Tested In Fire

This is for those who would not accept voices from heaven and objects falling out of the sky. I was going to leave you hanging, but I was feeling nice. Here's your explanation.

Chapter 27: Mr. Gruthersford

Professor Dumbledore walked wearily from the Great Hall Christmas feast to his office. The meal had been satisfying enough, but he simply hadn't had the energy to concentrate on enjoying the delights the elves had cooked up. The spell he'd cast to transfer his powers to his student of choice was working, he knew. Nothing else could tire him so.

The gargoyle obligingly opened the passage to the room he considered more his home than the private quarters that he had at the school without giving Dumbledore giving him the password. It was set to automatically open when the gargoyle sensed Dumbledore's aura.

He sighed at the mountains of packages that friends sent to him. They would be, no doubt, filled to the brink with books or notes. If he weren't so tired, he would look forward to opening them. His face lit, however, when his eyes fell upon the Christmas fudge that Mrs. Weasley sent him annually.

Grabbing the package, he made a start towards his desk when he saw a figure sitting in the seat across from his desk.

"Ah, Mr. Gruthersford. Glad you could join me."

"Happy Christmas, Professor Dumbledore. I 'ope everything went well at the feast?"

"Quite, thank you. What can I do for you?"

"Oh, nothin' much, just 'ere to give m' report is all. I 'ate to bother you at Christmas time, Professor Dumbledore, sir."

"Can I offer you some tea?"

"Nah, can't stand the stuff. Do you 'appen to have any of that Firewhiskey around? I'm awful fond of that."

Dumbledore chuckled. "Yes, I remember. It's not good for your health, you know."

"I know. M' wife 'ollers every time I open a bottle. It's like I always say, though. If a fella can't 'ave 'is fun, 'e might as well be dead."

"True enough, true enough. I just happen to have a bottle here with your name on it." Instantly, Dumbledore's manner turned much friendlier. " It's good to see you, Gus."

"'Tis been a long time, I'd wager, Albus."

"It has been. How is your wife?"

"Dru? She's fine. Jus' told me I'm going to be a grandpa. Can you believe that? An old man like me, a grandfather."

"Congratulations. Which one of yours is having a child?"

"Meri, m' firstborn. Proud as a peacock, 'e is."

"You were, too."

Gus grinned. "Aye. As I recall, so were you." Then grinned his grinned faded. "Oh. Terribly sorry about that, Albus."

"It's no problem, Gus. I think I've finally accepted it."

"That's good to 'ear. That's good to 'ear." He took a gulp of the Firewhiskey and scowled. "I'd best be getting on with it, I s'pose."

"Yes."

"Well, I've done m' duty to Lily and James. 'Arry's just fine, and so is his girl. They all got out of that mess with th' Death Eaters. Terrible lot, that bunch."

"Yes, I think so too," Dumbledore said, amused despite himself.

"I gave 'im, er, 'Arry, Mrs. Potter's book. So everythin' should be right as rain now."

Dumbledore grinned. "I had a feeling that was you, though you used remarkably good English, from what Harry and Ginny told me."

"Good English comes in 'andy every now and again. It's just not normally worth the trouble, if you understand m' meaning."

Amused, Dumbledore shook his head and moved on to other pressing questions. "How'd you get into the Ivy Room?"

"Why 're you asking questions that you already know the answers to?" Mr. Gruthersford countered.

"To make sure I'm right," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling.

"Well, being my size is always been, er, 'elpful, you know. I jus' sneaked in that back route that Mrs. Potter showed me and waited. I 'ad a feelin' that they'd work the 'mystery' out. Guess it never occurred to them to ask fer help in getting in, hmm?"

"No, it didn't, I'm sure."

"I was hidin' in that 'ole, you know, at the top of the room so I could toss the book at 'im, and got a good view of th' 'ole show."

"That was cunning."

"That was common sense," Mr. Gruthersford shot back. "You'd 'ave thought to do the same thing."

"The attack at The Burrow. I have a feeling you know something about that."

"That would be tellin' now, wouldn't it?"

Dumbledore sighed, topped Mr. Gruthersford's glass off. "Does that help change your mind?"

"Always were a good lad," Mr. Gruthersford mumbled, and then sighed in satisfaction. "A man don't get much better than this on the legal market. Where'd you come by it?"

