Hero With A Thousand Faces

HARRY POTTER AND THE HERO WITH A THOUSAND FACES

Author's Note: All right everyone, brace yourselves. In this chapter, NOTHING HAPPENS. I've never written so many pages of nothing, nothing, nothing. It's actually just as long as chapter 3, in which everything happened, but...well, not so much here. Don't grouse to me later that nothing really happened, because you were warned. And nothing much will likely happen in the next chapter, either, if I go by my outline. No plot advancements, no deepening mysteries, no sudden plot twists. We might not even see Allegra and the Master for awhile. But I think we can all agree that a lot can happen while nothing happens. I just hope that you'll enjoy all this...nothing.

Thanks to my super beta readers Plumeria and Alicia/Sue. No thanks at all to my

other beta readers Cassie Claire, Heidi Tandy and Ali Wilgus because they're all slackers and they didn't give me any beta comments and they're lame, lame, lame! But I love them anyway...and to be fair, Cassie gives me comments all throughout the writing process. So does Ali, come to think of it. So it's just Heidi who's lame, lame, lame. The cheese stands alone. Ha ha!

---

Chapter 5: Welcome to the Monkeyhouse

---

As was his habit, Johns paused for a few minutes before beginning the interview. He found these empty stretches of time very revealing. When presented with a vacuum and no idea what to say, people tended to react in illuminating ways. Some fidgeted. Some filled the void with chatter. Some acted as if they didn't care, that it didn't bother them one bit to sit in silence. Some paced.

He'd never seen a reaction quite like the one he was currently observing.

Ron just sat calmly across from him, one leg crossed casually over the other, his hands folded in his lap. He met Johns' eyes with no trace of discomfort, his expression blank. The man exuded an almost preternatural sense of stillness, as if he could sit there unmoving for hours or days. For the first time in his career as a psychiatrist, Johns felt like he needed to fidget.

"Does this work for you?" Ron finally said, his voice sliding into the silence with no fanfare.

"Does what work?"

"Waiting. Nice little chance to make some observations, isn't it? Most people can't abide nothingness. I think you'll find I'm different."

"Indeed," Johns said in a neutral tone. Interesting that you felt the need to call attention to that fact, he thought. In fact, you're not different at all. You couldn't abide the nothingness, either. Just because you recognized the ploy doesn't make you immune.

"Don't feel bad, it's an old chess gambit. Let your time run down, psych out your opponent."

"Am I your opponent?"

"I hope not."

Johns opened his parchpad. "Dr. Subramaniam tells me you're doing well."

"That's good to know."

"You know why you're here?"

"I assume they want to make sure I'm not harboring some inner psychosis before they let me loose on the world."

"Are you?"

"Once again, I hope not."

"Tell me how you're feeling since your release."

Ron sighed. "Well, I'd be lying if I said I felt quite like myself. I find all this...openness a little disconcerting. And there always seem to be too many people about."

"A touch of agoraphobia would be very natural after such a long period of isolation."

"Yes."

"What else?"

He shrugged. "I'm happy to see my friends and family. They've been very supportive."

"How do you feel?"

"You know, I thought it would be difficult, but so far it hasn't been. I feel okay. Pretty good, in fact." He smiled. "It's nice to be free."

Johns smiled back. "And how exhausted are you from keeping up that facade?"

Ron's face twitched a bit. His blue eyes bore holes through Johns', but he didn't look away. Finally Ron sat back in his chair and his features sagged. "Very, very exhausted," he whispered.

"Can't you..."

"No."

"Why?"

"Because it isn't me, not really. It's like..." He sat forward, his hands searching for words in the air. "When I was inside it was easy not to look at it. It's harder now."

"Not to look at what?"

He shook his head. "Oh, everything. Twelve years, seven months, fifteen hours. Now, it's everywhere. Things I missed. My sister's graduation. My brother's wedding. My father was made Minister of Magic and I wasn't there. My two best friends fell in love with each other and I wasn't there."

"So...this is about what you've missed in the lives of others?"

"No, goddammit. All that should have been part of my life. I should have graduated from Hogwarts, and maybe fallen in love and gotten married. I ought to have a job and a house and a life, too." His voice wasn't angry, just resigned. Johns could sense the great bottomless well of bitterness this man was somehow managing not to fall into. He admired his courage. Ron took a deep breath. "But it does no good to fixate on it. I'm still a young man, I can go on. I can start a new life. I have to look forward. There's no view out the back."

"You ought to talk about this with the people who care about you."

"Maybe I will. Not now. They risked their lives to get me back, and they want me back. I want to be back. I don't want to be some twisted, resentful half-a-chap gnashing my teeth and crying 'woe, betide' all the time because I didn't get to go to the fucking Leaving Ball." He snorted. "I got screwed, that's for sure. But it wasn't my fault."

"It was his fault."

Ron met Johns' eyes. For a long time he said nothing. "He was my best friend. That's why they took me."

"Do you think he knows that?"

"I know he does. I also know he's spent the years since beating himself up about it. I don't blame him for anything."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Harry would never want anything bad to happen to me. I know he blamed himself for my death. It'd be a nice little Greek drama if I could work up any anger towards him over that, but I just can't. It wasn't his job to protect me. Don't you think Hermione and I talked about this? We knew. We knew that Voldemort might come at him through us. We knew being his friend was something of a risk, but we accepted it. We stuck with him because he needed us, and because...well, we loved him. We couldn't just abandon him, because we knew he wouldn't abandon us if our positions were reversed." He sighed. "This does confirm something I've long suspected, though."

"What's that?"

"Hermione is a better person than I am."

"Why?"

Ron looked up. "Because if it had been her that was killed, instead of me...I'm not sure I could have forgiven him."

---

Laura came into the kitchen with her breakfast dishes, rolled her eyes and dumped them in the sink. The nauseating house sex-fiends-in-residence were standing in the doorway out to the rear verandah, kissing in a leisurely fashion. Hermione's back was against the doorjamb, her legs wound through Harry's. "Don't you two have somewhere to be?" Laura said.

"Go away," Harry said, his words muffled against Hermione's lips. "We're busy."

"Yeah, snogs-a-plenty, I can ruddy well see you're busy. Ron's being discharged this morning, you've got to go round and collect him!"

"Not until ten," Hermione said, smiling up at Harry as she kissed along his jawline.

"It's bloody nine forty-five!" Laura cried. They both froze, their lips pressed together and their eyes going wide. "How long have you been standing there?"

They drew apart quickly. "Holy cricket," Harry said. "I guess we lost track of time."

"Come on, we'll be late!" Hermione exclaimed, grabbing her cloak off the back of a chair. "Bye, Laura! See you soon!" she called as Harry seized her hand and dragged her from the room at a run. Laura shook her head, tsking under her breath as she heard the front door slam and then Hermione's car starting up.

She went into the living room. Justin was reading the morning paper with his feet kicked up on a coffee table. Cho was writing out some owl post. "What are you two doing?" Laura asked, incredulous.

They exchanged a mystified glance. "Uh..."

"On your feet, both of you! Ron will be here by noon, we've got to get this place squared away!"

Justin looked around. "What's wrong with it?"

"Oh, please! Pick up those papers, straighten up the couch cushions! Cho, go dust up the entryway, the wood's looking a bit dull. Well, what are you waiting for? Wands out, let's get to it!" She clapped her hands together sharply.

"Boy, you are really pushing the stress-meter this morning, Chant," Justin said, dubious.

Laura looked at them pleadingly. "Help me out here, guys. Remember Ron knows both of you but he doesn't know me. I want to make a good impression. I feel like...I'm about to meet Elvis, or something."

Justin waved his wand about the room, assorted debris sorting itself out. "Relax. I doubt he's expecting Buckingham Palace. And neither of us were exactly best friends with him before. I knew him a little, to say hello to."

"I just knew him because he was Harry's best friend," Cho said.

Laura shifted from foot to foot. She understood their surprise, she was a little surprised herself at how nervous she was to meet the Man Himself. Ron had become something of a mythic figure in her mind, a paragon of friendship and joie de vivre, a man who'd been the best friend, the most loyal, the funniest, the kindest, the sweetest. Hermione's first boyfriend, Harry's tour guide through the wizarding world. She'd seen, albeit indirectly, how he was still mourned by each of his family members even so long after his death, she'd seen how his memory had affected Harry and Hermione.

The day before as she'd helped Hermione make up one of the east wing bedrooms for Ron, she'd listened as Hermione talked animatedly about the time she'd spent with him so far, and how the three of them were reconnecting. Laura was glad to hear it, but she was a little uneasy all the same. Things couldn't be the same for them now as they had been in school, it was impossible. Leaving aside the fact that Ron had been away for a long time and had to have changed materially in the interim, Harry and Hermione were not the same people they'd once been. They had an entire relationship that didn't involve Ron, and she wondered if he'd have a difficult time adjusting to that. Would he understand when they wanted to be alone together? Would he feel left out when confronted by their closeness? How would he react when he realized that they came first in each other's lives, that they were a unit of their own that, by definition, could not include him?

She knew that Hermione downplayed the jealousy angle, but she wasn't so sure. Hermione was notoriously self-effacing when it came to her own charms and it would be hard for her to believe that a man could carry a torch for her over more than ten years. It wasn't so hard for Laura to believe it. It was precisely that Hermione didn't see herself as attractive that made her more so. She wasn't glossy-photo material, she didn't have a perfect figure, she had a tendency towards bookishness and anal-retentive attention to detail, and yet Laura had seen more than one man pass by prettier women to talk to Hermione. She was confident and carried herself with a sort of regal ease, and she gave off a vibe of approachability and kindness. It was an oddly alluring package, and only became more so as she aged. Clearly Ron had appreciated her when she was sixteen. In Laura's opinion, Hermione was far more attractive now. He might be inclined to agree.

She knew that Hermione's feelings about Ron still gave her both comfort and anxiety. Laura also knew that no amount of comfort or anxiety would budge her feelings about Harry. For her best friend, there was no choice to be made. Her choice had already been made. She worried, however, that Harry might not feel so confident about that, and she worried that Ron might now want his own chance...or worse yet, think that he still had one.

She marshaled her forces, namely Justin and Cho, and swept through the entire house like a Tasmanian devil, prettying things up. Flowers appeared on end-tables, pillows were fluffed, marble gleamed, woodwork shone. She came back into the foyer to find Justin magicking up a huge banner to stretch across the entryway. It read "Welcome Home Ron!" in letters that appeared to be on fire. "What do you think?" he said, stepping back to admire his handiwork. "Too butch?"

"Hmm. I'm not sure the burning letters work for me. It looks like we're welcoming him home so we can char-broil him."

Justin waved his wand and the letters now appeared to be made of multicolored fireworks that burst and sparkled. "Better?"

She smiled. "Much." She patted Justin's arm. "We don't need any more flaming around here, sweetie."

"Oh, ha ha, that's so dreadfully funny I might just blow out my falsies right here."

Cho came in. "Look what I found," she said, holding out a framed photo. Laura and Justin crowded in to look. It was a snap of Harry, Ron and Hermione taken at some sort of party at Hogwarts.

"When was this taken?" Laura asked. They looked so young. Hermione was standing between the two boys with one arm through each of theirs. They smiled and laughed, Hermione's hair blowing in the breeze.

Justin peered at it. "Looks like the 1000th anniversary of Hogwarts party. Our sixth year. I remember that party."

"She and Ron were dating when this was taken, right?"

"Yeah, that'd be right."

Laura looked at Cho. "Where'd you get this?"

"On Hermione's dresser. I thought a photo would be nice...oh, don't look at me like that! I was not snooping!"

Laura grinned and got out her wand. "I know just what to do with this," she said. With a swish and flick the picture was blown up to poster-size and affixed to the wall of the foyer. "There. I think that just about does it."

"Not a moment too soon," Justin said, peeking out the window next to the front door. "Here they come."

"Oh gosh," Laura said, touching her hair. "Uh..."

"Just relax," Cho said, patting Laura's arm. "Be yourself, he'll adore you, I'm sure."

Laura stood next to Cho and Justin, fidgeting as voices and footsteps approached the front door. She heard Harry's voice, and George's, and a strange one. Must be him, she thought.

The door opened and Harry entered with a suitcase, which he set on the floor. Hermione followed, then George, and then...

Laura stared, finally seeing Ron with her own eyes. He came in slowly, goggling about at everything around him. He was tall, taller than Harry or George, with a slender build that reminded her of both Bill and Arthur Weasley. His wavy red hair was longish, brushing his collar, and very thick. Hermione was hovering near his side, beaming up at him.

Ron stepped into the foyer, still looking around. "Holy crow, this house is amazing! You didn't tell me it was a mansion!" he said. He saw the banner and grinned.

Justin, ever the hostess, stepped forward. "Welcome to the house, Ron!" he said, holding out his hand.

