Against the Tide

Harry glared as he opened the door. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

"Harry, I'm sorry I lied to you," Ron sighed. "But, please, come with me to the Ministry."

"Merlin, you don't stop, do you?" Harry denounced as he shut the door behind him, and walked down the hall to the washroom. "Where did you stay last night, anyway?" Harry shouted through the door. He had elected to stay at the Leaky Cauldron after giving Ron a blackened eye and deserting him just off Privet Drive.

"My Aunt Imelda's," Ron answered. "It was terrible. She's very upset with my behaviour, with my eye, and with my disgraceful lack of warning."

"I'm very upset with you as well," Harry told him as he walked passed Ron on the way to his rented room. "I can't believe you'd do that." Harry closed his door.

"Harry?" Ron called, and began knocking on the door. "Harry! Don't be such a sod, and open the door!"

"Excuse me, please," Harry said as he re-opened the door.

"Where are you going?" Ron asked, looking confused. His eye really was a disgusting colour, but at least it wasn't swollen shut. "Why are you dressed up?"

"I'm going to Percy's wedding," Harry said simply, and took the stairs two by two.

It took Ron a moment to react to that. "You're not?" he insisted, thundering down the stairs. "Hiya, Tom," he waved. "Harry, come on, be a mate! You can't go to Percy's wedding! What about the Ministry?"

"What about it?" Harry demanded as he entered the alley behind the Leaky Cauldron. Tapping the proper bricks in the correct combination, Harry stood back as Diagon Alley materialized in front of him. "You didn't actually think I would come with you, did you?"

"Yes, I did," Ron claimed. "What are you doing here? The wedding is in Bristol."

"Have to buy a gift. I'm a very polite person, Ron," Harry said. "Go away."

"Harry, please, come with me."

"I've already written your mother and told her I would be attending. I'm not going to skip out now. I'm a very polite person."

In truth, Harry was a very angry person. How could Ron just decide to do something so manipulative? He obviously hadn't trusted Harry at all; otherwise he would never have lied like that. There was no excuse, none! And what made it all worse was that he had lied about Sirius.

Suddenly, the anger boiled over. "Where do you get off, anyway, Ron?" Harry shouted, pushing his former friend into a deserted alley. "Are you absolutely insane? Has it finally happened?"

"Harry, what's gone wrong with you?" Ron demanded, staring down at Harry as if he were stark-raving mad. He looked a bit frightened, and Harry could tell his hand was curled about his wand. "What are you off about?"

"Saying that Sirius could come back. Just like that. That was cruel!" Harry shouted. "Have you any idea... Well, you do know how much that hurt, and you say it so casually, as if it weren't of any great importance."

"Harry, I..."

"Shut it, you!" he screamed, turned, and marched out the alley, cloak flowing behind him. "I'm sick of your schemes, do you hear? I'm not interested in them anymore!"

When Ron didn't say anything, Harry got angry enough to look back over his shoulder. Wizarding people were out today, shopping and visiting, and the snow made a rather nice contrast to the colours. Ron, though, was not to be seen over the crowd. Angrily, Harry backtracked to the alley to shout some more.

Ron was leaning against the wall of the Magical Menagerie, eyes glazed over and muttering to himself. Having seen Ron go into a trance before, Harry only paused a moment before continuing his rant.

"Fine time to have a vision, you selfish clod," Harry accused as he placed a Warming Charm around Ron. "Can't even finish an argument, can you? Giant oaf. Useless, really, in a fight. No telling when you'll just stop and start seeing the outcome of a Quidditch match twenty years in the future. I don't care, you know, if the English side doesn't win the Cup ever again." Harry stopped, hoping this blasphemy would bring Ron to his senses. "Well, alright, I do care."

A few seconds later, the snow beneath his feet having melted, Ron's feet slipped on the slush and he tumbled down with a shout of fright.

"Are you alright? Anything important?" Harry asked, helping Ron to his feet.

"Not really. Do you care?" Ron asked.

"Not particularly," Harry said. "As I was saying, I'm very angry with you, so unless you plan on coming to your brothers wedding, I really must go." With that, Harry turned and marched away.

"Harry, wait!" Ron said, catching him up. "If I come to the wedding, will you come to the Ministry tomorrow?"

"Ron, are you insane? I'm not going anywhere with you, ever. I'm actually going to the wedding because I thought that would assure me one evening without you. I'm so angry with you, you're lucky I don't blacken your other eye."

"I'm sorry, you know, Harry." Ron looked straight into his eyes. "There wasn't another way to get you to come, so I manipulated you. But please, come with me tomorrow."

"You are unbelievable," Harry muttered. "You manipulated me, Ron! Worse, though, when that didn't work, you made up a shoddy story about Sirius crossing over the veil. Are you evil, Ron, or why would you even suggest something like that? You know how much it hurts, how much I miss Sirius."

"I wasn't lying!" Ron swore. He grabbed Harry by the arm and manhandled him into another alley. "Harry, listen to me. What do you know about the veil? After all that happened, what did you find out about it?"

