The Seventh Year Soap Opera

Chapter Twenty-Six- Raven

TWO AND A HALF MONTHS LATER

"Ron?"

"Yes, El?"

"Are you sure you want to go through with this? Moving and all?"

Two and a half months had passed since Ron had made his declaration to move to America, away from the heartbreak and hell that he found at home. Three of them were at the airport; him, Eloise, and Hamilton. As the crowds bustled around them, they sat on a bench, waiting for the announcement that would totally isolate him from the Wizarding world forever.

Ron continued to stare ahead as he had been doing for the past half-hour or so. He sighed a little, and nodded. Eloise, who sat next to him, sighed as well, and tried to blink away a tear that threatened to fall. It fell anyway. She clucked her tongue against her teeth, and said, "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Absolutely positive?"

"Yes!" he snapped.

Eloise turned her face away from him and stared out into the crowd as well. She felt Hamilton grasp her hand in his and give it a soft little squeeze. "Okay," she muttered.

She tried to remain silent, really she did, but after twenty seconds of unbearable silence, she blurted, "Are you sure you're sure?" Hamilton gave a meek chuckle. Ron shifted to face her, and the smallest of smiles crossed his face. Eloise tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and smiled too, then laughed. "Right, I know," she said, leaning back against the cushion of the bench.

"El, I'll be fine," said Ron calmly, raising his eyebrows slightly. In the back of his mind, Ron wondered why she was fretting over it; normally El was in check with her emotions. She had been perfectly fine while discussing the move at first, but this week she had been uncharacteristically jumpy and anxious, and, now that he thought about it, rather pale, as though she hadn't slept at nights.

"I know, but--why you? Why should you have to uproot and rearrange your life?" she spat bitterly.

"I don't have to do anything, it's my decision. I made the choice."

"I know," said Eloise, somewhat testily. "Look...when is your plairane scheduled to leave again?"

"Aunt El, it's 'airplane', not 'plairane'," said Hamilton dully; he stood up and went over to a magazine rack, examining a comic book.

Eloise watched him for a moment fondly, as he was now like her son. Renee had never come back for him, and Hamilton had not seemed to react at all until a week ago, when he broken down completely. She uttered a soft sigh and looked away from her nephew to stare at Ron again. They didn't speak until, ten minutes later, his plane was called.

He stood up at once, then picked up his two duffel bags. "Milton!" he said. Hamilton abandoned the comic book and walked toward Ron's outstretched arms. They hugged briefly, and Ron grinned, then ruffled the boy's hair.

Eloise stood up next and shook her head; next moment she had flung her arms around Ron's neck. "Write a lot, okay?" she said.

"Yeah," said Ron, trying to sound as though moving to another country was something he did every day. A part of him was nervous about what the hell he was doing, and another part was exhilarated. Half of him wanted to stay in the cottage and be with Eloise and Milton and be a proper family. But the other half urged him to move forward in his life, to start over. He was torn between the two sides, but knew in his heart that he needed the ladder.

Eloise broke apart as the plane was called over the loudspeaker once more. Ron saw that she was wiping tears from her eyes, and Hamilton looked between the two of them worriedly, but his gaze lingered on his aunt.

"El?" Ron said, now really worried. "El, what's wrong? Look, if you want me to stay..."

"No!" she said emotionally, "you have to go!"

"LAST CALL TO BOARD FLIGHT 153. LAST CALL!!"

Ron dropped his bags on the floor and placed his hands on Eloise's shoulders. She was shaking uncontrollably now. "El? El, please answer me! Is this about me leaving? If I'd have known you were going to react like this...I'd have never..."

Eloise sniffed, still crying, and pushed the tall redhead away from her with force, then bent down. She picked up his bags and shoved them into his hands, stepping away from him. "El--" he started in a croaky voice.

"Just go!" she said loudly, waving his hand and turning away.

In that moment, another strangely similar scene flashed over his eyes, and he realized why he was leaving. He opened his mouth to say something, but Eloise glared at him through her tears, commanding him to get on that plane with her eyes.

With a lump in his throat, he walked quickly out of sight, yelling things to Eloise and Hamilton that they didn't hear. Eloise collapsed onto the bench, her head in her hands, Hamilton patting her back awkwardly. "I promised myself not to get emotional...I promised myself..."

"El, you had a perfectly good reason," Hamilton said comfortingly, then continued to, "You never did tell him, did you?"

