Against the Tide

Word spread about the party, and by seven, when they began sneaking students through the passage; over twenty sixth-years were on the list.

"You're only staying until eight," Hermione had warned them, but they all seemed ready to drink their fill and have a laugh.

Harry was happy to have Ginny by his side as they hurriedly smuggled themselves across alleys and through twilight lit yards on their way to the Hogs Head. There was no moon above them, but jack lanterns lit the windows of the cottages along the frost-painted path, leering at the students as they giggled and hushed and shushed towards the pub.

Bursting cheerfully into the Hogs Head, where the fireplace crackled and it was warm, the students crowded onto benches along two long tables. Pints of lager and stout were poured for the arriving students and toasts were cheered whenever a new student sat at the tables.

"Gryffindor lads!" Seamus called when Neville passed Harry and Ginny drinks. "To gold, to girls, to Guinness!" Parvati, tucked happily under one of Seamus's thick arms, slapped his chest lightly in protest. "Ah, Parv, it's the toast. Nothing personal."

Eight o'clock came by quickly, and passed unnoticed. It was at nine that Hermione and Ron remembered to chuck the sixth-years out. Several seventh-years were told to go as well; Millicent Bulstrode and Tracey Jones led the stumbling Goyle and the mumbling Crabbe out of the pub. Ginny was giggling under the weight of her first few pints, and Harry traveled to Honeyduke's with the group. When he returned to the pub, the front room had been vacated, and the barman told him they were in a private room.

"The real patrons be arriving soon," the old man gruffed. "Don't want no one knowing who's here. You young sprout's get a geezer in trouble."

Harry entered the back room to witness an arm wrestle between Morag and Dean, which Morag won with what Dean admitted was an insulting lack of effort. Neville saw Harry standing in the corner, trying to make his way to an empty chair beside Ron and Hermione.

"Put your arse on an anchor, Harry!" he roared, pulling his chair into the table and whacking Seamus and Parvati to get their attention.

The drinking continued past ten, past eleven, until many of the group, knackered after a long week and drowsy from drink, had left. Those what lingered began to discuss more important things.

"So, what do we do now?" Morag asked, putting the unspoken question to the table. "Fudge lost. We won. What now?"

"We focus on Voldemort," Harry announced thickly, his tongue hard to maneuver. "We may still be at Hogwarts, but we can help."

"Yeah. Harry, Ron and Hermione've been keeping You-Know-Who down for a long time, from Hogwarts," Susan agreed. "My Auntie Amelia, she's Department Head of Magical Law Enforcement, she told me they think You-Know-Who will attack here again."

"Really?" Ron asked, leaning forward. "Shouldn't we do something to prepare then?"
Harry gazed at Ron uncertainly. It wasn't like Ron to push any action; ever since last Christmas, he'd refused to 'influence' the future. That made Harry wonder how long Ron had known that Voldemort would attack Hogwarts again, and how bad the attack would be.

"You think we should try to protect the school, Ron?" Seamus asked. "The Ministry and Dumbledore must have buffed up security through the summer. What more can we do?"

Ron was about to answer when the door exploded forth. "What can you do to help protect the school, young Mr. Finnegan?" a deep voice sounded from beneath a dark cloak. "You could not sneak out of the school to drink yourselves sick." Just as the students were starting to look sheepish at the intruder, whose voice Harry recognized as Charlie Weasley's, he was pushed unceremoniously into the room.

"And why not, young Mr. Weasley?" Professor O'Neill asked. "Why not, when we did so ourselves, more than once?" O'Neill sat down on a conjured seat. "Sit, drink, and don't be a hypocrite."

Two other cloaked adults entered after Professor O'Neill. Tonks, disguised cleverly as Tonks, removed her cloak and sat happily beside Charlie, while the other adult stood in a dark corner, where he were covered in shadow. He did not remove his hood.

"Who's that then, Professor Weasley?" Draco asked, pointing with his wand to the stranger.

