The End

Chapter 14: A Tale That Can't be Told

"What's the score?" Michael asked.

"Wasn't that a change of subject?" Ron replied.

"Just answer the question," Michael sighed.

"102 to 25, my lead," Ron said. "Why?"

"I give up," Michael informed him.

"Excellent," Ron sighed. "I was getting bored."

"Me too," Michael replied.

"Did you have something else in mind?" Ron asked.

"Not really," Michael said.

"Well, there are plenty of books," Ron replied, glancing around. "One of them has to be interesting, although turning the pages with our feet is going to be a trick."

"No kidding," Michael said with a smirk, but the joke soon faded as he added, "There is something I've been meaning to ask you."

Ron had the feeling that if it wasn't a personal or touchy subject, Michael would have come right out and asked about it, so he was a bit apprehensive about where the conversation was headed, but he shrugged and said, "We seem to be in the habit of asking questions. What do you want to know?"

"Alright, I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but I've really got to know," Michael started, steeling himself up. "What happened back when you were fighting that Death Eater? You said you had some sort of attack, but what was it? Why does this happen to you?"

The arm in question gave an uncomfortable twinge, as though it had sensed it was being talked about and wasn't about to let the conversation go by without making itself heard as well. Ron gave an uneasy shrug. Of all the topics they could have turned to, this one he knew the least about. Hoping to get off the subject as quickly as possible Ron said, "I'm sorry about that, it's my fault we're here."

Michael, however, wasn't about to take that as an answer and said, "Whatever happened, I'm sure it wasn't your fault. We knew the risks coming in, and if we hadn't gotten captured then it might have happened later, and it might have been worse. At least we had time to warn the others so they could get out. So, why does this happen to you?"

Ron sighed and said, "I don't know really, no one does. Voldemort invented the spell. I wasn't even the intended target. Attacks seem to happen at random, but it feels like someone stabbing a hot poker into my arm. It happens to varying degrees, too. The last time, when I was fighting the Death Eater was the worst I can remember. It was like I was being burned alive from the inside out."

"You said that was the worst you could remember," Michael pressed. "So you think you've had attacks that you can't remember."

"Well, no, not exactly," Ron admitted. "It's just, I figure it hurt a bit worse than that when I got cursed originally, but that's all a bit of a blur."

"Was anyone there?" Michael asked.

"Harry was," Ron replied. "That's who Voldemort was trying to curse."

"Did Harry ever tell you what happened?" Michael said.

"Not really," Ron shrugged. "He gave us a general overview, the fact that he got Voldemort and all, but never anything specific."

"He never told you anything?" Michael looked incredulous.

"He's been at this a long time," Ron said defensively. "If he wants to deal with it on his own then its fine with me. I'm sure that if he thought he knew something that would help me he'd say something."

"Alright," Michael said, still a bit disbelieving. "I still can't imagine getting stuck with something like that. Is there something that helps you get through it?"

"Hermione," Ron replied, and he left it at that.

***************

Harry couldn't help but smirk when he replayed this telephone conversation with Uncle Vernon for the eleventh time. His ear was still buzzing slightly after being subjected to the volume of his Uncle's anger at Harry for putting his family in danger, but Harry considered it a fair trade for being able to say that he would put in a request to the Ministry of Magic to get them some protection. He'd hung up during a pause while Uncle Vernon attempted to formulate a sufficiently furious response, but now Harry was curious about what he might have said. He also found himself wondering if the Dursleys had moved yet.

Hermione, on the other hand, had been strangely quiet since her own conversation with her parents. In fact, Harry wasn't sure if she'd done anything besides stare absently out the dark window of the Hogwarts Express, not moving except to play absently with the hem of her sleeve or stroke Crookshanks if he demanded attention.

"Hermione?" Harry said gently.

She straightened up at the sound of her own name and turned toward him, hastily dabbing at her eyes with the end of her sleeve.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked.

"Yes, of course," she replied quickly, forcing a smile, but she was unable to stem the fresh flow of tears, which she wiped off as well. "I'm just being stupid," she continued, "I mean Sydney hasn't turned into some bawling idiot."

One glance at the agent told Harry that Hermione had a point. Sydney was slouched in her seat, feet propped up on the bench opposite her, arms crossed, staring moodily at her knees, looking for all the world like she was in an angry old funk. However, Harry knew that she rarely displayed the emotion she felt, especially when the Wizards were around, and was about to remind Hermione of this fact when such and action was rendered unnecessary. Whether it was because she'd heard the topic of conversation turn to her, or she sensed that Hermione was in a similar state Harry didn't know, but Sydney gave a small hiccoughing sob then reached into her bag and pulled out a small bag of tissues, giving one to Hermione, taking one for herself, and leaving the rest on the seat between them.