Eloise looked up at her nephew and shook her head. "If I had, he would have stayed. And...h-he needed to leave...I wasn't going to place that burden on his shoulders!"

Hamilton nodded grimly, patting her back still as she cried, and offered, "Well, Aunt El, you have me. I'll help you with the baby, don't you worry."

And in his mind, he cursed all bartenders and all men named Pete.

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

FIVE YEARS LATER

"Ron? Ron! Wake up!"

Ron Weasley rolled over in his bed, and groaned. "Christine, go away," he mumbled, trying to go back to his dream. Suddenly, he felt lips nibbling at his hear, and feeling hot, he sat up. "Why'd you do that?"

"Well, it got you up, didn't it?" said Christine, giving him a kiss. "Did you forget that you're supposed to meet my parents today?"

Ron reached a hand up to her blonde head and stroked her hair. "No, I didn't forget."

"Good...because they're here."

"What? Chris, it's nine in the morning!" said Ron, sitting up and looking at the alarm clock. Christine sighed.

"I know, I know...but, once you meet them, we can go back to bed if that's what you want." She nibbled on his ear again, and then whacked him over the head playfully with his pillow. "Come on, they're waiting!" She left the room and Ron scratched his head. Christine Taylor never ceased to amaze him. One moment, she was shy and quiet, the next bold and talkative.

He shook his head, remembering how they had met, five years ago.

Ron sighed as he looked around his empty little house and wished that Eloise were here with him to keep him company. Two days ago, he had moved to Florida and he felt lonelier than ever. He sighed and sat down in the one metal chair he had bought at some Muggle store before moving in. "Pig, come here," he said, and his overexcited owl flew to him. Ron wrote a quick letter to Eloise and sent him off with it, wondering how she and Hamilton were holding up.

His thoughts wandered to Hermione and how he had seen her at the Burrow, wearing his clothing, her chestnut locks falling beautifully around her face. And Charlie...he had been the spitting image of him, with his eyes and hair. He sighed and closed his eyes, thinking about his son.

There was a knock on the door. Ron got up, wondering who on earth would be knocking; he had just moved in. When he opened the door, he came face to face with a tall blonde woman with soft brown eyes and a wide smile. She was holding a tray of food in her hands. "I'm Christine Taylor; I live right next door," she said, handing him the tray of food. It was filled with things Ron had never seen before. "You know, my cousin Jeff lived here before you, but he moved, thank goodness. What's your name?"

It was then that Ron realized that she had an accent. "You're American," he voiced.

Christine smiled and licked her lips. "And you're British, so what are you doing here in the U.S.? What's your name?"

"Ron. Ron Weasley."

"Well, Ron Weasley, it was nice meeting you. If you need anything, you can give me a call. Here's my card." She pulled a white card from her pocket and handed it to him. It had her name on it, followed by seven numbers. "See you around."

Ron closed the door, and walked into his dinky kitchen. He opened the tray of food, and ate it. Whatever it was, it tasted good. He pulled the card from his pocket and stared it for a few seconds before realizing something. "That's a fellytone number...bonkers, she's a Muggle."

He hadn't told Christine that he was a wizard and he liked it that way. They had moved in together a year ago, and his wand, along with any other wizarding elements, was hidden underneath his bed, and was invisible to the Muggle eye. Ron Weasley had resorted to living like a Muggle. He sighed. The things a person does for love, he thought wryly, and paused to reflect the irony of that thought.

Ron hadn't spoken to any of his family ever since that "incident" at the Burrow five years ago, and he had decided that he was foolish to think that he could ever go back. He had moved to America and had kept contact with only two people, Eloise and Harry.

Eloise had raised Hamilton alone these past five years and he had recently moved out, now being eighteen. Ron hadn't seen him since he left Britain, but Eloise sent him pictures (through Muggle post) and let him know how he was doing. Hamilton was like her son; his mother had simply vanished. Ron had learned upon a week moving to Florida that Eloise was two months pregnant, but that she had just found out. Ron had known she was lying and written home saying he would return to help her raise the child, since the true father refused. Eloise had written back, and through her words, he could almost feel her slapping him upside the head for thinking such thoughts. Eloise had had another child, by a different man, who had also left her, about a year ago. Their names were Eleanor and Mandy, and they were beautiful girls, in Ron's opinion.

