again, who had?

"Not for long," Harry replied with a yawn, rubbing the back of his neck as he stretched. "Feelin' alright?"

I shrugged, leaning against the doorframe. "As alright as I can be when we're about to waltz into the Ministry of Magic. You?"

Harry ran a hand through his hair, making it stand up even more. "Fine, I guess," he said, but he didn't sound convinced. His voice was low and distracted, like he was already running through everything that could go wrong.

I raised an eyebrow, glancing at him. "You sure? You look like you haven't slept much."

He paused, his lips twitching like he was trying to come up with a reason that didn't sound completely rubbish. "I slept," he said after a moment, but he didn't meet my eyes.

"Right." I smirked, trying to lighten the mood. "Well, try not to look so knackered when you're Runcorn. Don't want you getting carted off to St. Mungo's before we've even started."

Harry snorted softly, the corner of his mouth twitching into a reluctant smile. "You're one to talk."

"Oi, I look great," I shot back, grinning as I pushed off the doorframe.

"Harry snorted again, shaking his head. "Right." He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly as he ran a hand through his messy hair. "You reckon it's all gonna go as planned?"

I hesitated. "Dunno," I said honestly. "I mean, Hermione's plans usually work, don't they? Bit mad, but solid."

He nodded, though his brow furrowed slightly. "Yeah… just feels like something's bound to go wrong. It's the Ministry. Feels like walking into a trap."

"Well," I said, trying to sound casual even though his words made my stomach twist, "that's why we've got backup plans. Hermione's got about fifty of them stuffed in that bag of hers, right? We'll be fine."

Harry didn't look entirely convinced, but he nodded again and turned toward the mirror on the wall, staring at his reflection for a moment. His face was tense, but I could tell he was trying to shake it off. "Let's just get it over with."

"Sounds good to me," I said, straightening up. "Though, I'd appreciate it if you tried to look a bit less terrifying when you're Runcorn. Don't want you scaring the witches and wizards to death before we even get started."

That got a real laugh out of him, and for a moment, the tension in the room lifted. It didn't last long, though, and by the time we headed downstairs, that familiar knot of nerves was back, tightening in my chest like a noose.

Hermione was already in the kitchen, sitting stiff-backed at the table with Kreacher bustling around her. Her face was set in that determined, slightly manic expression she always got before exams, like everything would fall apart if she didn't have control of every last detail.

"Robes," she muttered under her breath as we entered, barely glancing up except to give us a distracted nod. She was elbow-deep in that beaded bag of hers, pulling out all sorts of things and laying them on the table like some kind of war general preparing for battle. "Polyjuice Potion… Invisibility Cloak… Decoy Detonators… You should each take a couple just in case… Puking Pastilles, Nosebleed Nougat, Extendable Ears…"

It was a bit much for breakfast conversation, but then again, so was the whole infiltrating-the-Ministry-to-steal-a-Horcrux plan. I sat down and reached for a hot roll that Kreacher had placed on a plate in front of me. The smell of fresh coffee and butter made my stomach growl, but it didn't do much to settle the nerves twisting in my gut.

We ate quickly, shoveling food into our mouths more out of habit than hunger. Kreacher hovered nearby, his big, bat-like eyes full of worry, and when we got up to leave, he bowed low and promised to have a steak-and-kidney pie waiting for us when we got back.

"Bless him," I said fondly, glancing back at him as we headed for the door. "And when you think I used to fantasize about cutting off his head and sticking it on the wall."

It was true. Kreacher had been insufferable at first, all muttering and insults, but I had to admit, he'd come around. It felt good, knowing he was rooting for us now, even if he couldn't say it outright.

We stepped cautiously onto the front step, every nerve in my body on high alert. The square outside was shrouded in a thin mist, and through it, I spotted two Death Eaters sitting on a bench across the way, their eyes puffy from lack of sleep. They were watching the house—watching us. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to look away. It wouldn't do to give them any reason to suspect we were about to disappear.


Hermione took my arm, and I braced myself as she twisted us into the tight, suffocating darkness of Apparition. It was like being squeezed through a drinking straw—an unpleasant, crushing feeling that I'd never quite gotten used to. When we reappeared in a tiny alleyway, I stumbled slightly, the air rushing back into my lungs.

Harry appeared a moment later, looking just as disoriented as I felt. The alley was narrow and dimly lit, with a couple of overflowing bins shoved against one wall. It smelled faintly of damp and rotting rubbish, and the only sound was the distant hum of traffic from the main road.