"Thanks," Hermione said shakily.

"Sure," Sydney replied.

Harry wasn't sure what to do. He felt as though he should say something reassuring, or profound, but an impromptu trip to the bathroom sounded much more appealing. He knew that planning a way to get Ron and Michael back would make him feel a lot better, but that would require going over their last attempt in detail, and something told him that wouldn't be a very intelligent thing to suggest at the moment.

They sat in silence awhile, Hermione and Sydney sobbing quietly into their tissues and Harry, horribly uncomfortable, tried not to look at them while pondering how best to break the silence, each idea more desperate than the last.

Finally, Hermione looked up at Sydney and asked, "How did you meet Michael?"

Sydney paused to think through her answer, then said, "I'd just found out SD-6, an organization I used to work for, was a part of a group of terrorists and turned myself into the real CIA. Michael was there when I was writing out my statement. Then he was my handler when I was a double agent."

"That must've been awkward," Hermione said.

"You have no idea," Sydney sighed. "So what about you and Ron? Love at first sight, I suppose."

"Hardly," Hermione replied with a smile. "He was just a little boy with dirt on his nose, a spell that didn't work, and no idea where Neville's toad was, and I'm fairly certain he hated me at first, not that I can blame him. I was so hopelessly annoying at the time, wouldn't you say, Harry?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat and gazed over the book he had pulled out long enough to give Hermione a slight shrug and a nod, then ducked back out of sight, only to discover that his book was upside down. He righted it hastily, hoping no one had noticed. If they did, they didn't say anything about it. Other men might have jumped at the chance to listen in on a conversation like this, and Harry had the feeling that if Ron and Michael ever found out about the spectacle Harry was witnessing, they would press him for every scrap of information he could remember. Harry, however, was wishing he'd retreated to the bathroom when he had the chance.

Hermione turned back to Sydney and asked, "So, what happened?"

"Well, after he stopped patronizing me and I stopped arguing with him about every little detail, I suppose we started noticing our feelings. We couldn't really do anything about it though."

"That must've been rough," Hermione said.

"Yeah," Sydney sighed, curling a leg underneath her. "But there were little things we could do; he got me a Christmas present, and I pressured his supervisor to give him a promotion so we could keep working together. You see, in my line of work, it feels like I've lied to everyone I've ever known."

"Even us?" Hermione asked.

"Yes," Sydney replied steadily, as though she was daring Hermione to argue, but it wasn't the Witch who objected.

"What?" Harry demanded, as Hermione simply shrugged, as though she'd assumed as much all along.

"Never about anything important," Sydney added, meeting Harry's glare. "Just little things, people I know, places I've been. Information like that is dangerous if it falls into the wrong hands."

"What about Michael, then?" Hermione pressed. "You work for the same people, you don't have to lie to him, do you?"

"I do sometimes," Sydney admitted. "Sometimes I wonder if I've forgotten how to be honest with people."

"But you're dating now..." Hermione prompted awkwardly.

"A few weeks ago we finally managed to take down SD-6, we picked it up after that," Sydney explained.

"Oh," Hermione replied.

"So what about you and Ron?" Sydney asked.

"Oh, that's complicated," Hermione stammered, shifting uncomfortably in her seat and throwing a timid glance at Harry. "It's a long story..."

"We won't get to London for another four hours," Sydney pointed out, glancing at her watch. "Is that enough time?"

"Well, yes, but..." Hermione trailed off as she gave Harry another look.

It didn't take a genius to figure out what she wanted, but Harry nearly ignored the hint because he was so confused about why she wanted him to leave all of a sudden. They were best friends, and he'd unwittingly managed to glean most of their story from Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, so there wasn't much that she would know and he wouldn't. Unless there was...

Harry was on his feet before another moment had passed. He narrowly avoided hitting his head on the overhead rack but his shoulder wasn't so lucky.

"I think I heard the food trolley," he said, rubbing his shoulder gingerly. It was a lame excuse, but he didn't give them time to poke holes in it.

"Get me some Cauldron Cakes, will you?" Hermione called as he pulled open the door. She caught his eye and gave him a look which left no room for misinterpretation: take lots and lots of time.

"Sure," Harry said as he left, hoping that Hermione would realize that he understood.

As it happened, the trolley wasn't actually far off, so Harry bought a few snacks then found an empty compartment and stretched out, carefully picking through a box of Every Flavor Beans.

***************

Ron and Hermione had taken it very slow, although few people expected anything less, if their foreplay was anything to judge by. After all, it had taken almost two months since when they'd met for them to hold a conversation where one party didn't come off insulted.

