Unofficial Portkey Archive

Author's Note: Hello to all the PK'ers out there! If you follow my LJ, or the response to the reviews here at PK, you probably know that I got a bit stressed out by the pressure to post faster after I posted up chapter 20. I won't go into a long story, but I'm an exceptionally busy person and can't believe I've found the time to write anything…let alone 530 pages of fanfic in a year (that's just this story).

In any case, I made the decision then, that I would not post again until the story was done. So here's the good news….I'm posting chapter 21 that means that ToR is complete. The bad news is that Chapters 21-24 and the Epilogue are well over 150 pages - might be more like 200. So I'm not going to slam you with it at one time. I plan to post Chapter 22 tomorrow, 23 the day after and so forth until it's complete here on PK.

Therefore, until tomorrow….

Chapter 21 - The Ferret and Foederis

Hermione looked up at the sound of the portrait hole being kicked open. Her heart dropped as she saw the expression tattooed across Ron's face. She feared something had transpired between Ron and Merc, but her concern shifted when she saw that Ron was dragging a distraught Ginny behind him. Ron all but threw Ginny onto the Common Room sofa and spun on his heel to face Hermione.

"Where's Harry?" he demanded.

"Er … he's checking the dungeons." She gestured toward the abandoned book on the table behind her. "I came back to finish…"

"Well, I can tell you one dungeon-dweller who's out after hours!" he snapped. Hermione's brows furrowed as Ron turned a cold glare toward Ginny. Burying her face in her hands, Ginny dissolved into tears.

A weight settled into the pit of Hermione's stomach. She'd seen Ron angry - usually with her - but she'd never seen him incensed. There was no other description for what she felt pouring from him...and only one `dungeon dweller' to blame.

She turned to her girlfriend, hoping her instincts were wrong. Ginny's eyes peeked above her trembling fingers and fell upon Hermione's. "Oh, my God," Hermione whispered.

Ron roared above his sister's sobbing. "Malfoy! Bloody Malfoy!" He threw his hands in the air and paced behind the sofa before rounding on Ginny. "And you had the cheek to say I had no loyalty! Do I need to remind you what he's said about our family?" he stabbed a finger in Hermione's direction, "or how wretched he's been to Hermione?" Ron's mouth bobbed open and closed. His fury seemed to short-circuit his thought process and he returned to storming about the Common Room. Hermione had been on the receiving end of Ron's rage and it was nothing she'd cared to share with anyone. Ginny's morose expression tugged at Hermione's heart. Malfoy or not, Ginny was suffering. The bonds of their friendship compelled Hermione to step in.

"Ginny," she began, trying to eradicate the disdain from her voice, "let's go upstairs."

"What?!" Ron barked.

Hermione felt her patience wane. She was no more enthused about Ginny and Malfoy than he was, but Ron was not going to take his frustration out on her. "Ron, please!" she snapped. He opened his mouth to protest but Hermione silenced him with a wave of her hand and a scathing glare.

"Ginny," she redirected. "Now." Her tone did not allow for refusals. Ginny dragged herself from the sofa and trod to the girls' dormitory staircase with Hermione at her heels. They climbed the stairs together and as Ginny pushed the door to her room open, Hermione heard Ron's frustration explode in a feral scream.

She couldn't blame him.

***

Ginny sat on the edge of her bed casting a wary eye toward her friend. Hermione hadn't spoken since issuing the directive to come upstairs. Currently, she was pacing in front of the window, the chestnut hair on her neck standing at attention. Ginny knew what was coming. She had been dreading it for months. As Hermione turned to face her, it was all too clear Ginny's time had run out.

"I don't know what to say," Hermione lamented. Ginny found sudden interest in her bed coverings. She ran her finger along the crimson threading of her pillowcase and accepted the consequences of the predicament she'd manufactured for herself.

"I knew he wouldn't understand," she said, thinking of her brother steaming in the Common Room below.

"How can you expect us to?" Hermione countered. Ginny felt the tears stinging her eyes. Months of stress from guarding this secret usurped her optimism and drained her spirit, leaving her unable to muster the energy to maintain the fight any longer.

Ginny's eyes found Hermione's. Hermione's body was rigid and her anger apparent, but her eyes reflected the compassion of the friend Ginny had known for so long. Somewhere in her heart she knew that if she could only convince Hermione, Harry and Ron would acquiesce. "You have to believe me, Hermione," she began. "He's different now." Although she didn't reply, Hermione's eyes narrowed. Ginny tried to rub the burgeoning headache from her temples. In her dreams she'd maintained the futile hope that this would be easy.

Hermione sat on the bed opposite her. "Ginny," her voice softened. "Explain it to me."

Ginny drew a breath and prepared to divulge the story that had produced both pleasure and pain over the past several months.

***

Ginny stepped out of the fire and brushed the haze of soot from her robes. Smiling, she glanced around at the bustling activity of the cobblestone street. She threw the leather pouch which her mother had packed for her over her shoulder. Like everything else the Weasleys owned, it was old, but had been well-maintained with meticulous care. She drew a breath for courage and turned to walk down the street.

She weaved among the crowd, with a hand on the pouch if only to ensure it was still on her shoulder. It carried her credentials, her essay, and her hopes that this interview would lead to an exciting summer. She'd heard about the Witch Weekly internship several months prior to the end of school. Although there were rumors that some Ravenclaw was riding the coattails of nepotism, it didn't dissuade Ginny from plunging headlong into her own interview.

The day couldn't have been more promising. Even by British standards, it was a balmy summer day. An eastern breeze nipped at her summer robes while the sun kissed the highlights of her ginger hair. The weather reflected her elation. She wasn't just interviewing for an interesting job - she was interviewing for an interesting job alone.

At that moment, there was nothing better in the world than being sixteen and given free reign to act like a bona fide adult. To her mother's obvious displeasure, her father allowed her to travel to her interview in Diagon Alley alone. He reasoned that the meeting wouldn't be long, she could floo there safely, and she had Fred and George at her disposal should any issues arise. Upon receiving his permission, Ginny tackled her father in excitement as her mother stewed in the chair adjacent to her. But Ginny knew how to play her.

As soon as she'd released her father, she leapt on her mother with the same wild abandon. She interrupted her mother's admonitions with grateful sentiments and a proclamation of her love. That was all it took. Really, that was all it ever took. When Molly's shoulders dropped and her arms hugged Ginny with equal fervor, she knew she'd won the battle. Over the next few days, her mother helped her choose the most appropriate attire and unearthed an old leather pouch to make her look more "professional." This morning, Molly had wished her well and watched Ginny floo away.

She wasn't entirely truthful, which is to say she was equally as truthful as every other sixteen year old girl in her position. She exaggerated the length of her appointment in order to grant herself a few hours of additional leisure. After the interview ended, she was sorry she'd done so.

The interview was the shortest on record. She appeared before the Witch Weekly columnist in a tea room behind Quality Quidditch Supplies. Ginny was eager and bursting with enthusiasm. It ebbed quickly. The woman only cast a cursory glance at her writing sample. She asked a few inane questions, but nothing measurable to what Ginny had prepared for. After the woman's third yawn and the second look to the clock above Ginny's head, she understood that this interview was a technicality. She mocked herself for not having seen it earlier. She'd heard the Ravenclaw interviewed at Witch Weekly's secretive headquarters, whereas she was asked for a casual chat in a Diagon Alley tea room. Whether the proclamation was official or not, the intern had been chosen long before Ginny stepped into the office.

She left the tea room as cold and dejected as Hagrid at a Sadie Hawkins dance. Her elation gone, she wandered along the cobblestone street, giving little thought to her destination. Her thoughts drifted between self-deprecation and her mother's shepherd's pie. A low rumble in her stomach reminded her that she hadn't eaten since the nervous breakfast she'd nipped at hours earlier. As the thought crossed her mind, she'd caught wind of the tempting smell of roast lamb wafting through the air. Following the dictates of her stomach, she pushed open the door to a dim pub she'd never noticed in all her treks to Diagon Alley.

Her mother gave her a bit of money before she'd left to buy something nice for herself as reward. At this point, a warm meal was as good as any. The place was sparse. A couple in dark robes sat at one end of the room while a few individual customers tended to their meals in silence. She made her way to a vacant table and sat down. As she opened a tattered menu, a young witch made her way to the table with a small pad and quill.

"What can I get for you, love?"

Ginny perused the menu. "What is that smell?"

The witch gave a faint smile. "That's the house specialty."

"I'll have that." The witch jotted a few notes on the pad and swept toward the bar. Ginny watched her walk away. As she rounded the corner of the bar, she passed a young man and gave his shoulder a supportive tap. He didn't seem to notice. His head was buried in his crossed arms that were propped on the table. Before returning to Ginny with a glass of water, she stopped at the table and refilled his.

"What's the matter with him?" Ginny inquired. The witch cast a glance over her shoulder and sighed.

"Poor bloke. He's been coming around here for several days. He hasn't got a lot of money - well, none really. The water is free." She looked around nervously. "And I'll give him a spot of food when the boss isn't looking. He might be having a rough go of it, but he's not hard on the eyes." She winked at Ginny and sauntered to the next table. Ginny couldn't help but smile at the girl's candor. His head lifted from the table; she glanced toward him, sipping her water…and promptly choked on it.

It was Draco Malfoy.

She coughed the water out of her throat and tried to regain the breath that shock had stolen from her. "Good heavens, dearie!" The witch had returned with her meal. "Are you all right?"

Ginny, snapping her eyes away from Malfoy, nodded her head and took another sip of her water. It was no good. Her coughing had drawn his attention along with the other occupants of the pub. When she chanced a glance across the room, he was glaring at her. Before any manner of time had passed, he crossed the room and stood over her at the table.

"What are you doing here, Weasley?"

Ginny looked at him. "Well, good afternoon to you as well."

He straightened his back and stiffened. "Come here to have a go at me?" Ginny cut her eyes back to the steaming roast lamb on her plate and dropped her serviette to her lap.

"I came here to have a bit of this lamb…or isn't that obvious?" She busied herself by cutting the meat into slices and arranging her potato as she liked it. To her surprise, Malfoy dropped into the chair opposite her.

"I didn't think any of the righteous Weasleys dared to show their face in Knockturn Alley." Ginny's eyes snapped up. Malfoy laughed in response. "Don't even know where you are, do you?"

Ginny looked around the room again. There were no outward signs that this place could be a bastion for dark wizards. There were no shrunken heads or body parts hammered to the wall. There were no portraits of You-Know-Who or dark marks floating about. As she scrutinized the décor, she came to realize she didn't have the first clue how to discern a "bad" establishment from a "good" one. Even the food smelled wonderful. It couldn't be a dodgy place…could it?

She looked back to her tablemate and noticed the smirk sliding from his face. His eyes cut away from her plate. He looked around the room as if it was his intention. That was when she saw the look. That look was her undoing. It led to so many decisions that threatened everything she'd known to be true. But she couldn't help herself.

"What look?" Hermione asked.

Ginny turned away from the window she'd been fixated on while recanting the story. She hoped Hermione would understand what she was about to tell her. If she didn't understand, then trying to convince anyone else would be an exercise in futility. "The same look Harry had the first time I saw him on platform nine and three quarters."

"Harry?"

"It was before I'd ever met you, even before Ron met you. I'd come to King's Cross to see him off for his first year at Hogwarts and saw Harry on the platform." She appraised the look on Hermione's face and continued onward. Hermione's brows were furrowed, but she was hanging on Ginny's every word. "He looked so lost." She realized her voice had trailed away leaving a silence hanging between them. She looked back to Hermione and continued. "That's how Draco looked. Lost. I offered him some of my dinner and he finally found a way to save his dignity and indulge." Ginny played with the coverlet on the bed. "He hadn't eaten in days."

