Pariah

Pariah, chapter twelve

Things like other things left unsaid

"There is that in me--I do not know what it is--but I know it is in me ...
I do not know it--it is without name--it is a word unsaid."

Walt Whitman, from Song of Myself

Pansy yawned against the back of her hand and watched Ginny walk down the hallway, her arm out, fingers grazing the stone walls of the dungeon. Occasionally, she'd stop and cock her head as if listening to the wall, which was ridiculous, Pansy knew, but that's what it looked like. But then Ginny would move on slowly, feeling her way, and Pansy would follow, hanging back about ten paces and wondering very idly, for surely she had no genuine interest in whatever the Gryffindors were up to this week, what the hell Ginny Weasley was doing.

She didn't know exactly how she got roped into this. Well, yes she did. She got roped into this because Hermione had informed her she had no choice, and then Ron had made that puppy face, and, man, she sure was a sucker for that, and Harry had looked at her with that penetrating glare, and she had agreed with a tortured sigh. After all, the guy had just woken up from a magical coma and had been just a little weird ever since, and Hermione had shaved several days off of her wretched holiday (and she used the term loosely) with her Grandmother Viola by ordering all of the prefects back to Hogwarts the day after New Year. And Ron, well. Ron was perhaps the only person on the face of the planet that she didn't currently want dead, if only because he had saved her twice that week from Professor Tonks.

As for her house, she had made up her mind that they could all just get hanged. She was done with them for good this time, after coming back one night from prefect rounds and finding disemboweled toads on her pillows. (She was back on the outs with Draco after the dinner party incident, which meant, in essence, that she was back on the outs with the entirety of Slytherin House. She wondered what he had told them this time. No doubt it had been something very foul, as disemboweled toads were generally reserved only for the pillows of the most treasonous traitors.) So, she figured she might as well go along with this little Gryffindor expedition and get it over with so that no one thought she owed any favors. And besides, she was curious.

And so here she was, twenty minutes past one a.m., following Ginny "The Freak Who Listens to Walls" Weasley around the cold, dank, dungeon, on a perfectly blustery January night, when she should, by all rights, be in her warm, cozy bed hyped up on Wit-Sharpening Potion, reading up on apophenia and trying to levitate pencils with her mind or whatever her Charms homework was about. Lately, she was having trouble keeping everything straight in her head, not only because there was so much homework, but because there was so much of everything, it seemed, right then.

"Fucking hell," Ginny muttered, suddenly spinning around and stomping a few steps toward Pansy. "I thought you said this hallway ran parallel to the outside wall."

"Oh," Pansy said mid-yawn. "Doesn't it?"

"You don't know?" Ginny said, putting hands on hips and glaring at Pansy some more.

"Look, just because I live down here doesn't mean I have the damn schematic memorized. Besides, the walls are always moving, anyway." Pansy leaned against the wall and it froze her through her robes and jumper. "Furthermore, I could hardly care."

"I wish you would have told me that before we came down here," Ginny said as she leaned against the opposite wall, settling back into the shadow where the torchlight did not reach. "Aren't you cold?"

"I did," Pansy muttered mutinously. "But obviously someone wasn't paying attention. And no, I'm quite accustomed, thanks."

"Don't start, Parkinson."

"Fine." Pansy pulled her hands further into the sleeves of her jumper. "I still don't get why we're down here."

"I'm looking for something," Ginny said before yawning widely. "I can't believe you're not cold."

"Maybe if you told me what it was, I could help you find it, instead of just following you around like a little lost kitten or something."

"You're not freezing? I'm freezing," Ginny said, shivering violently.

"Oh, cry me a river, Weaselgirl. Top marks on avoiding that one, by the way."

"Look," Ginny said, pushing off of the wall and crossing the hallway to stand next to Pansy, "it's not like we don't trust you, really. It's just that--"

"You don't trust me. It's okay. I don't care. Whatever. I am unconcerned. Whatever scheme you have cooked up to get Snape's answer key, I won't tell a soul," Pansy said.

"Not even close," Ginny said with a grin.

"Damn!" Pansy said. "I was so sure that would be it."

"Much closer than stealing Malfoy's under things or snapping pictures of Crabbe and Goyle in the shower. I mean, who in their right mind would even want to see that? Ergh," Ginny said, making a funny face and shuddering.

"I'd imagine it would be purely a point of curiosity, is all."

"Well, if that didn't kill the cat, I'm not sure what would."

"They're not that bad," Pansy said thoughtfully. "Physically, they're trolls, but otherwise sure, a bit dim, that's granted, but all together not bad guys."

Ginny tucked her chin and looked at her very skeptically.

"Really. They'd do anything for Draco. That has to count for something."

"Actually, you're right. That puts them about five decency points behind the rest of humanity. At least." Ginny made a face.

"That's really not fair. You don't even know them."

"What's to know? They have threatened every single Gryffindor that ever walked over the threshold of this school, not to mention generally been bullying gorillas." Ginny pushed off the wall and began walking back down the hall in the direction they had come.

"Crabbe and Goyle--Vincent and Gregory--they're not the smartest guys around. Their whole lives, they've been praised for their brutishness. They probably don't even know what more they have to offer." Pansy strode to catch up with Ginny, who was moving at quite a fast clip, rubbing her forearms as she walked.

"Malfoy certainly doesn't keep them around for conversation, that's for sure," Ginny said bitterly.

"Exactly! They probably think that the only thing they have to offer anyone is their, how did you put it, 'bullying gorilla persona'. No one has ever really given them a chance."

"Have you?" Ginny asked, turning slightly to look at Pansy.

"Have I what?"

"Have you ever sat down and had a good long conversation with Crabbe and Goyle about anything other than Quidditch or Malfoy or whatever it is you Slytherins talk about?"

"Well, no..."

"So, you're just as bad as everyone else, then?"

"No, it's just that we haven't anything in common, apart from the obvious, of course."

"Yet, you can't know for sure."

"No, but I'm very selective of the company I keep," Pansy rationalized. She really couldn't understand Ginny's attitude. Why would she care about Crabbe and Goyle?

"You're a snob," Ginny scoffed.

"I am not! I am selective."

"Snob," Ginny insisted.

"Selective," Pansy corrected.

"Whatever. Still doesn't make you better than anyone else," Ginny said, turning down a darker passage.

"Well, at least I'm not a lackey sent to run errands in the dungeons in the middle of the night. Are you sure this is the right way?" Pansy looked up and down the hall. Every way looked the same.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ginny asked, continuing to walk down the hall, despite the growing dark.

"It means you do their bidding like some sort of googly-eyed groupie. And I don't think this is the way to the steps." Pansy stopped in the hallway, and Ginny turned to face her.

"They're my friends. Friends do these sorts of things for one another, not that you would know. And what makes you think this is all about them?"

"Friends don't let their friends push them around. And there's no reason for you to be down here, anyway. Unless you're looking to blackmail Zabini, in which case I might be able to offer some advice."

Groaning loudly and petulantly, Ginny turned back down the hallway. "You obviously know nothing about friendship and nothing about me, Parkinson. So if you would please just shut your mouth?"

"Oh, like I want to know anything about you! But for your information--what the fuck?" Pansy said, stopping in her tracks as they came to a dead end. "I told you we went the wrong way."