Ron smiled. "Hey, Justin!" he said, shaking his hand. "Thanks a lot! Did you do this?" He pointed up at the banner.

Justin spread his hands. "Can't resist a party."

Ron looked over and saw Cho. "And here's Cho, too," he said.

"Hi, Ron," Cho said, standing on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. "It's wonderful to see you."

"Thanks. I'm glad to be here."

Hermione came over to Laura's side. "Ron, this is Laura," she said. Ron smiled warmly at her. He held out his hand, which she ignored. Some of Harry and Hermione's recent emotions must have been rubbing off on her, because she felt herself getting a little choked up.

Before she even really knew what she was doing she'd stepped forward and hugged him. She felt him laugh, then he hugged her back. Remembering herself, she released him and stepped away. "Oh gosh, I'm sorry...it's just so good to finally meet you." She grabbed his hand and shook it enthusiastically.

"Likewise, I'm sure," he said, chuckling. "And say...thanks for taking care of my people while I was away."

"Oh, well, you know...they're a spot of trouble, they are. Never can get them to bed on time."

Everyone laughed. Ron's eyes swept over the foyer, taking in his new surroundings, then stopped as he saw the picture. "Say," he said, moving over to look at it. "Look at this."

Hermione shot Laura a touched expression as she saw the photo and the three of them went over to look at it. They stood before it, talking quietly to each other, and Laura suddenly realized that they were inadvertently duplicating the pose in the photo. She was struck with a sudden idea, and she could see from his expression that the same idea had struck Justin, too. "Accio camera," he said quietly, holding up his wand. After a few seconds his camera zoomed down the stairs into his hand. "Hey guys," he said. "Turn around."

The trio turned and saw the camera, puzzled at first, then realizing how they were standing before the blown-up photo. Hermione slipped one arm through Ron's and one through Harry's as she stood between them. Laura felt herself going choky again as she watched them stand there and grin for Justin's camera. They couldn't have planned a better photo op if they'd thought about it for hours. The photo from Hogwarts was high enough on the wall that the faces of their teenaged selves were perfectly visible, and her enlargement of it was just about as close to life-size as you could get. It almost looked as if their own ghosts were looking over their shoulders.

Laura couldn't help but compare their faces to the photo. She decided that of the three, Ron had changed the least, which was nothing short of amazing...or perhaps it wasn't. Harry and Hermione had spent twelve years in the world, and it had boiled them relentlessly in the cauldron of its indifference. It had erased their uncertainty, it had sharpened their features, it had honed their confidence and their abilities. It had etched upon their faces the stamp of maturity and worldly experience, it had distilled their feelings for each other from an untidy mix of friendship, dependence and latent attraction down into the remarkably pure love they now shared. It had made them comfortable in their own skins, it had forced them to face their limitations.

Ron had no such exposure. He'd sat in a bubble, sealed off from the real world, exposed only to fictionalized versions of it. He'd stewed only in his own juices, and whatever refinements had taken place to his character had to have been of his own design. He hadn't learned the lessons that they had learned. He'd had to learn altogether different ones.

Laura smiled as Justin snapped photos of them, doing his "work with me, people" shtick while these thoughts circled in her mind. She watched as the reunited friends joked around, making faces and poking each other like schoolkids. Whatever the difference in their experiences, she was beginning to think that things would be all right after all.

---

"This is the kitchen," Hermione said, leading through into a huge room that bore little resemblance to the kitchens of Ron's experience. Two six-burner stoves, a mammoth double-door icebox, a butcher-block island measuring at least two meters square. One side of the room was dominated by a large round table that looked like enough seating for the Knights. "This is George's territory, so watch yourself."

George pushed past and went to the icebox. "Fancy a drink, Ron?"

"Sure."

George tossed him a bottle of butterbeer. "Got any requests for dinner tonight? Anything you like."

Ron shook his head, still marveling that his boisterous older brother had become such a homebody. By all accounts he was this house's resident Domestic God and cook extraordinaire. "I'll leave it to you, George. Just so long as it doesn't make my tongue swell to ten feet long."

"Oh, no. Because it's you I'll hold myself to five feet."

They continued on the tour, Ron's amazement growing with each new room they saw. He was reminded of photos he'd seen of Balmoral, or Biltmore Estate in America, except on a smaller scale. Smaller though it was, the house was still far larger than he had expected. Just the foyer was almost the size of his entire flat. They saw the cozy study, the elegant glassed-in winter garden room, the expansive rear terrace and the gazebo, the parlor and the more comfortable rear living room.

They ascended the curving staircase up to the second-floor living gallery. Hermione pointed to the left. "Down that way's the west wing," she said. "Justin, George and Laura all have their rooms down there."

"Where's yours?"

"Through that arch." She smiled at him. "Would you like to see it?"

"Very much."

The three of them went through the arch, beyond which was a stairway. At the top was a short hall leading to an arched doorway, which Harry opened, standing aside to let Ron and Hermione pass.

Ron gawked around at the huge room, which he'd noticed from the outside of the building. From the front of the house you could just see the north tower jutting up behind, a round structure topped in an iron-and-glass dome. He'd wondered what room lay under the dome; he ought to have known it'd be their bedroom.

It was oval-shaped, as dictated by the shape of the tower. To his right and left the walls were lined with several window seats in a row, interrupted by two fireplaces facing one another. The bed, a large neatly made four-poster, was at the far end between two high windows. A door on the left seemed to lead to an attached bathroom, another door on the right to a closet. Between the entry and the bed was a small informal sitting area, a couch and two chairs around a low mahogany coffee table.

His eyes roved over the room, ticking off little hints of their habitation here. A stack of books was on one of the two night tables. Must be Hermione's side, he thought. A bathrobe lay across the bench at the end of the bed. A tan leather jacket was hung over the backs of one of the chairs. Photos of friends and family were arranged on a bookshelf. He saw several of himself. Hung on one wall was another copy of a photo he'd already seen in the study and been told was their engagement photo. A framed photo of Hermione sat on the night table on Harry's side. The room was tidy but clearly lived-in. A pair of Harry's shoes sat on the floor where they'd been kicked off; a battered leather briefcase was leaning against the wall near the bathroom door.

He looked for a few moments, aware of both of them watching him. "This is a beautiful room," he finally said. "Whose was it before it was yours together?"

"It was mine," Harry said. "Hermione's was second floor, south tower above the entryway."

"Quite the swinging bachelor pad," Ron joked.

Harry just laughed. "Hardly. In fact...gosh, I don't think I ever had any visitors of the female persuasion in this room, except Hermione, of course. Ronin and I had broken up by the time we moved here."

"You didn't have any dates at all after her?"

"Sure I did, but none that I'd bring home with me. I didn't bed every woman I had dinner with. What sort of chap do you think I am?"

"Oh, a paragon of manly virtue, I'm sure." Hermione uttered a short bark of sarcastic laughter.

"Hey!" Harry said, indignant but smiling.

"Sorry." She turned to Ron. "Speaking of rooms, how would you like to see yours?"

"Sure." He followed them back down to the living gallery and through a set of double doors into the east wing. A wide hallway stretched before them, a number of doors opening off of it. Hermione led them to the second door, pausing with her hand on the knob.

"Now, if you don't like this room, we've got lots more to choose from. We can redecorate it if you want, too." She opened the door and Ron stepped inside his new home.

"Wow," he said, looking around. The room was perfect. It was large but not overpowering. The decor was a sort of pine-lodge style with plaid fabrics, woodsy colors and oak furniture. The bed was between two tall windows that faced the front of the house, giving it a sunny southern exposure. There was a reading corner with two comfortable chairs and a lamp, and against one of the walls was a wonderful writing desk, fully stocked. Two doors in either corner led off into, presumably, a bathroom and a closet.

"Do you like it?" Hermione asked, sounding a little anxious.

"Like it? I love it!" he exclaimed. He walked further in and turned in a circle. "Oh, guys. It's great. It's very me."

"We want you to be comfortable here," Harry said. "I mean...this is your home now, as much as it is ours."

Ron nodded. "I'm sure I'll be right at home." He grinned at them. "So when can I expect a bill?"

They laughed. "Oh, I think we can wait until you get yourself a job," Harry said.

---

Dinner that night was rather more elaborate than poor George had probably anticipated, given that at about three o'clock in the afternoon the house was deluged with red-headed invaders. They swept in and bore Ron away on a wave of happy hugs and smiles, bearing photo albums, mementos and small nieces and nephews who wanted to climb all over New Uncle Ron.

Hermione left them in the rear family room and went into the kitchen, where George was totting up dinner guests on his fingers. "How many?" she asked.

"I think twenty."

"We won't be able to fit in the kitchen. We'll have to eat in the dining room."

"It's so formal, I hate to do that. It's such a nice night, I thought we'd set up some tables on the verandah."

"Oh, good idea. That'll be nicer for Ron, too. Not so...crowded. He doesn't like that."

"Yeah, I know. Oh, crap, I forgot Stephen and Draco, they're expected later. Twenty-two." George looked up at her. "Does Ron know Ginny is dating Draco Malfoy?"

Hermione swallowed. "Uh, not so much. He knows Draco's not a bad guy anymore, he knows that he saved my life and Harry's, but that's it."

"Not to mention that knowing and accepting are two very different things."

"Ron hated him the most, too." She sighed. "I think I'll leave it to Ginny, she's the one dating the guy." She left George to his preparations and walked out to the verandah where Harry was standing looking up at the house. "What's wrong?" she said, coming to stand next to him.

"Why do you ask?"

"Because you've got that look."

"Which look?"

"The Vaguely Concerned look."

He snorted. "Have you named all my facial expressions?"

"Of course. There's the Grimly Determined look, the Feeling Frisky look, the So-Furious look, the Bored Silly look, the..."

"All right, I get the idea." He turned and looked out towards the terrace. "I guess I am vaguely concerned."

She sighed. "The house is as protected as you can make it. He's safe here."

"Maybe, but I suspect that eventually he will want to leave the house. How will we protect him then?"

"Harry, lighten up. You'll smother him. You're worse than Molly, you know that?"

That got a smile out of him. "Holy God, what a thought." He shook his head. "I just can't bear to think that now we've got him back someone might try to take him away again."

"I think you're being a bit alarmist about this."

"Why is that?"

"You said it yourself. It was too easy."

"Easy? We suffered heavy casualties, we came under attack twice, we..."

"If she'd really wanted to she could have stopped us. Their stall tactics slowed us down enough that Allegra would have had plenty of time to swoop in with a hundred Circle wizards and stomp us into marmalade."

He shifted uneasily. "Yeah, I know."

"She let him go."

"Why hold someone for ten years and then just let him be rescued from under your nose?"

She shook her head. "I don't know." She looked up at his face, the narrowed eyes, the furrowed brow. "You have an idea, don't you?"

"Half of one."

"Tell me."

He sighed. "Later. It's too alarming. I want more evidence."

She nodded. "Let me know if I can help."

He looked down at her, a genuine smile appearing on his face for the first time. "I will."

---

Ginny didn't arrive until just before dinner, apologizing profusely and hugging Ron over and over again. He returned her embraces, bemused. She stood back and looked at him for a moment, hesitant. He wondered if she was working up her nerve.

"Ron, I...before dinner I have something to tell you."

"Oh? What's that?"

She twisted the end of her scarf restlessly. "It's just that...well..."

He took pity on her. "Is this where you tell me you're dating Draco Malfoy?"

Her jaw dropped. "How did you...oh, Hermione told you."

"No."

"Harry, then."

He managed a laugh, though to have his deduction confirmed was a bit jarring. He'd sort of hoped he was wrong about this one. "No one told me, Gin."

"Then...how..."

"Whenever talk turned to dating history, you'd change the subject, and you'd get all fidgety and uncomfortable. Hermione did the same thing, and there was...let's just say a significant look on her face when she did. It was pretty obvious that you were dating someone that everyone thought I wouldn't approve of. Ergo it must be someone I know, which narrows the field considerably since I haven't met anyone new in twelve years. Yet no one else seemed disapproving, just nervous about my reaction. So it must be someone I don't like and yet that everyone else is okay with. When Harry told me that Malfoy had gone the high road, I figured it had to be him. There's really no one else who I hated enough to make everyone this anxious, except perhaps Professor Snape, and he's a bit old for you."

She sighed, looking relieved that she didn't have to break this news to him. "Oh, I see. Very smart of you."

"I have my moments." He smiled at her. "How long has it been?"

"Almost a year."

"And he's good to you?"

She nodded. "Yes, he is." She shifted a little. "You're not...it's not too strange for you?"