"Er- well, nothing, now that I think of it," Harry said, perplexed. He hadn't ever actually thought about what the veil was. "It's in the Death Chamber, and you can hear the voices of the dead through the veil which hangs across the archway, in the pit of the room. I know all this, because, I will remind you, I've actually been there. I saw Sirius go through the veil, and not come out. Dumbledore, and Lupin, and everyone, they said he was dead. The veil is death!"

"No, Harry, the veil is not death. The veil is a representation of the liminal state known as death. The veil does keep those who are dead from re-entering the living world, but it does not, in itself, cause death." Ron took a breath and reached into his pocket, pulling out an old piece of parchment. He began to read from the parchment. "Because the veil guards the living world from the dead, it is difficult, though not impossible, for a living person to enter and leave the realm of death. To return from beyond the veil, one must be called, and-" Ron broke off.

"And? And what? What is that?" Harry demanded. He couldn't believe what he was hearing; he shouldn't believe it, either. And yet, it made an odd sort of sense. If the veil was the barrier between the two worlds, obviously it wouldn't cause death. It only transported someone between the world of life and the world of death.

Harry's annoyance at Ron evaporated. He was suddenly so elated he couldn't hardly breath. Sirius wasn't really, really dead, only a bit unattainable. All Harry had to do was call to Sirius, and- er. "Well, go on! What is that, and how do we get Sirius back?"

"It's a translation of Runes Regan Miller had to do for Professor Glyphus, in November. He wrote a note to me on half, tore it in two and left it in the Press Room last week. That's as far as the translation goes. I checked the book in the Library, and this page and the next page were torn out. First I asked Miller, but he couldn't remember. When I asked Madam Pince about it, she said the book was often used by Advanced Runes students, and the pages had probably been gone for decades."

"Obviously not," Harry said, only focusing a bit of his attention on the conversation. Sirius! Sirius! It was possible to bring him back, and to see him, and... Harry's mind was rushing through all the scenarios. And to think, he'd been so angry with Ron for even suggesting such a thing, and now he was overjoyed.

Ron nodded his agreement. "I'd say it probably has something to do with the recent break-in at the Ministry. Some old Death Eater remembered translating the Runes, and someone got their child to tear out the pages."

"Probably. Or, a more direct contact of Lord Voldemort's."

"Always possible. But, Harry, do you see why you can't go to Percy's wedding? We have to plan."

"And what were you going to do today, if I had agreed to come with you?"

"Well, I hadn't thought that out, exactly," Ron admitted, then grinned. "And Hermione says there isn't such a thing as fate. Quite obviously, we were supposed to get into that argument, so that we'd have time to plan. Now, come on, we've got things to do."

"Yes," Harry agreed. "I've got to buy a suitable present for two extremely dull people." Ron peered at him questioningly. "I have to go to the wedding, Ron, no matter how much I want to ditch. I've just promised your mother I'd come, and Ginny. I'm not going to make Ginny cross with me, unless you want to be visiting the veil to see me."

"But..."

"Have you told any of this to Hermione?" Harry asked, opening the door to Flourish and Blott's and closing the conversation. "Do you think Isabelle would like a book on Household Charms?"

"I doubt it very much," Ron replied. "And I haven't told Hermione. You know how she gets when I mention prophecy."

"That reminds me. I thought you were never going to interfere with prophecy, ever again. Why the change?"

"Just realized I interfere with fate everyday, really. Just by existing, things change," Ron said, glancing over the shelf toward a group of pretty girls and winking with his discoloured eye. The girls began to giggle and bump each other coyly, and one girl collided with a stack of books, which toppled, dropping a book onto the foot of a young man. The girl began to apologize profusely, and the young man accepted. After a few moments of conversation, the two left the group of girls and walked out, going to a pub for drinks. "See?" Ron asked.

"You are such a show off," Harry grumbled, pulling a book off the shelf. "A Detailed History of the British Ministry of Magic. What do you think?"

"Perfect," Ron agreed. "Utterly boring, extremely expensive and totally useless. Percy will be thrilled."
"Or as thrilled as Percy gets," Harry corrected. "So, you decided to interfere because you can't help it, anyway?"

"Well, no. Actually, I just couldn't think of a reason you'd have for going to the Ministry, unless you get arrested. You weren't planning on that, were you?"

"No, sorry," Harry said, paying the clerk and exiting the store. "We still have a few hours before the wedding, if you want to visit Hermione before the wedding, instead of tomorrow."

"I wasn't really planning on telling her. You know how she gets!"

"And you know how absolutely outraged she'll be if we don't see her before doing something borderline dangerous."

"Well, there is that," Ron conceded. "But, Harry, she'll just try to talk us out of it. And when we go, anyway, she won't speak to us for a month."
"Yes, naturally. But that's better than the month of lecture we'll get if we don't go see her. What about it?" Harry asked, pulling his wand to Apparate. Grudgingly, Ron pulled his wand as well.

Harry had only been to Hermione's once before. During the summer, he had dropped by, manually, to pass a letter to the Grangers'. They lived in a nice neighbourhood in the suburbs of London; they had a very nice back garden, which was conveniently enclosed with high walls that shielded the area from the neighbours.