Charlie glanced up from pouring Tonks a drink to glance at the corner and then around the table. Every student was watching the stranger, many also with their wands drawn.

"Oh, for Merlin's Sake," Charlie huffed, exasperated. "Can't you recognize your own brother, Malfoy? And you, Scratch," he said, turning, "its your birthday, so sit your arse down, and let my brothers buy you a drink."

The stranger's hood came down to revel a very pale, Malfoy-ish face, though wider and stronger and without the pompousness one would associate with a Malfoy. Certainly still arrogant, certainly still disdainful, it would seem that Adam Scratch did not want to join the table.

"I'd rather not, thanks," he said. He nodded toward Draco and turned to leave the room.

"Scratch, damn it, where are you going?" Charlie demanded.

"To celebrate my birthday. Alone."

"The hell you are. What about tradition?" Professor O'Neill asked.

"Tradition included Gryffindor," Scratch shrugged.

"How is Professor Gryffindor?" Harry asked quickly, trying to keep the men from arguing. He remembered from last year that they didn't particularly like each other.

"Why don't you tell them, Scratch? Since you're the one she seems to keep up-to-date," Professor O'Neill bit out angrily.

Hermione gave Harry a sharp, wincing scowl. "Yes, please, Scratch? How is Professor Gryffindor?"

"She's fine. She's, er-" Scratch shook his head and conjured a chair. "She's enormous," he gestured a bulging belly with his hands, grinning a bit stupidly, "and infiltrating a nest of Dark Wizards when she's not practicing these breathing exercises the Muggles recommend."

No one spoke for a moment, the room filled with tension and relief; no one could think of an appropriate thing to say. Harry glanced at Hermione, who shrugged and finished her drink.

"So, it's your birthday?" Ron asked suddenly, raising his glass toward Scratch. "Happy Birthday!"

The room chorused the sentiment, painfully drawn by the tension between the adults.

"Can I ask," Draco began, "why- if you lot hate each other so much- you're here together? Honestly, Professors, why do you care if Adam goes to celebrate on his own?"

"First, never drink alone, Mr. Malfoy," Charlie started, but grinned sheepishly when the other adults raised their eyebrows at him. Ron hooted. "Dry up, you lot. It's cold in Romania. Second, we don't hate Scratch, and he doesn't hate us. We just don't see eye-to-eye on things."

"Like Professor Gryffindor?"

"Scratch seems to think she's invincible," Professor O'Neill huffed.

"Well, she's certainly not going to break," Scratch returned. He disdainfully eyed O'Neill's size. "Quite obviously. It's best to let her do what she wants, as you won't dissuade her."

"She's going to have a baby in a few weeks," Morag disagreed loudly. "Perhaps someone should dissuade her from being silly."

"There's nothing silly about trying to make her child's world safer," Adam countered.

"There is when it endangers her child!" Morag exclaimed.

"As opposed to the regular endangerment the child of a Gryffindor would be in, with Dark Lords rushing about, trying to off his stronger opponents?" Adam demanded.

"Yes," Morag answered icily.

Harry's brow wasn't the only brow raised in question. Ron grinned merrily as his eyes bounced between Scratch and Morag.

"So, its your birthday?" Ron asked again. "You're a Scorpio, yeah?" Scratch looked at Ron as if he was insane, but Ron merely turned to Morag and smiled. "Anyway, on to more pressing matters-" Suddenly, the party centered round Ron and Seamus, as they began to give rhyming predictions of Scratch's next year.

"-And when you catch that cat-" Ron predicted

"-You'll trap it in a hat." Seamus finished.

"Ugh!" Morag jeered suddenly. "I've had more than I should. I'm for the castle."

"Yes, I'll leave too," Scratch agreed, seemingly happy to escape the ghastly predictions. He threw his cloak on and rushed the door before Morag could even stand.

"Good job, Weasley," Draco drawled. "You've managed to scare the birthday boy away."

