A Different Kind of Darkness

Chapter Four: The Phoenix Resistance

Ron Apparated to a remote location in the western part of the Morose Marshes, arriving just outside a tiny wooden hut that had been the Phoenix Resistance main headquarters throughout most of the last summer. The hut was magically enhanced to be larger inside, housing fourteen rooms, including a small one devoted entirely to following the National and International Quidditch competitions. Hermione had initially argued that there were better uses for this space, but had been worn down by the 'Quidditch addicts', as she liked to call them, and had ended up adopting an "If you can't beat 'em, join 'em" attitude, spending almost as much time in there as the others. However, the other parts of the hut, excepting the rooms used as bedrooms, had been strictly for the business of running the Resistance. It was from here that the leadership team had been able to co-ordinate the successful creation of two secure major bases, having failed several times previously.

Ron spotted the shadowy figures of his companions a little way off, noting darkly that Angelina was still leaning heavily on Fred, and hurried over just as a gentle wind wafted the revolting scent of the Marshes towards him. He scrunched up his nose; to him, it smelled like decomposing meat blended with rotten eggs. What was worse was that the gas of the Marshes was impervious to most forms of magic, so the Bubblehead Charm was useless. Gagging, he shoved his hand over his mouth and nose in an attempt to block out the stench. George and Angelina had done similarly, while Fred had pulled the collar of his robes up to cover the bottom half of his face, allowing him to support Angelina with both arms.

'Gee, I really missed this place,' George said, gesturing with his free hand to the brown wastelands shrouded in heavy mists. 'It's a real wonder that no one's taken over our old lodgings.'

Ron glowered at him, in no mood for his brother's sarcasm. 'Let's get out of here,' he said. The others nodded vigorously. But instead of doing anything constructive, Ron stared into the mists, suddenly pining for Hermione again.

'Ron?' Fred prompted, glancing a little nervously into the hazy depths of the Marshes, as though he thought they were being followed somehow.

'Hmm?' Ron said distractedly. 'Oh, you all go on ahead, I'll meet you back at headquarters.'

'Uh, Ron?' Fred asked.

Ron looked at his brother as realisation cuffed him across the head. His ears reddened slightly. 'Oh, yeah. I forgot ... sorry,' he muttered sheepishly.

Their primary headquarters had just been moved, and no one knew the location except for Ron, Hermione and their aide-de-camp. Ron felt a surge of relief that he, rather than Hermione, had been made Secret Keeper. His throat constricted slightly, and he abruptly switched his thoughts back to the business at hand.

'Ok,' he said, trying to breathe through his mouth as they huddled around him. 'The new Phoenix Resistance headquarters are at number 83 Campbell Avenue, London.'

'London?' Angelina asked, her voice muffled by her hand.

'Yeah,' Ron replied tonelessly, 'on the outskirts.'

'Oh, geez, not that old dump!' George said, recalling the house Ron was talking about. Ron shot him a look, but before he could reply, Fred cut him off.

'Any place is better than this hell hole,' he said, clearly straining a little under his and Angelina's combined weight. 'Let's get going.'

They all nodded and Disapparated, arriving almost at once in a seemingly abandoned street lined with dilapidated houses. Casting quick glances about, they hurried up the street, Angelina limping along with Fred's help. Upon reaching number 83, the twins and Angelina stopped for a moment, watching dubiously as the Fidelius Charm began to work, slowly unveiling a crumbling brick cottage. Ron, on the other hand, marched straight through the rotting gate and onto the run-down porch, beckoning to the others impatiently.

They followed Ron up the weed-infested path and pulled up in front of the solid front door. It was decorated with an intricate brass knocker wrought in the shape of a nine-headed snake-like monster. Its body was anchored to the door, while the heads leaned forward, staring unblinkingly.

'A hydra?' Fred asked curiously. Ron didn't respond, simply reaching for the knocker, held in the mouth of the middle snake-head, and letting it drop against the door with a loud thud.

'Well, that was completely uncalled for,' hissed a small voice suddenly.

'Quite abrupt, I thought,' commented another distinctly reptilian voice.

Fred, George and Angelina jumped, but Ron merely sighed wearily as the nine heads of the Hydra sprang to life, regarding the new arrivals with expressions ranging from suspicion, to curiosity, to open hostility.