"No, no, no. I was sure this is where we came from. Isn't it? I went left, right, left, left, left, right, left, right again, then left, left, right," Ginny read from her parchment, where she had been marking down "L" and "R" as they walked. "So if I go left, right, right, left..." Ginny sighed and threw the parchment down on the ground. "Oh, this is pointless."

"Yes, I think that pretty much sums up this entire evening, if not our relationship to date," Pansy said, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Maybe we're moving too fast," Ginny said absently, looking around the corridor and back down at her parchment as it fluttered on the floor. She turned a full circle in the hallway, and then stood facing the wall again.

"This was doomed from the start," Pansy said, sitting down on the ground, putting her head between her knees, and taking deep breaths. Her claustrophobia sure picked a good time to act up. Put that on top of shot nerves, a massive amount of stimulants in her bloodstream, and being trapped in the dungeons with a Weasley, and see Pansy get sent to hospital. She glanced up to see Ginny pushing on the solid wall in front of them.

"Doomed," Ginny grunted as she threw her full weight against the wall. "More importantly, there is a draft coming from somewhere, like there is a passage."

"Oh yeah? Maybe your head is deflating."

Ginny gave Pansy the finger and threw herself against the wall again.

"You really look like an idiot doing that, you know."

"You really are a black hole of all things whole and good, you know."

"Just another service I offer," Pansy muttered between deep breaths.

"I've heard about your services," Ginny said.

Pansy glared at Ginny. Whatever good graces she had left quickly evaporated. "I suggest you shut up."

"Or what?" Ginny asked, slamming herself again into the wall. If her goal was to make it move, she was failing spectacularly. It was, after all, a solid stone wall. "Are you going to slut out on Harry next?"

Pansy stood. "Bugger. Off."

"That's all you think about, isn't it? Sex, sex, sex, sex, sex." Ginny leaned with her shoulder into the wall.

"Is that what you think of me?" Pansy said, walking up to Ginny.

"I thought you didn't care what anyone thought of you."

"I don't," Pansy snapped, then added, "but why would anyone ever think that?"

"I don't know," Ginny said sarcastically, finally giving up on the wall and turning to face Pansy. "What would anyone think of a girl who showed her arse to the entire school at dinner?"

Pansy gritted her teeth. "It wasn't an invitation."

"Yet, you can rest assured a fair share of Hogwarts now believes a party to be taking place in your knickers. How tragic." Ginny resumed her study of the wall.

Pansy sighed heavily. "Whatever. I don't care. I don't. Care." She was silent for several moments. At least the panic had receded somewhat. "So... what are we doing down here again?"

"Apparently, very little," Ginny said, eyes roving the wall.

"We should go, then. I have loads of work to do."

"Charms?" Ginny asked, attention snapping to Pansy. "Ron was going off about it. Says he'll never get entropy and there's no hope in even trying."

"Entropy? Oh, I'd forgotten about entropy," Pansy said, suddenly feeling very ill again.

"Yeah, we should go. What I want isn't here. Want to go again tomorrow night?" Ginny said, finally picking up the parchment and shoving it deep into her bag before pulling out the Invisibility Cloak.

"Okay, fine, whatever," Pansy said, mind on activation energy and spontaneity. "You'll come by around midnight, then?"

"Cloak in hand," Ginny assured.

"Smashing," Pansy said bitterly. She was tired beyond belief and aching to go to sleep, though she knew she should study instead. Her father had been very clear about the state of her fall term marks, but the allure of secrecy in this Gryffindor project was just too much for her to resist.

"You do know how to get back to your common room, right?" Ginny asked as she disappeared from the shoulders down.

Pansy looked over her shoulder at the dungeon corridor that was like every other dungeon corridor, and she sighed for perhaps the millionth time that night. "Well, we can't be that far off... it's not like the dungeons are that big, right?"

Ginny snickered. "Which is, of course, what makes them so easy to navigate for a seventh year Slytherin."

Pansy gave Ginny a look, resigning herself secretly to the fate of dying in some musty corner from starvation and despair. A geriatric Snape would find her years later, and her tombstone would read, simply, "Even in death, her knickers party on." Pansy imagined for herself a horrible death, surely, yet it still beat a night alone with entropy. Yet, damn that Ginny Weasley for stumbling across the Slytherin common room not fifteen minutes later, just as Snape rounded the opposite end of the hall from his office.

"Oh, big fuck," Ginny whispered from beneath the Invisibility Cloak.

"That doesn't even begin to cover it," Pansy whispered as Snape strode towards her.

"I guess that's my cue to leave," Ginny said, a hint of laughter in her voice.

Pansy felt Ginny's invisible presence sweep past her just as Snape addressed her in a low tone. "Miss Parkinson. I am sure you have a very good reason for being out of bounds in the middle of the night?"

"Yes, sir," Pansy said, straightening automatically and preparing to lie her teeth out, if it came to it.

"And I am sure it has nothing to do with any number of Gryffindor students?"

"No, sir."

"And it is directly relevant to your classes, correct?"

"Correct, sir."

"And it in no way jeopardizes the security of the rest of your house or your ability to lead them as a prefect?"

"Absolutely not, sir. I would never dream of it."

Snape gave her a long look, and Pansy tried not to look too perplexed as he opened the door to the Slytherin common room and ushered her in. "The better part of valor is discretion, Miss Parkinson," he said as she hurried in past him. "Do try to keep that in mind." And with that, he shut the door, leaving Pansy in the green glow of the common room fire, alone with her entropy.

* * *

Ron paced in front of the common room fire. Back and forth, from coldness into heat into coldness and back again. He made a couple of passes with his eyes closed, watching the colors change on the back of his eyelids from purple to red to purple and back again. Every now and again, he would hear Hermione turn another page in her Transfiguration book. She wasn't moving--not that he was watching, but she didn't rustle or fidget or tap her foot or anything. He knew she was nervous, though, possibly as nervous as he was. The air was thick with tension as they waited for Harry to return.

"What time is it?" he finally asked, stopping in the coldness at the edge of the fireplace.

"Half past one," Hermione said without hesitation.

"I wonder what's happening." In front of the fire again, his right side warmed and he glanced out the window at the dark sky.

"Whatever it is, Harry will tell us in his own time. We can't push him. He's very fragile these days. Madam Pomfrey says--" She abruptly quieted, and Ron turned in his path at the sound of the common room door opening.

Harry came through the portrait hole frowning. "Hey," he said nonchalantly, as if everything was normal and he hadn't just spent four hours in Dumbledore's office, and then stopped. "You were waiting up for me?"

"We were just--" Ron stuttered.

"Researching," Hermione finished, shutting her book and standing up.

"Oh," Harry said, and then sat down in the sofa in front of the fire. "Because you don't need to wait up for me, you know."

"Yeah, we know," Ron said, abandoning his pacing and taking a seat beside Harry. "So, how'd it go?"

"Ron!" Hermione admonished as she sat down on the other side of Harry. "Harry, you don't have to tell us if you don't want to. It's none of our business, anyway."

Harry looked from Hermione to Ron. "No, it's all right."

Ron smiled, having won this round with Hermione. "So?"

"Well, it was sort of... weird."

"Weird?" Ron asked.

"Weird in what way?" Hermione prompted.

"Weird in a good way," Harry assured, settling back into the cushions and pulling a cake from his pocket. "Basically, I just read."

"Read? He had you reading?"

"Oooh! What did you read? Was it Blackwell's Compendium of Counter Curses? I thought he might have you read that."

