Against the Tide

Harry's summer had begun with a bang on the Hogwarts Express. On his way back from the washroom, Ginny had grabbed him and drug him into an empty compartment.

"Gin?" he'd asked hesitantly. They were hardly ever alone, although Harry never minded when they were; Ginny always occupied his attention when alone, and he could do with some occupying right then.

The attack had been hard. Not just physically or mentally, but emotionally. Pansy killing Lucius had destroyed Hermione. It was plain that she blamed herself. Several students had been hurt badly, and several Professors had been hurt- or killed, like Hagrid... The sanctity and safety of Hogwarts had been tarnished. The feeling of no safe harbour burned itself into Harry's heart.

"Gin?" he repeated after a moment. Ginny was staring at him with an expectant look on her face.

"Harry, can't you kiss me, for once?"

"Er- sorry. I'm mean, of course I can," he said stupidly, a bit startled. He lowered his lips to hers and kissed her gently.

"Harry," Ginny groaned exasperatedly. "Not like that! Like this," she said, and set about showing him.

They returned to the common compartment separately, and as unruffled as possible (although Ginny had decided it was decidedly unfair Harry's hair was always rumpled), to the raised eyebrows of Hermione. In Harry's case, he returned to the raised temper and brotherly instincts of Ron.

Once into the station, they all said their good-byes.

"We'll see you soon, Harry, I'm sure," Ron said. "And we'll have a good talk then, won't we?" Ron asked menacingly.

"I expect so, yeah," Harry replied, trying not to grin.

"Ron, give off, would you?" Ginny said. She gave Harry a chaste kiss, which sent Harry blushing madly- the rest of the Weasley's were watching, for Merlin's Sake! "Write me tonight, then?"

"Yeah, of course," Harry said, ignoring the whipping sounds the twins were making. "As soon as I get in," he continued, just to be different. Ginny and Mrs. Weasley smiled properly.

Leaving Platform 9 and 3/4's, Harry glanced about for the Dursley's. They weren't there. "I'm getting a bit tired of this," he muttered to himself as he sat down on his trunk, Hedwig by his side.

"Do you want us to wait, Harry?" Mr. Weasley asked.

"No need. They'll be along, they just like to pretend I don't exist for as long as possible." Dean Thomas was setting his stuff down as well.

"My brothers are never on time. It's the hash." he explained, receiving curious glances from Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, but knowing grins from all the Weasley sons, save Ron and Percy.

"We'll just wait," Harry said, and a moment later the Weasley family left. Harry watched them go with a bit of relief. "So, what'll you do this summer?" he asked Dean.

"Dunno, really. I suppose I'll get a job. We live pretty close to Charing Cross, so I could get a job at Diagon Alley," the boy speculated. "Don't know what I'd do, though."

"You could work at the twins' shop," Harry suggested, realizing both he and Dean were ignoring the topic they should be talking about.

"Yeah, could," Dean replied hesitantly. "Don't much fancy working for those loonies, though. I'd probably not survive."

"Bet they've a great Health Plan, though."

"Yeah! Could you imagine the NHS trying to sort me out after a Canary Cream?" Both of them laughed uproariously. "Oh, my brothers are here," Dean said, standing. He nodded towards two very shady looking characters- Harry had noticed them a few moments earlier and had surreptitiously checked that his moneybag was hidden. "Nigel and Jerome," Dean said as they came closer, "this is Harry Potter."

The boys all nodded at each other- as Harry wasn't too pleased to be speaking to them, they didn't seem keen to talk to him.

"Can we give you a lift home, Harry?" Dean asked. Harry glanced at him with a patently obvious look.

"Thanks, no. I live in Surrey," Harry said, and Dean's brothers gave him snarky looks. "Besides, my loving family has just arrived," Harry finished, seeing Dudley, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia making their way towards him. "Maybe I will take that ride, after all," Harry said with a funny grin.

Dean laughed. "I'll see you then, Harry. I'll write if I do get a job!" he called as he and his brothers walked away.

Harry turned to the Dursleys, hefted his trunk onto a cart and placed Hedwig onto the trunk. "Hello," he said miserably.

He did write Ginny that night, and the next. Dean wrote, Ron wrote, Luna wrote, Neville wrote, Seamus wrote, Padma and Parvati wrote. Letters seemed to fly in from everywhere, except from Hermione. Ron had told him, though, that Hermione was at Headquarters.

"George went with her to buy a new wand. They had to go to Knockturn Alley! Apparently, Ollivander has a twin- an evil one, if George is to be believed (which is dubiously, eh?). Apparently, she'll be working for the you-know-what all summer."

