The majority, and I do mean the majority of this chapter is Rowling. It's the conversation that involved Dirk, the goblins, Dean, and Ted Tonks. It's important, so it needed to be here. I did Ron it up as much as I could though.

Chapter 205: Whispers in the Dark

Autumn had fully settled in by now, blanketing the countryside in shades of gold, red, and brown. It might have been beautiful if it didn't feel so miserable. Everywhere we went, the ground was damp with fallen leaves, the air was sharp and cold, and the natural mists mingled with the eerie, soul-sucking fog that came with Dementors. Even the rain seemed relentless, soaking us to the bone before we could get the tent up most nights. And let me tell you, soggy socks and a lack of proper food don't do wonders for anyone's mood—especially mine.

We'd pitched the tent on a muddy riverbank in Wales that evening. The sound of rushing water wasn't exactly calming, more like a constant reminder of how bleak everything was. I was sitting at the table, poking at the pathetic excuse for food on my plate: charred lumps of gray fish that barely resembled anything edible. The locket hung heavy around my neck, dragging at my thoughts, amplifying every irritation, every frustration, until it was all I could think about.

"My mother," I said moodily, pushing a piece of fish around the plate, "can make good food appear out of thin air."

Hermione, sitting across from me with her own barely touched plate, looked up sharply. "Your mother can't produce food out of thin air," she said in that actually, "I know everything" tone she used when she was about to launch into a lecture. "No one can. Food is the first of the five Principal Exceptions to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfigura—"

"Oh, speak English, can't you?" I snapped, prising a bit of fish out from between my teeth. I could hear the irritation in my own voice, but I couldn't stop it.

Hermione huffed, her cheeks flushing slightly as she sat up straighter. "It's impossible to make good food out of nothing! You can Summon it if you know where it is, you can transform it, you can increase the quantity if you've already got some—"

"Well, don't bother increasing this," I cut in, gesturing to my plate. "It's disgusting."

The words came out harsher than I meant them to, but I didn't take them back. The fish was disgusting, and the locket around my neck seemed to agree, whispering every petty annoyance louder and louder in my head.

Hermione's eyes narrowed, and her voice rose. "Harry caught the fish, and I did my best with it! I notice I'm always the one who ends up sorting out the food—because I'm a girl, I suppose!"

Normally, I'd feel bad. Normally, I'd try to fix it when I could see her getting upset. But with the Horcrux digging into my skin, twisting every thought, I wasn't in the mood to back down.

"No," I shot back, my voice sharp, "it's because you're supposed to be the best at magic!"

Hermione jumped up so fast her tin plate tipped, and bits of roast pike slid onto the floor. "You can do the cooking tomorrow, Ron!" she shouted, her eyes flashing. "You can find the ingredients, charm them into something worth eating, and I'll sit here pulling faces and moaning—"

"Shut up!" Harry suddenly shouted, leaping to his feet and holding up both hands. "Shut up now!"

Hermione froze mid-rant, her expression furious, but she didn't say another word. Harry was glaring at both of us, his face pale and tense.

"How can you side with him?" Hermione hissed, pointing at me. "He hardly ever does the cook—"

"Hermione, be quiet," Harry snapped, cutting her off. "I can hear someone!"

That shut us both up immediately. The tent went deathly silent. My heart thudded in my chest as I strained to listen, every nerve on edge. The locket felt heavier than ever, pressing into my skin like a warning. Harry's eyes darted toward the Sneakoscope sitting on the table. It wasn't moving, but that didn't mean much. The air felt charged, like something was out there. Something waiting.

We stood frozen, holding our breath, listening to the night. The rushing river suddenly felt too loud, and the wind too sharp. My stomach was knotting with a mix of fear and frustration. I wasn't sure I had the energy for a fight.

"You cast the Muffliato charm over us, right?" Harry whispered, his voice barely audible over the rushing of the river outside.

"I did everything," Hermione whispered back, her words sharp with tension. "Muffliato, Muggle-Repelling, and Disillusionment Charms—all of it. They shouldn't be able to hear or see us, whoever they are."

Her voice was calm, but I could see the way her hands trembled as she clutched her wand. That didn't exactly fill me with confidence. I strained to listen, and the noises outside became clearer: heavy scuffing, the scrape of boots against stone, twigs snapping underfoot. Whoever they were, they were clambering down the steep slope that led to the narrow bank where we'd pitched the tent.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. This was it. We were done for.