"No, actually, it was a book about will power. Like, theories and such." Harry took a huge bite of his cake and offered it to Ron.

"How dull," Ron said, unenthused. He figured Dumbledore would have Harry practicing hurling hexes at a stand-up Voldemort doll or, even better, Snape. Not reading. How lame could you get?

"I bet it was very interesting," Hermione said. "Anything you think you can use?"

"Maybe. I don't know. It was a bit confusing, actually. I don't really want to talk about it." Harry finished his cake and pulled out a hunk of chocolate. "What did you guys find out about the map?"

"I, er... Hermione had all the good books," Ron said.

"Well," Hermione said, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "I read a very interesting volume on sympathetic magic, outlining theories of generational gaps in magic waves and how the original magic in sympathetic spells seals itself from one generation to the next, and in order to reopen the spell, the magic has to be of compatible energies. Blood spilt or shared."

"Huh," Harry said.

"Huh," Ron said. And then, after a pause, "What the hell does that mean?"

"It means that in order for the spell to work now, all of the casters need to be from our generation, but descended from the past one."

"So, basically," Harry said as he took another bite, taking his time to chew and swallow. "Basically, we're screwed."

"How do you figure?" Ron asked.

"Well, I've got my dad's blood, but what about the others? They didn't have any kids," Harry said. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "And, besides, we still don't even know if it would work."

"Well, shite," Ron said, deflating. He was so sure that Hermione would find something more useful. "That puts us right back at the beginning, then, doesn't it?"

"Worse, actually," Harry said. "Considering at the beginning we actually had a plan, but now that it won't work--"

"We've just got to come up with a new plan, is all," Hermione said, rising. "Or work our way around what that book said. It didn't specify whether it has to be a direct line from generation to generation, or if only a familial bond is needed."

"Well," Harry said, rising as well. "It's late, and I just sort of want to go to sleep. We can work on this more tomorrow."

"There has to be another way," Ron said. "I still think we could just make a new map."

"But that would take months, maybe years, even if we worked from the blueprint of the old map," Hermione said. "We'll just have to figure out a way around this blood issue."

"Right. We'll start in the morning." Harry said, mounting the stairs.

Ron hesitated at the foot of the stairs to talk to Hermione. "I can't believe Dumbledore made him read," he whispered. "And we're totally lost with this map thing."

"I'm sure he has his reasons," Hermione whispered back. "And we'll just have to work harder, is all."

Ron groaned and began up the steps. "Great. That's all we need. More work."

"Good night, Ron," Hermione said, smirking slightly.

* * *

Pansy understood the basic principle of the thing, she did. She was a prefect, and as such, was responsible for maintaining order and peace and watching out that the younger years didn't get swallowed by a missing step or flattened by a wandering suit of armor or any other idiotic thing that someone could do to get hurt inside Hogwarts. What she didn't understand, however, was how being a prefect had, for all intents and purposes, ruined her life.

"Can't go on. Must sleep. Must... rest... head..."

"Pansy, if you fall asleep in the middle of the hallway, someone's bound to kick you," Ron said from somewhere above her. "Might be me."

Pansy shook her head, which was now buried deep in the crook of her arm. Sure, the stone floor wasn't the most comfortable bed, but at this point--eight hours of sleep in three days--she would take what she could get. Bugger rounds, she was tired, with emphasis on how much she despised Hermione and Draco for making all of the seventh year prefects add an extra hour to their rounds.

"Parkinson. Hey, Parkinson," Ron said, nudging her with what must have been his shoe. "You know what they say?"

"What?" Pansy muttered from her sleeve.

"Anything on the floor gets stepped on." Ron's foot left her ribcage and pressed slightly on the curve of her back.

"But I'm tired," Pansy said, lifting her head. "Can't you just wake me when this year is over?"

"I could," Ron said, "but the esteemed Head Girl was very specific that no one was to be on patrol alone. And if I let you sleep through the end of the year, that's a lot of time alone I'd be spending in this scary castle at night."

"Pffft," Pansy said, sitting up slowly. "You can take it, big strapping lad like yourself. No worries. All's well. Besides, you're a Gryffindor. You're not allowed to be scared."

"Oh, I'm not scared," Ron said, folding his long legs underneath him as he took a seat beside Pansy. "I just don't fancy spending all that time walking around this place while you're tucked into bed getting your beauty sleep."

"You're such a gentleman," Pansy said sarcastically, pushing her hair behind her ears. "And, anyway--you think I need beauty sleep?"

Ron cocked his head and looked at her in the dim hallway. "There's no answer for that question that's not going to get me into trouble, is there?"

"I suppose not," Pansy said, grinning slightly. "You walked right into that one."

"I guess I did," Ron said, grinning back. "Whether I say you do or you don't, either way it could mean you're already pretty or not pretty enough."

Pansy looked at him through narrowed eyes. "So which one is it?"

"Which one is what?" Ron asked, ducking the question. Pansy could tell he was starting to blush.

"Am I already pretty, or not pretty enough?"

Ron ducked his head and ran his hand through his hair. It was starting to get pretty shaggy now, but it fell right back into its usual waves. "We should get back to rounds. We still need to do another sweep of the seventh floor." He stood slowly, running his hands down the front of his thighs as he did so, then offered a hand to help Pansy up.

"I think you're avoiding the question," Pansy said, taking his hand. His palm was warm against hers, and his long fingers wrapped gently around the back of her hand. After she was standing, she didn't let go. "Do you think I'm pretty, Ron Weasley?"

"That's really not the issue," Ron said, looking down at their hands, fitted together between them.

"Oh, it's an issue, all right. Whether or not it's the issue remains to be decided."

"Could you perhaps translate that for those of us present who don't speak girl?"

"Oh, nevermind, then," Pansy huffed, pulling her hand out of Ron's. "Just forget it."

"You say that now, but in a few days this is going to come up in another seemingly harmless conversation, and I'm going to die of embarrassment all over again."

"Then answer the question, and let us be done with it."

They stood looking at one another for a long time, and then Ron slowly raised his hand--the hand which she had been previously holding--and tucked a stray lock of her dark hair behind her ear. His hand hovered for a moment at the side of her face, and Pansy felt every inch of her skin hum a little at the anticipated contact. But then his hand dropped back down to his side, and he said, very slowly, "You're kind of a looker, I guess."

"Kind of a looker, you guess?" Pansy smirked. "You sure know how to woo a girl, don't you Weasley?"

"Oh, so I'm wooing now?" Ron smirked back. "I wish someone would have told me. I would have dressed for it."

Pansy looked at his well-worn dark blue jumper. She had thought it was one of his better ones. This one didn't have any visible holes, at least. "I must have forgotten to send that memo."

"Hmmm," Ron said.

And that's when Pansy noticed that the look in his eyes had changed from the lazy humor he usually had during their banters to a sharper, more serious gaze. He was looking into her eyes, and she felt curiously weightless. "What?" she whispered.

"There is a thing between us, isn't there?" He asked in a low voice. "I'm not imagining it. It really does exist?"

Pansy nodded.

"Well, this thing between us, which we both know exists, well, it's complicated, isn't it? I mean, it's not like it would ever work."

"I know. Haven't we been through this?"

"And my friends sort of hate you. And your friends, well, the friends you had, they sort of hate me, too."