Harry was worried about her, though. Hermione had been edgy all year, and she'd lied to him- he knew she was doing something wrong to get through all her work. He didn't care what, really, he just wanted her to stop. He'd be mad at Ron if he cheated, because Ron wasn't like Hermione, and you couldn't blame him for needing a bit of assistance sometimes. But Hermione would never feel that she deserved whatever she achieved, If she hadn't earned it completely legitimately.

He had let it drop, though, after Christmas, because she had seemed happy and rested and she had taken Ron and his help. He'd known it hadn't actually slackened the load she carried, or the pressure she felt, but...

But he just hadn't had the time to deal with it.

He had something else occupying his mind- his scar was hurting. Not just aching, like it had been in the days previous to the attack in June (it hadn't been that bad, so he hadn't dealt with that either), but hurting like when the attack had begun, and he'd woken because of it. It was a striking kind of pain.

It seared and burned into his mind, kind of twisting through his thoughts. It would break his concentration and demand his attention, no matter what he was doing at the time and it had been particularly inconvenient at times. But it was only that, inconvenient and never anything worse. The burning of his scar could no longer make him panic, it could only make him curse Voldemort's existence, especially when he was trying to sleep.

He had, however, found a way to break the connection from his mind to Voldemort's. Focusing on the scar, he'd use his ability as a Metamorphmagus to smooth over his forehead, erasing the scar and breaking the connection.

He tried not to think about why his scar was always hurting, the newspaper always announced it the next day. The names were starting to look normal now, printed in a row with age: and survived by: written after them.

He studied a great deal of the time. The work, which had always seemed pointless, now seemed quite useful. He was beginning to see the point of learning the theory behind transfigurations or potions or charms. Memorizing, word for word, tracts from textbooks actually helped him work out the answer to problems. He studied the entire Curses and Hexes Encyclopedia, placing every spell he found into his repertoire, or at least the knowledge of every spell.

The attack had made him more determined to see the end of Lord Voldemort. Voldemort may have killed his parents, ordered the death of his grandparents, nearly killed him and several of his friends, but now it was personal. He wasn't sure if it was ironic that Harry only now felt the war was absolutely personal.

Hagrid was gone- the first wizard and the best man Harry had ever met, and he was gone. Nothing Voldemort would suffer could make up for the loss of Hagrid's life, especially not when added next to the sins Voldemort had committed against Hagrid as Tom Riddle. Harry needed no other reason to wish Voldemort's destruction...

And yet, Harry could not see himself a murdered. He simply couldn't murder or kill or destroy anyone. Not even Lord Voldemort, the man who'd destroyed his life more than once. Maybe he was too soft; maybe he was too young; maybe he was to moral. Or maybe he was too influenced by Dumbledore. All he knew what that he should want to destroy all that Voldemort was- and he did!- but that he could never bring himself to kill him.

He wouldn't become what he wanted to end.

But summer was summer, after all, and there was no real time, with the sun high and strong, to contemplate such dismal things. Realistic, but dismal, especially when placed against the backdrop of being free of the Dursley's at the end of the month. Free from the house and the neighbours and the hypocrisy of the whispered condemnation. Free, and he'd never have to leave the wizarding world again, never have to venture out into an uncaring world and be alone. Once he turned seventeen, he'd never have to be away from Ron and Hermione, not even for the summer.

But the Dursley family didn't really care what he did. Dudley ran out to whatever pubs would let under-aged kids in. To Harry's horror, Piers once asked him if he'd wanted to 'tag along'. He immediately declined, and was curious as to why the rat-faced boy who strongly reminding him of Wormtail, would be keen to have him around. Maybe Big D was abusing him? Aunt Petunia kept the house immaculate, ignoring Harry whenever she could. Whilst Uncle Vernon gave him a list of chores and didn't mention a thing when he returned from work, whether they were done or not. They were always done.

One day during breakfast, while Harry was reading the Prophet's article on the new movement for democratic reform - in which Hermione and Draco were both mentioned as 'stars' - the doorbell rang.

"Dudders, get the door," Uncle Vernon said.

"Make Harry get it," Dudley demanded through a mouthful of sugary cereal.

"Boy, get the door," Uncle Vernon gruffed.

"Honestly!" Harry muttered as he stood with a glass of orange juice in one hand and a piece of toast in the other. When he reached the door, he stuck the toast in his mouth and wiped his hand on his pajamas before opening it. "Rofether?" he gasped, and then began coughing as crumbs invaded his throat.

"Swallow, Potter," Professor Gryffindor suggested, her face scrunched in disapproval. She eyed him critically. "I see you decided to stop your exercises." Harry looked down at himself- 'damn!', "Got any extra toast?"

Harry followed her towards the kitchen. "Professor, lovely to see you, but my family, you know..."

"Hello, Dursleys," she breezed as she entered the room and sank into a chair. She began buttering toast. "Having a good summer, Dudley?"

"What- are- you- doing- here-?" Uncle Vernon demanded.