"Right then," Hermione said, glancing at her watch. Her voice was steady, but her fingers were twitching slightly, betraying her nerves. "She ought to be here in about five minutes. When I've Stunned her—"

"Hermione, we know," I said, cutting her off before she could launch into another explanation. My voice came out sharper than I intended, but I was too on edge to care. "And I thought we were supposed to open the door before she got here?"

Hermione's eyes went wide, and she let out a startled squeak. "I nearly forgot! Stand back—"

She raised her wand, pointing it at the heavily graffitied fire door beside us. With a loud crash, the padlock burst apart, and the door swung open to reveal a dark, musty corridor that led into an empty theater. Hermione quickly pulled the door closed again, leaving it just ajar enough to look undisturbed.

"And now," she said, turning back to Harry and me with that familiar no-nonsense tone, "we put on the Cloak again—"

"—and we wait," I finished, draping the Invisibility Cloak over her head like I was throwing a blanket over a birdcage. She huffed slightly, and I rolled my eyes at Harry, who was smirking behind her back.

We didn't have to wait long. Less than a minute later, there was a soft pop, and a tiny witch with flyaway gray hair appeared a few feet away from us. The sun chose that exact moment to break through the clouds, bathing the alley in a sudden, golden light. The witch blinked, squinting against the brightness, and for a second, she looked almost cheerful. Then Hermione's silent Stunning Spell hit her square in the chest, and she crumpled like a rag doll.

"Nicely done, Hermione," I said, stepping out from behind a bin as Harry pulled off the Cloak. Together, we carried the witch into the dark passageway. She was surprisingly light, her head lolling against her chest as if she were only asleep. The air inside the corridor was damp and smelled faintly of mildew, and our footsteps echoed eerily in the silence.

Hermione knelt beside the witch and carefully plucked a few hairs from her head, adding them to the flask of Polyjuice Potion she'd pulled from her bag. Meanwhile, I crouched down and rummaged through the witch's handbag, my fingers brushing against papers, coins, and Merlin-knows-what-else.

"Let's hope she's got something useful in here," I muttered, my voice low.

"She's Mafalda Hopkirk," Harry said, squinting at the small card in his hand. The ID had a Ministry seal and a tiny moving picture of the witch we'd just knocked out. I studied the picture—thin face, sharp features, definitely someone who looked like they'd enjoy handing out fines for sneezing the wrong way.

I glanced at Hermione, who was fiddling nervously with the small golden coins Harry passed her. "You'd better take this, Hermione," he added, dropping the engraved tokens into her palm. "And here are the tokens."

The little M.O.M. coins glinted dully in the dim alley light, and I swallowed hard. It was happening. No backing out now.

Hermione didn't hesitate. She pulled out the flask of Polyjuice Potion, now a deep, almost lovely shade of purple—not that it mattered, because it would still taste like rat droppings and moldy socks. With a deep breath, she downed it in one gulp, and within seconds, she wasn't Hermione anymore.

Mafalda Hopkirk stood in front of us, neat hair, pointy features, and all. I missed Hermione already. Sure, it was still her voice, her way of standing, but it felt wrong—like we'd lost her for a moment.

It reminded me of second year, when she'd brewed Polyjuice in the girls' bathroom and ended up looking like some mad cat-girl hybrid for weeks. Bet she was thrilled this time around that she hadn't sprouted whiskers.

"Better than a tail, eh?" I muttered, offering her a weak grin as she adjusted Mafalda's spectacles and perched them on her nose.

Harry checked his watch and his face paled. "We're running late, Mr. Magical Maintenance will be here any second." His voice had that nervous edge to it, and I felt my own stomach flip.

"Right," I said, hastily helping Harry close the door on the real Mafalda, who was still out cold inside. The air in the alley felt heavy, thick with the tension of what we were about to do. I could hear the distant hum of Muggle traffic from the main road, but out here, it felt like we were in a bubble, every little movement amplified.

Harry and I threw the Invisibility Cloak over ourselves, the familiar fabric pressing against my face, damp and slightly musty from years of use. I shifted uncomfortably, but Hermione remained in plain sight, standing awkwardly, waiting.

Then, with a tiny pop, the small, ferrety-looking wizard appeared in front of us, blinking in the sudden brightness. He had the kind of face you'd expect to find buried in paperwork—sharp, worried, and twitchy.

"Oh, hello, Mafalda," he said, his voice high-pitched and a little wheezy.

"Hello!" Hermione chirped, a little too brightly. "How are you today?"

"Not so good, actually," he sighed dramatically, looking like he was about to unload his life story right there in the alley. As he rambled on, I felt a headache coming on.

Hermione clearly thought the same, because she quickly interrupted, her voice taking on that firm, no-nonsense tone. "I'm sorry to hear you're under the weather," she said, pulling a little paper bag from her pocket. "Here, have a sweet."