"Why not?" Hermione inquired.

Ginny couldn't believe she'd asked the question. "Why not?" she scoffed. "Surely, you haven't forgotten what he did last year in the Hogs Head?"

"No."

"That's not exactly something you can easily recover from. He couldn't very well return to Malfoy Manor after having stood up to his father that way," Ginny argued.

"I suppose not," Hermione begrudged.

"He'd left Hogwarts with the gold he had remaining from the term. His father froze his access to the family vault at Gringotts." Ginny chuckled sadly. "He had no idea how to manage his money. He'd spent everything he had in a few short weeks."

"So where was he staying?" Hermione quipped.

Ginny looked at her with a scathing expression. She'd hoped Hermione would be more understanding than her brother. "There is a small boarding house above a shop in Knockturn Alley. As you can imagine, Lucius Malfoy was not about to tell the world of his son's betrayal, and Draco didn't want anyone to know either. Not being the wiser, I think the witch operating that boarding house thought it would benefit her to let him stay there free of charge."

Hermione's head fell into her hands. Without looking up she muttered, "Make me understand the rest."

Ginny understood what she was asking without requiring explanation.

"Ginny! How was the interview?" Mrs. Weasley tossed a dishrag on the table and scurried over to her daughter as she emerged from the fire.

"Good!" Ginny chirped. She didn't have the heart to tell her mother the real story. Besides, she wasn't sure her brain could manage it without an aside to Draco Malfoy. For as much as she tried, she couldn't get him - or his look - out of her mind. He was destitute and it was only a few weeks into the summer holiday.

"Well, supper is almost ready. Go upstairs and change out of these nice clothes," Molly said, giving her a hug. Ginny was glad for the excuse. She wanted to be alone, now, more than anything. She took the stairs two at a time and closed the door to her bedroom. She flopped over on the bed and threw her arm over her forehead. She was so confused.

She lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling above her head. She ran through the scene in the pub time and time again, replaying the conversation, scrutinizing the expression on Malfoy's face. She could still hear the sad timbre of his voice as he grudgingly shared some of the highlights.

Her mind and her heart were battling each other. Her heart couldn't help but believe he'd changed. He'd stood up to his father in the Hog's Head. He'd refrained from any scathing comments toward anyone after that. She didn't even recall seeing him on the train back to Hogwarts. And that look - always the look. He just appeared to be different. After his initial greeting, he had carried on a conversation with her as any acquaintance would. He didn't deride her family; he didn't mention her friends. In all, it had been a rather pleasant afternoon.

But always, she had to contend with her mind, her memory, her logic. For as much as she tried to block it out, it would not be silenced.

"He's Draco Malfoy. He's the poster-boy for pureblood wizards. His father is a Death Eater. He's made the last six years of his life interesting by degrading your family and your friends. He hasn't got a heart. He was playing your sympathies for your roast lamb."

But in the end, she didn't believe that. She couldn't. She was there. She heard the intonation of his voice. She saw the look in his eyes. He was lost. He was alone. He'd opened a grand schism in the Malfoy family and was considered dead by his own father. He'd chosen to stand among her friends, rather than against them. That choice left him with nothing. The very thought spawned a wellspring of tears in her eyes.

The floor above her rattled, no doubt from Ron's footfalls in his bedroom. She watched the dust shake from the ceiling as he walked across the room. She squeezed her eyes shut and sat up, burying her head in her hands. She couldn't believe what she was considering.

"You can't do this!" her logic screamed.

"He's starving!" so replied her heart.

"It's not your concern!"

"But there's no one who will help him. He's alone!"

"What makes you think he'll accept your help?"

"I don't know. I just feel it in my bones. He talked to me today…really TALKED to me, for the first time since I've known him. I'm not in Slytherin. I'm not one of his "friends." He has nothing to lose by accepting my help."

"Except that you're a Weasley and he hates you."

"Then he's going to have to get over it. I am not going to let him starve, not if I can save him."

"And they say Harry has the savior complex."

"I'm not Harry."

Hermione grumbled aloud drawing Ginny's thoughts away from the story at hand. "You honestly thought you could reach Malfoy?" she said. Her patience appeared to be at the breaking point. As it was, Ginny was impressed Hermione had maintained her composure as long as she had.

"I did reach him, Hermione." Hermione loosed a sardonic look to which Ginny did not respond.

Hermione bit back the scathing response in her head and continued. "All right, so you obviously hatched the internship plan in order to get back to Knockturn Alley." Ginny nodded her head. "How did you manage it?"

"I thought about it all evening." She hesitated to look at Hermione. "I guess I'd thought about it for weeks." Hermione's eyebrows knitted together. "Ever since he showed up in Hogsmeade I hadn't stopped wondering what made him do it. I tried to talk to him in the hospital wing." Ginny let out a sharp sigh. "He wouldn't talk to me. He wouldn't even insult me. He didn't see any of us on the train home so I set off to find him." She caught Hermione's eye. "He stayed in the baggage car. I saw Crabbe and Goyle skulking around for him." Ginny hesitated. "I sent them in the wrong direction." Hermione rubbed the growing headache from her temples. "Anyway," Ginny cleared her throat, "by morning, I'd sussed it all out."

"Ginny!" Ron's voice barked up the stairs. "Mum didn't make enough porridge for the royal family! If you want some you'd better get down here!"

"I'm coming," she replied without looking up from her task. She was seated at her writing desk, where she'd been for the last forty minutes. After several drafts, she'd finally crafted the perfect acceptance letter from Witch Weekly and charmed the quill to disguise her handwriting. With a few inflammare spells to dispense with the evidence, she sealed the envelope and rose from the desk.

"You're stark raving mad. You'll never get away with this!" her logic warned.

"Sod off."

She used the front of her jeans to brush the sweat from her hands and gave a fleeting look into the mirror. Before she could talk herself out of it, she opened the door and descended the stairs.

She burst into the kitchen waving the letter in her hand. As expected, everyone in the room turned to investigate the ruckus. As their eyes fell upon her, she understood this performance had to be the best in her melodramatic history if she held any hope of bringing her plan to fruition.

"Ginny?" her mother startled. "What in the world?" She flustered.

"Act I; scene I. I hope you're up for it," her reason chided.

"Look!" she screeched, shoving the letter into her mother's hand. "An owl just arrived with this!"

"Owl?" Ron questioned as he looked toward the kitchen window. "Owl post is delivered down here," he muttered. Ginny froze. Barely a sentence into her deceit, and she'd already fumbled. Her mind raced along a litany of ridiculous excuses until she landed upon one that sounded viable.

"Errol delivers the post down here. This owl was looking for me and tapped on my window." Ron shrugged and grabbed a handful of bacon from the platter just as Molly let out a shriek.

"You got the internship!" she screamed.

"That was a quick decision," her father mused.

"Of course it was!" Molly argued. "Who wouldn't leap at the chance to have Ginny on their staff?" Ginny was relieved that her mother had chimed in on her side. It made the whole scene easier. She'd accepted it without reservation and expected everyone else to do the same. It appeared they had done so without question.

She'd worded the acceptance to allow her little time to dally at the Burrow. After breakfast, the family began a flurry of activity to prepare her for her trip to Diagon Alley. The letter indicated the time her contact would be waiting for her. The rest was up to Ginny.

"Act I; Scene II. You're still mental," the angel on her shoulder argued.

"Shut it."

"Please, mum. This is my first real job. I don't want to go there looking like a child. I don't want to meet these people with my mummy and daddy helping me along."

"But, Ginny! You're going to live there for the summer. We need to make sure you get appropriate lodging and I'd like to get you some stores for your kitchen." Molly looked offended that Ginny would think to go this alone.

"They've already got accommodations for me," she said, pointing at the manufactured lie from the morning's post.

"I think your mother is right, Ginny. I would like to meet these people for myself," her father added. Ginny was beginning to panic. If she couldn't convince them to allow her to go on her own, her entire plan would not only be short-circuited, but she'd have to answer quite a few questions she would rather avoid. Growing irritated with her inability to work her own plan, she stomped her foot on the floor.

"Mum, Dad, I'm begging you! I will be perfectly fine! I went to the interview by myself. I want to do this by myself. For me! If I have any problems, I'm not terribly far from Fred and George. I promise I'll floo there straight away!" She'd said the magic words. Her mother and father exchanged a glance that seemed to convey they'd forgotten about the twins' presence in Diagon Alley. The lack of an immediate refusal engendered hope in Ginny. She could drop by the joke shop and ensure her mother received a glowing report.

"Well," Molly waffled.

"Please," Ginny interrupted, grabbing the hem of her sleeve. Her parents exchanged one more look and her father nodded. Ginny jumped into Arthur's arms and repeated her thanks until they were sick of hearing it. Two hours later, she said her final goodbyes at the fireplace and set off for Diagon Alley.

She pulled her trunk through the streets while keeping a wary eye open. She felt like a counterintelligence operative. She continued to check her surroundings as she clattered along the pavement. Until she made it to Knockturn Alley, there were a variety of people in Diagon Alley (not the least of which were Fred and George) who might recognize her. For that reason, she pulled a hat from her trunk to cover her signature Weasley hair and slipped a pair of dark glasses on. It didn't take long to find the shop Draco talked about. She walked in, trying to appear as sinister as possible, and approached the witch behind the counter.

"Yes?"

"I'm here to call on Draco Malfoy."

She raised an eyebrow. "He hasn't had any callers. Does he know you're coming?"

"No. It's a bit of a surprise."

She looked at the trunk behind Ginny. "I should say so. Will you be staying with him then?"

Ginny felt the witch appraising her. This was yet another act in the play. If she could get past her, the rest would take care of itself. Feeling the witch study her carefully, Ginny replied, "I don't think that's your concern. Uncle Lucius said he was here. Should I tell him that Draco has disappeared?"

"Uncle…" the witch suddenly grappled for some papers. "I didn't realize…oh…in that case," she stammered. "I'll take you right up."

Ginny's heart was pounding in her throat as they climbed the stairs. Malfoy had no idea she was coming. He was likely to say something scathing…or just plain stupid…and wreck the whole thing. She cursed herself for not having the forethought to have owled ahead. Whether he would've been accepting or not, he might've been prepared. She had a feeling she would have to act fast upon seeing him and tried to prepare her response as they approached a door at the end of the hall.

The witch knocked on the door and Ginny heard rustling inside. Within seconds, Draco appeared in the doorway. His eyes drifted from the witch to Ginny and grew wide with disbelief. It was now or never.

"There you are! Uncle Lucius," she emphasized, "told me to keep you company."

The mention of his father's name was enough to derail his original thought. It also gave her a bit more time to work the situation. She looked between Malfoy and the witch, who was appearing to grow concerned, and continued. "Well, don't just stand there," she barked to the witch. "Bring my trunk inside."

A dumbstruck Malfoy stepped aside as the witch bustled through with her trunk. Ginny followed after and gave her two sickles for her trouble. She'd brought every piece of gold she had and hoped to budget it would be enough to help her secure a paying job for the summer. The witch left the room and pulled the door closed behind her.

Malfoy once claimed Ron was born in a bin; this may've been the room he was referring to. It was depressing to say the least. There was one window at the far end, hazed with years of dust and smudged fingerprints. The upswept wooden floor showed dents, gashes, and burns from ages of misuse. There was one bed shoved in the corner with grayed sheets piled on top of it. A dilapidated chest of drawers held the only lamp that brightened the room and a broken wingback chair with worn arms sat under the window.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Weasley?" Malfoy's voice drew her attention. She looked back to him as he pulled the hat off her head allowing her fire red hair to cascade around her shoulders. Running nervous fingers through it, she straightened to her full height.

