A/N: First and foremost, let me extend my gratitude to my betas. CheeringCharm and Danielerin worked their collective butts off on this chapter. It's far better for it. I know I say that every time I post a chapter, but my sincerity is true. I know you have waited an eternity for this update and I appreciate your patience. This was a difficult chapter to write - I'm not sure why. But, I was mired in it for weeks. With any luck the remaining chapters will be more forgiving.
Second, I'd like to extend thanks to mudbloodcaz for the breakfast nosh in the Great Hall. Your input was invaluable.
Third, I employ a couple scientific principles in this chapter. Yes, the triangle theory works - I encourage you to try it. Alas, I married an architect, so I've gained superfluous knowledge through osmosis. I also refer to the physical process of sublimation. While this theory does not belong to Lori Summers, I will admit that one aside in the Hero with a Thousand Faces turned my gears. The spell work introduced in this chapter is a result of the thought process spurned by that passage.
I'd also like to point out that I managed this A/N without the employ of any adverbs!
I'll ask that CC and PS stop laughing.
VLeigh
Chapter 20 - Triangles
"Time's up, Merc! You cannot leave me in the dark another minute."
Hermione had finally given up the appearance of looking through yet another dusty volume from the Restricted Section. "If you don't spill the details…and I mean all of them … I'll, I'll …," she stammered.
"You'll what?" Merc interrupted nonchalantly, without looking up from the text before her.
"Merc Thompson!" Hermione snapped in frustration.
Merc cast a lazy glance toward Hermione and crossed her hands over the book. She threw Hermione a bemused grin and shook her head to the side. It was all too clear that she was enjoying this moment entirely too much. If Hermione couldn't feel the excitement about to burst forth, she could see it behind Merc's eyes. Hermione couldn't help but believe that this lovely performance notwithstanding, Merc was dying to tell her about the Valentine's Ball.
"Dear friend," she patronized, "good girls do not kiss and tell."
Hermione nearly leapt from her chair with enthusiasm. "So you did kiss him!" She threw her quill down, eradicating the thought of studying a moment longer with such interesting gossip to discuss. She broke into laughter at the sight of Merc's expression. She was clearly trying to decide how she'd let that information slip out after a week of diversionary responses. Her face reddened as she buried herself behind the book in front of her. "Oh no you don't!" Hermione responded, snapping the book back to the table. Merc looked at her, and as their eyes met, her game came to an end.
She and Hermione dissolved into laughter. Between gasps for air, the only thing audible was the sound of Madam Pince shushing them from the nearest book stack.
After they regained their composure, Hermione settled in to hear the story she'd been demanding for nearly a week. Merc wiped a few tears from her eyes and sighed. "So," Hermione began. She leaned across the table, sparing only a fleeting glance for onlookers. "I've always been dead curious. Is he a good kisser?"
"Hermione!"
Hermione waved her hands in front of her. "I didn't say I wanted to kiss him. I am just interested in whether he has any…well, you know…'skill' in that department." Merc looked away, the color flushing her cheeks once more, while driving Hermione to the extent of her patience. "Merc!" Hermione cast a glance to the library door and back to her friend. "They're going to be back any time now! Ron won't keep them on the pitch all night, even if it is Slytherin they're preparing for. If you don't tell me everything, I will drop dead from the curiosity of it!"
A beaming smile crossed Merc's face as she tossed her quill on the table. "Well, keep in mind I have no point of reference for this sort of thing. It's not like I've ever snogged anyone before," Merc said quietly as she hovered lower over the table. Before she had finished, Hermione was rolling her eyes and waving her hand as if to move her past the disclaimers. "But," Merc said at a near whisper and then paused.
"But what?" Hermione begged.
Merc threw a furtive look around the library, looking for all the world as if she was divulging Ministry secrets. "My legs nearly fell out from under me," she whispered, her eyes twinkling at the memory. Hermione wanted to squeal…until she remembered that Hermione Granger does not engage in such activity and composed herself for additional details. It seemed once Merc broke her self-imposed silence, she wasn't going to stop anytime soon. The two girls fell into whispered conversation. As she spoke, recounting detail after detail of her evening with Ron, Hermione began to experience a sort of inner joy she'd not felt in months.
She wasn't sure if it was the impish grin on Merc's face or the fact that this was the first time, to Hermione's knowledge, Merc had spoken at length about herself. Perhaps it was her contagious happiness. It ebbed from her every word. Her eyes gleamed as Hermione had never seen them. She was rather sure this was the first time she'd seen Merc genuinely happy. This wasn't a show she was putting on for people in order to mask what she felt underneath. As a matter of fact, it was quite obvious her skills in empathy were not required during this retelling. Students five tables away could've spotted the excitement dancing from Merc's body language. She wasn't sure if these were the reasons, or if it was because she'd managed to get the same impression from Ron, but Hermione wanted to cry with the elation she felt for both of them. She relished in it as Merc told her every detail of the night they'd shared - spending a few extra minutes on the story of their farewell.
When she finished the tale, the two girls sat across from each other - both staring with gleaming eyes toward unseen objects, both with silly grins on their faces. Hermione replayed the story in her mind deciding to save the events of her own evening for another conversation. Judging from the look on her face, Merc was lost in her own nostalgia and Hermione did not wish to take anything away from it.
Eventually ending their reverie, they returned to the task at hand. She should have been more focused, she knew that. It was unlike Hermione not to be attentive to her work - especially when it involved the perusal of hundreds of restricted textbooks. But she couldn't help it. Her mind wandered among the memories in her own mind.
"The Sanguis spells are a little known faction of the larger Cognatio family. These spells were rumored to be among the most powerful in early wizardry but were wildly complicated and rarely effective."
The warmth of Harry's body was radiating through hers as he swept her from her feet in the Divination classroom. The thought of their mutual intent eclipsed the rational processes of her mind as she closed her eyes…waiting for the most irrational of things to happen. Hermione shook the memory from her mind, attempting to assuage the heat that had risen under her collar as she reminisced.
"…wildly complicated and rarely effective. In order for the Sanguis spells to function properly, the caster had to forge a nearly indissoluble bond with other wizards or witches in his or her presence."
Hermione thought about her bonds. She thought about the bonds that connected her with Harry. She remembered the power of their connection and the pain it caused. They were standing in the darkened common room, only the amber firelight playing across their faces, as she and Harry indulged in a tender exploration of each other. It was the first full day they'd spent as "more than friends." Intoxicated by his touch, she allowed herself to enjoy all Harry had to offer … until his scar erupted in pain and she crumpled to the floor with him, feeling what he had felt. She realized she'd been rubbing her own forehead and returned her attention to the book before her.
"Such bonds were rarely strong enough to provide the connection necessary to produce the charms the Sanguis spells required. The results of the failed attempts to cast a Sanguis spell on those daring, or foolish, enough to attempt them were ominous at best."
Daring and foolish, she thought. Her mind bounced around to the multitude of times she, Harry, and Ron engaged in something classifiable as daring or foolish. She thought of escaping the wrath of a mountain troll, searching for an immense, murderous snake with only the aid of a small mirror as protection, traveling through time to save a hippogriff and a convicted murderer, helping Harry endure and overcome every task in the Tri Wizard Tournament, and so on through the years. Sometimes she wondered if it wasn't blind luck they'd survived this long to even have the opportunity of facing off with Voldemort once and for all.
Voldemort.
