The Final Reckoning

Chapter Twenty-Four: Hermione's Birthday

The week passed faster than Ron had realized, not that he was complaining. The faster the week went, the sooner he could come out of his self-imposed celibacy and Quidditch exile.

Ron started using the Pensieve almost at once. It took him a few tries to get the Memory Extraction Spell down, and the attempts resulted in him pulling out several clumps of his hair, but he quickly caught on (and restored the missing hair to his scalp, covering up a small bald spot he'd created).

It was a strange sensation, extracting memories. It didn't hurt, exactly, but Ron felt each memory he pulled actually exiting his brain, dragging out of his skull like a heavy, wet string on the floor. And yet the memories floated lightly into the silvery fluid in the Pensieve, causing the liquid to ripple.

Discomfort aside, Ron felt instant relief as a result of the Pensieve, and said a silent thanks to Hermione every time he used it. He was careful with it, always remembering to cast the Anti-Spilling Charm on it, and he treated it with a kind of reverence he typically only reserved for his broom and his chess set. Ron's meditations were becoming easier to deal with, thanks in part the Pensieve, but he also sensed something else happening to him as the end of his second week drew near: he felt stronger, somehow, more solid. The visions were always troubling, but he was less and less exhausted at the end of each meditation session, which was a huge help. Unfortunately, none of the visions--or dreams, which he was still faithfully recording in his journal, right alongside the visions--were of any significance to him, Harry, Hermione or the wizarding world Ron knew. There had been no more images of Voldemort or Lucius Malfoy or Helene Rosier or anyone else.

Ron had also not told Hermione, or anyone else, of his vision about the red-haired baby. Several times he'd been tempted to tell her, but he found that he couldn't, and a part of him didn't even want to. He wasn't sure how she'd react, for one thing, and in any case, he couldn't help but like having that vision all to himself, considering how public so many of his other visions had to be.

Ron also took the anti-libido potion. Any concerns he had about overdoing the dosage were done away with: not only did the potion taste thoroughly disgusting--thereby discouraging him from wanting to take it at all--but Hermione had charmed the bottle of potion to measure out only perfect doses into his spoon. The potion helped quite a bit with the worst of his sexual frustration (not being able to wank in order to relieve himself of it) but he was a little unnerved by the fact that he could spend so much time around Hermione doing Head Boy and Girl duties and in study and he wasn't feeling the usual urges to snog her senseless or yank off her clothes. By Wednesday, when Hermione kissed him good-night quickly on the lips and he felt none of the usual stirrings whatsoever, he decided he'd go off the potion the next day. He'd rather deal with a day of frustration and anticipation than keep taking it.

Thursday morning came and Ron woke up as usual. He'd dreamt of several things--the sword, failing a Potions exam, kissing Hermione, playing Quidditch with no clothes on (he didn't bother trying to figure out what that one meant). He wrote everything down before he got out of bed to meditate.

He took up his usual position on the floor: cross-legged, with his hands resting on his knees, palms up. He closed his eyes, and a vision came at once...

'You really thought you could hide, didn't you?' said a voice. It was a male voice, rough and brittle and heavily accented. The accent sounded...French.

'Please...it wasn't my fault...I told them nothing...' said a second voice. Another man, and he, too, had a foreign accent, but it was different. Harder, more clipped. This man was crying. He was lying on the ground, in the dirt, and he was looking up. His eyes were swollen and leaking tears, and blood. He was hugging his knees into his chest. Though his face was a mask of cuts and bruises, though his voice was hoarse and wheezing from the pain, the man looked familiar, somehow. His clothes were torn and he was filthy. He was in a room of some kind, a dark room with thin slits of sickly light leaking in.

'You lie,' said the first man, who wore black robes and whose face was covered with a hood. 'You've already been seen talking to the Weasley brat.'

'Only to mislead him!' the injured man begged. 'I lied to him, everything I told him was a lie--'

'CRUCIO!' screamed the first man, and the man on the ground was enveloped in the Curse, writhing and screaming and clawing at the ground...

Ron gasped and gritted his teeth; the vision was so real, so close...he could almost feel the curse on his own body, he knew what it felt like, that pain. His mind, however, seized on the mention of his own surname. When had this man spoken to a Weasley?

The man kept screaming as the Curse ripped through him.

'Assez,' said a third voice. A female voice, also familiar; she was talking to the hooded man in an unfamiliar language. 'Vous ne voulez pas le tuer, Rodolphus. Pas encore.'

The woman stepped forward; she, too, wore black robes and a black hood, and her face was in shadow.

'Igor,' she said, her voice low and silky, 'we know you're lying. The Dark Lord knows. It was a test, you see, and you failed.'

'No...' Igor moaned. 'I swear...'

'He told you about an attack on Sofia to test you,' the woman went on, almost cooing. 'And you went and told Weasley all about it, and they sent their Aurors there just today to prevent it. Fortunately, the Dark Lord lied to you. We'll be attacking Varna instead. Sofia might be the capital but...there are satisfactory targets in Varna, I think. It's just a shame we weren't able to take Weasley with you. Maybe next time.'

'Please...' Igor begged.

'Helene,' said the hooded man called Rodolphus. 'Que notre seigneur veut-il fait avec lui? Indépendamment de l'évident.'

'Igor sera un message de notre seigneur, Rodolphus,' said the woman. 'Vous êtes donné le congé pour le rendre aussi douloureux et évident un message que vous souhaitez.'