"Saving your arse, that's what," Ginny responded.

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "I don't need help from you!"

"Well, you're not going to get it from anyone else, so you might as well get used to the idea. Besides," she pulled what gold she had from her robes. "This will last until I can find a job." Malfoy's eyes fell upon the clattering bag of coins, which in any denomination appeared more than what he possessed. If he'd had additional objections they were overruled by the growling of his stomach. Knowing half her battle was won, Ginny smiled. "Let's get some nosh."

Hermione appeared unable to contain herself. "Please tell me you didn't stay with him?" Ginny leveled her eyes at her and pursed her lips.

"Not that it's any of your business, but no. I went out the next day and found an old witch who ran a laundry that needed help. I lived in the flat next to her shop," Ginny snarled.

"Laundry?" Hermione thought aloud. "That's not possible. Fred and George take it as a personal offense to wash a stitch of their own clothing anymore. They would've seen you working there," she argued.

"The laundry wasn't located in Diagon Alley," Ginny mumbled. She didn't have the courage to tell Hermione she'd laundered more black robes than she cared to count, but Hermione obviously arrived at that conclusion on her own. She buried her head in her hands and growled as her fingers pulled at her own bushy hair.

Hermione's chest heaved with deep calming breaths. The next time she spoke her voice was strained, but considerably quieter than it had been. "So what happens next? He has some instant catharsis and is suddenly a good guy?" Hermione quipped. It was Ginny's patience that was beginning to wane now. She'd fallen apart in the Astronomy Tower and hadn't managed to collect herself until now. But Hermione's perpetual resistance was beginning to irk her.

"I thought you wanted to understand? If you're not going to give me a fair chance to tell the story, I doubt I'll make you understand a thing," Ginny replied. Hermione's shoulders dropped and she looked away.

"I'm sorry, Ginny. This is just very sudden. I don't like being wrong."

"Wrong about what?"

Hermione sighed. "I could feel you holding something back. Every time I was near you, the deceit poured from your emotions."

"You think I'm the one who leaked the information," Ginny interrupted, unable to hide the hurt in her tone. "I didn't." Her voice grew cold.

"How much did you tell Malfoy?"

Ginny leapt from the bed and began pacing around the room. "Get out, Hermione!"

"What?"

"This is pointless! You just want to hear the story. You don't want to be convinced. You don't want to understand! You won't let go of your indoctrinated hatred for two seconds to see that people can change! Draco has changed. He's different! He's trying to make that point to the three of you, but you'll hardly hear of it!" Ginny peered out the window, the blood boiling in her veins. "I asked him to make an overture on the train and he did. You three rebuked him. I asked him to extend a kind word after your parents died and he did; not that it mattered to you!" She crossed her arms and turned to survey her friend.

Hermione was sitting on the bed, mouth agape, and looking at Ginny with wide eyes until she found her voice. "Well, you'll have to excuse me if I'm having a difficult time with your lies! I never dreamed my "friend" would join forces with the poster boy for pureblood wizardry!" Hermione shouted.

Ginny's anger was overtaking her and she felt the tears spring to her eyes. She wasn't going to be able to convince Hermione. She could feel it. That meant the next few months with her brother (or the rest of Gryffindor) were bound to be sheer hell. But it was a hell she was willing to accept; she'd come to love Draco and she wasn't going to be bullied into leaving him.

"Ginny," Hermione whispered with forced calm.

"No! I don't want to hear it, Hermione! I don't want to hear your negativity, or your bloody logic! You weren't there!" Ginny closed her eyes, letting a smile come to her face. "He has the most contagious laugh and a sense of humor that always cheers me up. He's nothing like what he wants everyone to think he is. He doesn't even like Crabbe and Goyle. They're too dim for him to carry on a conversation with." Her eyes snapped open and she looked at Hermione. "He's so smart, Hermione. The conversations we've had would amaze you. He's got such a great heart and he's learning to share that." Her eyes started to water. "We didn't fall in love immediately." Hermione grimaced. "It took a rather long time. But I couldn't stop thinking about him. Every time I did think about him, I couldn't stop smiling. My palms would get sweaty; my heart would skip a beat. Then he would smile at me across the Great Hall and I promise I couldn't breathe." She looked up to see Hermione's head propped in her right hand. She chanced the opportunity to grab her left. "We couldn't let anyone know about us at Hogwarts. So we'd meet in secret, or he'd send me owl post or transfigure a flower where I sat in the library." The tears were rolling now. "He loves me, Hermione. I can't explain how it happened. I can't explain why it happened. But it has. I know it doesn't make any sense, but I can't turn my heart off. Every minute I'm not with him I hurt. I know you understand what that feels like."

Hermione looked up. Ginny was encouraged to see that the tears were rolling down her cheeks as well. "Yes, I do."

"I know you do," Ginny said with a smile. "We can't stop being in love any more than you and Harry can." They were both crying now. "I know this will take some adjustment…for everyone…but you're one of the best friends I have. It won't be real to me if I don't have your support." Hermione winced as the tears continued to pour from her eyes. "Please, Hermione," Ginny implored. "For me?"

Hermione wiped her eyes on her sleeve and looked back to Ginny. Without speaking, she nodded her head. Ginny gasped and threw her arms around her. "Thank you so much," she muttered through the tears.

"Don't get to thanking me so quickly. I don't know how successful I will be." She pulled back from Ginny and grasped her shoulders. "And you're kidding yourself if you think Ron or Harry will ever accept this."

"If you support me, they'll come around."

"Don't bet the ranch."

***

Hermione took the time to freshen up before returning to the Common Room. She knew Harry would've returned by now and Ron would surely have exploded all over again in telling the tale. That meant Hermione would be forced retell the one she'd just heard. Honestly, she wasn't sure she could do the story justice. She knew she couldn't be as convincing as Ginny. She also wasn't sure she wanted to convince anyone.

Ginny was a dear friend. If she couldn't see it in her eyes, she could feel it from her emotions. She was completely smitten with Draco Malfoy, and from all accounts, he felt the same way about Ginny. She couldn't really blame him. She always envied Ginny a bit. She had beautiful hair, a petite frame, and always appeared perfectly well-appointed. As far as Hermione was concerned, she was the essence of femininity. She'd never had issues attracting boyfriends, and for as much as Hermione loathed Malfoy, she couldn't deny his handsome features. She imagined they'd make quite a stunning couple.

But he was still Malfoy. He was still the prince of Slytherin. He'd insulted her parents, her heritage, and everything she held true. She'd never heard the term "mudblood" spoken by anyone other than him and it was commonplace in his vocabulary. Ginny was wrong. Hermione did think people could change. She just didn't believe Malfoy was one of them.

Postponing the inevitable as long as she could, she finally descended the spiral staircase into the Common Room. Harry and Ron were seated by the fire with murderous glares etched across their faces. Ron was seething to the point he didn't notice Hermione approach. Harry looked up as she dropped off the last step and his eyes softened. Warmed that she could crack his mask of disdain, she walked around behind him and dropped her arms around his shoulders. He curled his hands around her arms and kissed her sleeve gently. By this time, Ron roused himself from his musings and looked up. No one spoke. They simply stared at each other in reflected disbelief.

"So?" Ron finally broke the silence.

Hermione slipped around to the front of the sofa and sat down, leaning into Harry as he dropped one arm around her. This was her favorite way to sit on the sofa, and a position she and Harry often adopted. If she was going to recount this story, she might as well be comfortable.

"So," Hermione sighed. Ron sat up in the chair and propped his elbows on his knees.

"What did she say?" he demanded. Hermione gave a fleeting glance to Harry. He anxiously awaited the answer as well.

"I don't know where to start," she replied. She was being truthful. She didn't know where to start. Should she tell them the story chronologically, or jump right to the punch line? Still, how do you tell a girl's brother and his best friend that she's in love with their arch-nemesis…for that matter how do you tell either of them that you promised to support her? In the end, she decided that the chronological approach was best - if only because it put off the time she had to tell them she'd pledged Ginny her support.

"You what?" Harry barked. He'd said so little during the recitation of the tale that his tone startled her into a sitting position. She looked at him, pressed backward against the cushions with an expression of utter disbelief. Ron, who had already been pacing in front of the fire, stomped along his path with increased fury.

"I told her I would support her," she reiterated.

"I think we heard that, Hermione," Ron interrupted. "The question is ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?"

"Because it's not about Malfoy; it's about your sister!" she rebuked. Ron was always a bit slow to pick up on the finer points of people's emotions. She'd hoped his relationship with Merc had encouraged his sensitivity, but it didn't seem to help in this situation. What made it worse was that Harry, usually far more in tune to such issues, was echoing Ron's argument. She looked between them and slumped along the vacant side of the sofa. "Listen to me, both of you," she began. "I don't like this any more than you do. But it's not our choice. Nothing we do or say will make her change her mind. You have to believe me on that. She is in love with him."

"WHAT?!" Ron exploded.

"Ron!" she chastised.

"It's bloody Malfoy!" he yelled.

"And he's her choice!" Hermione barked in response. She heard her words echo in the Common Room and felt ashamed for having lost her temper. Her voice softened as she looked overhead, hoping they hadn't woken every Gryffindor sleeping above them. "I didn't shield myself from her when we spoke," she began. "I can honestly say that she believes he's changed." She met Harry's eyes and grasped his hand in hers. "She loves him as I love you." He closed his eyes and let his head drop backwards on the sofa. "She also trusts him."

"Trusts him?!" Ron fumed as he flopped back into the chair.

"So the only question is whether or not we trust her," she continued before Ron could continue his rant. "As for me, she's my friend. I have to give her the benefit of the doubt." She looked back to Harry. "Love isn't always logical." He picked his head up and looked at her. They squeezed each other's hand and Hermione broke a faint smile which Harry seemed hard-pressed to return.

"Hermione," he said. "I understand what you're saying, but I don't think you can compare our relationship with theirs." He sat up on the sofa and took her other hand in his. "I admire you for being able to put aside your feelings and support her," he continued. "I wish I could be as good a friend."

"But it will be a cold day in hell before either of us accepts this," Ron declared. Hermione looked between them. Their expressions were identical.

Hermione closed her eyes in an attempt to shut out the conflict within her. Here sat the two most important people in her life. She understood their anger. She agreed with it. She wanted to rant and rage and scream as Ron had done since happening upon Ginny and Malfoy in the Astronomy Tower. But upstairs lay a girl who'd put her faith and hope in the idea that people could change - that love could conquer all. She looked back to Harry, her eyes connecting with his. Somewhere in her soul, she had to believe that love could conquer all. If it couldn't, what did that mean for them?

***

Harry didn't sleep that night, at least not in the typical sense of the word. He lay awake in his four poster bed, mulling over the array of frightening possibilities that accompanied Draco Malfoy's alleged transformation. In the fleeting moments where his subconscious took over his scrambling mind, he had strange dreams.

He'd eaten gillyweed in the middle of a desert and found himself unable to breathe. Hermione gave his Firebolt to Malfoy as reward for winning the Quidditch Cup. Ron and Ginny chased the snitch around the Common Room, each arguing that it was their prerogative to catch it while Crookshanks kept Harry pinned in the corner…hissing.

Although exhausted, Harry was glad to see the sunlight begin to fall across his blanket. He rolled out of bed and tried to rouse himself with a long shower. It didn't work. If he looked half as bad as he felt, Madam Pomfrey might sequester him in the hospital wing until the weekend. Judging from the haphazard lump in the bed adjacent to his, Ron slept no better.