Hermione rubbed her temples and tried to focus on the paragraph she'd now read at least four times.
"Ancient sorcery was steeped in personal discovery and practice. The obligation of a powerful connection to other wizards kept these spells from becoming commonplace and soon saw them vanish from practice altogether. It is not known if the fabled incantations belonging to this family of charms performed as purported. There is little evidence to suggest these spells were anything more than mere inventions of creative imaginations."
Hermione looked at the illustrations of elderly wizards in extravagant robes, thrilled at the prospect of casting their charms in complete solitude. Perhaps if these dusty old wizards would've thought to have some friends, or fallen in love, they could've forged the necessary connections. She remembered the progress the D.A. made in their fifth year and wondered why the ancient wizards hadn't been clever enough to create study groups like the one she was involved with. If the look on Merc's face was any indication, their efforts spawned at least one "powerful connection."
It was that thought, more than anything else, which stopped Hermione in her tracks. Her attention returned to the pages of the book her eyes had been floating over. She consumed the words, reading them again and again for clarity. She tried to slow the beating of her heart as her eyes flew down the list of "fabled" incantations and the explanation of their uses.
"Hermione?" Merc's voice floated in from a distance. Hermione heard her, but couldn't make herself stop. She had a burgeoning feeling, growing in her chest, that she'd not had since they'd started this quest.
"This is it," she muttered to herself.
"Hermione? Can't you turn that thing off? You're blinding me over here," Merc continued. Confused, Hermione looked up to see Merc holding her hand in front of her eyes, an orange light reflecting off the silver bracelet she wore. Hermione looked down to her left hand and realized her horntail engagement ring, the one Harry had given her that changed with her moods, was not only glowing with an amber hue - it appeared to be on fire.
The sight of it sparkling on her hand only solidified the nascent thoughts which had erupted in her mind. Without further discussion, she marked the page with a spare bit of parchment, slapped the book shut and grabbed Merc by the arm. Dragging her from the library, Hermione didn't stop to acknowledge Madam Pince, who was barking about removing a restricted book from the library without permission.
"Hermione!" Merc panted. "Where are we going?"
"Quidditch pitch," Hermione replied as they ran down the steps toward the front lawn. "We have to find Harry and Ron."
***
"Well, I can't speak for you, Albus, but I think Hermione makes a fair point," Lupin said. His attention drawn away from the headmaster, Harry surveyed his former mentor. Lupin did not look well. His face bore new scratches and his right arm was bandaged. Lupin indulged him with a weak smile. Feeling as though he was intruding, Harry looked back to Dumbledore. He was sitting at his desk, hunched over the book Hermione had erupted onto the pitch with.
In all honesty, Harry was rather happy she turned up. Ron had been torturing the Gryffindor team for nearly three hours. Harry reached the obvious conclusion that the only dark wizard Ron was interested in defeating would be riding a Nimbus 2001 as seeker for the Slytherins on Saturday. Ron failed to notice the excitement brandished on Hermione's face. But luckily for Harry and the remaining members of the team, she had been clever enough to bring Merc along. Just as Ron was about to blast Hermione for interrupting practice, Merc walked onto the pitch and he lost his train of thought. Seeing opportunity in the pause, the entire team absconded to the changing room and Ron had no choice but to draw practice to a close.
Not that he seemed bothered by that prospect when Merc smiled at him.
Hermione didn't allow Harry and Ron time to change. She announced that the entire group needed to see Dumbledore straight away and charged back toward the castle. Harry and Ron threw their brooms over their shoulders and tromped up the lawn behind her, not able to make up the distance between them until reaching the stone gargoyle that revealed the staircase to Dumbledore's office.
Harry was surprised to see Lupin there when Hermione barged through the door to the office. In retrospect, he wasn't sure why he was surprised. He'd met with them both in this office before and Lupin was as much a member of the Order as Dumbledore was. Should it be uncommon for them to meet privately? He didn't have to wonder long. As Dumbledore surveyed the book in front of him, Tonks appeared from an anteroom off of the headmaster's office with two steaming mugs of tea. She set one down next to Lupin and he thanked her. She leaned against the wall next to him, shoulders touching, and sipped her tea.
"Hmm," Dumbledore acknowledged as his eyes floated over the page Hermione marked. The four of them stood before Dumbledore. They had all listened to her explanation as she presented the book to the headmaster. Harry wasn't sure about the others, but he certainly felt this was the best option they had found thus far.
As he understood Hermione's explanation, this was a group of spells that drew power from those people with a potent connection to the caster. Hence, he could combine his magic with Hermione's (since they had the most powerful connection of any in the room) and steep the odds in his favor. After hearing her opinion on the matter, he wasn't the least bit surprised Hermione was enthralled with the prospect. He knew without reservation that her greatest fear lie in the possibility she wouldn't be there when the appointed hour arrived. In truth, it was Harry's greatest fear as well. He'd fought and escaped Voldemort several times throughout his life; he'd always done it alone.
He was tired of being alone.
He was stronger with Hermione and he knew it. She knew it too. He knew that's why she was so convinced these spells would be effective. Instead of watching from the sidelines, she could fight alongside him. Frankly the ramifications of that prospect scared the hell out of him. But the idea that, be it the end of his life or the beginning of one with her, Hermione might be his guidepost in the transition, bolstered a calm within him that he'd scarcely experienced.
That's how it should be.
As he stared across the desk at Dumbledore, he could only hope the headmaster felt the same way.
"Remus, I would have to agree with you," he declared. He looked up to the four students, standing at attention before him, and flashed a warm smile. "I can assure you these spells are not figments of any imagination. They do exist. But the text is correct in its explanation of their difficulty." He looked between Harry and Hermione. "These spells will take a bit of practice. Even then…" he trailed off.
"Albus, this is the same young wizard that conjured a corporeal patronus at age thirteen," Lupin boasted. Harry couldn't help but reflect his smile. Tonks winked at him while Lupin raised his eyes from his mug and considered Harry. "I have no doubt he can accomplish what needs to be done."
Dumbledore said nothing. After a moment or two of awkward silence, his sparkling eyes caught Harry's attention. "I should imagine you will need a discreet place to practice."
"We already have one of those," Ron answered with a mischievous grin. The look on his face was crystal clear to Harry. They smiled at each other, remembering the last time they were in need of a secret place to practice defense against the dark arts.
"Yes," Dumbledore smiled. "I couldn't agree more. Should you require anything else, please don't hesitate to ask."
"We won't," Harry replied.
"Off you go then."
***
"So which of these spells are we planning to use, Hermione?" Ron asked as he flipped through the dog-eared pages of the text. Merc had settled herself into an overstuffed cushion with a volume from the Room of Requirement's vast bookshelves. Ron had to chuckle at the similarities between Merc and Hermione. Upon her first introduction to this room, Hermione had done the same thing.
"I thought this…" Hermione pointed at an incantation toward the bottom of the page, "would be a good place to start."
Ron's eyes scanned the book as his brow furrowed in confusion. "Subli-what?"
"Sublimation," Hermione clarified. Ron stood in his place waiting for the punch line and became agitated when he realized Hermione wasn't intending to embellish the answer. He opened his mouth to demand elaboration when Merc appeared at his side and slid the book from his hands. For as much as he wanted to keep his attention focused on Hermione's aggravating behavior, he couldn't do it. Merc's soft voice filled the room as she read the passage he had just scanned.