'What are you saying?' Igor cried. 'Tell me!'

The woman looked down at Igor, and removed her hood. Her dark hair was pulled back in a severe chignon, and her beautiful face was curled in a chilling smile.

'Au revoir, Igor,' she whispered. The hooded man called Rodolphus raised his wand. There was a flash of light, a ripping sound, a scream...

When Ron opened his eyes, he was lying on his side and his whole body was trembling and covered with sweat.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ron was still in his pyjamas and dressing gown when he tore out of his room; he didn't stop by Hermione's room to tell her what he'd seen. He didn't go to the common room to tell Harry. He didn't listen to the Aurors or to Professor Flitwick, who yelled at him to stop running. He leapt over a candelabra that Peeves had knocked over. There was only one thing on Ron's mind.

Get to Dumbledore's office...

He rounded the corner and came to the entrance of the former Headmaster's office.

'Blood...flavoured...lollipop,' he gasped.

The door creaked open with a screech, and Ron jumped onto the stairs, letting them carry him upward.

Five seconds later he burst through Dumbledore's door, not even bothering to knock.

'Sir!' Ron yelled, hurtling toward Dumbledore's desk; he barely registered the Professor McGonagall was standing across from it and that the two of them looked to be in the midst of a conversation.

'Mr. Weasley, what is the meaning of this?' said McGonagall angrily. 'How dare you just barge in here like--'

'I had a vision,' Ron blurted, not caring if McGonagall knew. 'I saw something!'

'Slow down, Mr. Weasley,' said Dumbledore, and he stood up from his chair. Ron noticed that this took longer than usual, and it was then that he saw the sickly, ashen cast to the old man's skin, the dullness of his eyes. Was Dumbledore sick?

'What did you see?' he asked, bringing Ron back to himself.

'Right,' said Ron, still trying to catch his breath. 'I was meditating, just now...and...I saw...I saw Death Eaters. They were talking to someone...no, they were torturing him...they were speaking some foreign language...and they mentioned the name Weasley...I don't know if it's happened or if it's in the future--'

'What on earth?' said McGonagall.

'Ron, take a deep breath,' said Dumbledore. Ron obeyed. His heart was pounding so loudly in his ears he wondered that the room didn't shake with it.

'Now,' said Dumbledore calmly. 'Start from the beginning. What did you see?'

Ron nodded and took another breath. 'There was a man,' he said. 'He was lying on the ground, and he was injured really badly. There was...there was blood all over his face and leaking out of his eyes. He was...he was crying.'

Ron took another deep breath, working past the lump in his throat. Talking about what he'd just seen, the suffering, the cruelty...

'It's all right, Mr. Weasley,' said Dumbledore. 'Go on.'

'There were Death Eaters,' said Ron. 'Two of them. A man and a woman. They were talking to the man, and to each other--'

'What did they say to the man?'

'They said they knew he was lying,' said Ron. 'They said...they said they saw him talking to Weasley.'

At this Dumbledore's posture went rigid, and McGonagall bit back a gasp.

'Did you learn the man's name?' Dumbledore asked. 'The man being tortured?'

'They called him Igor,' said Ron. 'Why?'

'Albus,' McGonagall breathed.

'I know, Minerva,' said Dumbledore.

Ron stared at them. 'Hello, what's going on?' he asked. 'Why is a bloke named Igor talking to one of my family members?'

Dumbledore gave him a long look. 'Finish your story, Mr. Weasley, and then we will talk.'

Ron swallowed. A part of him wanted to rebel. He didn't want to wait and finish his story. He wanted to know now why there was a guy named Igor who was being tortured had been talking to a Weasley. Which Weasley? His father? One of his brothers?

'Mr. Weasley, time may be running out,' said Dumbledore. 'Please. You mentioned two Death Eaters.'

'Right,' said Ron, and then he remembered something. 'The woman...she was Helene Rosier. I saw her, she took off her hood. And she said something. Something about...an attack.'

'Where?' said Dumbledore urgently.

'Sofia,' said Ron. 'No, that's not it...shit, I can't think...'

'Bulgaria,' McGonagall whispered.

Ron ignored her, wracking his brain for the name of the other city.

'Vendor...Veela...no, that's not it, it started with a V! Why can't I think of it?' he cried.

'Veliko Tarnovo?' Dumbledore said. 'Varna?'

'Varna!' Ron said. 'That's it! She said Voldemort told Igor that he was going to attack Sofia but that was a trick, a test, to see if Igor would tell anyone. But they weren't planning to attack Sofia at all, they said they were going for Varna.'

'Were?' said McGonagall. 'This can't have already--'

'No,' said Dumbledore. 'We would have heard it. I believe Mr. Weasley is seeing future events.'

'Really?' said Ron hopefully, but then he frowned. 'But they were speaking in the past tense.'

'That does not mean anything, per se,' said Dumbledore. 'Did you see where Igor was?'

Ron groaned. 'A room, I dunno where it was.'

'Did Rosier mention when they were going to attack Varna?' Dumbledore asked.

'No,' said Ron.

'You said the two Death Eaters were speaking a different language?' McGonagall asked.

'Yeah,' said Ron. 'Don't ask me what it was. She kept calling the other Death Eater...Rudolph. No, Rodolphus.'

McGonagall and Dumbledore exchanged hurried glances.