No one realized it until later of course, but how deep their bond went first made itself apparent in their second year, when Ron ate slugs in Hermione's defense. For most this might have been a job well done, but Ron then kindly explained his actions and the meaning of 'Mudblood,' despite the fact that he was otherwise occupied with coughing up the slimy bugs and Hagrid was on hand and perfectly capable of giving an explanation himself.

Even after their screaming match after the Yule Ball in the fourth year, it seemed as though they still had yet to admit their feelings to themselves, something they didn't manage until sometime in their fifth year. However, admitting said feelings to each other was another matter entirely, despite the continued prodding of Ginny, Fred, and George.

Finally, a few weeks into their seventh year what would have been their seventh year, during one of their brief stints in the safety of Hogwarts, Harry got tired of it all and came right out and asked Ron one night in their dormitory, "What's going on with you and Hermione?"

"What? Nothing!" Ron stammered, but he undermined his own credibility by breaking the glass basin he was holding at the time then using the wrong spell to try and repair it.

"Do you really expect me to believe that?" Harry asked as he mended the basin for him.

"It'd be nice," Ron muttered, throwing himself on his bed.

"So are you going to do anything about it?" Harry pressed.

"Do anything about what?" Ron replied huffily.

"Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about," Harry said.

"Fine," Ron sighed, rolling over. "Nothing, I figured. She doesn't feel the same way anyway. And even if she did, I messed up pretty bad last year with that whole Lavender thing."

"Well, yeah, you did," Harry admitted, but he knew Ron's guess concerning Hermione's feelings was incorrect, as Ginny had provoked a similar conversation with the witch at Bill and Fleur's wedding, prompting a corresponding revelation, then, of course, told Harry about it, so he added, "Are you sure you know how she feels, though?"

Ron feigned thoughtfulness for a moment, then said, "Yeah, pretty sure."

"Well, maybe you shouldn't be," Harry informed him. "Maybe you should ask her and see what happens."

"I don't want to jeopardize our friendship," Ron said glumly. He had clearly rehearsed that answer.

"I don't think you would," Harry replied.

"Yeah, right," Ron sighed. "Let me know when pigs fly."

With this, Ron drew the drapes around his bed, indicating the end of the conversation. Harry tactfully decided that this would not be the best time to mention the ironic name of Ron's owl.

Fate, however, seemed to have other plans and a sense of humor. Hermione tended to insist that they attend classes whenever they were at Hogwarts, to prepare for the N.E.W.T.s, and Harry and Ron often joined her since time spent researching potential Horcruxes in the library without her tended to be time wasted. Thus, during Transfiguration class the day after Harry and Ron's brief conversation, they began trying advanced transplants between animal species, fully two weeks behind everyone else in the class. By pure chance, Ron wound up working with a duck and a small pig.

Harry noticed the irony in this right away, and was about to point it out when Ron said darkly, "You can wipe that smirk off your face, this pig isn't going anywhere yet."

However, despite the difficulty of the task at hand and Ron's lack of any special talent in Transfiguration, after the second try the duck's wings were firmly attached to the pig's back, something Ron was especially surprised about because he'd been attempting to exchange the animal's noses. In fact, Ron was second only to Hermione in speed: she'd been contemplating an equally impossible jackalope for the past five minutes.

It was difficult to surmise who was more horrified with this result, Ron or the duck, although the Wizard was able to recover fast enough to thwart the duck's suicidal dive off the side of the desk.

However, while Ron was otherwise occupied, the pig decided to take its own experimental go at flight and was soon flapping around near the ceiling. It was a full minute before Ron was able to coax it back down, despite the help of a summoning spell.

Annoyingly, Ron had a much harder time giving the wings back to their donor, exasperated by the fact that whenever he failed in the attempt the duck saw fit to land him with a painful inspirational peck. He sorted it out eventually, however, and as soon as it was able the duck sped out of the nearest window. This pig, however, looked slightly glum. It seemed to have enjoyed its brief foray into the realm of winged creatures and found being Earthbound again depressing.

As they packed up their things at the end of the lesson, Ron steadfastly avoided Harry's eyes, although Harry didn't really think he needed to say anything at that point. As soon as they left the classroom, Hermione noticed Ron's slightly bruised and bloodied hands, and immediately pulled them towards her and performed a healing spell. Ron's ears went pink

After that, Ron had a much harder time throwing off his friends' suggestions that he do something about Hermione, but as a further detriment to any attempts towards expediency, he was petrified with the fear of alienating Hermione by missing some Muggle tradition she might be expecting, since he considered himself utterly unfamiliar with any of them. It was only by the narrowest of margins that Harry managed to head Ron off sending a letter to Mr. Granger, asking him for permission to even date his daughter. In the end, Harry had to remind Ron that even though Hermione was Muggle born, she had spent the past six years as a Witch and would be sure to understand if he missed something. However, it wasn't until Harry was roped into promising to keep an eye out for him anyway that Ron finally let it drop.