"Well, it's certainly unexpected, but it's far from the first strange thing I've heard since I've been back and I'm sure it won't be the last. Hey, I'll be the last person to argue with the idea that someone can change a lot in twelve years. You're an adult, I'll have to trust your judgment. Harry and Hermione seem all right with it, I trust them, too. And if our mother has accepted him, I'd better go along, hadn't I?"

Ginny laughed. "Well, he's here...he's waiting outside. I wanted to tell you...before he..."

"It's okay, bring him on in. If nothing else I suppose I owe him a thanks for saving my friends' lives."

Ginny ran to the door and beckoned to someone standing outside. Ron braced himself as his most hated childhood enemy came into the house he was now to call home, holding the hand of his little sister.

He took immediate comfort in the fact that Malfoy was shorter than he was, by at least a few inches. He was dressed conservatively in a dark suit with matching shirt and tie...no great stretch of the imagination that Malfoy might go for the monochromatic look. His pale hair was darker, his fair skin had weathered. He had the look of a man who's been around the block a few times...yet the swagger was missing from his stride, the cocksure angle gone from the set of his jaw. As he walked across the foyer with Ginny, Ron saw a man who'd been humbled a bit and had been forced to rethink a few things. I destroy my enemy when I make him my friend, Ron thought.

Ginny stood by Malfoy's side, still looking rather anxious. Ron arranged his features into what he hoped looked like a smile of some sort. "Malfoy," he said.

Draco nodded. "Welcome home, Weasley." He stuck out his hand. Ron shook it briefly.

"Thanks. I hear you're a big hero now."

Draco flushed a little. "I don't know if I'd go that far." This in itself was telling. The Draco that Ron remembered would have taken full credit for anything he'd done and some things he hadn't, as long as it served his purpose.

Ron nodded. "As long as you don't hurt my sister that'll be good enough for me."

Draco smiled a little. "Deal."

Ginny led her...boyfriend (dear God)...away into the kitchen, flashing Ron a grateful smile as she went. Ron let out a held breath, knowing without having to look that Harry was coming up next to him. "Bloody Malfoy," he said through clenched teeth.

"Yeah, I know," Harry said. "It took some getting used to for us, too."

"Don't tell me you've become right best pals with him."

Harry made an unidentifiable noise in the back of his throat. "Draco and I will never be friends," he said flatly.

Something in his tone made Ron turn to look at him. "That sounds rather final."

"It is."

"Something I ought to know about?"

Harry looked unsure about the answer to this question. After a moment's hesitation he grasped Ron's arm and led him into the winter garden room and relative privacy. "I didn't intend to tell you this just now."

"You bloody brought it up."

"I know." He sighed. "He...he did something. To Hermione. She's forgiven him, but I haven't. I can't, not ever."

Dark anger rose in Ron's chest. "What? What'd the bastard do?"

"Look, Ron, very few people know about this, including Ginny. This has to stay between us."

"All right."

Harry sighed. "Right before Hermione and I got together, she was dating a man named Gerald Van Haven. He was young, handsome, charming, he had a good job and really outstanding taste in clothes. It drove me bloody bonkers to see her with him, though I didn't know why at the time."

Ron nodded, unsure what this had to do with anything. "So?"

Harry met his eyes. "Ron, Gerald was Draco. Disguised with a glamour. The real Gerald Van Haven had been killed in a car crash over a year before. There was no Gerald. Draco was undercover on orders from Allegra to spy on us."

Harry's words sank in slowly. Ron just stood there blinking. Had he actually thought he'd ever been angry before? Had the little piddly annoyances he'd had in the past...being kidnapped, imprisoned, isolated...even compared to this? He didn't know what to say. This man had done...that...and they now called him an ally?

Harry went on, seeing his speechlessness. "In fact, he wasn't actually working for Allegra at the time. He'd switched sides years before, and he was working against her from the inside. Before Gerald ever started dating Hermione, Draco had set a plan in motion that would sabotage a very dangerous plot of hers...but for it to succeed, he had to keep acting like he was working for her. When she ordered him to disguise himself as Gerald and form a relationship with Hermione, he had no choice but to go along."

Ron nodded, understanding Harry's words but, oddly, not caring. "He slept with Hermione wearing someone else's face. He made her trust him, he made her care for someone who didn't exist."

Harry sighed. "That's right."

"And she's forgiven him for this?"

"She's a better person than I am."

"Better than me, too."

"Look, she never really loved Gerald. She admits that he was something of a casual relationship. It was over for them before we ever found out who he really was."

"Why, did she get tired of his fabulous looks and charm?"

"No, doof, because we...we started our...well, you know the story."

"Thank God for that."

"I'm with you there. He didn't break her heart, but...well, in my mind what he did amounts to rape."

"Agreed."

"She can forgive him because to her, the injury was only to herself. She's the only one he hurt. It's for that same reason that I can't forgive him." Harry put a hand to his forehead. "Listen, I know how this sounds. I know you're probably just as angry as I once was. But no one else knows about this. Not Ginny, not the Weasleys, not anyone outside this house. They can't know, do you get that?"

Ron took a breath, willing his teeth to stop grinding before he started chipping the enamel. "Yeah, I get it."

"I'll say this: because Draco did what Allegra asked, it put him in a position to save Hermione's life later, not to mention mine. When the time came he didn't hesitate. He faced down his own father to protect us, and he put himself at considerable risk to stop Allegra from doing something really awful to me. It doesn't excuse what he did, but it's something to consider. He is now an ally to us, and he's employed by Sirius and the Chancellor's Office. He and Ginny have a good, solid relationship going that seems to make them both happy. He and I can be civil to each other, and we've worked together successfully more than once. He knows I'll never forgive what he did to her. He says that he regrets that it was necessary, and I've got to admit he was quite free with apologies when it was all over."

Ron met Harry's eyes. Harry wanted him to get along with Malfoy, that much was clear, if only for Ginny's sake and the sake of general peace. Harry had mitigated his own anger over Malfoy's actions with extenuating circumstances. Harry swallowed his dislike of Malfoy, which fairly dripped from his words, because he owed him his life and because, like it or not, the guy was going to be around for awhile. All this was achingly clear. What was also achingly clear was that underneath it all, Harry would have liked almost nothing better than to have torn Malfoy's heart from his chest for the deceit he'd foisted upon the woman he loved.

It was a thin tightrope to walk, and Ron didn't envy Harry the task. He was starting to see that Harry's life was a long series of intertwined tightropes. His job, his nature, his duty, his feelings, his life, his secrets, his guilt, his rage. Everything he did was a balancing act, a precarious wobble on a thin line formed by one decision after another made with only his conscience to guide him...and sometimes not even that.

"I get the picture," he said now, these thoughts rolling uneasily through the back of his mind. "There were circumstances, et cetera, couldn't be helped, and so forth. I'm still horrified that this guy is dating my sister."

"Should I not have told you?"

"No, no. It's better I know everything up front. It might have waited until after dinner, though," he said, smirking a little.

"Sorry about that. I suppose my judgment isn't too good on the subject."

"I can well believe it. I'll...want to talk to Hermione about this, later. Will it upset her?"

"It might, a little. She doesn't much like to think about it, it gives her a wiggins."

"I'll bet it does."

"But she'll talk about it with you, I'm sure." Harry clapped him on the shoulder. "Well, one more revelation out of the way."

"Let me know when we get to the end of the list, will you?"

Harry laughed, clearly glad to have unburdened the weight of this discussion. "I will. I better go help move tables out to the verandah or I'll be in the doghouse."

Ron watched him go, stuck where he stood just outside the winter garden room. After a few beats of silence he heard a discreet throat-clearing from behind him.

He turned to see Malfoy standing there. He just stared at him, at a loss for how to react. Malfoy jerked his head for Ron to follow, then turned and walked off down the hall. Ron followed him past the study and the billiard room into the empty rear living room. Malfoy held the door for him, then shut and latched it. He turned to face him. Ron's fists were clenched, his teeth clamped together to close off all the words he might have liked to have said.

Malfoy sighed. "Go ahead."

He needed no further encouragement. Ron swung his arm in a clumsy arc and his fist connected with Malfoy's jaw. A bolt of pain rocketed up his arm and he backed away, gasping. Malfoy staggered a little but recovered quickly. "Goddammit!" Ron hissed, holding his hand.

"Feel better?"

"No! That bloody hurt! Jeez, Harry made it look so easy..."

Malfoy smiled. "You've got to learn how to hold your hand. The way you swung it's a miracle you didn't break your wrist."

"I'll thank you not to sneer. I've never punched anyone before." He frowned. "Why'd you let me?"

"I saw you and Harry talking and by your expression I figured he had to be telling you about Gerald. I thought you ought to get it out of your system before we have to go back out there and be cordial to each other."

"You incredible son of a bitch. You think this is funny?"

"No, I don't." He sighed. "Ron, I can't apologize to you for what I had to do. I didn't enjoy it, I regret that it was necessary, Hermione and I have come to a sort of detente on the issue. In the end, it's only between me and her. I understand that you and Harry might have issues with it, I can't help that. I had to do a lot of lying while I was inside the Circle, to a lot of different people. I'm done now. I'm not lying to your sister, and what's between us is our business." He paused and took a deep breath. "And you ought to feel honored. That's probably the most words I've spoken about this in over a year." Ron said nothing. "All right? Are we okay?"

Ron stared at him, massaging his hand. "No," he said, low. "But we could be."

"I can live with that."

"But let me say this," Ron went on. "I'm not a violent man, Malfoy. I've just spent twelve years alone in a flat. I've had to actively cultivate an attitude of peaceful contemplation. But if you hurt my sister I'll be forced to kill you." He glanced at his hand. "Even if I have to get Harry to show me how."

Draco smiled. "I'll consider myself warned." He opened the door and walked out. Ron stood there for a few moments, his head spinning. It occurred to him to wonder if anything would ever shock him again, but then thought better of it. Don't think such things, he told himself. The minute you think you've heard it all, something else comes along to top everything.

---

Dinner was delicious. Ron found it amazing that George had actually cooked everything himself, though he was assured that this was the case. It was a balmy evening, warm for September, and three tables had been set up on the spacious verandah to accommodate the large dinner crowd. The exposed patio ran the length of the house, paved in smooth bricks and surrounded by a low stone railing. Tall plants and architectural features dotted its expanse, and steps flowed down onto the vast stretch of lawn behind the house. The view out the back was serene. The yard sloped away to the tangle of woods that lined the creek, interrupted by knots of tall trees and the large gazebo.

Ron was at the table nearest the steps with his mother on his right and Hermione on his left. Also at his table were Ginny and Malfoy, his father, Fred and George. Harry was at the next table with Bill and Charlie, Justin and his partner, Cho and her boyfriend and their housemate Laura. The third table was mostly kids and, oddly, Percy. Ron found himself a bit perturbed at being denied further opportunity to scrutinize his friends' behavior towards one another.

Since arriving at the house they scarcely seemed to have spoken to one another or to have been in the same room together. Granted, it had been a busy day and he had spent a good portion of it with his family, but was he the only one who noticed something amiss? No one else seemed to be paying them any attention. He suspected he was developing a preoccupation with them, or to be more precise, their relationship. The evidence of its existence was all around him, but conspicuously absent where it should have been most apparent.

He felt his head beginning to throb. All the people and the nonstop cacophony of voices were making him feel a bit ill. The terrace was scenic, but its openness unnerved him. He found himself wishing he could flee back into the house, up to his room, shut the door.

His father rose and toasted his return near the end of the meal, brushing at his eyes. Ron wanted to respond but found all at once that he had nothing to say, so he just sat and accepted the gesture, holding tightly to Hermione's hand. She gave him a gentle smile. She understands, he thought. He caught Harry's eye across the verandah and saw that same empathy there. How wonderful it is to just be understood without having to explain.

Soon after dinner the various guests and family members departed in a jumble of many hugs, bits of cross-conversation and hurriedly made plans. To his relief, the house was soon empty of all save its residents, among whom he was still amazed to count himself.

They retired to the comfortable rear living room. The peace felt like cool water to Ron's frayed nerves, and he welcomed the chance to chat privately with his new housemates, three of whom he scarcely knew at all.

Hermione was the last to enter, kicking off her shoes as she did so with a sigh of relief. He watched her cross the room; there was a barely perceptible pause as she passed Harry where he sat on the sofa. She continued on and took a seat nearer Ron in an overstuffed chair despite the fact that the seat by Harry's side was vacant. No one else seemed to notice.

"Ron, how would you feel about a party?" George asked. "Ginny and I were talking, and it seems like there are so many people who knew you that would love to be able to welcome you back. School friends, family friends, neighbors, teachers, that sort of thing."

"A party?"

"Sure. We could have it here. Invite everyone, make it an open house."

Ron thought about this for a moment. "Gosh, I don't know. I don't want to put on any airs."

