Rating:
R
House:
Schnoogle
Characters:
Harry Potter Hermione Granger Ron Weasley
Genres:
Drama Romance
Era:
Multiple Eras
Spoilers:
Philosopher's Stone Chamber of Secrets Prizoner of Azkaban Goblet of Fire Quidditch Through the Ages Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them
Stats:
Published: 05/04/2002
Updated: 03/31/2008
Words: 290,953
Chapters: 13
Hits: 249,855

Hero With A Thousand Faces

Lori

Story Summary:
As Harry and Hermione's wedding day approaches, they have to get to the bottom of the mysterious reapparance in their lives of... Ron? For any newcomers who are happening upon this story by accident, don't read it unless you've read the two that came before it, "The Paradigm of Uncertainty" followed by "The Show that Never Ends."

Chapter 03

Chapter Summary:
Chapter 3 of this continuing story.
Posted:
07/11/2002
Hits:
17,462
Author's Note:
Thanks to my Beta Readers Cassie Claire, Heidi Tandy, Plumeria, Alicia/Sue and Ali Wilgus.

HARRY POTTER AND THE HERO WITH A THOUSAND FACES

Author's Note: I'm happy to have gotten this chapter out as quickly as I did, given that I took a week's break from fanfic right after I posted chapter 2 and then I was away for a week in New York and Baltimore. Once I got going I really went to town. This was a fun one to write. Big Action Scenes!

Be warned: this chapter contains a rather steamy sex scene. The entire fic is rated R. This scene is especially rated R.

For chapter updates, news and discussions, please join my Yahoo!Group I share it with the illustrious Cassandra Claire and the sublime Carole Estes.

If you just can't get enough of me, visit me on LiveJournal (lorax523)!

Enjoy the chapter!


Chapter 3: Independence Day

Maybe the thing you see coming from far away is not the real thing, the thing that scares you, but its aftermath.

--Richard Ford, Independence Day


Ron took deep, slow breaths, his mind floating somewhere outside his skull, tethered only loosely to his body by a slim thread of consciousness. His situation ceased to matter, his thoughts gained an amorphous independence and flowed back and forth of their own will.

He had been standing in this cell for what seemed like forever, though he knew that it was really only a few days...not that a few days wasn't quite long enough. The cell was charmed, it had to be. He had not felt the need to relieve himself this entire time, nor had he felt any pangs of hunger. He was, however, extremely thirsty, though not to the degree he should have been after consuming no water for the duration of his imprisonment.

The real hardship was his forcible standing position. His legs had begun to cramp and stiffen after only six hours. He had managed to keep them functional by alternately lifting and flexing them, and by supporting his weight by leaning against the wall at his back, bracing his knees against the door before him. Even with these measures, the discomfort had soon become excruciating.

So he had escaped the only way he could, through meditation. It was a practice he'd learned, as he learned everything else, through books. It had come in quite handy in his flat when the sheer loneliness and despair threatened to overwhelm him. He could not seek relief or solace externally, so he'd been forced to do so internally.

He had long ago lost all perspective, but on some level he was aware that he was a markedly different person than he had been when he first arrived in his flat...though without the frame of reference provided by other people around him, he couldn't say in what ways he had changed. He had been stripped of everything. His family, his friends, even his identity. One of the very things that defined him, his nature as a wizard, had been taken from him as well. He had tried from time to time to perform magic without a wand, as Harry had always been able to do, but he simply didn't possess the skills. Had he been allowed to continue his education he might have become capable of this, as many wizards did with sufficient practice, but as it stood his own willpower wasn't strong enough.

He let his thoughts drift in whatever direction they chose. It wasn't too surprising that they drifted towards his friends, friends he hoped were even now hot upon his trail, friends he might soon see again. The excitement and hope threatened to disturb his tranquility so he pushed them away, needing his tranquility now more than he needed any excitement or hope. I wonder what Hermione looks like now, he mused. I'll bet she's beautiful. I'll bet she's confident and successful. I'll bet she's gotten everything she ever wanted out of life, because that's just the way she is. Everything will have worked out perfectly for her. She'll have that research job she always wanted, she'll be with other wizards and witches just as smart as she is. I hope she's happy. I hope she's found someone to love her as much as she deserves to be loved. If it couldn't have been me, then someone who appreciates her. I know she has. I know she isn't alone.

But I fear that Harry is alone. I'm afraid he'll always be alone. I know he defeated Voldemort...Allegra's made a few veiled references. I know he avenged my death. Still...I'm afraid he'll never accept any happiness, because he doesn't think he deserves it. I'm afraid that after one quest was over that he went out and found another, and another. I'm afraid he still thinks that fighting evil is all he's good for. I'm afraid he's still...wallowing. I fear he's retreated, withdrawn from others, from friends who care. I fear he's sacrificed too much in his crusade. I fear he even withdrew from her, the one person who would always understand what he was going through.

She isn't alone, I'm certain of it...but I think he is. How does that make him feel? Is he envious? Is he awkward around her? Does he look at her happiness, at her life and see himself an outsider, unable to participate?

Ron could envision dozens of scenarios for his friends' lives since he'd left them, but this was the one he always came back to, the one that felt the most right to him. He had often wondered what it said about himself that he always seemed to envision the best for Hermione but the worst for Harry, but now he thought he'd figured it out. He saw the best for her because he trusted her strength. He saw the worst for Harry because he didn't trust the rest of the world. Harry might have been seen as the Big Hero of their trio, but in a way it was always he and Hermione who'd looked after him. She'd looked after him practically, and Ron had looked after him emotionally. Could Hermione assume both roles after he'd gone away? He didn't think so. Harry was the truest person Ron had ever known, and in his own way innocent and trusting even with his great knowledge of evil. Ron had learned only too well that people like that were not cared for by the world at large; in fact, it often seemed to conspire to crush them under its heels. He feared such a fate for Harry. The fact was that he didn't trust anyone to look after Harry except himself, and given his own protracted absence he saw only what calamities might befall Harry without his best friend by his side to protect him.

He wished he could believe that Harry had found love, happiness, and security. He just could not summon a picture of anyone capable of giving him those things.


Hermione followed Harry down the corridor; they paused outside the door to another flat at the opposite end. This door was not bolted. Henry stood outside, shifting from foot to foot. "What's going on?" Harry asked.

"I think you ought to talk to this guy, Harry. He's...creepy."

"Who is he?"

"He says his name is Bob." Henry raised an eyebrow as Hermione and Harry exchanged a glance. Bob. The same Bob she had spoken of during her questioning? Had to be. Henry shrugged. "That's all he'll say."

"Is he a wizard?"

"Yeah. Apparently a Circle wizard, though he doesn't seem too sanguine about current events. He's buttoned up pretty tight. I'm not sure he'll talk."

She saw Harry's jaw clench, and a dangerous little gleam came into his eyes. "He'll talk."

She followed him inside the flat, which was remarkable similar to Ron's, albeit with different furniture. A man of about 40 was sitting at the dining table, his shoulders slumped, looking quite sorrowful. Harry approached him, a cloak of businesslike authority surrounding him...an aura that Hermione thought of as his "Don't Screw With the Boy Who Lived" attitude, made all the more threatening by how rarely he hauled it out of mothballs. She hung back, not wishing to interfere. The man, Bob, looked about as menacing as Cyrus, Ginny's pet hamster. He glanced up at his visitor and blanched.

"Do you know who I am?" Harry asked without preamble.

Bob swallowed. "Harry Potter. Blimey. I wondered when you were going to show up."

"Been expecting me, have you?"

"I knew. I knew you'd come after him."

"Who?"

"Ron, of course."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "How do you know Ron, exactly?"

Bob sighed. "I'm his keeper. His caretaker."

"Jailer."

"I suppose." He sighed. "You won't find him."

"We'll find him," Harry said, his voice grim.

"You can't. Allegra's taken him away. His new location is secured with a Fidelius Charm."

"Then I'll find the Secret Keeper."

"Well, you can try," the man said. His monotone flatness was starting to get under Hermione's skin.

"I found this place, didn't I?"

"How did you manage it, while we're on the subject?"

"A difficult spell and a little good detective work."

"I'll spare you the effort this time. I'm the Secret Keeper."

Hermione was astonished. Revealing this fact was the most foolish thing Bob could have done. Harry's face was crossing the line from angry into apoplectic. He reached forward, seized Bob by the front of his robes and hauled him to his feet. "Then I'll find out where Ron is even if I have to beat it out of you, and don't you think I won't."

"Don't bother. I'll tell you."

Harry blinked, his brow furrowing. Hermione was lost. "What was that?" Harry said.

"I'll tell you where she's taken him."

Harry set Bob down. "Why would you want to do that?"

Hermione stepped up to Harry's side. "Excuse us," she said to Bob, dragging Harry away by the arm. She leaned in close and hissed into his ear. "Why aren't you asking him where Ron is?"

"Because he wants to tell me," Harry whispered back.

"Huh?"

"Hermione, the first thing I learned as a spy was that when someone shows up who can't wait to give you exactly the information you need right when you need it the most then you ought to be very, very suspicious! I'm not asking him the time of day until I've satisfied myself about his motives."

"But...if he knows...we're wasting time..."

"We'll waste more time if we go off on a wild-goose chase with some bogus information he gives us. I'll get it out of him, give me a little credit."

Hermione was still doubtful, but nodded. Harry stepped back in front of Bob. "Sorry for the interruption. Now. You were Ron's jailer for how long?"

"More than ten years." He blinked and Hermione was startled to see that the man's eyes were misted over with tears. "She took him away. You don't know what she's capable of."

"You're wrong about that."

Hermione leaned forward, frowning, a suspicion growing in her mind. "Ron was your friend, wasn't he?"

Bob nodded. "I'm worried about him. You've got to find him fast, Harry, before she has time to make new arrangements for him."

Harry looked supremely skeptical. "All right, Bob. You want me to believe that you spent ten years as Ron's jailer and that during that time you befriended him and that now you want to help him. I'm asking myself why you didn't just help him escape, or tell someone...me, for instance...where he was. I'm also wondering why Allegra would allow you to continue as his jailer if you were so sympathetic to his plight. She has her faults but stupidity isn't one of them."

"Those are just the questions I'd expect you to ask, Harry."

"How? You don't know me from Adam."

"I know you're good, and strong. I know you better than you might think. I know you because Ron knows you." He nodded towards Hermione. "I know her, too."

"Ron talked about us? To you?"

"Maybe I'd better start at the beginning." He straightened up a bit. "My full name is Robert Blackburn-Dwyer." He saw their reactions and nodded. "Allegra is my younger sister. She and I joined the Circle together. We were a team, unstoppable. We moved up quickly amongst the ranks, and when the Master began to organize his new following we were right at the top. I had the misfortune of being closer to the top than she was. My sister became envious of my success and I became a threat to her own ambition. She set me up to botch a mission and I fell out of favor. When your friend was kidnapped it presented her with the perfect opportunity to get rid of me. She convinced the Master to exile me down here as Ron's jailer. The Master trusted her to set up his incarceration, and she spared no expense. She installed him in his flat, which is completely free of any magical objects or texts. The entire area, as well as Ron himself, was secured with about six different kinds of wards. In addition, Ron was hexed so that if he were to leave the flat either by himself or in the company of anyone other than Allegra, well...his freedom would be short-lived."

Bob took a deep breath and continued. Hermione got the feeling that he'd been waiting a long time to tell this story. "As for me, I was bound by a Dark Oath to keep my silence, but I made sure that there was a loophole in it or else I couldn't speak about it now. When I spoke my oath, I added a single word. Instead of being bound to silence while Ron was incarcerated, I became bound to silence only while Ron was incarcerated here."

"So if he were moved, you'd be free to speak," Harry said.

"Exactly. I didn't know how long I'd be here as his jailer or how long he'd be kept here, but I wanted a way to avenge myself on Allegra in the end."

"It sounds like your hands were tied pretty thoroughly," Hermione said.

"That's an understatement, Dr. Granger. Helpless is what I was. Obliged through various magical and non-magical means to sit down here and watch my prisoner molder away, unable to do or say anything. Except I found a way to help him anyway."

Harry frowned. "What's that?"

"I knew that if I could trick Allegra into moving him to another location, I would be freed of my oath and I could tell you whatever I knew. The problem was, she'd only move him if she had to. I could think of only one reason that would cause her to take him away before the time was right for it...if you figured out he wasn't really dead and started looking for him."

Harry was watching Bob with narrowed eyes. "You told Allegra that we were investigating Ron's disappearance."

Bob nodded. "I sent Lynch a phony intelligence report on your group's activities."

"But...how did you know?"

"Careful planning. About eight years ago during one of my very infrequent trips to the surface, I visited Ron's grave and planted a whispering grapevine. I kept the other half of the cutting and brought it here, so I could hear whatever was said over Ron's grave. I heard you there when you exhumed the body." He looked up at Harry. "Ten years I waited for you to get a clue, Harry. I was starting to lose confidence. I tried a hundred times to tip you off but my Dark Oath always got in the way."

"Well, you can thank Hermione. She's the one who figured it out." Harry rubbed his forehead. "And Allegra never realized your loyalties had shifted?"

Bob smiled. "Meet the greatest actor in the world."