'You're certain the woman was Miss Rosier?' said Dumbledore.

'Yeah,' said Ron.

'The man she was speaking to was Rodolphus Lestrange,' said Dumbledore. 'You're unable to remember anything they said to one another?'

Ron wracked his brain, and came up with one word. 'Miss Rosier said something to Igor, it was...are voo-wor, or something...'

Dumbledore smiled. 'French, they were speaking French,' he said. 'French is the first language of the Lestrange family, and there is extensive French ancestry within the Rosier family as well.'

French made about as much sense as anything else to Ron.

'I don't know what else they said but...whatever it was sounded bad, because they finished talking and Rodolphus pointed his wand at Igor and...and there was a curse, I dunno what it was but he screamed...it was really bad...'

Ron broke off and bit his lip. He was breathing hard, he was shaking.

'Take another deep breath, Ron,' said Dumbledore. 'Minerva, send Severus to Amelia right now with the details of Mr. Weasley's vision, but keep Mr. Weasley's involvement out of it. Make sure she sends the details to Charlie Weasley and make sure he takes Karkaroff to the safe house.'

'Charlie?' Ron repeated. 'My brother Charlie?'

'Anything else, Albus?' McGonagall asked, ignoring Ron.

'That's all,' said Dumbledore, and his voice suddenly sounded very, very tired. 'We will discuss...the other matters another time.'

'Very well,' said McGonagall, and she smiled at Dumbledore, but her eyes were sad. 'Do take care, Albus. Weasley.'

She started out of the room; just as she reached the door, she turned.

'Oh yes,' she said. 'I'm afraid I'll have to take five points, Mr. Weasley, for swearing in front of myself and Professor Dumbledore.'

'But, Professor--' Ron started to protest.

'And award ten points,' she went on, 'for bringing this matter to our attention.'

Ron stared after her as she swept from the room, in a swirl of dark blue robes.

'Do you really think it'll help?' he asked, after a long moment. 'What I told you?'

'It might,' said Dumbledore. 'It remains to be seen how much foresight you have. But you were right to come to me right away.'

'You think you'll be able to stop the attack and...and save Igor?' Ron asked.

'That is my hope,' said Dumbledore.

'What does Charlie have to do with this?' Ron asked.

Dumbledore gazed up at Ron. 'I should not tell you. Not only for your brother's sake but for your own.'

'I can keep a secret,' said Ron defensively. He could. He'd kept them before.

'I have no doubt you can keep a secret from your friends if you feel the need,' said Dumbledore gently. 'It is keeping secrets from enemies that is difficult.'

'But--'

'I will tell you, Mr. Weasley, but only because you here at Hogwarts, and the wards and protections that have been added and continue to be added every day are so powerful that you are safer here than anywhere else,' said Dumbledore wearily. 'I do not expect this school, or you, to fall into the wrong hands.'

Ron nodded. Dumbledore took a deep, rattling breath, and Ron noticed how dry the Headmaster's lips were, how thin and frail he looked. In just two weeks, he'd deteriorated.

'Igor is Igor Karkaroff,' said Dumbledore. 'You may remember him as the former Headmaster of the Durmstrang Institute. He vanished when Voldemort returned two years ago, and was recently found, after extensive searching, by the Bulgarian Ministry and forced to become an informant. We discussed him at our last meeting, if you recall.'

'I do,' said Ron. 'But you said he went missing.'

'He did,' said Dumbledore. 'And Charlie came into the picture. He knows people all over Eastern Europe, he speaks a few languages. He was able to locate Karkaroff in short order. In just three days, in fact, from the last time we spoke.'

'What happened?'

'I cannot go into the specifics,' said Dumbledore. 'Suffice it to say that Charlie convinced Igor to resume acting as an informant, in exchange for certain protections. Their next meeting is to occur, if I'm not mistaken, in two days' time. Perhaps it is then that Igor is to tell Charlie of the false news about an attack in Sofia. Without specific timelines it's difficult to know.'

'So you might not be able to...to save Igor?' Ron said, swallowing.

'We might not,' said Dumbledore. 'But we should at least be able to prevent the attack in Varna from going forward.'

'And...and Charlie's okay,' said Ron slowly. 'He'll be okay.'

Dumbledore paused, and then he came slowly round his desk.

'Your brother is engaged in very dangerous work, Ron,' he said. 'Very dangerous work. But we are protecting him as best we can. I do not want you to dwell on Charlie, do you understand? And say nothing of his involvement, or of Igor Karkaroff, to Harry or Hermione or anyone else. The fewer people who know of this, the better.'

'But sir,' Ron protested, 'they wouldn't say anything.'

'I know they wouldn't,' said Dumbledore. 'That is not the point. The control of the flow of information is more vital now than ever. I am asking you to keep Igor Karkaroff's name to yourself. At least for now.' He lifted his hand up and Ron saw that the hand was thin and gnarled, and it was shaking. Dumbledore rested his trembling hand on Ron's shoulder.

'Will you do that for me?' Dumbledore asked.

'Yes, sir,' said Ron, and he swallowed, watching the former Headmaster keenly for a long moment as Dumbledore nodded and turned to return to his desk chair. Ron noticed the old man's walk, which was shuffling and hesitant. It took him some time to reach his chair, and when he sat down, it was agonizingly slow.

'Sir...' said Ron slowly. 'Are you...are you ill?'