As for Harry, well, he had sent Harry two letters upon arriving in Florida. The first told Harry about where he lived (but not the exact location), and the second had been written about a week after, but Ron remembered the words vividly:

Dear Harry,

I'm happy. Don't owl me anymore. I'm a Muggle now.

Harry had gotten the message, and had not owled him at all, which Ron thought was for the best. He thought about him from time to time, and what he was doing. He had probably married Ginny by now and maybe they had even had kids. Hermione and Viktor had had a child, Ron knew. When he and Christine had visited Disney Land three years ago, Ron had run into them.

"Ron, stop...stop running please!" yelled Christine, laughing hysterically and sounding nervous at the same time--the way someone would feel if they were on a piggy back ride, and that person was running.

"Need--cotton candy," Ron panted, still running, trying to catch up to the short man that was pulling a cart full of the sweet fluff. Ron had become quite addicted to it. "Gosh, you're heavy," he added.

"Then put me down," Christine laughed, and Ron reluctantly obeyed, looking at the disappearing cotton candy cart in sorrow. Christine laughed at the pained look on his face, patted his chest gently, and said, "Would you like some ice cream instead?" She gestured to the ice cream stand down the hill.

Ron grinned and plucked a piece of blonde hair from her face. "If you insist," he sighed. She rolled her eyes, gave him a kiss, and then ran down the hill to the ice cream stand. Ron watched her go, and he sighed again happily, just as someone ran into him, knocking the wind out of him.

He gasped for breath as a woman's voice drifted into his ears, though he was vaguely aware of it; oxygen was more important. "Oof! Oh, sir, I am so sorry...the heat was getting to me...Katarina, come back here!"

Ron nodded and his eyes wandered to a black haired toddler running to the woman. The woman grabbed her hand and said, "Where did daddy say he was taking Charlie?"

At the sound of his son's name, Ron examined the woman closer. She was a head shorter, at least, and had a thin figure, but she wasn't skinny. Her curves were in all the right places. Her hair was brown with the slightest tinge of blonde, and was curly--Ron could also see that it was bushy. Ron couldn't see her eyes, but he knew they were a chocolate brown. "Hermione?" he said.

The woman looked up from the toddler and looked him up and down. "Ron?" she said, and a look of horror flashed over her face.

Ron didn't know what to feel; all he knew was that his heart was pounding furiously in his chest. "Uh, how--how are you?"

Hermione brought her hand to her ear and tugged the lobe a bit. "Uh, I-I'm good," she said, sounding exhausted.

Ron licked his lips and stared at the ground. "How's Charlie?" he said quietly.

"He--he's fine. He turned three a couple days ago...we're fine. Uh, how--how about you? How are you doing? Harry said you're living as a Muggle?"

"Yeah, yeah I am, it's not as bad as everyone thinks."

"I-I know. Muggleborn, remember? Er, Katarina, please stay here!" She walked over to the black haired toddler and grabbed her hand, sighing again. She looked up at Ron. "She's two...and stubborn."

Ron laughed a little as he looked at the girl. "Looks like Viktor," he said, as the girl began to tug on his shirt.

"Oh, yeah, she--she does." A smile touched her lips.

"Here's your ice cream, sweetheart," said a voice and Ron saw that Christine had returned with two chocolate ice creams. She handed him one and wrapped her arm around his waist. Her eyes fell on Hermione and Katarina and she smiled at him. "Friends of yours?"

"Friends, what? Oh yes, they're friends." Ron was feeling incredibly awkward, and his heart's furious pounding had not reduced one bit.

"Are you going to introduce us?" asked Christine, licking her ice cream and giving Hermione a warm smile, which Hermione did not return.

"No, that's not necessary. We--we were just going. Katarina, come along." She looked down at the ground and Katarina released Ron's shirt and they walked off, Katarina's hand grasped firmly in Hermione's.

"Ron!" called Christine, snapping him out of his reverie, "Are you almost ready?"

"Yes!" said Ron, scrambling around in his chest of drawers to get dressed. "I'm looking for--uh," he pulled a shirt over his head, "my underpants!" He stopped, stunned at what he had just said. Christine's parents had just heard that, he was sure. "Shit," he muttered, pulling on a pair of pants. "Shit, shit, shit..."

He ran his hands through his hair and bounded down the steps into the living room. Christine's parents were sitting on one of the leather couches, their expressions worse even than Professor Snape's. "Nice of you to join us," her mother said crisply, with a sweet smile that was obviously fake.