As it worked out, the first move was more or less mutual anyway; they'd been sitting on opposite sides of the small couch in front of the fire studying a promising set of books about Rowena Ravenclaw one night. At the same moment that Ron straightened up and stretched his arms out sideways, Hermione lost her quill down the side of the couch and moved toward the center so she would be able to retrieve it.

Before either one knew what had happened, they were sitting next to each other with Ron's arm around Hermione's shoulder. Ordinarily, they might have flinched away, laughing uncomfortably until they had reached their respective dormitories, or the library, or someplace where the other person wasn't, but not this time.

Instead, for whatever reason, they both suspected or hoped that the other person had intended for that to happen and wondered whether they themselves had subconsciously wanted the same. So, through luck and mutual misunderstanding, Ron and Hermione discovered that their feelings were not unrequited and remained that way until Parvati came into the common room and made such a show of cooing over them and informing everyone that they'd always known this would happen that Ron and Hermione had to leave before their heads exploded with the embarrassment of it all.

At first they didn't know what to do with each other. Having apparently learned something from his experience with Lavender after all, Ron took the chivalrous approach to dealing with Hermione. He opened doors for her, pulled out her chair, and offered his arm whenever they were walking together, which was often, as he always tended to escort her to the library or the steps to the girl's dormitory. Hermione considered herself perfectly capable of opening her own doors and didn't especially need a guide around a school she'd attended for six years, but Ginny said that Hermione nevertheless found the tendency cute and funny and chalked it up among Ron's most endearing qualities.

Harry was woken up late at night about a week later when Ron returned to the dormitory, failing to keep quiet as he searched out his pajamas.

"Where have you been?" Harry asked groggily.

"Nowhere, go back to sleep," Ron whispered apologetically.

"You spent a lot of time nowhere," Harry pointed out, sitting up and pulling his curtains aside to stare blearily at Ron in the darkness.

"I was exploring the castle," Ron said.

"I could have come with you," Harry replied.

Ron whispered something. It sounded a lot like, "Not this time."

"What?" Harry asked.

"You were asleep," Ron said aloud. "I didn't want to wake you up."

"I wouldn't have minded," Harry said.

"I had a run in with Filch," Ron added.

"What'd he do to you?" Harry asked.

"The usual," Ron sighed. "Threatened house points, detention, torture. I think he nearly keeled over when I reminded him that I'm not technically a student right now. Anyway, I just wandered around, got caught by Filch, and came back here."

"If I asked Hermione would she tell me the same thing?" Harry pressed.

There was a pause. "She'd probably tell me off for being out after hours," Ron replied finally, but he didn't sound too sure about his answer.

"I'm not sure she's really in any position to criticize," Harry sighed.

"I asked her on a date, alright?" Ron exploded. "That's where I was."

"Alright," Harry replied. After that he'd decided that it would be best not to pester Ron for any more information, but he inadvertently got the full story from Ginny two days later anyway. Apparently, the pair of them had gone out to the lake to watch the sunset and stayed out to watch the stars. The relationship had taken off from there.

***************

Harry jumped awake and barely avoided falling off the bench he'd stretched out on. He sat up and righted his glasses, but it took him another moment to work out where he was and how he got there. He was on the Hogwarts Express, a pale early morning light was sifting into the compartment, and the train was slowing down. They were nearly in London.

Harry gathered up the empty candy wrappers and Cauldron Cakes he'd promised Hermione and made his way back to the other compartment. Sydney and Hermione had fallen asleep as well, curled up on their respective benches. Harry gently shook them awake then pulled out some of his Muggle clothes and left again to change. When Harry got back, Hermione was coaxing Crookshanks into his crate and Sydney was going through her pack. Harry had just barely managed to stow away his possessions again when the train rolled to a stop.

After disembarking from the train they made for the crowded subway. They had managed to arrive in the middle of the morning rush to work, but Sydney maintained that it was, in fact, a good thing, as it would be harder to follow them, something she'd seemed overly concerned about since they'd arrived in London. She kept insisting that they do the strangest things, such as duck into random shops and exchange jackets. Hermione tried to remind her that one of their tasks while in the area was to be seen, and draw the Death Eaters' wrath away from Hogwarts, but Sydney merely said that they would be safer if they knew their movements weren't tracked and resumed discretely examining those around them.