"And the whole thing with our houses being rivals. And how we need to be professional on these little rounds. And how Snape would die and probably expel me. And how everyone would talk about it, and we'd both lose whatever respect anyone had for us. And that whole thing about it sending Draco into catatonic shock, which would be kinda great, actually, so maybe we should move that into the 'pro' column." Pansy said, rambling off the list of reasons why This certainly could never work.

"Yeah, that'd be cool," Ron said, eyes lighting up for a minute before he reassumed his serious gaze. "But sometimes, don't you just wonder what if?"

Pansy smirked. "I think about all of their faces--how abso-fucking-lutely surprised they would all be."

"I wonder about that, too. How everyone in Madam Puddifoot's will choke on their tea when we go there together on Valentine's Day."

"And how they'd spill their coffee in their laps and--" Pansy stopped, looking up at Ron's expectant face. "You just asked me out on a date, didn't you?"

Ron, looking very pale, nodded.

Pansy just looked at him for a long moment and thought about that. She had spent a good many days holed up in Grandmother Viola's stuffy house making a list of all the reasons they couldn't go out and how it would never in a million years in the slightest possible way ever work. And she had gone back over it, amending it in her head, every night in bed since, wearing Ron's pajamas and thinking fondly of Christmas--well, except for that whole mayhem and destruction bit. But on her list, every item had a foot note about how everyone could just get hanged, because, really, she thought, when it came down to it, a relationship between her and Ron would be just that: between her and Ron. She wasn't dating his friends, or his house, or his Head of House, or his family, or anything. She was dating Ron, in all of his maroon-faced, holey-jumpered entirety. Yet, there was something about him that she found mesmerizing, as silly as it sounded. He had a way of making her feel. Sometimes in class when he wasn't looking, she would just watch him, or in the great hall she'd follow him with her eyes, and it seemed the rest of the world just faded away. Even though she had given up on Prince Charming coming to rescue her from her tower cell, she thought that maybe making the rest of the world fade away sometimes wasn't such a bad deal, was maybe even something that she wanted, something that she was missing in her life. And despite all the ways Ron would never measure up to what she had wanted when she was a little girl, the plain and simple truth was, she wasn't a little girl anymore.

"It's just tea," Ron said in a very small voice. "We wouldn't even have to stay that long."

"I suppose that would be all right," Pansy said haughtily. "We could even go to the Hogshead and do shots of firewhisky until you throw up on my shoes and I will be forced to scorn you until the end of time."

"You know, if I never see firewhisky again, I might just die happy," Ron said, grinning ever so slightly.

"Yes, well, there is that," Pansy said, taking his hand and entwining her fingers with his. "So, about that seventh floor?" She stepped closer to him, craning her neck so that she could see into his face.

"About that seventh floor," Ron said, taking her other hand and pulling her just a little bit closer. "I figure if anything happens up there, we'll hear it from the stairwell, right?"

"Nothing ever happens on that floor," Pansy said, inclining her head and licking her lips.

"And besides, kissing is quiet," Ron whispered.

"That it is," Pansy whispered back, and then pressed her lips to his.

* * *

Weeks passed in a monotonous wintry haze: cold afternoons spent in the library, colder evenings spent in the common room studying, freezing nights spent in dreamless sleep. Slytherin beat Ravenclaw in Quidditch, pushing them into first place, and the professors kept rolling out more and more homework in preparation for exams. Harry spent all of his free time in private defense lessons with Dumbledore and was quiet on good days and mute on the not-so-good ones. Ron felt drained, exhausted, and on the edge of madness as he and Hermione worked desperately to figure out a way to turn the Marauder's Map into their secret weapon.

"I hate to admit this," Hermione said one afternoon in the library as she pulled at her hair in frustration, "but I think we need more help."

"We needed more help three weeks ago," Ron muttered, slamming shut a book on genealogy spells. "This is hopeless. We need someone with brains working on this thing. I can't tell ass from end from these books."

Hermione looked at him crossly. "I already told you I don't want to involve Terry or any other student on this, at least until we know exactly what we're dealing with."

"You know I can't stand the bloke, but if that brain of his is half of what he acts like it is, then maybe--"

"No," Hermione said shortly. "This is between the three of us and Ginny."

"Maybe if we just mentioned it--"

"No."

"Fine, but we're never going to figure this out on our own. Ginny has had no luck finding that passage in the dungeons, even with Pansy helping her, and with Harry not here..." He trailed off, not really wanting to blame his best friend for leaving the rest of them with all the grunt work.

"Harry has enough to be getting on with." Hermione put her face in her hands and sighed loudly. "I think it's time we went back to the source."

"Lupin, whom we should have told to begin with."

"Yes, Lupin, whom I didn't want to talk to unless I knew for sure that we were going through with this."

"He's not going to like it," Ron said, pulling a book off the top of the towering stack he and Hermione had collected on their table. "He's not going to like it at all."

"Whether he likes it or not, it's a good plan. I can't imagine him not wanting us to make it work, since our lives could depend on it. Since Harry's life could depend on it. The very future of the school--"

"Hermione, I agree with you already, so you can quit preaching to me," Ron said, annoyed. He opened to a promising chapter on bloodlines.

"I know, I'm sorry. It's just that this whole thing is making me crazy. We're not making any progress at all."

"Tell me about it," Ron said darkly. "We might as well just give up. Wormtail probably never even had sex in his life, let alone bore an heir."

Hermione looked up at him brightly. "He never had any baby rats, did he?"

"No. No evil baby Marauder rats."

"Damn."

"And it's not like we can just march up to him now and demand a pint of blood," Ron said bitterly, quickly scanning through the book. "Not that it would help us, his blood not being part of this generation, anyway. If only there was a way we could, I don't know, go back in time and get him to knock up Lisa Turpin's mum or something."

"We need Lupin."

"Even if Lupin knocked up Lisa Turpin's mum now, that's still nine months we'd have to wait, and we don't have time," Ron said, slamming shut the book and looking up at Hermione, who was looking at him like he was an insufferable prat. "Oh, you meant for the map part, not the baby part."

"I swear, Ron, if you were any more dense, you could float on water."

"I can float on water, Hermione. It's called swimming."

Hermione rolled her eyes and shut the book she had been reading. "I'm going to send an owl to Lupin. You stay here and try to figure out how we're going to get some Moony, Padfoot, and Wormtail into this spell." Hermione gathered her books and pushed her chair in.

"Or, for a change, I could go have lunch," Ron said, gathering up his things as well.

"Fine, go have lunch. I'll see you later in the common room."

"If I don't die of hunger first."

Hermione shot him another withering look as she left the library. "It takes days to die of hunger, Ron."

"It takes days to die of hunger, Ron," Ron mocked as he stuffed his books into his bag. Even if he hated to admit it, it was good to have Hermione back in the thick of things again, especially now that things were getting thicker. He still detested her company, of course, but she was good with these bookish things. And if it meant saving Harry, he figured he could put up with Hermione for however long it took.

* * *

"We don't have a lot of time," Ginny said peevishly, checking her watch.

"Why? What have you got to do this late at night? Special operations meeting with Potter?" Pansy asked, stuffing another scone into her mouth. She had slept through dinner and the better part of the evening, waking up ten minutes before meeting Ginny in the dungeons for another fun-filled episode of The Walls Talk to Ginny and Pansy Follows at a Reasonable and Creeped-Out Distance. She still didn't know what the hell the Gryffindors had in mind to find down there, having been unsuccessful at niggling it out of either Ron or Ginny on countless occasions.