Harry crouched before Bob, examining his face carefully. "I want to believe you, I really do. Surely you understand my hesitation."

"Of course. For all you know I could be Allegra's most loyal servant, anxious to lead you into an ambush, buy her time to move him again. I can tell you that Ron believed that I wanted to help him." He looked up at Hermione, rising to his feet for the first time. "One of Ron's fondest memories was of the last time he saw you, up in the garden room at Hogwarts." Hermione put a hand to her throat, her heart pounding. "You remember how it was?" She nodded. "He used to have dreams about you, almost every night. He wished he'd gotten the chance to tell you what it meant to him, that you shared yourself with him." He glanced from her to Harry, his face sad. "Do you think Ron would have divulged such intimate details to someone he didn't consider a friend? If you don't trust me then trust him." For a few beats no one spoke. "If you like, I'll submit to an administration of Veritaserum."

Harry took a deep breath. "I don't need to do that. Will you tell me where he is, please?"

Bob relaxed. "Good. All right. She's taken him to Lexa Kor, but you'll have to hurry. She's only keeping him there temporarily while she cooks up something else. When she moves him again I won't know his location any more than you will."

Hermione and Harry exchanged an alarmed glance. "We'd love to hurry, but we don't know how to get there. Lexa Kor is Unplottable."

Bob smiled. "There's a Portkey hidden in there on my bookshelf, it's a copy of 'One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovitch' on the top shelf of the library."

Hermione heard Henry go into Bob's library to retrieve the book. Harry was shaking his head. "Bob, I hope you appreciate the leap of faith I'm taking here. I've spent most of my adult life going on the premise that people who appear too good to be true usually are."

"As I said, you can give me Veritaserum if you like."

Harry hesitated. "I'd like the reassurance but unfortunately it'll take me a few hours to get some and we don't have that kind of time. I'm going to have to trust you." He turned. "Jones!"

"Yeah?"

"Get back to the I.D. I want a squad of hit wizards ready to go in ten minutes. Now that we know our secret's out, if we're going, we're going in force. Understood?"

"You got it," Napoleon said, disappearing out the door and into the corridor.


Remus pawed through his desk, disturbing the usually neatly-arranged surface. He muttered under his breath, yanking open drawer after drawer in frustration.

"Looking for something?"

He glanced up to see Diz standing in the doorway, smiling at him. "Uh...yes, my anti-curse bands. I swear I had them here in the top drawer..."

Diz casually reached behind the door and plucked the bands off the coathook where they were hanging. "You mean these?"

He smiled and chuffed in relief. "Yes, thanks." He took them from her, suddenly aware that she ought not to be seeing him making these preparations. The secrecy of their investigation was no longer an issue, but it would simply take him too long to explain it.

"What's going on?" she asked, an edge coming into her voice. "You look like you're preparing for battle."

"No! No...just...something's come up, I have a situation to deal with."

She sighed. "I guess that means we're not going out tonight."

He straightened up, all at once feeling like the world's biggest heel, seeing as he'd completely forgotten their scheduled date. "Oh. I'm sorry, Diz. I can't...I really need to..."

"Oh, don't distress yourself. It's fine. We can do it another time." She smiled. "It'll give me a chance to clean out my refrigerator."

He smiled back. "I really am sorry. I'll explain all this when I return." He started to leave but she held him back.

"Be careful, okay?" She made an attempt at a casual tone even while her eyes betrayed her concern. "We can't have you injuring yourself, can we?"

He shook his head. "I'll be careful."

Diz nodded, then stood on tiptoe and kissed him quickly on the lips. "Good."

Remus stared down at her, surprised. She turned to leave but he took hold of her arm and drew her back. Before he could talk himself out of it he leaned in and kissed her again, more thoroughly, his arm sliding around her waist to pull her closer. Diz responded, raising her hands to his chest.

When she pulled back after a few long moments her face was reproachful. "This is not helping me get over my disappointment that you're breaking our date tonight."

"Why is that?"

"Sitting home alone will be even more depressing now that I know what I'm missing."


Hermione buckled Harry's field belt around his waist for him, straightening the wand holster against his thigh. "You're out of Confundus granules."

"Have to do without. No time for restocks." He turned around and picked her belt off his desk. She raised her cloak and turned her back so he could put it on her. "This isn't going to be easy, you know."

"I know."

"She'll have left guards, probably more of her godforsaken Muggle mercenaries. I swear she must be breeding those guys on a farm somewhere, she never seems to run short."

"We'll handle it, whatever it takes."

Harry finished with her belt then stepped up close behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, bowing his head down to her shoulder. "You could be hurt. I could be hurt."

"I know," she said again, softer, leaning back against his chest.

He hesitated, wondering if he should continue, then decided he had to. It needed to be said. "If I had to choose between your life and Ron's, I..."

"Shh," she cut him off. "Don't. Don't say that. I've had ten years, years that you have had and all of us have had, that Ron hasn't had. He deserves a chance to live in the world."

"Whatever else is true, you are my first priority. I've made a commitment to you and I intend to honor it. If I'm going to be your husband, if in some sense I already am, then you will always come first. Before the job, before my duty, before Ron, before anything."

Hermione sighed. "I worry about you, Harry. That devotion may cost you dearly one day. I love you for what you just said, but if you always put me first you may suffer for it. I couldn't bear if it I were the cause."

There didn't seem to be any response to that. Harry held her tighter, knowing he was wasting valuable time. She turned in his arms and looked up at him. "Kiss me once, then let's go find him."

He kissed her once, but he made it count.


When they arrived, Lexa Kor was just as he remembered it. Dark, oppressive, steeped in hundreds of years' worth of secrecy and suffering. It might have had something to do with the fact that on his last visit he'd been imprisoned, stabbed, nearly changed over and forced to watch as Allegra murdered the woman he'd only just discovered he was in love with, but he really hated this place.

He touched the portkey with his wand and sent it back to the I.D. and the ten agents who were waiting to join them. Hermione was looking around, her face apprehensive. She was holding her wand in the standard 'ready' position, lowered at her side, her wrist tensed for quick movements.

Napoleon was at Harry's back, scanning the surroundings for signs of impending attack. No one could yet know that Bob had spilled his proverbial guts, but that didn't mean the installation wasn't heavily guarded. At one time this had been Allegra's primary base of operations, chock full of dark wizards eager for a fight, but his intelligence reports told Harry that the old prison had been largely abandoned. It surprised him a little that Allegra would hide Ron here where it would be harder to guard him. Even if Lexa Kor was deserted and Ron's stay was to be of short duration, she would have left plenty of babysitters behind.

With a sucking, whooshing sound the squad of wizards who'd been drafted to assist appeared in the hallway, all of them crowding to hold on to the battered leatherbound copy of A Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovitch. They looked to Harry for orders; he motioned them to standby for a moment.

"Where are we?" Harry whispered to Hermione. She had studied the castle's blueprints since their last visit and was as familiar with its layout as anyone could be who had only been here once.

"We're in the upper west hallway," she whispered back.

Bob hadn't known where in the prison Allegra would have taken Ron, but that didn't matter. "Okay," Harry said to Isobel. "It's all up to Smedley now."

They turned around and looked down at their secret weapon, who would have seemed a lot more dangerous if he could have kept his tail from wagging.

Dragonhounds did not live up to the image conjured by their rather imposing name. In fact, they were small and friendly dogs with shaggy hair and bright blue eyes; Harry thought they looked rather like Dachshunds. A dragonhound worked in a team with a wizard handler, who usually kept the dog in their home as a pet as well as a professional partner. The hounds were very intelligent and sensitive to magic, so much so that they would not work with someone practicing the Dark Arts because it was just too upsetting for them. Isobel had begun her intelligence career as a Dragonhunstman, and still offered her services whenever a search-and-rescue operation was required. Her hound, Smedley, was famous for his tracking skill and professionalism.

Isobel picked up Smedley and held him before her, looking into his doggy eyes. "Okay, buddy," she said. "It's time to find someone. Are you all set?" Smedley licked her face. "Good. Now, we have to be quiet today, so no barking. Quiet." As she said 'quiet' she gently held Smedley's snout closed with two fingers so he would understand. She repeated the 'quiet' command a few more times, then set Smedley on the ground. Realizing that it was time to work now, Smedley stopped wagging his tail and looked up at Isobel with an alert expression. She reached into her pack and pulled out an old and battered Valentine's Day card.

Harry looked at the card, swallowing past the uneasiness it inspired in him. A dragonhound could track an individual by their magic, all they needed was an item that the person had enchanted or charmed. Finding such an object for Ron hadn't been easy, but finally Hermione had gone to her trunk and pulled out this card, avoiding Harry's eyes as she did so. She had never shown him anything of Ron's that she had saved, nor had he asked what she'd kept as tokens of that relationship. Until she'd produced this card it hadn't actually occurred to him that she'd kept anything at all.

The card was fashioned of heavyweight red paper. The front said "To My Valentine" in shiny gold paint. On the inside of the card was a wizard photo of Hermione and Ron at Christmas the winter before his death. Harry had looked at the card for some time, watching as Ron kissed Hermione underneath the mistletoe over and over again. He saw her arms go around his neck, he saw their lips meet, he saw Ron touch her hair with the ease borne of familiarity. The part of this card which was useful to them was the writing on the inside. Sparkly multicolored ink had been enchanted to form and re-form words. First it said "To Hermione," then the letters broke apart and formed the words "Love, Ron."

The card was so very Ron, a bit clumsy but steeped in his essential sweetness, that soft-hearted nature he always obscured behind sarcasm and proclamations of disinterest. Hermione had freed Ron to indulge his soft, gooey romantic center and he had embraced the challenge wholeheartedly. Once they were together he had been as tender and caring as he had once been disaffected and dismissive. His expressions were simple but heartfelt, often taking the form of homemade tokens like this one. Harry thought he recalled that for this particular Valentine's Day he had given Hermione one of his term papers to proofread. Yes, but you didn't love her then, he told himself. Oh, didn't I? another voice whispered back.

Well, he loved her now, and the sentiment was returned. Nothing would change that. No one could change that. He glanced over at her but she was watching Isobel and Smedley. She'd probably be very angry with him if she knew he was having these insecure thoughts that kept showing up unbidden and refusing to be banished. "What do I have to do, Harry?" she'd say. "Do I have to hire a plane to sky-write 'I Love Harry Potter' over the Quidditch World Cup? Do I have to prostrate myself at your feet, wail and rend my garments? Isn't it enough that I tell you I love you every day?" And she did far more than tell him. It was in the way she made him tea without being asked and knew how much honey to put in it, and in the way she spoke to him, talking freely about her own insecurities, her fears, her unrealized dreams, sharing herself without abridgement. He felt it when she scolded him, when she sang in the shower, when she kissed the top of his head as she passed by. He knew it by how she eased his guilt and his pain, how she quieted his nightmares, and how she moved with him when they made love. She has done so much for me, he thought. What have I done for her? What have I shown her that would keep her with me? Does she know how I feel in the same way that I know how she feels? Do I show her enough, tell her enough? This woman saved my life, she gave up part of her own life for me. What have I done for her that even compares to a gesture like that?

On some level he knew he was being ridiculous. He knew he was being irrational and quite unfair to himself. He knew Hermione didn't need proof of his feelings, and that he did tell her, and show her, how he felt. Love was no less than an act of faith and not a consequence of empirical evidence. He also knew he was being hopelessly alarmist. Realistically, he didn't honestly believe that he would lose Hermione to Ron once they found him. It stretched the bounds of credibility, not to mention his knowledge of her character, to think that she would throw him over in favor of a man she hadn't loved in ten years. Yet reason and realism had no place in his responses. The intensity of his insecurities was amplified a thousandfold by the magnitude of the consequences to him if the unthinkable were to happen. He knew she wouldn't leave him, and yet he couldn't help but think about the fact that if she did, he simply had no idea how he would cope. He had lost her once, and it had been the most painful thing he'd ever been through. Even so, during their three-month estrangement he had always felt an inner certainty that it was only temporary, that their difficulties would eventually be resolved. If he had to go through such a thing again without that confidence of reconciliation...he couldn't think about it, it was too awful.

It had only been a year and half since their relationship had changed (was it only that long? it felt far longer) but in his mind, that time had already eclipsed all that came before it. He could scarcely remember what it had been like to be only her friend, to touch her only platonically, to look at her and see only a companion. He could never go back to that peaceful ignorance, that comfortable blindness. As long as he lived, when he looked at her he would see the woman he loved, whom he would always love...even if he did not see her looking back.

Isobel was holding the card out to Smedley, who touched it with the top of his head, snuffling and rubbing his furry forehead against the paper. Everyone was a little dubious about this approach. No one was exactly sure how easy it would be for a dragonhound to track someone who hadn't performed any magic in more than ten years. Did the trail fade with time? Did a person's magic lose potency with disuse? No one knew, it had never been studied to his knowledge.

Smedley cast his head this way and that, scenting the air. He jumped a little, looking like he wanted to bark but knew he shouldn't, then began pulling on his leash. Isobel shrugged. "He's got something, that's for sure."

Harry turned to the squad. "You three, go east. You three, go west. Stay out of sight and reconnoiter the installation. The rest of you, with us."