He dragged himself into the Common Room and found Hermione sitting on the windowsill staring across the lawn. He crossed the room to where she sat. "Good morning," he said, kissing her cheek. She turned to face him, the dark circles under her eyes broadcasting the fact that she'd not slept either. He propped himself against the wall as she leaned her head into him. "Apparently, none of us slept last night."

Hermione harrumphed. "Not without dreaming Malfoy burned all the books in the library." Harry couldn't help but smile. Such a description was probably a vivid nightmare for Hermione.

"At least you only had one of those dreams," Harry chuckled.

"I don't want to talk about it," Hermione replied as she slid from the windowsill. She walked across the Common Room just as Ron appeared on the dormitory stairs. "Are you ready for breakfast?" she asked, mechanically supplanting her dim voice.

"As ready as I'm going to be," Ron replied. As they trod through the portrait hole together, Harry looked at Hermione. Between her flat refusal to nap on the Common Room sofa a few nights ago and her sudden change of tone this morning, he couldn't help but think she was holding something close to the chest.

They settled in for breakfast as both Ron and Harry searched the room for Malfoy. He entered the Great Hall a few minutes after they did. It warmed Harry's heart to see the black circle that had puffed up around his left eye. "Wish I could've seen that," he mused.

Without requiring explanation, Ron replied, "Wish I'd had another swing." Both boys grinned as they kept their eyes trained on the Slytherin table.

"Honestly," Hermione scoffed. She was looking around the Gryffindor table in search of Ginny. She found her a few seats down the bench, stealing obvious glances toward the half-battered Slytherin that had just tucked in to his bacon and toast. Harry found his eyes trained on her as well until Hermione broke the silence. "Are you planning to eat or subsist on pure loathing all day?"

They snapped their eyes to hers. Although Harry thought his tone was a bit rough, he wasn't about to argue with Ron's rebuttal. "How can you be so bloody calm about this?" Hermione shrugged her shoulders. Ron propped his elbows on the table and began ticking off the adjectives Hermione once used to describe Malfoy. "Or was it another Hermione Granger that referred to him as a `foul, loathsome, evil little cockroach?" Harry couldn't help but notice the glint in her eyes as she tried to scowl at Ron.

"Too right," Harry added.

Hermione put her fork down and looked at them both. She rolled her hands together as she spoke. "Look, I know we're a bit shocked by this," she began.

"A bit!" Ron scoffed.

Hermione glared at him for the interruption. "For the record, so am I. And I'm no happier about it than you are. But," she hesitated.

"Oh, there's the `but,'" Ron growled as Hermione slammed her fork on the table.

"Some of us don't have the luxury of siblings, Ron. She's the only sister you have!" Hermione hissed.

Ron pushed his plate away and slung his legs over the bench. He picked up his school bag in one swift motion and slung it over his shoulder. "And if she doesn't come to her senses, she won't be my sister at all." He stormed from the table leaving Harry and Hermione in stupefied silence.

"Honestly," Hermione growled, finally breaking the hush. Harry considered his response for a moment, and throwing caution to the wind, he proceeded unabashed.

"You can't blame him," Harry said. Hermione nearly broke her neck as she snapped her head toward him. He continued before she could interject. "It's Malfoy, Hermione." He crossed his arms. "I can't believe you're taking his side," he mumbled.

"I am not taking his side!" Hermione shouted. Her voice echoed in the emptying hall and drew the attention of several students. She dropped her eyes to the table and picked at her breakfast. When the onlookers lost interest and returned to their neglected conversations, she looked back to Harry. "I hate this," she muttered.

"Hate what?" he questioned.

"This," Hermione said, flapping her hand between them. Somewhere in this conversation, Harry had moved away from her, breaking the familiar contact their legs enjoyed when seated at the table together. Feeling guilty, he nudged back toward her until the familiar warmth of her leg settled against his. "What am I supposed to do?" She caught his eyes with a distraught expression. "You didn't talk to her, Harry. She loves the jumped up ferret," she reiterated as she stabbed a forkful of scrambled eggs. Harry felt his stomach churn.

"How do you know that?"

She dropped her hand under the table and squeezed his thigh. "Because I recognize the look in her eyes; its reflected every time I see mine in a mirror."

Harry didn't respond. He didn't know how to do so. He believed Hermione. If she thought Ginny was in love, he wasn't about to argue. His issue didn't lie in the fact she'd found someone to fill the space in her heart. He found fault with who the object of her affection was. For as much as he enjoyed his friendship with Ginny, and cherished his relationship with Hermione, he couldn't share the sentiment.

It was Draco Malfoy, and he was unacceptable. Harry felt it best to discontinue the conversation. He and Hermione finished their breakfast in silence and left to find Ron pacing outside of Tonks' classroom.

He'd not voiced his opinion to Hermione, but he didn't delude himself either. Her stone-faced silence since breakfast let him know she was not only aware of his opinion, but also opposed to it. They'd already passed double Defense without conversation (a rarity not lost on Tonks) and were half-way through Charms before he'd chanced a cautionary overture. Although she answered his questions, she did so with unembellished responses. It wasn't until Potions that she broke her self-imposed silence.

Ron leaned over the cauldron, pretending to inspect its contents. Harry was equally as disinterested and watched Ron's loathing eyes burn through Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle at the adjacent table.

"Ahem," Hermione snarled in a tone eerily reminiscent of Dolores Umbridge. They turned to see her glaring eyes and crossed arms berating them for their lack of concentration. "Professor Snape only allowed the students to work in threes because it takes three people to brew this potion!" She rummaged through the ingredients muttering to herself. "I'm sure he only allowed us to work together because he knew you two would be distracted." She slammed a vile of boiled wasp venom onto the table with such force Harry was surprised it didn't shatter. "He's just waiting to vanish this cauldron right in front of me," she lamented.

Harry, having understood what that spectacle felt like, found interest in helping Hermione. He'd consider today a victory if he could prevent Snape from throwing that satisfied smirk toward Hermione. Ron, however, did not budge from his current activity.

"Ron," Harry prompted. Ron turned back to the strained heart of bullwort he was supposed to be slicing and set back to work. Harry looked to the board in an attempt to see what step Hermione had progressed to in their mental absence. Judging from the color of the steam, she'd passed step eight. That was as far as he read before his eyes caught sight of a fluttering butterfly that dropped onto the table in front of Ron.

Even with the reflexes born of Gryffindor's most celebrated seeker, he didn't manage to snatch the note before Ron did. Even Hermione's expression morphed from annoyance to curiosity.

Ron unfolded the note and Harry watched his eyes zip from right to left, the color of his face rising to match his hair. The compulsion was too much to take. "What does it say?" Ron crumbled it in his hand and cut his infuriated eyes back to the table across the aisle.

At a whisper, Ron replied, "you're on," to the Slytherins on the other side. Harry's heart dropped and Hermione sat bolt upright in her seat. Before either of them could speak, Snape was instructing them to secure their cauldrons on the classroom shelves to simmer overnight. Hermione shuffled off with the cauldron as Ron, who'd not removed his eyes from Malfoy, gathered his things and got up. Harry finished stuffing his bag as Hermione returned and then Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle swept from the room. Fortunately, Hermione didn't hear the last thing Ron muttered as their green-clad nemesis left the room. "You'd better bring your second."

"Ron?" Harry asked. "What's going on?"

"Please tell me you're not going to do something we'll have to put you in detention for!" Hermione barked as she began tossing parchment into her own bag. Ron snapped his head back toward her and dropped the wrinkled note from his fist. Harry snatched it before Hermione could and, from the look in her eyes, immediately regretted doing so.

We need to talk. Meet me tonight. Nine O' Clock in the Hall of Statues.

• D. M.

"That's after hours, Ron," Hermione quipped.

"I'll go with you,' Harry interjected. He couldn't ignore the glaring eyes any longer. He turned to Hermione and grasped her softly by the shoulders. "I'll keep him out of trouble."

Hermione barked a laugh and replied. "That's rich. You keep him out of trouble. The next time you talk to the kettle tell him you were Sirius' love child and your last name is really Black!" She stormed out of the room, leaving Harry and Ron to discuss their intentions alone.

"You're going to pay for that, mate," Ron lamented. Harry gave a furtive glance to the door, which was still vibrating on its hinges, and sighed.

"I know." He looked back to the crumpled note lying on the table. "What do you make of this," he questioned as he pointed to Malfoy's invitation.

"What else?" Ron scoffed. "He's a bit tetchy I laid him out. I reckon he's looking for a rematch."

"Me, too," Harry replied. He looked at his watch, quickly mapped out the litany of things to attend to before nine o'clock and looked back to Ron. "We'd best get dinner and tackle McGonagall's essay or we'll have more tetchy people to deal with."

Ron smiled. "Whoever could you be referring to?" he joked. They threw their bags over their shoulders and walked from the deserted classroom together.

***

Hermione had barely enough patience remaining to tolerate herself, let alone Harry and Ron. If she was annoyed with any part of their clandestine rendezvous, it was with the fact she couldn't be a part of it. In a fleeting moment of weakness she'd pledged her loyalty to Ginny and was stuck with the consequences.

Hermione, Harry, and Ron had bickered all day; she'd hardly touched her breakfast or lunch and had no appetite for dinner. To cap the evening, her back was throbbing and she fought to keep her spiraling emotions in check. That could only mean one thing; it was an unfortunate time to meet Malfoy in the corridor.

"Granger…" His cool voice echoed from the stone walls. Her footsteps fell silent and she turned to face him.

"You'll find this hard to believe, but I do have a given name," she snapped.

He looked down and bobbed back and forth on his heels. Without raising his eyes to hers, he continued. "I spoke with Ginny after lunch."

"And…" Hermione challenged.

"Well, I just…I wanted…"

"If you're going to offer your gratitude, you can shove it up your ass," Hermione interrupted. Malfoy's eyes flew from his shoelaces to her threatening eyes. His face darkened as he opened his mouth to reply. Hermione did not give him the chance. "I want to make it perfectly clear. I am not giving my support to you. I'm giving it to Ginny."

"What's the difference?" he drawled.

"The difference is, she's my friend and you are not. Don't think for one second that the deference I've given her translates to you. You are a closed-minded, self-important, git whom, I have no doubt, will break her heart to further your own cause," she blasted.

"People can change," he said with obvious difficulty.

"If I thought you classified as a "person" I might believe you to be one of them."

Hermione was relishing in the satisfaction. She could feel the conflicted emotions streaming from him. He had a tenuous grip on diplomacy but it was obvious he'd like to tell her off. But, to her delight, he couldn't act on any impulse that would prove her right. So, he was resigned to stand in the corridor and tolerate her "disrespect."

"And here I thought you were the brains behind the operation," he seethed.

Hermione lurched toward him. "You listen to me, ferret. I don't know what you've got planned for this evening, but if you so much as touch…"

"You'll what?" he spat, mimicking her threatening advance.

In a moment of unrestrained anger, she unleashed her fist without considering the consequences. Her knuckles connected with the left side of his mouth and sent him reeling into the stone wall behind him. He caught himself as he slipped sideways and managed to avoid collapsing to the ground. He regained his composure and leapt toward her. She snapped the wand from her robes and leveled it to his chest. "Go ahead," she encouraged. "It might be worth it to see what Harry does to you."

"Well, that confirms one theory," he said ignoring her comment. Without waiting for her answer, he continued. "Weasley does hit like a girl." Hermione's eyes narrowed. "I suppose you're going to tell me something valiant like, `that was for Potter.'"