"I have my sources. The attack, if you please."

"I have my sources." At Dumbledore's impatient look, he shifted. "Voldemort's servants aren't real careful around their own servants, you know. I was tipped off jus' a few hours afore the attack. I got the word out to the right people, is all, an' I made sure the Weasleys got out safe. Always liked 'em. Crazy, no doubt, but I always did."

"What else do your sources tell you?" Dumbledore's eyes were sharp, watching for any stray movement on Mr. Grutherford's part.

"Nobody knows fer sure where young Mr. Potter is, but they know that 'e's not at The Burrow. It's been causin' You-Know-Who some bad moments."

Dumbledore sighed. "It's only a matter time before he works it out."

"I don' know why yer worryin'. Mr. Potter has shown 'is ability to handle You-Know-Who. 'Arry'll take care of 'imself til you can get to him if something untoward were to happen."

"Is something going to happen, Gus?"

"I don' know, Professor. I just don' know."

"Thank you for the information, Gus. Happy Christmas."

With that, Mr. Gruthersford emptied his glass and stumbled to his feet. Anyone well acquainted with the wizarding world would have been surprised to see a small house-elf making his way out of the castle, but Mr. Gruthersford didn't seem to care as he whistled merrily.

Before he left the castle, he made a side trip to the Ivy Room, smiled at the engraved 'P'.

"I'll be seeing you, Master."

**

Christmas at The Burrow was as insane as usual, despite the attack on the Weasleys' home. Bill and Charlie had not yet arrived when the Death Eaters hit, and the others had escaped to a Ministry of Magic safe house using Portkeys.

Now that the Ministry had turned The Burrow back over to the family, and Bill and Charlie had arrived.

Ron was scowling at his leg, which had turned treacherously on him and now seemed to pounding to an alien rhythm. Standing on it for so long had done nothing positive for it, and Mrs. Weasley had been tempted to say something to him about the swelling. Ron, however, refused to admit that anything was wrong, except to himself on the most private of levels.

Stretched out on the floor next to Ron's bed was his eldest brother, Bill.

"Hurts, does it?"

"What?" Ron asked, pretending to not have an idea what Bill was talking about.

"Your leg. It hurts, doesn't it?"

Ron chuckled. "It's nothing, really. Everybody gets their tendons ripped apart from their legs at some time or another. I'll get through it."

Charlie opened the door and took a seat next to Bill. "Your leg hurt?"

"No. It doesn't hurt."

Bill grinned. "He's in denial."

"I'm not in denial!" Ron nearly shouted it.

"What's going on in here?" Hermione opened the door. "Is somebody hurt? There's a lot of shouting going on."

"No, Hermione, nobody's hurt. My brothers are just trying to irritate me."

Bill grinned. "There is no 'try' about it. We are irritating him."

Hermione laughed. "I'll leave you to it. Ginny's trying to fix the Christmas tree; it sort of got damaged in the attack. I'll go lend her a hand."

"No, you can stay awhile," Bill said, with an obvious teasing note in his voice. "Charlie and I would be more than willing to supervise."

Ron growled and very nearly bared his teeth. "You can stay, Hermione. I'll make sure Bill and Charlie don't bug you."

Smiling sweetly, Hermione shook her head. "I wasn't annoyed."

"So, Hermione, how are you enjoying the holiday in our humble home?"

"Oh, it's lovely!" Hermione blushed becomingly. "Everything is magic. In the Muggle world, well, obviously, everything isn't. We don't have presents that are charmed to hex whoever tries to open them early, or singing Christmas cards, or anything."

Bill flashed a charming smile Hermione's direction and absently pulled on his ponytail. "I wouldn't imagine that there could be."

"You think it's lovely now, just wait until you can't walk properly for a week all because you touched your presents ahead of time," Ron grumbled.

"Why are you so... grumpy?" Hermione asked, slightly irritated.

"I'm not grumpy!

"His leg hurts," Charlie informed Hermione with a grin.

"My leg does not hurt!"

"Why didn't you say something?" Hermione ignored Ron's protests and began to examine the injury in question. "Madam Pomfrey gave you that potion to use for the pain. Were you moving too fast?"

"My leg does not hurt. No, I was not moving too fast. No, I don't want to take any potion. All right?"