The squad split up and the team began moving down the corridor, led by Smedley, his tail wagging furiously and his furry head casting this way and that. Adrenaline was coursing through Harry's veins, and he could see the excitement on Hermione's face. Smedley sensed Ron's presence. He was really here, and they were being led to him. Soon, perhaps very soon, they'd see him again, they'd free him and take him home and return him to his family and friends who loved and had missed him. He reached out and grasped Hermione's hand, not caring if it was inappropriate for the situation, knowing only that he couldn't help himself. He wanted to do this with her. If there was ever anything that they ought to do together, it was rescuing Ron, their best friend, the missing third of their incomplete whole. She seemed to feel the same way, gripping his fingers back as they slunk down the corridor, trying to make as little noise as possible.


Ron felt himself fading. He was losing it, he was sure. His consciousness kept sliding out of his grasp, large black flowers blooming in his vision, the world around him going gray and spinning in a lopsided circle around the top of his head.

Time stretched into infinity, his motion through its endless stream halted to a dead stop. Can you see me, Harry? he thought wildly. Can you hear me screaming? Except he wasn't screaming, he lacked the strength. He felt like he'd been screaming this entire time.

The pain in his legs had passed excruciating long ago. Now he was simply existing inside it; it filled his whole world like a red fog obscuring his vision and blotting out all other sensation. In a strange way the pain had become his friend and ally. It was keeping him awake, keeping him moderately alert when all he wanted was to slip into a dead faint. Pain lets you know you're not dead yet, a voice in his head insisted. He was sure he'd heard or read that somewhere, but the source escaped his recollection. I must not be dead yet. I suppose that's a good thing.

Allegra had not returned to his cell. He wondered what the hell she was doing. Working up another fake death for him? Grand. Boinking her stupid Master? The way she talked about him she sounded like a fangirl swooning over the Beatles. It seemed to be taking her an inordinately long time to set up whatever she had in mind. Wasn't she afraid Harry might find him in the meantime? She probably wasn't. To her mind there was no way anyone could find him, and he had to say he knew why. This place was Unplottable and secreted in a spatial pocket. He didn't even know how they could find their way to his old flat, let alone here. He had almost no hope of escape, and yet an optimistic little voice in his head insisted that now that his friends knew he was alive, they would somehow find him. But how? Ten years of solitude had honed his creative and imaginative powers to a razor-sharp edge, yet he could not mentally construct a reasonable scenario that would allow Harry and Hermione to find him.

Just the possibility that he might now be rescued was almost more excruciating than the pain in his legs. To have that hope now after all this time was horrific, if only because if it were dashed again he believed he might finally and for all time lose his mind. After resigning himself to his imprisonment long ago, the thought of seeing his friends again, his family, was almost too wonderful to be borne. Because he couldn't reasonably expect that he would be rescued, the hope that he had now been given meant nothing to him except the grim future ahead that saw those hopes dashed along with what remained of his sanity.


Smedley was leading them deeper and deeper into the prison's dark recesses. Harry kept his wand handy even though he knew Allegra too well to think she'd leave wizards here to keep watch. It was a group of eight that followed in the dog's wake: himself, Hermione, Napoleon, Remus, Isobel, and the remaining three agents who'd accompanied them. Henry and Sukesh had stayed behind at headquarters in case backup was required.

The back of his neck was tingling, his skin rippling into gooseflesh. They were being watched, he was certain of it. Hermione's hand tightened on his and he knew she felt it too. The little group silently drew closer together, Isobel drawing back on Smedley's leash so he was nearer to her feet. He heard nothing, he saw nothing.

Harry eased his way towards the front of the group, peering ahead. It probably looked as if he were just searching for a place where Ron might be hidden away, but in fact he was keeping an eye out for a good spot for an ambush. He knew the others would be thinking along similar lines, they'd all had the same training.

They came out of the corridor into a wider hallway that rose to two stories. The upper story had balconies along either side with more corridors above them. Harry tensed up. Perfect spot. He glanced around at the others and received acknowledging looks from Napoleon and Remus.

When the ambush came, they were ready. The mercenaries leapt down from above, clearly intending to land in their midst, break up their group and pick them off one at a time...except their feet had scarcely left the ground before their wizard quarry split into two groups and ducked quickly underneath the balconies to either side. The mercenaries landed in the center and were amazed to find themselves the surrounded instead of the surrounders.

The wizards charged in silence. Harry quickly saw that they were outnumbered, but not by much. Without having to be told, Isobel scooped up Smedley and ducked to safety around a corner, shielding him with her wand; he had to be protected, he was not only helpless on his own but he was their only way to find Ron.

Harry had known going in that there would be fighting on this mission. Naturally, his first instinct was to protect Hermione, and it was difficult to suppress it. She was more than capable, and if they were to succeed he needed her in the thick of things, not sheltered at a safe distance. So he tried his best not to look at her, not to watch as she was beset on either side by two large men twice her size.

Besides, he had his own problems. Accurately assessing him as the leader, either by pack mentality or advance information from their employer, the goons concentrated significant effort on him. Harry would later be unable to describe the fight in any detail. He descended into tunnel vision, reacting to blows aimed at him and delivering his own in quick, efficient bursts. Allegra would do better to invest in quality, not quantity, in her goons, he thought to himself at one point. As usual they were strong and loyal (as long as they were well-paid) but clumsy and unskilled as fighters. It wasn't difficult at all to anticipate their blows, and easier still to locate a weak spot and neutralize them. They were all armed, but Harry didn't have time to wonder why they weren't using their weapons, something he'd later regret. The thought crossed his mind to steal a few of their guns and make use of them himself, but he nixed the idea. Without the Knowing Touch he'd be all thumbs. Probably shoot himself in the foot.

Harry crouched and spun, sweeping his leg against the knees of an attacker. The man thumped to the ground and in one quick motion Harry bent and drove his elbow into the back of the man's neck, knocking him unconscious. He straightened, tensed for another attack, but none came. He looked around, breathing heavily, in time to see Remus pick himself up off the floor and deflect a thrown dagger with a flick of his wand. Hermione was struggling with an Asian man who was about her match in size, which made it oddly difficult. A large man could usually be tricked into using his own size against himself. A more diminuitive fighter was more efficient and presented a smaller target area.

The man executed a surprisingly convincing feint and Hermione fell for it. She went to block and the man swerved in the other direction, plunging his dagger into her upper arm to the hilt. She screamed and staggered back a few steps.

Rage exploded inside Harry's head at the sight of the blood pouring down her arm. He launched himself at her attacker and caught the man off guard, seizing him about the waist and dragging him to the floor. Harry stood up and hauled the man to his feet by his shirt front, noting out of the corner of his eyes that Napoleon had hurried to attend to Hermione's wound. "Where is he?" Harry shouted into the man's face. "Where is she keeping him?"

"Piss off!" the man hissed at him.

Harry shook him. "WHERE IS HE?" he thundered.

The man's lips curled in a sneer. "Pride goeth," he said, incredibly.

His patience exhausted, Harry threw him down and bound him tightly with ropes from his wand. They still had Smedley to lead them to Ron. The others were securing the rest of the unconscious mercenaries. Harry turned and hurried to where Napoleon had propped Hermione against one of the pillars supporting the balcony. He had removed the dagger and was applying pressure to her wound. She wasn't paying much attention to Napoleon's ministrations, her eyes were following Harry as he approached them. "Are you all right?" she said as he crouched at her side.

"Me? I'm fine, what about you?" he said, incredulous, drawing her tight to his side.

She managed a tight-lipped smile. "I'm okay. It's not so bad."

Napoleon checked the wound, nodded, and pulled out his wand. Within a few moments a healing charm was shimmering and flickering over Hermione's bicep. "It'll take a few minutes to finish the job," Napoleon said.

"Harry!" Remus called. He sounded alarmed. Harry turned and his stomach sank as he saw Remus come back into the chamber with Isobel in his arms. She appeared unconscious. In a rush of understanding he knew why the Muggles hadn't shot them. The fight hadn't been so much part of an ambush as part of a distraction.

"Oh no," Hermione said. Smedley was nowhere in sight.


Ron could hear a fight, somewhere out there, near enough to be heard but far enough to be only faintly so. The two Muggle mercenaries who were standing outside his door didn't flinch. He heard shouts, blows, and alarming thumping noises. There was a pause...then a man's voice shouted "Where is he?"

The voice zinged right through him, because it was Harry. He'd know that voice anywhere. It was a little deeper and throatier with maturity, but unmistakable. Hope leapt up in his heart, the hope he'd been suppressing as foolhardy. Harry was here. He'd found him. Somehow, he had found him and now everything would be okay.

"Harry," he croaked. "I'm in here!" He felt like he was shouting at the top of his lungs, but all that came out was a hoarse whisper, so quiet that not even his two guards right outside the door heard him.

Five more of Allegra's goons (where did she get them all? Did she have a breeding colony somewhere?) came into the chamber, not wasting any time but not really hurrying. There were a few quiet words, a muffled conference, and one ran off again, leaving six now standing outside his cell.

Something's happening. They've come for me. And yet the goons didn't seem concerned...as if they'd planned for this. As if they knew just what do to.

"Harry! Watch out! They're...they're ready for you!" he tried to shout...not that it would have helped even if he were able to manage more than a few reedy whispers.

He let his head sag against the wall behind him. If Harry had gotten this close only to be killed in the attempt to rescue him, Ron thought his heart would just stop beating out of sheer misery. It could not be borne. It would finally be too much.


An impromptu conference sprung up around where Hermione was sitting against the piller. Upon inspection, Isobel was found to be largely unharmed except for a nasty bruise on her temple that looked like a concussion. Harry kept his arm around Hermione, his eyes roving restlessly around this two-story passageway as he spoke. "This was more than just an ambush," he whispered. "It was a trap."

"To get Smedley away from us."

"That might be more difficult than they think," Remus said. "Dragonhounds are smart, and fiercely protective. If he can, he'll get away and try to resume his hunt."

"Let's hope he finds his way back to us, but we have larger problems," Harry said. "I think we're stuck here. If they had brains enough to set this up then they had brains enough to establish a perimeter. They're behind us and ahead of us right now. All they have to do is keep us here and pick us off like fish in a barrel. We're cut off from reinforcements with no retreat. It'll be awhile before the scouting teams realize what's happened."

"What do you think they'll do?" Napoleon asked.

Before Harry could speak, the answer to his question was delivered from above. A gunshot rang out, loud in the vaulted stone corridor, and a bullet struck Napoleon in the chest. Blood sprang across his skin in an irregular splash and with a grunt he fell backwards onto the floor. He didn't move again.

Instantly the agents leapt for cover underneath the balcony overhangs. Harry seized Hermione about the chest and dragged her back into the shadows, unmindful of her cries of pain. He pressed her up against the wall of the corridor, placing himself in front of her. She hung onto his shoulders and he could feel her shaking. "Oh God, Napoleon," she sobbed under her breath. Harry's eyes were riveted to the sight of his second lying motionless on the floor where he'd fallen.

Remus laid Isobel near the wall and took up a position behind one of the pillars. One of the squad agents was to his right, the other two were on the opposite side of the corridor. "How many?" Harry hissed.

Remus shook his head. "Can't tell. At least three. There are a dozen nooks and crannies up there, could be ten."

Harry started to rise but Hermione yanked him back. "Harry, no!"

"We can't stay here, it'll turn into a siege."

"You'll be shot!"

"I can deflect a shot."

"Only if you're facing it! They've got us surrounded!"

Harry had no response. "She has a point," Remus said.

"Is he dead?" Hermione asked in a flat tone of voice, her fingers digging grooves in Harry's upper arm. He had no need to ask who she meant.

"I don't know," Harry said tightly. "We can't do anything for him with a bunch of Muggles shooting at us. But Ron is still somewhere in this prison and we've got to find him before they have a chance to pull him! Every second counts!"

"What do you propose we do?" Remus said.

Harry sighed. "I'll just Stun all of them."

"Harry...that's against the law," Hermione whispered.

"Honestly, I'm beyond caring."

"You'll lose your job and your commission. You might even go to Azkaban."

"Is that any worse than what Ron's gone through for the last ten years? I owe him this!"

"I won't let you. I can't lose you again, Harry!" she said, her whispers growing louder and more agitated. "We'll find another way!"

"What other way? Just wait for an angel to come down from heaven and smite the evildoers?"

All at once there was a mighty crash from above, a gunshot and a warbling shout. A human form was flung off the balcony over their heads and fell to the ground...it was one of the Muggle gunmen, masked and cloaked. More crashes, more thumps, from either side of the corridor. More shouts and a few more gunshots.

A lithe form dropped gracefully off the balcony, landing in a crouch to smile at them. Harry exhaled in relief. It was McHugh, one of the I.D. wizards he'd sent to reconnoiter the prison. "Need a hand?" he said.

Harry has to restrain himself from hugging their lanky savior. He scrambled out from under the overhang and hurried to Napoleon's side, feeling for a pulse. Hermione followed closely. "He's still alive," he said. He looked up at McHugh. "What's our status?"

"We tracked a few of these flunkies to this ambush site and met up with the other team, tracking a few of their own. We had a look at the trap and hung back."