"The deliquesco incantation is based on the physical process of sublimation. It is akin to the apparition spells modern wizards use as a frequent method of travel. When used properly the caster can, for brief periods, exist in an altered physical state that will allow solid objects, or spells, to move through the body with no effect." She stopped reading and looked at Hermione in awe. "Hermione, this is brilliant."
Ron's agitation returned. He felt like the only person in the room who couldn't speak the language. "Can someone put this in twenty words or less?" he asked, pinching the bridge of his nose and hoping not to break into a howling rage in front of Merc. He hated feeling stupid, and he was reaching that point. Without warning, he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder and looked over to see Merc smiling at him.
"Sublimation is the physical process where a solid changes directly into a gas without stopping as a liquid in between," she explained. "Apparition uses some of the same theory. When a wizard apparates, their body sort of … disassembles, and reassembles at whatever place they've chosen." She smiled at Ron and pointed back to the description of the spell at the bottom of the page. "I think this works much the same way, only it doesn't transport you anywhere. For a brief period you're just a vapor or gas or something, and then you reconstitute yourself in the same place." She looked at Hermione for clarification.
"That's how I understand it," she affirmed. Ron looked at Harry and nearly burst out laughing at the expression on his face.
"I'm going to do what?!" he exclaimed. It made Ron feels loads better. Harry must not have had the slightest idea what sublimation was either, or he wouldn't have turned green at the prospect of it. Merc didn't appear to notice his condition as she returned her attention to the book.
"I can see why it requires the magic of two wizards," she flopped back onto a cushion and studied the book. After a minute of silence, she raised her eyes to the group with a studious expression. "I mean apparition is just a burst of energy. You project yourself where you want to go. This would require a lot more control…and a lot more power…to simply hold that state for any duration."
Feeling the need to summarize for himself, or actually make Harry ill by hearing the words, Ron replied. "So basically, Harry will dissolve into some kind of gas and spells will go right through him."
"Basically," Merc replied. "Really anything will go right through him, spells or solid materials."
"Or he could go through them," Hermione added.
"Possibly."
"Cool." What else could Ron say? He looked at Harry, who had now taken advantage of his own fluffy cushion and had his head grasped between the thumb and forefingers of his right hand as he rubbed his temples. Hermione crossed the room and sat down next to him, placing her hand on top of the one still lying in his lap.
"We can do this, Harry," she whispered as she leaned her shoulder against his. Ron had the sudden uncomfortable feeling that he should be watching something else. He looked back to the book in Merc's hands and found that didn't help in the least. Now his attention was focused on her. He could see Harry and Hermione with their foreheads together out of his peripheral vision and wished for a cooling charm. The heat was rising under his collar.
Merc wasn't saying anything, she wasn't even looking at him, but he blanched nonetheless. Should he have an arm around her? Would she expect him to act like Harry and Hermione? Did he want to act that way in front of his best friends? He began casting his eyes around the room in search of something interesting to look at. As his eyes fell on the rain-spattered window in the corner, he realized a warm weight had returned to his arm. He turned to see Merc's hand curled around his upper arm and her eyes boring into his.
"Is everything all right?" she inquired.
Suddenly, he couldn't remember what was so distressing. He was nervous about something just a minute ago, but looking into her clear green eyes, he couldn't remember what it was. He smiled in return and grasped her hand with his. "Perfectly fine," he answered. His eyes drifted across her features until they became fixated on her glistening pink lips. He'd never noticed her wearing lip gloss before, but he was compelled to discover its flavor. Before he had the opportunity to conduct his experiment, the sound of Harry clearing his throat drew him back to reality.
"Hate to interrupt," he chided. Sometime during Ron's reverie, Harry and Hermione crossed the room to where he and Merc were lost in each other. Ron and Merc quickly dropped each other's hands and made a fleeting effort to look at the book as if they'd been studying it the whole time.
"Oh, please," Hermione said with an exaggerated eye roll. "You have nothing to hide from us," she said with a grin.
"Yes. Well," Merc stammered. "We should get to this," she said with finality. Hermione took the book from Merc and began going over the incantation with Harry. The two of them walked to the opposite side of the room; Harry pulled out his wand and began practicing with Hermione as his coach. Ron looked on for a minute or two before his thoughts were drawn away.
Merc walked to the opposite bookshelf and ran her fingers along the spines of the defensive books the room provided. Ron ambled to her side and she stopped abruptly and turned to him. After searching for something debonair to say, the best he conjured was, "hi."
She giggled. "Hi," she replied. He looked between her and his friends at the opposite side of the room, and before he could stop himself, he spoke the only thought that was dominating his thoughts.
"I'm glad you're here."
She smiled. "So am I." He couldn't help but wonder if the faint hint of cherry ice cream was the scent of her perfume or the flavor of that lip gloss.
"Ron," Harry's voice once again broke through his thoughts. "I think I need you to hex me."
"No problem."
"Seriously, Ron."
Harry didn't seem to understand that Ron was being serious. That was the second time in five minutes he'd enjoyed the place his mind had taken him, only to be pulled away by the sound of Harry's voice. "We can't tell if this is working unless someone fires a spell at me."
Ron broke into a wide grin and raised an eyebrow in Harry's direction. He snapped his wand from his robes, relishing the payback he'd been hoping for since becoming a human test subject to help Harry train for the third task of the Tri Wizard Tournament.
"What's that look?" Harry rebuked.
"You might want to pile those cushions behind you," Ron declared. Harry's shoulders drooped. He apparently needed no more explanation than that; neither did Hermione.
"Oh, honestly," she scoffed as she stomped off to the corner and began piling the floor behind Harry with oversized cushions.
"What's this then?" Merc inquired.
Ron was so impressed with himself he didn't realize what he said until it had already slipped from his mouth. "Just a little payback, love."
Leave it to Harry to seize the moment.
"Well, love, if you don't mind…let's get to it."
Ron couldn't help but think it dim of Harry to choose that moment to be sporting. Needless to say, Harry had not mastered the incantation, and Ron's stunner was as close to perfect as he'd ever conjured.
***
Merc sat in the corner of the room, curled up on an overstuffed cushion, with a forgotten textbook lying open in her lap. She'd winced so many times over the past several days her face seemed frozen in that expression. Harry managed to miss the cushions for the third time in a row. At this rate, he was likely to develop scars in more places than his forehead.
They had made moderate progress, which was progress enough to convince Hermione her plan was working. Harry managed to sparkle a bit and Ron's stunner merely knocked him over rather than knocking him out. But these were stunning spells from a seventh year student, not the Avada Kedavra from Voldemort himself.
In short, it wasn't working and Merc knew it. She just didn't know how to tell Hermione. After each successive attempt, Hermione would rouse Harry, stand him on his feet and encourage him to try just a little harder. Merc was sure that Harry's own exhaustion was the reason he didn't notice Hermione's demeanor. This was wearing her down as well. Each time he grabbed her hand and shouted the incantation, Merc saw her twitch, or grimace, or suck in a breath. Each time he hit the sea of cushions behind him, she was just a bit slower to make her way over to him. Ron didn't seem to notice either. Merc was just a bit embarrassed by that. Ron spent the majority of his time watching her from the corner of his eye when he thought she wasn't looking.
Merc watched Hermione stumble to where Harry lay on the floor and help him to his feet. She knew what was coming next; she'd watched it for a week. They'd rearrange the cushions, exchange a few more tips - none of which ever seemed to improve their record - and return to stunning Harry into oblivion.