Dumbledore looked up and smiled sadly.

'I am as well as can be expected,' he said.

Ron opened his mouth to speak, and then he understood what Dumbledore was really saying.

'I would appreciate,' Dumbledore said slowly, 'you not mentioning my...current condition to Harry. I don't want him to worry.'

'But, sir--' Ron began.

'It will pass,' said Dumbledore. 'It is just a touch of influenza, I think. Unfortunately when you are my age, mild illnesses always appear to be worse than they are.'

Ron nodded, but he knew the old Headmaster was lying.

'Ron?' said Dumbledore. 'Perhaps you should be thinking of getting dressed for lessons.' He smiled slowly.

'Right,' said Ron, and suddenly he noticed for the first time that he was, in fact, still in his pyjamas and dressing gown and slippers. His hair was sticking up and his face was roughened with stubble. He felt a bit ridiculous, and now he was going to have to walk back to his room in this state.

'I'll just...go then, sir,' said Ron. 'Thanks for listening.'

'I'm sure the information you told us will be helpful,' said Dumbledore. 'Thank you.'

Ron nodded and started out of the office. At the door he turned.

'Sir,' he said. 'You'll...you'll be all right?'

'I'll be fine,' said Dumbledore. 'Off you go.'

Ron nodded and left, but as he headed back to his room, ignoring the stares and sniggers of fully-dressed students who watched him walking about the corridors in his bedclothes, he knew Albus Dumbledore was anything but fine. Somewhere deep inside him, Ron knew the Headmaster was dying.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ron headed down to breakfast feeling tired and a bit irritable. At least it was Thursday, one day before Hermione's birthday and the end of his two sexless, Quidditch-free weeks. Tomorrow might not erase his horrible visions, the secrets he had to keep, his sessions with Firenze, or the nightmare that had become his daily schedule of lessons and Head Boy duties, but at least he'd have his girlfriend and Quidditch back.

About the only thing that had gone right that morning was Hermione's gift; it had arrived via owl as expected. Ron now only had to worry about whether she'd like it or not. She was maddeningly hard to shop for, anyway, and it didn't help that Ron wasn't rolling in Galleons to buy her something really nice. He'd bought her a simple silver necklace with a small locket in the shape of a book, and he'd had the back engraved and put a few favourite photos inside.

Lessons had been brutal that week; they were working on Muscle Pulling Curses in Defence Against the Dark Arts, which were quite excruciatingly painful to have to go through ('Is Hopkirk mad? She's going to put someone in St. Mungo's at the rate we're going! Honestly, practicing these things of classmates!' Hermione hissed). Hopkirk also announced that D.A. meetings would commence next week; Neville groaned and looked miserable about that. In Potions they had moved on to Suturing Draughts, which helped close gaping wounds. In Herbology they worked with Acid-Eating Ferns, whose leaves were mixed with crushed slugs and their slime and applied thickly to acid burns on the skin ('I'd rather have the burns,' Seamus muttered).

In Transfiguration they'd moved on in their Glamour Spell unit to Bone and Cartilage Restructuring Spells, which felt about as painful as the effects of drinking Polyjuice Potion ('At least we don't have to taste anything,' Harry pointed out, grimacing as his nose grew back to normal when Ron lifted the spell he'd used on him). In Charms they were working on advanced levitation spells involving levitating increasingly bigger and heavier objects. Ron was able to levitate all the other seventh year Gryffindor boys, but the charm was so difficult to control and maintain that he managed to drop Harry, Dean, Seamus and Neville unceremoniously onto the magically cushioned floor, and Ron's wand-arm was sore for two days. The only lesson that offered relief at the moment was Care of Magical Creatures, and that was only because the Pygmy Spiketail eggs hadn't hatched yet. But that didn't stop Professor Grubbly-Plank from giving them a unit on the many insect parasites that often plagued the Spiketails. By the end of the Wednesday lesson half the class had arms covered in bites and welts from having handled Skin Burrowing Aphids.

Ginny said she was doing well with her Empath training, and indeed, she looked happier than Ron had seen her in a while. Harry reported nothing unusual in his scar, but for the regular tingling. Once again, nothing was happening with Voldemort.

At least, not yet.

Then there was Draco Malfoy, or rather, the lack of Draco Malfoy. He'd returned to school just this Tuesday morning, in time for Potions, looking ill and tired and quite the worse for wear, but he'd been silent. Pansy Parkinson fretted over him and he allowed her over-fawning attentions, but Nott, Crabbe and Goyle continued to glower at him, and Ron noticed after their Potions lesson that Malfoy walked gingerly and that two Aurors were flanking him, quite obviously acting as guards. The same two Aurors were now standing a few feet away from Draco as he sat quietly at the Slytherin table, listlessly eating his breakfast. His only companion was Pansy, who ate nothing and kept casting concerned glances at him.

Ron felt the gnawing of pity in his brain again and forced his mind off Draco Malfoy and onto his upcoming day. Harry, Hermione and Ginny came in soon after and joined Ron at the Gryffindor table.

'Hi,' said Hermione. 'I went to your room to fetch you and you weren't there.'

Ron looked at Hermione and swallowed his bit of toast. 'Yeah, well, something happened this morning,' he said slowly, already bracing himself to tell his friends about his vision.