"What, were you just waiting for a good cue to do something about it?"

"Had to, Harry. We had to wait until they had you pinned down or else they'd have just scrambled their teams ahead and done it again." His jaw worked. "I'd hoped we'd get in position before they shot somebody. Sorry."

"Never mind. How's it look now?"

"Ahead and behind is clear. We threw up some wards to keep them off our tails."

"Good work. Remind me to promote you to General when we get back."

"Aye, sir."

"This man needs immediate medical attention. Captain Hyde-White is down, too. Are your teams equipped with homing locators?"

"Sure."

"Pick a man to return to the I.D. with the Portkey, we need more backup. Tell them to send a medical team right away. You three, stay here and guard Jones and Isobel. The rest of us are moving forward." He turned to Hermione. "You stay here, too."

"No chance. I'm fine." She flexed her arm to demonstrate, the charm still sparkling over her healing wound.

"That charm will take at least an hour to finish with..."

"I'm okay, Harry." Her tone brooked no refusals. "I'm coming with you."

He sighed. "All right, but you hang back, you hear me?"

"Fine."

Harry turned to McHugh. "You didn't happen to see some goons with our dragonhound, did you?"

"No, sorry. What, did they dognap him?"

"Yeah. He was our way to Ron." He stood up. "But I have another idea."

Harry walked over to where the compact Asian man who'd attacked Hermione was still sitting, bound, against the wall. He was the only one still conscious. Harry squatted before him. "You're going to tell me where they're keeping Ron," he said.

"Go fuck yourself," the man spat.

"You'll tell me, or I'll kill you," Harry said, flat and deadly. Hermione hovered over his shoulder, watching. He knew she was probably wondering if it was an empty threat...honestly, he was a bit curious about that himself.

The man sneered at him. "You can't do that. You're a wizard. You can't use magic against me, you'll go to prison for the rest of your life."

A slow smile curled Harry's lips. "Who said anything about using magic?" He held up the man's short, serrated dagger. Its blade was still smeared with Hermione's blood. Harry leaned closer. "I'm not too good with knives," he murmured, hoping he sounded villainous enough. "Who knows what I might accidentally chop off?" He waved the dagger in lazy arcs. The goon stared at it, apprehension coming into his features for the first time. Harry leaned closer still and whispered into the man's ear. "You stabbed my wife, so you'd better be prepared to face the consequences."

The goon flinched. "Your...what?"

"A man whose family is threatened is very dangerous," Harry went on. "This prisoner is family, too." Harry's eyes lingered on the blade's gleaming edge as he spoke slowly, deliberately. "So the only question I have for you is...where do you want it first?" He slid the blade across the man's skin, lightly. "The arm, where you got her? How about the thigh? A man could bleed to death from a wound like that. Maybe..."

"Okay," the man hissed. "Goddammit, I'm not taking a blade for ten grand." He looked up at Harry. "But if I tell you, you gotta give me asylum or something. She'll take me apart, I've seen her do it."

"Deal." Harry straightened up. "Where is he?"


The sounds of fighting had stopped after another outburst. The six Muggles in the chamber outside had positioned themselves at regular intervals...so that it wouldn't appear, Ron realized, as if they were guarding one particular spot.

One of them checked his watch surreptitiously. "They shoulda been back," he whispered to the man next to him.

A gunshot, much closer, and another scuffle. A low cry and a thump, then silence. The six mercenaries were tensed, waiting. Finally one of them took a step forward. "Jonas?" one of them called. Probably their lookout.

A low chuckle answered them, menacing and confident. "I'm giving you one chance to walk away," said a familiar, disembodied voice from the darkness. It could have been coming from any one of the four corridors that led off this chamber, the odd acoustics played tricks on the ears.

Ron grinned, excitement and hope washing away his blinding exhaustion and the pain in his legs. Harry was somewhere nearby, hiding in the darkness, ready to pounce. He'd gotten through whatever trap they'd laid for him. Of course he did! his mind cried gleefully. He's Harry! He's come to get me and I hope your affairs are in order! He's here and he's ready to kick ass and take names!

Ron suspected he was getting a little punchy.

"Potter?" one of the thugs called out, angry.

"If you leave right now I'll let you go. Stay, and you'll end up behind bars...or worse."

"Screw yourself!" one of the other thugs yelled, but his voice quavered a little. Ron didn't blame him. Harry sounded like he was perfectly capable of making good on his threat, even eager to do so. What, exactly, had his friend become in the last ten years?

"Going. Going." Pause. "Okay, don't say you weren't warned."

A flare shot into the room from one of the corridors and burst to life at the top of the chamber, bathing the entire area in a brilliant red glow. Ron saw out of the corner of his eyes several black-clad blurs dart into the room while the goons' attention was diverted...but it was not diverted for long. "Look out!" one of them yelled, and the fight began.

Ron winced. His would-be rescuers wouldn't be allowed to use any magic fighting Muggles, which was no doubt why Allegra utilized them so frequently. He didn't like to think about how Harry would fare against a hulking baboon who fought for a living.

There were three wizards in the room. One he didn't recognize. One was...my God, his old teacher Remus Lupin. He looked a little older but still fearsomely capable. The third was...it was...

The third wizard turned around and a joyful, undignified squawk escaped Ron's lips as he saw Harry with his own eyes for the first time in more than ten years. He looked substantially the same: the same black hair, the same glasses and green eyes...except he was different. Ron was immediately impressed by the change in him, though of what that change consisted was more difficult to articulate. His face was leaner, a little more weathered. He no longer projected that vulnerability he'd had as a kid. His very essence seemed to scream 'Hero!' He'd grown into himself; he projected an unmistakable aura of leadership. He was tall and straight and handsome and...and he was fighting. They all were.

Ron's jaw dropped as his eyes followed Harry's movements. "Jeez," he whispered. "Harry knows kung fu." The goons came after him and were quickly driven off. He struck quickly, expertly, his hands and feet flashed out almost too fast for Ron's eyes to follow. The Muggles must have considered him their greatest threat, because they were concentrating their efforts on him, four of them rushing him all at once. Ron gasped as Harry flipped into the air over their heads, landing behind them. He grabbed one of the goons and turned him around, then punched him across the face, following his own fist around to turn in a tight circle and get the guy again with the back of his other hand.

He saw Harry pause and look quickly around the room. "Ron!" he called. "Are you here?"

"I'm here," he croaked, but he knew no one could hear him. He raised his hands and tried to pound on the mesh door of his cell, but it was stiff and unyielding. Harry was still struggling with Allegra's guards, but Ron was no longer worried about his success. Clearly, at some time since he'd last seen him Harry had learned to fight, and had learned it well.

Lupin, free for the moment, was running around the perimeter of the room searching the walls, probably looking for a concealed door. "Professor," Ron tried to yell. He actually managed some sound that time, but it was lost in the general cacophony.

A new noise joined the melee...at first he couldn't place it, but then it grew louder. It was a dog's bark, coming from one of the corridors. A tiny streak of brown ran into the room and headed straight for the door of his cell, barking. It was a Dragonhound, the torn remnants of a net hanging about its neck. They must have brought it to find me, Ron thought. "Good boy," he whispered, reaching out to the hound. "Oh, such a good boy!" The dog scratched and barked at the wall near Ron's feet, so far unnoticed.

Lupin saw it first and rushed over to where the little dog was scratching. There was only one goon left standing now, but he was fighting with Harry. Ron didn't fancy his chances of besting his friend. Lupin put his face right up to the door to his cell, which must have looked like just another wall to him. "Ron!" he called. "Are you in there!"

Ron took a deep breath and cried out "Yes!" It was still weak, but louder. Lupin's eyes widened and he nodded.

"Okay, I'm going to get you out! Stand back!" Ron looked past him to Harry, still fighting with this last stubborn Muggle, apparently unaware that Lupin had found him.

Lupin whipped out his wand and pointed it at the wall. "Revelorum alohomora!" he said. The spell struck the wall and the door to Ron's cell popped open.

Ron had passed beyond any level of relief or joy by this point. His mind was whirling in exhaustion, his body was on the verge of collapse. He was half-fearful that all this was a delusion, a fever dream brought about by Allegra's sensory-deprivation and his own vain hopes. Lupin wasn't really here. Harry wasn't here for him. The door to his cell wasn't open. Soon he'd open his eyes and maybe, if he were very lucky, he'd be back in his flat with Bob and he'd be no worse off than before.

Lupin reached in and seized him under the arms. "I've got you, Ron. Are you okay? My God, you look like nine shades of holy hell."

Ron goggled up at him. "Are you real?" he croaked.

Lupin smiled. "Yes, we most certainly are. Harry!" he yelled.

The last goon was refusing to go down for the count. Harry had him by the collar and was delivering blow after to blow to the man's face. "Will! You! Cut! That! Out!" Harry exclaimed with each punch, finally felling him with the last word. He exhaled mightily and turned around to face them.

"Look who I found," Lupin said simply.

Ron looked into Harry's eyes and he felt his own resignation shatter into a million shards. He didn't have to be at peace with it anymore. He didn't have to wonder, and cope, and try not to wish too often. Harry was here, he'd found him. "Harry?" he whispered.

The look on Harry's face mirrored his own emotions. "Ron?" he said, his voice shaky. Ron saw tears rising in his friend's eyes. His shoulders slumped and he exhaled, his chin trembling. "Oh...thank God."

And then Harry crossed the chamber in a few long strides and grabbed him from Lupin, wrapping him up in a tight embrace. Ron gasped in relief and sagged, his abused legs buckling beneath him. He slipped to his knees and Harry went with him, kneeling on the stone floor and holding him tightly. His arms felt so strong around him, and he felt real and tangible and solid. He felt like home. "Harry," he said. "I knew you'd come."

"Thank God you're alive," Harry croaked. "Thank God..." He couldn't continue because, Ron was amazed to find, he was crying. He tried to raise his arms to hug Harry back but they felt so heavy. He just leaned against his friend and told himself over and over again that this wasn't a dream, it wasn't a dream, it just wasn't.

It really wasn't.


Harry half-heard Lupin call his name, but he was quite occupied enough with this last goddamned goon who had a jaw that was apparently made of pig iron. He staggered back after taking another jab to the solar plexus and returned with a knee to the kidneys. He seized the guy's collar and yanked him forward into his fist. "Will! You! Cut! That! Out!" he yelled incoherently, punching the goon as punctuation on each word. Finally, at long last, the guy went down with a very satisfying thud.

He turned to see what Lupin needed, and to ask if there was any sign of Ron, but froze in his tracks before he could even get a word out.

Lupin was standing a few meters away, an open cell door in the wall behind him. "Look who I found," he said. Next to him, leaning heavily upon his old teacher, was Ron.

Harry's heart leapt into his throat at the sight of him, both because he was really there and really alive and because he looked purely awful. However long he'd been out of his flat the time had not been good to him. He was pale and unshaven, his red hair hanging in greasy locks over his forehead, his legs looking buckled and shaky. He raised his eyes, and the look in them almost made Harry fall back a step. He looked like his soul had aged far more than his body. "Harry?" he whispered, hope and relief coming into his face.

Harry stood rooted to the spot, almost unable to believe he was really seeing his old friend. Surely this wasn't some hallucination, or another of Allegra's cruel tricks. But no. It was him. "Ron?" he whispered. He felt tears rising in his throat and his eyes misting over but he didn't care. The tension of this long, frustrating search left his body and he sagged, relief hitting him like a splash of cold water. "Oh...thank God," he said.

How he got across the chamber he didn't know, but all at once he had Ron in his arms and he was hugging him as tightly as he dared. He felt so fragile, as if he might shatter with the slightest jolt. He felt Ron relax against him, then his legs gave out and his weight dragged Harry down to the floor with him. He knelt gently, keeping his arms around his friend, wondering if he'd ever be able to let go again. "Harry," Ron croaked. Such a weak voice, so hoarse and yet so familiar. "I knew you'd come."

That simple confidence, that trust that they'd always had. It hit Harry like a ton of bricks that Ron was really here, he was alive, and he was back. He couldn't help it, he burst into tears. "Thank God you're alive," he managed to say. "Thank God..."

He knelt there on the floor and embraced Ron, and it was perfect.

Only one thing was missing.


Hermione had hung back when the remainder of their party had charged the chamber. Two of the I.D. wizards had been injured in another fight after they'd left the ambush corridor. One, not as seriously injured, had retraced their steps to act as a lookout. The other had been badly hurt and Hermione had stayed to administer first aid. She had wanted desperately to continue with Harry, to help him free Ron, but knew that from a tactical standpoint, she ought to be the one to stay behind and tend to the wounded man. She was injured and not a hundred percent. The chamber where the Asian goon said Ron was being held wasn't far ahead, she was sure to hear what was happening from here.

She heard one gunshot, a brief struggle and a thump as Harry took out the Muggle lookout, then she heard him shout a warning to the guards still in the chamber...six, according to their stool pigeon. Unsurprisingly they didn't take him up on his offer, and within a few moments a furious fight was raging up ahead.