"Stop," she said as they prepared to try again. The three of them looked at her with confused expressions. She met each of their eyes and drew a breath. "Do you, er…reckon this is working?"
"Of course it is!" Hermione responded. "It's just that this is a difficult spell to master. He's getting better with each try," she added. Merc couldn't help but notice the panicked tone in Hermione's voice. She'd seen this in her before; usually when they were studying Arithmancy and a solution she'd been set on proved to be the incorrect one. Harry and Ron looked at each other. The exhaustion was evident from the dark circles forming under Harry's eyes but he seemed as determined as Hermione to make this work.
"Maybe I should try a less powerful spell," Ron considered. "Maybe the stunning spell is too much to start with and we should work our way into it." Hermione was nodding her head in agreement. Harry seemed to be considering the range of other less offensive spells he could be subjected to. Either way, Merc thought the idea was ridiculous. Voldemort was sure not to use a weak spell, so why practice with one here.
"Maybe we need to rethink what we're doing," Merc muttered. She'd never felt like part of this group; she was aware that she was on the outside looking in. But, sometimes an outside opinion carried far more clarity than those who were too near the situation. The fact was March had dawned outside the castle windows and they were wasting their time.
"What do you mean?" Harry asked before Hermione could respond.
Merc started pacing back and forth, as was her habit when she was deep in thought. The basic hypothesis of this spell had merit. If a wizard could draw strength from someone he was connected to, he could accomplish things he couldn't do alone. She was convinced of the genuine nature of the bond between Harry and Hermione, she just couldn't find the words to phrase what she was thinking.
It wasn't enough.
"You're making me dizzy," Harry and Ron said together as they watched her pace the floor. The sound of their voices stopped Merc's footsteps.
"What did you say?" she asked them, a thought struggling to form itself in her mind.
"Dizzy," Ron reiterated. "You're walking around in circles." She looked between Ron and Harry and saw the same lopsided grin spread across both their faces. The answer was right in front of her, smiling at her even. She had no idea how no one had seen it before.
"Ron, put your wand away and stand over there," Merc commanded as she pointed to the opposite side of Harry.
"What? Why?" Ron questioned.
"What are you talking about?" Hermione added.
"Triangles," Merc mumbled as she pulled out her own wand and stood in the spot Ron had just occupied.
"Triangles?" Hermione echoed.
"Triangles are the strongest structural member in nature," she began, snapping a page from the thin book she'd been reading. She beckoned them over to a small table in the corner and bent the page into a V-shape, standing it on the table. " "With only two points, the page is straight. It's as strong as it can be, but not strong enough." She placed the book on top of the paper and the weight of it crumpled the page. Merc slid the book off and pulled the page out again, smoothing it on the corner of the table. "But, with three points," she said, folding the paper into a triangle and standing it on its end. "The same page becomes strong enough to hold an immense load." She placed the book on the triangle shaped column and looked up as the book stayed perched atop the paper.
"Cool," Ron said while Harry and Hermione looked on.
"Harry," Merc continued in the silence. "Your bond with Ron is as strong as the one you have with Hermione. Just because it's different doesn't make it weaker. The three of you should be doing this together." She looked at Hermione and said a silent prayer that this wouldn't offend one of the only friends she had. "It's not enough with Hermione alone."
Merc held her breath for the response she was dreading. It didn't come. Ron and Harry looked at each other with guarded but hopeful expressions. Hermione didn't appear angry with Merc in the least; she looked befuddled as to why she hadn't thought of it herself.
"Well," Harry spoke up, breaking the silence. "Shall we try it?" They all walked back to their places as Harry discussed the finer points of their attempts with Ron. Merc didn't hear much of their conversation as she realized she would be left with the job of hexing her friends. That was not something that sat well with her.
Defense against the dark arts was not a strong suit for Merc. If she could throw history books at them she might make herself look less foolish. She wasn't sure she could conjure a stunner quite to the level Ron had been doing. Not to mention, Harry Potter was the best in his year at the subject. She didn't want any of them to laugh at her. If on the off chance she managed a decent spell, she didn't want to hurt anyone either. She started perusing a list of possible escapes from the situation, none of which were plausible, when she realized Ron had appeared next to her.
She looked up at his amused expression and felt little relief. "Don't worry about hurting that bloke," he chuckled. "If You-Know-Who hasn't managed to turn him into a newt yet, you're not going to." He gave her hand a brief but awkward squeeze and walked back to where Harry and Hermione stood.
Merc turned to face them and drew her wand from her robes. Harry gave her a nod as the trio locked hands with each other. Hermione had her eyes closed, concentrating on something. Harry's eyes were staring unfixed at some point over her right shoulder. Ron was looking at her. His face broke into a faint grin and he winked as she raised her wand in front of her. She saw his eyes close as she shouted "stupefy" and red light erupted from the end of her wand.
The angry red bolt shot across the room and connected with Harry's body…sort of. He stumbled backwards, losing his footing and flopping over onto the cushions behind, but the stunner exploded against the stone wall behind him. That was something it hadn't done before, and something that couldn't have happened if the spell hadn't passed through Harry's body in some manner. Merc couldn't help but stare at the darkened spot on the wall. They appeared to have made more progress in this one attempt than they'd made in a week. She wasn't the only one who noticed.
"Bloody hell!" Ron yelped. "Hermione? Did you see that?" She gave him a weak smile as she adjusted the hair in her clip and nodded.
"Yes," she said with strained enthusiasm. "That's certainly something. We should try it again." Ron offered Harry a hand and they resumed their places in front of Merc. With a resolute nod in her direction, Harry prepared for another round. As before, his voice mingled with hers as Merc sent a stunner his way while he attempted to avoid it through use of the ancient spell. The results were similar to their first attempt, but they continued on in the hopes of making additional progress.
"Stupefy!"
"Deliquesco!"
The wall behind Harry continued to repair itself after each successive stunner. He'd managed to avoid falling on the cushions the last three times they tried. His body was weary but there was energy behind his eyes. He was clearly rejuvenated by the addition of Ron to the spell. But Merc was growing more concerned about Hermione. As they continued, she'd spoken less and less. Ron assumed the responsibility of helping Harry to his feet. Hermione didn't seem to mind. As a matter of fact, she seemed to be standing under sheer willpower alone. Her eyes were dark, her face was blanched.
"I think we should call it a night," she said, trying to avoid looking at Hermione. Hermione had not mentioned a word about how she was faring as Harry had been stunned more times than they could count. Merc was not about to give her away.
"Yeah," Harry said, rubbing the muscles in his neck. "You're probably right. We've been here for two hours." He cast a fleeting glance to the darkened window now dropping silver moonlight through the panes. Ron began tossing the cushions back to the corner of the room and proceeded to gather their things by the door. Hermione was standing in the same spot, eyes glazed over, not contributing to the conversation at all.
"Hermione?" Merc asked, stepping toward her. It must've been the tone in her voice that caught Harry's attention. He snapped around began crossing the room to where she stood. Hermione's eyes met Merc's and then continued skyward until they began to flutter and she staggered sideways. "Harry!" Merc shouted as Hermione lost her balance and toppled over. Luckily for Hermione, the young man who was hopelessly devoted to her had lightning-fast reflexes. He managed to catch her before she made full contact with the floor and drew her into his lap.
"Hermione?"