"You could hardly do that," Laura said with a twinkle in her eye, a twinkle which he was starting to learn was rarely absent. "Getting you back is the biggest news story in the wizarding world, but to hear you talk one would think it was nothing at all."

"Oh, it's something all right," Ron said. "To me it's quite something. I'm just adjusting to the fact that it's anything to the rest of the world."

"Don't let's change the subject," Justin said. "Are we having a party or aren't we? If we are I need to start the planning right off!"

Everyone looked to Ron. "I...it's a nice idea, I just...all those people."

"We thought that might be an issue," Laura said. "That's why we wanted to ask you first. And of course it wouldn't need to be right away, we could wait a bit."

Ron sighed, relieved. "Yes, that would be better. A little time to myself."

George chuckled. "Haven't you had enough time to yourself to last a lifetime?" Everyone laughed.

"That's the funny thing," Ron said. "The more time to yourself you have, the more you seem to need."

---

Hermione had been considerate enough to stock Ron's writing desk with ample supplies of every variety, probably because she wasn't quite sure what he preferred. He found rolls of parchment of varying widths and thicknesses, quills from every fowl imaginable, and a dizzying assortment of fountain pens and ink.

He was just starting to rummage through everything when there was a knock at the door. "Come in."

Hermione entered, dressed for bed in flannel pajamas printed with little penguins sitting in wooden tubs. Her face looked freshly scrubbed and her hair was drawn back in a ponytail. "Am I bothering you?"

"Of course not!" he said, jumping up. "I'm glad you came by. Come sit and chat." They clambered up on the bed and sat cross-legged, facing each other.

"Still like the room?" she asked.

"It's wonderful. A little bare, though."

"You know, the I.D. took possession of your flat. We can have anything of yours brought here. Unless that would be too weird. We can just get you all new things."

"I'd like to have my books and my journals. There's nothing else I'd care to see again."

"I'll see to it tomorrow."

"How's Bob? I've wanted to ask about him all day and haven't had the chance. Can I see him?"

Hermione's lips thinned ever so slightly. "He's at the I.D. I think you can see him in a few days if you want."

"They're grilling him, am I right?"

"He's being debriefed, yes."

The way she said that made Ron's skin twitch a bit. "They won't...hurt him, will they?"

"Oh, no. It's my own division that handles interrogations, and my boss, Isobel, is taking care of Bob herself. He isn't considered a hostile source. Even if he was, we don't manhandle suspects. We're far more subtle than that." She smiled. "He's being well looked after, I promise. But he has so much knowledge of the Circle, we need to..."

"Yeah, I get it. As long as he's okay."

"He is. He's been granted asylum by the Chancellor's office, which means he's now officially under the protection of the Enforcement Corps." She hesitated. "Harry said he told you about Gerald. I thought you might want to talk about it."

Ron was a little surprised. "I didn't want to bring it up right away. Harry said you didn't like remembering."

"He's not wrong, but...Draco's dating your sister, Ron. This has to have been quite a shock."

"It was. Honestly, I'm less concerned for Ginny as I am for you. I watched them all night and it's pretty clear to me that there's genuine affection between them and that Ginny has no problems with the way he treats her. He's never done to her anything as awful as what he did to you."

"He had no choice."

"That doesn't make it less awful."

She sighed. "No, I guess not. Listen, it took me a long time to get over it. Harry helped me, and..."

"Harry helped you?" Ron tried and failed to keep the note of incredulity out of his voice.

She frowned. "Sure he did, that's his job. He's my life partner, remember?"

He shook his head a bit. "Yes, of course. I'm sorry. It's just that emotional awareness was never exactly his primary skill area."

Hermione laughed. "No, not really. I'm not saying he psychoanalyzed me, but he supported me and he listened while I babbled and he held me when I needed to have a cry. Sometimes that's all a partner needs to do. I wouldn't say this to him, but I think one of the most important things he did for me was to despise Malfoy. And I know he still does, in his heart. It feels wrong to be coming out in favor of interpersonal hatred, but I can't help it. Seeing Harry angry helped me a lot. It meant that I didn't have to hate Draco. Harry was doing it for me. I could let it go, even if he couldn't, and I was the one who needed to let it go the most. Seeing how angry Harry was helped me in a different way. I'm not sure I can..."

"Explain? You don't need to. I get it. It was a barometer. Unpleasant as it might be we feel reassured when we see someone we love get really angry on our behalf."

She nodded. "Feels like a dishonorable reaction, but I'm glad Harry hates Malfoy. If he does, it's only because he loves me." She looked thoughtful. "In fact, now that I think of it...the first time I told Harry I loved him was right after I told him that Gerald was only a disguise for a stranger. We didn't know then that it was Draco."

"I'm sure he was angry anyway."

"Oh, yes. Seems like there shouldn't be a connection between love and anger, but I don't think there's any way around it. God knows I can sympathize. Sometimes I think that I only got through combat training by picturing Allegra's face on every punching bag and opponent I ever faced."

"You hate her?"

Her eyes clouded a bit. "'Hate' is such an inadequate term. It's been diluted by overuse. We hate the new fall fashions, we hate the weather, we hate the morning commute. What I feel about Allegra is more the dictionary definition. It's a scary, powerful, black-hearted thing that swells up at the oddest moments. And it's not for anything she did to me, it's for what she did to Harry. Now I get to add hate over what she did to you into the mix. It's getting sort of bubbly and frothy down there." She shook her head as if to disperse the idea. "But I don't like to dwell on it. You spend too much time thinking about your own hate, it starts to control you."

Ron looked at her. "You guys have been through so much."

"It's nothing to what you've been through."

"Piffle. I had one awful thing happen and then a very long time to get used to it. For you it's just been one new and awful thing after another."

"Not everything has been awful. There have been plenty of things that were wonderful. I got really good at listing them in my head while Harry was gone."

"I've heard a little more about that time now, from Ginny and George and the others. They said you were really strong, and determined, and that everyone admired your courage."

She rolled her eyes with a sarcastic snort. "Ginny ought to know better, Lord knows I cried on her shoulder often enough."

"What was it like?"

She just looked at him for a moment. "I don't think I can describe it, but I can give you something that might help. Right after he vanished I started keeping a journal. It began as a list of things he was missing out on and ended up being the place where I poured out everything. I filled three huge volumes in two months. I gave them to Harry when he got back. Tomorrow I'll fetch them, I think they're in his trunk."

He blinked. "You'd let me read something so private?"

"Of course. It's you." She smiled at him, and Ron thought he might cry. Hermione slid off the bed. "Well, I'd better turn in. For the next few days Harry and I are going to alternate who goes to work and who works from home, so one of us will be around all the time. Tomorrow it's my turn to go in, so unless you're an early riser you won't see me until later."

"I'm definitely not an early riser."

She grinned and kissed his cheek. "Goodnight, ickle Ronniekins."

"Oh good god, don't let's start that up again." She waggled her fingers at him as she left the room. He sat there on the bed for a few more moments, thinking.

His curiosity about the history of their relationship seemed to know no bounds. He was, of course, curious about everything that had happened while he was away, but this particular thing held special fascination. He supposed it was a consequence of the fact that he'd never had an real, adult relationship of his own, so he was interested in the one between two people he loved. To make it worse, everyone was forever referencing their Grand Passionate Love Affair, of which he'd yet to see any direct evidence. He didn't ask for much. Nothing explicit, nothing sordid. Would it kill them to hold hands in front of him? A bit of a kiss, a playfully affectionate glance?

He had a theory, one he was becoming more confident of with each passing minute. They were doing it on purpose, but accidentally. If asked, they would probably insist they were behaving normally. Indeed, no one else seemed to be observing anything odd. He'd already learned that they were usually far from shy with each other around the house, in fact their lack of inhibition at home was something of a house joke.

It was him. It was only around him that they were careful. He couldn't keep track of everything, for all he knew the moment his back was turned they were all over each other.

Clearly more observation was called for. Part of him wanted to confront them, but what on earth could he say? He could imagine that conversation: "Harry, Hermione, I'd be most obliged if you'd start snogging right now. Thanks ever so. Well, come on then! What are you waiting for? Harry, I do believe your tongue has an appointment with her tonsils." No, perhaps not.

He would wait. And watch.

---

Harry hadn't come up yet when Hermione got to the Cloister. He had been talking with Justin when she'd retired, he was probably still at it. She brushed her teeth and slid into bed.

She'd nearly dropped off when Harry finally came in. She watched, lying motionless as if asleep, as he moved quietly about the room so as not to disturb her. He undressed and then seemed to remember something; he went to his bureau and began rummaging about in the drawers. "What are you looking for?" she finally said.

He glanced over his shoulder at her. "Oh, I'm sorry, darling. I didn't mean to wake you."

"I wasn't asleep." She sighed and stretched. "What are you looking for?" she repeated.

"Oh, my old uniform sash. Diz lost hers, she wants to borrow it."

She watched him for a few moments, indulging in some appreciation for the view he was presenting her with. "Harry?"

"Hmm?"

"Unless I'm very much mistaken, I do believe you possess the finest butt in all of England."

He chuckled but kept rummaging. "Is that an objective assessment, Dr. Granger?"

"Oh, yes. I'm not biased in the slightest."

"A-ha!" he said, pulling out the sash, victorious. He left it on a chair and turned round to look at her with one eyebrow raised. "Now, then. What were you saying about my butt?"

"Nothing important. Except of course that at the moment it's much too far away from me to be tolerated."

He grinned and shuffled a bit bashfully, which made Hermione melt. He could be downright coy at times. On other men it would have seemed an affectation, but on him it was merely endearing. He came over and climbed into bed beside her, propping himself up on one elbow. "Is that better?" he asked.

"Much."

His expression turned serious. "How do you think it went today?"

"Very well, I thought. Ron seemed comfortable here. I just had a nice chat with him. I think he's settling in."

"You know that he was watching us like a hawk all day, don't you?"

"Yes, I noticed that. I can't imagine what he's looking for."

"I'm not sure. Maybe he's just trying to glean what we haven't told him yet. He's quite sharp, and he must know we've many stories he hasn't yet heard."

"I think he's still a bit strange about us. I mean, the idea. He got a queer sort of look whenever I made any reference to it while we were talking."

"What kind of look?"

"I couldn't really say. Uncertain, thoughtful. If I had to guess I'd say he's still figuring out how he feels about it. Hearing about Ginny and Draco couldn't have helped. Bit of a shock, that...though I'll say that he took it awfully well."

"He did seem all right about it. Less so than he was about Gerald."

"Yes, we covered that."

"Good. I think he and Draco struck some sort of truce. They were walking very careful circles about each other all evening."

"The bottom line is I think we've just got to be extra careful. I'm really nervous about making him uncomfortable. He's got so much to adjust to, a new home, new friends, a new life, really. The last thing he needs is for us to be new as well. We ought to try and be just as much like our old selves as we can. Something familiar he can count on while he adjusts."

Harry smiled. "So then I ought not to do this..." Hermione sucked in a sharp breath. "...when he's around."

She chuffed breathy laughter. "I'd hope you wouldn't do that around anyone."

"No, I suppose not. The point is that..."

She cut him off. "Enough about Ron." She stared up into his eyes, letting a simple look stretch out into a moment. She held his gaze while the mood shifted in the silence.

Harry smiled and drew her close. He began to kiss her face softly, his hands moving over her body, her pajamas spontaneously deserting her in their wake. He had a way of doing that, of undressing her so surreptitiously and with such effective distractions that she would suddenly find herself naked without remembering exactly how she got that way.

She could almost believe it was magic.

---

Despite his protestations to Hermione, Ron ended up rising quite early indeed the next morning. The clock on the wall told him that it was just before seven o'clock and he was wide awake, despite having sat up until well past one scribbling away at his new writing desk.

He stretched and yawned, hoping to lull himself back into slumber, but nothing doing. Reluctantly, he swung his legs out of bed and shuffled downstairs. The house was still and quiet around him, the space inside its walls all at once feeling very large and empty.

He went into the kitchen and found two coffee cups sitting half-empty on the table. Now sounds came to his ears, voices from the terrace, distant but approaching the house. He wandered onto the verandah and took a seat in the shadows of the porch overhang.

As soon as he did so, two people emerged from the trees near the creek, jogging up towards the house. It was Harry and Hermione, returning, it would appear, from a morning run. He watched as they reached the middle of the yard where they'd left their jumpers on a bench. They stopped and walked around in circles for a few moments, catching their breath. Ron watched as they stretched and paced, not really speaking to each other. Their body language told him that this was routine for them.

Eventually Hermione picked up a small towel from the bench and wiped her brow. "Are we sparring today?" she asked Harry.

"Sure. Staffs again?"

"Do we have to?"

"That's all I brought, so it's staffs or bare hands."

"Staffs, then."