They breakfasted in the Leaky Cauldron, drawing much more attention to themselves than any of them would have liked, most of it at Harry's expense. Never since the trip through the pub in his first year had so many Witches and Wizards decided to come and shake his hand, offer their congratulations and thanks, or ask for a photograph. Not all of the attention was particularly friendly, either. Once Harry was only spared the embarrassment of a bat bogey hex by the shoddy aim of its perpetrator. After that incident, Harry and Hermione took to eating with their left hands, their wands lying in wait just under the table as they watched passers by carefully.

Only occasionally was Harry given enough peace to sneak a bite of his scone or a swig of his tea, but as the amount of uncovered plate began to surpass the amount of uneaten food he found himself making excuses to eat slower and slower. His last trip down Diagon Alley had been many things, but most certainly was not quiet. He hadn't seen anything in the Leaky Cauldron thus far to convince him that this time would be any different. He also couldn't help but dread the forthcoming venture into Knockturn Alley.

All too soon, Sydney and Hermione stood up. Harry knew there would be no use arguing that he wasn't finished yet, as he hadn't taken a bite for the past ten minutes and his tea had long since turned stone cold, so he grudgingly laid a Galleon on the table and followed his colleagues out of the backdoor. He'd been considering acting as though he'd forgotten which brick inspired the archway to reveal itself, but Hermione beat him to it and he was resigned to attempting to flatten down his bangs over his scar instead. Not that anyone actually needed that scar to help recognize him anymore, but hiding it seemed to give him about a second's head start, just long enough to find some reason to duck away if he noticed he was gaining someone's attention.

However, when the bricks finished making way for them and they stepped through, no one on the crowded street seemed to notice them. Harry heaved a huge sigh of relief and set off. However, when he finally reached the dingy entrance to Knockturn Alley, he discovered that Hermione and Sydney were no longer with him, having apparently missed the turn.

"Oi, Hermione!" he called as he caught up to them. "Knockturn Alley's that way."

"I know," Hermione replied without missing a step.

"Then where are we going?" Harry asked.

"Fred and George's shop," Hermione replied.

"Why?" Harry asked happily.

"You know," Hermione said.

Up to that moment Harry had been ecstatic about the opportunity to have another look inside Fred and George's shop, if a bit curious as to why Hermione had been the one to suggest it, but after that explanation there was no doubt in his mind that Hermione wanted to tell the twins about what happened to Ron herself, so it was with some trepidation that Harry followed her into the shop marked Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

Fred and George's shop seemed to get more spectacular every time they visited, and more crowded. Dozens of varieties of Skiving Snackboxes were lined up in shelves against a wall, fireworks covered another, and trick wands were arranged in barrels on the floor. Some of their newer experiments were found in cases around the store, bedecked with warnings concerning minor side effects they had yet to work out along with fliers asking for test subjects, offering a discount off future purchases for their troubles. Harry wanted to join Sydney and explore the place a little, but Hermione dragged him up to the cashier's desk, which Lee Jordan was manning.

However, before Hermione could get a word in, Lee blurted out, "Harry! Fancy seeing you here. You've almost got Fred and George talked out of it, but I still think we should put a tribute to our founder somewhere: something along the lines of 'Harry Potter shops here.' What do you think?"

Harry was saved the indignity of begging him not to do such a thing by Hermione, who pulled Lee's attention back toward herself. "Are Fred and George around? It's very important that we speak with them."

"Oh, sure," Lee said lazily. "I think Fred's in back and George is on the floor, but it could be the other way around, hard to tell sometimes, you know? You can go ahead and look for them if you'd like."

Hermione thanked him and sent Harry into the foray for George while she slipped into the back room. Ordinarily, any of the Weasleys were simple to spot, even in a crowd, but the shop was so brightly colored already that his red hair didn't stick out nearly as much as usual. Harry finally found him, talking up one of their newest inventions, forgery quills, to a group of customers.

Not exactly in the mood for getting spotted and mobbed, Harry ducked behind a nearby display and caught George's attention with a quiet "psst!"

All was nearly lost when George turned around to see who'd hailed him and found Harry, then nearly pulled him out of his hiding place into full view of the crowd, but Harry managed to head him off with a slight shake of his head and a gesture asking him to come over.

"Are those legal?" Harry asked after George had excused himself.

"Well, we made it impossible to copy anyone in the Ministry," George said with a shrug. "We figure it'll be alright."

They found Hermione and Fred arguing behind the cashier's desk, the latter of the two looking very much as though he'd just been dragged out by his ear.

"Cripes, woman, you're worse than my Mum," Fred yelped.

"Only when I have to be," Hermione replied. "What were you trying to do anyway?"