She bit her lip as she applied medical charms to the agent's wounds, worry for Harry's safety clouding her vision. Her emotions were clamoring in her head like a swarm of buzzing wasps and she was starting to feel disoriented and scattered. Focus, Hermione, she told herself. Panic about Napoleon's condition fluttered at the edges of her perception. Panic about Ron whirled in a nonstop dervish. Panic about Harry, her usual species of panic, was extra persistent. Panic about her own safety was lurking somewhere near the back of the pack.

The fighting stopped and she heard voices, but she couldn't hear any words. She refocused herself on the agent on the floor before her, a man who needed her help no matter what else was on her mind.

Running footsteps were approaching. She tensed and reached for her wand, but it was only McHugh, who'd gone ahead with Harry and Remus. He knelt next to his comrade. "They found your friend," he said.

Hermione jumped as if electrocuted. "What?"

"Your friend, they found him. You better go down there. I'll handle this."

She leapt to her feet, muttered a brief thanks to McHugh, and took off running down the corridor until she reached the chamber. Evidence of a furious struggle was everywhere in the form of unconscious Muggles, but she barely saw them. Her attention was commanded entirely by the sight in the middle of the room.

Harry and Ron were kneeling on the stones in a tight embrace. Harry was crying as he hugged him; Ron looked like he was trying to hug Harry back but lacked the strength. Lupin hovered nearby, guarding their reunion. Hermione's chest hitched with yet more emotions, her heart full now to bursting. At least her panic was gone, replaced with a blinding joy and relief that was so potent it made her light-headed. "Ron!" she cried. She rushed across the chamber, skidding to her knees next to them and throwing her arms around them both. Harry immediately wrapped one of his arms around her back; Ron did the same.

"Hermione?" she heard him whisper. "You're here, too?"

"Of course I'm here," she sobbed. She leaned in and kissed his cheek, resting her forehead against his temple.

"We're all here now," Harry whispered.

For a few long, blissful moments they stayed like that, kneeling on the floor in a tight three-person hug. Hermione felt an almost audible 'click' as their missing piece fell into place, that Ron-shaped hole that could only be filled by Ron himself. Now he was here, and that absence was but a memory. She had no idea how he was, or how he felt, or what he was like anymore, but at this moment it didn't matter. She had her arms around the two men she loved best in the world and nothing could possibly be wrong again the way it had been while he'd been gone.

Her joy was tinged with concern. He felt so shaky and weak under her arm, his breathing labored and his skin clammy. Finally, Ron drew slightly away, looking first at her, then at Harry. He smiled. "I'm not dreaming," he murmured...then his eyes rolled back in his head and he pitched forward, limp.

"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed. Harry caught him as he went down.

"He's all right," he said, after a quick check. "I think he's just exhausted, weak. He's been in that broom closet of a cell for at least several days. We gotta get him out of here."

Footsteps approached the chamber, and Hermione imagined she heard a flourish of trumpets as half a dozen agents poured into the room led by Henry Ubigando and, blessedly, Sukesh. Hermione supported Ron's head as Harry picked him up and rose to his feet, grimacing a little with the effort. Harry was stronger than he looked and he was able to lift her easily enough, but Ron was quite a bit bigger than she was. Sukesh was at their side in a flash.

"How is Napoleon?" she asked him.

"He's been taken back to the I.D.," Sukesh said, distracted. "His condition is very serious. I barely got to examine him."

This did nothing to ease Hermione's worry for her fallen friend. She turned her attention back to Ron with difficulty. "Is he okay?" Harry asked.

"He's just exhausted and dehydrated," Sukesh said. His eyes widened as he saw the tiny cell standing open. "He's been in there for days? Good Lord, no wonder." He looked at Harry. "We brought a Portkey in case he was unconscious, I left it back in that ambush corridor. I'll just levitate him, and we'll..."

"No," Harry said. "I'll carry him." He looked down at Ron's slack face; she recognized his 'Protective Man' demeanor at once, having been on the receiving end of it more often than she would have liked. He started off down the corridor, Hermione sticking close to his side. She kept one hand on Ron's arm, stroking his hair, scarcely able to believe he was really there. Harry spoke over his shoulder to Lupin. "Get all the Weasleys," he said. "Tell them what's happened, have them meet us at the Secured wing of the Ministry hospital."

"We're not taking him to the I.D.?"

"We can't compromise the facility. There will be a lot of attention to his return, we can't hold him in an undisclosed location."

They came into the ambush corridor and were greeted with a hearty round of applause from the agents who'd come to assist them. Hermione saw with relief that Isobel on her feet; she reached out in delight to reclaim Smedley from Remus. They were surrounded by other agents, some known to her and some strangers, all of whom had risked their own safety to help them rescue their friend. She felt tears pricking the corners of her eyes again, but all she could do was smile. Sukesh picked up a new Portkey that would, presumably, return them to the hospital and they held it awkwardly between them, Harry touching it with only one finger, all he could spare given that he was still holding Ron. Sukesh activated it with his wand and they were gone.


Harry sat at his desk, frowning over a sheaf of rough preliminary reports from various incident participants, all of which were in different states of completion and legibility. Across from him, Hermione was biting her lip as she concentrated on some paperwork for Ron.

The last hour or so had passed in a blur at roughly the speed of light. They'd arrived at the Secured wing of the Ministry hospital, a restricted area blessedly free of chaos, press, incoming wounded or extra personnel. All was quiet efficiency here, and that was what was needed for the long-lost son of the Minister of Magic, who just also happened to be the best friend of the Boy Who Lived.

As soon as they'd appeared, Ron was placed on a gurney and spirited away, Sukesh reassuring them that he'd take good care of him and leaving them alone in the hallway...but they were not alone for long. Arthur and Molly had arrived only moments later to crush them both in bone-jarring hugs and demand to see their son, a demand that could not yet be met. It had been quite a job to persuade them into chairs but finally they had relented. Harry had related to them an edited version of their investigation, search and rescue of their son. They were suitably amazed and grateful. Molly wept unabashedly, rising twice during Harry's tale to embrace them both again.

One by one, the other Weasley siblings arrived, each new family member prompting a fresh round of hugs, tears, and re-tellings of the story of Ron's rescue. Impatiently, they'd gathered in a nearby lounge and waited until Sukesh had reappeared, whereupon he was immediately besieged. He waited patiently for quiet before reporting that Ron was fine, just exhausted and suffering from muscle fatigue. They were treating his cramped and strained legs and allowing him to rest while they administered fluids and nutrients to his stressed body. Sukesh said he'd likely wake up in a few hours.

After the cheers and yet another round of hugs had died down, Harry and Hermione had excused themselves. "We both feel that when Ron wakes up he should be with his family," she'd said. "We've seen him, we know he's all right. You need some family time. We'll be close by, and we'll come round to see him very soon." Besides, Harry had added to himself, you wouldn't believe how much paperwork we have to do. The Weasley clan had reluctantly allowed them to leave, but not until they'd been hugged, kissed and generally wept upon several more times.

They had returned to the I.D., drained. They hadn't discussed their destination, they didn't need to. They gripped each other's fingers as they walked to the infirmary.

"Chief," said Dr. Manon Van Schock, the deputy CMO. "Are you here to see Jones?"

"How is he?" Hermione asked.

"Come with me," she said, leading them to a private treatment room. Harry felt Hermione tense up next to him as they looked through the window to where Napoleon lay unconscious. His hair, today a bright tennis-ball neon green, seemed to glow underneath the bright lights of the trauma room. His skin was nearly as pale as the sheets he lie on, his face looking oddly defenseless with all his piercings removed. Harry leaned against the glass, sighing. Napoleon looked very bad. His chest was covered with a wide swath of bandages. Medical charms and monitoring fields pulsed and hummed all about him, and a nurse was mixing a potion into a large shallow dish at his bedside. "If he were limited to Muggle medicine he'd already be dead," Manon said, her voice quiet and respectful. "Even with what we're doing for him, I can't promise that he'll live."

A brief sob escaped Hermione's throat. Harry reached out and drew her to his chest, his jaw clenching. "How bad is it?" he asked.

"Well, the bullet struck his ascending aorta and he bled out very quickly. It's fortunate that one of the wizards you told to stay with him knew some medical magic, he was able to temporarily stop the bleeding until they got him here, or else he would not have lived to be treated. As it is he may have lost too much blood. I can't go in and repair his internal injuries until he's recovered enough blood volume to survive the procedure. I expect to be able to operate in a few hours." She laid a hand on Harry's arm. "He's young and strong, and in excellent health. It's a very serious injury, I won't lie to you. I...I give him less than even odds for survival. I will do everything I can for him."

"Please do, Doctor," Harry said. Part of him wanted Sukesh to be taking care of Napoleon. He didn't know Manon very well, though everyone spoke well of her, especially Sukesh himself. He'd just have to trust her abilities.

"Can we see him?" Hermione asked.

Manon nodded. "Just for a few minutes."

Hermione had sat for a few moments at Napoleon's bedside, holding his hand and weeping silent tears. Harry stood on the other side of the bed, alternating between watching her and watching Napoleon's pale face. It was so profoundly wrong that one friend should be returned to them while another might now be taken away. Harry was being whipsawed in all directions. Joy at Ron's return, sorrow at Napoleon's injury, which he would not have suffered had he not voluntarily assisted them in their search. He could have said no, Harry thought. He should have. This was our problem, we shouldn't have let anyone else risk their lives. Napoleon may die. Isobel is lucky, she might have been badly hurt. Harry watched Napoleon's chest rise and fall, aware even through his self-flagellations that it didn't matter. Reluctantly at first, he'd come to know Napoleon, and what he'd learned was that beneath his outlandish facade and attitude of general sarcasm, he was in essence a good man with a big heart. He couldn't have just stood by and done nothing, not when people he cared about needed his help.

Finally, they had retreated to the sanctity and quiet of Harry's office. There was, inevitably, a great deal of paperwork to be done. This operation had been so fraught with injury, resource allocation and Muggle involvement that he'd be lucky to finish his report before doomsday. There was also a certain amount of bureaucracy to deal with regarding Ron.

Hermione threw down her quill. "I had no idea it was so cumbersome getting someone legally declared not dead," she said. "It's not like there's any dispute over his...uh, degree of aliveness."

"Degree of aliveness?"

"Give me a break, I've already been stabbed once today." She sighed. "We're just lucky Allegra didn't decide to pop in while we were tearing up the place."

"I don't think that was luck."

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

"She should have shown up in the middle of everything. That's why I wanted to get in and out a hell of a lot faster than we managed to. She had to have been monitoring that prison, she wouldn't just leave a bunch of Muggle wankers and call it good. That's leaving aside the fact that as soon as they realized they were under attack they would have reported it."

"Then...why..."

"Well, that's the ten thousand Galleon question, isn't it? Either she decided it was too risky, or...she was ordered not to interfere." He shrugged. "Tomorrow's problems. Let's not think about it just now."

She smiled at him across the desk. "We got him back, Harry."

He returned her smile, the reminder a welcome one. "We sure did." He stood up. "Come on, let's grab a bite before we head back to the hospital."

"Good idea, I'm starved." She rose as he came around the desk and started to walk past her, but something made him pause as he drew even with her chair. Their conversation, so businesslike. Their reassurances, so glib, so casual. Their paperwork, so distracting and attention-consuming. What were they hoping not to address? She turned her head and met his eyes and he knew. Just avoidance, plain and simple. He thought he'd probably experienced every heightened emotional state known to humankind today. He'd seen Hermione stabbed, he'd seen his second officer shot, perhaps mortally so. He'd held his best friend after an absence of ten years. He was in a state, but he didn't want to admit it. He didn't want to appear to be in less than total control, because that was what the mission had required.

Except now their weeklong odyssey was over, and as he looked into her eyes he saw that she was in the same state and was equally afraid to face it, to let it go. He gently clasped her hand. "It's over," he whispered.

That did it. She leaned against him and he wrapped his arms tightly around her, both of them releasing breath they'd been holding for days now. He felt her arms embrace him tightly as he bowed his face into her soft hair. They held each other and let themselves relax. "I'm okay," he said quietly. "You're okay. We got through it."

He drew back and kissed her forehead, brushing aside a few stray locks of hair that had escaped her plait. He met her eyes again and all at once the mood in the room shifted subtly. She was looking up at him so oddly, her hands were moving slowly over his back. He kissed one cheek, then the other, softly, and then her lips. He drew away again and looked into her eyes, their noses nearly touching.

All at once the mood shifted further still, lurching wildly this time, and when they kissed again there was nothing soft or gentle about it. Hermione grabbed the back of his head, pulling at his hair as his hands slid down to yank her hips tightly against his. Their heads rolled, her tongue sliding into his mouth, small sounds of urgency coming from her throat.

They turned in a circle in his office, clutching at each other. Harry stumbled forward, pushing her back against the wall, bracing himself with one hand as his mouth moved over the pale skin of her neck. She gripped his shoulders hard, keeping him as close as she could. "Harry," she moaned.

He didn't pull away, afraid she was about to tell him to stop, but moved his lips down further to the slight V of her shirt collar. "Hmm?" he said.

She pulled his face up so she could look at him. "Now. Right here."

He swallowed hard, wanting to make sure he took her meaning. "You...uh..."