"Just checking up on Harry, you know. Making sure he's alright and all."

"The boy's fine," Aunt Petunia insisted.

"Yes, obviously," Gryffindor said happily as she bit into a piece of toast. "Have you any coffee?" she asked pleasantly.

"Professor, you shouldn't drink coffee while your pregnant," Harry said, glancing pointedly at her belly, which was stretched beneath her t-shirt. She flicked a raised eyebrow at him. "I heard rumours, but with robes, it's difficult to know for sure. I- er, suppose O'Neill is the father? I mean, if there is a father... It's none of my business," Harry finished lamely, ducking his head over his cereal to hide his blush.

"Of course there is a father, Potter and of course it is O'Neill. Potter, I'm not nearly good enough to be carrying the Second Coming of the Lord, but I'm not exactly the other Mary, either." Harry looked at her blankly and she sighed. "Hogwarts has some real deficiencies in its curriculum, you know? How 'bout that coffee?" she repeated to Aunt Petunia. "And don't be brave Potter, and say I shouldn't have it," she warned. When Aunt Petunia pretended to ignore her, Gryffindor pulled her wand out and conjured a mug of steaming coffee. "Mmm, Timmies," she said happily.

"Professor?" Harry asked, wanting to remove her from the high-strung Muggles as quickly as possible. Uncle Vernon was looking at her as if he'd like to roll up his newspaper and swat her with it. "Anything in particular you'd like to speak to me about?"

"Now that you mention it, yes, there is," she said. Her eyes took on a very shrewd look. "Have you been reading the paper?"

"Yeah, just now. Fantastic, isn't it, the progress made for democracy?"

"It'll never happen, Potter," Gryffindor said. "Sorry to break it to you, but people like Fudge'll never give up power without a fight," she said bitterly. She sighed into her coffee and burped. "Pardon. No, Potter, I was talking about Voldemort."

"Oh, yeah, I've been following it. Bloody awful."

"'Bloody awful'? I've failed you, Potter," she barked, "if this is only 'awful!'"'

"Professor?"

"Sorry, it's the hormones that do the talking," she said. "Right... Potter, you should know something..." she looked around to the Dursley's. "Privacy would be welcomed."

"This is my house," Uncle Vernon roared.

"Yes, and its very tidy. I need to speak to Harry, and I don't want to move you physically." She eyed Dudley. "Certainly not."

After a few moments of glaring, Uncle Vernon let out a whale out a 'harrumph!' and threw himself out of his chair. "Five minutes!"

"Some people," Gryffindor said. "Now, see, before I started therapy, I'd've probably turned him into a frog."

"Therapy?"

"Oh, yeah. The Ministry insisted, a few years back, when I snapped and nearly strangled a superior. The man was so insulting. Called me crazy," she said as she sipped her coffee. "Well, of course, it turns out I am. Or was.

"Anyways, I wanted to tell you personally. We caught Wormtail."

"You- you did?" Harry asked. He felt a smile grow on his face. "That's fantastic. When does he go on trial?"

"Well, yeah. I'm not sure how to- er," Gryffindor began. "Listen, Harry, mate. There are things you don't understand. Things I can't understand, either."

"When's he going on trial?" Harry demanded, very patiently.

"He won't be, Harry. He was caught by me and Elphias Doge, yesterday and he was transferred to Germany earlier this morning. It'll make the evening Prophet. Thought I'd give you a head's up."

"Why?" Harry asked simply. His blood was beating hot.

"Because Fudge was the first on the scene when Black was arrested in '81. Apparently the scandal could topple him- Cornelius Fudge, didn't even perform Priori Incantatum? Didn't administer Veritaserum? Just threw Black away, while the real criminal was out and about? People'd be pissed, Harry, and Fudge can't have that," she said simply. "They sent him to Germany to stand trial for aiding the Dark Lord in some horrific killing or another. He'll get five years, maybe more."

"Fi-five?" Harry stuttered horrified. "Professor, can't you do something?" he asked pleadingly.

She just stared at him. "Potter, I'm doing all I can. And," she continued, patting her stomach, "more than I should." She paused. "Harry, this really sucks, I know. Believe me, I worked my ass off to find this guy for you. It was a mission. But I did my job and caught the bad guy. I don't make the rules, and I don't play the game, and sometimes it doesn't work the way it should. I'm sorry, mate, but you have to get over it," she said, patting him on the back and disappearing.

The moment she Apparated away, Harry thought of a thousand things to say, but as always, Gryffindor was gone before anything important could be discovered, before any real questioning could take place. It was as if she still refused to trust him, after he'd nearly killed himself to prove himself to her. He nearly hated her- why come, why tell him, get his hopes up? Just to dash them? He couldn't imagine Gryffindor being so unintentionally cruel. Maybe she had come, trying to be honest and forthright with him; after all, that's what he had demanded all his life, a little honesty.