I tightened my grip on my wand, my palm slick with sweat. The enchantments Hermione had cast were supposed to protect us, but that didn't stop the rising dread in my chest. What if they didn't hold? What if these were Death Eaters, and they knew exactly where we were? The thought made my stomach twist painfully. My mind raced, imagining every awful scenario. I wasn't ready for a fight, not like this. My arm still ached faintly from the splinching incident, and I felt weaker than I cared to admit. Shit, shit, shit.

The voices outside grew louder, though the river's roar made them impossible to understand. They couldn't have been more than fifteen feet away now. The idea of them so close made my skin crawl, the hair on the back of my neck standing on end. The sound of boots crunching against the gravel bank sent a fresh jolt of panic through me.

Hermione, always the quick thinker, snatched up the beaded bag and started rummaging through it. I could see her lips moving silently, likely running through the mental inventory she always seemed to carry. Her hands were trembling just enough to make me nervous.

A moment later, she pulled out three Extendible Ears and tossed one to each of us. I fumbled mine for a second before shoving the fleshy bit into my ear. My hands were shaking now, too. Get it together, Ron. I fed the other end of the stringy, flesh-colored device out of the tent entrance, exchanging a quick, tense look with Harry. His jaw was set, his eyes hard, and I could tell he was just as on edge as I was.

The sounds outside were now painfully close, and my grip on my wand tightened until my knuckles turned white. My breathing was shallow as I listened through the Extendible Ear, waiting to make sense of the voices. Were they Muggles? Regular witches and wizards? Or...Merlin help us..Death Eaters?

Every muscle in my body was wound tight, ready to spring, as the silence inside the tent stretched thinner and thinner. I glanced at Hermione, who was crouched low, her brow furrowed in concentration as she listened intently. My chest tightened further. She was brave, so bloody brave, but I could see the fear in her eyes. And knowing she was scared made me feel worse, like I had to protect her even though I wasn't sure I could.

Whoever was out there, whatever they were doing, I prayed Hermione's enchantments would hold. Because if they didn't, we were well and truly fucked.

I shoved the Extendable Ear further into my ear, straining to catch every word. My heart was pounding, and my grip on my wand was slick with sweat. We'd been paranoid for so long, every noise feeling like a death sentence, but now… now it wasn't fear surging through me. It was curiosity, excitement even. The weary male voice that had spoken wasn't threatening, at least not yet. It actually sounded… normal.

"There ought to be a few salmon in here, or d'you reckon it's too early in the season? Accio Salmon!"

There was a series of distinct splashes, followed by the wet slapping of fish hitting what I assumed was someone's hands. I heard a grunt of appreciation. Whoever they were, they'd already eaten better in two minutes than we had in weeks. Lucky bastards.

Over the murmur of the river, I caught fragments of other voices. My brow furrowed as I tried to make sense of it. It wasn't English—it sounded harsher, almost guttural. Gobbledygook, I realized, like the language I'd heard goblins use at Gringotts. There were two distinct speakers, one with a slower, deeper voice.

A fire crackled to life on the other side of the tent, and their shadows flickered against the canvas. The smell of roasting salmon drifted toward us, rich and mouthwatering. My stomach growled loudly, and I pressed a hand to it, wincing. That salmon smelled heavenly—much better than the burnt rubbish we'd managed to scrape together lately. For a brief moment, I considered how mental it'd be to just walk out and ask for a bite. Stupid thought, but it crossed my mind all the same.

"Here, Griphook, Gornuk," said the first voice, and my stomach flipped.

Goblins. Hermione turned to Harry, mouthing the word, wide-eyed. He nodded at her, and I felt a surge of irritation. Of course, they had their little silent exchange. Nothing was mouthed my way, though I'd clocked what they were before she even started flapping her mouth. Typical.

"Thank you," the goblins said together, their voices low and scratchy, but clear.

"So, you three have been on the run for how long?" asked another voice, this one friendlier, less worn down. It had an easygoing tone, the kind that made you feel like you could sit and have a pint with the bloke. I couldn't place him, but he sounded like someone decent.

"Six weeks… Seven… I forget," came the first voice again. It was tired, like it carried the weight of the world on its shoulders. "Met up with Griphook in the first couple of days and joined forces with Gornuk not long after. Nice to have a bit of company."

There was a pause, the clinking of knives against plates and the soft thud of tin mugs being set down. My grip on the Extendable Ear tightened.

"What made you leave, Ted?" the man asked.

My stomach twisted. Ted? That name sounded familiar.