Hermione smiled. "No." She lowered her wand and tucked it back into her robes. "I'm sure Harry will get his own. That was for me." With her words still echoing in the corridor, she turned on her heel and left him dabbing at the lip that was now dribbling blood down the front of his robes.

***

It didn't escape Harry's attention that Hermione was not in the Great Hall or the Common Room when they returned. The mince pie he'd eaten for supper began churning in his stomach as his thoughts wandered back to the experience with Victor Krum the year before. Just as he was working himself into a full panic, Lavender appeared from the girls' dormitory with her Divination textbook and a gleam in her eye.

"I don't know what you did, Harry," she announced as she flopped in front of the fire. "But Hermione is using language I'm not mature enough to hear. Best be glad you blokes can't get up there - I don't reckon it's safe."

For as much as he didn't like the implication, he was relieved Hermione was merely avoiding him. He and Ron commandeered a table and set out to finish their homework before the appointed hour. Harry scribbled his essay as he flipped through a stack of textbooks. Ron wrote an occasional word or two, whist incessantly checking his watch between lines. Before Harry knew it, it was eight forty-five. He finished his last line in a flourish and rolled the parchment up. Ron was already packing his things into his schoolbag when Harry recognized the scent of a familiar perfume. He turned around to see Hermione, with poorly masked puffy eyes, standing behind him.

"I don't suppose I can stop you?" Whether she was talking to Ron, Harry, or both was unclear. Harry put his books down and walked to where she stood. He reached out to draw her to him only to see her stiffen in response. He wasn't about to have that. Regardless of her rigid appearance, he wrapped his arms around her and held her close. He was grateful that her body betrayed her stubborn expression. She didn't pull away, as a matter of fact, he was rather sure this was exactly what she wanted.

"Don't worry, Hermione," Ron said from across the table. "We're ready for him."

"I don't trust him," she said without meeting Harry's eyes.

"We'll be fine," Harry dismissed. "Will you do something for me?" he asked.

"What?" she answered.

"Get some sleep." He kissed her cheek. "I'll do the rounds tonight. You're exhausted." Hermione hesitated for a moment before nodding her head and leaning into Harry's chest. He gave her a final squeeze and pulled away to accompany Ron. With a last look to where she stood, they swept from the portrait hall together. Although he set little stock in Divination, the look on Hermione's face and the churning in his stomach made him wonder if this meeting was a good idea after all.

He didn't have much time to think on it. As they left the Common Room, Ron all but ran down the corridor. Harry hastened to catch up with him, falling in step as they climbed the stairs together. Harry looked at Ron; his face was set in stone as he took the stairs two at a time. He thought better of trying to talk to him and spent their remaining steps reviewing defensive curses. As they entered the Hall of Statues, they found the one thing Harry hadn't expected.

Nothing.

Harry had a distinct moment of déjà vu. The heat began to rise under his collar as he remembered their first year when Malfoy staged a duel for the simple purpose of getting Harry in trouble after hours. "Ron," he began.

"Bloody bastard," Ron growled. "He's not getting away with it this time." Ron spun on his heel and bolted from the Hall. Harry, no longer entertaining the thought of a peaceful discussion, ran after him. They careened down the corridor together, Harry struggling to keep up with Ron's stride and wondering all the while where they were headed. It became obvious as they descended farther into the dungeons.

As Head Boy, Harry knew which portrait hole led to the Slytherin common room, but he did not have the password. Ron began to slow, searching the portraits illuminated by the blazing sconces along the stone walls. "Where is it, Harry?" he demanded.

"Around the corner, to you're right," he replied without hesitation. Ron picked up the pace and they turned the corner together, finding Harry's knowledge of Hogwarts superfluous.

Crabbe and Goyle were ambling down the corridor, stuffing their faces full of pumpkin pasties they'd absconded from the Great Hall. Ron didn't break stride as he snatched Crabbe by the neck of his robes and threw him against the wall. Harry felt Ron was operating on pure adrenaline, but was impressed nonetheless.

"Where is he?" Ron barked.

"Who?" Crabbe croaked through his constricted windpipe.

Harry rolled his eyes and stepped to Ron's side. "Save it, Crabbe. Playing dumb is hardly a stretch for you, but you'd better tell us where Malfoy is right now, or I'll help Ron braid your vocal chords." Crabbe's face darkened. Ron and Harry exchanged a questioning look and resumed their interrogation.

Goyle, who had stood idle in the corridor, stepped between them and shoved Ron away from Crabbe. Before Ron or Harry could react he spoke. "The git's gone 'Gryffindor,'" Goyle bemoaned.

"What the hell does that mean?" Harry snapped.

"It means," Crabbe added. "That he's gone off to the Forbidden Forest to prove how brave he is."

Harry's brow furrowed. During their first year, he'd been sent through the forest with only Malfoy and Fang and left the experience having discovered the one creature on Earth more cowardly than the great hound…Malfoy. At Crabbe's words, a million questions erupted in his mind. He turned toward Ron to see the hem of his robes trailing around the corner toward the stairs. With a last look toward Crabbe and Goyle, who appeared worried in their own right, he raced to catch up with Ron.

"Ron!" he yelled as he spotted him running across the lawn. Surprisingly, Ron stopped, and clutched his side as Harry caught up with him. "Where are we going?" Harry asked as he gasped for breath.

Ron straightened up and looked at him as though he'd never seen him before. "The forest of course."

"Ron," Harry began. "Don't you think this is a bit odd?"

"There's nothing about this situation that isn't odd," Ron replied. "Given the fact it started with Malfoy snogging my sister in the Astronomy Tower."

"I know," Harry agreed. "I just…I have a bad feeling about this."

"Don't get all Trelawney on me. You're either with me or you're not."

"Of course I am," Harry declared. "Where should we look?" Ron peered off toward the forest.

"I don't know. We'll figure it out when we get there." That was the end of their conversation until they were fifty feet inside the forest boundary. Ron stopped, pulled his wand from his robes, and lit the tip. Harry did the same and they both squinted their eyes and searched for the unmistakable white blonde hair of Draco Malfoy.

"Ron," Harry whispered as he tugged on his sleeve. Ron turned to follow his eyes.

"What?" he asked.

"I think I see something."

"Where?"

"There, beyond those twisted vines." Harry wasn't sure what he'd seen, but it gleamed in the dim moonlight and moved behind the tangle of vines a few hundred feet to their left.

Harry was no stranger to the Forbidden Forest, neither was Ron. But this was a place that never stopped being intimidating. Harry's stomach was already twisted in a knot. This evening's adventure had progressed from a "discussion" in the Hall of Statues to an illusive search in the Dark Forest. A chilling wind swept through the trees and pierced the fabric of Harry's robe. He stifled a gasp as the bare branches clacked and rubbed against each other. The sound they produced could only be described as a squeal. Somewhere in the depths of the forest, the cry was returned from some manner of creature Harry did not wish to meet.

"Maybe you're right," Ron's voice issued from behind him. Harry turned around, wand held above his head, and found Ron's silhouette. "Maybe this isn't such a good idea."

"Don't tell me you're scared, Weasley," a cold voice interrupted. Ron and Harry snapped their heads around and found themselves staring at Malfoy. Ron took a threatening step toward him and Malfoy threw up his hands in surrender. "I'm not here to argue."

"Then why are you here?" Ron asked.

"More to the point, why aren't you in the Hall of Statues?" Harry interjected. Malfoy glared at him.

"Because I knew I'd never get him out here with just a note," Malfoy replied. "Beside the fact I knew you'd tag along." Something tantamount to a smirk crossed Malfoy's face.

"We're all impressed with your intellect, Malfoy," Ron quipped. "Harry's my best mate, of course he'd come with me." Ron looked around the forest. "So why are we out here? Are you trying to prove you actually have a spine?"

"It amazes me the two of you are actually related," Malfoy barked. "At least Ginny…" That was as far as he got. Ron lunged toward him and pinned his throat to the nearest tree. Harry jumped toward Ron and tried to pull him off.

"I swear on every star in that sky, if you mention her name again I will ensure you don't speak another word for the rest of your life," Ron growled. Malfoy planted both of his hands on Ron's chest and shoved him backward into Harry.

"I should've known this was pointless," Malfoy sneered, adjusting his robes and dusting the bark from his hair. He looked between them both - Harry now restraining Ron. He glanced around the forest and returned his eyes to Harry and Ron. "I've done what I said I would." He turned his back on them both and strode from the forest.

Ron jostled in Harry's grip and broke away. "Geroff me, Harry," he barked. Harry, feeling the tension release from his shoulders, extinguished his wand and slipped it into his robes. "Why'd you hold me back? I could've strangled him and blamed it on one of Hagrid's pets!" Harry stifled a chuckle.

"As pleasant as that sounds," Harry replied with a grin. "I don't think he's worth the effort." Ron drew a deep breath, propped his hands on his hips and dropped his eyes to the ground.

"Do you think Hermione's right?" he asked quietly.

Harry couldn't believe the question came from Ron's mouth. "What?"

Ron looked up and cocked his head to the side. "You know what I mean."

"No."

"Good."

Harry felt a bit disloyal saying it, but he couldn't ignore what he felt in every ounce of his being. He'd gotten a clear impression of Draco Malfoy the first time he'd laid eyes on him in Diagon Alley. Every interaction he'd experienced since, save one, bolstered that impression. He admired Hermione's desire to give him the benefit of the doubt, but one act of decency didn't erase six years of malevolence. "Come on," Harry said. "Let's get out of here."

Harry looked around. They'd managed to get turned around in their flap with Malfoy. In their haste to find him, Harry had paid little attention to the route they'd followed into the forest. As the night cast a darkening blanket across the sky, that information could've come in useful. He tried to maintain his composure in front of Ron, but couldn't stop the pounding in his chest. He wasn't sure how to get back to the castle, and that is not a good feeling when standing in the depths of the Forbidden Forest.

"Er," Ron muttered, holding his wand over his head and turning circles in place. When he turned back toward Harry, he mumbled, "Well, Malfoy walked off that way. Maybe we should just follow his path."

Having no better plan, Harry agreed. They set off together, stepping over loose tree roots and brushing trailing vines out of their way. Ron's wand lit a darkened trail ahead of them, but rather than growing more sparse, the forest seemed to be closing in on them.

"Ron?" Harry asked. Ron stopped and turned to him with a worried expression.

"I know." They both cast looks around the forest. He couldn't see his watch to notice how much time had passed. He was beginning to think of the towering rage Hermione would be in when they made it back to the castle. He pulled his wand from his robes under the pretense of lighting it to check the time. As he looked at it, he thought of Hermione and heard her voice chastising him.

"How thick could I be?" he muttered to himself.

"What are you on about?" Ron asked.

Harry looked at him and sighed. He laid his wand in the palm of his hand and said, "point me." The wand spun around in his hand and fell motionless as it pointed toward North. Harry shook his head and turned around. "We've been going the wrong way." He set off along the trail they'd followed in the direction that would lead them out of the forest. He heard the snapping twigs under Ron's feet as he fell in step behind. Then he heard something else - something familiar.

He stopped in his tracks, snatching his wand up and lighting it.

"What is…"

"Shhhh!" he silenced Ron as he peered through the murky dim, hoping he was wrong. As Harry turned in place, he noticed Ron's eyes darting around toward his legs, undoubtedly in search of spiders. Feeling he'd imagined the whole thing, he motioned Ron to follow along keeping a close eye on the trees as they moved.

Their wand lights began piercing the forest with greater ease. The trees were thinning out and Harry started to pick up the pace. They were approaching the forest edge and he wanted nothing more than to return to the castle and climb into bed.