I watched as she shook the bag of pastilles at him, practically shoving it under his nose. I bit back a grin. She was relentless.

"Eh? Oh, no thanks—"

"I insist!" she said, voice going a little shrill as she all but forced the sweet into his hand.

The poor bloke looked alarmed but popped it into his mouth anyway, chewing reluctantly. The effect was instant. His eyes bulged, and then—

"Ughhh!"

The wizard doubled over, retching violently, splattering the alleyway with what had to be his entire breakfast. I gagged, quickly covering my nose and mouth. The smell hit me like a Bludger to the gut—eggs and something foul I couldn't identify.

"Oh dear!" Hermione said, stepping back delicately as if the puddle of vomit might leap up and grab her. "Perhaps you'd better take the day off!"

The bloke was still heaving, trying to wave her off between splutters. "No—no! I must—today—must go—"

I glanced at Hermione, my eyebrows raised. "Keen on his job, isn't he?"

Hermione ignored me, stepping forward again with a sickeningly sweet voice. "But that's just silly! You can't go to work in this state—you ought to go to St. Mungo's!"

The wizard was now on all fours, crawling towards the street as if his job depended on it. I winced at the wet sound of his heaving. It was honestly impressive he had anything left in him.

"You simply can't go to work like this!" Hermione insisted.

At last, he seemed to realize the futility of it all. He wobbled to his feet, using Hermione's arm to steady himself, leaving a suspicious stain on her sleeve. She looked horrified but didn't say a word.

Then, with a shaky nod, he turned on the spot and vanished, leaving behind his bag—which I'd managed to snatch at the last second—and, unfortunately, quite a bit of vomit.

Hermione wrinkled her nose and lifted the skirt of her robe delicately. "Urgh. It would have made much less of a mess to Stun him."

I grinned, stepping out from under the Cloak and shaking the wizard's bag triumphantly. "Yeah, but I still think a pile of unconscious bodies would've drawn more attention. Good job, though. You really know how to talk people into things."

Hermione's cheeks turned pink, and she quickly busied herself pulling a few strands of hair from his discarded cloak. "Chuck us the hair and the potion, then," she said, clearly trying to move past the compliment.

I did as I was told, dropping the hairs into the flask Hermione handed me. The potion turned a ghastly mud-brown color, and I grimaced. "Looks appetizing."

With a deep breath, I downed it. The taste hit me first—like rubber and old socks. Then came the horrible sensation of my bones shifting and body shrinking. A few moments later, I was staring at Hermione through someone else's eyes. I looked down at my small hands and groaned.

"Bloody brilliant," I muttered, tugging on the navy-blue robes from his bag. "Weird he wasn't wearing them today, wasn't it, seeing how much he wanted to go?" I checked the label inside. "Anyway, I'm Reg Cattermole, according to this."

Hermione nodded, adjusting her new disguise. "Now wait here," she told Harry, who was still under the Cloak. "We'll be back with some hair for you."

As we walked off, Hermione slipped her hand into mine. It was warm, grounding in a way I didn't expect. "Maybe we should try another street," she whispered. "I don't fancy having too many bodies in one place."

I nodded. "Agreed. Let's get this over with before I hurl too."


Disapparating with Hermione always left me feeling like my insides had been yanked inside out. I stumbled slightly as we landed in a narrow alleyway outside a dingy little café. The street smelled of damp pavement and yesterday's rubbish, but the most important thing was the Ministry wizard standing just outside, nose buried in a copy of the Daily Prophet.

"There's someone there," Hermione whispered, tugging me behind a row of overflowing bins. She pointed at him—tall, curly black hair, and completely oblivious.

I peeked over the crates and frowned. "Blimey, he's massive. How do we take him down without him hexing us into next week?"

Hermione sighed, already rolling her eyes. "We stun him, obviously."

I pulled a face. "Yeah, great plan, Hermione. Just BAM! Stun him in broad daylight? Right here? Might as well put up a sign that says, 'Hey, we're up to something dodgy!'"

She pursed her lips, her eyes darting between the wizard and our hiding spot. "Well, we don't exactly have time to be subtle, Ron."

I snorted. "Subtlety's kind of key when you're infiltrating the bloody Ministry. Someone will see us" I glanced around at the empty alley, hoping to prove my point, but it was dead quiet apart from the distant honk of a Muggle car.

Hermione huffed in that exasperated way that usually meant she thought I was being thick. "Alright, what's your brilliant idea then?"

I grinned, rubbing my chin. "We could lure him down here with... I dunno, a distraction? Like—like—what if I pretend to be injured? You can be the concerned passerby. He comes over, bam! We hit him."