'Who do you think you are, coming 'round here, making all that racket?' the head third from the left demanded in a screechy tone before turning to the neighbour on its immediate left. 'Honestly, young people these days!'

'Oh, I quite agree,' said her companion, glaring beadily.

'C'mon, they didn't mean anything by it,' piped up the head on the far right, its voice that of a young man, regarding the four humans with interest.

'Be quiet - you're just a child! Don't speak unless spoken to,' snapped the second head. 'We're the Door Keepers, we don't just -'

But Ron had had quite enough and brought his wand to bear. 'Penelope,' he said, tapping the top of the first head; it froze immediately. He then moved to the next, muttering, 'Apollo,' and repeated the process for each of the heads, skipping the middle one holding the ring in its mouth.

'Sybil,' 'Semele,' 'Woden,' 'Odysseus,' 'Rhea,' 'Dionysus.'

With each touch of Ron's wand, and the simultaneous announcement of a peculiar name, each head froze, staring out blankly as Ron completed the password ritual. Finally, he came back to the last serpent-like head at the centre, which wriggled a little, but was unable to speak due to the heavy knocker in its mouth. Ron sighed audibly and tapped it lightly with his wand. 'Bob,' he said, watching as it halted instantly. He heard a snigger to his right and turned briefly to glare at George.

'Bob?' George asked, not bothering to disguise his amusement.

'Hermione named them,' Ron explained dourly. 'She was running a little short on time.'

George shut up straight away, his expression grim. Ron turned back to the door as eight of the Hydra heads chanted in unison, 'Password?'

'Hercules,' Ron replied, watching blankly as the door creaked open and the heads of the Hydra sprang to life once more.

'I told you they were all right, Mother,' Dionysus said, as the four humans filed past.

'Quite right,' Woden agreed in a bass timbre. George closed the door just in time to hear Semele launch into a speech about how young people these days have no respect, and Sybil telling Woden to mind his own business as he wasn't even part of Greek mythology, so what would he know anyway?

The door securely shut behind them, Ron, Angelina, and the twins entered the dingy, ill-lit hallway and faced the three doorways.

'We're going to have to Apparate again,' Ron announced to the bewildered trio behind him. 'The doors are booby-trapped - we're only using the four rooms out the back and the kitchen.' The others nodded and Apparated simultaneously into a cramped living room.

'Welcome to Resistance headquarters,' Ron announced sourly. They stumbled, exhausted, into worn armchairs and a couch opposite an open fire lit within a crumbling fireplace. Silence ensued as they each took stock of their situation and various injuries.

A noise from the neighbouring room startled them. Ron jumped to his feet, soundlessly crossing the room, all the while aiming his wand at the only doorway and holding his breath in anxious anticipation. Hannah Abbott appeared in the doorframe, brandishing her wand in readiness to hex any unwelcome intruders. Ron quickly lowered his wand and took a deep breath; he had already begun an incantation, pulling back from the curse only at the last second. He placed his wand very carefully on the cluttered table near the door, horrified that he had been within a hair's breadth of cursing Hannah. The very idea shook him. He clenched his jaw as Hannah let out an exclamation of relief, tucking her own wand into her belt.

'You're here! Thank heavens, I was getting so worried! Did you ...' She trailed off, frowning as she noticed their pale, fatigued faces. 'What happened? Where's Hermione?' She searched each of their expressions anxiously.

Ron crossed the room again and fell mutely back into his seat, shifting uncomfortably as a broken spring dug into his thigh. He rubbed it, trying to lessen the pain as George recounted what had happened. Ron briefly examined the large map of the United Kingdom hanging on the wall above the couch, its red, green and blue lights blinking to indicate Resistance bases, safe houses and posts, while half a dozen small portrait frames hung to the side, though none of them were currently occupied by their subjects.

The others, too, tried not to watch Hannah's reaction, staring at the peeling blue wallpaper and the soot-stained furniture around the room as she listened in open-mouthed horror.

'Merlin's beard!' she exclaimed, aghast, as George finished his rendition of the events. 'What are we going to do?' She looked worriedly between the grim faces in front of her.