"No," Ginny said.

"Look. I'm hungry, I'm tired, and I don't see the point in all of these little covert walk-abouts. If you just told me what you're looking for--"

"I told you, it's strictly on a need-to-know basis."

"And I don't need to know?" Pansy asked, raising an eyebrow and taking a bite of chocolate cake.

"You don't need to know. You just need to guide."

"Yes, but I don't know what I need to guide you towards is my point."

"I'll know it when I see it," Ginny huffed.

"Because the walls will tell you?"

"It's more complicated than that."

"Sure it is." Pansy wrapped a tower of biscuits in a napkin and stuffed them into the pocket of her robes. "I'm beginning to think this is in some way illegal."

"Illegal?" Ginny repeated, putting her hands on her hips. "Are you threatening me?"

Pansy brushed the crumbs off of her lap as she stood. "No need to get defensive. I'm only saying that if I'm going to be helping you out, risking my hide while you slink off in the Invisibility Cloak, I should be compensated for my efforts."

"You want to get paid?" Ginny said curiously. "I thought the Parkinson's had enough money."

"Money, I don't need." Pansy said haughtily, raising her chin and straightening her shoulders. Even still, Ginny was a few inches taller.

"Then what do you want?"

"Information." Pansy smiled. "Of the sort that explains what the hell it is you are looking for down in the dungeons late at night."

"We agreed not to tell you because it could be dangerous," Ginny said stiffly.

"Dangerous? You don't think I'm in danger now? Jeopardizing my life, my prefecture, not to mention, of course, my reputation, by helping you do something about which I know nothing?"

"Not dangerous for you," Ginny said as she led the way back out of the kitchens. "Dangerous for us."

"You Gryffindors amaze me, truly. You must think everyone is out to get you or something," Pansy muttered, shutting the portrait of the fruit.

"It's been our experience," Ginny said darkly, "that generally, yes, they are out to get us. If not us, then Harry, at least."

"Time for another rousing game of Rally 'Round the Hero?" Pansy smirked.

"Listen to yourself," Ginny spat, looking disgusted and advancing towards Pansy. "You're just like Malfoy."

"I am nothing like Draco," Pansy spat back, pushing Ginny's shoulders so that she stumbled slightly backwards and away from her.

"Woah," Ginny said, sounding somewhat impressed. "Where did that come from?"

"I've known Draco for many years," Pansy whispered gravely, "and in all that time, I've seen the best and the worst of him. Lately, the worst has been winning out."

"Dare I ask what the best and the worst could be?" Ginny asked, eyebrow raised.

"The best is none of your business, and the worst you would never believe."

"Sounds like there's mutiny in the Slytherin ranks," Ginny said, amused.

"Hello? Don't you see me helping you here? Haven't I been good?" Pansy asked.

"Snake in lion's clothing, is what I see," Ginny replied.

"What I do with your brother is none of your business," Pansy taunted.

"Oh, so now there's business between you and Ron? Does he pay you with money or with information?"

Pansy momentarily thought about slapping the grin off of Ginny's face, but instead, she grinned in return. "Oh, he works off his debt." It was, of course, a lie. Stolen kisses in corridors hardly accounted for any substantial amount of work.

"Oh my God," Ginny said. "I might just be sick."

"Best run along and get it out of your system, then. Wouldn't want you to be late for your business meeting with Potter now, would we? Unless he's into that sort of thing. I hear it's big at Beauxbatons."

"Why does everyone think that Harry and I are together?" Ginny asked. "And ew."

"I'm not sure. I think the Council on the Sexual Affairs of Hogwarts Students got together, reviewed your history with accompanying documents, and just ruled it must be so." Pansy pretended to think deeply for a moment. "Or it could be that the sexual tension between you two is just... well, let's just say it's hard to ignore."

"Really? We have noticeable sexual tension?" Ginny asked keenly.

Pansy nodded. "It's like the both of you are trying so hard to hold back that you're physically affecting the temperature in the room. It's really quite hot, in a very gross, Gryffindor sort of way."

"Huh," Ginny mused. "And everyone thinks this?"

"Well, I don't know about everyone," Pansy said. "But Hannah Abbot and Susan Bones were talking about it on the way back from the last DA meeting--you know, after he demonstrated that trust spell on you--and they both agree that you two need to just shag and get it over with."

"But what if I don't want it to be over?"

"What, you enjoy torturing yourself?" Pansy asked. "I see now there are mysterious depths to the Gryffindor psyche that I shall never hope to understand."

"No," Ginny said, shaking her head. "I can't believe I'm telling you this, but what if we, you know, do shag, or whatever, and then that's it?"

Pansy looked at Ginny curiously. "Well, then you get to be The Girl Who Shagged The Boy Who Didn't Deserve It."

Now it was Ginny's turn to look at Pansy curiously. "I just don't want to risk what we have now if it's not going to work, you know? We're such good friends, and... well, Harry has been acting differently since the coma thing and all. More distant. More broody. Harder to reach. Was Draco different after he woke up?"

"Not really, no. Just less inclined to pretend he's human," Pansy said, and then laughed. This was ridiculous. "Shouldn't you be talking to Hermione about this? We're hardly even friends."

"Hermione's out of the question on this one," Ginny said, rolling her eyes. "She's sort of wrapped up in her own stuff right now."

Pansy quirked an eyebrow. "Oh, really?" It'd been so long since she'd had any really good gossip, she just couldn't help herself.

"You know Hermione. It's all study, study, study, Terry, study, study, mock Ron, study, study, study, Terry."

"She surely does lead a full and fascinating life, doesn't she?" Pansy said wryly.

"Just between you and me," Ginny said, "I rather dislike Terry. I mean compared to Ron, he's just..."

"Dull as a doornail?" Pansy offered.

"I was going to say wholly lacking in the personality department, but yes," Ginny said dryly. "Plus, things between them seem a bit too perfect."

Pansy considered that for a moment. "Well, not that it's any consolation, but it's been my experience that usually when things seem perfect, it's only just because they are fucked up beyond perception."

Ginny nodded, seemingly on the verge of saying something else, and then glanced down at her watch. "Fuck. I've got to run."

"Sure," Pansy said, waving Ginny away. "Tell Potter I said hello."

Ginny grinned and began walking away. At the steps leading up to the Entrance Hall, she turned. "Hey, Par--Pansy."

"Yeah?" Pansy said, turning around to face her.

"Thanks."

"For what?"

"Listening."

"Oh, sure. Whatever," Pansy said breezily, then added, "And thanks to you, too."

Ginny smiled. "Any time."

Ginny walked up the stairs to the Entrance Hall, and Pansy returned to her common room. At least the night wasn't a complete and utter failure; although why she felt that way was a bit of a mystery to her. It wasn't that she wanted to be Ginny Weasley's friend, but it was somehow good to know that she could be. And the girl wasn't that bad. A little strange to be sure, but not hopelessly dull. That was a step in the right direction.

As the door to the common room slid shut behind her, Pansy was greeted by the eerie countenance of Blaise Zabini, looking strangely smug for some reason or another.

"Miss Parkinson. I was wondering when you'd be in."

"Zabini. Didn't realize I was being stalked." Pansy crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the common room wall. If he was in the mood for a row, she wasn't going to disappoint him.

"What you don't realize could fill volumes, dear," Blaise said, rising from his chair in front of the fire and crossing over to her.