She abruptly drew him close again, ducking her head to kiss his throat. "I want you," she said, her voice roughened and strange. She turned her head to look into his eyes again. "I want you right here, right now," she said again, looking like she couldn't believe she was saying it. He could hardly believe it himself, though it wasn't that surprising. They were both emotionally jumbled right now, it felt natural to grab at something physical, something intense, something they trusted. Besides, what was certain was that they hadn't had sex (successfully) in almost a week, and it felt like a very long time.

In any event, the effect of her words was instantaneous and dizzying; his arousal spiked to head-spinning levels. He supposed it was universal. There was no turn-on quite like being told by the woman you love that her desire for you is so great she has to have you, and she has to have you right now.

He pushed her up against the wall again, kissing her with a savage passion that that knew no restraint. Her hands were everywhere. She tugged urgently on his robes until they fell off, then pulled up on his shirt until she could shove her hands beneath it, her fingers greedy for the feeling of his skin. He grabbed the front of her shirt and abruptly ripped it open, buttons flying everywhere. She gasped but made no protest, in fact, she arched her back towards him while the ferocity of her mouth on his seemed to double. Harry yanked her bra down off her shoulders and ran his hands over her smooth breasts, kneading and stroking them possessively. Her nipples stood out stiff and flushed against his palms; he felt her shudder when he pressed his thumbs over them.

Things were moving alarmingly fast. Before he knew what was happening Hermione's fingers were scrabbling at his belt, then the buttons of his flies. Harry was breathing in rough, ragged gasps against her mouth as she shoved his jeans and boxers together down his legs to his knees. He grabbed at the fabric of her skirt, drawing it up until he could get his hands underneath. She hooked her thumbs into the elastic of her knickers and quickly stepped out of them. He seized her buttocks and hoisted her up, her back still against the wall. She hooked her legs around his waist and drew him forward. He stepped up to the wall and hunched his hips upwards; with one quick motion he was inside her and it had to be against some sort of law for any two people to be this turned on.

His lust for her felt indecent. Such intensity wasn't meant for the world, surely; his consolation was that if he were wicked than she was equally so. He thought he'd seen her in every conceivable mood during their eighteen-month sexual history together. He'd seen her playful, passionate, sultry, tender, teasing, even fiery...but he'd never seen her like this. She threw her head back and moaned at the ceiling, lacing her hands behind his neck for leverage. She rocked her pelvis against him, wordlessly urging him to thrust deeper, go faster. Harry was astonished, and on some level moved by her uninhibited openness. More than any words she could say to him this act communicated just how comfortable she was with him, that she could completely let go and show him her raw self, unconcerned with whether or not this was something that the public version of Hermione Granger would do.

It was quick and it was immediate. He'd scarcely begun but she was crying out with her release, her body spasming and her fingers digging grooves in his back through his shirt. He knew how she felt; it didn't take much when the entire encounter was as intensely physical as this had been. "Yes, Harry," she hissed into his ear, a throaty whisper that shivered through his whole body. "Do it, do it quick." He stepped up the tempo, his face pressed into her throat so he could feel the pounding of her pulse under his lips. Her hands slid down his back and gripped his buttocks, her hips grinding into his as he came in a mind-bending rush, thrashing against her and groaning helplessly.

They moved gently within the circle of their embrace, shuddering with the aftershocks, their lips seeking out each other's faces, throats, necks. Slowly their breathing returned to normal as they stayed there against the wall, still joined, kissing with tender incredulity. "Great Merlin's ghost," she sighed, letting her head fall back against the wall. The thought suddenly occurred to Harry that the occupant of the office next door was probably wishing he'd gone home early today.

"Holy God, Hermione," he gasped. "That was...well, 'amazing' hardly covers it."

He felt her nod against his shoulder. "There's a new number one," she said, still breathless. He didn't understand this remark but let it pass unquestioned.

He gently lowered her to the ground, wondering if he'd ever be able to look at her again without hearing her voice in his mind saying "Do it quick" in that sexy, throaty whisper. Perhaps that wasn't such a bad thing. She laid her head on his shoulder and held him as he watched the room settle back into place around them. "Well," he finally said after a long interval of recovery in silence, wrapped in each other's embrace. "We'll never be able to tell the grandkids about that."

She chuckled and raised her head, smiling at him. "I can't believe what we just did."

"It was your idea, you know."

She arched an eyebrow, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. "Yes, it was."

"I didn't realize you were such a shameless sex maniac."

He meant it as a joke but she sobered, raising her fingers to gently stroke his lips. "Because it's you, I get to be anything I want," she said.

He kissed her fingers, touched. She'd just let him see a side of her that few would suspect even existed. He'd only ever seen mere hints of it himself. She trusts me, he thought. She trusts me with herself. He smiled, running his thumb over her decidedly swollen lips. "This is going to sound really pompous...but I am truly honored to know you."

She regarded him for a moment. "You're right, it sounded pompous."

"Seriously. It's an honor that you let me know you...all of you."

"Even the naughty bits?"

"Especially the naughty bits."

"Hmm...still pompous. But thanks." She winked at him and he suddenly felt a hand slide down his stomach. He sucked in a breath as she gave him a friendly squeeze. "And thanks for the prompt, reliable service. On such short notice, too."

"Well, thank you for your patronage. The management hopes you'll visit again soon."

"Count on it." She kissed him again, slowly and thoroughly. "I love you so much," she whispered against his lips.

"And I love you, and your naughty bits."

She breathed a contented sigh, then drew back and looked down at herself. "Goodness, we look like wrecks."

"We look like two people who've just had a quickie in the office, that's what we look like."

"Is that what it was? A quickie?"

"I think that's the commonly accepted term, yes."

"Huh. My first quickie."

He thought a moment. "Mine, too." He grinned. "I hope not my last." She returned his grin, picked up her wand and began setting them both to rights with a few spells. Harry straightened his clothing, marveling at what had just happened. One thing was certain, it had served a purpose. He felt like he was inside his own skin again, reconnected to himself and the world after almost a week of whirling, frantic displacement. More importantly, he felt reconnected to Hermione. In the midst of the distraction and sheer emotional impact of their search and their shared pain over Ron, they'd been forced to deal with each other at arm's length lest it overwhelm them. He was relieved, and immensely so, to pull her nearer again. He wasn't sure if he could face what was sure to be at the very least a taxing re-integration of Ron into their lives without feeling like Hermione was really with him, emotionally and spiritually.

Hermione looked down at herself and at him. "There. Do we look presentable again?"

"I think so. No sign of steamy quickies. Now then. What were we doing before we were so memorably interrupted?"

"We were going to get a bite to eat before going back to the hospital. And now I'm even hungrier than I was, so let's hurry up."

They left his office, his Bubble leading them towards the cafeteria. They linked hands automatically, fingers interlacing. "Okay, I have a question," he said as they walked down the corridor.

"What?"

"Right after...uh, you know..."

"Yes?" He could hear her smiling.

"You said 'there's a new number one.' What did that mean?"

She laughed. "Oh, dear. Don't suppose you'll accept 'none of your business' as an answer, will you?"

"Well, now you have to tell me!"

"All right, if you insist. I sort of..." She cleared her throat. "I have a bit of an informal list I keep in my head."

"A list of what?"

"My Top Five Erotic Experiences."

He stopped walking and turned to stare at her. "You keep a list?"

"Harry Potter, the fact that I would do such a thing should no longer surprise you!"

He resumed walking with a chuckle. "No, I suppose not." A brief pause. "Oh, I see! So what we just did was..."

"My new number one. Gods, by a mile and a half."

He glanced at her. "So, uh...that is to say...how many of these little episodes on your list have I been present for?"

"If you must know, it used to be three. Now it's four."

"Ha! Bumped someone else off the list, did I?"

"Don't get too cocky, there's still one left."

"Oh my. Have to do something about that."

She squeezed his hand. "Honestly, we've had enough memorable experiences together that I may have to expand the list to ten."

He puffed up a bit, feeling pleased with himself. "Well, go me!" He shook his head. "Now you're going to have me dreaming up more and more outlandish seductions and scenarios just to complete my monopoly."

"The benefits of which I will enjoy thoroughly. So we see the insidious beauty of the list," she said airily. "Innate male competitiveness plus any sort of ratings system equals happy times for the woman who's shrewd enough to combine the two."

Harry tried to maintain a disaffected air although his brain was already spinning with ideas. "Well. I feel manipulated."

"You'll get over it." She smiled happily and slipped her arm around him, pulling him a little closer as they neared the cafeteria. When she spoke again the levity had left her voice. "Harry...this is all fun and I'm thrilled that we can enjoy each other again. I've really missed that, and I know we've had to put ourselves on hold for all this. But we do have more important things to discuss right now."

"I know. Let's get some dinner and sit down, then we'll talk seriously. Okay?" He put his arm over her shoulders. "And then we'll go see Ron."

"Yes," she said, sounding eager. "I can't wait to sit and really talk to him. There's so much to say, where in the world will we start?"

"We'll know. He'll let us know." They joined the end of the cafeteria line. "So..." he began after a few moments' silence. "What are they?"

"What are what?"

"Your Top Five. Or rather, what are the other four?" She said nothing, looking about the room with a nonchalant expression on her face. "Come on. You have to tell me."

"Oh look, sweetie, they've got shepherd's pie tonight."

"Hermione!"

"And gooseberry fool, your favorite."

"You're killing me here."

"I could go for a nice big helping of treacle pudding for dessert. I'm feeling a bit sugar-deprived for some reason."

Pause, then low. "You're evil, you know that?"

She only smiled. Evil.


Lupin walked quickly down the hallway, his Bubble leading him to Diz's office. He wasn't sure why, but he felt it very important to see her. Surely by now she would have heard the reason he'd gone off this morning, and of their secret investigation.

He reached her door, emblazoned with an eagle, its wings spread. He knocked and was immediately admitted.

She was standing at her window, looking out into the courtyard, arms crossed and her face looking a little pinched. She turned when he entered and that pinched expression vanished at once, replaced by a relieved smile. "Remus," she said with obvious pleasure. She quickly crossed the room and he found himself being hugged with unabashed enthusiasm. After a moment's reaction time he hugged her back. Why else had he come? "Thank goodness you're all right, I was worried sick." She pulled back and led him to a small couch that sat against one of her walls. They sat down and Diz took his hand. Her forthrightness was a little scary, but he was glad for it. If she'd been less direct he would still be wandering the halls wondering if he ought to ask her for coffee. "Why on earth didn't you tell me you were mounting a raid on Lexa Kor? I would have gone along, I could have helped! I understand why the investigation had to be secret, but the cat was out of the bag by this morning when you left."

"I know, but I...I didn't have much time and it would have taken too long to brief you. Harry already had a squad of agents ready to back us up, he didn't want to risk anyone else."

She shook her head. "When I heard what had happened to Napoleon, and that Isobel had been hurt...I was afraid you might have been hurt, too."

"I'm fine."

"Good." She sat back a little. "Harry doesn't trust me, does he?"

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"If he did, he would have had me helping with this investigation. Jones was in on it, why not me? I outrank him!"

Remus wasn't sure what to say, or if he should say anything at all. "Maybe you should ask Harry."

"I'm asking you."

He sighed. "Diz, it's not personal. Remember that Harry barely knows you. I can't begin to describe how important this was to him and Hermione. Ron Weasley was their best friend in the world. The three of them were inseparable in school. They never got over his death. There's no way they'd take a chance with his safety now. Harry only told those people he knows well and trusts. I'm sure he trusts you here in the office. Look how much responsibility he's given you already, more than the job description really requires. It's just that he needs a more personal feeling to back that up when it concerns people he cares about."

She thought about this for a moment, then nodded. "I think I understand. And I will talk to him about this."

"Good. I don't want to get caught in the middle of any issues you and Harry have, you know. I'm his friend, and I'm not in your division."

"I know. I don't mean to dump all that on you. It just...well, honestly, it hurt a little."

He smiled and squeezed her hand. "I'm sure he'll appreciate that you wanted to help."

They sat in silence for a few moments. "Hey, it's only six o'clock!" she said.

"Yes?"

"So it's not too late. We could still make our date tonight."

"Now, there's an idea."

"Oh...but you must be exhausted. You ought to go home and rest."

He shook his head. "I'd rather see you." Had he just said that out loud? Her smile told him that yes, he had. "Where do you want to go?"

"I don't think we ought to go anywhere."

"Really?"

"I think we ought to hole up somewhere, order in and just talk. I want to hear your stories. I'd like to tell you some of mine."

He smiled, wondering if she were concealing some sort of mind-reading talent. "That sounds perfect. Except...not all my stories have happy endings."

"Something else we have in common, then." She sighed. "But if things get too depressing I'll just tell the story of the Swede Who Didn't Like Meatballs. Works every time."

He laughed. "Good. Then it's a date. Shall we meet at my office in...an hour?"

She nodded. "Perfect."

"All right."

The conversation seemed to be over. Time to stand up now, Remus, he told himself. Leave the office...there's a good chap...and yet he somehow wasn't standing up. In fact he was leaning towards her. Oh dear, what are you doing now? I do believe you're going to kiss her again. Perhaps now isn't such a good time for that. Maybe you ought to consider the matter before you...

Oh well. Too late.