Ron sat on the couch opposite them, next to Christine. Christine had her hands folded primly in her lap, then whispered in his ear, "Did you happen to find your underpants?" She looked as though ready to laugh, yet afraid that her parents would beat him to death.

Ron cleared his throat, and said to her parents, "How do you do?"

They glared. Christine gave him an encouraging smile, but Ron couldn't erase the feeling that he was going to die at any second.

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

Harry Potter led his four-year old daughter into the kitchen and peered around. It was spotless and beautiful. It was small, but the walls were painted a dark, dusty blue with a tan border. The small round table that sat in the middle of the kitchen, was oak, as were the four chairs around it. The curtains were also a tan color and were currently open, so that sunlight could stream in through the window that was just above the sink. Harry grinned, picked up his daughter, and set her down on the top of the counter.

"What do you want for lunch, kiddo?" he asked. She was silent, and Harry knew that she was deep in thought. She pushed his glasses up on his nose and then curled her black hair in her fingers, her dark blue eyes searching the kitchen. She was like a porcelain doll.

Her eyes held his for the longest time, and then she said, "Ketchup."

Harry frowned. "Ketchup?

She nodded once and repeated, "I want ketchup."

Harry scratched his head, thinking. "Er, how about grilled cheese? Daddy can make grilled cheese." And as Harry thought about it, that really was the only thing he could make. Sure, he had cooked for the Dursleys every once in a while--well, Dudley--but he hadn't been that good at it.

"With ketchup?"

Harry sighed, but smiled. "Raven, why do you want ketchup on grilled cheese?"

"Good," she said seriously, her eyes not moving from his.

"Er, all right then," said Harry, turning and Summoning a loaf of bread, cheese, and a frying pan. Heading over to the stove, he placed two slices of cheese on two pieces of bread, put the bread together, and began to fry the sandwich.

From the counter, Raven shook her head. "Daddy," she said, in an almost accusatory tone, "You forgot the ketchup." She climbed down from the counter, walked over to the refrigerator, and pulled out a huge bottle of ketchup.

"Honey, you can add that to your sandwich when I'm done making it, okay?" said Harry, flipping over the sandwich. Raven frowned at him, but didn't argue. She sat the bottle of ketchup down on the kitchen floor, sat down next to it, and crossed her arms over her chest, wrinkling her nose with disapproval.

"Harry!" a voice called.

"Ginny!" Harry called back, trying not to laugh at his own joke.

Ginny appeared in the door of the kitchen, wearing light blue robes. Her hair was curled slightly, and her lips were red. Her brown eyes, however, looked frantic. "What? What is it?" said Harry, momentarily forgetting the sandwich and burning his hand on the stove. "OW!" he said, clutching his hand. Raven let out a small chuckle, but Ginny bit her lip.

"I have that meeting, you know...the one with the editor of Witch Weekly? It's in ten minutes and I--I can't find my portfolio!"

She looked ready to cry. Harry knew her job was extremely important to her, and that she was dying for this promotion. "We'll find it," he said comfortingly and Ginny let out a sigh. Harry knew she got extremely anxious when it came to work.

Ten minutes later, he returned to the kitchen with Ginny, whom was much happier. "Raven!" Ginny shrieked as they walked into the kitchen. Harry looked at the kitchen in horror. The beautiful walls that their friend, Dean Thomas, had painted, were covered in ketchup. The counters were covered in ketchup; the floor was covered in ketchup...

Harry's eyes wandered to his daughter. She was sitting cross- legged on the floor, looking prim and calm. Her eyes held no guilt for the ketchup covered kitchen and she let out a small breath that sounded like a sigh. Harry blinked twice as he stared at her innocent face. Raven's clothing, a white lace dress, was also covered in ketchup and her hair was matted. "Raven? Why on earth did you do this?" asked Ginny, with a frown.

Raven was silent, and looked thoughtful once again, and she looked older than her years. "Daddy forgot ketchup," she said, and she stood up and walked out of the room.

"Why is she always like this?" said Harry, feeling frustrated. He pulled out his wand and muttered a few choice words. The ketchup disappeared.

"Like what, Harry?" said Ginny.

"She always does stuff like this and then she acts so...so calm about it!" Harry sat down in an oak chair and banged the table angrily with his fist. Ginny bit her lip and walked over to him, running her fingers through his hair.