'We aren't going to do anything,' Ron interjected immediately. 'Angelina needs treatment for those injuries - she can barely breathe. Hannah, you'll need to take her to see Grace. I'm going back to the Palace.' He stood and made to stride to the table in order to collect his wand again, except this time there was an older brother standing in the way.

'What?! Ron, have you gone insane?' Fred demanded.

Ron turned to his brother, eyes blazing. 'I can't leave her there! Not with him - he's capable of anything. I won't leave her there - I can't! Get out of the way, Fred!' He tried to shove Fred out of his path, but his older brother barely budged.

'Ron, be sensible!' George broke in fiercely, joining Fred in blocking Ron's exit. 'What are you going to do, take on a Palace full of soldiers by yourself? You'll only get yourself killed!'

'I'll take troops,' Ron replied stubbornly, shoving uselessly against the combined strength of his brothers and cursing himself for having set his wand aside in the first place.

'We barely have enough troops to wage a decent resistance, Ron,' Fred retorted sharply, grunting as he forced his brother back once more. Ron stopped pushing and turned away as Fred continued, breathing heavily from the exertion. 'Taking on the Palace at this point in time is out of the question, something that you've been drumming into our heads as resident tactician!'

Ron whirled back, glaring irately at his brothers, who remained fixed between Ron and his wand. 'I can't leave her there! What would you do if it was Angelina there? Left alone, with him?' he snarled at Fred.

Fred hesitated, his gaze flicking to his injured wife then back to Ron. 'I'd bide my time until I could rescue her,' he responded finally. 'Getting myself, and a whole heap of other people killed wouldn't help, Ron. It won't help Hermione, either.'

'No, you bloody well wouldn't,' Ron muttered angrily, scowling at the twins who, in turn, glared back at him. The deadlock was broken by a weak voice behind them.

'Look, I hate to interrupt the family spat,' Angelina said darkly, 'but aren't you all forgetting something fairly important?' Her gaze flicked between the identical blank expressions of the redheaded brothers before she continued, almost exasperated. 'Hermione knows almost everything about our operations. If Potter decides she knows something that he wants to know ....' She trailed off weakly, but they all knew how the sentence finished.

Ron, George and Fred looked utterly aghast. 'He wouldn't harm her,' Ron whispered firmly, as though he refused to believe anything else. 'He wouldn't hurt her, not even for information. He ...' Ron hesitated, spitting out the next sentence like it caused him physical pain to articulate it, '... loves her too much.' He choked slightly on his words, his heart in his throat.

'Are you willing to bet the lives of our people on the temperament of the Lightning Prince?' Angelina challenged abrasively. 'I don't want to believe that he would hurt her any more than you do, Ron, but we have to be practical. We're responsible for a lot of people - the same people who rely on you not to fly off the handle,' she added, staring at him pointedly.

Ron bit his lip, bowing his head. 'I can't just leave her there,' he said softly, almost to himself. 'I can't abandon her like this.'

Fred put a hand on his shoulder. 'We're not abandoning her - you're not abandoning her,' he insisted. 'You're fulfilling your responsibilities, Ron. You have a duty to make the best possible decisions, whatever the circumstances. You're a master strategist and a leader in the Phoenix Resistance,' he concluded firmly. 'Act like it.'

'That's what Hermione would want,' George put in.

Ron sat back down in the armchair he had vacated and nodded slowly, staring into the low flames of the fireplace. George was right - Hermione would have berated him fiercely for acting like this. Taking a deep breath, he hissed it out gradually, making a conscious effort to put his personal concerns aside. Although he couldn't clear his mind of them completely, he still tried to start to focus on the situation now facing the Resistance.

'Right, we need to think about this logically,' he murmured to himself, thinking out loud. 'Hermione knows ... well, everything. The contact network isn't going to be safe - not if he has our top diplomat. But some of the military locations should be safe.' He mumbled on, the others listening intently. His mind worked furiously as pieces of a giant jigsaw puzzle started to fall into place and the obvious but dreaded conclusion presented itself.

His frown deepened. 'Hannah, when was the last time Hermione was briefed on our military status? Three weeks ago?'

'General briefing was two weeks ago,' Hannah replied promptly. 'She was given an overview of the strikes for the last six months, and was briefed on most operations planned for the next three.'