Hermione opened the kitchen door and released a great yelp. "Oh! Harry, Ron! I was so worried when Ginny told me Mrs. Weasley kicked you out! I thought you'd come here right away, and when you didn't, I was so worried, I couldn't sleep. So I did all my holiday work."

Harry grinned at hearing this. Suddenly, he realized everything was acting properly. Since Sirius had fallen behind the veil, he had moments of happiness, stolen from the consuming onslaught of war, but never since that day had he felt totally at peace, as if the war wasn't everything. He understood now that he had felt things were wrong because they were; Sirius wasn't really gone, and once he was back, things would be right again.

"Hermione, I missed you," he said, pulling her into a bear hug. "Do you know, I love you?"

"Well, thanks Harry," Hermione said, uncertainly. "You look rather posh. Why are you dressed up?"

"We've decided to go to Percy's wedding after all," Harry answered. "But first, we need to speak to you."

A few minutes later, Hermione sat on her bed, staring horrified at Ron and he. "Are you mad?" she asked. "You cannot break into the Department of Mysteries! Don't you remember what happened last time? It was a trap, and we all nearly died!"

"Yes, and that was my fault. And all this time, I thought Sirius had died because of me, when really, he hadn't. And he's just been left there, as if we'd forgotten about him. I can't leave him there, Hermione, if I have a way of getting him out from beyond the veil."
"But you haven't," Hermione insisted. "All you have in a partial translation from homework Regan Miller did last month, which you can't verify." She rolled her eyes. "You really are mad. Even if you did manage to get down to the Death Chamber, what do you do then?"

"Call him," Ron supplied.

"With what?"

"Those two-way mirrors Sirius gave Harry," Ron supplied.

"Well, I tried to do that just after Sirius, er, left," Harry explained. "He never answered, but I suppose we can try again."

"Well, who knows what its like in the after-life? He was probably busy seeing people he thought long dead. Like your parents," Ron said cheerfully.

"My parents? Hey, you don't think that-"

"Oh, no you don't. Sirius would be bad enough," Hermione said bossily. "There is no way your to attempt to bring your parents back."

"Well, I was just thinking that if Sirius had seen my parents, maybe he'd be able to tell me how they are."

"Oh," Hermione said quietly. "Oh, Harry!" She had that sorry look on her face that girls got when they were about to cry.

"Stop that, Hermione. We haven't all day, you know," Ron announced, passing Hermione a tissue. "So, Harry, you'll just have to try harder calling him."

"Aren't you forgetting some things?" Hermione asked peevishly. When Harry and Ron looked at her questioningly, she growled her frustration. "You can't get into the Ministry without a pass any more. New security. And, you don't know what to do after you call Sirius. A Death Eater died a few weeks ago in that room, probably trying to call back someone else. Also, you can't bring people back from the dead!"

"He isn't dead, Hermione," Ron snapped. "He's merely indisposed."

"Indisposed?" Hermione repeated. "Indisposed! You are mad, Ronald Weasley. Sirius Black fell behind the veil that separates our world from that of the dead, and he's merely indisposed?" She stared at Ron expectantly, but when no clarification was forthcoming, she sighed. "It's the drugs, isn't it? You're on the drugs."

"Hermione," Harry laughed. "Do try to be serious," he said, at which Ron burst out laughing, and even Hermione managed a small smile. "Really, this is why we came to speak with you. We're going to the wedding, but you can make up a plan to get us in and out, can't you?"

"Yes, I could, but I won't. That would be completely irresponsible, and really, I can't think of why you'd think I'd be willing to do it," Hermione said.

"Because your our friend. You were Sirius's friend," Ron said angrily.

"Yes, but that doesn't mean I'll help you break the law, maybe even get yourselves killed."

"What does any of that have to do with Sirius?" Ron asked pointedly. "Think about it, Hermione. Sirius lived twelve years in Azkaban, three more on the run, and then he spends the rest of eternity in limbo, because we decide not to break the law? Sirius isn't dead, but you'd keep him from living because of what might get us in trouble? That's harsh, don't you think?"

"Well, I hadn't thought of it that way," she said. "But it doesn't change the fact that going after Sirius is dangerous. Harry, you can't just break into the Ministry to rescue him."

"Why not? I did it once before, and you came along," Harry reminded her.

"Yes, and that turned out badly, didn't it?"

"Not really," Ron said. "Sure, we were all hurt, but the only permanent damage was my becoming a Prophet. In fact, the whole Prophet thing would probably be considered a good thing. And lots of other good came from it as well, like Neville breaking his wand, and getting a new one. He's much better and more confident now. And everyone had to accept that Voldemort had returned."

"Well, sure, but the war started then, as well. People are dying now," Hermione pointed out. "Of course, people were given warning, which is important."

"People were given a years warning before most accepted it," Harry argued. "Serves them right if they weren't prepared."

Hermione and Ron nodded agreement.

"This doesn't change anything, though," Hermione announced. "I'm not coming with you."

"Yes you are, Hermione. Don't be daft," Harry said. "We'll likely end up dead, or worse, caught, without you."

"To be sure," Hermione replied curtly. "But I'm going to the cinema with my parents. Give the Unspeakables my regards, won't you?"