The news did indeed come in the evening Prophet; the press was calling for an enquiry, but neither Headmaster Dumbledore nor Arthur Weasley would give a comment, the Prophet had specifically listed both men. Harry wasn't sure if that was because they were angry, like him, or if they were allowing the cover-up. Like Gyrffindor's motives, their motives eluded him, too. It was as if the entire world had gone mad and murky and Harry's vision never had been that good.

Ron and Ginny wrote saying they didn't have a clue what had happened; their father just wouldn't discuss it with them, and became very cross when it was brought up. Apparently Percy had dealings with the German Ministry over it, but he wouldn't say anything either.

The days of July flew by, but Harry didn't give up on finding more information, he'd just have to wait. A week before his birthday, Harry received a letter from Ron.

"Mum says we can pick you up on your birthday. Be ready early, around eight, 'cause we've a lot to do (that's what Mum says, anyways). You'll go in for your Apparition Test 'round ten, she figures (she has an appointment for you, made me make my own, but Harry's special...) and then at four, Neville's to receive the Order of Merlin: Third Class.

Then we all go to the pub. I'm bringing Sally-Anne Perks. Gin's not allowed to come says Mum. You'll have to go solo (and watch me and Sally-Anne, all night)."

That evening, over dinner, Harry broke the news to his relatives.

"I'll be leaving on my birthday," he said. They looked at him blankly. "My birthday, the thirty-first of this month," he prodded. "July?"

"Too right you will," Uncle Vernon said gruffly. "I suppose you'll be wanting a pick-up from that school of yours next June, as well?"

"Er- no, actually," Harry said. "I'll be seventeen on my birthday, and won't ever have to return." Again, they looked at him blankly. "Seventeen!" Harry cried. "I'll be seventeen on the thirty-first of this July! I'll be able to use magic whenever I like!"

"Not in my house!" roared Uncle Vernon.

"Well, no," Harry replied tiredly. "I'll be leaving on my birthday." Again, they looked at him blankly. "Oh, for the love of..." Harry scraped his chair away from the table, and grabbing his plate, returned to his room.

Hedwig was back and perched on the ground of her cage, huddling over the nest she'd been building for a few weeks. "How are you, girl?" Harry asked as he gave her a bit of meat from his plate. She gulped it down and flapped her wings a bit. "What's that, Hedwig?"

It was an egg. Hedwig was going to have an owlet and Harry was excited for her- Hedwig was going to be a mother! That made him what- an uncle, or brother? He teased her cruelly about being a tart and she nipped him, and none too affectionately.

The week passed very slowly, with Harry spending most of his time doing homework or reading ahead in his textbooks. It nearly made him sick to do it, but he figured he needed to get the biggest jump if he wanted to be an Auror. Hedwig had gotten sick of his babying and teasing of her, and had, after deciding she could trust him with her egg, dodged out of the room for quick trips around the neighbourhood.

The night before his birthday he couldn't sleep- the excitement of finally leaving Privet Drive getting hold of him, not any misplaced nostalgia- so he had gone down to the kitchen to make a snack.

"Galloping' Gargoyles!" he swore as he switched on the light. "Aunt Petunia, don't you ever sleep?" he demanded of his aunt.

She didn't reply, but continued to stare intently at the screen of Dudley's kitchen computer. She was clicking away and reading.

"Aunt Petunia, would you like a snack?" Harry asked as he pulled a loaf of bread from the cupboard. Aunt Petunia grunted an affirmative grunt. "What are you looking at?" Harry asked as her took the sandwiches over to the table.

"It's the Internet, boy," she said. "I'm researching my family tree. Look here," she pointed, "I am a descendent of Henry VII!" She looked very excited.

"You realize that I am as well," Harry said.

"Yes," Aunt Petunia replied tonelessly. "But not a real descendent like Dudley and I." Harry could imagine Aunt Petunia replacing Henry's face with Dudley's in the family Christmas card- poor chap.

"So, anyone else we're related to?" Harry asked as he tore into the sandwich.

"No one famous, just lots of my cousins and such. All of them horribly common," Petunia said. She pushed a button on the screen and it went blank, but Harry's mind was on fire. "I'm going to bed, boy. Clean up after yourself." With that she left and went up stairs.

Harry listened intently for a few moments before he hopped into his aunt's seat. Staring at the computer screen, he tried to recall what to do. He knew it wasn't turned off- you had to push that button to do that- so he took a chance and pushed the button his aunt had. The screen popped back on.

Gasping a bit, Harry checked for noise upstairs. Nothing. Easing the plastic thingy about, he decided on the logo he wanted- the one that said 'Internet' on it- and clicked. Nothing happened. He clicked again. Nothing. He cursed and clicked a whole bunch of times.