"Suppose he didn't want to know what happened after the trapping of the cat," Harry smiled.

"You know," Susan Bones said, "in a few minutes it is my birthday, as well."

Ron and Seamus gave sly grins and the party groaned in unison.

Adam peeled out of the shadows much sooner than Morag had expected. She'd known he was waiting somewhere between the Hogs Head and Honeyduke's, but she hadn't expected him within sight of the pub. He looked like shadow himself, dark and pale mixed together.

"And what was that about, then?" Adam asked.

"What?" Morag replied. "That little dispute in the pub? Simply practicing my prerogative to disagree with you."

"Not that. The glare you gave me the moment I entered. You needn't act as if I'm the devil, merely because I haven't returned a few letters."

At that, Morag's long temper reached a short end. "Actually, Adam, I had no idea who you were- I simply did not want a cloaked stranger observing me." It bothered her more than a bit that she hadn't realized who he was. They had been close for long enough that she should have recognized him. "Moreover, Adam, if you are going to be so rude as to not return my letters, you could have the courtesy to have died. Then, at least I would know why."

Adam had the gall to laugh. "Still a sharp tongue, Morag?" He was walking beside her, and pacing her more slowly than she wished to go. "I've been busy. I called at the school earlier in the evening for you, but the others found me and assumed I was there for them."

"Busy?" Morag repeated icily. "Oh, of course. You've been busy, not I. That makes a good amount of sense. Please, Adam, take me now," she finished dryly.

"Very droll," Adam sneered. "You're actually angry, aren't you, Morag?" Adam stopped her from walking any further by placing a restraining hand on her shoulder, which she slapped away, reminding herself strongly that no one touched her without permission.

"You'll have to remember, Adam, that you've lost some rights where I'm concerned," she warned. "Please don't touch me again."

He stepped back, looking at her through the dark. "So I didn't write you back, Morag. You'll need to grow up. I'm a grown man, and I'm a very busy one, with a very dangerous job."

"I have boundaries. That's very mature," Morag came back. She stopped walking, but kept her eyes off his. "I was worried, Adam."

"I'm sorry, then. Just, let's us not fight, yeah? Come on," he said, heading down a side alley. "We'll walk back to the castle?"

"Adam, I'm tired and I'm breaking curfew. I'm not interested in Filch catching me."

"Morag, come on! I've only a few more hours of leave, before I have to return to the continent. Can't you spend a bit of time with me on my birthday?"

"How old are you?" Morag sighed, falling in step with him. It was easier this way. She followed Adam down the alley.

"Twenty-four. I can't believe that," he muttered. "Its not that I wish I were younger or that I feel older, I'm just not sure what a twenty-four year old is supposed to be like."

"You'll probably figure it out." They talked briefly about politics, but Adam didn't care much about it, so the conversation lapsed wretchedly. "So, how is Professor Gryffindor, really?"

"She's fine!" Adam bit out. "Why is everyone so concerned? Yes, she's pregnant, but she's been doing this since she could hold a wand. She's much better at it than any of us."

"Better than you?" Morag asked, a tiny grin on her face.

"Yes, better than me... but only if you promise not to ask how she is again, and never tell her I admitted as much," Adam warned, a small grin on his face as well. "Briar is fine. She's gone to a Medi-Witch who looked her over and said everything was all right, and that the baby was a girl, but don't tell anyone I said that. It's still a secret. She even has a due date- the December Full Moon."

Morag's blood ran cold. Professor Gryffindor was carrying the Daughter of Beltane... legend said that if no Sister had a daughter on December's Full Moon, terrible things would happen. Ghastly things.

Professor Gryffindor would know this- she'd know, because was also a Sister of Beltane, an elite group of the best witches in Britain. Morag wanted to demand if Adam knew if she had lost her senses, but she couldn't. A Sister would never mention the Sisters of Beltane to a man- they'd ruin it, most like.

She'd have to talk to Professor McGonagall. Immediately.