Merc was impressed with the calm quality of Harry's voice. Ron, having run to where they were crouched on the floor, was not as composed. He picked up Hermione's hand and squeezed it while calling her name and looking toward Harry. "Is she okay?" Ron asked.
They didn't have long to wait for the answer. As quickly as she had passed out, she began to rouse. Looking startled to find herself on the floor and curled in Harry's arms her eyes darted around at the faces staring down at her. "Are you all right?" Harry asked, brushing an errant lock of hair away from her face.
She nodded and pushed herself up to a sitting position. "Yes, I…I just need to rest I think." A clatter behind them heralded the arrival of a large four-poster bed. Hermione looked past Merc and rolled her eyes. "In my own bed," she added.
The four of them made their way from the Room of Requirement down several staircases. This was one of the many times it helped being friends with both the Head Boy and Girl. It may've been after curfew, but with Harry and Hermione present, even Filch couldn't argue their presence in the corridors.
"Hermione," Harry began as he walked with a protective arm encircling her. "Why don't you rest on the couch in the common room for a while?"
"I'd rather just turn in for the night," she replied.
"I'm worried about you. Can't you just take a kip on the couch so I can keep an eye on you for a while? I promise I'll wake you up after an hour or so."
"No," she replied. Merc and Ron exchanged interested gazes as they watched the conversation unfold.
"Hermione," he began to protest.
"No, Harry. I'm fine. I'm just tired. I don't want anyone watching me sleep. I'm sure you have better things to do with your time."
"Hermione…"
"I said no," there was a cool finality to her voice. Merc could see the muscles working along the side of Harry's tightened jaw. She couldn't understand why Hermione was being so obstinate and it was evident that he didn't know either. However, it was also clear that no one was going to change her mind.
"Merc?" Ron's voice interrupted her thoughts.
"Hmm?"
"You're this way," he said, pointing down the hallway toward Ravenclaw Tower. Harry and Hermione came to a stop at the intersection. Harry gave Ron an inquisitive look that didn't need explanation. "Don't worry about it. Just get Hermione back to the common room. I'll be fine."
"I'll get you out of it if Filch catches you," Harry assured. Then he turned his attention to Merc. "Thanks for everything tonight. I'll remind Ron not to make you angry," he said with a smile. "That's quite a stunner you've got."
Merc felt the heat rise to her face as Ron put an arm around her and turned her down the corridor toward her house. She heard Harry and Hermione's footsteps trail away and was soon left with only the sounds of herself and Ron.
"You were brilliant tonight."
"Thank you," she replied. Feeling a bit more confident in their solitude she continued, "I don't suppose you'd like to thank me properly."
"Whatever are you talking about?" Ron said, the twinkle in his eyes broadcasting the fact he was playing along with her game. They slowed their steps as they reached the Ravenclaw portrait hole. Ron slipped his arm from her shoulders and took her hand in his. She stopped and turned toward him, casting a quick glance along the corridors around them.
"This," she whispered as she rose up on her toes to kiss him. Ron's arms wrapped themselves around her as he lifted her from the floor. She felt his tongue trace the top of her bottom lip and sent hers out to meet him. Their mouths opened together and their tongues danced along each other's lips, giving little thought to anything else. Merc's eyes were closed but she felt him lower her to the floor. As he did, she broke their kiss and stepped back, wiping her mouth with the back of her forefinger.
"Sorry," Ron fumbled. "I'll get the hang of this before long."
"I think we both require some practice," Merc giggled. She pressed the same finger to his mouth and ran it along his lips. Ron's eyes drooped closed and he grabbed her hand in his, pulling it to the side and pressing his lips to her inner wrist. A shot of warm energy erupted from that spot and careened along her arm, making her heart flop in her chest. She opened her eyes to find his boring into hers.
"Good night, Miss Thompson."
"So formal?"
"It's the only name I know is yours." He kissed the back of her hand with a smile and turned up the corridor toward Gryffindor Tower. Merc opened her mouth to reply, but he'd turned the corner and swept from sight. She looked to the place where she'd seen him last and sighed audibly.
"If you'd asked me tonight, I would've told you."
***
"You're not that nervous, are you?" Harry asked Ron. He couldn't help but be reminded of the first time Ron faced Slytherin on the pitch. He looked as gaunt now as he had during fifth year. He also wasn't answering. "Ron?"
Ron stopped pushing his eggs around the plate and put his fork down. "I wasn't thinking about the match." Harry shot Hermione a disbelieving look that she returned in kind.
"Then what are you thinking about?" Hermione asked. Ron shook his head and returned his attention to his untouched breakfast. Hermione put her own fork down and crossed her arms on the table. "Ron?" she reiterated.
This time he dropped his fork with enough clatter to draw the attention of several nearby Gryffindor students. "I hate lying to her."
"Lying to whom?" Hermione questioned.
Ron looked up at her with an incredulous expression. "Well, I'm not talking about my mother if that's what you're asking," he quipped. Hermione looked at him without response. The awkward silence spurred him to elaborate. He dropped his eyes back to the table and continued, "Merc."
"What are you lying to her about?" Harry asked.
"Aren't we all lying to her?" For as much as he tried, Ron could not help but dwell on this subject ever since her brainstorm several nights ago. In his opinion, her idea to include him in the spell was groundbreaking - something none of them had thought of. It garnered them the greatest gains made thus far and brought her fully into the circle of what they were doing. Since that night, he grappled with the idea that she was becoming an important part of this "project" and yet she really didn't know what the project was. But it also cast light on a greater dilemma. It wasn't his place to tell her.
For as much as Merc knew, she was helping the three of them find a feasible manner to circumvent the Avada Kedavra. The spell Hermione found seemed to be the solution, and Harry had become increasingly proficient in using it. But they'd also learned something else…it wasn't the answer to all their problems. This spell could not "defeat" Voldemort in the most obvious sense of the word. While that became apparent to Harry, Ron, and Hermione, Merc was none the wiser.
Since Merc's suggestion to add Ron to the spell, the four of them redoubled their efforts. While Harry improved, the sessions drained both Ron and Hermione. If evading a stunner from a seventh year student could take that much out of them, he couldn't imagine what would happen if they attempted such a feat against Voldemort. He also wasn't sure Harry could be as successful against the Dark Lord as he was against Merc.
And even if he was…what difference did it make?
If Harry was expected to engage Voldemort in some version of a duel, that implied he'd have to fight. This spell didn't allow for that. At best, he could avoid the killing curse and end the confrontation in a draw…and that's how it had been for years. That just wasn't good enough; the prophecy left little room for second place. The more time they spent practicing, the more concerned Ron became.
He wasn't alone. The previous night, they made their way back to the Common Room and with a leaden expression Harry broached the same subject. While he thought this spell would be useful, he didn't think it was the key. He realized he couldn't fight either - if only because holding both Ron and Hermione's hands, he couldn't use his own wand against Voldemort. Not that he could've done so anyway.
Normally, the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain suffered immeasurable insomnia the night before a match as a matter of nerves. This time, Ron's insomnia had nothing to do with Quidditch. After discussing their progress at some length, Harry drew a deep breath and sunk into the overstuffed couch. He gave a sheepish look to both Ron and Hermione before divulging the last of his well-guarded secrets. Ron knew Harry had great affinity for his wand, but he'd never told them how unique it was. As Ron lay awake in his four-poster bed that night, he couldn't take his eyes off the wand sitting so peacefully on Harry's bedside table…Harry's wand…the brother of Voldemort's wand. He watched it for what seemed like hours, waiting for it to lurch off the table and shoot deadly green light around the dormitory. He eventually drifted into a fitful sleep, racked with dreams of dead wizards floating from the bedside table in a ghostly haze.