Hermione stared at me, unimpressed. "Right. Because a Ministry official is going to drop everything to help a random bloke rolling around on the pavement?"

"Why not?" I shrugged. "I'd stop if I saw someone looking pathetic enough."

"That's because you're you," she said, shaking her head. "We need something more practical. We need him to go home willingly."

I blinked at her. "And how exactly do you reckon we'll manage that? Ask him nicely?"

She ignored my sarcasm and dug into her beaded bag, pulling out a familiar bright orange sweet. "We'll use one of these."

I stared. "You want me to poison him?"

Hermione sighed. "It's not poison—it's a Nosebleed Nougat. You give it to him, act like you're being friendly, and when the bleeding starts, we convince him he needs to go home."

I grinned. "Now that is genius."

Hermione smirked, looking rather pleased with herself. "I thought so."

Taking a deep breath, I plastered on what I hoped was a friendly smile and walked over to the wizard, casually adjusting my robes. "Morning, mate," I said, stepping beside him.

He barely looked up from his paper. "Morning."

I leaned in slightly. "Say, you wouldn't happen to know a shortcut to the Ministry, would you? First day, and they've got me running all over the place."

He sighed and folded his paper, clearly annoyed. "Shortcut? Not really. Best to just stick with the visitor's entrance."

I nodded like I actually cared. "Right, right. Thanks, mate." Then, before I could lose my nerve, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the sweet. "Here—bit of a pick-me-up for your troubles. I got it at this joke shop—brilliant stuff, best in Diagon Alley."

He eyed it skeptically. "What is it?"

"Oh, just a little treat," I said, grinning like Fred usually did when trying to con Mum. "Helps with long mornings, you know?"

The bloke hesitated, then shrugged. "Alright, cheers." He unwrapped it and popped it into his mouth without another thought.

I held my breath, glancing toward Hermione, who was peeking around the corner of a bin, mouthing well? at me.

It took a few seconds, but then it happened—his eyes widened, and he pressed a hand to his nose as bright red blood gushed down his face.

"What the—?! Bloody hell!" he spluttered, looking horrified.

I winced. "Oof, that looks nasty, mate. You alright?"

The wizard stared at his bloody hands in panic. "What's happening to me?"

Hermione, ever the picture of helpfulness, appeared beside me, her face all concerned. "Oh dear! That looks bad, let me help!"

She grabbed the back of his head, pulling it up by his hair. "You should really get home and rest before it gets worse."

The wizard groaned, pinching his nose as the blood kept streaming. "Yeah… yeah, maybe you're right. Can't go into work like this, can I?"

"Definitely not," I said, trying to sound serious but barely holding in my grin. "Better safe than sorry, right?"

"Yeah... thanks, mate," he muttered, looking miserable as he disapparated with a loud pop, leaving a few drops of blood on the pavement.

The moment he was gone, I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding and turned to Hermione. "See? Easy."

Hermione shook her head, but there was a little smile on her face. "You were surprisingly... convincing."

I smirked. "Surprisingly?"

She blushed slightly, stuffing the wizard's hairs that she had pulled into her pocket. "Alright, you did well."

I leaned against the wall, arms crossed, and grinned. "I've got a talent for charming people, what can I say?"

Hermione rolled her eyes but couldn't hide the grin creeping onto her beautiful lips. "Let's just get back to Harry."

"After you, Miss Mastermind," I said, nudging her lightly as we disappeared back into the swirling darkness of Disapparition.

"We don't know who he is," Hermione said as we reappeared in front of Harry. She handed him a few curly black hairs, looking pleased but still slightly frazzled. "But he's gone home with a dreadful nosebleed! Here, he's pretty tall, you'll need bigger robes…"

I watched as she pulled a neatly folded set of robes from Kreacher's stash, handing them over to Harry. The robes smelled faintly of soap and something that reminded me of old books—probably Kreacher's idea of 'clean.' Harry grabbed them with a nod and disappeared behind a stack of crates to change.

I fidgeted with my wand, tapping it against my leg as I tried to push down the nerves curling in my stomach. The alley felt damp, with the lingering stink of rubbish and the distant hum of London traffic outside. My heart was still hammering from our little run-in earlier, and I couldn't help but glance around, half-expecting someone to pop out and demand an explanation.

When Harry stepped back into view, I felt my stomach drop. He was taller—a lot taller—and the sight of him with that unfamiliar, broad-chinned face made my skin crawl.

"Blimey, that's scary," I muttered, craning my neck to look up at him. Seeing Harry like this, so different, made me feel like I was losing my grip on what was real.

"Take one of Mafalda's tokens," Hermione said briskly, handing him a small, golden coin. "And let's go, it's nearly nine."