The screen changed. And Harry gasped again. What the hell was MSN? It didn't matter. There were headings at the top of the screen, and one said 'History'. Hoping this wouldn't give him the history of the Internet, Harry clicked on it, and a box popped from it, listing dozens of- well, he wasn't sure what exactly- www.this and www.that.

Unsure of what to do, Harry clicked on the first one and the screen changed again. Up on the screen came a picture of a naked woman, doing something rather interesting to another naked woman. Harry's listened carefully for any noise coming from upstairs, considering his options- how much did he really care about his heritage, after all? (Wait until he told the lads about this!)

In the end, he decided to continue down the list. On and on it went, picture after picture, until he realized that this was probably a major part of Dudley's life and that he almost felt sorry for his cousin. Until he thought about it and decided his cousin was an ass.

Finally, the list began to show ancestor screens; screens and screens that Harry examined closely. He couldn't find a connection to Henry VII, but he did find something more exciting-

Dozens and dozens of third and fourth-cousins! Cousins of his grandparents and of his great-grandparents, Merlin's Beard- he must be related to half the nation!

More importantly, one relative was listed in Ottery St. Mary, not fifteen miles from The Burrow.

***

Ron's summer began when his mother and he picked Harry up. Sad, really. He'd been working at Fred and George's shop, but that drove him crazy more than anything else. The twins were at odds; George was studying really hard, trying to take his NEWT's in Charms, Potions, and Transfigurations. Apparently, they'd both been asked to do some research for the Department of Experimental Charms (not much of a stretch, really), and only George had wanted to.

It was causing 'friction', as his Mum said. As if there wasn't enough friction in the family already. Percy was still being an ass. Insisting on marrying the Flint girl, Isabella, even though no one could stand her. She was a Flint, for Merlin's Sake; of course no one was going to like her. They had known Penelope wouldn't last forever (she had been much to much fun for Percy), but Isabella was completely humourless and drab. Furthermore, Percy still had his head so far up his arse he couldn't see daylight.

Worse, though, was this whole democracy thing. His Dad was all for it, but his Mum wasn't, said it wouldn't work and it wasn't the time for it. They had more rows about that then they'd ever had about the twins. Charlie and Bill were really excited, though. Bill had been asked to brief the group on banking and market's and everything, and he said they'd accepted every suggestion he'd made. Apparently, the world would be wonderful.

But his Mum was really dead set against it. She agreed that in principle it was a great thing, but in practice it couldn't work for wizards. And she maintained that now certainly wasn't the time for any cracks in the government. They needed, in her opinion, to concentrate on defeating Lord Voldemort. Ginny took her side of it, but for another reason. She didn't think it would go far enough, said that it wouldn't make anyone happy, and that they'd all start fighting with each other.

Percy hated the very idea of democracy. He was horrified at the idea of warlocks and other 'uncouth' people being able to dictate to him. And when Ron had, very casually, suggested that he might not actually be in government if democracy went through, Percy had hit the roof.

Ron wasn't sure he cared, though. Chudley was still winning games, the sun was still shining. He didn't really see how democracy would make the sun brighter or get Chudley to take the league. He knew he should care; Hermione had lectured him for nearly an hour in May, telling him he should. But he didn't. Pretty girls still flirted with him. Though he really wished they'd stop calling him King.

On Harry's birthday, though, when they'd gone to pick him up, he felt happier then he had in a long while. Finally, just him and Harry, again. Well, him and Harry and his family, and hopefully Hermione. And of course all their friends tonight. And Sally-Anne Perks.

Well, sooner or later, they'd be able to play some Quidditch. Ron was really anxious about this season; Charlie'd been upping the pressure to win the Quidditch Cup again, and Ron wanted to deliver. (Screw it) He had to deliver!

And as if he wasn't worried enough about that, his family, NEWT's and just surviving another year, his visions of an attack on Hogwarts had not ended. He had finally admitted that the attack in June had not been the one he had Seen in the months leading up to it; there was going to be another.

It really sucked.

Harry answered the door. "Hey! Finally, I thought you'd never get here," he said.

"Yeah, Harry, because we're so late, we're early," Ron answered, tapping his new watch. Cost him fifteen Galleons. "Good to see you, Harry."

"Yeah, bloody fantastic, sorry, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said. "Come help me get my stuff? Hedwig's laid an egg, so we've got to be careful."

"Really? Cool! Do you think I could have the owlet? I'll give Gin Pig; she likes him more, anyways."

"Well, actually," Harry said, stopping on the stairs, "I was going to give the owlet to Ginny."

"Oh," Ron replied, cursing himself. "Yeah, of course you are." Of course he was! Ginny was his girlfriend. Harry is dating Ginny. It took a bit of getting used to. "Well, she'd probably just baby Pig anyways, and he'd get all fat and uselesser." Harry'd laughed at that, but it may have been the grammar, not the mental picture of a fat Pig.