"That's just the way she is," she shrugged.

"But she acts so conceited, like everyone is below her...Ginny, that girl seriously reminds me of--"

"Don't you say it, don't you dare say it! She is nothing like Draco Malfoy! She's our daughter! She's your daughter! Raven Lidyaam Potter, not Raven Lidyaam Malfoy!" Harry knew Ginny was angry. Her fingers had stopped running through his hair and he turned around in his chair to face her.

"Gin, I didn't mean--"

"I'm going to be late for my meeting," she said, cutting him off, and with that, she Apparated.

Harry sighed and laid his head down on the kitchen table. It's not that he didn't love his daughter, he loved her with all his heart. But at times, he wasn't sure he liked her. Raven was a stubborn little girl, with no care in the world. She was always so calm about everything, but when something really bothered her, she'd make such a fuss that would make even Voldemort frustrated. Harry often wondered if he and Ginny spoiled her too much, but he knew that wasn't the problem. There was just something different about Raven Lidyaam Potter.

He felt a tugging at his shirt, and he looked up. Raven was inspecting him with her cool eyes, and she held out a broomstick in her hand. It was Harry's old Firebolt. "I want to fly," she said.

"Not now," said Harry, irritated.

"I want to fly," she repeated.

"Not now."

"I want to fly."

"Not now."

"I want to fly."

"Not NOW!" Harry yelled, and inside he scolded himself from doing so. He and Ginny always restrained from yelling at Raven, but sometimes they couldn't help themselves. "Go to your room Raven."

"I want to fly," Raven said, in the same calm voice.

Exasperated, Harry stood up, grabbed her hand, and began to lead her down the hallway to her bedroom. He'd lock her in for awhile, calm his nerves, and then they could do something, like read a book. But at the moment, Harry felt like just being alone, and Raven was having a cruel effect on him, as always.

Sighing, he opened her door, pushed her into the room, telling her to play with her dolls, and locked the door. He could hear her banging on the door, beginning to throw her tantrums, but it was an unusual tantrum. She was screaming, screaming so loudly Harry was sure the neighbors could hear her. "Blood! Blood! Blood! Blood! Blood! Rid me of this BLOOD!"

Just as Harry, concerned, reached out to open the door, it opened, and Raven, gasping for breath, as though she was having an asthma attack was standing there, looking pale. "Raven? Oh God, Raven, honey I'm sorry!" said Harry, giving her a hug. He was curious as to why this had happened; he had locked Raven in her room plenty of times before now and nothing had happened.

Harry could hear Raven's ragged breathing, and was scared beyond words. Then, Raven suddenly froze and went limp. Harry gazed down at his daughter in horror; she had fainted in his arms. "Raven? Raven!" he said. Weakly, she opened her eyes. Harry sighed in relief--she hadn't fainted after all. "Raven, what happened in there?"

Then he noticed something else. Raven's dress, the white one that had been covered in ketchup, was now white again, looking like it had just been cleaned. Harry didn't care about this at the moment. "Raven, are you alright?"

"Were you scared Daddy?" Raven asked in the calm voice she always used, but she gave a little shudder.

"Yes," said Harry in a raspy tone.

"So was I," she said, and she walked away from him. "Grilled cheese...ketchup," she murmured.

Harry was stunned. That had been weird. An eerie kind of weird. A loud 'pop' sounded, and Harry ran toward the kitchen, to see Ginny, also looking pale. He didn't notice this, or the fact that she had been at her meeting for a mere ten minutes. "Ginny, you won't believe what Raven just did--" he started.

"Harry, there's no time for your whole I-Hate-My-Daughter speech, or anything of the sort," said Ginny quickly, and Harry narrowed his eyes. "Harry, something's just happened. Harry, it's bad."

"What happened Ginny?" he asked. As Ginny told him, his eyes widened in horror and his heart fell horribly in his chest. "Who told you this?"

"The Minister of Magic," Ginny answered. "Just now. He just found out himself." Tears sparkled in her eyes. "What do you want to do?"

Harry was frozen beyond belief. He mouthed soundlessly, and her heart was beating furiously in his chest. Would the horrors of this world never stop? Time seemed to stop for a moment, before he came to his senses. Harry swallowed hard and began to talk. "Where are they?"

"His body isn't anywhere to be found, the kids are gone, and she's in St. Mungo's in a coma. Apparently, she jumped from the balcony...what do you want to do?" Ginny's voice was shaking and she glanced toward the kitchen, where Raven was eating a grilled cheese sandwich.