"Vanishing pellets," Fred replied proudly, "perfect for the out of bounds student. One bite turns you into whatever inanimate object is appropriate until the pursuing teacher, Prefect, or parent goes away."

Harry thought these sounded like a grand idea and was quite excited to buy a few when Hermione said, "But it didn't work, did it?"

"Well, it's still in the testing stages," Fred shrugged.

"How did it go?" George asked eagerly.

"A few people got stuck during the transformation," Fred replied. "You should've seen this one guy, turned into a vase but he still had legs."

"Are they alright?" George said.

"Lee's sorting them out," Fred shrugged. "Anyway, I think we need less bicorn horn."

"More wolfsbane, then?" George said.

"That should do it," Fred said. "Also, I think we might have a problem if there's no one actually after the person."

"We could give it a time limit," George suggested.

"Excellent," Fred exclaimed. "Five minutes?"

"Nah, better go ten, some Prefects can be downright relentless." George shot a meaningful look at Hermione as he said this.

"Alright, as interesting as this is, we're not here to observe your creative process," Harry said suddenly, beckoning them up the stairs to the loft where Fred and George lived. "Hermione's got something to tell you."

Hermione looked a little startled at everyone's attention being brought back to her, she'd obviously been using the time to collect her thoughts. Harry couldn't feel too sorry for her, though, after all, she'd been the one who wanted to tell them. By the time they'd reached the privacy of the twins' loft, she'd managed to pull herself back together and explain what had happened two nights ago in Malfoy Manor. Fred and George's faces remained uncharacteristically impassive through the entire retelling. When she finished, the twins merely sighed and nodded.

"Are you alright?" Hermione asked cautiously, she'd never seen Fred and George looking so downcast before.

"Fine," Fred sighed, but neither he nor George looked it.

Harry thought it might be best to leave the pair to their own thoughts for a moment, but Hermione cleared her throat pointedly and jerked her head sharply, indicating the stairs back to the shop. Harry poked his head towards the staircase and found Sydney discretely browsing through a display near the base of it. Harry shrugged at Hermione and went to bring her over.

"We've got to disappear awhile until things quiet down," Harry explained to the twins when he got back with Sydney. "Communication could be difficult, so we need you to relay some information to the Order for us. Ron wasn't the only person taken hostage. This is Sydney Bristow. She and a man named Michael Vaughn have been helping us. Michael's still in there with Ron."

"Alright, we'll let them know," Fred shrugged, clearly thinking this wasn't such an important bit of information.

"There's something else, Sydney and Michael are Mu-" Harry stopped himself when Hermione stepped on his foot. "You're Dad would be very interested in their way of life," he finished cryptically, but it was clear that Fred and George got the idea. They looked like they wanted to ask why exactly Harry had decided to ask Muggles for help instead of the Order, but thought better of it.

"We can write to Mum and Dad, let them know what happened, and they can tell the Order, whatever's left of it," George offered

Harry agreed to the suggestions and offered for Hedwig to be the messenger, something he regretted almost immediately. An owl that wasn't as fast, intelligent, or in possession of such a knack for finding recipients so easily might have given Harry at least a day's reprieve from the impending howler, but Harry could hardly rescind his offer now. Hermione looked like she couldn't believe what she was doing, but passed Crookshanks over to the pair as well.

"Don't worry," George assured her as he accepted the cat's crate. "We won't experiment on him too much."

Hermione shot them a look which said, in no uncertain terms, that if they put so much as a canary cream near her cat she wouldn't rest until she'd boiled them both in oil.

"If you don't tell us when you go fight these Death Eaters we will personally hunt you down and force feed you every type of Skiving Snackbox we have," Fred said.

"I've always wondered what would happen to someone who got a bloody nose, a high fever, passed out, vomited, and came down with the chicken pox at the same time," George said.

"Wouldn't be spending much time in class," Fred laughed.

"Very true," George agreed.

"Maybe we should come up with a few more for this lot, just in case," Fred suggested.

"Excellent idea," George exclaimed. "I've actually been thinking about making one that causes hives for awhile now, although hypoglycemic shock wouldn't be bad either."

"What about diarrhea?" Fred asked.

"Ooh, disgusting, I love it," George said gleefully.

Harry, Hermione, and Sydney left the shop with Fred and George still creating more horrible ways to punish them.

"Let's get this over with, then," Harry sighed, giving Hermione and Sydney looks that dared them to come up with another excuse to postpone the endeavor, even though he secretly wished they would.

"Listen," Harry continued. "There's not much point in you two coming in there with me. It'll probably be dangerous and you shouldn't stick your necks out for something like this."

He'd expected them to try and argue the point, but surprisingly they merely looked at each other, shrugged, and nodded. Just as Harry was turning to leave, Hermione pulled him back and parted his bangs so his scar was clearly visible.