"So, how'd you get here, anyways?" Harry asked as he passed Ron Hedwig and tried to lift his trunk.

"Through the house next door. The Order's been renting it, keeping an eye on you. Tonks has been there most of the summer," Ron said as he handed Harry Hedwig back and swung the trunk onto his shoulder.

"Tonks? I was wondering why that barmy old lady kept winking and blowing kisses at me!" Harry exclaimed as they exited the tiny room.

"Don't tell Charlie," Ron warned. "He'll challenge you to a Duel."

"They're still on, then?"

"Yeah," Ron replied as they reached the front hall. "Going to say good-bye?"

"Uh..." Harry faltered. He seemed about to go and give his farewells, until he looked around the hall, and his eyes latched onto a small door under the stairs. "No. Let's go."

They Flooed to the Ministry, with Hedwig's egg carefully secured, a few minutes before Harry's appointment.

"Did you study, Harry? Apparition is very serious business, you know. You have to be prepared," Ron's mother said. "Ron, of course, did very well. Passed on his first try," she continued, beaming. "But it was very hard, wasn't it?"

"Er, yeah. Really hard," Ron assured his mother, while shaking his head at Harry. He got a smack in the stomach for that. "It was alright. Not to difficult."

Soon a young Ministry witch called Harry's name and he left. The witch stayed behind though, so Ron spent awhile chatting her up- his mother had gone to visit his father. By the time she came back, Harry was out, looking harassed.

"How'd you fare, then, Harry? Okay?" Ron asked.

"Well, I passed, at least. That's really difficult," he said with a sigh. "I could feel myself splinching the first time, so I had to stop and recast."

"Good job Harry! We'll go out for lunch dear, to celebrate," his mother said. "Let's just swing by the boys shop and see if they want to join us."

"Mum, no," Ron complained. "It's my day off and I don't want to see their faces."

"Well, it's not as if you'll look up from the food your eating, anyways, so I don't see the harm," she replied in a sharp tone. "Honestly Ron, you've been so sullen lately."

Ron sighed. This was his mother's favourite topic. Apparently, he moped around the house when he wasn't at work or out on a date. She also didn't care for the girls he dated, although, other than Sally Anne, he did usually date girls who were older. It wasn't his fault if he spent as little time as possible with his family. All they did nowadays was argue over one thing or another.

Bill and Charlie were the only reasonable ones, but they didn't live at home, even if they were both in England again. Bill lived on Diagon Alley with a girl he'd known from Egypt, and Charlie lived in Hogsmeade with a mate from school. Ron had seriously considered asking Bill if he could stay with him, a few weeks ago, but had scrapped the idea, remembering what had happened when Percy had decided to leave. He wouldn't be the cause of that kind of problem.

In the end, instead of lunch with his mother, Harry and Ron ran into friends and decided to knock off with them, until Neville's ceremony at four. Seamus, Dean, Harry, Ron and Lavender all marched about in Muggle London for a few hours, visiting Trafalgar Square and Piccadilly Circus. They ate at a McDonalds, although Dean begged them not to.

"You know, this is our last summer," Lavender said dreamily, peering up at Big Ben. Dean rolled his eyes at the sightseeing tour.

"We'll have plenty our summers, Lav," Ron said. "You just like to be dramatic."

"Will we then?" Seamus asked pointedly. Seamus knew he was a prophet, so Ron tried not to hesitate.

"Yeah, of course we will. Lots of summers to look back and wish we hadn't spent this one sightseeing," Ron promised, but he wasn't sure he could deliver.

"I declare this the summer of love," Dean called out to the crowd. They received some very suspect looks. "Well, it works on the telly."

Making their way towards the Ministry of Magic, they were laughing. Lavender and Seamus were singing muggle pop songs, badly. When they'd all crammed into the telephone booth, Ron had to snap at the pair to shut up before he could relay information to security.

Pinning their badges on, they entered the atrium with awe. It had been redecorated since Ron and Harry'd been there that morning; there were banners and a podium and a photographer from the Prophet was there, snapping pictures.

"All this for Neville? My Lord," Dean whispered. A shout rose from the podium, and Neville waved feverishly at them.

"Hey Neville," they sang as they made their way over. "Congratulations!"

"Thanks. I didn't think anyone would actually come," Neville said, blushing slightly. "It isn't really a big deal and..."

"Neville! Don't be modest. You did well and you deserve this," Lavender said. "We're very proud, and we wouldn't have missed this for the world! And look Hermione's here."

Turning, they all watched Hermione approach. She didn't look very well, but she beamed at Neville and gave the lot of them hugs. "I saw Padma and Parvati on the street, just as I was coming down. They'll be here soon."

"See, Neville. Everybody is coming," Ron said. "And tonight we're going out to a pub. Dean's arranged it all."