'What?' Hermione asked at once. 'Did you have a--'

'Yeah,' said Ron quickly. 'A bad one.' He leaned forward, and Harry, Hermione and Ginny followed suit.

'It was about Malfoy's lawyer,' said Ron. 'What's her name, Rosier? And another Death Eater. Rodolphus Lestrange.'

'Bellatrix's husband?' Hermione asked. 'He's out and about?'

'Must be,' said Ron. 'I don't remember him from the Riddle House, though. I couldn't see his face in--'here Ron lowered his voice--'my vision, though, so I can't be sure.'

'I remember his name from that tapestry in...in Grimmauld Place' said Harry, also lowering his voice. 'What'd you see, Ron?'

Ron told them. He told them every detail he could, leaving out the bits involving Charlie and Igor Karkaroff.

He just finished his story when the hooting and screeching of owls pierced the Great Hall; one swooped low and dropped a copy of The Daily Prophet in Hermione's lap. Ron stiffened as she tore it open and her eyes rapidly scanned the pages for any news.

'Nothing,' she said almost at once. 'Nothing about...what you saw, Ron.'

'Good,' said Ron. 'I think.'

'You don't remember what those Death Eaters said?' Hermione asked.

'I told you, they were speaking French,' said Ron glumly. 'I got the gist of it, though, and it was bad.'

'The gist isn't good enough,' said Hermione, shaking her head. 'They might have said something really important.' She leaned forward and spoke in a hushed voice. 'Did you save the memories in your Pensieve?'

'Not yet,' said Ron.

'Well, do it at lunch,' Hermione ordered. 'And if you like I can take a look at it and try and translate the French for you. I'm fairly good at it by now.'

'Good idea,' said Ron, feeling a little better about the whole thing already.

Next instant he heard the familiar high-pitched hooting of Pigwidgeon, who was flying about excitedly overhead, carrying some letters. He dropped down and landed on Ron's head, hard.

'Ow!' Ron protested. 'Stupid feathery git...'

He snatched Pigwidgeon off his head as the little owl hooted happily and stuck out his tiny leg. Ron glared at the owl and pulled the letters free. He checked the postmark.

'Bulgaria,' he said out loud.

'What?' said Ginny.

'There's one for you, too,' said Ron, thoroughly confused.

'Who do we know in Bulgaria?' Ginny asked, and then her face lit up when she saw the name on the back of the envelope. 'Charlie,' she said, smiling. 'Of course, I forgot.'

'Cool,' said Ron, grinning. Charlie had written to them, that was a good sign. There would be nothing incriminating in the letters, of course, but at least Charlie was alive and well and safe.

For the moment.

Don't think about that.

'What does he say?' Hermione asked.

'Weather's crap in Sofia,' said Ginny, reading her letter as Ron's eyes scanned his own.

'He's in Sofia,' said Hermione. 'That's good, isn't it? He's safe there, isn't he?'

'Looks that way,' said Ron, reading over his letter.

'Says the dragons aren't as good as they are in Romania,' Ginny went on. 'Misses everyone, says to say hi to Harry and Hermione. Says he hates the food in Bulgaria but that the vodka's not bad and the women are good-looking and...oh...says he's really jealous you guys are working with Pygmy Spiketails in Care of Magical Creatures.'

'Mine says he wants me to chip off a bit of the tail,' said Ron, 'when the thing's fully grown and send the bit to him.'

'You can't do that!' said Hermione, horrified. 'It's against the law unless you are a certified handler and have a license from the Ministry--'

'Charlie's kidding, Hermione,' said Ginny dryly.

'Oh,' said Hermione. 'Of course he is.'

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The day moved quickly. Defence was thankfully entirely devoted to reading this time, but the reading was grisly, as it was all about Bone-Snapping Curses and various deadly spells that could liquefy human soft tissues on contact, leaving the victim a bloody pile of bones and melting organs. Transfiguration was more Bone Restructuring, this time focusing on cheekbones and chins. Ron had put the memories of his vision into his Pensieve, as Hermione had instructed, but in the end she announced she wouldn't have time to look at it until the weekend, because she was busy with figuring out the coded messages in Harry's parents' vault. As such, her spare time was spent either in her room or the library.

That night Ron and Hermione had patrol duties; Ron couldn't stop thinking about the following night, when he'd have Hermione all to himself at last, and as the swelling in his trousers went from pleasant to painful he rather wished he'd thought to take that anti-libido potion. When he crawled into bed later that night he was still in pain. The bottle of potion beckoned him, and he scowled. He didn't like the potion at all. He didn't like that it made him feel sexless. He rather liked knowing he could get horny--it made him feel alive, like a man, like a human being. The frustration wasn't fun but at least it was real. At least it, too, felt like something.

He tried to sleep but Naked Hermione kept intruding on his thoughts. His erection was agony and finally he gave in, but not to the potion.

Afterward, he felt much better.

A bloke isn't meant to go without for that long.

As he drifted off to sleep Ron felt the slightest twinge of guilt. It faded the moment he closed his eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Next day, Ron awoke not remembering a thing of what he dreamed. The guilt returned; he hoped he hadn't dreamed of anything important.

He meditated, and found that it was a bit harder today to get focused.

I should have taken the potion instead of...

It's not just that. It's Hermione's birthday, I'm going to get to go to Quidditch practices, I get to have sex...

Stop thinking about sex and concentrate! You're supposed to be meditating!