"Hermione! You can't be serious. We need your help," Harry pleaded.

"I'd like to point out I didn't want to tell her at all," Ron said triumphantly.

"What! You weren't even going to tell me? And why not?" Hermione demanded.

"Well, I knew you wouldn't be up for this. It isn't in you to do something like this. This isn't something you fall into by accident," Ron replied.

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "You are trying to manipulate me, Ronald Weasley. It will not work. However," she continued, "I would suggest you consider a few things. What if you get down there, and you can't call Sirius? Or, if you do, but you can't get him back across the veil? Or if his time beyond the veil changed him terribly? We haven't any idea what time beyond the veil is like. He might not be the Sirius we remember."

"We'll figure that all out, Hermione," Ron said.

"Why don't you go to Dumbledore? He must know more about this than us?" Hermione asked.

"Dumbledore told me that Sirius was dead, as well," Harry said quietly. "Doubt he's going to be much help, after all."

"But if you go to him with this parchment, as well as your words, he'll believe you," Hermione stated definitely. "He trusts you, Harry, and you, Ron."

"That could take weeks, or even months," Ron said. "Dumbledore plans things- we don't. Its not necessarily a bad thing, either, spontaneity. We'll go in, get Sirius, and get out, in a few hours. Watch that we don't, Hermione."

"You two are going to be in so much trouble if you're caught! Think about it, the Head Boy and Harry Potter, caught in the Department of Mysteries, trying to resurrect an escaped Azkaban prisoner!"

"Posthumously pardoned escaped Azkaban prisoner, you mean," Harry said tightly, not surprised but upset that Hermione was taking this tone.

"Well, yes. But, think what Sirius's life will be like if you do this. People think he's dead. Its much more frightening to see a man you knew dead than it is to see a man you thought a murderer."

"Hermione, will you come, or not?" Ron snapped.

Hermione sat quietly for a moment, wringing her hands. She looked worried, probably realizing that this was the first time she had ever said no to something so monumental. In the back of his mind, Harry could hear Dumbledore telling him that things changed. "No. I hope this works the way you hope it does, and I hope Sirius is alright and alive. I miss him as well, you know."

"We know, Hermione," Harry said as he stood to leave, realizing there was nothing more to say until Ron and he had recovered Sirius. "We'll call tomorrow if we aren't dead or in Azkaban, shall we?"

"Don't joke!" Hermione said crossly. "It isn't fun at all."

"And to think, Harry, that you want to spend your last evening of freedom at pompous Percy's nuptials," Ron said sadly. "It's the drugs, isn't it? Ouch! Hermione..."

**

As it turned out, Percy's wedding was dead boring. Isabelle Flint and Percy Weasley became Isabelle and Percy Weasley-Flint. Some people cried, whether at the idea of their respective family names being besmirched, or because they were genuinely touched by the overly long and detailed ceremony, the reason was debatable. The only real excitement came about when Mrs. Weasley apologized to Ron for asking him to leave the Burrow. It wasn't a proper apology, but Harry was action starved.

Ginny grinned gleefully as Percy tripped on his elaborate robes and stepped on Isabelle's foot. "Highlight of my day," she whispered conspiratorially to Harry and Ron. Harry had brought his Omnicular to the ceremony in lieu of a camera- good thing to, as he and Percy's family seemed to be outranked by almost the entire Ministry, who sat in the front of the Hall- saved the image and played it over and over while the ceremony took place. The three of them were almost in hysterics when Mrs. Weasley turned to them and scowled. Harry also brought the two-way mirrors Sirius had given him, deciding to be totally prepared for whatever might land him in the Ministry.

By the time they reached the reception the entire Weasley family looked bored rigid, and Mrs. Weasley lectured against drinking too much to end the monotony.

"I understand that it's terribly stuffy, but this is Percy's wedding, and we have to behave," she began sternly, an eye on her four youngest children. Bill, who had tried desperately to cry off from the wedding and already had a drink in his hand when his mother began, quickly turned about when he heard what she was saying. Before Mrs. Weasley had finished her lecture, Bill had finished and was having his drink refreshed by a House-Elf dressed in clean rags. "Bill, I expect you to set an example for the children."

"Oh, I intend to, Mum," Bill replied seriously as his mother bustled off to visit with friends. Taking a long sip from his drink, he gave a raucous wink at the group and spun off to speak to a pretty lady.

"What do you say, then?" Fred asked. "A drink to start off with?"

"Fred, I'm shocked! Did you not listen to Mother? We are to be on our best behaviour," George said properly, his eyes twinkling. "Oh, look, Dragon Blood Martini's! They taste like candy."

The evening continued on the same merry note. While Harry and Ron kept from drinking too much, the rest of the group didn't seem overly concerned. And their group grew enormously, cloistered away in a dim corner of the reception. Oliver Wood was there, announcing he'd come only to see his other classmates who'd been invited.

"Kind of Percy to arrange this get-together, wasn't it?" Wood asked blurrily, well on his way to being useless. "Why are we here again?" Penelope Clearwater, Percy's ex-girlfriend, smiled bitterly.