Neville seemed halfway between horrified at the attention and touched that they were there. The crowd of students kept growing. Sally-Anne Perks came, and Ron was forced to divert half his attention to the girl. Dennis and Colin Creevey, camera in tow, appeared as did Ginny and the twins. Every Hufflepuff attended, as did half the Ravenclaws and Morag, Blaise, and Malfoy.

Ron hadn't been expecting Blaise to come. He'd thought she'd just send Neville a nice card or something. But there she was, and Sally-Anne was getting angry with him for not paying all of his attention to her. He couldn't help it, though; Blaise was just more.

Ron had trouble keeping his eyes on Neville during the ceremony. They kept sliding to Blaise, who stood beside Morag and Malfoy, dwarfing both of them with her presence (and it was a hard thing to dwarf Malfoy and Morag by presence alone).

"Neville," Ron croaked after the ceremony, when his voice was raw from cheering. "How about you give that lovely pointed star thingy... No Hermione, I don't want to know what it's called... Neville, give it to your Gran, and lets go get some pints."

The night was mad- two dozen kids all out celebrating, and none of them had celebrated much for a long time. None of them had had much to celebrate, so Harry and Neville, whose birthday had been the day before, gave them the much-needed chance to let it all out.

They certainly did. Ron was shocked they weren't kicked out of the pub; the owner had to know they weren't old enough to drink, but she didn't seem to care. And after awhile, they had become quiet, anyways, so it wasn't as if they were horribly rowdy. No one became cross with each other, they were much to busy just remembering what it was like to be carefree.

However, people began leaving around ten. By two, only ten people remained and they began to talk of real things.

"I think they pulled out far too easily," Neville said as he nursed his pint. "I know we shouldn't be upset about it, but I don't like it."

"I know," Seamus agreed. "They were there and going strong one minute, the next they were gone. Like they'd finished what they'd needed to do and couldn't be bothered to stick around and finish us off."

Ron felt sick to his stomach, and for the first time, he wished it were because of the drink. He knew the Death Eaters were going to attack again. He knew it, knew it, knew it! But he couldn't say anything. If he did, it may change the future, on the other hand if he didn't say something, it may change the future.

He looked around the table and saw some of his best friends, and some former enemies, now allies, glancing back at him. They were all earnestly discussing the significance of the pull out, while Ron was debating either possibly saving their lives or leaving that all up to chance. If he just said something, anything, they'd all be safe.

But there was a downside. He wasn't absolutely positive yet, but he was nearly sure that this battle would be the final one. And that it would be won by the good guys, that Voldemort would be destroyed. So... He glanced around the table and wondered who would sacrifice their lives to end Voldemort's.

Harry would, and so would Hermione. He would, too. Seamus, Dean and Neville would, undoubtedly. Susan and Morag were militantly against Voldemort, and Blaise, though quiet, was most definitely on their side. Draco, though, was still the wild card. Ron couldn't figure out why Draco would come over; Harry said he had good reason, and obviously Draco was smart enough and proud enough to come over, but it still made no sense.

He was a Malfoy, after all. Over the last year Ron had learned there was more to being a Malfoy than being stuck-up and pureblooded and sneaky, but the fact remained. Draco was those things. No matter that he felt he could trust him and that he did trust him. He still got a chill when he thought about how believable Draco had seemed in June. Convincing his father he was nothing more than a spy for Voldemort.

He wished prophecy could be used for useful things, like testing loyalty, or truth, but it couldn't. It did not test or balance or suggest. It showed the future. If one event leading to that picture changed, the entire picture changed. Ron saw Draco fighting against a Death Eater in the 'final battle' and that battle would end Voldemort's rule. There was no way Ron could endanger that.

Of course, he had no idea what to do to make that vision come true. He could only stay the present course and not tell any one, unless the vision changed to the opposite conclusion. But then, maybe the battle would come about because he tells someone- he had to consider that option as well.

He wanted desperately to tell someone, like Dumbledore or Harry or his Mum, but he knew he couldn't. His Mum would refuse to send him and Ginny back to Hogwarts, Harry would be sullen all year (and honestly, if this was the year they all died trying to save Hogwarts, he wanted it to be good), and Dumbledore- well, the worst thing Dumbledore could do would be to do nothing. The idea that nothing could be done, that Voldemort had them in a checkmate, would kill Ron.

No, he preferred to keep it to himself, then. It could do no good, spreading bad news around, and it was dangerous. Those that knew him claimed they didn't judge, but in truth, Seeing it happen was the same as causing it to happen. He had the choice between one option, a horrible option, and another just as horrible. And he couldn't do anything about it.

How ironic that he had once wanted to be the most powerful wizard in the world. And now he was, really.

It was a disaster.