Needless to say, it took Ron several tries to clear his mind. But then the visions came and they were as clear as ever, except that today there was nothing remotely familiar about any of the people in them. The visions were fast, more like flashes. Clear, but quick as lightning. Some men doing construction on a road somewhere. Two women gossiping in what looked like an office. A teenage girl on a fellytone. A man arguing with another man as they stood in front of their cars, that looked as though they had collided. More visions of wars being fought, somewhere...

And then it was over, and Ron blinked and shook his head, and got ready for class.

At breakfast, Ron wished Hermione a Happy Birthday and gave her a quick birthday kiss, whispering in her ear that there would be a lot more of that later. She giggled and Harry and Ginny looked at each other and made retching noises.

Potions was a bit less miserable than usual. They worked on Coagulating Concoction, which was only slightly less complex than the potions that had come before, but more difficult overall in that it was a lot more volatile. Both Neville and Crabbe's potions boiled over and slopped onto the floor, instantly hardening into a sticky, clear, almost plastic-like substance. Snape took ten points from Gryffindor and shocked everyone by taking ten points from Slytherin. The Gryffindors were still muttering about that when they left the class. Neville apologized profusely for losing the points, but nobody seemed to care; they were too happy to finally see Slytherin get some equal justice.

'It was worth it just to hear him finally take points from his own house,' Hermione whispered.

Ron then remembered that Snape had been sent to deliver word about Ron's vision to Amelia Bones. Nothing had been reported in The Daily Prophet again this morning, which made Ron hopeful.

In Herbology they finished with the Acid-Eating Ferns; in Transfiguration they began to work on very uncomfortable Body Reshaping Spells. Ron made Harry as fat as Dudley Dursley used to be, while Harry shrunk Ron to roughly Dennis Creevey's height and weight, but neither was able to reverse their spells and McGonagall had to intervene. They got extra homework and Hermione--who completed her spell perfectly as usual--only smiled and shook her head. Ron, for his part, felt sore from having his body shrunken and stretched.

He went to his session with Firenze, who figured out at once that Ron had broken his No Sex Whatsoever rule. Ron meant to lie but instead, to his horror, he found himself confessing and apologising profusely. Something about Firenze's eyes made it impossible to lie to him. In the end, Firenze looked mildly amused and shook his head, and by the end of the session, he was so pleased at Ron's progress that he forgave Ron for, as he put it, 'the sexual infraction.'

Ron's face was still burning with embarrassment when he dropped his books off in his room and headed down to the Great Hall for dinner.

It was at dinner that Ginny pulled Ron aside and whispered that she and Harry had thrown together an impromptu surprise party. Naturally, Dobby was going to decorate and provide the food and butterbeer. Ron bit back a sigh--he'd rather hoped he could get Hermione alone right after dinner and have her all to himself--but he went along with the party idea. Hermione was, after all, turning seventeen--she was legally an adult now. It was a big deal in the wizarding world. He figured if he could survive two weeks without his girlfriend, he could certainly last a few more hours. And considering the secrets he was keeping, not telling Hermione about a surprise party hardly seemed difficult in the least.

He ate heartily at dinner and tried not to get too aroused by the fact that Hermione was sitting very close to him and putting her hand on his knee almost constantly, but it was impossible. And then Ron made the mistake of putting his hand on her knee and her skin was so soft and smooth and she smelled so good. His hand started to go beneath her skirt and Hermione bit her lip and pulled his hand away with hers.

'Sorry,' he muttered.

'It's okay,' she said, smiling. They ignored the curious looks of Harry and Ginny.

It was only a few minutes later, though, that the game started up again.

'What the hell are you doing?' Ginny said sharply. Ron and Hermione yanked their hands away.

'Nothing,' said Ron.

'Nothing,' said Hermione.

Harry and Ginny exchanged knowing looks and rolled their eyes.

Ron's ears went pink, but then he looked at Hermione, who licked her lips.

Bloody hell.

'We have to go,' Ron said, to no one in particular, and he grabbed Hermione by the hand and pulled her up. Her eyes widened for a moment but then they were both scrambling from behind the bench and picking up their books.

As they hurried from the Great Hall Ron heard Harry mutter something that sounded like 'Don't hurt yourselves.'

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A little while later, Ron and Hermione got dressed, smoothing their dishevelled hair.

'That was brilliant,' said Ron, grinning at her and kissing her on the forehead. She giggled and snuggled against him.

'Ron, do we have to go to the common room tonight?' Hermione asked. 'I'd really just rather be alone with you.'

'Harry and Ginny wanted to give you their gifts,' said Ron, hoping he sounded stern. He would much rather have stayed in his room with her, of course, but Harry and Ginny had gone to the trouble of this surprise party. He felt in his school robes again for the small black velvet box, which he'd had in his pocket all day.

'All right,' Hermione said, pouting just slightly. 'We can always do that again later.'

'Are you kidding?' said Ron. 'I'm counting on it.'

They left his room, grinning like fools, and made their way to the portrait of the Fat Lady.

'Et lux aeterna,' Hermione said to the Fat Lady.

'Of course!' said the Fat Lady, and her portrait swung open.

Ron watched Hermione crawl through the portrait hole for a moment before following her through. He came into the common room to find it...empty.

'Well?' said Hermione. 'Where are they?'

'SURPRISE!'