"I'm not your dear," Pansy intoned in a deathly voice.

"No, I suppose that position is reserved for one tall and remarkably freckly Gryffindor, isn't it? How is our rival house these days, Pansy? You seem to be spending a lot of time in their collective company."

"Best drop the charade of civility, Zabini, and just tell me whatever it is you've been waiting to tell me."

Blaise smiled that lopsided creepy smile of his and rested his disturbing blue eyes on Pansy. "They don't like you, Pansy. They're just using you. I don't know why you fool yourself into believing they could possibly want you around, let alone want you in."

Pansy stiffened and returned his stare with a colder one. "My life is my business, thanks, and I'd prefer if you'd just stay the hell out of it."

"Suit yourself," Blaise said, looking her up and down. "But don't believe for a moment that you're one of them. The moment they don't need you anymore, they'll drop you like a weak Accio. You're one of us, Pansy. You're a Slytherin. You belong with us, in the dungeons, in the shadows, in the dark."

Pansy rolled her eyes and heaved a dramatic sigh. "Are we done here? I have some Arithmancy problems to work out, if you don't mind."

Blaise smirked and bowed and Pansy brushed past him. At the door to the dormitories, she heard Blaise say, "What I can't figure out is what you're using them for."

"Excuse me?" Pansy said, turning.

"Any relationship is built around need: Both parties take what they can get as long as they can, and when they've gotten it, the relationship ends. You know you can't be their friend. It's just too unseemly. So what do you need with them, and what do they need with you? What are you taking, and what are you giving them in return? What's in it for you, Pansy?"

Pansy stared at him, contemplating what his agenda was, why he was asking her such things, and, chalking it up to petty rivalry and massive amounts of immature resentment, said, simply, "Good night, Zabini," and went to bed.

* * *

When Lupin arrived, he looked like he hadn't slept in days. His eyes were ringed with purple shadows and his face was sallow and grim. They had agreed to meet in Dumbledore's office at half-past midnight, after Hermione had finished her rounds. Ron and Harry had arrived first, walking together from the Gryffindor common room and having a discussion about the strength of Puddlemere United in their upcoming match against the Appleby Arrows. (That the discussion was two-sided, with Harry actually contributing more than monosyllabic responses to close-ended questions, put Ron in an infinitely better mood.) Then Hermione had run in, hair going every which way, her bag crammed full, and her arms loaded with even more books. Right behind her came Ginny, who quickly informed them that she hadn't had any luck that night, either, and then took a seat beside Harry in the comfy armchairs Dumbledore had conjured in his office. Once they were all assembled, Dumbledore called Lupin through the fire.

"Good evening, Remus," Dumbledore began, offering the haggard man a chair.

"Good evening, Headmaster, children, Harry," Remus said, eyes roving the assemblage before him. Ron thought his gaze stayed on Harry for an extra moment or two, then glanced down to see the Marauder's Map balanced on Harry's knee. "I've been told there's a problem with the map?"

Everyone turned to look at Hermione, who shrugged.

"It's not really a problem--" Harry tried to explain.

"It's more of an issue," Ginny supplied.

"Is it malfunctioning in some way? Misspelling names, perhaps?"

"No," Ron answered nervously, glancing at the other three. "We thought that maybe we could--"

"Improve it," Hermione finished triumphantly.

"Improve it?" Remus answered, leaning forward in his chair. "How do you propose to improve it?"

"It's sort of a long story," Harry said.

"Basically, we want to imbue the map with more power by reopening the original spell work and editing it, more or less, so that the map can see more and can also be used as an early detection system in case the castle, or Harry, ever comes under attack," Hermione said quickly.

"Maybe not that long of a story," Harry muttered under his breath to Ron.

Remus didn't say anything for a moment, only gazed at them steadily. "You want to give the map more power?"

"We want to protect Harry and the school," Hermione said earnestly. "The map could be a powerful tool."

"And what if that tool were to fall into the wrong hands?" Remus questioned. "What then?"

"It won't," Hermione reassured.

"But if it does?"

"A failsafe, then. Only the people involved with the spell work could look upon the map and see what we see," Hermione said suddenly.

Remus nodded his head and slowly sat back in his chair. He rubbed his forehead for a moment and then looked to Dumbledore. "I don't suppose you still keep that single malt scotch around?"

Dumbledore smiled. "Of course, Remus."

Remus was silent as Dumbledore brought forth the bottle and conjured a glass. "In order to open up the original spell work so that you can make changes on the map," Remus began after taking a small sip of his liquor, "you need to understand how that map was made."

The four students glanced at one another, and then returned their attention to Remus. "That was sort of what we were hoping for," Harry said.

"It's not just one single spell at work in that map. There are fragments of locator spells, transposition charms, revealer spells, not to mention a fair share of blood, sweat, and tears in that map, and yes, I mean literally." Remus paused for a moment to have another taste of his scotch. "We didn't know what we were doing, so we just did it. It is shoddy spell work. Genius, yes, by God we got lucky in that respect, but patched together and intertwisted, a real mess of half-spells and partial charms."

"Transposition spells at that age? I am impressed, Remus," Dumbledore said.

"We had a little bit of help with those, all very covertly from what I understand." Remus laughed shortly. "Sirius was always catching his cousin off-guard in the library with all of his 'hypothetical' questions. Poor girl."

"Andromeda helped with the map?" Dumbledore asked curiously.

"Oh, I doubt she had any idea what we were up to, but without some of the information Sirius received from her, we would have been for the worse." He chuckled again. "It was Sirius's idea to make the map unable to tell a lie. The lengths we went to get veritaserum. Another genius idea."

"So, in addition to the spells," Hermione began, "there are other forces at work in the map? Other ingredients?"

"Yes, very good." Remus finished off his glass of scotch, but didn't allow Dumbledore to refill it. "We knew that spells alone wouldn't be enough to guarantee the map to work the way we wanted. Our master plan was to give the map a personality, which would, in essence, be our personalities. As a tool for mischief making, it was perfect: The map was made from us, and so it knew what to show us."

"When you say that it was made from you, how do you mean?" Ginny asked.

"The ink itself is made from our blood, mixed with several potions, one of which is the veritaserum I mentioned earlier," Remus said.

Hermione uttered a small "ha!" under her breath before Remus continued.

"There are also bits of the castle in there: dust from the stone walls and dirt from the grounds. It knows what we know and feels what the castle feels."

"So, it's a living thing?" Ginny asked.

"No, actually, it's a reflection of living things, which causes me to worry that enchanting the map with any more power would render it entirely its own self, and thus capable of innumerable things," Remus said darkly. "This is touchy magic, and I cannot consciously allow you to attend to the map unsupervised."

"But with proper supervision...?" Hermione asked.

"I've always been a bit curious what this map was capable of, myself, Miss Granger, but I hesitate to condone opening up that old magic. For one thing, without James and Sirius--what I mean is," Remus sighed deeply and rubbed his face, then looked at Harry seriously. "I don't know if it will work."

"We have to try," Harry said softly. "I can't keep everyone safe. At least this would buy them enough time to get out of the castle if..."

"If what?" Ron asked, suddenly confused. "What are you on about?"

"Ron, this isn't the time," Hermione began.

"When is the time, then?" Ron said, his rising confusing contributing to his rising anger.