Ron looked up at the flock of morning owls descending over the breakfast table. "You're talking about the prophecy," Harry mumbled. Hermione scanned the table to their right and left. When she was satisfied no one was listening, she pushed her plate out of the way and settled in for the discussion. Ron nodded his head in affirmation. Harry put his fork on the table and did not reply.
The three of them sat at the table, food untouched, staring in indeterminate directions. Harry said nothing. Hermione stirred only to cast diagnostic looks toward Harry. Ron watched them both. He was hard pressed to describe the look on Hermione's face as she gazed upon Harry. It wasn't fear or remorse in her eyes. It wasn't sadness or pity. He couldn't describe what it was, but he knew how she felt - he felt the same way, but he couldn't describe that either.
She was looking at Harry as if desperate to make his burden lighter - as if there was nothing in the world she wouldn't do for him if only she could. For all the clanging of dishes and thudding of cutlery upon heavy tables … for all the palpable excitement in a Great Hall filled with students preparing for an anticipated Quidditch match, she was looking at him as if he were the only person existing in a silent room. Apparently feeling her eyes upon him, he inclined his head to hers and smiled more with his eyes than with anything else. Ron suddenly regressed to the long-buried feelings he'd grappled with for over a year when it came to Harry and Hermione …the feeling he was intruding upon something without courtesy of an invitation.
He looked away, allowing his eyes to fall where they may. How interesting. Without giving consideration to the distraction, he found himself peering into the bright green eyes of a chestnut-haired Ravenclaw a table away.
Then she smiled.
The din in the Great Hall evaporated in an instant. He imagined if he'd been within earshot he could've heard her contagious laugh. Keeping her eyes trained on his, she fingered a small cardinal rosette pinned to her robes and pressed her nose toward it as if to inhale the aroma. He broke into his own quiet laughter as she winked at him and returned to her bangers and mash.
That was when he knew.
"Ahem." Harry and Hermione were looking back and forth between Ron and Merc as if they were courtside at Wimbledon. Both had ridiculous grins plastered across their faces and seemed poised for attack. For some reason Ron couldn't explain, he didn't care.
He looked at both of them and thought he'd float from the bench. In an instant, he felt a weight lift from his shoulders he hadn't realized was there. For the first time in the history of their romantic relationship, Ron looked at Harry and Hermione and felt a comfortable peace settle across his consciousness that he'd scarcely known was missing.
"Ron?" Hermione asked amused. "What is the matter with you? You have the silliest look on your face." Harry laughed aloud. Ron looked back to his plate. His appetite regained, he shoved some toast into his mouth in a vain attempt to hide his smile.
"Nothing."
"Sure it's nothing," Harry responded with one eyebrow arched above the other.
Hermione studied him for a minute, and shot Harry an impish glance before crouching lower over the table. "Do you love her?" Ron aspirated the pumpkin juice he'd decided to sip.
Ron hammered his fist into his chest as he coughed. Wiping a tear from his eye, he looked up at Hermione, not failing to notice that she was breathless with anticipation. "What?!"
Much to the dismay of Hermione and the relief of Ron, Harry interrupted before Ron could answer. He took a sip of juice as his face darkened in serious consideration. "I think what's more important is whether or not you trust her?"
"Yes."
Harry gave a fleeting glance toward a dejected Hermione and lowered his voice to a whisper. "Then I have a proposition for you."
"What's that?" Ron asked skeptically.
"You can tell Merc about the prophecy." Ron's face lit up and he cast a quick glance back to where she sat, engrossed in conversation with Luna Lovegood. "On one condition," Harry added. Ron snapped his attention forward. "You have to confront Ginny about her summer internship."
"Or total lack thereof," Hermione said with pursed lips as she glanced down the table to where Ginny sat. Ron followed her eyes, settling them upon his sister. He felt like he should've taken greater issue with the challenge. After all, she was his sister - his family - and he knew this conversation, while long overdue, was likely to cause a rift between them. But as he was compelled to look back toward Merc, he realized his decision was already made.
"Done."
Harry sat back from the table and smiled. The number of students bustling around the tables multiplied. The clattering of dishes and empty glasses of pumpkin juice mingled with the footsteps of eager fans headed outdoors. Harry looked down at his watch and back to Ron. "Well, now that we've got that sorted out," he smirked. "I believe we have an appointment with the snakes."
"I'm feeling better already."
***
"Did you see him! The barmy git," Ron laughed as he recalled the story. "I promise I wasn't trying to hit him in the face…the quaffle just…sort of…deflected that way."
"I think you did him a favor really," Harry replied as he shrugged off his soiled robes with a beaming smile. "I've always thought Goyle would look better with a nose job." They fell into laughter, adding to the resonating electricity that filled the changing room. There were only seven people in the room, each as exhausted and bruised as the next, but their spirits were soaring. They were reenacting key plays from the match and bursting into laughter at various points in their storytelling.
The match had been pivotal in determining who would secure the Quidditch Cup. Given the point standings thus far, this match was arguably more important than any of the remaining ones. Happily for Ron and Harry, Ravenclaw suffered a devastating loss to Hufflepuff just after beating Gryffindor. Hence Gryffindor was leading in the point standings. Ravenclaw and Slytherin were nearly tied, only seventy and eighty points behind Gryffindor (respectively).
He'd spent his time looking for the snitch while calculating the exact number of points Gryffindor required in order to ensure Slytherin's demise. In truth, Harry was the reason the match lasted over five hours. On three separate occasions, he feigned grabbing the snitch just before Malfoy could, only to ensure it scooted away from both of them until the opportune moment. It had been a real test of his character as seeker to spot the golden wings fluttering at the far end of the pitch only to turn in the opposite direction and draw Malfoy's attention away from it. Had Malfoy enjoyed any talent in the position, he could've beaten Harry to the snitch at least four times before the end of the match. In the end, Harry indulged in another spectacular dive and sealed Slytherin's fate a full broomstick length ahead of Malfoy. Three houses' worth of spectators (Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff preferring to feed themselves to Fire-Thorned Bastrays before cheering on the snakes) burst into celebration as Harry landed on the pitch with the snitch grasped tightly in his hand. The team raced to the changing room to continue celebrating while a dejected group of grumbling Slytherins tromped from the stadium.
"Brilliant game as usual, Harry," Ginny said with a smile that failed to reach her eyes. She slapped him on the back and walked toward the mirror. He watched her brush some grass clippings from her hair and turned toward Ron. His face was set and his eyes narrowed. Before Harry could ask his intentions, Ron answered his question.
"I've had it."
Either encouraged by his good humor or in spite of it, Ron walked toward his sister. Harry leaned forward, loosening the protective guards over his shins, and strained to eavesdrop on their conversation.
"Great match, Harry!" He lurched forward as the remaining four teammates took turns slapping him on the back as they left the changing room. Amid the distraction, and his polite reciprocation, he'd missed Ron's opening comments. By the time he turned back to Ron and Ginny, it was apparent he'd said something she found offensive. The look in Ginny's eyes was murderous. Her hands were planted on her hips and her face was rising to match the color of her hair. As the door to the changing room closed, their conversation became audible to Harry…and any other living being with ears. He spun around and sat on the bench, removing the rest of his gear while hanging on their every word.