Hermione gave a squeak as students suddenly leapt up from behind sofas and chairs and from behind curtains and tapestries. Seamus, Lavender and Parvati blew on loud noisemakers; Colin Creevey snapped a photo with his camera. Another sixth year boy was in the corner, ladling out cups of some kind of punch. Lizzie Towler and a group of third year girls were throwing streamers. Dean Thomas pointed his wand to the ceiling and suddenly there was flashing, blinking stars everywhere. Harry pulled something up from the coffee table, waved his wand at it, and suddenly there was a banner in the air--made, no doubt, by Dobby--that said 'HAPPEE BURTHDAE HARMEWONY'.

'Happy Birthday, Hermione!' Ginny yelled.

Hermione clapped her hand over her mouth. Ginny moved to hug her, followed by Harry. Dean was about to hug Hermione when suddenly she burst into tears.

For a moment there was absolute silence in the common room but for Hermione's choked sobs.

'Wha--' Dean began.

'Hermione, don't cry!' Harry and Ron said. She gave another loud sob and waved her hands in front of her face.

'Oh, no,' said Ginny. 'Hermione, we're sorry, we didn't mean to--'

'This is...' Hermione blubbered, 'the n-nicest thing anyone's...ever d-done for me!'

'Huh?' said Dean and Seamus.

'I've never had a surprise birthday party before!' Hermione wailed. 'Th-thank you so much!'

Ron let out a sigh of relief and he and Harry laughed.

'Women,' he said.

'She'll be fine,' Ron called. 'Resume celebrations.' Almost at once the noise started up again, and Ron put his arm round Hermione's shoulder and led her further into the room. She was still crying as she made the rounds, hugging everyone as she went, even some first years who were already dressed in their pyjamas and dressing gowns. She returned to Ron's side and smiled up at him, her eyes puffy and her nose red.

'Hang on, love,' he said, kissing her on the cheek, as he fetched her a cocktail napkin. She took it and blew her nose heartily.

'You planned this?' she asked.

'This was Harry and Ginny's doing,' said Ron. 'I had...other stuff in mind.'

'What sort of stuff?' she asked.

'Well, we kind of took care of a small part of it already,' said Ron, grinning.

'Just a small part of it?' she asked, taking his hand. 'What else is there?'

'Well, there's this,' he said, pulling the black box from his robe pocket.

Her eyes lit up at the sight of the box, but then she pushed his hand down. 'Give it to me later. Let's just hang out here for a while.'

'Not too long, though, right?' he said, putting the box back in his pocket.

'Not too long,' said Hermione, and they joined the party in earnest. There were dozens and dozens of bottles of butterbeer, but Hermione opted for punch. The common room was already turning into a mess, with confetti and streamers and noise makers everywhere, not to mention the crumbs of food that were dropping between students fingers' as they ate the many sweets that Dobby had brought. But Hermione didn't seem to care; she was, Ron saw, quite literally basking in the attention she was getting. He grabbed a bottle of butterbeer and went over to Harry, who was engaged in animated chatter with Neville and Ginny.

'Cheers,' said Ron, clinking his bottle against Harry's, then Neville's. Ginny was drinking punch.

'Thanks for this,' Ron added. 'She looks like she's having a good time.'

'Yeah, well,' said Harry wryly, 'Ginny and I weren't sure you two would even show up.'

'Ha ha,' said Ron, swatting Harry on the back of the head.

Ron glanced again at Hermione from across the room; she took another glass of punch and smiled at him before resuming a conversation with Natalie MacDonald.

For the next hour and a half Ron and Hermione circulated; Ron would have preferred to be alone with her but it was nice to see her socializing so freely instead of engaging in her usual solitude in the library. At ten McGonagall showed up long enough to order the younger students to bed; the fourth years and below grumbled as they headed up the stairs, but then McGonagall left, and the party resumed, smaller in numbers but no less exuberant. Ron downed a few more butterbeers and took a glass of punch and felt a pleasant warmth spreading in his body.

He meant to leave with Hermione then, but found himself drawn into a vigorous Quidditch discussion with Seamus, Dean and Harry. Half an hour later Ron was definitely ready to go. The only people up were the seventh years and Ginny. He looked around for Hermione and found her talking, quite happily, with Parvati and Lavender. They were giggling and looked to be gossiping together.

The mere fact of seeing Hermione engaged in something like gossip with Lavender and Parvati gave Ron pause, but then he saw Hermione sway where she stood and hiccup quite loudly. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were unfocused.

'Oh shit,' Ron muttered.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

'It wash a good party...' Hermione slurred, as she leaned against Ron, who was half dragging, half carrying her back to his room. 'Everyone wash sho nishe...'

'Don't talk, love,' Ron hissed, shifting under the Invisibility Cloak.

Hermione's response was to hiccup loudly and start to giggle. Ron shushed her desperately and continued his awkward lumbering toward his room. Hermione was dead weight against him, and her stumbling gait was hardly helping them make quick progress. Then there was the added burden of having to crouch beneath the cloak, which had long been too small to cover him if he stood upright.

Trying not to imagine all the horrors that would come if he got caught dragging his very drunk girlfriend back to his room, Ron kept his eyes peeled for Peeves. Hermione was still hiccupping and in the quiet of the corridors the sound echoed like a drum. Ron stopped for a moment, took out his wand, and cast a Silencing Charm on her. It didn't stop the hiccupping but at least it made her go quiet.