"Thanks," Harry sighed.

"Good luck," Hermione replied.

"If I'm not back in half an hour I'm probably dead," Harry said.

"We'll meet you back here," Hermione said.

Harry once again found the dingy and dangerous looking gap between two shops and followed it through to Knockturn Alley, in all its threatening and dirty glory. It was as if a barrier prevented any of the joy and excitement so common in Diagon Alley from spilling over into its darker counterpart.

Severed animal limbs and toenails hung in darkened shop windows and old hags with carts and baskets attempted to heckle passersby into buying their grotesque wears.

Harry's mission was simple, widow shop his way to the street's end and back, maybe buy a drink somewhere, and hope someone would spot him and tell the Death Eaters he wasn't at Hogwarts anymore. He narrowly resisted his nervous habit of pawing his bangs down over his scar and set off on his winding way, carefully avoiding eye contact and forcing his face into a placid expression.

When he could no longer bear the sight of dried intestines and shrunken heads frozen in expressions of pain or terror, Harry located a bar and slipped inside, then he sat down at the counter and ordered a Firewhiskey. While Harry was waiting he tried to strike up a conversation with his neighbor, but he didn't seem the talking type, which was probably lucky, as Harry had neglected to think of what to talk about that might be of any sort of interest to an inhabitant of Knockturn Alley while simultaneously not betraying his own quest.

It was with some trepidation that Harry accepted his drink from the barkeeper. He needed his wits about him, after all, but he hadn't wanted to call any more attention to himself by ordering a Butterbeer. He settled for giving the glass a covert tap with his wand, hoping to take some off the bite off the liquid inside. Finally, after taking a moment to gather his nerves, Harry tossed it back and winced: if Firewhiskey was an acquired taste, then his new concoction was downright vile. Nevertheless, he forced himself to call for another, but compromised with himself by rolling it between his hands a minute before changing the drink and draining it.

Harry dropped a few sickles on the counter and stood up to leave, fortunately feeling only slightly tipsy, although he suspected that the full force of it had yet to hit him.

The contents of the shop windows were as grotesque as ever, but the Firewhiskey had taken the edge off it all, which seemed a satisfactory tradeoff for the pounding headache he was sure to develop later, although Harry was quite certain he'd disagree when the time came.

At long last, Harry could go no further and he started down the other side of the street for the return journey. Under ordinary circumstances, returning to a place seems to take much less time than getting away from it, as it should have been for Harry since he had his destination set firmly in his mind. However, it was only the fact that Knockturn Alley had no side streets that prevented him from suspecting that he'd made a wrong turn somewhere.

He'd long since come to the conclusion that the main reason he'd nearly been attacked on one of his previous trips into Knockturn Alley was because he was a scrawny twelve year old kid who looked lost and alone. Now he was beginning to feel as disoriented as he must have looked then, not a good sign. He might not have been scrawny and twelve anymore, but advertising the fact that he was Harry Potter around a haven for dark Wizards hardly seemed like a good alternative. Sure enough, the whispers around him began to gradually increase and he could feel the multitude of furtive stares on his back.

Harry wanted to run, to get out of there as quickly as he could, but he knew that showing any sort of fear would only worsen his situation, although he did pull his wand out of his pocket, just in case.

Finally, the inevitable moment came. A large, muscular wizard came up behind Harry and grabbed him by the shoulder, forcing him around and yelling, "You! Potter!"

Harry wasn't immediately certain if this was intended as a question, some sort of prelude to another statement, or perhaps a trollish version of a complete sentence, after all, the wizard scarcely looked capable of finishing his thought. Since the man gave no indication that he was going to continue speaking and offending him any further seemed like an unwise course of action, Harry decide to go with the first of the three possibilities and nodded dumbly.

This, however, turned out to be the wrong way to go, as the wizard tossed Harry away and spat, "Scum!"

Harry over balanced and dropped to his knees and before he could regain his feet he was rushed by the gathered crowd. Before he knew what had happened, he was being pelted by everything from beetle dung to kicks to hexes, all of it coming from far more directions than he could count. It was all he could do to protect himself with a shield charm, much less turn back the onslaught. His only viable option was to Disapparate out of there, but as his current luck would have it, he hadn't regained the ability to perform the trick since he'd done so with Sydney. He was stuck, and it was clear that his assailants could keep it up much longer than he could.

Suddenly there was a shout: "Stop! He's ours!"