"He wanted us all to see how fabulous his life is now, remember?" she asked.

"To tell the truth, Penelope, we wish it were you," Fred said as seriously as he could whilst he tried to balance a spoon on his nose. "Are you sure this really works, Gin?"

"You wish it were me? That's the most wretched thing I've heard all day!" Penelope said. "And I had to listen to Isabelle prattle on about how happy she was, and how much she hoped I wasn't cross with her. Honestly, she's such a stuck-up cow! Can't believe she asked me to be a bridesmaid."

"Why'd she ask you, Penny?" Oliver asked.

"Oh, she's my favourite cousin, even if I'm only a Half-Blood," Penelope answered. All the Purebloods at the table nodded with understanding.

"Well, she isn't as bad as my favourite cousin, I assure you," Harry said. His boredom of the wedding had been replaced by the anticipation for the next day. The day Sirius would return. Tonight, he was celebrating. "His names Dudley, and he's the only one I've got."

"Oi, that's right. Dudley..." Fred said. "How is big Dudley, anyway?"

"Oh, good. We saw him last night," Ron supplied. "Very fat."

"Well, Oliver Wood. How are you?" an oily and unpleasant voice came from behind them. Without turning about, Harry knew it was Marcus Flint.

"Oh, good. You know, playing Quidditch professionally now," Wood said, keeping the mocking tone rather light. "You?"

"I don't have to work, naturally," Marcus told him. "I'm saturated by my wealth." Harry gagged on his beer. "Penelope, Isabelle wants you."

"What an arse. I cannot believe he hasn't fallen off that horse he sits so high on," Ginny said vehemently once the pair had left. She was about to continue when Fred suddenly shouted with victory. He'd finally managed to balance the spoon on his nose.

The party continued for quite a while, and Ginny even managed to convince Harry to dance a few times. However, the group in the corner continued to grow, and more and more Ginny chose to sit and laugh with her family and friends. In fact, theirs was the only group that seemed to be having any fun, the rest of the guests preferring to stand staidly and speak quietly. Just after the clock struck ten, Draco Malfoy arrived at their table.

"Weasley, can I speak to you?" he asked.

"Which one of us," George asked robustly. "Quite a few Weasley's about tonight."

"I noticed," Draco replied coldly. "Ron, may I speak with you?"

"I suppose," Ron agreed, and rose to follow Draco outside. Harry and Ginny peered over people's heads, trying to follow the pair, but Draco led Ron outside. A few minutes later, Ron marched back into the Hall, his face fuming and his fists clenched. He reached their table, grabbed his drink and finished it in one pull.

"Ron, what's happened to your hand?" Susan Bones asked.

"I believe I may have killed a ferret," Ron said viciously. "Susan, would you like to dance?"

"Well, sure," Susan said hesitantly. "Is Draco alright, though?"

"No," Ron said shortly. The pair moved over to the dance floor, leaving the group watching them.

"Do you suppose we should go and check on Draco?" Ginny asked quietly.

"That might be a good idea," Harry said. Whatever Malfoy had done, it was frigid outdoors, and he could very well freeze to death if he was badly hurt. It was a bit hypocritical, he realized, to show any concern for the Slytherin, especially after how he had treated Hermione so badly, but it was the least Harry could do, to make sure he wasn't going to die.

When they got outdoors, Harry agreed with his reasoning that it was too cold to be lying unconscious or how ever Ron may have left Malfoy. Harry's nostrils froze together and painfully unfroze every time he breathed.

"Malfoy!" he shouted, hoping the boy was able to respond. "Malfoy?" Lighting his wand, he swept the ground at his feet, looking for tracks. There was a great pile of them some thirty meters off with a path leading towards it. Two sets out, one set back. He and Ginny moved towards it, Harry's wand hand wavering as he shivered. "Malfoy?"

"Ugh..." an answer came. "Ugh!"

"Draco!" Ginny cried and ran over to him, splayed inelegantly beneath a tree. "Are you alright?" Ginny asked usefully as she pulled Malfoy up and helped him brace against the tree.

Malfoy's face told a tale of brutal punishment, although Harry supposed the rest of him looked just as bad, judging from the way the boy refused to place his left foot on the ground. It looked as if Ron had truly tried to kill him.

"What happened?" Harry demanded as he found and returned Draco's wand, thrown half way across a small clearing. The clearing had snow crushed by footprints and a body, as well as several different blood spatters.

"Your fwend dwied to kill me," Draco snarled as he snatched his wand and held it protectively against his belly. He was having trouble forming words around his fat lips and couldn't fully close his mouth. "I even twied to winx him, bud ud didn' work."

Ginny set about displaying the talents one requires to survive in the Weasley home, mending Draco's jaw and applying a temporary Charm on his lip, to help with the swelling.

"Why would he do that?" she asked once she was certain he could answer.

"I was just being honest about something," Draco defended. "It wasn't something he wanted to hear, but I thought he had a right to hear it from me, first. I was trying to be honourable!"
"What did you tell him?" Harry asked as he ushered Draco through the snow towards the Reception Hall. There were Floo Stations inside, and Draco could get back to Malfoy Manor.