"Morag, slow down," Adam demanded as he began to jog to keep up. "What's the matter?"
"I'm tired. It's been a long week, and I've got mock N.E.W.T.'s coming soon. I need to be up early to study. I also have a special set of exams to take to work for the Wizengamot. I'm very busy as well, Adam."

"Yes, fine," he said. "But do you really need to sprint back to the castle? It's not yet midnight. Witching hour," he reminded her.

Morag looked up at Adam. Of course, McGonagall wouldn't be happy to have her barge into her office this late. In fact, McGonagall was probably celebrating Halloween like every other adult in the world. Moreover, she could hardly tell McGonagall just now- she needed a reason to know such things, and couldn't seriously tell her that Adam Scratch had told her, whilst she'd been out breaking curfew at the Hogs Head.

"No, you're right," Morag said. "I don't need to rush back. But it is quite chill out tonight," she whined, hoping Adam would give her his thick cloak. Her own cloak was fashionable to the hilt, but worthless. It was very soft though.

Unfortunately, Adam didn't clue in, but merely agreed about the weather. "It's been cold in Russia for a long while already," he said.

They continued walking through the Forbidden Forest, Morag pretended her shivers were all due to the cold, not willing to admit she was a coward when it came to dark forests at night. The stories she'd heard about the creatures in the wood made her blood run cold.

Adam told her about his assignment in Russia. He was working as a regular Auror again, not one specialized in commercial Dark Arts. "Nice not to raid a wizard who breeds chimaeras or sphinx or nundu. Nasty pieces, that lot, I tell you. Give me an aspiring Dark Lord, any day, and I'll give him back, gift-wrapped."

"Not afraid of a few beast, surely?" Morag teased, while peering deeply into the forest for any number of vicious apparitions. Stupid man, she grumbled internally.

"Not beasts, no. Monsters!" Adam grinned. "Otherwise, I'm brave enough to be a Gryffindor. It's that I'm smart enough to be wary that I was a Ravenclaw."

Suddenly, the Forbidden Forest ended, and the grassy approach to Hogwarts Castle began.

"I'd best make a break for it, I suppose," Morag mused.

"Morag, did you mean it when you said you were worried for me?" he asked.

"Yes, of course," Morag answered.

"I didn't think of that, truth," Adam apologized. "I'm not sure anyone has ever worried for me."

"Well, I was worried. Until I became angry."

Adam smiled. "If I were to write you, now, would you forgive me and write back?"

"Yes, I might."

Adam stepped closer. "And if I kissed you, now, would you forgive me and kiss back?"

**

Harry stumbled on an exposed root and tumbled into Ron. Apologizing quickly, thickly, he pushed his shoulder onto the passageway wall to keep himself upright. The darkness was relieved only by Hermione's wand, which emitted a terribly bright beam from its tip.

Dragging himself along the wall allowed him to take a long look at Ron, which he hadn't done in a quite long time. Where, exactly, was the kid smudged with dirt that had eaten his chocolate frogs? The seventeen-year-old Ron was nothing like the eleven-year-old Ron; this Ron was so tall and confident, but aloof. The only semblance to the younger Ron was physical.

Harry missed the young boy who grinned and groaned and rolled his eyes. The boy who would panic at a surprise test or go into rapture at the thought of a Chudley win. This Ron who walked across from him wouldn't blink an eye at a surprise test, and, though still a rabid fan, did not live vicariously through the Cannons. Harry missed the enthusiasm that seemed to have left Ron.

And yet, Harry understood this Ron. He knew what had made this boy his best friend. He trusted him completely, knew he was completely loyal, a foul-weather friend. They had faced death together, Ron staunchly at his side, refusing to step aside. That meant something.

The tunnel roof dipped low suddenly, and Ron's head knocked into it. "Merlin's Balls!" he gasped, clutching his forehead. Harry and Hermione both collapsed into drunken laughter. Ron joined them, leaning against the side of the passage and sliding down to the floor. "Sod off, you two," he chuckled. Hermione and Harry sat on the floor with him instead.