"Why should I tell you anything?!" Ginny snapped.
"Because I'm your brother!" Ron replied.
"So what? I'm your sister and that hardly encourages you to tell me why you've been sneaking off to the Room of Requirement." Harry could tell Ron was just winding up.
"What's that supposed to mean?" he countered.
"Oh, nothing," she quipped. Her voice dropped in volume and Harry couldn't make out what she said. He pulled off the cardinal jumper, continuing to feign disinterest.
"What I do with Merc is none of your damn business!"
"Just like what I did this summer is none of yours!" Storming footsteps approached Harry from behind and he scrambled to inspect his socks. Ginny swept past him, tugging her robes off and throwing them over an empty bench. He chanced a glance toward her as Ron drew even with where he was perched.
"It is my business if you've been passing information to the wrong side," Ron said darkly. Ginny froze as the air between them turned to ice. She drew herself upright and turned to face her brother. She appeared so infuriated she'd gone full circle to a chilling calm. Frankly, Harry wondered if mastering the look in her eyes would be enough to kill Voldemort where he stood.
"Is that what you think?" she replied with a vibrating voice. Ron cracked under the pressure of her glare and looked toward his feet.
"You haven't given me much reason to think otherwise." He looked up toward her. The strength of will the conversation required was draining him of the remaining energy he possessed. "Someone's been leaking information. It got Shacklebolt killed. It got Hermione's parents killed. It nearly killed Fred and Dad." He drew a breath and squared his shoulders to her. "And as far as I can see, you're the only one keeping secrets."
Harry felt like he shouldn't be listening to this conversation, but at the same time he was sitting next to Ron with his eyes inextricably glued to Ginny. She was standing meters away but it was clear that every inch of her was shaking. Her eyes brimmed with tears that she refused to let escape the corners of her eyes. Her throat worked as she appeared to select her words as Hermione chose her books. She raised her chin and glared at Ron.
"Well," she began with cold severity. "I guess it's obvious why the Sorting Hat didn't put you in Hufflepuff. You're certainly not concerned with being loyal to your family." Harry gave a quick glance to Ron. The blood drained from his face so he appeared more ghost-like than anything else. His hand was balled into a fist and an errant thread from his jumper was quaking. Without bothering to gather her things, she stormed toward the door.
"I'm not finished, Ginny," Ron declared. She stopped on one heel, considering him for the briefest of moments before looking back to the door.
"Oh, yes you are." She replied. "And so are we." With that, she thundered out of the changing room leaving only the echo of the slamming door in her wake.
***
After the row in the changing room, Ron and Harry returned to the Gryffindor victory party and shuffled Hermione up the staircase. Amid catcalls from inebriated students (which was to say Seamus), Harry locked their dormitory room and imparted the whole story. Ron had been glad to let Harry tell the details. Whether tired from five hours of Quidditch or five minutes with his sister, he couldn't say, but he was not interested in reliving the matter.
They discussed Ginny's reaction until the grumbling from Ron's stomach became too much to ignore. Hermione wrapped him in a warm embrace and told him everything would be all right. He only wished he could believe her. When they returned to the common room celebration, they noticed that Ginny was not in attendance. Ron saw the fleeting look Hermione gave Harry before disappearing to the girls' dormitory. He also saw the unsettled look in her eyes when she returned. She didn't have to report on her conversation with Ginny; it was clear one never occurred. Ginny hadn't returned to the tower at all.
The idea of her deception boiled the blood coursing through Ron's veins. He quickly made his way to Seamus' secret brew (which until that point had always managed to frighten him) and knocked back a mug full. The students gathered around the frothing punch bowl exploded with impressed applause as Ron cursed his lack of prudence. His throat ignited as the drink settled into his empty stomach. He coughed wildly while trying to smother the fire in his chest by slamming his fist against it. He registered Hermione's appearance at his shoulder, and just as quickly realized Harry had pulled her away with warning eyes.
Under the circumstances, Harry, Ron, and Hermione enjoyed the party as well as could be expected. Hermione paused for a few moments to speak with Dobby (undoubtedly to discuss the lopsided woolen hat he was sporting this evening) as he appeared with two trays loaded with pastries and sandwiches. Ron didn't have the energy to engage anyone in conversation and spent the remainder of the evening with a void in his stomach he couldn't understand. Sadly, after a fitful night's rest, that same feeling persisted through breakfast and morning classes.
Harry and Hermione remained quiet around him. By lunch, it appeared Harry was content to let Ron advise the topics for conversation, and the wincing from Hermione suggested he was encouraging her to do the same under the table. As they left the Great Hall for afternoon classes, Ron found the description for his unease. Hermione bid Harry farewell as she set off for Arithmancy and Ron was overcome with jealousy. Prior to his revelation yesterday morning, he would've attributed that feeling to seeing his two best friends in a heartfelt exchange. Today, that feeling was differently described. As he watched Hermione trail out of sight he realized his jealousy was directed toward her. She was set to spend a double period with the one person he'd not seen since yesterday morning - and the one person he'd wanted to see ever since.
The afternoon passed with the kind of interminable indolence he associated with Professor Binns' class before dropping into dusk. Ron's mood persisted through dinner as he watched his sister, sitting a considerable distance down the table, maintaining eye contact on the second year students she'd intruded upon. Two of the young Gryffindor boys sitting across from her were tripping over themselves to find flattering conversation for their surprise guest. That only served to pepper Ron's temper. He'd made mental note to have a chat with them both.
He'd returned to the Common Room with Harry and Hermione and attempted to make progress on his Potions assignment. He was rather unsuccessful in that endeavor. His mind kept manufacturing scenarios, all horrible in nature, which might explain Ginny's secrecy. Worse than that, he continued to imagine a Weasley family dinner table that continued to shrink in attendance. Percy had broken off all familial relations two years ago, and if her last remarks were any indication to him, Ginny was headed down the same path. What would his mother say?
He'd brooded over those very questions until Hermione's voice broke through his thoughts. She'd attempted to make some levity out his lack of progress in Snape's assignment. When Ron failed to return the smile, she asked if he wouldn't mind a walk. As it was, Harry and Hermione were due to make their evening rounds of the castle and apparently thought Ron could use the fresh air. He accepted the invitation and they set off together. Mere minutes after they'd left Gryffindor Tower, Hermione's true intent was revealed.
They turned a familiar corner and Ron was greeted with a welcome sight: Merc, sitting in a windowsill, waiting for him. Judging from the look on her face, double Arithmancy had given Hermione ample time to tell Merc the details of his conversation with Ginny. As soon as she saw him she slipped from her perch and met him with a sorely missed embrace, which he returned in earnest. When he finally let her go, he realized Merc was holding the Marauder's Map and they were standing alone in the corridor. He made a mental note to thank his best friends when he returned to the Common Room.
"I wish I knew I knew how to help," Merc said softly as they began to meander through the corridors. "Would you like to talk about it?"
Interestingly enough, he'd had the same answer for every person who'd asked that question over the last twenty-four hours; each of them received the same response. Harry and Hermione had been clever enough to avoid the question and just waited for Ron to come around on his own. He hadn't indulged them either. He hadn't wanted to talk about it.