Ron came awake gradually, rising at his leisure from a blissful well of sleep in which there were no dreams, no nightmares, no desperate unconscious cries for freedom and where he was allowed to lie down. He knew at once that he was in a hospital, probably the Ministry hospital. He kept his eyes shut, savoring the sweet knowledge that he was free, his most fervently repressed desire had been granted. He heard quiet voices in the room with him and knew that his family was here. He wished he could leap from the bed and hug them all, but he still felt leaden and lethargic. He'd have to lie here and let them come to him.

He opened his eyes just a slit. He wanted to have a look at them before they realized he was awake and the deluge began. Carefully so as not to alert them, he looked around the room.

His mother was sitting to his right, his father standing near her shoulder. They looked exactly the same, except...more carefully maintained. His mother's hair looked professionally styled, and his father's robes were well-tailored. Dad must have finally gotten that promotion, he mused. Percy was sitting next to Molly, still so meticulously put-together, looking every inch the proper wizard bureaucrat. Ron saw that age suited Percy. He'd be thirty-two now, and the sharp angles and fussiness which had sat so poorly upon a teenager lent confident elegance to a mature man.

Bill and Charlie were talking in the corner. Charlie had distinguished wings of gray at his temples and was a bit thicker about the middle. He had the look of an aging star athlete gone into coaching: relaxing into his years, but still strong and still tough. Bill's head was shaved completely bald, probably to pre-empt nature. His hairline had already been receding the last time Ron had seen him, and he was now pushing forty. The look suited him, oddly enough. Ron should have known that if anyone could carry off going totally bald it'd be his brother Bill.

Fred and George were sitting side by side on a small leather settee, not talking much. They looked so mature...Ron fervently hoped they hadn't grown out of all their baser impulses. Had they gone into business together? Were they still? He saw that Fred now wore glasses but George did not. Fred's hair was a little longer, too, just brushing his collar in soft red waves.

The real shock came when he got round to the woman sitting to the left of his bed. That couldn't possibly be Ginny. It had to be, of course. It was her face, her hair, her freckles. She was...stunning. When he'd gone away she'd been a gangly, awkward fifteen-year-old who hadn't yet grown into herself. Now she had. She looked easy and confident, as if she had it all together. Ron's throat clenched at the sight of her, at the sight of all of them. So much time had passed for them while it had stood still for him. Could he ever catch up? Would he ever know the people they'd become as he'd known the people they'd been?

He opened his eyes fully and sighed. "Mum?" he croaked. His voice sounded raspy, but the effect was instantaneous.

Everyone spoke at once, smiling and gathering around the bed, reached out hands to touch whichever one of his limbs they could reach. His mother reached out and enfolded him in her arms, weeping. "Oh Ron, my baby," she sobbed. "Thank goodness you're safe." These words were only about thirty percent intelligible, but he got the gist.

His father clasped one of his hands in both of his own, tears standing unshed in his eyes, smiling. "It's a miracle, son," he said, his voice choked. "It's truly a miracle to have you back with us."

"You've no idea how we've missed you," Ginny said, holding his other hand as Molly kept both arms around him, sobbing softly into his hair.

"Oh, I think I do," Ron managed. He wanted to curl up in his mother's arms and cry until there were no more tears left, but that would hardly be productive. "I missed all of you."

After a few long moments of utter contentment, his mother at last released him. Each family member in turn came to his bedside to embrace him, and it was wonderful. He saw at once that his concerns about finding them strange to him, or him to them, had been baseless. It had been ten years but it felt as if he'd seen them all yesterday. Their forms and voices were so familiar to him, made even more so by all his lone years of remembering them.

Finally, the tearful greetings behind them, everyone pulled up chairs close to his bed. He wondered if they were afraid he'd vanish again if they let him out of their sight. They probably are at that, he thought. "Do you want to talk about it?" Bill asked.

"No," Ron said, though until that moment he'd thought that he did. "Not yet. I will. It's just...well, there's not much to tell. My life has been very boring for the last ten years, after all."

Molly gasped. "How can you joke about such a horrible experience?" she said, one hand to her chest.

"It was joke or go mad, Mum. And honestly, it wasn't that horrible. I was very well taken care of. I wanted for nothing, I had anything I asked for. It was just the small matter of never being able to leave."

"But...they said you were in some tiny dungeon..."

He gaped at her. "Not for ten years, Mum! Good Lord, I'd never have survived that. No, they only put me in there a few days ago. Until then I lived in a very comfortable flat, underground. I'm sure I'll have to talk about it in great detail to someone official soon enough. Until then I'd rather leave it at that."

"I can't believe how calm you are," Ginny said in a wondering voice. "I rather thought you might be barking mad."

"Perhaps I am." There was uneasy laughter. Ron reminded himself that they had only just learned of his imprisonment. He'd had ten years to get used to the idea, but for them it must have been an awful shock after believing him dead for so long. "And if I'm calm, Gin, it's because I've had to teach myself to be that way. I survived by learning to...sort of exist apart from everything."

"You haven't gone all Zen, have you, little brother?" Fred said, grinning. Everyone laughed.

"If I have I ought to be thankful. I always assumed that if I were kept locked up long enough I'd eventually lose my mind. I'm...relieved it didn't come to that." He smiled around at them. "There's so much to talk about I don't know where to start."

"We don't have to start now," Arthur said. "You've only just woken up, son. You're still weak and tired. The doctor said you'll be here until tomorrow, and then you'll need to rest for a few days at home. We'll have plenty of time for catching-up."

Ron nodded. Eager as he was to hear the stories of their lives, he wasn't sure he was up to it quite yet. Just seeing them at all was exhausting. They were his family and he loved them, but...good Lord, there were a lot of them. Too many people. "You're right, Dad." He frowned suddenly, struck by two conspicuous absences. "Say...where are Harry and Hermione? I saw them...I mean, when they came and got me, but..."

"They're taking care of some things for you," Molly said. "Hermione thought we ought to have some family time when you woke up, just us. But...we can send for them if you..."

"No," Ron said, cutting her off. He was actually glad they weren't there. When he was able to see them properly, he would far prefer it just be the three of them, like old times. "No, they're right. Family time first. Just tell me one thing, will you?"

"Of course."

"Are they okay?"

"Oh, yes, they're fine. I think Hermione might have gotten scraped up a bit but she..."

"No, I meant...their lives. Are they doing all right?" He watched as they looked around at each other, matching expressions of unease on their faces. Oh God, what? What's wrong? All eyes gradually turned to Ginny. She looked at him, holding his hand tightly.

"Well...yes, they're both doing very well," she said, smiling.

"It's just that I barely saw them, and I've always wondered...tell me, are they still friends?" He smiled hopefully. "Are they still best friends, just like they used to be?"

More of those uneasy looks. It's worse than I thought, his mind yammered. They've had some horrible falling-out. Maybe they just called a truce to come and get me...oh no, I'm not sure I can face it. They're not even speaking anymore and they'll come visit me separately and I'll have to divide my time between them and how will I...

But then Ginny answered his question. "Yes, they are," she said simply. "They're still best friends, absolutely." Relief flooded him...but she wasn't finished. "It's just that...well, there's more to it than that. A lot more."

What was she talking about? "What do you mean?"

She took a deep breath, her back straightening a little as if bracing herself. "The truth is, Ron...they're engaged."

Ron had never been so delighted to be wrong. See, Harry? he cackled to himself. I was wrong about you! You're not alone! You did find someone, just as she did! I always feared you wouldn't! "Really?" he said, grinning. "That's wonderful! They're both engaged, that's smashing! Brilliant!" His entire family was staring at him. He looked around at them. "To whom? Anyone I know?"

A sort of silent, collective groan passed among them. He would never have sensed it except that he could remember being one of the groaners. Ginny was shaking her head, her eyes shut. "No, no, no," she muttered. She raised her head and looked right into his eyes, speaking clearly and deliberately, still hanging on to his hand. "Ron, listen to me. They're engaged. To each other."

Everything stopped. Ron blinked, feeling suddenly and intensely stupid. "Uh...well, uh..." He cut himself off and gave his head a brisk shake as if to clear the cobwebs. "I'm sorry, Ginny, I could have sworn you just said that..."

"That's right," she said, smiling again now. "You heard me right."

His throat was closing up. You blithering idiot, he thought. "I just...I mean, wow, that's really...uh..." He was speechless, a condition he had always read about and privately considered to be hyperbole. How could you be speechless? There was always something to say...except that at this moment he was providing himself with a counterexample of that theory.

The other Weasleys were looking around at each other, some mutual agreement passing amongst them. Molly stood up. "Ron, I think you should rest for awhile now. You've been through so much, you need some peace and quiet. We'll be right outside if you need us." She leaned over and kissed his forehead but he barely noticed.

"Do you mind staying for a bit, Ginny?" he said in what he hoped was a normal voice. "I'd...like to talk with you if that's all right."

"I don't mind at all." She nodded to the others as they filed out of the room, saying goodbyes and touching him as they left.

The door shut behind them and Ron felt relieved to have Ginny alone. He had always been closest to her, she was his nearest peer in age and she'd been in his more immediate circle of friends as Fred and George had not been. It was also clear from the way the others deferred to her for this astonishing revelation that he was actively trying not to think about that she was also the one with the best knowledge of his friends' history, a history they had apparently shared in more ways than one.

For a few moments they sat there in silence. Ginny just watched his face, holding his hand in both of her own. Finally he looked at her. "Really?" he said quietly. "Really really?"

She smiled and nodded. "Really."

A thought struck him. "Wait a moment. Did they have one of those best-friend pacts where if neither of them was married by the time they were thirty then they'd..."

Ginny laughed, cutting him off. "Oh no, nothing like that."

He shook his head. "I just can't believe it."

"It's true." He blinked, still trying to integrate this information into his brain, which stubbornly refused to accept it. "Ron...they're getting married in six weeks. I'm one of Hermione's bridesmaids. George is one of Harry's groomsmen." She cocked her head, her brow furrowing. "I wish I could read your mind. Your face is so blank...how are you feeling? Is this upsetting for you? Are you angry?"

It was a simple enough question, but he had no answer for her. He was feeling oddly...distanced, as he'd feel reading about the engagement of characters in a novel. It just wasn't real. "I don't think so," he said. "Blimey, I don't know how I feel."

"You'll need some time to get used to the idea." She hesitated, then her face grew suddenly concerned. "Oh, dear...have you been...well, Hermione was your girlfriend when you went away. All this time, are you still..."

Now it was his turn to cut her off with a gentle laugh. "Are you asking if I've been pining for her these ten years? No, I haven't. It was tough at first. I thought about her a lot that first year. I knew that everyone thought I was dead, so there was no way I was waiting to see her again, or expecting her to wait for me. Of course I still love her, I always will. But that isn't it."

"What, then?"

He thought for a moment. "I don't know. But what I'm asking myself is why I never even thought about that happening."

"I don't follow you."

"Well...I've spent a good deal of time wondering what had become of them, and of you, and of everyone else. You'll do just about anything to pass the time when you're locked away, and imagining scenarios for my friends' lives was something I did often. But in all that time I never even considered that they'd..." He shook his head. "Seems like it's something I should have thought of."

Ginny nodded in agreement. "I wonder why that is."

"All I had to go on was what I knew of them before. They never had anything between them except friendship. If I had to characterize it, I would probably have said they were like brother and sister. I'd no more think of them together than I'd think of you and Percy."

"Oh God. Don't ever say that again."

"Sorry." He sighed. "I guess it's just one more thing I need to get used to." His mind was whirling down a dozen different paths, wondering how on earth it had ever happened. He supposed he'd find out soon enough. Ginny would probably be glad to tell him, but he was oddly reluctant to ask. In the end he supposed he wanted to hear the story from them.

"But Ron...this is too significant to just be one more thing." She smiled and squeezed his hand. "You should know that...well, they're really very deeply in love."

Her words hit him hard. They're in love, he repeated to himself. Harry and Hermione, my two best friends, are in love with each other. He felt himself smiling. "They are?"

"Yes. You might say they're famous for it."

"For how long? When did all this happen?" His smile faded a little. "Has it been...since...after I died, did they..." The thought that they'd immediately fallen for each other when he was barely cold in his grave dumped a little icewater on his growing feelings of warmth.

"Oh, no," she said quickly. "It wasn't like that at all. In fact it hasn't been that long...I guess it's about a year and a half now."

"And before that?"

"Before that they were best friends, just like always. Mostly they were roommates. Except even then there was something special about it, something unique to them. The people they dated usually ended up jealous of their friendship. When I was dating Harry, even I..."

Ron sat up straighter. "You dated Harry?" he exclaimed.

She grinned. "Oh, Ron, there's so much to tell you. Yes, we dated for about a year when I was twenty."

"I guess persistence pays off, eh Gin?" he teased her, inwardly tickled pink. "Finally get past that 'fresh pickled toad' nonsense, did he?"

"No, he most certainly did not! In fact he still teases me about that," she said, indignant. "But you didn't ask me to stay behind to hear about my checkered dating history." She sobered, speaking with quiet sincerity. "I really hope you'll be happy for them. They haven't said as much out loud, but I can tell they're both worried about how you'll react. They want so much for the three of you to be as close as you always were, Ron." He felt a lump rising in his throat upon hearing this. He hadn't fully acknowledged to himself his own deepest fear...that his friends had moved on and were content there, and he might not have a place where they were. "They want you to be part of their lives again."