He picked up two long, sturdy poles and tossed one to her. Ron sat up straighter to watch. They began to circle, tensed up, eyeing each other. Harry held his staff at his side, Hermione held hers before her, hands widely spaced on its length. Abruptly she swung her staff at him, twisting from the waist. Harry reacted quickly, whipping his arm forward to block her blow, and they were at it.

Ron stared at them, amazed, as the knocking of wood upon wood rang out fast and loud in the morning stillness. Their feet danced on the grass as their ersatz battle raged on. Harry had told him that Hermione had applied herself to her combat training with the same fervor she awarded her academic pursuits, and Ron could see the results. She was good; quick and clever even to his untrained eye. Still, it was equally apparent that she was still learning. Perhaps this was a new weapon skill she was acquiring. Whatever the cause, Harry was obviously better at this than she was. The first time his staff struck her body Ron winced. The first time hers struck him, he winced again. After a few moments he just let the wince stay on his face all the time so he wouldn't have to keep repeating the expression again and again. The thuds of staff against flesh sounded painful. He wondered if they used some sort of spell to keep themselves from injury, reminding himself that practice sparring wasn't ordinarily intended to cause damage. He also wondered how Harry could bear to strike her at all, even in a practice situation.

As they continued, he could see that neither seemed in any inordinate degree of pain. They reacted to each other's blows but recovered quickly. He relaxed a little. They know what they're doing, he told himself. They do this all the time.

They circled quickly, darting in and out and blocking each other back and forth, back and forth. All at once Hermione's wand was in her hand. She pointed it forward and said "Profundiarmus!" Harry jumped back a step just as the spell hit the ground at his feet, digging a small hole in the earth.

"Missed me," he said.

Hermione only smiled, then rushed forward. Instead of swinging her staff at Harry she planted it right into the hole she'd just made and used it as a vault, the momentum carrying her feet off the ground. She whipped her lower body around the staff and got Harry in the chest with both feet. He flew backwards and hit the ground on his back, his staff dropping from his hands. Hermione bent and picked it up, yanking her own out of the ground. "No, I didn't," she said, standing over him holding both staffs.

Harry grinned up at her. "Yeah, that was good," he said matter-of-factly, getting to his feet. Hermione handed him the staffs and they picked up their jumpers, heading up towards the house.

"Nice day for it," Ron remarked as they reached the verandah. They both smiled at him; now that they were closer he could see the sweat and flush of exertion on their faces.

"Good morning," Hermione said. "Thought you weren't an early riser."

"I'm not, normally. I suppose it's just the new surroundings. It's hard to relax at first." He nodded out towards the lawn. "You do that every day?"

"Jog? Most days. Sometimes we..."

"No, I meant fight," Ron said, cutting Harry off midsentence.

"Oh. Yeah, we train almost every day, but not always with each other. It's just as easy get in some time at work with one of the instructors or another agent. We've been doing a little more lately because Hermione's just learning the quarterstaff."

"She looked pretty proficient from here."

Hermione laughed. "Oh, he let me win. That move with the hole in the ground is clever but I'm sure he saw it coming a mile away." Ron had noticed that Harry had just stood there and let her get him even though he'd had plenty of time to react. He was relieved that this hadn't escaped Hermione's attention either.

The sound of pots and pans rattling came from inside the house. Harry started towards the door. "The whole crowd'll be down for breakfast in a bit. Hang about, you can get your first taste of George's cinnamon buns." Hermione followed him into the house, smiling at Ron as she passed.

George was in the kitchen wearing an apron over his pajamas, making breakfast. "Can I help?" Ron asked him.

"Sure. Set the table, will you? I guess there are eight of us now."

"Eight? Who..."

"Stephen's here most mornings, though once in awhile he has to leave so early that we don't see him."

"He seems like a nice chap."

"He is, very nice. Smart, too, and bloody good for Justin. Poor guy's always had a bit of a self-image problem. Overcompensates by hamming it up. Oldest story in the book, really. Stephen's comfortable with himself. His family's very liberal, they didn't give him any grief at all when he came out. Not like Justin's horror." He chuckled. "Can't speak for the others but I know I was relieved when they got serious. Before Stephen, you just never knew what sort of creature was going to come down those stairs in the morning with Justin. Sometimes breakfast around here was a regular show-and-tell of who everyone brought home the night before." He blinked and reconsidered. "Gosh, I'm making it sound like it was a household of bed-hoppers."

Ron laughed as he put the plates around the table. "So it wasn't, then?"

"Nah. Really it was only Justin and Cho that were apt to bring home the flavor of the month. I've had a few overnight guests of my own, but I'm not exactly Casanova. Hermione didn't date anyone seriously before she met Gerald, and he never stayed over here. Easy to see why in retrospect."

"What about Laura? And Harry?"

"Well, Laura's got Sorry. He might not be around much but she's a one-wizard sort of woman. As for Harry, well...he'd broken up with Ronin before we moved here. He had a few dates after that but nothing serious, no one who ever spent the night here. I know he had plenty of opportunities, but those last few years he didn't seem interested in finding someone new."

"That's odd."

"I'm not so sure. In hindsight, it seems to me like he was waiting. For her. Like some part of him knew that it was just about their time, and he wasn't going to take the chance on being tied to someone else when it finally happened."

As Ron was pondering this, Stephen came down the back staircase, knotting his tie. "Good morning," he said brightly. He helped himself to a mug of coffee from the large pot on the sideboard. "How was your first night at home?" he asked Ron.

"Bit hard to sleep in a strange place, but I'll get used to it."

"I'm sure you will. I have the same trouble when I go out of town on business."

Justin clattered down the back stairs in a bluster of sighs and palpitations, a whirlwind of morning gusto. Ron watched in amused detachment as in the space of five seconds Justin kissed Stephen good morning, said hello to George, got a mug of coffee, inspected the breakfast and started helping himself to toast. It sounded something like "Morning luv say there G you look bloody awful got any cream didn't you sleep well any kippers today y'know I hate ruddy oatmeal hey look marmalade think it'll rain today jolly good pass me the butter." No one else seemed even slightly perturbed by this. Stephen sat next to him, calmly sipping his coffee.

A few moments later Laura came in, smartly dressed for work but looking a bit tired. Hermione was right behind her, fresh-faced from the shower, her hair still damp. Cho came down in her pajamas, rubbing sleep from her eyes. She didn't have a job to go off to the same way the others did, but it seemed that breakfast was a family affair around here.

Everyone took seats around the table. Ron ended up between George and Laura. Harry hurried in just as George was handing a big bowl of eggs to Justin to be passed around. "Morning all," Harry said, sitting down next to Hermione. Ron saw his hand linger on her shoulder for a moment, but then everyone was much occupied with plates and spoons.

"Gosh, what a spread," he commented. "I hope this isn't for my benefit."

"Well, I hate to burst your bubble, but it isn't," George said. "Breakfast is sort of our unofficial bonding meal. We're so rarely all here at the same time for dinner, and no one's ever about at lunchtime. Breakfast is our only chance to catch up with each other on a daily basis."

"That's why I'm here and not in my comfy bed," Cho grumbled, drawing a natty shawl closer around her shoulders.

Breakfast was a hubbub of intersecting conversations. Ron said very little, content to observe the interactions around him. A few things were immediately obvious. One, Cho was not a morning person. Two, Justin and George were best friends, which he had been told but hadn't really thought about until now. Three, Laura was perky but cataclysmically lonely behind her smile.

Of course, he kept an eye on his current observational experiment. Harry and Hermione spent much of breakfast talking quietly to each other, pausing once in awhile to interject a comment here and there into a different conversation. They listened to each other, spoke, and nodded while they ate but rarely made eye contact. "Laura," Hermione finally said. "Can you call the dressmaker today? We've got to set up a final fitting for the whole crew."

"Sure. I'll ring Sarah and Ginny from the office."

"I have to remember to owl Mel today, too. I feel so behind, I need an update. I'm sure she's on top of everything, but still. It's nice to be in the loop."

Ron realized abruptly that they were talking about the wedding plans. This mythical wedding, this looming event in whose reality he still didn't quite believe. The scheduled day was fast approaching. It suddenly occurred to him to wonder what role he'd have to play in their nuptials. In the frenzy of his return he doubted they'd gotten round to thinking about it. He assumed he'd be invited, but would they want more? Would he want more? To be involved in some fashion? He knew both of them had their attendants all arranged. It would be the height of presumption for him to ask. In the end, it would have to be up to them.

Before too long people were standing up, taking their dishes to the sink, getting second cups of coffee, resuming their places at the table. Hermione, however, didn't linger. "I've got to be off," she said. "Tons to do today." She looked at Harry. "Napoleon's being released later, I thought I'd bring him by if he's up to it."

"Good idea," Harry said, nodding.

Hermione smiled at Ron. "I'll see you later, all right?"

"Have a good day. Don't get into any fights with the other children."

She laughed. "I'll do my best." She picked up her briefcase and headed towards the door, glancing at Harry as she went. Ron saw Harry wink at her. "812," she said over her shoulder as she disappeared.

"813," Harry called back, gulping the last of his coffee. He stood up, meeting Ron's eyes. "I've got a few owls to send, but then I want to show you some things. All right?"

"Right you are," Ron said. "I'm not going anywhere."

Harry left the room, depositing his dishes in the sink as he went. Stephen shook his head. "What's the deal with that number thing, anyway?" he asked.

Laura shrugged. "No one knows. I've always figured it was some kind of password thing for work."

"That's what I thought, too," Justin said. "Maybe a clearance thing they have to know."

Ron looked around at their faces. Were they serious? Did they actually not know what that meant? He cleared his throat. "These numbers," he said, startling everyone a bit with his voice, having been mostly silent until now. "Do they say them when they part company?"

"Sometimes. Not always."

"And do they keep increasing the number?"

"Yeah, now that you mention it."

Ron chuckled. "It's code."

"For work?" Justin said.

"No, for 'I love you.'" He looked around at their blank faces. "Oh, come on," he said. "It's got to be a private code so they can...well, say it without actually saying it. In front of other people, or where it might not be appropriate. It must be the number of times they've said it, which is why the number keeps going up. It'd be just like Hermione to keep count."

Laura sighed. "All right, raise your hand if you feel like the world's stupidest person." Hands shot up all around the table. "But hang on a bit...why would they need code in front of us? We've all heard them say it plenty of times."

Because they don't want to say it in front of me, Ron thought but did not say. "Oh, codes like that acquire meaning of their own. An injoke, it fosters intimacy. Relationships need their own mythology. Or so I've been given to understand."

He sighed as the housemates burbled amongst themselves, discussing Ron's proclamation. Sure, he thought. Leave it to them to have a way to say it so I can't really hear it. It isn't enough that I know they're saying it. I still want to hear it.

---

Harry set the last of his morning owls in Faust's tray, his eye lingering on the topmost letter, addressed to the Office of the Chancellor, Division of Talisman Control. It was an unusual request he'd only made after much deliberation. Just by making it he was tipping his hand to a dark suspicion that was growing in his mind, one he'd not shared with anyone, not even Hermione. He needed more data before acting. Ron's incarceration had suggested certain possibilities that he could not ignore, but he'd need help...and the proper tools. Soon he'd have to decide who he really trusted.

He found Ron in his room. "It's a gorgeous day, why are you sitting indoors?"

Ron looked up from a book. "Harry, you have the bloody greatest library I've ever seen! It's like...paradise!"

"Well, I do have some rather fond memories of that library."

Ron shut his book and stood up. "So. Do we have plans today or are we just going to wander about?"

"I'm in favor of wandering about."

"Me too," Ron said with a grin.

Harry laughed. "C'mon, I want to show you the grounds."

They walked down the terrace towards the creek, following the dirt path that wound through the woods. Harry noticed that Ron relaxed once they were underneath the canopy of trees. Ron glanced at him a little ruefully. "I know, it's silly, but...I just feel better out of all that...fresh air. Too much space." He sighed. "Is that weird?"

"Deeply."

Ron laughed. They walked in silence for a short distance before Ron spoke again. "Tell me about Allegra."

Harry hesitated. "By that I assume you mean my relationship with her."

"Yes."

He sighed. "God, I'm glad you're here, Ron. There are some things I just can't tell Hermione."

"Oh?"

"I can talk to her about almost anything, the operative word being..."

"Almost."

"Yes. I can tell her about how Allegra's betrayal made me feel, but I can't tell her about how intense it was while it lasted. I can't tell her about how that woman could make me so crazy that I could barely walk straight. I can't tell her that sometimes I still see her, in my head."

"She might have been evil and all, but...Merlin's ghost, what a body."

Harry stopped walking for a moment, hands thrust into his pockets. "It isn't enough that she's evil, it isn't enough that she's hurt people I care for. The worst thing is that..."

"You still want her. On some...animal sort of level you can't control."

He shuffled his feet. "Yeah, that's it exactly. I don't want her, but..."