"Knew they were coming for me," said the tired voice. "Heard Death Eaters were in the area last week and decided I'd better run for it. Refused to register as a Muggleborn on principle, see, so I knew it was a matter of time, knew I'd have to leave in the end. My wife should be okay, she's pure-blood. And then I met Dean here, what, a few days ago, son?"

My chest tightened, and I felt like someone had just thrown cold water over me. No...it couldn't be.

"Yeah," came another voice, and this time, I knew it. I bloody knew it. Dean Fucking Red Card Thomas.

I turned to Harry and Hermione, and the three of us locked eyes, the same realization hitting us all at once. Dean Thomas. Our Dean.

Merlin, you don't realize how much you miss someone until you hear their voice again.

"Muggleborn, eh?" asked the first man, his voice casual but curious.

"Not sure," Dean replied, and I could hear the faint uncertainty in his tone. "My dad left my mum when I was a kid. I've got no proof he was a wizard, though."

Hearing Dean say that brought back memories of him telling us about his dad back at Hogwarts. He'd always wondered if his father had been forced to leave, some dark reason beyond his control. I'd agreed with him at the time—what kind of father would walk out on his wife and kid willingly? A coward, that's who. But hearing Dean now, his voice edged with doubt and frustration, it hit differently. We weren't at Hogwarts anymore, and the stakes were a hell of a lot higher now.

The group outside went quiet for a bit, except for the sound of chewing and the occasional clink of tin mugs. The fire crackled, its warm light casting flickering shadows on the tent canvas, and the rushing river filled the silence. It was almost peaceful—if you ignored the fact that Death Eaters could appear at any moment.

Ted spoke up again. "I've got to say, Dirk, I'm surprised to run into you. Pleased, but surprised. Word was that you'd been caught."

"I was," Dirk admitted, his voice gruff but calm. "I was halfway to Azkaban when I made a break for it. Stunned Dawlish and nicked his broom. It was easier than you'd think; I don't reckon he's quite right at the moment. Might be Confunded. If so, I'd like to shake the hand of the witch or wizard who did it—probably saved my life."

I felt a flicker of satisfaction at that. Dawlish was a git, and hearing that someone might've Confunded him made me want to give them a bloody medal.

There was another pause, the fire crackling and popping as if it were part of the conversation. Then Ted asked, "And where do you two fit in? I, er, had the impression the goblins were for You-Know-Who, on the whole."

"You had a false impression," said one of the goblins, his voice sharp and high-pitched. "We take no sides. This is a wizards' war."

"Then why are you in hiding?" Ted pressed.

"I deemed it prudent," replied the deeper-voiced goblin. His tone was rough, full of disdain. "Having refused what I considered an impertinent request, I could see that my personal safety was in jeopardy."

"What did they ask you to do?" Ted asked.

"Duties ill-befitting the dignity of my race," the goblin growled. "I am not a house-elf."

That hit like a hex. I glanced at Hermione, expecting her to look uncomfortable, but she was focused on the Extendable Ear, her brow furrowed.

"What about you, Griphook?" Ted asked.

"Similar reasons," the higher-pitched goblin replied. "Gringotts is no longer under the sole control of my race. I recognize no Wizarding master."

There was a sharp muttering in Gobbledegook, followed by laughter from Gornuk.

"What's the joke?" Dean asked, his voice cutting through the awkwardness.

"He said," Dirk translated, "that there are things wizards don't recognize, either."

Dean hesitated before replying, "I don't get it."

"I had my small revenge before I left," said Griphook in English, and there was a smug edge to his voice.

"Good man—er, goblin, I should say," amended Ted hastily. "Didn't manage to lock a Death Eater up in one of the old high-security vaults, I suppose?"

"If I had, the sword would not have helped him break out," Griphook replied cryptically, his tone dark. Gornuk let out a loud laugh, and even Dirk chuckled dryly.

Dean sounded confused. "Ted and I are still missing something here."

"So is Severus Snape," said Griphook, his voice dripping with malice. "Though he does not know it."

The goblins erupted into roaring laughter, and even Dirk joined in. Hearing Snape's name sent a jolt of rage through me, my grip tightening on my wand. That greasy git, still ruining lives. But the thought of Snape being outsmarted, being made a fool of, lit something satisfying in me. I had to bite back a grin, though I wasn't sure if it was because of the Horcrux or just pure hatred for the bloke. Either way, the idea of him being tricked? That, at least, was worth a moment of smug satisfaction.