"That Blaise and I are engaged."

"Why would that make Ron this angry? Because you've only just broken up with Hermione?" Ginny asked. Whatever the answer was, though, it was put aside the moment the trio heard the terrified screams ringing out from the Reception Hall, twenty meters away.

**

Irony was funny, Ron decided as he sat in the Auror's Department, waiting for Harry to finish his statement. All the botched and painful manipulation to get Harry to the Ministry, and they would have been escorted there, anyway. Naturally, prophecy hadn't bothered to enlighten him about a Death Eater attack that evening, but he would let that slide.

All's well that end's well, after all. Sure, it rankled a bit that he'd gotten himself kicked out, almost ruined his friendship with Harry, really upset his family, acted an arse, and had actually been forced to apologize to Percy, but in the end, did it matter? Yes, yes it did. In fact, it mattered a lot.

What an idiot you are, Ron thought to himself. Of all the times to interfere, you had to choose the most painful scenario imaginable. You sure pick your moments, Weasley. Of course, it wasn't just the bungled prophecy that had him in such a wretched mood. Blaise and Malfoy were engaged!

Why Blaise would agree to marry someone she could barely tolerate was beyond him. Of course, he knew about arranged marriages and the like, he was a Pureblood, after all. But the modern witch didn't need to accept such antiquated institutions; it was perfectly acceptable to wait until one was older before marrying, and one could marry whomever one wanted. Apparently, though, Blaise wasn't as strong as Ron had always believed.

It hurt, physically, to think of Blaise married to Draco. Not even allowing himself to imagine the more physical aspects of married life, it felt like he had been robbed of something. And to think that Blaise would have agreed to such a loveless, unhappy future made him hurt worse. Draco had sworn to him that it was just an arrangement, nothing personal, but it damned well felt personal.

And why Draco would agree to marry someone he could barely tolerate was equally mystifying. Surely marriage to the 'Ice Princess,' as Malfoy often called Blaise, was not an ideal situation. The scorn Malfoy so often displayed for Blaise and her delicate ways made Ron even angrier. And how Draco could agree to marry Blaise when his heart should be a bleeding, black mess so soon after Hermione tossed him to the kerb was baffling.

And just like that, Ron realized something. Blaise was rebounding off Cornfoot, and Malfoy off Hermione. No matter how ill-suited the pairings, it made sense that both would seek some sort of security, some way of protecting themselves from new heart ache. It wouldn't last, naturally, and soon Blaise would be available again. Briefly, Ron considered trying to steal Blaise from Malfoy, but the idea was dishonest and very un-Gryffindor, so he discarded it.

But one way or another, he wasn't going to sit about, pining for Blaise. Oh, no! Not Ron Weasley; he'd go out with a dozen girls if he wanted to. Just because Blaise and Draco's engagement wouldn't last long didn't mean he shouldn't have a good time while it did.

A voice interrupted his musing. "Your sure his name was Poliakoff?" an Auror asked Ron again.

"Yes, definitely. He was at Hogwarts during the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Wasn't chosen as the Durmstrang Champion, but he was pretty handy with a wand. Still is, as a matter of fact," Ron said, rubbing his side. Poliakoff had hit him with a rather strong Jinx, which had sent him toppling into tables. "Not good enough, though."

"How did you get his hood off to identify him? We haven't managed to find a spell that works," the witch asked.

"Didn't try a spell. I just launched myself at him, and while we were tussling, I pulled it off. Wanted to get at his eyes," Ron said.

"With a Conjunctivitis Curse?" the witch asked with interest.

"Er- no. I wanted to blind the bugger. He Cursed my mum."

"Oh. I see," she said, and began scribbling. "Your parents are fine, by the way."

"You know, Ron, this was all to discredit your father," another Auror said. Ron didn't even know their names, but the Aurors' all seemed rather routine about the situation. He supposed a Death Eater attack was routine by now; over a year and a half had certainly given them enough training. "A week or so ago, your dad told the Prophet that Britain could protect its witches and wizards without Irish Aurors. Looks like You-Know-Who wants to call that into question."

"I didn't know that. Do you think its working?" Ron asked. If the British community didn't think they Ministry could protect them from the Death Eaters, what would they do? Knowing them as he did, they'd probably declare Voldemort their new Minister, and hope for the best. Fools.

"Not really. After all, several attackers hit the wedding reception, and no one was hurt badly. However, since the Irish pulled out of the Common Magical Defense Pact, they haven't suffered a single attack. Granted, it's only been a week, but they were being hit hard," the witch replied. "Its quite attractive to nations that would be our ally otherwise, that if they don't assist us, they won't be attacked. Yet, anyway."

"And this bloody nonsense with the Scots isn't helping, either. First the Irish abandon us, and now the Scots are up in arms about quota as well," another Auror sounded off.

"Just an excuse to get more concessions, mark my words," the witch sniffed. "If they knew what was good for them, they'd leave well enough alone. After all, they have much more freedom than the Welsh, and you don't hear us complaining, do you? No. Well, yes, actually, I suppose you do, but we wouldn't abandon England in a time of need," the confused Auror stated. "Well, we may, but we aren't considering it seriously, right now!"