As Ron turned the corner to his room he cursed Seamus Finnigan silently for the tenth time. It was Seamus who had spiked the punch; he'd been quite blithe about the whole thing. Hermione had had four cups of the stuff, and for her, that was an incredible amount of alcohol to drink. Ron had squelched the urge to first punch Seamus and then launch into a scathing lecture as to why it was stupid beyond reason to spike punch at a party that was being attended by first years, and instead gathered Hermione up and told the remaining party-goers that he would give any and all of them fifty detentions if they dared make fun of Hermione the next day, or mention her drunkenness to anyone. And in a moment that the twins--if they ever learned of it--would never let Ron live down, he gave Seamus a detention and took twenty points.

Seamus had had the grace to look guilty and apologized; Harry and Ginny both swore they knew nothing about the punch. In the end, everyone agreed to Ron's demands.

And now here was Ron, at the door to his room, under a stifling Invisibility Cloak (Harry had readily let Ron borrow it), holding up his girlfriend, who was pissed out of her mind and was mumbling things that he couldn't hear, thanks to that Silencing Charm.

So much for his romantic plans for her birthday.

He muttered the password to his door and went inside as it clicked open. His bed was still rumpled from their earlier activities, and Ron scowled to think that he wouldn't be getting any more of that tonight. Not with Hermione in this condition.

He yanked off the Invisibility Cloak and let it drop, not bothering to fold it.

'Ronnie...' Hermione murmured. The Silencing Charm was wearing off.

'I'm here, love,' he said, and he picked her up and carried her to the bed and set her down on it, and then sat down beside her. She flopped back onto the mattress and looked up. She was smiling what she probably thought was a very alluring smile, except that her hair was stuck to her face and her eyes were out of focus, and the smile only made her look drunker. She lifted herself up unsteadily onto her elbows.

'Ronnie...' she purred, and then she giggled again. At least the hiccupping had stopped. 'Aren't you...going to give me my birthday preshent?'

Ron looked at her and couldn't help but smile. She was, at least, an amusing drunk. He ought to just do a Sobering Charm on her but he didn't know how, which was pathetic, really, considering how many times he'd seen his brothers get trolleyed on firewhisky.

'You want your present now?' he asked. 'Okay.' He reached into his pocket for the black velvet box and pulled it out.

'No, not that!' said Hermione, batting his hand away. He quickly put the black box on his desk. She sat up sloppily and flung herself at him, throwing her arms round his neck. 'Kish me...'

''Mione, wait--'

His protest was silenced as she kissed him. He was half expecting the kiss to be as sloppy as her behaviour but he cursed inwardly when he noticed that for being so drunk she still managed to remember how to use her mouth.

Dammit, I can't be getting turned on! She's drunk and we are not going to shag while she's in this condition!

She broke away and giggled.

'Mmm...' she said, and she let out a breath, filling his nostrils with the odour of heavily spiked punch. 'Do you know what I want?' she asked slowly.

'To go to sleep?' said Ron, smiling. He started to push her down gently onto the bed.

'No!' she said, pouting. 'I want...you to...give me a good rogering!...Ickle Ronniekinsh...'

She flung herself at him again, kissing him enthusiastically. He tried not to kiss her back, he really did, but even if she was three sheets to the wind she still kissed brilliantly.

''Mione,' said Ron, his voice cracking. 'Maybe you should just rest.'

Her response was to kiss him again. He moaned inwardly and clenched his fists but he let her kiss him...

She pulled back suddenly, and Ron saw that she looked very green.

Uh, oh...

'I shink I'm gonna be shick...' she groaned.

'Oh, shit...' Ron cried.

He grabbed her and yanked her into the bathroom; he managed to hold her hair out of the way as she collapsed over the toilet and vomited.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Hermione finally passed out, with her arms wrapped around the toilet bowl and her face pressed against the toilet seat, she had spent a half hour throwing up. Ron shook his head as he pulled her against him and wiped her face with a cool, damp washcloth; he peeled back the sweaty curls that had stuck to her face.

'You cannot hold your liquor,' he murmured aloud, and he sighed again and brushed a kiss across her forehead. She gave a little moan and shifted, and he picked her up gently in his arms and carried her back to his bedroom, where he set her carefully down on the bed. He pondered how to approach the following morning. Typically she had risen early and crept back to her own room, but seeing the way she was out cold now, Ron doubted he'd be able to get her up early, and there was no question of him taking her back to her room in this condition; he couldn't make it past the magical barriers on her door. He'd simply have to risk letting her sleep here all night and hope that, tomorrow being Saturday, nobody--well, nobody outside the Gryffindor sixth and seventh years, anyway--would notice anything.

With that decision made, Ron set about gently undressing her, cursing Seamus again. Hermione was so completely unconscious she didn't make a sound, except for a light snoring, through the entire process.

Ron grabbed the closest t-shirt he could find--his favourite, oldest Chudley Cannons one--and pulled it over her head. He set her back down on the bed, lifted her legs up so he could free the covers from beneath them, and then pulled the covers up over her. She gave a sigh and turned on her side, clutching the pillow.

Ron then set about undressing and brushing his teeth; when he climbed into bed he was exhausted, and yet as he settled in next to Hermione and watched the rise and fall of her shoulders in his old orange t-shirt, he almost felt like crying.

Damn you, Seamus!

Ron rolled over and fell asleep.