"Didn't you hear about that, Ted?" asked Dirk, his tone almost casual. "About the kids who tried to steal Gryffindor's sword out of Snape's office at Hogwarts?"

I froze. My blood turned cold and hot all at once. Hermione and Harry leaned in closer, and I couldn't breathe.

"Never heard a word," Ted replied. "Not in the Prophet, was it?"

"Hardly," chortled Dirk. "Griphook here told me, he heard about it from Bill Weasley who works for the bank. One of the kids who tried to take the sword was Bill's younger sister."

Ginny. My baby sister Ginny. The cord of the Extendable Ear nearly snapped under the pressure of my grip. My sister had tried to nick the Sword of Gryffindor? What the fuck was she thinking? Was she mental? My mind raced, picturing her in Snape's office, knowing how much danger she'd been in, and I felt like the walls of the tent were closing in on me.

"She and a couple of friends got into Snape's office and smashed open the glass case where he was apparently keeping the sword. Snape caught them as they were trying to smuggle it down the staircase."

"Ah, God bless 'em," said Ted, sounding genuinely impressed. "What did they think, that they'd be able to use the sword on You-Know-Who? Or on Snape himself?"

I wasn't laughing. I couldn't even manage a smirk. My hands were clammy, and I felt like I was going to be sick.

"Well, whatever they thought they were going to do with it, Snape decided the sword wasn't safe where it was," Dirk continued. "Couple of days later, once he'd got the say-so from You-Know-Who, I imagine, he sent it down to London to be kept in Gringotts instead."

The goblins outside started laughing, their harsh, gravelly chuckles grating against my ears. I wasn't in the mood for their jokes.

"I'm still not seeing the joke," Ted said.

"It's a fake," rasped Griphook.

I blinked. A fake?

"The sword of Gryffindor!" Griphook repeated, his voice dripping with disdain. "Oh yes. It is a copy, an excellent copy, it is true, but it was wizard-made. The original was forged centuries ago by goblins and has certain properties only goblin-made armor possesses. Wherever the genuine sword of Gryffindor is, it is not in a vault at Gringotts Bank."

Ted let out a low whistle. "I see. And I take it you didn't bother telling the Death Eaters this?"

"I saw no reason to trouble them with the information," Griphook said smugly.

The group outside erupted into laughter again, but I wasn't laughing. My fists clenched, and I felt Hermione's hand on my arm, trying to ground me. She knew, she always knew, when I was about to lose it.

"What happened to Ginny and all the others? The ones who tried to steal it?" Dean's voice cut through, and my heart jumped. Merlin bless Dean for asking the only question that mattered.

"Oh, they were punished, and cruelly," said Griphook, his tone indifferent, like he was discussing the weather.

Hermione's grip on my arm tightened. I felt the heat rise in me, and I was ready to tear through the tent and demand they take me to her. But her hand held firm, her fingers digging into my sleeve like she knew I was seconds away from snapping.

"They're okay, though?" Ted asked quickly. "I mean, the Weasleys don't need any more of their kids injured, do they?"

"They suffered no serious injury, as far as I am aware," Griphook replied.

I exhaled shakily, feeling my body slump slightly. Relief coursed through me like a flood, but the tension didn't fully leave. My little sister had been punished by Snape no less, and I hadn't been there to protect her. That thought alone burned like a curse.

"Lucky for them," Ted said grimly. "With Snape's track record, I suppose we should just be glad they're still alive."

Hermione loosened her grip on my arm, and I finally allowed myself to breathe again. Barely.

The conversation shifted, but my mind stayed on Ginny, on the thought of her being hurt. The thought of Snape sneering down at her, punishing her. My blood boiled all over again, but I forced myself to focus on the voices outside.

"You believe that story, then, do you, Ted?" Dirk asked. "You believe Snape killed Dumbledore?"

"Course I do," Ted replied sharply. "You're not going to sit there and tell me you think Potter had anything to do with it?"

"I know Harry Potter," Dean said, his voice steady and sure. "And I reckon he's the real thing—the Chosen One, or whatever you want to call it."

Hearing Dean defend Harry filled me with a warmth I hadn't felt in weeks. At least someone out there believed in him. In us.

The voices eventually faded, their fire extinguished and their footsteps retreating up the slope. I stared at the tent's canvas ceiling, my heart heavy with worry for Ginny, for my family, for what was waiting for us out there. The relief I'd felt was already giving way to guilt. Ginny was out there fighting, and I was stuck in this bloody tent, spinning my wheels. It felt like I was failing everyone. Again.