"Harry!" Ron hissed from behind him.

"What?" he replied, stopping to look at him. Ron's eyes were wide and trained on a spot over Harry's shoulder. He raised his wand and pointed into the darkness.

"Eyes," he squeaked. Harry snapped his head around and held his wand in front of him. The blazing light from the wand's tip obscured anything he might've seen and he moved it over his head. As the light fell across the trees he saw it. It was the same thing he'd thought he'd imagined earlier. He took a step back toward Ron and whispered.

"Don't move," he directed. That didn't seem like a difficult request for Ron to comply with. He was frozen stock-still in place. Harry struggled to formulate a plan. The last time he'd been eye to eye with the Gelidus bear, Hagrid was nearby. As it was, he and Ron were alone, in the forest, and the only ones who knew their whereabouts were Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle. Before he had time to consider their next move, the bear sprang from its place and lumbered toward them.

Ron turned to run for it. "No! Ron, play dead!" Harry dropped to the ground and managed to catch Ron's shoelaces and trip him. He splayed out on the forest floor and twisted around to look at Harry.

"Look out!" he shouted as he pointed over Harry's shoulder. Before Harry knew it, the bear had scooped him up in one of his massive paws and tossed him into the air. "Stupefy!" Ron shouted as Harry saw the red light dart from his wand into the bear's chest. The animal grumbled, barely noticing the attack, and lost his grip on Harry. He crashed to the forest floor, his hip colliding with a tree stump as pain shot clear through to his knee.

"Wait!" Harry shouted as Ron readied to stun it again. "It will take more than one!" He slid his hands around the decaying leaves in search of his wand. "Lumos!" The tip ignited only a few feet from him and he grabbed it and rolled onto his back. "Now!" Their stunners caught the bear in the stomach and sent it staggering backwards. But their victory was short-lived. As quickly as it stepped back, it composed itself and let out a bellowing roar.

Ron was tugging Harry up from the neck of his robes. "Come on! Playing dead isn't working!" Harry scrambled to his feet, his hip screaming in protest. Ron threw Harry's arm around his shoulders and they dashed toward the forest edge. Due to his injury, Ron was half-pulling, half-carrying Harry and his weight was slowing them down. Harry heard the crushing steps of the bear mere seconds before it pummeled them both from behind.

Harry fell face-first into the leaf-strewn dirt and heard Ron groan as his head collided with a rocky outcropping. "Ron?" he called. Ron's hands were covering his left temple. Harry could see the blood seeping from underneath Ron's palms as he flopped over, his eyes in a daze, and peered toward the forest canopy. Harry barely had time to register the extent of Ron's injury before his heart lodged itself in his own throat. The bear flipped him over and loosed a roar that rattled the ground where Harry lay.

It dropped it's eyes to his and hesitated just long enough for Harry to understand it had stopped at all before standing on its hind legs and sweeping it's clawed paws into the air above him. Harry closed his eyes as he saw it lunge forward to attack. The next thing he knew it was bellowing in pain. He chanced a look and was horrified to see an arrow piercing its right eye.

"Get `im out `er here, `arry!" Hagrid yelled as he leapt a felled tree trunk with his crossbow. Harry didn't need to be told twice. He flipped over and scurried toward Ron.

"Ron, are you okay?" he asked, pulling him to his feet. Ron nodded, hands still pressed to the side of his head. They grabbed hold of each other and walked to the forest edge as quickly as their legs would carry them. After they cleared the trees, Hagrid emerged from the shadows with his crossbow thrown over his shoulder.

"What are you lot doin' down `ere?!" he demanded. "You're a mess!" Harry sat Ron down on a bench outside Hagrid's hut and caught his breath.

"Malfoy," Harry panted.

"Malfoy?" Hagrid replied.

"We came out here to find him, he..er…" Harry wasn't sure how much he should tell Hagrid, but given the fact he just saved their lives, he reckoned the half-giant had a right to know. "Ron caught him with Ginny in the Astronomy Tower."

Hagrid's eyes grew to the size of dinner plates. Luckily, Ron was not in any condition to get riled up by the conversation. Hagrid took them both inside and tended to their injuries over two mugs of warm butterbeer while Harry recounted the story.

"I don't like it," Hagrid finally said. "Why would Malfoy, of all people, go out in the forest?"

"Ginny thinks he's changed. Crabbe and Goyle said he was trying to prove his bravery."

"Well, `e's stupid enough to do tha'," Hagrid mused. He looked between Ron and Harry, his brows furrowing as if he'd just noticed they were there alone. "I'm assumin' `ermione didn't want you to come out `ere," he said, looking toward Harry.

Harry fidgeted in his seat. "She's supporting Ginny in this."

"What?" Hagrid roared. "She believes Malfoy?" Harry took another sip of his mug and thought about it.

"She doesn't believe Malfoy. She believes in Ginny. In her mind there's a difference." Ron grumbled inaudibly next to Harry on the bench. Hagrid got up and moved around the table to check his temple. He'd stopped the bleeding, but Ron was sporting a rather impressive bruise.

"I got some dragon meat fer that," Hagrid said, walking toward a crate near the fire.

"No, I'm fine Hagrid," Ron hastened. "Thanks," he added with a painful smile.

"Speaking of Hermione," Harry said, slugging back the last of his butterbeer. "We should head back." He and Ron got up from the table and thanked Hagrid for his help. He walked them to the door and looked toward the forest.

"Don' you come out `ere agin without me, you `ear! I haven't seen tha' bear in ages; stopped comin' round my habitat. I thought it was hibernatin' somewhere. Bin lookin' fer it fer weeks." He slapped Harry on the shoulder enough to buckle his knees under him. He stood him back up and continued. "Looks like I shoulda taken yer with me! Bear fancies yer, I reckon," he added with a laugh. Harry, horrified by the idea, set off toward the gleaming lights of Hogwarts as Hagrid's laughter rang through the cold night air. He coveted his four-poster now more than anything, but he was worried about the other wild animal he'd have to face upon entering the Common Room. It was after midnight. Hermione was not going to be in a favorable mood.

***

"Are you sure you're all right? This looks really bad, Ron," Merc whispered as she grazed a finger along the black and green mark tattooed on his temple. Trying not to flinch, he caught her hand and curled his fingers through hers.

"I'm fine," he replied with a smile. "It's Harry who got the worst of it," he sniggered.

"I thought you said he just bruised his hip," Merc questioned.

"Oh, he did. Hagrid helped him with that. I'm talking about Hermione."

"Oh." Merc giggled. "She was in a right state in Arithmancy today. She muttered to herself the entire time. It annoyed Professor Vector so much she docked points from Gryffindor to get her to shut up."

"If only docking points would get that girl to shut up," Ron joked. "Harry looked worse when she finished with him than when that bear had a go."

"It was the same bear as before?" Merc asked.

"I suppose. It's the only one in the forest, unless Hagrid has managed to breed them by now," Ron answered.

"So, er…where are we going?" Merc asked as they continued to walk across the lawn. It was a beautiful day, the first temperate weekend Hogwarts' students had seen since the fall. The sun was shining brightly and the temperature had warmed enough to beckon a few students from the castle. An enchanted rugby game was already forming on the front lawn as they passed.

"I have it on good authority that walking around the lake will make my head stop pounding," Ron replied.

"Oh, really?" Merc raised an eyebrow. "So this trek is merely therapeutic in nature."

"Merely," Ron answered as innocently as possible. However impressive his thespian skills may've been, it was obvious Merc didn't buy it for a second. Of course, he wasn't really trying to keep her in the dark. He'd managed a romantic plan at the Astronomy Tower, only to have the entire thing put asunder by Draco Malfoy. In the time that followed he'd been so enraged he'd forgotten about Merc. He only thought of her after that rock knocked some sense back into his head…at least that's what Hermione claimed it did.

She had a point though. Merc stayed clear out of sight over the last forty-eight hours and Ron had a bit of groveling to do according to Luna Lovegood. She'd been "nice" enough to point out his insensitivity at breakfast that morning. When Ron found Merc in the library, he'd closed her books for her and led her outside into the unseasonably warm air.

"Well, I still think the both of you are certifiable," Merc continued. "The Forbidden Forest has that name for a reason, you know."

"Sadly, I do know that," Ron said. His thoughts wandered back to unicorns, centaurs, spiders and bears. Merc once said there was a fine line between bravery and stupidity…he was starting to believe her.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked, looking at the grin stamped across his face.

Ron shook the thought away and cleared his throat. "Er, nothing," he said.

"Tell me," she prompted.

"Well, er…I was…thinking about you," he whispered.

"Oh," she replied, breaking into a broad smile. Ron's hand grasped hers tighter as they continued to walk the trail around the lake. After a bit more distance, Ron rubbed his temple without realizing what he was doing. Merc slowed beside him and squeezed his hand. "Do you need to rest?" she asked.

He didn't need to rest, but the caring look in her eyes was one he wasn't accustomed to and he didn't want to see it disappear. "Sure," he answered and motioned toward a stone outcropping near the water's edge.

They sat down together and looked across the rippling water. Even the giant squid seemed to be enjoying the temperate weather. Ron watched a lazy tentacle flop out of the water and back again. He looked over to Merc, the Scottish sunlight playing across her dark locks, and tried to determine what to say next. Oddly, nothing was coming to mind. More interesting however, was the fact the stillness didn't bother him. For all the excitement he'd found over the last few days, sitting in the silence with Merc was a welcome respite. However, the silence encouraged him to make things right. "Merc," he began. She turned toward him and smiled. "I wanted to apologize for what happened the other night." She looked toward the lake without responding. "I, er…well…"

"I understand," she interrupted. His mouth bobbed open and closed. He wanted to explain himself but couldn't find the words. After all, how does one tell the girl they fancy that he neglected her in order to pummel another student to within an inch of his life? Her giggling broke through his thoughts. "If you keep doing that, the squid will think you're a fish." Ron looked back to the lake and saw the squid somersaulting over the shallow waves.

He smiled and returned his attention to her. "I really am sorry. That wasn't what I had planned," he lamented.

Merc raised an eyebrow. "Oh? What did you have planned, Mr. Weasley?"

There were many ways Ron could've answered that question, but the end result remained the same for each of them. Since he'd kissed her the night of the Valentine's Ball, he'd been able to think of little else. Every time he'd seen her since, his eyes were inexorably trained on her mouth as she spoke. Even now, he knew the curl of her lips came from her knowledge that he couldn't keep his eyes off them. As he watched the sunlight glisten along her lips, he decided not to answer the question at all. He leaned in, his shoulder brushing hers, and sated his appetite with a tender kiss. His eyes fell closed as she leaned into him. Their hands, still intertwined, pulsed together as the wind rustled across the water. Their mouths opened together in gentle exploration while her hand found its way to his thigh.

It was the single most exhilarating sensation Ron had ever experienced. He wanted nothing more than to continue snogging her until he wasted away to nothing. But at the same time, her kisses, this closeness, the touch of her hand upon his leg would surely be all the nourishment he ever needed.

He made a mental note to stop chiding Harry about his inability to keep his hands off Hermione. He'd made several comments, as they lie in their four-posters suffering from insomnia, about Harry's lack of masculine composure around his girlfriend. But if their experience was half as wonderful as this, he suddenly understood Harry's motivation.

As their kiss lingered (neither appearing to desire its end), Ron was overcome with an irrational impulse. As he tried to push it aside, it only became more fervent in its demand. His insides fluttered and his palms began to sweat. He clutched her hand in his in the hopes of holding onto a sane reality, but her warm hand in his only increased his desire to announce the three words that had erupted from his heart. Unable to fight the compulsion any longer, he broke away from her swollen lips and tried to form the words.