"You Apparate and you tell the Minister that I'm handling this," said Harry in such a dangerous tone that Ginny didn't object. "I want the crowd--my crowd here right now. You round them up here, tell them where to Apparate...I'll get your brother. He needs to know Ginny, and he doesn't know where to Apparate to anyway."

"I know," said Ginny. "What about Raven?"

"I'm fine mother," said Raven, coming from the kitchen.

Harry shrugged. "Bring Sally, Hermione's cousin."

With that, he Apparated to Ron's home in Florida.

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

"You take care now, here," Ron said, as Christine's parents left their house. They glared at him for what seemed the hundredth time, and then drove away. Ron sighed and closed the door, leaning against it. "Chris, your parents--"

He was cut off by warm lips pressing against his. Christine wrapped her long arms around his neck, bringing his head closer to hers. His arms went around her waist and the kiss they shared was so long and passionate that they didn't care about anything else. Before long, they were entangled on the couch, lost in their own little world. Christine moaned as Ron's lips caressed her neck and then she arched her body against his, and began to speak. "Ron," she breathed, "Perhaps we should do this upstairs in a more...comfortable position."

Ron lifted his head from her neck and noticed that indeed, she was in a position that was probably painful. Christine grimaced, and he got off of her, feeling a little awkward. "Sorry, about that, Ms. Taylor," he said in a newscaster's voice, lifting her from the couch and into his arms. She was heavy, but he didn't mind. He was in one of those moods where he wanted to be romantic.

Christine smiled. "Ron, be careful...remember what happened the last time you did this." Her voice sounded nervous.

"I swear, I won't drop you again," he promised. He remembered only too well all the times he had picked Christine up to whisk her away to the bedroom that held paradise--and ruined the moment by dropping her on the ground.

Christine laughed. "Well, if you don't start moving up those stairs right now, you just might and I don't like that idea..."

Ron rolled his eyes, licked his lips, and began to walk toward the narrow steps leading to their bedroom. "Almost there..."he said, just as Christine screamed. "What?" he said, but she pointed behind him.

Ron whirled around with her in his arms. Harry Potter, whom he hadn't seen in five years, was standing in his living room, wand in hand, looking ready to kill. Christine shrieked again, and he looked down to realize that he had dropped her on the floor. "Oh, sorry honey," he said, bending down to help his terrified girlfriend up from the floor. She looked extremely frazzled.

Ron was angry. How dare Harry just show up here! "What are you doing here?" he growled. He hadn't seen or spoken to him in five years and he just Apparated into his living room.

"Did he just appear?" asked Christine, looking horrified.

"What are you doing here, Harry?" Ron yelled.

Harry looked hurt, but only for a second. "Ron, there's--"

"I told you! I told you not to come here! I told you to leave me alone! Why are you...why just...why?" Ron was feeling suddenly emotional, as all the things he had left behind raced back to him.

"Follow the spiders! If Hagrid ever gets out of Azkaban, I'll kill him!"

"You made me perfect."

"I love you Hermione."

"Dumbledore reckons You-Know-Who is getting stronger as well?"

"Do you really have the scar?"

He looked up at Harry, with tears in his eyes. Christine patted his arm, looking alarmed, angry, and confused. "Are you okay, Ron?" she whispered. "Who are you?" she said accusingly at Harry.

Harry didn't take his eyes from Ron. "Look, Ron, stop your blubbering, there's no time for it. There's no time for anything. Do you still have your wand?"

"Wand?" said Christine, as Ron nodded, looking defeated and feeling everything he had been trying to keep secret, the details of his past life, now slipping from his grasp. The pain was unbearable.

"Good, because you'll need it," said Harry, and that's when Ron finally noticed the look his friend was wearing. It was the look he always wore whenever something particularly dangerous was happening.

"What's happened Harry?" Ron asked, dread in the pit of his stomach. "Is it--is it Ginny, or mum, or..."

"Ginny?"

"She's Ron's sister, and my wife," Harry explained, and he shook his head. "They're fine."

"Well, then what the hell is it?" asked Ron, feeling sick. He walked shakily over to the sofa and clutched the arm of it, breathing heavily. He closed his eyelids as Harry's next words sank in. His chest tightened.

"It's Hermione, Ron. She's in trouble."