"Ron, listen to me," Harry said, steadying his grave gaze on Ron. His eyes were dark and focused, and, Ron thought, just a little bit scary in their intensity. "If Voldemort gets inside Hogwarts, one of the two of us isn't leaving."

"So, what you're saying is..." Ron swallowed hard, but didn't finish the sentence.

"I have to fight Voldemort. I'm the only one who can do it. If I don't make it, you have to use the map to get everyone out."

Ron looked at Harry, and Harry looked at Ron. No one said a word or moved, and Ron just sat looking at Harry, knowing he was right, knowing that what he said was inevitable, and no matter how he wanted to resist, that was just the way things had to be. Harry had to fight Voldemort; Ron had already come to accept that. But they had never actually sat down and made plans to be executed in the event of Harry's likely death. The realization hit Ron full force: This was it; this was how it would all go down in the end. This was how war worked. Sure, he had contemplated the event of probable casualties, but this was Harry, here. If Harry died, it wouldn't be a casualty; it would be a catastrophe. If Harry died, well, Ron didn't think any amount of planning could prepare him for that. He would just have to make sure that didn't happen. All of this became clear in Ron's mind within a matter of moments, and once it did, he sobered at the thought of what that meant for him, took a deep breath, and nodded for them to continue.

"You've been working on finding a way out of the castle, I understand?" Dumbledore asked, deftly steering the conversation out of dangerous waters.

Ginny nodded. "I've been looking in the dungeons. I think there might be a passage that leads under the lake to Hogsmeade."

Remus raised an eyebrow, and Ginny exchanged a knowing look with Ron. "If memory serves," Remus said quietly, "we spent the greater portion of one spring term rooting around in the dungeons looking for a way out. I think we even tried to enlist Severus's help. To no avail, I might add."

Ginny snickered. "I can imagine."

"He told us where we might find one, but Sirius was sure that if a passage to Hogsmeade did indeed exist where Severus so helpfully told us to look, he would surely have noticed." Remus smiled fondly for a moment, then coughed lightly. "Have you had any luck, Ginny?"

Ginny shook her head and sighed wearily. "I've been down there almost every night since the start of term. I'm sure there is one, though."

"Well, it makes sense, doesn't it? The dungeons extend under the lake as it is. It wouldn't have taken much for a passage to be built." Hermione rubbed her chin thoughtfully for a moment. "According to the map, at least."

"And the map never lies," Remus pointed out.

"Exactly," Hermione said.

There was another moment of thoughtful silence, during which Ron picked at his fingernails. "So, we need to find the passage to Hogsmeade and figure out how to change the map."

"Right," Harry said.

"I think the most pressing issue at hand," Remus said, "is to find the passage. Once we have that, we can add it to the map. In the meantime, we can work on opening up the spell work."

"Well," Hermione said slowly, looking at Ron, "there's a bit of a problem with that, actually."

"Oh?" Remus said.

"See, according to some of our sources, in order to edit the original spells, we need compatible energies."

"And by energies we mean blood," Ron supplied.

"Yes." Hermione looked at Remus seriously. "Harry's blood is compatible with his father's, obviously, but the other three links are a bit more... complicated."

"Of course, because of the generational guarantee," Remus said, as if suddenly enlightened.

"Exactly. And since the rest of you never had children--"

"That we know of, at least," Ron muttered.

"--that we know of--it gets a bit trickier."

Remus thought about this for a moment while the rest of them looked intently at him. "As for myself, I can say without question that my bloodline stops with me. I can say with a certain amount of surety that the same is also true of Peter."

"And Sirius?" Harry prompted.

Remus looked at him darkly for a moment. "The Black line does extend into this generation, however unfavorable the descendant might be."

"You mean Malfoy?" Harry said with a fair amount of disgust in his voice.

"No," Ron and Ginny said immediately.

"Of course!" Hermione said. "I can't believe I hadn't thought of that."

Ron looked at her with as much loathing and skepticism as he could muster. "If you're suggesting for one moment that we invite Malfoy into this, you're barmy. It's out of the question. Harry agrees, don't you, Harry?"

Harry contemplated his sneakers. "It might be our only shot."

"Oh, I don't believe this!" Ron said, smacking his palm against his forehead.

"There has to be another way," Ginny tried to reason. "If we let Malfoy in on this, we might as well give Voldemort an engraved invitation."

"He's not that bad," Hermione reasoned.

"Not that bad? How many times has he tried to kill Harry?" Ron insisted. "And you're willing to give him the opportunity to try again?"

"He never tried to kill me, really," Harry reasoned.

"Remember first year in the forest when he left you to die? And second year, with the basilisk? And third year, I suppose he meant no harm when he played dress up as a dementor? And those badges in fourth year? And fifth year, remember the Inquisitorial Squad? And last year, with those fanged geraniums he set loose on you in Herbology? I suppose that was all fun and games?"

"He's been a right pain, that's certain, but the basilisk wasn't him, remember?" Hermione said. "He is Head Boy, Ron."

All eyes turned to Dumbledore, who only smiled. "Mr. Malfoy has his selling points."

Ron merely looked disgusted. "Ginny? Back me up on this one."

Ginny idly scuffed the soles of her shoes on the floor. "He is Head Boy."

Ron groaned and hid his face in his hands. "There has to be another way."

"Well..." Remus began.

Ron looked at him hopefully. "Couldn't we just kill him? That would give us enough blood, wouldn't it?"

"Ron!" Hermione barked.

"I'm just saying, we can get a piece of him without his cooperation."

"Mr. Weasley does have a point," Dumbledore mused.

"Ha. I have a point." Ron sat back triumphantly. "Hang on. I have a point? What do you mean? Mutilation, torture, maiming?"

"For certain spells, compatible energies can be made by proxy," Dumbledore explained. "With spells like those used to make the Marauder's Map, if I understand Remus correctly, even the most tentative connections can be made to work in our favor."

"How tentative?" Ron asked skeptically. "Because if this involves getting anywhere close to Malfoy without a great big bloody battleaxe..."

"Blood spilt or shared. Of course!" Hermione said suddenly. "All we need is someone who has shared blood or spilt blood with Malfoy."

"And not necessarily blood," Remus said slowly. "Any sort of bonded... energies... with Malfoy could be used."

"Ooookay," Ron said. "Anybody want to tell me what we're talking about here?"

"Pansy," Ginny said.

"Pansy?" Ron asked. "How does Pansy figure into all of this?"

"She's shared... well, she's bonded with Malfoy," Ginny said cryptically.

"Bonded?" Ron asked, brow crinkled.

"Bonded," Ginny said knowingly.

"Huh?" Ron said, and then comprehension hit him. "Oh. Oh. Oh my God."

"You can't tell me you never considered the possibility that she and Malfoy--" Hermione began.

"It's not exactly something I stay awake at night thinking about, thanks very much," Ron said. "And how do you know that, anyway?" he asked, turning on his sister.

"Well, it's pretty bloody obvious, isn't it?" Ginny said.

Ron made a face, and although he wanted to protest, he couldn't deny that it was more than likely true. Stupid Slytherins, getting up to stupid Slytherin things down in the dungeons late at night. "I mean, if I had known that she and Malfoy--that she and Malfoy--oh God."

Harry patted him lightly on the back. "And as for Wormtail and you?"

"I can think of one person who has bonded more with Wormtail than perhaps anyone else has ever had the pleasure of doing," Remus said, looking at Ron.