Until last night he'd been able to push this issue to the back of his mind. He hadn't realized how much effort that had taken, but the look in Ginny's eyes when she told him they were "through" robbed him of the ability to continue the charade. So the words spilled forth. Merc hung on every syllable. Occasionally she would ask a question, or offer a suggestion, but mostly she listened as he prattled on. The more he spoke, the lighter he felt. And although she expressed the exact sentiment that Hermione had the night before, it seemed more hopeful coming from Merc. He had only one explanation for that, but he didn't have the inclination to share it with her. Not yet.
But it did give him an idea. Their conversation having cleared the mire from his thoughts, Ron snapped his eyes to hers. "Come with me," he directed as he began to trot down an adjacent corridor.
"Where are we going?" He answered by taking her hand in his and pulling her down the corridor toward a spiral staircase. As he began to climb the stairs, he felt her hand tense in his. "You can't be serious," she exclaimed.
"Why not?"
"Ron!" Merc hissed. "We're hardly a pair of giggling Third Years!"
"I know that." He couldn't help but laugh at the tremble in her voice.
"This leads to the Astronomy Tower!"
"I know that."
Merc flustered at his indifference. Ron continued forward as Merc stumbled over her own voice to find an appropriate protest. For as much as he enjoyed seeing her disconcerted, he gave into his conscience and let her off the hook. He stopped on the stairs and turned to her, grasping her hand more firmly in his. "Listen, don't get all tetchy about it. I thought you might be interested in a little sightseeing tonight."
"Why tonight?" Her eyes darted up the darkened stairs.
Ron feigned surprise. "Surely, you haven't forgotten your astronomy."
"Astronomy?" she repeated in astonishment.
"There is a planet in the southern sky I thought might interest you."
The tension escaped her shoulders as she let out a relieved sigh. "Ron, we've both seen Mercury before."
He smiled. "That's true, but I doubt I'll ever look at it the same again."
He wanted to punch his fists in the air and shout through the halls that he was the man! He doubted the Gilderoy Lockhart of old could've delivered such a romantic line…and he'd managed to do so without stumbling over the words or tripping down the stairs. The vivid blush in her cheeks was all the answer he required. He turned back to the rising staircase in front of him and did not feel the slightest hesitation from the hand still clutched in his. Feeling emboldened by his verbal prowess, he broached the only taboo subject between them.
"You know I wouldn't be so interested in the planet if I knew your real name." He turned to look at her as he reached the door to the observation deck. She had what he could only describe as a wry grin on her face and raised one eyebrow in his direction. She stepped toward him and brushed invisible lint from the front of his robes.
"Well, perhaps if you ask me nicely," she whispered. Ron could feel his face light up at the prospect. She hadn't said no; she hadn't evaded the question. Although it was only a name, it was something she'd kept fiercely guarded. It was a piece of herself that she wouldn't allow anyone to see. Even Hermione didn't know what it was. Yet when he looked at her he could see it in her eyes. She was going to tell him.
His hand clasped around the door knob and he pushed it open. "I know just the place to do that." He inclined his head toward the doorway, moonlight streaming onto the staircase, and she walked through it onto the observation deck. He followed after her, pulling the door closed behind him. As he turned back toward her, any grace he'd mustered for the evening must have leapt from the top of the tower. He walked into the back of her, nearly bowling her over onto the flagged stone floor. It wasn't until after he'd run into her he realized she'd been stopped dead on her feet - undoubtedly staring at another amorous couple. Ron wanted to hex himself for not having the wherewithal to check the Marauder's Map before coming up here. Somewhere in the back of his mind it became clear that Harry had bequeathed it to Merc to ensure they wouldn't be caught in the corridors after hours.
He followed her bulging eyes to a telescope about halfway across the deck until they landed on the moonlit white hair of Draco Malfoy. Relieved it wasn't Filch, he was begrudgingly impressed Malfoy had been able to persuade a girl to snog him at the top of the Astronomy Tower; he must have paid her. He was just about to make a comment to that effect (or a derisive observation about Pansy Parkinson) when Malfoy stepped back from his date.
Ron was unable to recount what happened after that.
Hermione always told him apparition wasn't possible at Hogwarts but he wasn't sure he agreed. He didn't remember his legs carrying him across the tower. He didn't hear Merc screaming for him to stop. He didn't remember the first contact his fist made with Malfoy's jaw, except to note the blood that sprayed his knuckles from it. He didn't register the pain from the punch Malfoy threw in return. The only thing Ron did remember was rolling around on the stone floor trying to beat the life out of the ferret for even thinking to lay a hand - let alone his lips - on Ginny.
"Get off me Weasel!" Malfoy roared from underneath him as he threw him to the side. The nickname did nothing to assuage Ron's furor. He leapt up from the floor, absently registering Merc's feeble attempt to hold him back.
His eyes darted to Ginny, unable to ignore the swell in her lips from her previous engagement. "What the hell do you think you're doing?!" he roared. Unlike the evening prior, she had no clever quip to offer in response. As a matter of fact, she looked incapable of stringing together a coherent reply. As it turned out, she didn't have to.
"None of your bloody business!" Malfoy hissed as he stepped between Ron and Ginny. "Haven't you said enough to her already?" Ginny's woeful eyes darted to the back of Malfoy's head.
In an instant, everything became clear in Ron's head. He might not have known the exact story but he could piece the details together himself. Oddly enough, for all the horrific tales his mind had conjured to explain Ginny's behavior, none of them involved the likes of Draco Malfoy. With reflexes that would've impressed Harry, Ron's hands flew to Malfoy's throat as he forced him backward toward the low wall surrounding the tower.
"Ron, stop it!" Ginny yelled. She leapt on him from behind as he folded Malfoy backward over the wall - the darkened ground peeking out from several hundred feet below. Over the din of both Ginny and Merc's protests, he locked eyes with a years-long nemesis.
"You listen to me, Ferret," he began coolly. "Moody might've bounced you in the corridor, but I'm about to bounce you off this tower."
"Ron! Please, stop!" He couldn't tell who was shouting at him now. All that mattered was impressing upon Malfoy the sincerity of his words.
"Stay the hell away from my sister," he ordered. "Is that clear?" The blood was rapidly draining from Malfoy's face but he made the effort to nod in Ron's direction. Ron stepped back from the wall and shoved him to the ground. Ginny ran from behind him and fell to the deck next to Malfoy who was now gasping for breath and coughing.
She turned her face toward him with a murderous glare. He could tell she was readying herself for another row and he was not going to stand for it. There were things he could deal with and things he couldn't. Hearing any version of "Draco Malfoy" and "boyfriend" in the same sentence did not fall into the former category. He grabbed her arm and hauled her off the floor before she could protest.
"Ron?" Merc interrupted as he dragged Ginny along behind him. Her voice snapped him back to his own reality, if only for a moment. He looked down at the map, still clutched in her hand, and back to her face.
"I'm sorry, Merc," he said as gently as he could for the blood pounding in his ears. He inclined his head to the map. "I'm sure they showed you how to use that. I'd rather I get caught by Filch than you. Use it to make sure you get back all right."
Merc was nodding but doing a poor job of masking her disappointment. Aside from the rage he'd felt a moment ago, the guilt of leaving her like this was the only other emotion that registered. Ginny struggled against his grip and he was reminded of his task. "I'll see you tomorrow." He tried to give her a genuine smile, but he was sure it did not convey for the anger pulsing through his body. He tugged Ginny toward the door and proceeded to nearly drag her back to Gryffindor Tower…listening to her heartbroken sniffling as he went.