"Well, the Irish leaving, and now the Scottish refusing to work over the holidays have really left us overburdened. Can you and Potter see yourselves out?" asked the lead Auror, Dawlish. He'd just finished taking Harry's statement, and apparently felt that his underlings had been distracted long enough.

"That's not a problem," Ron assured Dawlish. "We'll find our way out," he said, grabbing a cloak off the coat rack. "Coming Harry?"

Harry looked at him oddly, and followed. "Are you alright? That isn't your cloak, you know," Harry said as they reached the Atrium.

"I know. Its Sirius'," he replied, leading the way to the lifts. Harry followed quickly and pressed the button when they entered the lift.

"Got confused about where to go, did we?" Harry asked as the doors closed. "Its so difficult, really, when you come in by Floo. How are we supposed to know that the exit is up, not down?"

"Exactly," Ron grinned. "Now, I figure, we get in, and then you just go up to the veil and call out to Sirius. It's the best we can do on short notice."

"I gather that this is what fate had planned, yeah?"

"Shut it, you," Ron said as the lift opened on the Department of Mysteries. The hallway was lit by lamps and seemed eerily reminiscent of the back hallways of Hogwarts. "Harry, do you remember that feeling we used to get, when we were about to do something against the rules?"

"Yes. Why?"

"I haven't got it right now."

"Neither do I."

**

Briar woke. She groaned. She bit her lip, and cried out in pain. But it was a different pain then what she last recalled. Why was it different?

The fog around her mind lifted, and Briar struggled to rise up from the mattress she was lying on. Her eyes were pasted together, it seemed, and only an extreme effort wrenched them apart. Pale sunlight, the very first strains of the day, streamed through the high windows of the Infirmary. She was at Hogwarts, and the pain was different because she was no longer in labour.

Quiet tears came from her blotchy eyes, and the exhaustion from merely sitting up forced her back to the bed. Her baby girl, Bronwyn, was not with her; where was she? "Hello? Madame Pomfrey?" Briar cried. The logical side of her mind told her that if anything were wrong, someone would be by her side. However, Briar did not feel like being logical at the moment. She felt like knowing for sure. "Anyone?" she screamed at the top of her lungs, which were very powerful at the moment.

When no one materialized immediately, Briar gingerly pushed the blankets off her and slowly swung her legs off the bed and onto the floor. Icy, the stones chilled her clear through to the bone, but she stood and began to hobble to the aisle. Just then, the door to the next ward swung open, and Malachi entered, a small bundle cradled in his large arms.

Relief swept through Briar, and her legs trembled so badly she grasped the foot of the bed for support. Malachi rushed toward her and, juggling the bundle, tried to usher her back into the bed.

"No!" Briar whispered, holding her hands out for her baby. "Not yet. I want to hold her."

"Sit down, first, Briar, before you finish yourself off," Malachi said firmly, prodding her back onto the bed. "You nearly managed yesterday."

"Yesterday? You mean, I've been asleep for an entire day?" Briar asked, holding her arms out for her baby.

"No, you've been unconscious for an entire day. There's a difference," Malachi muttered as he passed the baby to Briar.

It felt odd to hold her daughter in her arms, and not in her womb. She hadn't much practice with newborn babies at all, not even her own nieces and nephews, but she knew that this was different. Tears welled in her eyes, and she became soppy, just looking at the small face below her, peacefully sleeping, completely unaware that her mother was finally holding her.

"Bronwyn," Briar whispered, and released a little laugh. "Oh, my baby..." Moments melted away, until Briar realized that Malachi was sitting on the bed next, and watching. Finding all the courage she could, Briar spoke. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" Malachi laughed bitterly. Pulling a hand through his hair, Malachi shook his head. "Briar, you nearly died. You nearly died, and nearly died with our daughter unborn. You could have left me."

"I had to do it," she said quietly, knowing she deserved the words. She had taken too much of a risk, had cut it too close. The risk was sleeping in her arms.

"No, you didn't. The difference between us and them, Briar, is that they are the fanatics, not us," Malachi said angrily. Briar had no doubt that if she weren't so weak, if she hadn't Bronwyn sleeping in her arms, he would have been shouting. "Briar, you shouldn't have done it. We all have to make sacrifices, yes, but we don't have to sacrifice the only thing we hope to gain out of this."

"I was working for the freedom of millions. What's more important than that?" Briar demanded.

"Our daughter!" Malachi shouted, losing control. Bronwyn fussed a moment but did not wake. "Are you so immature that you don't understand that? Can't you see that she," Malachi pointed to Bronwyn, "is more important than anything?"

"Of course I understand that!" Briar shot back, crying again. Really! Why was he shouting at her? Everything was all right now, wasn't it? "I carried her for nine months, you fool! Through everything I did, I kept her safe, didn't I? I could have stopped anywhere and delivered, but I returned here, to Hogwarts!"

"That isn't the point, Briar! You shouldn't have left in the first place. You should have been here, with me, where you and she were safe!"

"Oh, here with you, where I could grow fat and useless and do nothing but sit and drink tea?" Briar raged quietly, careful not to shout.