Hermione pulled back, a bit burned, before she launched her counter-attack.

"Ron, quit being stubborn! If it hurts, then fix the problem. What's the point in continuing to deny that he hurt you at all?"

"I'm not being stubborn. My leg does not hurt. If it did, I would have told someone."

"Then why do your brothers think that you're in pain?"

"Because they're gits who can't mind their own business."

Bill and Charlie started to laugh, but were cut off by the glares that both Ron and Hermione sent them.

"There has to be some truth in what they're telling me."

"What business is it of yours?" Ron demanded.

"It's my business because you can't take care of yourself. If you wouldn't go around acting like that wound didn't exist, we wouldn't have to be having this conversation."

"Why does everyone think I'm in denial? I know what happened, okay? I'm the only one that does. If I couldn't handle it, I'd tell someone."

The volume of their verbal sparring was rising, and soon everyone in the house could understand very clearly what was being said.

"Your leg hurts. Don't lie to me and tell me that it doesn't. I won't stand here and let you destroy that leg."

"Why? Why won't you let me? Maybe I'd be better off without the damned thing."

"Ron!"

"Don't you 'Ron' me. You're not my mother, damn it. You're my girlfriend, and I'll say what I want."

"Yes, I am your girlfriend! Heaven only knows why. You're as stubborn as a mule and stupid to boot."

"I'm not stupid, and we both know it. Stop bothering me, Hermione. I'm a big boy. I can take care of myself."

"Then it's about time you demonstrated it for everyone else. Because it seems to me that you're acting very much like a spoiled toddler."

Ron's face grew redder with every word that was spoken.

"You don't know what happened. You really don't know. You can't imagine what it was like. This twinge I feel now... that's not pain. Do you want to know what pain is? Pain is having your leg ripped apart by a madman with red eyes, who laughs the entire time you're screaming and calling out for your mother. Pain is not being able to bleed because the spell that he's using is so precise. Pain is being able to feel every single pore in your body heat up and prepare to explode."

Ron watched the color drain from Hermione's face.

"My leg doesn't hurt."'

He sat back and closed his eyes. Bill and Charlie shifted their eyes from Ron to Hermione and back again.

"Ronald Weasley, you are the only person alive who can make me feel so helpless and stupid."

With that, Hermione stalked off.

"Don't say anything," Ron nearly moaned from the bed. "Please don't. I don't think I could stand any older brother advice right now."

"You've got something special there," Bill muttered. "Something really special. I'd hate to see it screwed up because you have some messed up idea of what she needs to know, and what she doesn't need to know. I think that you need to tell Hermione what happened."

"Didn't I ask you not to say anything?"

Charlie ignored him and picked up where Bill left off. "If she knows, then she can handle it better and she won't provoke useless fights with you to try to get a normal reaction out of you. Hermione only wants your relationship to mean something more, and trust me, when push comes to shove, you're going to value that in a woman."

The two older Weasleys rose and left Ron to himself.

"Sorry about him," Bill said sheepishly to Hermione, who was sitting, dazed, in a chair in Ginny's room, which was down the stairs.

"It's all right. We'll work it out." She sighed. "We always do."

"Sorry for staying in the room with you, but if we'd have left, I think it would have made things worse," Charlie said, and patted her shoulder. "I think you're in the right about this one."

"Have you ever tried to make him tell you what happened the night he was abducted?" Bill asked seriously.

"Not really. I got the impression he didn't want to talk about it."

"Whether he wants to or not may not be the question. Maybe the question is whether or not he needs to talk about it."

"Want to go for a walk, Bill?"

"Yeah, of course."

They left Hermione sitting there, rocking back and forth, thinking.

"If he weren't so stubborn," she was thinking, "then we could just deal with this. But noooo. He's always got to be right. Stubborn, stubborn, stubborn. Why, I wish I could..."

Then it hit Hermione. What she and the professors had been doing wrong for the past month, why the spell wouldn't work when they modified it.

"Oh, I can't believe I've been so stupid!" she exclaimed out loud, and started to run off towards Ron's room, then stopped short when she remembered they were fighting. "Ginny, Ginny! I've got it! I've got it!"

"Well, that's good," Ginny said as she ran directly into her. "I've just had a vision. Harry's in trouble. Big trouble."