"Your johnson does."

Harry chuckled. "I wonder if women appreciate how strange it is for men sometimes. It's no easy thing to have something attached to your body over which you exert little or no control."

"It'd be easier if they were...you know, detachable."

Harry burst out laughing. "Detachable?"

"Sure. You could take it off when it's a nuisance, put it on a leash, lead it around. Then when it's time for it to make itself useful, just snap it right back on."

Still laughing, Harry resumed walking, elbowing Ron. "That's rich, especially coming from you."

"Why me?" Ron said, his tone indignant but a goofy grin on his face.

"A man who's spent years alone in a flat? You must've set the world's all-time record for wanking."

"Oh, very nice! I like that! Such compassion from a man who spent a year shtupping his worst enemy!"

"Say, is there some law about getting your virginity back if you go long enough without getting any?"

"We can go on exchanging verbal barbs all we like, but I have the all-time trump card."

"Which is?"

"You slept with my sister. By all the unwritten Rules of Men I ought to slug you for it. I haven't. So there."

Harry nodded, considering. "That's an interesting point."

"And you stole my girlfriend."

Harry cleared his throat. "On this issue I'm afraid I have no defense. I throw myself on the mercy of the court."

"Tosser."

"Wanker."

Their laughter trickled away leaving an easy quiet, the only sound their feet in the leaves on the path, and then some nonchalant sniffing. "I, uh...think I got something in my eye. Sorry."

"Bloody allergies, acting up again."

"You got a tissue?"

---

When Hermione returned home from the office, having excused herself as early as possible without looking too much like a slacker, she found Harry and Ron in the rear living room watching some Apparition crystals of their leaving from Hogwarts. Other crystals were lying scattered about the retrieval talisman. She recognized some of them...there was her Stonehenge graduation, Harry's 21st birthday party, a trip they'd taken years ago to France with the Weasleys. Harry was pointing people out to Ron and giving him brief recaps of what their classmates were up to now. When she entered Harry paused the playback and smiled at her.

It had been a long day filled with paperwork and puzzling assignments and she was tired. She wanted nothing more than to go straight over to Harry and plop herself down on his lap for a nice long cuddle, but she restrained herself, going instead to sit next to Ron and kiss his cheek. "What are you guys up to?" she asked.

"Well, I've got to say," Ron said, "we're up to no good."

"I suspected as much."

"You look tired," Harry said. She met his eyes and saw that he was missing the cuddle just as much as she was.

"I'm all right. Bit of an odd day, actually."

"Why's that?"

"Well, I was called in to investigate a dead body that was found outside one of the I&R research sites...that's Infiltration and Reconnaissance, Lupin's division," she added for Ron's benefit. He nodded.

"A body?" Harry said, frowning.

"Yes. A man, middle-aged, no identification. He was found in the woods near the site and no one can determine how he got there or why he was there. We haven't had any luck even finding his name."

Ron sat forward, clearly interested. "Couldn't you use that...what do you call it, the thing you used on the fake me."

"The Oracle? I tried, but I was told it wasn't available." An expression flitted across Harry's face as she said this and she knew at once that it was his doing that she hadn't been able to use the Oracle today. She didn't pursue the matter. "The only thing he had on him was this," she said, drawing out a copy of a small slip of paper. "It was in his shirt pocket, like he'd forgotten about it." Ron reached out and took it from her. Written down the left side of the paper in a vertical column were the letters Q, D, N and P, then a space, then the numbers 1 and 5. Written next to each entry were nonsequential numbers ranging from 5500 to 38. "No one knows what it means, it looks like shorthand or code of some kind, but I don't know what it can tell us."

Ron cleared his throat. "You mean, besides that your mystery man was American, a Muggle, and worked in a retail establishment that does between forty and fifty thousand dollars a day in sales?"

Hermione blinked, astonished. She glanced at Harry, who was gaping at Ron and looking just as amazed. "How...what...where are you getting all that?"

"From this paper." Ron ran his fingers down the column of letters and numbers on the left. "See? Q D N P...quarters, dimes, nickels and pennies. Then ones and fives. It's American Muggle currency, I'm not surprised you didn't recognize it. This man was counting the change in a safe, making notes to himself. The numbers written there are the dollar amounts in the safe. See how the figure for quarters is a multiple of ten? Quarters come in rolls of $10, dimes in rolls of $5, et cetera, like Galleons come in bags of fifty. It wouldn't have to be a retail store, but that's the safest guess...this is too much change for a restaurant, too little for a bank. As for the sales, well...this is quite a bit of cash, over eight thousand dollars' worth. The amount of change a store keeps on hand is related to its daily sales. The greater the sales, the more change reserves it needs. The forty to fifty thousand figure is just an educated guess." He saw their expressions. "Uh...I've read a few books on retail management. It was research for something I was writing."

Harry took the paper from Ron's fingers, examining it. "Geez, Ron. I don't think I would have realized what this meant."

"Sure you would. Someone would. Might have taken a little longer, is all."

"I'm impressed."

"Me too!" Hermione exclaimed, staring at Ron.

"You ever considered a career in intelligence?" Harry said, smiling.

Ron held up his hands. "Oh, no. No, you don't. You're not dragging me into your life of danger and intrigue. No thanks, I'll leave the spying up to the professionals."

"Maybe we'll just keep you on retainer on a consulting basis."

"I can provide reference services in exchange for room and board," Ron said, smirking. "I can't really lie about here being a bum and sponging off you forever, can I?"

Harry leaned forward and put a hand on Ron's arm. "But...you do it so well!"

---

As the evening progressed various Weasleys began to trickle in for dinner again. Hermione left for a time, saying she had to collect someone from the office.

Ginny arrived alone, to Ron's relief. "Thanks for being so nice to Draco last night," she said quietly, hugging him. "It can't have been too easy for you."

You have no idea, Ron thought, hugging her back. "It's all right, Gin. As long as you're happy."

She smiled. "I am." She kissed his cheek and headed for the kitchen. Ron lingered in the foyer, looking up at the poster-sized photo of himself with Harry and Hermione, still hanging where Laura had put it for his homecoming.

The front door opened again and Hermione entered, but she wasn't alone. Ron stared at her companion, amazed. Whoever he was, he wasn't the sort Ron would have expected to find amongst his usual acquaintance. The man was tall and wiry-skinny, his skin Gothic pale. His hair was dyed an eye-popping shade of neon pink and twisted into lethal-looking spikes all over his head. He appeared to be wearing black eye pencil, and his face was pierced in at least half a dozen places. One of his forearms was covered with a colorful, swirling abstract tattoo, his other wrist encircled with an inked twist of barbed-wire. He was wearing black jeans and an oddly conventional blue polo shirt. He and Hermione appeared friendly. She took his cloak from him and hung it up, spotting Ron as she did so. "Oh, Ron! I'm glad you're here." She guided the newcomer over to him.

Hermione's friend eyed him up and down, one eyebrow arched, hands on his hips. "So, this is the man himself," he said in a Cockney lilt so thick it almost sounded fake.

Ron didn't quite know what to think, so he fell back on good old Western male socialization and stuck out his hand. "Uh, hello. I'm Ron Weasley."

The man shook his hand with vigor. "Bloody good to meet you. I'm Napoleon Jones. I guess I have you to thank for that bullet between the ribs."

Ron's stomach lurched a bit. This was Harry and Hermione's friend, the one who'd been shot during his own rescue. Two things were immediately obvious: one, that this man bore him no ill will for that injury and two, that Hermione was fond of him. Bearing these facts in mind, Ron swallowed his guilty discomfort and grinned. "Oh, think nothing of it," he said. "What do I live for but to make trouble for others?"

"As I can verify," Hermione said, her smile a tad too wide.

"I hope they'll at least confer some sort of honor upon you for being injured in the line of duty," Ron said.

Napoleon shrugged. "Oh, no doubt. They'll probably saddle me with the Order of Such-and-Such or the Clyde P. Hokum Medallion of Merit for Valiant Distinction and Meritorious Distinctive Valiancy or God knows what else. I'd rather have a commemorative shot glass if it's all the same to them...uh, no pun intended. I just look on it as another scar to add to my collection."

Ron laughed. I think I like this chap, he thought. "I must say you seem awfully chipper for someone recently plugged in the chest."

"Wonders of wizard medicine, my good man. You can hover on the verge of death and yet be skipping merrily through the daisies in a few short days...though I'd be lying if I said I felt quite normal yet."

"Sukesh said it would take some time, remember," Hermione said to him.

Napoleon smiled at her. "Women. They love to mother me. My ex-wife's been in town looking after my convalescence."

"Oh? Will she be joining us?" Ron asked.

"No, she left this morning. Had to be back to work. Fond as I am of her I can't say I was sorry to see her leave. She was about to drive me 'round the bend." Napoleon slapped Ron on the shoulder almost hard enough to make him lose his balance. "My sainted aunt, the dashing, droll and deceased Monsignor Weasley. It's like meetin' bloomin' royalty!" He grabbed Ron's arm and dragged him out of the foyer towards the kitchen. "Come on, highpockets. You and me are gonna form the inaugural chapter of the Back From the Dead Society, and I know where George keeps his stash of Admiral Beauregarde's Carnelian Fire-Whiskey. There's a bottle with our names on it." Ron let himself be towed along, totally bemused, Hermione's chuckles following him out of the foyer.

---

After another familial dinner (this one smaller, at least enough so to be served in the kitchen) Hermione went up to her room to answer some owl post. As she passed through the living gallery on her way back to the stairs she felt arms suddenly grab her from behind. She yelped in surprise as she was pulled against someone's chest; she felt the touch of warm lips against her neck. "Oh George, we shouldn't," she said with a smirk. "Not with Harry in the house!"

"Ha ha," Harry rumbled from behind her, turning her around in his arms. She returned his kisses eagerly, not having had the chance to so much as give him a peck on the cheek so far this evening. She slid her arms up underneath his turtleneck so her hands could feel the warmth of his skin through his t-shirt. She could just see his smile in the dimness of the gallery. "It's been a long day," he said in that low, throaty voice he often used in private, the one that went straight through her leaving a trail of pleasant shivers in its wake.

"Very long," she agreed, nestling her head down against his shoulder and sighing in contentment. "I missed you at work today."

"Aw, that's just because I always let you finish my ice cream at lunch."

"That doesn't hurt." She kissed the side of his neck, letting her lips linger there. "Or maybe I was just hoping for another office quickie."

"Hmm. I hadn't thought about it."

"Liar."

"I thought office quickies were supposed to be for people having illicit affairs."

"Is it too naughty for a nice, respectable, committed couple like ourselves?"

"It might just be," he said. She could hear the smile in his voice though she couldn't see his face.

"Oh, I don't think it is. Even a nice, respectable couple can get swept off by lust."

He chuckled. "I think I'm offended, Dr. Granger. Is that all I am to you? A sex object?"

She drew back so she could look at him, her previous levity gone. "No, Harry. That's just one item on a very long list of things you are to me."

He pulled her close and kissed her again. Hermione stood on tiptoes and kissed back, both of them exhaling into the embrace. She let her mind float free and unconcerned as they stood there in the shadows, nothing in her thoughts except him. His arms around her, his hands sliding across her back and inside her shirt, dipping lower to cup her buttocks. His mouth on hers, at once demanding and yielding. His body pressed against her, its shape so familiar that she knew exactly how her own should fit against it at every point. She wondered, as she sometimes did in moments like this, about the course of his thoughts. Was his mind as taken up by her as hers always was by him? Did he forget everything except how it felt to hold her? Did the rest of the world fade into obscurity when she was in his arms? She wished she knew, but wasn't sure how to phrase the question without sounding silly.

Maybe I don't have to ask, she thought, her fingers sliding through his soft hair as he kissed her throat. Maybe I already know.

Harry grasped her hands and tugged her out of the corner towards the archway that led up to the Cloister, somehow accomplishing this without separating his lips from hers. Hermione wanted to follow him...actually, she wanted to race him...but now wasn't the time. She stopped and pulled away. "Not just now, sweetheart. Not with...everyone about." It was simply understood that by "everyone" she meant "Ron."

Harry sagged a little but nodded. "You're right. We're being inconsiderate hosts."

"That's the least of our worries. Justin's host enough for the entire household."

"Ain't that the truth."

She glanced past him towards the empty staircase. "Where's Ron?"

"Out on the verandah with Jones."

"Good God, what can they be up to?"

"I think they're getting well sloshed, as Napoleon would no doubt phrase it."

She chuckled. "And to think we worried that those two would hate each other."

"I shudder to imagine the stories Jones is telling him about us."

"Oh, don't be such a stick in the mud. It's good for him to hear things from someone besides us. If he and Napoleon become friends, well, I say hooray."