Harry's heart sank, not only did it seem that he was about to come up against someone with a true vendetta against him, but this person was sufficiently menacing to cause the mob to back off. Two old Witches stepped into his field of view, one pointing her wand threateningly into the crowd while the second hauled him roughly to his feet with a strength unbefitting of her years. Harry tried to overpower her by twisting out of her grip, but she somehow managed to use his own momentum against him and tossed him back to the ground while simultaneously disarming him. Harry was stunned, he'd never seen anyone use a tactic like that.

The crowd made another attempt at him and Harry felt a few pellets of beetle dung bounce off him, however, the first Witch stopped them by saying, "This half-blood murdered our husbands!"

Harry balked. That couldn't possibly be right, he'd only ever killed one person, although it was only the plurality of her statement that helped him banish the sickening possibility that Voldemort could have been married.

"Wait," Harry pleaded. "There must be some mistake, you're looking for someone else, I've never..."

"Quiet!" the second witch yelled, pulling him once again to his feet. "We know it was you, Harry Potter."

The Witches each grabbed him by an arm and dragged him off, kicking and twisting for all he was worth.

As soon as they were more or less out of earshot of the crowd, the Witch with the wand asked, "The shop connected with the floo network, which is it?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," Harry muttered darkly.

"Come on, Harry," she said. "In your second year you had a mishap with Floo Powder and wound up in Knockturn Alley, which shop was it?"

"Hermione?" Harry asked, going slack in his confusion.

"Yep," she replied. "The shop, please."

But Harry wasn't finished getting his facts straight. "Then you're-"

"Yes," Sydney replied curtly from his other arm. "Keep struggling."

"A little less forcefully though, if you can," Hermione pleaded.

"Sorry," Harry replied, giving off a halfhearted kick.

"The shop, Harry," Sydney demanded.

"Borgin and Burkes," Harry said apologetically.

They located the store and dragged him unceremoniously inside. Luckily, Mr. Borgin was nowhere to be seen, but that was likely to change as they hadn't made a very quiet entrance. Hermione pulled a small bag out of her pocket and offered the Floo Powder to Harry as Sydney passed back his wand.

"Go to the Leaky Cauldron, I'll take Sydney," Hermione said.

"Are you sure you can-" Harry started.

"I know you can't, we'll be fine, just go," Hermione ordered.

Reluctantly, Harry dropped the Floo Powder into the fireplace, called out his destination, and stepped inside. A few seconds later he was spit out of the brick hearth in the Leaky Cauldron. He picked himself up and started clean the dung and soot off his robes. A few seconds later, the fireplace flashed green and Hermione and Sydney spilled out, still clasping each other around the forearms. Harry tried to help them to their feet, but neither one made it further than her knees.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked.

"Fine, just very dizzy," Hermione replied, clutching her head. Sydney was in a similar state.

"I guess I know what you two will look like when you're older," Harry quipped. "I should tell Ron and Michael, warn them."

"You wouldn't dare," Hermione said, smacking his leg playfully. She then pulled herself unsteadily to her feet, looking even more old and decrepit than she had while she was acting the part.

"No, I wouldn't," Harry admitted, helping Sydney up. "Thanks, by the way."

"Don't mention it," Hermione replied.

"So you just keep a random assortment of wigs with you?" Harry asked, gesturing to their ratty hair.

"Hardly," Sydney said. "Hermione transfigured us. This magic is very useful sometimes."

"You did this?" Harry asked Hermione. "Isn't that difficult?"

Hermione merely shrugged her reply.

"Well, do you want some help sorting yourselves out?" Harry offered.

"Not unless you want to join us in the women's restroom," Hermione pointed out.

He didn't, so he located an empty corner of the pub and returned to brushing beetle dung off his clothes until the pair came back a few minutes later, looking decades younger.

As they stepped outside, Harry finally voiced a question which had been nagging at him.

"Whose idea was it to come after me?"

"Well, Sydney's mostly," Hermione started.

"Never go in without backup if you can help it," Sydney interjected.

"Yes," Hermione said, "but-"

"But you knew I'd want you to stay behind, so you planned ahead, which is why you didn't argue when I asked you to stay here," Harry finished thoughtfully.

"Pretty much," Hermione replied.

"We had a point to prove," Sydney added.

"Well, consider it taken," Harry said. "You two are sneaky when you feel like it."

"We have our moments," Sydney replied.

"So, where are we going?" Harry asked.

"We've got to get lost," Sydney said.

"That sounds easy, I'm hopeless at navigating London," Harry replied. "But what's the point."

"I meant from anyone who might be following us," Sydney sighed.

"Oh," Harry said sheepishly. "That's a little harder."

"I suppose you have a plan," Hermione prompted.

"We've got to go someplace crowded," Sydney explained.

"Anywhere in particular?" Hermione asked.

"I've thought of a few places that should work," Sydney replied.