He considered this, then nodded, smiling at his sister, with whom he was more impressed by the moment. "I'm glad," he said. "I'm just glad to have a life of my own at all."


Hermione sat talking with George in the visitor's lounge, which had become Weasley Central. She and Harry had arrived a few moments before to visit Ron, but he was being examined by Sukesh and they'd been bid to wait. Molly and Arthur had gone home to get some sleep and they hadn't even seen Ginny, she'd had to hop back to London for a business meeting she couldn't reschedule. All Ron's brothers had stayed, though, and the atmosphere was downright festive. The only awkward moment had come when they had, as a unit, been reluctant to tell Harry and Hermione about their moments with Ron when he'd woken up. Hermione hadn't pressed the issue, understanding their wish to keep such a special family moment within the family.

Getting Fred and George in the same space inevitably led to a long session of tale-telling and general embarrassment of anyone in the vicinity. Percy, always their favorite victim, was currently suffering red-faced through a relation of the tale of his recent birthday trip to the Snake & Barrel, an infamously rowdy wizard pub in Sheffield. "So I bet Perce five Galleons he couldn't get three Floo Network Numbers," Fred laughed. "I don't know why he took the bet."

"Family pride," Percy said, the corners of his mouth twitching.

"Family stupidity is more like it," George said. "You may be good with a cauldron, Perce, but a smooth operator with the ladies you're not."

"So he goes up to this gorgeous brunette," Fred said. "And he says...I kid you not...he says 'You know what'd look good on you? Me.'"

The entire assembly burst into raucous laughter, not over the line itself, which was an old cheesy standby, but at the image of Percy uttering it.

Percy was now purple. "It was worth a shot," he muttered. "Draco said it worked for him!"

"Maybe, but he's...well, he's Draco."

Hermione patted Percy's arm, still laughing. "Don't feel bad, Percy. You don't have to be quick with the lines to be a worthwhile human being."

"According to my brothers, you do."

"What about Harry?" she said, jerking her thumb over her shoulder to where Harry sat on a stool behind her.

"Hey! What about me?" he said.

"He couldn't deliver a convincing pick-up line to save his life and he never had any trouble getting dates."

"He doesn't need a line!" Percy pointed out. "All he needs is to walk around with his forehead showing and they line up."

"They do not, that's ridiculous," Harry said. "And I resent this attack on my pickup lines."

"Admit it, you've never used one successfully in your life," Hermione said.

"Maybe I've been practicing!"

"Oh, really?" she said, arching an eyebrow. "Let's see, then!"

"Well, okay!" he exclaimed. Everyone watched him, chuckling amongst themselves. Harry straightened his jacket and sauntered casually around Hermione's chair, then perched on the arm so he could lean over her. He gave her a cocky high-sign with one hand, winking. "Can I ask you something?" he said in a low, charming voice.

She batted her eyelashes up at him and tossed her hair. "Sure you can, handsome stranger who I've never met before. What is it?"

"Did it hurt?"

She frowned, a little puzzled. "Did what hurt?"

He smiled with half his mouth, making bedroom eyes at her. "When you fell to earth?"

The Weasleys hooted and hollered, clapping. Hermione couldn't keep a straight face. Harry waited, still smirking. She shook her head at him, wondering if he could possibly be any more adorable. "Harry, dear, you're really very much in the way. Why don't you just go back over there, there's a good chap."

His face deflated in comic disappointment and he slunk back to his stool. He pouted theatrically. "Can't even pick up my own girlfriend," he muttered.

"Aww, don't distress yourself," she said, patting his knee. "You don't need a pick-up line for me. I'm...uh, I'm already picked. I'm up. Whatever."

"I thought that was a pretty good pick-up line, Harry," Percy piped up.

Hermione grinned. "The defense rests."

Their laughter died down into the quiet chuckles of easy companionship, but just as Fred was about to let poor Percy off the hook and launch into another story, Sukesh entered. "You can come in and see him now," he said to Hermione. She felt Harry's hand squeeze her shoulder and they rose together, bidding goodbye to the Weasleys.

Hermione felt distinctly nervous as she and Harry walked down the corridor towards Ron's room. Now they'd see who he had become, they would start fitting the new Ron into their old Ron-shaped hole. As they drew near his door they slowed and stopped without needing to discuss it. With a sidelong glance and a wordless agreement, they dropped each other's hand before continuing.

Before they reached the door, however, they were hailed by a nurse. "Chief Potter," she said, her voice betraying some haste. "There's an owl post for you, it's marked Urgent. It's from Dr. Van Schock at the Division."

They exchanged an alarmed glance. "Napoleon," Harry murmured. Hermione's heart leapt into her throat. Oh please, no, she thought. "I'd better go see." She started to follow but he shook his head. "No, you go in and see him. He needs us and whatever else is going on, let's remember why we did all this. For him. I'll be along in a few minutes." She nodded numbly and watched him hurry away.

She turned back towards Ron's door. Remember why we did this, she heard him say. For Ron. He's all right and he's here. The thought enabled her to push away worry over Napoleon and smile as she opened the door.

To her relief he looked much better. He was standing up, looking out the window. He turned when he heard the door and broke into a wide smile. "Hermione," he said.

She didn't want to cry yet again, but she felt her throat plugging up and her chest starting to hitch. "Ron," she choked out, hurrying across the room to fling her arms around his neck. He held her tightly for a few long moments and it felt so good, so right, to hold him again. She kissed his cheek as she drew away. "How are you feeling? Are you all right?"

"That doctor friend of yours says I am. I feel okay. My legs are still a little shaky...in fact, I do believe I'll sit down." He walked back to the bed, a little more slowly that he might have done, and sat down, swinging his legs up. Hermione took a chair to his right and drew it close.

"Where's Harry?" Ron asked.

"He got an urgent owl, he'll be along in a few minutes," she said, smiling up at him. Cleaned up and rested, she could get a better look at him. He looked much the same, except...tempered. As if the tide had been washing over him for ten years, smoothing his rough edges and blending his angular form and features into a more unified whole. "Ron, I don't know where to start...I've thought of you every day since we lost you."

"As I've thought of you. Both of you." He leaned in a little. "Though I admit at first, I thought a bit more of you than Harry."

She flushed, nervousness prickling her again. Surely he wasn't starting to...well, he should know where we stand before anything else. She bolstered her courage. "Ron, I..." was as far as she got.

He reached out and picked up her left hand where it rested on the coverlet. He slowly raised it, cupping her fingers around his own and looking, she realized with a start, at her engagement ring. He smiled a little, then touched it with his index finger. He already knew, she realized. Someone had already told him. Probably Ginny...George had mentioned they'd had a private chat after the rest of the family left. She reminded herself to thank Ginny later for sparing her the task.

She watched him carefully as he looked down at her ring. "He gave this to you, did he?" he finally said, his voice quiet.

She nodded, her eyes never leaving his face. "Yes, he did."

A pause. "Did he get down on one knee?"

She smiled, his question taking her back to that night outside Hogwarts. "Yes, he did."

"Good." He shook his head in amazement. "Wow, it sure is a beautiful ring." He raised his eyes then and met hers, his expression full of so many emotions it made her breath catch in her throat. "Harry has good taste," he said, looking not at the ring but at her.

Relief washed over her. He's okay with it, she thought. Thank God.

The door opened then and Harry came in. Ron grinned at him and hopped off the bed again to embrace him. Hermione watched them hug each other, gratified that it was a real hug and not one of those back-slapping hey-we're-men hugs. When they drew apart Hermione saw a small glimmer of wetness on Harry's cheeks. "I'm sorry it took us so bloody long, Ron," he said. "We should have figured it out years ago."

Ron resumed his place on the bed, Harry taking the chair opposite hers. She wanted to ask him about Napoleon but it didn't seem appropriate to bring it up right now. "Harry, I'm just glad I got out at all," Ron was saying. "It was a clever little scheme. You're not all-knowing, you thought I was dead."

"Yes, we did. That was quite horrible enough." He looked across the bed at her and ended her suspense. "Napoleon's going to be okay," he said, sotto voce. "Manon is sure he'll pull through."

She sagged, exhaling mightily. Ron was frowning. "Who's this?"

Harry stammered a bit in responding. "Uh...just a friend of ours, who helped us at Lexa Kor. It's all right, don't worry about..."

Ron sat up straighter, his brow furrowing. "Your friend was hurt?" He looked from one to the other. "Someone was hurt rescuing me?" he said, more forcefully. "Tell me the truth!"

Harry nodded. "Napoleon was shot by one of those Muggle guards. It was touch and go but he's going to make it."

"Oh my God," Ron murmured. "Who else? Who else got hurt?" Hermione saw Harry's reluctance, but she already knew that Ron would not let this go. "Harry, I have to know."

Harry sighed. "Four other wizards were hurt, none as seriously as Napoleon." He hesitated, but plunged forward. "Hermione was stabbed in the arm."

Ron's head whipped around to look at her. "You were stabbed?"

"I'm fine," she hurried to reassure him. "Look, good as new," she said, flexing her arm.

Ron was shaking his head. He was clearly upset by the idea that anyone had been hurt in the rescue. "I can't believe that...people I don't know risked their lives to get me out of there. Why?"

"Because they're good people," Harry said quietly. "Because they're each heroes in their own way, and an innocent person was being held against his will. Also because they knew how much it meant to us, and to your family."

Ron nodded. "This Napoleon...he's a close friend?"

"Yes."

"I think I'd like to meet him."

Harry smiled. "Oh, you will. I don't know what you'll make of him, though." Ron seemed to relax a little, still thoughtful. "We saw your flat," Harry said.

"Did you meet Bob?" Ron asked.

"Yes. In fact we have him to thank for having you here. He led us right to you."

"Harry, please take care of him. He was a good friend to me and you don't know what he risked to help me. The woman who was holding me...well, I guess you know her, don't you?"

"Let's not talk about all these issues yet," Hermione said, anxious not to let Ron get upset or think too much about Allegra. "We've got so much to catch up on."

"And plenty of time for it," Ron said, smiling. "Right now I'm just...I can still hardly believe I'm really here with both of you." He looked over at Harry. "I've already told Hermione, but you ought to know that Ginny's told me about...you two."

Harry nodded. "That's good." He was treading lightly, she saw, unsure how Ron felt about it. She was still a little unsure herself.

Ron's eyes cut from her face to Harry's. "So...it wasn't just a joke, right? Big funny on the guy back from the dead? You two really are engaged."

Harry shook his head. "No joke."

Ron leaned forward, arching one eyebrow. "I can read your mind, Harry. Listen up. I'm not going to launch myself at you and beat you up for stealing my girlfriend. Relax. It's been ten years. When Ginny told me, I admit I was stunned. It's something I'd never even considered...but the more I think about it, well...I think that you two marrying each other is a smashing idea. It'll spare me the agony of having to pretend I really like whatever boneheaded spouses you would have picked otherwise."

Hermione thought the sound of their mingled laughter rising in the hospital room was the most beautiful thing she'd ever heard. As they sat there together she felt the initial awkwardness pass into distant memory...and that Ron-shaped hole in their lives was filled again at last.


They made the nurse order them in a pizza. They sat on the floor to eat it, passing a jug of butterbeer back and forth, and Ron thought his heart might burst with happiness. This was what he'd dreamed of in his flat. Just being with his friends again, talking with them casually, sharing a drink, joking and laughing. They talked for hours, dragging cushions from the couch to sit on, the empty pizza box discarded in a corner. They avoided the Big Discussions, which relieved him. Right now he just wanted the five-minute updates. He'd have plenty of time to get the in-depth descriptions.

They told him briefly about their jobs ("You're spies?"), their house and housemates ("I can't believe you live in the same house with Cho Chang, Hermione."), what all their old friends were up to ("Neville a detective, eh? Criminals, beware."). He asked questions and they answered most of them, deferring some for discussion to a later time, some understandably and some less so (Hermione's response to his question about Ginny's love life had been "Oh look, we're out of butterbeer!").

All the while he was enjoying their company, he was also watching them without their knowledge. He took in every gesture, every glance, every movement. This was a skill he'd developed actively during his imprisonment...attention to detail. He was looking for them. He wanted to see evidence of their relationship, their new relationship.

He didn't see anything.

For a rather lengthy stretch of time, they talked more seriously about things that he knew he needed to hear even if they were unpleasant. Harry told him in a quiet voice about Hagrid's death, and later Dumbledore's. They both talked briefly of what they'd gone through after his own apparent death, both of them promising a more thorough description when things settled down.

At the beginning of this discussion Ron had silently reached out and taken Harry's hand in his left and Hermione's in his right, keeping hold of them throughout these emotional topics. They were both so different and yet so exactly the same as they had been when he'd last known them. He squeezed their fingers, grateful just to be in their presence and reunite their unstoppable trio once again. All that remained to complete their triangle was for one of them to reach out and take the other's hand. It wasn't hard, they were sitting close together on the floor. Surely they must have held hands plenty of times.

They continued to talk. Ron kept hold of their hands until it was decided that they'd better call it a night, watching them, waiting for one of them to make that simple gesture.

When they got up to leave he was still waiting.