"What? Oh, you mean Scabbers? I never did any bonding with Scabbers! Are you all sick?"

"He did sleep in your bed," Harry reasoned.

"And you used to feed him pudding out of your mouth," Ginny said, half-grinning.

"You did? That's very unsanitary. Not to mention disgusting," Hermione said.

"Look. I was a kid. He was my pet. How was I supposed to know there was a full-grown man in there?" Ron argued vehemently. "Ugh, I think I'm going to be sick."

"Get a grip, Ron," Ginny said. "It's lucky, actually. Now all we need is an energy bond with you, Professor. Can you think of anyone in our generation that you share something with?"

"No," Remus said, uncrossing and recrossing his legs. "But that doesn't mean one couldn't be made."

"Oh! You could bite Hermione and turn her into a werewolf!" Ron said brightly.

"Ron!" Everyone glared at him.

"Don't be ridiculous," Hermione said. "A bond can be established without spreading lycanthropy."

"Well, it makes sense. You're a mess enough as it is around the full moon, what with your hormones going all crazy and everything," Ron said, gesticulating wildly. "Bloody damn impossible to even sort out what you're saying half the time. It's like when it starts, the rest of you just stops. It's quite weird, really."

"I need a volunteer to slap Ron," Hermione said patiently. "Anyone?"

Ron flinched as Ginny made to swing at him. "I'm just saying."

"Blood spilt or shared," Hermione said, looking intently at Remus. "Before I came to Hogwarts, the girls in my primary school would cut their fingers and mix their blood, becoming, as they would say, blood sisters."

"You Muggles and your superstitions," Ron said, dodging another swing from Ginny.

"It might be enough," Remus mused.

"There's no risk of infection, or anything, right?" Ron worried. "Because I was only joking about that werewolf thing. In all honesty, it's bad enough as it is without adding all that extra hair."

"Lycanthropy is only passed through a werewolf's bite. Since Professor Lupin will be neither biting me, nor a fully transformed werewolf, when our blood is shared, there will be no risk. Don't you read, Ron?" Hermione said, quite insufferably.

Remus took out his wand and stood up. Hermione did the same.

"You're not really going to let them do this?" Ron asked, looking worriedly at the headmaster.

"I see nothing," Dumbledore said, turning his back and looking out the window, whistling.

Ron sighed. "Well, don't spill any on the carpet, then."

Hermione and Remus were standing inches apart when they each muttered a severing charm aimed at their own palms. Ron, though he told himself he didn't really want to watch, looked on, anyway. As their palms blossomed red, they raised them, Hermione's right palm to Remus's left, and pressed them together. Ron winced, expecting some sort of burst of light or ground movement to mark the occasion, but nothing of note happened.

They only stood there, bleeding into each other for a moment, their eyes locked, and then Remus whispered, "I think that ought to do it." And then they parted, and Remus whispered a mild healing spell over both of their hands. "You should have that looked over by Madam Pomfrey in the morning," Remus said softly. "It might scar."

"I made sure the cut wasn't deep," Hermione assured, wrapping her hand with a handkerchief she pulled out of her bag. "It will be all right."

Ron squirmed in his chair and looked away when Remus turned his attention to him and Harry. "Now that is done, you need to talk to Miss Parkinson. I'm not sure how much you should divulge, I'll leave that up to you. However, I urge you forward with caution. What you intend to do with the map is highly involved and rather risky." Then he turned his attention back on Hermione. "I'll send you anything I think will be of use, but that is as far as my help can reach. The map is now your responsibility. Once Ginny finds the passage, it is as simple as opening the spell and adding it in with the other improvements." Remus looked down at his hand, then at Dumbledore, still whistling at the window. "Albus, I think I should be returning to Headquarters now."

"Of course, Remus," Dumbledore said, turning finally from the window. "I shan't tell you that the Order need not know of what has transpired here tonight."

Remus nodded and stepped into the fire.

"Now, the four of you should be in bed, I imagine. It is late, and you are tired. Harry, we will meet tomorrow after dinner."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, rising from his chair and following Hermione and Ginny out of the Headmaster's office.

At the door, Ron turned. "Professor Dumbledore?"

"Yes, Ron?"

"This will work, won't it?"

Dumbledore smiled slightly and looked down at his clasped hands. "That is entirely up to you. Goodnight, Mr. Weasley."

"Goodnight," Ron said, stepping out onto the landing next to Harry.

"All right?" Harry said, looking at him curiously.

"Of course," Ron said. "I mean, what else am I going to do with my last year at Hogwarts? Sure, there are girls and NEWTs and Leaving and all that, but I find that my life just feels a little empty if there isn't a dark plan to foil or the risk of death in the near future. Really. These are the things that makes life worth living, yeah?"

Harry smiled and put his arm around Ron's shoulders. "Good," he said. "I don't know where I'd be without you. And besides, it's not like NEWTs are that important if you're dead, and I've heard the Leaving ceremony is a bit dull, anyway."

"You're really not that funny when you're trying to cheer me up, you know that?"

"I know, I'm a lousy comic," Harry said as they stepped out into the corridor. "What about Parkinson and Malfoy, huh? Could you imagine the look on his face if he ever found out we were virgins?"

"He'd be beside himself with glee. Rotten little fruit fly. I bet he's lousy in the sack, anyway."

"You could always ask," Harry said, nudging him in the ribs.

"Oh, yeah, like that wouldn't be awkward. No, I think I'll just pretend like I never heard that, and I would die happy if we could never bring it up again. I don't suppose you could just Obliviate! me? It'd only take a second."

"It just always seems like everyone is having fun but us," Harry said with a sigh and slight chuckle.

"Yeah, but they won't have nearly as many cool stories to tell their grandchildren, will they?"

"Assuming we ever have grandchildren."

"Assuming we live to tell about it."

"Assuming we ever, you know, at all."

"Assuming you're not a big poof to begin with."

"Hey!" Harry said, grinning. "I resent that."

"Ponce."

"At least my girlfriend never did the down and dirty with Malfoy. Yeeesh." Harry shuddered.

"For the millionth time, she's not my girlfriend. And I thought we agreed never to speak of that evil again."

"Whatever you say, Ron. Whatever you say." Harry grinned that hero grin of his and led the way back to Gryffindor tower, and Ron wondered how, even when goading him like he did, Harry always managed to make him feel a little less like the world was going to end at any moment, no matter that the odds of it happening seemed to increase each second.

As Ron lay in bed that night, he mulled the scene in Dumbledore's office over in his head. He saw again and again Hermione's blood mixing with Remus's, forging a bond to open the map's spell. It was key, he knew. Sometimes, Ron thought there was something in him that connected to something in Harry, like hands reaching out or roots taking hold in soil, a current that ran between them, that somehow anchored him, made him stronger. He didn't know if it was friendship, or fealty, or even love, but whatever it was, he knew he was lucky to have it, because it made him think that no matter what happened, that at the end of all things, he would still have that one thing that no one could take away from him. Not Malfoy or Hermione or even Voldemort. It was something that no one would ever see on a map, something that no one would ever read in a book, not even something that anyone would stop to think about. In a lot of ways, it was his very own secret weapon. It was in his blood, coursing through his veins, and he knew that it would be his blood spilt one day, perhaps on the stones of this very castle, that could make or break this war. It wasn't a happy thought, but that was just the way things were, and some things Ron just knew in his heart to be true.