"Merc," he croaked.

"Beatrice."

Only half-aware of the interruption, he cleared his head and looked in her eyes. "What?"

"Beatrice," she reiterated.

"That's your name." It was more of an awestruck statement than a question.

"Pretty awful, isn't it?" she asked, turning her eyes toward the sandy ground. Ron was overwhelmed. He had already been hijacked by the irrational desire to profess his love, and she'd managed to trump him. It was not lost on him that he hadn't asked her this time. He hadn't even thought about it. His heart swelled so much it hurt.

She'd told him. She'd told him something no one else (save her family and probably Dumbledore) knew. She'd told him something that, while insignificant to most people, contained the sum of her insecurity. In three syllables she'd managed to expose herself to him in far greater measure than his three words could ever have done. Suddenly, words seemed trite.

He placed a finger under her chin and drew her eyes back to his. They were glassy from tears not spent. Something between fear and desperation etched itself on her face and sent a painful shockwave through Ron's body. She was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, and he felt like he was seeing her for the first time.

In one swift move, his hand curled around the back of her neck and he drew her into a passionate kiss. She responded by throwing her arms around his neck as he wrapped his free hand around her waist and pulled her close. He had no idea how long their embrace lasted, but he couldn't count the stars twinkling in his vision when they stopped.

"Wow," Merc said breathless. "Perhaps I should've told you sooner."

"No," he replied. "Your timing was spot on."

"So you don't think its wretched?" she questioned.

Ron broke into laughter. "Honestly," he barked. "You're sitting here snogging Ronald Bilius Weasley and you think `Beatrice' is bad?" Merc's hand flew to her mouth as she tried to stifle a giggle of her own. He threw his arms around her and pulled her in as they laughed together. It was the best feeling in the world. "I don't know why Hermione waited so long to introduce us," he said aloud.

Merc's shoulders bounced against his chest. "Well, given the way we began, I'm not sure she ever thought we'd end up together," she laughed.

Ron tightened his arms around her. "I'm so glad you're with us in this," he said earnestly. "I look at you and I think, with the four of us, maybe we can do this."

Merc sat up straight and wriggled from his arms. "Oh, Ron." Her face fell. "There is no `four' of us," she lamented.

Ron's brow furrowed in confusion. "Of course there is. What do you think we've been doing all this time?"

Marc sat back and took his hands in hers. "Ron," she began. "I'm not like you. I'm not like Harry or Hermione either. This is his destiny and your challenge. I see the three of you together and I believe you will defeat him. I see hope and promise. I have faith in a better world. But none of that is due to me."

"But…" Ron interrupted. Merc squeezed his hands to silence him.

"Ron, I'll do anything for you. I'll work myself to exhaustion if it will help you find the key. I'll help you practice the skills you need to learn. But you have to know that in the end, I won't be a part of this."

"Why not? I need you," Ron argued.

"But Harry needs you, and so does Hermione. They need all of you to make this work." She waved her hand in front of him before he could interrupt again. "I'm not a Gryffindor. The mere thought that you will face You-Know-Who makes me light-headed. If I ever found myself in such a position I'd probably faint dead away. That's the biggest reason I didn't join the D.A. when Hermione asked me. I was terrified of getting caught by Umbridge." Ron stared at her, incapable of formulating a reply. "I would be a detriment to you in battle, Ron. I would distract you from your task and put everyone's life in danger."

Ron looked down to their hands, still grasping each other, and didn't know what to say. Part of him was happy she'd be safely out of harm's way. Another part didn't feel he'd be able to concentrate without knowing exactly where she was and if she was okay. Quite frankly, given his mind's propensity for obsessing about her, he wasn't sure he could do anything without her any more. "I don't know if I can do this without you," he whispered.

"Of course you can," she answered without hesitation. "You've been fighting at Harry and Hermione's side for years. That's why he needs you to survive this prophecy." She looked him in the eyes for the first time since beginning this conversation. "I meant what I said about triangles. The triangle is the strongest force in nature. The three of you are like…" She searched for an analogy. "You're like the three primary colors from which all others come. You're like the sun, moon, and the stars." She continued looking for examples.

"Like Neapolitan ice cream," Ron added. Merc laughed aloud.

"Yes!" She squeezed his hands and continued. "You're like the mind, body and…" she fell silent and her eyes darted around at unseen objects on the ground. Her breathing started to grow shallow and her hands trembled in his.

"Merc?" he asked with concern. He squeezed her hands and she did not respond. She squeezed her eyes shut and growled in frustration. "Merc? What's wrong?"

"I'm such a dolt! It's been there all along," she snarled. She leapt from the rock, pulling Ron along with her. She set off for the castle at a run, while he hastened to catch her.

"Merc?" he called. "Where are we going?" he asked as his sprint fell in step with hers.

"Library!"

He felt like he was having an out-of-body experience and someone just replaced his girlfriend with his best friend. Struggling to catch his breath, he held all further questions until they'd arrived at the very table he'd led her away from only an hour ago. "Merc," he said, clutching his side. "Are you going to tell me what this is about?"

"Where? Where? Where?" she muttered to herself as she leafed through the pages of a familiar text.

"Merc?"

"Shhh!" she preempted as her eyes began to dart across the page. Ron watched her silently mouthing the words to herself and nodding her head. "Come here," she instructed and dragged him to the nearest table. "What's the problem with the Deliquesco spell?"

Ron felt like he'd just been issued a pop quiz in McGonagall's class. "Er - well," he stumbled, hoping not to embarrass himself as he answered. "For one thing I'm knackered after a few tries. Hermione is worse. It's like you said, it'll only be worse when it's the real thing?"

She was rolling her hand in a circle and encouraging him to continue. "Yes, that and…"

Ron searched his brain trying to remember the details of their last session in the Room of Requirement. "Well, Harry can't really use any spells of his own."

"Exactly!" she declared. "By nature, what we're doing has been defensive. We've not spent any time with offensive spells." Ron couldn't deny her point. He looked at her fidgeting in the chair, fit to burst, and motioned for her to continue. "It's hard to win a Quidditch match when you don't score any goals."

"What do you suggest?"

"This," she spun the book around on the table and pushed it toward him. Ron's eyes scanned the page only half understanding the ancient text. She clarified it for him before he had the chance to ask. "It's an ancient unification enchantment." She turned the page and pointed to an illustration of three wizards, in billowy robes, with their wands extended skyward. "It can only be cast with the proper combination of wizards." She began to read the text aloud.

"The Foederis enchantment joins three wizards in a magical union that allows them to pool their powers and draw from their strengths. A little known, but impressive enchantment, the wizards become eternally bonded to each other by loyalty and character."

"Cor," Ron whispered. "I don't know about this."

"Just listen, there's more," she said running her finger along the page to find her starting point.

"This enchantment never gained widespread popularity due to its difficulty in casting and detrimental effects if broken."

"Right. I don't like the sound of that."

"Shhh!"

"The three wizards must represent the spiritual elements of body, mind, and soul whilst maintaining a significant and marked bond with each other. If these bonds are not true, or the elements improperly proportioned, the enchantment is impossible to cast."

Merc hesitated and flicked her eyes to Ron's before continuing.

"Furthermore, should any one of the union break the bonds of the covenant, by any means other than death, the effect is devastating. The wizard in question is permanently stripped of all magical ability, leaving him no better than a common muggle."

Ron's eyes widened in shock. "You can't be serious!"

"Look at what you're up against! Someone as powerful as You-Know-Who? Ron, it will require powerful magic to destroy him. This," she jabbed her finger at the open book, "is powerful!"

"It's madness!" Ron exclaimed.

"But think of what this enchantment can do!" Merc pressed.

"It can relegate me to using ekcletricity for the rest of my life," Ron scoffed. Although the idea would probably fascinate his father, it was beyond the acceptable limits of reason for him.

"Only if you break it!" Merc replied.

No matter what Merc said, Ron was not singing the praises of this idea. In general, it didn't sound all that different from what they were doing, but it promised horrible consequences should something go wrong, aside from the fact this was no small undertaking. This wasn't a spell; it was an enchantment. Far beyond a N.E.W.T. skill in casting, it was a permanent arrangement. It involved a level of commitment and responsibility that, quite frankly, scared the hell out of him. The prospect of being "unified" with Harry and Hermione for the next 150 years was daunting to say the least. A lot can happen over such a period of time, and there's no way out of this enchantment once it's undertaken. In short, he couldn't see the benefit beyond the risk.

"I don't know," he sighed. In truth he did know, but he didn't have the heart to hurt Merc's feelings.

"Don't you see what this can do?" she asked, undeterred. "Ron this isn't like the Deliquesco spell."

"How's it so different?"

"This is an equal union between the three of you. It's not Harry usurping your powers to protect the three of you alone. It not only means he can draw from your power, but you and Hermione can also draw from his." Admittedly, this idea gave him pause. "And that's not all," she continued. "You're not bound by the limits of proximity. Right now you have to hold hands to strengthen your power…with this you don't even need to be in the same room!" Her face was as serious as he'd ever seen it. "You can fuse your powers and still use your wands."

Ron sat back in his chair and thought through her explanation. All of what she'd mentioned could not be done with their current spell work. If they could cast this enchantment, they could fight, they could split up, and they could use each other's strengths the way they'd done since their initial search for the Sorcerer's Stone. The possibility even existed that they could combine their powers and cast simultaneous spells toward a common target. He dropped his head into his hands and rubbed his temples. As promising as the enchantment sounded, he couldn't get past one key point.

"Let me ask you something," Merc implored. Ron looked at her and nodded his head in assent. "Can you imagine your life now, or one hundred years from now, without Harry or Hermione as part of it?"

Ron did not hesitate in his response. "No."

Merc smiled and reached across the table to take his hands in hers. "Then you already are bound to each other. You're bound through friendship, loyalty…and love. What difference does an enchantment make?"

She had a point. For a brief moment, his mind drifted back to the place he'd never allowed it to linger. He thought about his life without Harry or Hermione. The words of the prophecy echoed in his head and it suddenly became clear. This enchantment wasn't going to connect him to Harry and Hermione for the rest of his life; it was going to ensure that they would be there to fulfill the connection they'd already forged. He looked up at Merc and smiled. "Is everyone in Ravenclaw as smart as you are?"

She tossed her hair over her shoulder and sighed dramatically. "I like to think I'm above average." She laughed at her own joke as Ron leaned across the table to steal a kiss.

"Let's find Harry and Hermione," he suggested. As they left the library, Ron became curious. "So, if we're already `bound' to each other, I reckon Hermione is the `mind'…" he shot her a flirtatious grin. "Does that make me the soul…or the body?"

Merc reflected his expression. "I'm afraid I can't make an informed decision on that."

"Why not?"

"I've only seen your soul." Ron's footsteps fell to a stop in the corridor as Merc flushed and winked at him. Before he could string together a coherent response, she'd set off at a run - her laughter ringing off the stone walls of the corridor.

***

Two hours later Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Merc were ascending the stairs to Dumbledore's office. Ron and Merc had found them in the Great Hall and explained the Foederis enchantment. While they'd argued the possibilities and consequences of the enchantment for three quarters of an hour, they'd agreed on one thing in the end - the need to see Dumbledore. They had a standing invitation to do so, and the respective password to accompany it, so they didn't hesitate to bring the idea before him. As they rose closer to the Headmaster's chamber, Harry could only describe his mood as cautious optimism. Judging from the looks on their faces, the others felt the same way.