"What's the matter, Harry?" Hermione asked slowly. Her eyes were drooping, a small and permanent grin on her face.

"Nothing, really. I was just thinking about how much Ron's changed since we began school," he said. "How much we've all changed."

"Yeah," Ron sighed, removing his hand. "We have, hain't we?'

"We're going to change even more," Hermione said quietly, absently twirling a piece of hair with her finger. "But I can't wait to know you in ten years, actually."

"I doubt you'll have time for us in ten years, Hermione," Harry said. "Surprised you can find the time now." Ron laughed.

"That's not funny," Hermione protested. "And it's not true. You two are my best friends, and I love you both."

"Yeah, I love you, too, Hermione," Ron said, and Harry nodded the sentiment. "'Cept, not like that. 'Course." His eyes fluttered closed.

"'Course," Hermione repeated, smiling broadly. "Which is lucky, as Draco drives me mad, by himself. I couldn't-"

"What?" Harry crowed. "Draco? You and Malfoy?"

"Well, not really. It's complicated, yeah?" Hermione said hesitantly.

"Wait," Ron said, his eyes snapping open. "You and Malfoy? Since when?"

"A week ago, but I don't actually want to talk about it," Hermione said, standing up and brushing off her bottom. "We should get back, anyway."

"Yeah," Ron said. "But you and Malfoy?" He pulled a drunken face. "Can't imagine why you'd want anythin' to do with him. You remember, he used to call you Mudblood? Remember how rude and mean he was? And Norbert? And Neville, and Harry? You remember what a pompous arse he were?"

"I remember. But that was then, wasn't it? We were just talking about how much we've changed. So has he. He's been a good ally this last year," she said.

"He's got the Dark Mark, though," Harry reminded her.

Hermione glanced at him, ready to reply. "Ew- Harry, don't! Not in here," Hermione gasped.

Looking down, Harry felt his face flush scarlet. He rezipped and turned about. "Sorry," he laughed. Hermione bit her lip to keep from giggling. "Maybe we ought to get back."

They continued through the passageway until they reached the entrance to the castle. Ron stopped. "What happened a week ago, Hermione?"

"What? Oh, you mean, with Draco?" He nodded. "Oh. I think he was jealous of Miles, if you can imagine!"

"Er- no, actually, I can't," Harry said stupidly. "Who's Miles?"

"Miles! I never told you- I never told you about Miles!" Hermione gasped, a bit horrified. She explained how she'd met Miles while working for the Order that summer, and that it wasn't serious.

"You slept with him, Hermione!" Ron snapped. "How can that not be serious? How could you forget to tell us?"

"Well, I didn't know you'd care, really. I'm sure that you, Ron, haven't told me about every girl you've shagged; why should I tell you about every lad I have?"

"Bit different, Hermione," Harry told her. "Ron's had dozens of girlfriends, while you haven't had a very serious boyfriend. Victor lived a thousand miles away, and you were rid of him once he moved here to England."

"Well, I'm not apologizing for it," Hermione sniffed. She looked ready to either cry or rip Ron and him up.

"No, don't," Ron agreed. "Just don't keep things like that from us. We're best friends, Hermione; I'd give you my list if I thought it would be of interest, and Harry, who dates my baby sister, does not have a list." Ron shot him a bit of a look, and once again, Harry was hit by how big he was. And how scary he could be. "It's just important to us to know where you're at."

"Don't be angry," Hermione said quietly, "but this is really something I'd rather chat with the girls about."

Ron looked fazed. "You mean- you don't want to tell us about your boyfriends? But..."

"It's really not something I'd want to discuss with my two male best friends'. Would you date a girl who had the two best Duelers of the year knowing everything you did? I- well, there are limits to our friendship, right?"

Harry's three sheets, just moments ago 'to the wind,' rapidly had that wind knocked out of them.

"Limits?" Ron and he demanded in unison.