"Yes! Absolutely. The question is, why didn't you?"

"Someone has to keep fighting, Malachi, no matter what happens," Briar cried.

Malachi laughed bitterly again, and pulled his hand through his hair again. He hadn't shaved in weeks, it seemed, the beard covering his jaw far passed the stubble stage. His robes were unbuttoned, and Briar could see clean, wrinkled clothes underneath. His hair, his eyes, his entire face, looked tired and weary.

"You can't get over it, can you? You still haven't grown up."

"What are you talking about?" Briar demanded hotly.

"You aren't a child anymore. You aren't the orphan you were during the last war, Briar, and you aren't the child soldier you were, either. You aren't the girl who came out of that, tossed from one home to the next. You have a home anywhere you want now, Briar. You don't have to work so hard to ignore that you're a normal person. This fight against Voldemort has taken a lot from you," Malachi acknowledged, "but you need to move on. You aren't that child anymore, Briar. You are an adult now, and you can't just disappear like you did when we were teenagers."

"I didn't disappear, Malachi," Briar defended. "Adam always knew where I was."

Standing suddenly, Malachi loomed over Briar. "Adam Scratch always knew where you were, and he would not tell anyone, no matter what torture was presented," he snarled. "Why was it Adam?"

"It's always been Adam, Chi. Since we were kids, I always told Adam, not you," Briar replied. "And the reason it is Adam is because he will never tell anyone where I am. No matter what you threaten him with."

Malachi bit back a rejoinder. "This isn't the issue. The issue is that you're living in the past. You can't skip off and bring down evil-doers anymore, Briar. You can't go about your life behaving as if the Death Eaters are the most important thing in your life. You have to behave like a mother, like a woman!"

"Oh, I see," Briar said slowly, her eyes narrowing into slits despite the instinct to keep them as wide as possible to keep from sliding into sleep. "All those years spent training, in lieu of a family life, need no longer impede my ability to wear a pretty frock and sing nursery rhymes."

"That's not what I meant," Malachi said hastily.

"Oh? You didn't mean that now I can fight diaper rash and colic, instead of Death Eaters? That now, finally, my sleep deprivation can be caused by a squalling infant, not a late night of staking out a potential target?"

"Briar, you're overreacting."

"No. I don't think I am," Briar said huffily. "You sit down, O'Neill, and listen to me," she demanded, gracelessly shifting the baby to Malachi. "Its true I've never been partial to a settled life, and the idea of a family had me breaking out in a rash when I discovered I was pregnant. Perhaps its immature of me to consider the years of training I was given as a sort of loan, on which I now pay interest, but I do. I was trained to keep society safe, and I have to do that.

"But we have a daughter now, and yes, we have different responsibilities than before, but they aren't so badly changed. No one would blame you for continuing to fight if it were you who was the trained soldier, and I the academic. But it's you who spends all day with musty books, while I fight. That's the way it's been since long before we became involved. I fight, you write. You get to stay in one place, but I haven't that luxury.

"I get Owls every day, bearing a letter with a seal more official than the Seal of the Minister. And those letters always ask if I can do something more to break the hold Voldemort has on something, or asks if I can do something to further protect a nation from his attacks. Can I go to Poland and torture a few Death Eaters into talking? Sure I can. Can I destroy a few buildings, Muggle style? Yes. Can I please do just one more job before heading off to have my baby? Yes, yes I can. Because that one job means an extra weeks delay in the restructuring of the Death Eaters. It means an extra week to recover, to tickle my baby. An extra week for the Ministry to patch whatever holes it has in the defense of the nation. That's what I do. I didn't choose this life, Chi, I was molded for it."

Malachi was silent for a few minutes, which Briar spent admiring how at ease he was, holding their baby. What she'd just said was completely true, and yet, it made her feel guilty. She had no right having a child in the middle of the war; after all, not even a year ago, she'd told Malachi that they shouldn't get too involved because of the sacrifices a war demanded. But here she sat, watching him rock their daughter. Most of what he said was true, absolutely, but none of it changed the fact that she had a role to play that had to be more important than her personal preference of never ever leaving Bronwyn's side again.

"Do you understand what I'm saying, Malachi?" Briar finally had to ask, after the silence had stretched into dead air.

"Are you saying that you're leaving as soon as you can?" Malachi asked, his voice hoarse.

"No! Naturally, no," she laughed. Sighing, she rose from the bed and crossed to the bed Malachi sat on. Resting her head against his shoulder, she continued. "I don't want to leave at all, Malachi. Believe that. But I must, not yet, but in a month or so, I'll be asked away and won't have any excuses. They don't care much about these things, where I work."

Malachi nodded. He knew all of that, and he always had. "Briar, you know that I... well. I could have gone into the Auror's College, had I wanted to. You know that, yeah?"

Briar almost laughed, wondering where that had come from, and she recalled her words. Careless words, but so often she forgot how easily men could bruise, even men like Malachi. Men like Malachi, who could have done her job as well as she, but had chosen a different life. "Yes, I know. But I'm glad you didn't. Bronwyn needs someone who can tell her stories that don't include killing Dark Wizards."