"You won't be saying that when Ron comes over with an enormous fecking hangover in the morning. Poor chap can't have a very high alcohol tolerance, unless his prison flat came with a mini-bar."

"Please. George knows every anti-hangover potion ever invented and a few that weren't."

Harry grinned. "True." He thought for a moment. "Well...I guess I'll pop over and see Sirius."

She frowned. "What for?"

He gave her a look. "You know what for."

After a moment's hesitation she looked away. "Oh. That."

"Yeah. I've put it off for three days now. I just have no idea what to say."

"The direct approach is always the best one."

"Always? 'Say Sirius, would you mind terribly not being my best man? No offense, it's just that someone better came along.' Makes me cringe just saying it in jest."

"I'm sure he'll understand, though I don't recommend that wording. Have you even asked Ron yet?"

"No. I wanted to see how it went with Sirius first."

"You don't honestly think Sirius will be angry, do you?"

"No, but he might be hurt."

"Just make it clear we still want him involved, very much."

"Of course we do. Only in a slightly different capacity."

Hermione nodded. "Harry...I've been thinking."

He touched her cheek. "About what, darling?"

"If you're going to have Ron as your best man, well...that's great for you, but what about me? I want him involved with my half of things, too."

"Of course you do, but he can't very well hop from side to side, now can he?"

"I've got something else in mind." She sighed. "I want to ask him if he'll give me away."

Harry blinked, looking a bit taken aback. "But...what about your father?"

She shrugged. "Is there some rule saying only one man can walk with me down the aisle? Why can't they both do it? I've got two arms." He was still staring at her. She looked away and fidgeted from side to side. "Unless you think that's...well, is it a bit..."

"I think that would be lovely," Harry said, smiling now.

She relaxed a little. "Oh. Good. I was afraid it was inappropriate, or something."

"If it's what you want, then it's appropriate."

"In that case, I want you to wear nothing but a strategically placed red ribbon bow to the ceremony."

"You love to make me eat my own words, don't you?"

"I just think it'd be a shame to deny all our friends and family a lovely view of the finest butt in all of England," she joked, slapping said portion of his anatomy as he passed her going down the stairs, shaking his head.

"Sometimes I miss that prim and proper schoolgirl I used to know."

She grabbed his tie, halting his progress a few steps below her. "No, you don't."

"You're right, I don't. I like the grown-up version." He kissed her again.

"Go see Sirius," she said, letting go of his tie. "And hey...when you get back..."

"Yes?"

She took a few steps down to his level, picked up his hand and placed it on her breast. "We ought to pick up where we left off."

He smiled a dangerous little half-smile then leaned in close to her face, his hand staying where she'd put it. "Oh baby," he said, teasingly, in his phony basso voice that he called his "Barry White" voice and which she privately thought of as his "Chain Smoker" voice. She smacked the backside of his head.

"Go on, get out of here, you sexy thing."

He trotted down a few stairs, grinning, then abruptly leapt over the railing and floated to the foyer below, a stunt that always made her heart stutter a bit even though she knew damned well that gravity did not pose the same dangers to him as it did to the rest of the species. She heard him bid Ron and Napoleon goodbye as well as the others, then the front door shut behind him. She came down the stairs in a more conventional fashion, shaking her head.

She passed Laura in the back foyer. "Where are Ron and Napoleon?"

Laura rolled her eyes. "You mean Ike and Mike? Follow the drunken singing." She jerked her head back towards the kitchen as her hands were full of table linens to be washed.

Hermione went through the kitchen, pausing as she heard the so-called "drunken singing." They couldn't be too drunk, she could actually place the song: it was "Eve of Destruction." Two lilting voices warbling none too tunefully but with undeniable enthusiasm.

"So don't tell MEEEEEEE over and over and over and over and over..."

"S'too many 'over's, man."

"Don't care! All together now! Over and over again my friend...hey, Hermione!" Both looked up at her as she walked around to where they sat side by side in wooden lounge chairs on the verandah. They grinned the grins of happy men who've enlisted in the great navy of Admiral Beauregard.

"How are you two doing?" she asked. Ron was waving a shot glass back and forth before him as if saluting an invisible audience. Napoleon had the bottle resting between his legs and his own shot glass snugged securely amongst his hair spikes.

"I dare say we're a bit...drunk!" Napoleon said. They both hooted wild laughter at this. Everything's funny when you're drunk, Hermione mused.

"Nice job, Jones," she chided him. "My poor friend's been out of prison less than a week, he knows you all of three hours and already you're a bad influence on him."

"S'my sworn duty, sweetheart! This poor chap's just's pristine 'n celibate as a bloomin' Benedictine monk! 'S a matter of honor t'get im good'n drunk then get 'im good'n...LAID!"

Ron thrust his hand into the air, sloshing the Admiral all down his arm. "I'll drink to that!"

"Let's all drink to that!" They both knocked back another shot. Hermione wanted to be disapproving but really couldn't muster it. If anyone deserved to go a little wild it was Ron, and she couldn't imagine a more suitable tour guide than Napoleon. She and Harry weren't exactly big on the nutty revelry and madcap hijinks. Napoleon tried to pour them more shots but discovered to his dismay that the Admiral had gone AWOL. He held up the empty bottle. "Oh, bollocks. No more Admiral. Fucking deserter, he oughta be shot on sight."

Ron looked up at Hermione with bleary eyes. "Hermione, we seem t'be out of liquor. I'd rather like t'talk with this fellow...whazzis name?"

"Napoleon, dear."

"Damn straight. Could we not be drunk anymore? D'you mind?"

She smiled. "Just a minute, I'll be right back. Stay right there." She returned to the kitchen, where George was scrubbing vigorously at a scorch mark on his favorite soup kettle.

"Is the concert over?" he asked without looking up.

"I think so."

"Good. It's been like bleeding Woodstock. Three days of booze, love and drunken off-key singing."

"You don't have any Sardoff's lurking about, do you?"

"I think there's a bottle in the icebox. Behind the soy sauce. I mixed some up after Cho's last Quidditch game, it should still be good. If we're out I've got a whole tin of the powder in the spice rack."

Hermione opened the icebox and rummaged about amongst all the bottles until she found what she sought: a clear green flask full of Sardoff's Singular Disinebriator, unmistakably white and foamy. She took the bottle outside and repossessed Ron and Napoleon's shot glasses, filling both with Sardoff's...for full effectiveness the potion needed to be mixed with a few drops of whatever you'd been drinking. She swirled the glasses and handed them back to the two lounge-chair denizens. "There you go. Drink it all, now." They tipped back the shot glasses, grimacing. Sardoff's may have been a wonderful blessing to partygoers everywhere but that didn't mean it tasted good. She caught the glasses as they dropped from their fingers, two heads lolling back against the lounge chairs. They'd wake in about a minute totally sober.

George was gone when she passed back through the kitchen, his soup kettle drying on the rack. She rinsed the shot glasses and went on upstairs to her private study, smiling as she passed the nook where earlier she'd been so pleasantly waylaid by Harry.

On her desk she found an envelope with her name written across the front. So that's what he was doing lurking about the gallery, she thought, flipping it open with one thumb and withdrawing the letter he'd left her.

Hermione, [it read]

It feels odd to be writing you a letter when you're just downstairs. I guess 'odd' is just one word to describe the week we've had! Everything's so different and mixed-up right now, I suppose I just want to hang on even tighter to the one thing I depend on most...you.

I keep thinking about that Pensieve, the one that started all this upheaval. I debated with myself endlessly for days about whether I should give it to you. I almost didn't, and suppose I hadn't? Ron would still be in his prison. He might never have been free the rest of his life. It seems wrong that a consequence so huge should hinge on such a small decision. And that's not the only one. Think about the chain of events that had to transpire to bring us here. What if Ron hadn't been hit with that Bludger? What if he hadn't been late to class and had let Madame Pomfrey heal his bruise for him? What if you and he hadn't been struck by the urge that day? What if I gave you the Pensieve but you never looked at it, or if you did, you never noticed about the bruise?

For that matter...what if I'd arrived at Platform 9 3/4 two minutes later and never met Ron properly? What if Neville had held onto Trevor and I never met

you properly? I could have ended up Malfoy's best friend, I could have spent my Hogwarts career in Slytherin.

I'm sorry, I'm babbling. I was just suddenly struck tonight by...I don't know. How fragile it all is. How thin the cords are that bind everything together. Pull on one of them and it all unravels. It makes me anxious because I hate to think how easily I might have missed out on what I have with you. We can talk about it being fate, about how we were meant for each other. It's a romantic notion but it isn't true. We all wander through life randomly bumping up against people, one after another. Some bounce right off, and others stick...but why? Why did the three of us stick, when we could just as easily have bounced off?

What scares me isn't that I can't imagine a life without you, it's that I can. I can imagine a hundred lives I might have had, all of them just as likely as the one I've lived, lives where I never knew you, never loved you. I can imagine all those other Harrys, going about their business in whatever job they've ended up in with whatever friends they've got. They probably think they're happy, but it's only because they don't know any better, they don't know what they've been denied.

I don't know if I have a point, except that all these strange existential thoughts are just making me feel so damned lucky that all the events of my life have happened the way they have. Maybe it's what they mean when they say someone's led a 'charmed life.' It means that I get to live here now, and I get to have Ron back, and I get to marry you.

This probably isn't your idea of a great love letter, is it? Believe it or not I did start out intending to write you one. Now I look back at it and see that I've just been rambling on about my own dumb self the entire time. This kind of thing isn't my strong point, I guess. I'm better in person, at least I hope I am! Well...I'm going to go off to see Sirius tonight and when I get back I'll have thought up some better things to say, I promise. So for now I'll just say what comes easiest: I love you, Hermione. With everything I've got and everything I'll ever be, through every minute of every day, and if I could love you more than that, I would.

Harry

Hermione folded the letter and put it back in its envelope, careful not to let her tears stain it as she put it away.

---

"Uncle Harry!" Charlotte cried, rushing past Sirius' legs to embrace him. Harry scooped her up and kissed her cheek. "Ian threw up on my stuffed hippo!" she announced. Harry laughed. No one could give you a news flash quite like a five-year-old.

"Eww, yucky," he said, pulling a face. "I hope you don't take Hippo to bed with you."

"Oh, he's okay. Mummy cleaned him up. And his name's Phoebe!"

"Phoebe is a girl's name."

"Daddy says it can be a boy's name, too. I like Phoebe!"

"Okay, okay, don't get excited! Phoebe is a fine name!"

Sirius came to his rescue. "Charlie, why don't you go up to your room and pick out tonight's stories, okay?"

"How many?" Charlotte asked as Harry set her down.

"Well, since you were so good sharing your toys today, you can pick out three."

"Yay!" Charlotte cried. "Can Aunt Mina read them to me?" She looked around expectantly, assuming that Hermione would have come visiting with Harry as she usually did.

"Aunt Mina didn't come with me tonight, sweetie," Harry said. Her face fell in tragic disappointment. "But I can read them, if you want."

Charlotte brightened a little. "Okay! But...you don't do the voices, Uncle Harry." She gasped, remembering something else. "Will you make the pictures talk, like last time?"

"Sure."

"Yay!" she yelled again as she pounded up the stairs to her room. How can such small feet make such a racket? Harry wondered.

Sirius beckoned Harry into the living room. "She'll be an hour, at least. Charlotte doesn't just pick out stories for us to read, she reads them herself first. Kid logic."

Cordelia was sitting at the dining-room table with some work, her briefcase at her feet. Ian was playing on the floor with some enchanted blocks that changed color depending on how you stacked them. She looked up with that I'm-happy-but-really-tired expression that she and Sirius both wore most of the time, an expression common to parents of young children. Someday that'll be me, Harry thought. I hope. "Hi, Harry," she said. "Get you a drink?"

"No thanks, I'm okay. I just need to chat with Sirius a bit." He cleared his throat, taking a seat in the living room. He saw a small glance that passed between the Blacks and wondered if this visit had been expected. He looked around aimlessly, putting off his reason for coming around. "Did you paint in here?"

"Last week."

"It's nice."

"It looks the same to me, but Cordelia insists it's a totally different color."

"I see a difference. It's a little darker, isn't it?"

"Supposedly." Sirius leapt right in before Harry got a chance to frame his next statement. "Harry, I'm glad you came around, I've been meaning to talk to you."

"Oh?" Harry asked, eyebrows raised.

"Yes, it's about the wedding. Cordelia and I have been talking, and, well...please don't take offense, but would you be terribly put out if I stepped down as your best man?"

Harry blinked. "Stepped down?"

"Yes. I know it's short notice and all, but the few weeks before the wedding are going to be very busy at work and at school and I just don't think I'll have the time to devote to the preparations. It isn't fair to you and Hermione, and I hate to shortchange you on a really smashing bachelor party."