Ron nodded, mulling over the facts for a few more minutes before suddenly looking up at the twins. 'Who did you leave in charge up in Warwickshire?' he asked.

'Lee was heading up the base while we were away,' Fred responded, frowning perplexedly as Ron delved back into his whirlpool of thoughts.

'All right,' he said finally. 'You're right, Angelina - we can't take the risk. We're going to have to evacuate the bases.' No one, to their credit, protested against Ron's decision, despite the huge amount of time and effort that had gone into setting the bases up only eight months beforehand. Their resigned agreement was evident in the tight looks they quickly exchanged.

Ron glanced over at Angelina, who was still in her armchair and in considerable pain. Hannah was kneeling down next to her, trying her best to heal some of the smaller wounds with her wand.

'Hannah?' She looked up at him immediately. 'Hannah, you're going to have to take Angelina to see Grace, wherever she is. No buts,' he added resolutely as Angelina opened her mouth in protest. 'Fred, George, we need both main bases evacuated within the next two hours. I want them down and all our people in safe houses. Use the Fidelius Charm. Make the second-in-commands the Secret Keepers and bring them back with you - we might have to send them abroad until we can establish the all-clear,' he said slowly, his mind whirring.

Hannah cut in for a moment. 'Can't we just use the Fidelius Charm on the bases? It would make things a lot simpler.'

'Yeah, it would,' Angelina responded, 'but you know that we didn't use the charm in the first place because there are too many people involved with the bases. They're our nerve centre - there's too much coming and going for a charm like that.'

George nodded in agreement. 'Yeah, that was the whole point of establishing the bases - somewhere to operate more openly. At least if we get everyone in safe houses, we can always go back to the bases, if they're still secure.'

'Maybe,' Hannah agreed hesitantly, biting her lip, 'but having everyone in safe houses is going to seriously limit our ability to operate,' she protested. 'We can't run our campaign from safe houses - it's just not practical.'

Ron nodded agitatedly. 'I know, I know. It won't be for long, though - we'll be up and running like normal as soon as possible. In the meantime, we can't run the risk - not when we're talking about that many people,' he said, turning to the twins. 'You two take care of your base; I'll head to Cornwall and -'

'No way, Ron,' George interrupted him. 'You need to be accessible in case something comes up and we need further instructions. Fred can go to Warwickshire - I'll take care of Cornwall. Who'd you leave in charge there?'

'Maggie, of course, but -'

'No buts,' George said, giving his best impersonation of Ron, before sobering. 'Seriously, this is the part of leadership where you learn how to delegate authority. Besides, you'll need to compile a list of supporters that we need to warn.' Ron nodded reluctantly as George continued. 'We'll evacuate within the hour and leave the second one as a bumper.' He frowned thoughtfully. 'There won't be enough room in the Warwickshire safe houses, though.'

'Get them to Gloucestershire then. A few of the strike teams have just moved east from there - it should have plenty of room,' Hannah supplied helpfully.

'And bring back Maggie and Lee as well,' Ron added thoughtfully. He strode over to the table, grabbed a quill and scribbled hastily on two pieces of parchment as he spoke. 'If we're going to be on the back foot for a while, we're going to need to do some planning. We'll need them.' He finished the notes and handed one each to Fred and George, who glanced at them briefly:

The headquarters of the Phoenix Resistance are at number 83 Campbell Avenue, London.

'And be careful not to lose those,' Ron added unnecessarily. 'The last thing we need right now is random people strolling through our secret headquarters.'

George arched an eyebrow, but nodded. 'C'mon Fred, there's evacuating to be done!' he said in a cheerful tone that belied the fatigue and worry in his eyes. Fred gave Angelina a quick kiss.

'Try not to annoy the Hydra,' Hannah added, with a wry smile. The twins both gave derisive snorts, then Disapparated. The room felt suddenly empty without them.

'Where's Amelia, Hannah?' Angelina asked, breaking the silence; she groaned slightly as she shifted her weight.

Hannah nodded towards the doorway. 'Just in the next room.'

'OK, I just want to see her before we go. I'll be back in a minute,' Angelina replied, struggling to her feet. Hannah leaped forward to help her, but Angelina waved her away impatiently and limped, unaided, into the next room.