**

Harry and he rode the Knight Bus with Hermione. It was late, but on a Saturday night, the bus got plenty of ride. They sat in a corner, discussing what they could think of. None of them were particularly sober, but none of them were particularly happy, either.

Hermione spoke about the changes she hoped to bring about; S.P.E.W. would save the House-Elves, democracy would save the people and she would save the media. Or maybe, Ron thought unkindly, she'll just save everyone.

But that wasn't fair and so he drove it from his mind. He had forgotten how stupid Hermione made him feel. When it was just Harry and him, they were absolutely normal, while next to Hermione they always seemed slow. He didn't mind really, since she worked so damn hard. Of course, it bothered Harry how hard she worked, and he wouldn't let it go (stupid).

"Hermione, you really should get more sleep," Harry began in. Ron tried to flash sense into him with his eyes, but Harry wasn't paying him attention. "You can't continue to go like this. You'll burn out."

"Harry, it's only one more year, and then we're done Hogwarts. I'll rest forever then, once I'm done," she said simply. "Until then, I'll continue to work hard- as will you," she warned sternly. The boys nodded vigorously, completely cowed by her impression of Professor McGonagall.

"It'll be better," Harry said, patting Hermione's hand. "It can't get much worse. It's very much dark out now."

Ron bit his tongue, refusing to tell the truth. He just couldn't do that to Harry. He didn't deserve the truth after all the truths he'd already struggled against.

**

Ron and Harry woke the next day, around noon. They woke with splitting headaches and a ghoul banging around above their heads.

"Ugg," Harry groaned.

Ron just squeezed his eyes as tightly as possible and pleaded with the Gods to take him away. He lay prostrate on the bed until his mother came in with the laundry.

"Up!" she exclaimed, sending the roommates into the fetal position. "Up, up! The twins have brought by some Hangover Remedy, but I'm not bringing it up here. You'll have to walk downstairs for it." With that she left the room, slamming the door behind her.

"Cruel woman," Harry hissed, covering his eyes. "I can't do it."

"We have to," Ron panted, rising from his bed fully clothed. Merlin's Beard. "Will- all be better- once we drink- ohhh..." The idea of placing anything in his stomach was not going to go over well.

"We need water first," Harry said as he joined Ron in the hall. He pulled his way into the washroom and ducked his head under the tap. When he didn't come back up, Ron began to worry he'd drowned himself, but soon he indeed closed off the tap. "Wow. I learned something useful from Dudley."

"Won't be very useful, as we're never drinking again," Ron replied as he moved into the loo. Harry went to get the Remedy as Ron tried to drink a bit of water. It didn't really work, but the sensation of cool water sliding over his face helped a great deal. Soon, Harry was back.

"Your sister's cruel as well," Harry said as he handed Ron a beaker of fizzing sludge.

"Wait," Ron said suspiciously. He sniffed the mixture. "The twins have never been particularly concerned with our health before. This'll probably kill us."

Harry looked at Ron, glazy-eyed. "I welcome death, just now," he said, holding his beaker for a tap and wincing at the clanging sound the beakers made. "Down the hatch..."

The burning sensation made Ron gag. The taste made him spit it out into the sink, and gag some more. He hadn't managed to drink any.

"Ron, keep drinking," Harry said, unaffected by his Potion. How can he stand it? Before Ron was even ready for another attempt, Harry was finished. "Hey, it's working!" Harry said brightly, though quietly. "Drink yours."

Bravely, Ron placed the beaker to his lips. "Ugh," he said to the wretched smell. Taking a mouthful, he forced half down his throat before he spat the rest out- all over Harry. Coughing like mad, he doubled over in agony, his bones trying to separate from his skin. They've actually poisoned me... He coughed and gagged and spat, his eyes crinkled with tears.

"Ron? Ron!" Harry shouted. He could hear his mother and sister darting up the stairs. Suddenly, everyone was shouting for him, but he couldn't really make what was said out, the pain muffling anything.

A few minutes and the pain subsided. He was on his bed, his mother and Harry and Ginny leaning over him. Harry held Ginny's arm, her face tucked into his neck.

"What happened?" Ron asked, the acid burning his throat making his voice husky.

His mother's eyes burned with rage. "They- they-"

Harry took over. "They mixed Potions up, they claim. Mine was the Hangover Remedy, but yours was... well, Skele-Gro."

"What?" Ron demanded. As quickly as possible- which apparently meant as painfully as possible to his body- he left the bed and faced the mirror. He could only just see his chin and throat and a bit of shoulder. "I'm a monster..."

"No! Ron, no!" Ginny cried. Her voice reverberated around his head. Great, I've still got the bloody hangover! "Ron, your not a monster. You're just taller now. A lot taller." His sister reached his elbow. Harry reached his shoulder.

He glanced back to the mirror. He must be six and a half feet now!

"This is a disaster," he said flatly.