"I don't expect anything."

"But I do. I just think I'd feel more comfortable in more of an...observer's role. Father of the groom, and all." He smiled. "And unless I'm very much mistaken, a more qualified candidate for the job has just presented himself."

Harry sighed. Of course this visit had been expected, probably since the moment Ron had returned. He smiled wryly at his godfather. "You knew what I came over here to talk about, didn't you?"

"What's that?" Sirius said, raising his eyebrows.

"It's moot now and you bloody well know it." They laughed quietly together. Harry shook his head. "Thanks," he said.

"It's only what's right, Harry. It's how it should be."

"But as it is I do have another question to ask you."

"What?"

"If you're not to be the best man there's something else we'd like to ask you."

"Go ahead."

Harry met his eyes. "Will you perform the ceremony?"

Sirius said nothing for a moment. "Oh, Harry. I'm...I don't know what to say."

"Say you will."

"I thought that Argo..."

"We want you to do it. If you're willing."

"I've never done that before. Performed a wedding ceremony, that is."

"But you can. As Deputy Chancellor you're empowered, aren't you?"

"Well, yes, but...gosh. No one's ever asked me."

"I'm asking. It would just make everything perfect, Sirius. To have Ron stand at my side while you say the words that'll make me Hermione's husband? That's pretty much the summary of my entire life, right there."

Sirius nodded, swallowing hard. "Then how can I say no?"

Harry grinned. "Good." He reached out and grasped Sirius' hand, then leaned over and embraced him. "Thank you."

Sirius hugged him back. "Thank you, Harry."

---

Ron looked out at the sunset, sighing in contentment. "I feel terrific. Who is this guy Sardoff and when did he invent this marvelous substance?"

"Oh, some Finnish Potions master. Hit the market about five years ago."

"He must be a gajillionaire by now."

"Yeah, he's laughing all the way Gringott's." They sat in silence for a few moments. "So what's it like bein' back? Is it weird?"

"Not as weird as I thought it would be. Already those years I was away are starting to feel a bit hazy, like they didn't happen."

"What do you think of your friends? Are they what you expected they'd be?"

"I'm not sure what I expected."

"Don't bullshit me. Are they?"

"No way." Ron grinned, exchanging a sidelong glance with this odd person, this punk princess with whom he felt strangely at ease. "Hermione's just so...grownup. Confident, a lot more easygoing."

"What about Harry?"

"Harry's just...well...Harry. I don't think he's changed that much. Except..." He hesitated.

"Except what?"

Ron blew air through his teeth, giving in. "He's flippin' gorgeous. When did that happen?"

Napoleon cackled madly. "I'll be sure to tell him you said so!" He sobered quickly, leaning over to peer at Ron. "Do you swing that way, old man? If you do, I simply must introduce you to this doctor friend of mine, he's absolutely..."

Ron laughed. "I don't swing that way. At least I don't think I do. It's not like I've had a chance to test myself out."

"Name me five movies in which Brad Pitt takes his shirt off."

"Uh...okay. Let me see. Umm...well, he spent half of 'Fight Club' shirtless. Then there was...um..."

Napoleon made a buzzer noise. "Sorry, your time is up. You're straight. You had to think about it."

"Fair enough. But honestly, you don't have to be gay to have eyes...about Harry, I mean. But he doesn't think he is, you can tell just by the way he carries himself."

"I know."

"And with his fame, well...women must..."

"Oh, they do. But he doesn't think they do. He's bloody unobservant about things like that." A minute pause. "Anyway, he's only got eyes for her."

"Takes one to know one."

Napoleon glanced at him, then sighed. "They told me you were sharp."

"How long?"

"Feels like forever. 'Bout a year, almost as long as I've known her. I'm over it." Silence. "Okay, I'm not over it at all, but I'm...okay with it. I've had to be, it ain't easy having a thing for the boss's woman."

Ron blinked. "Harry's your boss?"

Napoleon stared at him. "Well, yeah. Didn't you know that?"

"No! They just said you were a friend who helped with my rescue!"

"Oh. Yeah, he's my boss. I'm Harry's...uh, first mate, if you will. Second officer of the CCO division."

"Blimey. That's a helluva dynamic. You seem pretty friendly with them."

"I've always been friends with her, but Harry used to hate me. He's over it, at least I think he is. Long story, not important. He knows how I feel about her, but he also knows I'd never do anything about it. Hell, I even helped get 'em back together when they had their little problem last summer. Not that they wouldn't have anyway."

Ron looked over at his new friend's profile, thinking. This man was smarter than he liked to show the world, shrouding his mind and instincts in an outlandish exterior and a sort of "golly gee" demeanor. Sensitive, too, but somehow less careful about that part of himself. "Tell me something about my friends," he asked. "Something I don't know. Anything."

Napoleon thought for a moment. "Harry speaks eight languages."

"Wow."

"He's got a weird knack for it...even though two of them are magical languages, so they hardly count." He paused. "Hermione's a bloody horrible cook. She gave up on it years ago."

"Odd, considering her skill at Potions."

"Harry can't whistle. It's the great shame of his life."

Ron laughed. "What does he do past a graveyard, blow a kazoo?"

Napoleon laughed with him, warming to his topic. "Hermione hates shopping, but she has a hat fetish. She must own several dozen. Never wears 'em, just buys 'em. And Harry lost their wedding rings a few weeks ago."

Ron's eyes widened. "No kidding!"

"Oh, he found 'em again. He bought 'em last month. One day he took them out to show me and he set them down somewhere and couldn't find them again for days. He was frantic, but he didn't want to tell Hermione he'd lost 'em in the first place."

"Naturally." Ron let his head fall back against the lounge chair. "Everyone keeps telling me about their relationship, how it's..."

Napoleon cut him off. "Oh no, you don't. I don't want to sit here and have yet another conversation about their grand tooby love affair. Aren't you sick of hearing about it yet?"

"No, I'm fascinated! I might be sick of it if I could see it at all!"

Napoleon frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"Well...if I were Harry and I had a woman like Hermione, I think I might...you know, kiss her once in awhile! Hold her hand, even! Is that so difficult?"

"But they do!"

"Not in front of me, they don't. All I see is my two best friends and they're acting just like they're only that...best friends. And yes, I keep hearing about their...how did you put it?...their grand tooby love affair except I'm starting to think it's just a big joke on me! Ha ha! We'll tell him we're desperately in love and then see how long he buys it!"

"Ron, take it from one who pays close attention. It's not a big joke. And I haven't noticed them being...you know, restrained."

"That's because you're not me. They don't care if you see...stuff."

"Maybe they don't want to upset you, or make you uncomfortable."

"I'm already uncomfortable! It's hard enough to try and pick up with everyone again without them trying to hide the reality of their lives from me! Why do they bother?"

"Because...well...how the bloody hell should I know? You're asking the wrong guy! Do I look like a goddamned shrink to you?"

Ron sighed. "I'm just confused, is all. I haven't done anything to indicate that I have a problem with their relationship."

"Except watch them like a sodding chicken hawk, which they must have noticed. They're probably a tad jumpy themselves. Here's a novel thought: talk to them about this!"

Ron shuddered. "I don't know if I can handle it. I've only been among the living less than a week, I don't think I'm ready for confrontation. It'd probably just make it worse. How do you bring it up delicately?"

"I don't do delicate, I wouldn't know."

"It'll sort itself out," Ron said, nodding his head emphatically.

"If you say so, mate."

Ron looked over at Napoleon, smiling a little. "Are we?"

"Are we what?"

"Mates."

Napoleon smiled back. "I think we might just be."

They clinked glasses...just butterbeer this time...and settled back in their lounge chairs to watch the moon rise.

---

Hermione was asleep when Harry came home, having stayed much longer at Sirius' than he'd intended. First there had been Charlotte's stories, and when he'd come downstairs Cordelia had gotten out the chessboard and Sirius was making popcorn, so he'd lingered for awhile.

He went around to her side of the bed and bent over her sleeping form. She was curled on her side, the light still burning and an open book next to her, one hand resting on its pages. The fingers of her other hand rested near her cheek as her chest rose and fell in deep, even breaths. Harry slowly slid the book away from her, marked her page and set it on the night table. He drew the covers up and tucked them around her shoulders, then sat on the edge of the bed and just looked down at her for a moment. Such a cliche you are, Harry, he thought to himself. Watching your beloved sleeping. Cliches had to come from somewhere, and this one came from a place he understood. He liked to watch her sleep. It was a relief to be able to just look at her as much as he liked without anyone, even her, wondering what on earth he was doing. Just looking. Just watching. Just thinking. Just hoping and wondering and marveling and feeling. What am I doing? Nothing much, just looking.

"Harry?" she suddenly whispered, her lips curling into a sleepy smile. She turned onto her back and opened her eyes. "What's wrong?"

He shook his head, raising a hand to brush her hair from her face. "Nothing. I'm...just looking."

She reached up and ran her fingers over his lips. "Thanks for my letter."

He sighed. "I rather hoped you wouldn't find it so I could write you a better one."

"I'm glad you didn't. It was perfect." She turned her head and kissed his palm. "It made me a little weepy."

"It did?" He was dubious. He re-ran the letter in his head. A lot of what-ifs and odd philosophical commentary.

She smiled gently, holding his hands in hers. "Harry...you were orphaned as a baby and then you spent eleven years being verbally and emotionally abused. Then you spent seven years in a school where your life was threatened several times a year and you were periodically treated like a pariah. Your best friend and two of your mentors were killed, and then you were recruited into a profession of secrecy, evil and constant danger."

"So?"

"So...what makes me weepy is that even after all that, you can still say that you've led a charmed life and mean it, just because..." She choked up a little, paused, and continued. "Because you've known me."

He smiled. "It's all how you look at things," he said. "My life as you just described it sounds pretty awful, but to me it wasn't. It could have been, but...I had you with me to get me through it."

He saw her eyes glisten, then she sat up and put her arms around his neck. He held her close, the warmth from her sleepy body seeping through him, welcoming him back. "It was a beautiful letter," she whispered against his neck. She drew back and kissed him, first gently, then more thoroughly. Harry held her tighter as their kisses grew more heated, shifting on the bed so he could feel her breasts pressed against his chest through her pajamas. Hermione lay back down, pulling him with her. Harry kicked off his shoes and swung his legs up on the bed, lying over her with the sheets still between them. "Harry," she said softly.

"Yes?"

"I want to make love to you."

He smiled against her cheek. "You don't have to ask permission, you know."

"Laura says women are too complacent, that I should talk more when we're in bed, take an active role. Tell you what I want, ask you what you want, that sort of thing."

"So what do you want?"

"I just want you." Her tender smile slanted a little naughty. "For now."

"Well, here I am, I'm all yours. And if you want more later...well, we'll order pizza, or something."

Their quiet laughter faded into soft murmurs, breathed only for the other to hear, and the rustle of clothing and bedding as she drew him into their bed and the familiar sensuality of her body and her embrace. It was with relief that he was able to finally slip between the sheets and feel his own skin sliding smooth and soft against hers. Here there was no uncertainty, no awkwardness, no difficult conversations or strained relations. This was the only place in his life where he was never anything but himself, where no facades or brave faces were necessary. Here he was never anything but honest, here he could whisper over and over again how much he loved her without worrying that he sounded like a cheesy romance novel. It was all right, it was expected. They could indulge each other's fantasies, their urges, those wild and erotic sides to their personalities which they showed only to each other. Here they could even be competitive, sometimes playfully battling over who got to be on top...he could challenge himself to make her cry out louder than the last time. Here he could give her pleasure, he could make her forget all the things that he feared might someday drive her away from him. Here he could find pleasure in her, and maybe for a moment he might even forget those things himself.

---

Ron paused in the living gallery on his way to his room, looking through the arch that led up to the Cloister. His ear was cocked for any sounds from above, but he heard only silence. He shouldn't have even bothered, George had told him that there was a silencing charm in place. They could have been having a twelve-person orgy up there and he wouldn't hear a thing, but that didn't remove the urge to listen.

He went on to his room, being quiet so as not to disturb the household. Napoleon had just left, and it was very late. They were probably asleep; it'd be Harry's turn to go to work tomorrow.

It'll sort itself out, he'd told Napoleon. But would it? Maybe the time for letting things sort themselves out had passed. Tomorrow would be his third day home. Just a few short hours ago he'd said that he didn't know what to do, how to act, what to say.

But now he knew. He had a plan. And tomorrow he'd put it into motion.

---

Acknowledgements:

I must credit Robin Williams with the detachable-penis idea. There is also a very oblique "Queer as Folk" reference in this chapter...paging John Walton, please. I also may be mistaken, but I believe I might be the first to incorporate the fandom term "tooby" into a story. Verification, anyone?

And now I'm off to Minas Tirith for some aspirin. Oy.