'How did it happen?' Hannah asked Ron quietly once they were alone.

'I don't know, Hannah,' Ron replied sinking back into his chair, uncomfortable though it was. 'McGonagall didn't show up, and before we knew it, the Elite Guard was surrounding us. We were outnumbered,' he said with a sigh, frowning thoughtfully. 'When was the last time McGonagall checked in? And where was she?'

'Near Lancashire. She's been planning to go up there for a while, but she wanted it to coincide with her grand-niece's birthday so she could pay her a brief visit. When she last checked in, she was organising a propaganda campaign with a section of Team Boggart,' Hannah answered without the slightest hesitation.

'Boggart?' he inquired, arching an eyebrow. 'Who comes up with these names?'

'I do.'

'You're fired. Who leads that Team?' he asked, his eyes narrowing.

'Heather Tanner,' Hannah responded, smiling slightly. 'She was at school with your brother, Charlie. Pierre DuPont, Sally Carter and Heather were the ones assigned to help McGonagall.'

Ron nodded, remembering exactly why he had appointed Hannah as his aide-de-camp. Her capacity for recalling even the smallest detail at the drop of a quill was astonishing. Ron didn't know how he had ever managed without her. So did Hannah, for that matter.

'You're sometimes very scary when you do that, you know that?' he teased, before turning back to the business at hand. Hannah smirked at him. 'Who would Tanner have left in charge with the rest of the Team?'

'Umm, probably Stuart Ackerley.'

'OK, you're un-fired.' His small smile quickly disappeared as he saw Angelina leaning heavily on the doorframe. He stood, but she waved away his efforts to help her into the room.

'Don't stop on my account,' she said with a groan. 'Take your time - I can wait.'

Ron shook his head. 'No, you can't. Where's Grace, Hannah?'

'With Team Sugarquill,' Hannah responded, glancing briefly at the map on the wall. 'They'll have just arrived in Sussex.'

'Is their position secure?' Ron asked.

Hannah nodded and Ron blew out his cheeks. 'All right, take Angelina to her,' he said. 'I'll compile the list of the contacts we need to alert.'

'What about McGonagall and the others?'

Ron sighed at the doggedness of his assistant. 'One catastrophe at a time, Hannah. I'll go and see Ackerley later, and then we'll see about finding out what happened.'

Hannah nodded and helped Angelina to her feet, pulling her wand from her pocket. With a loud 'pop', they too were gone.

Alone, Ron sank into a tatty chair, trying to focus on preparing strategies that would cover all possible occurrences within the next forty-eight hours. However, in his mind's eye, he could only see Hermione, looking so brave and so beautiful as he'd been dragged away from her. However, his reverie was suddenly shattered by an muffled, high-pitched wail. Pulling himself to his feet, he grabbed his wand off the table and hurried into the next room, raising it in readiness.

'Lumos,' he murmured softly, not bothering to the light the candles that Angelina had extinguished before she and Hannah had left to find the Healer. He moved swiftly past the couple of spindly chairs in the centre of the windowless room and over to the crib in the corner, breathing in the faint, but somehow comforting aroma of talcum powder and spilt milk. He'd almost forgotten that the baby had been left in Hannah's capable care.

He smiled, looking down at the tiny little girl - Miss Amelia Molly Weasley who, at only five months old, had already developed a very healthy set of lungs. Placing his wand on the nearby table, he reached down and gently picked her up. She cried even louder and Ron wondered, not for the first time, how something so tiny and fragile could make so much noise. He nursed her very carefully in his arms, murmuring soothingly to her as he gently stroked her back. Gradually, she quieted, the tears drying on her soft cheeks as she grabbed a fistful of Ron's shabby robes. He smiled despite himself, gently extracting his clothing from her surprisingly strong grip, hoping his actions wouldn't elicit another crying fit. Luckily, she was apparently too worn out by her initial performance to produce an encore and fell silent, staring up at him with wide, brown eyes, identical to those of her mother.

'Hey there, 'Melie,' he whispered gently. 'That's it, don't cry. Go back to sleep, sweetheart. It's all right - Mummy will be back soon.'