The stairs drew to a halt and Harry stepped off toward the door. Merc looked like a child at a museum. Her eyes were wide and her jaw slack as she looked back at the staircase she'd just debarked. Harry reached for the gryffin-shaped handle before hearing voices issuing from the office.

"Is that what Riley had to say on the matter?" Dumbledore's soft voice questioned. Harry knew enough of the Order to know Riley was the illusive, and so far undiscovered, plant in the upper echelon of the Ministry. The utterance of Riley's name was enough to retract his hand from the door handle as if scalded. Instinctively, Ron, Hermione, and he leaned toward the door.

"Yes, that was the general purpose of his communiqué," Lupin answered. A silence fell between them during which the trio looked around at each other.

"You don't seem convinced, Remus," Dumbledore replied.

"Remus doesn't trust Riley," Tonks' bright voice answered.

"No, I don't. He's some apparition-of-a-source who no one has ever seen or heard and who claims to have inside information," he argued.

"You've been drinking from Alastor's hip flask again. Riley's identity, or information, has never given you this much pause." Silence followed Tonks' words. "He hasn't been wrong before, has he?"

"Misdirection," Remus countered.

"What?"

"Misdirection, Tonks," he echoed. "He gives us bits of information at infrequent times - all of which pan out - to build our confidence and trust. That way, when he needs us to believe a lie, we're more than willing to do so."

"When did you become a pessimist?" Tonks sighed.

"About the time Voldemort killed James and Lily." Merc flinched at the sound of the Dark Lord's name as Harry felt three sets of eyes fall upon him. He drew a breath and met their concern with a benign nod of his head. Hermione took his hand, in a show of support, and they leaned back toward the door. The office quieted in response to Lupin's comment and for a moment all that could be heard was the soft warbling of Dumbledore's phoenix.

"I believe Riley," Dumbledore affirmed.

"But how can you be sure?" Remus asked. "How do you know this isn't some elaborate red herring sent to turn our attention away from Voldemort?" The four of them, now pressed against the oak door, exchanged confused glances. When he first heard them talking, he felt confident Voldemort was the subject of their conversation, but the concern Lupin raised made him think otherwise. "Keres has no personal convictions. He's a mercenary with no comprehension of loyalty or honor. He's vanished. All of our intelligence supports the claim that he's moved onto his next paycheck. I simply don't believe Damien Keres is at Hogwarts." Hermione gasped as her hand flew to cover her own mouth. Harry wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close, hoping that she wouldn't feel his heart pounding against his ribcage. He could feel her quaking under his arm and pressed his cheek to hers.

"Do you remember?" he whispered. She looked up to him, the fear evident in her eyes, obscured only by her confusion. "They can't take us away…" She buried her head in his chest but he heard her complete the sentence under her breath.

"…even if they take you." She drew a hitching breath against him and pried herself away. She leaned back to the door as Ron's eyes fell between the two. Ron reached out and clasped Hermione's shoulder supportively as the three pressed their ears back to the door.

"Honestly, Riley would have us believe he's been here for months!" Lupin argued.

"You don't think that's possible?" Dumbledore questioned.

"Albus, we would have known. We would've had some sign of his presence. Tonks is the best Auror in the business. She would've found him by now." Tonks' silence was conspicuous.

"We weren't aware of young Mr. Crouch's masquerade until it was too late," Dumbledore added.

"He's asking us to risk Harry's life by turning our attention away from Voldemort's preparations. Let Riley take the risk and reveal himself to us. Then I'll believe his Norse fairy tales." Merc's brow furrowed in question as her eyes absently searched the stone floor.

"I trust him, Remus," Dumbledore answered. That seemed to be the end of the conversation. The office fell silent and the four eavesdroppers quickly scattered from the door as footsteps approached from the other side. "Remus," Dumbledore called. "I see no harm in taking precautionary measures here. I have no intention of undermining your efforts where Voldemort is concerned."

The footsteps halted as Dumbledore spoke. "I don't trust Riley, Albus, but I trust you. I'll defer to your judgment…for Harry's sake," Lupin conceded from the other side of the door.

"I appreciate that, Remus. If you would be so kind as to take extra care as you leave, I'd hate for you to injure any of them unintentionally." Harry could hear the smile in Dumbledore's voice and leapt away from the door just as Lupin pulled it open. He looked between the four of them, Tonks giggling just behind him, and recognized each in turn.

"Harry, Ron, Hermione…" he looked past Ron to where Merc stood, "and just when I thought they hadn't corrupted you yet." Merc tried to restrain a smile. He brushed past the four of them and headed for the stairs muttering some thing about Harry being `just like his father.' Tonks gave them a warm smile and trailed after Lupin, her long chestnut hair plaited down her back. It was the closest to `normal' Harry had ever seen her; he wasn't entirely sure he liked it.

"I trust there is cause for your visit," Dumbledore's voice floated from the office. Harry returned his attention to the Headmaster as he led the group inside. He'd barely stepped into the office when Fawkes sailed across the room and perched on his shoulder. Harry offered him his outstretched arm and sat down in one of the four chintz chairs facing the desk.

"Hello, Fawkes," he said as he stroked the crimson feathers. The bird hummed his own greeting in return and bobbed his head under Harry's hand.

"Professor," Hermione began. "We…well, Merc…found an enchantment." The four of them nodded their heads in support. "We wanted your opinion." Dumbledore tented his fingers under his nose and sat back in the chair. Hermione, seated between Ron and Harry, looked at them both and continued. "It's called the Foederis enchantment." Dumbledore leveled his eyes at Hermione and dropped his hands to his desk. "It will allow us to combine our powers, even across measurable distances … "

"I'm aware of what that enchantment can do," Dumbledore whispered. At his words, Hermione stopped explaining what they'd found and looked around at her friends for direction. Her eyes rested on Harry's.

"We're aware of the risks, Professor," Harry offered. Dumbledore raised an unconvincing eyebrow in his direction. "What we've been doing shows promise. But… it's not enough. This enchantment might be the key."

"Might be," Dumbledore echoed. "I don't think you understand the gravity of what you're suggesting. There is no room for ambiguity with the Foederis enchantment."

"We do understand it, sir," Ron interjected. "We've given it a lot of thought. Harry can't do this by himself." Ron cast an apologetic glance toward Harry.

"Please, sir," Hermione added. "We don't mind the risk this enchantment requires." She looked at Harry who extended his hand to hers and kept her eyes on his while she continued. "Not doing it is a far greater risk." Harry squeezed her hand and looked back to Dumbledore.

The Headmaster turned to Merc. "You happened upon this enchantment?"

"Yes, sir. It's found within the same family of spells as the charm we've been working with. It's really been staring at us for weeks, but we've been too preoccupied to notice," she embellished.

He looked across his desk at the four of them, his expression unreadable, and did not speak. Fawkes flew back to his perch and nestled his head under his wing. Dumbledore rose from the chair and paced in front of the window. Harry wasn't sure what to make of his actions. After years of studying the Marauder's Map, he'd come to understand how frequently the Headmaster did pace. In this office, it was more conspicuous to find him seated than mobile. Yet, his lack of discussion was disquieting.

"Sir," Harry's voice broke the silence. Dumbledore stopped and turned to face him. "We appreciate your concern, but we truly do understand the risks." He looked to Ron and Hermione. "We want to do this." They nodded their heads in assent as Dumbledore turned back to the window.

He stood in silence, looking through the window at the colorful spring landscape. "Friendships that last the test of time are infrequent at best," his voice wavered. "While you may have the best of intentions, you are but seventeen years old." Harry could feel the crease of his forehead against his scar. He looked toward Ron and Hermione, both of whom seemed equally confused. He'd never heard Dumbledore speak in such negative terms. Only Merc's dejected expression indicated any of them were in agreement with the Headmaster. "This enchantment is well-guarded and little practiced for good reason." He turned to face them all. "It's simply too great a risk to be undertaken so young. Each of you could live 175 years or more. No one can anticipate the trials a friendship might endure over such duration." He moved back to the desk and sat down.

"Sir," Hermione's voice wavered "Without this enchantment, Harry might not live to see his eighteenth birthday, let alone his one hundred seventy-fifth."

"I appreciate your position, Ms. Granger, but there must be another way."

"There's not," Merc announced. The collective eyes in the room turned to her with enough celerity to cause a blush to erupt on her cheeks. She looked at her shoelaces and muttered, "I only mean to say that we've looked through every book there is." She looked up. "We've scoured the restricted section. We've practiced defensive charms, even learned a few new ones. There's no rock left unturned."

"And we're running out of time," Harry added.

"Exactly my point," Dumbledore replied. "This decision is made in haste and the consequences of violating the covenant this enchantment creates are devastating at best."

Harry was growing irritated. He hadn't expected to have to convince Dumbledore. He hoped the Headmaster would've offered his office, and his assistance, in casting the charm. But as the conversation wore on, it became obvious Dumbledore was reluctant to help them. He looked to Ron and Hermione, who seemed unable to find the right words either. He looked back to Dumbledore, the man who'd become like a father to him in his years at Hogwarts, and their eyes met. He couldn't discern the look etched on the Headmaster's face other than to say he understood it. He knew Dumbledore cared for them; he knew his wisdom and experience guided his thoughts. He knew Dumbledore loved him and he couldn't deny he'd come to feel the same way. What's more, he knew he was only seventeen. But he was not a child. Nor did he have any intention of being treated as such.

They were adults in the eyes of the wizarding world. They were capable of making their own decisions. He looked down at the hand grasped within his and let his eyes fall over Hermione's engagement ring. He couldn't understand how Dumbledore could be approving of one lifelong commitment while being dead set against another. In comparing the two, Harry saw less pain in the possibility of living life as a common muggle than living without Hermione. If they didn't engage in this covenant together, it was probable that Hermione would have to live without him. He promised he'd never leave her, and that was a promise he would risk much to keep. "Sir," he whispered. "We're asking for your support."

Dumbledore's eyes moved back to Harry's. "I'm sorry, Harry," he said. "I cannot give it to you." Before he'd even finished speaking, Harry sat back in the chair, trying to clear his mind of emotion so as to block Dumbledore from understanding the nascent plan already forming in his mind. He was really quite naive to think he'd accomplish such a task. "Harry," Dumbledore warned. "I do not condone the casting of this enchantment within my presence or without." He leaned forward in his chair and set his piercing stare on Harry. "If I have to expressly forbid it, I will."

Harry couldn't hold his gaze and looked away. As he studied the floor, he saw the Dumbledore's feet shuffling along the flagstones as he continued to pace. As the Headmaster had done so many times before, he'd managed to end the conversation in one sentence. "Yes, sir," Harry sighed. "We understand." He got to his feet, the others doing the same, and turned for the door.

As he reached the handle, Dumbledore spoke again. "If it's any consolation," he began, "it was a good idea." Harry hesitated, trying to decide whether to engage him in argument again, and thought better of it. As it was, he bid the Headmaster good night and led the group toward the staircase.

***

Harry mulled the conversation over in his head for hours after they'd left his office. He'd accomplished next to nothing for his lessons and even missed several students who'd been out in the corridors after hours. When he'd finally climbed the stairs to his dormitory, he was exhausted but completely unable to sleep. They had such high hopes when they'd gone to meet him. He never once thought Dumbledore would forbid the use of the enchantment. It was a turn of events he'd not anticipated and it was unsettling to say the least.

Merc was right in her assessment. They had checked every book in the restricted section. He felt like he'd read some of them twice. They'd practiced defensive charms while working on the Deliquesco spell. Nothing showed the promise this enchantment did. He climbed into his four-poster bed, understanding the obvious silence meant he was not alone in his musings. As he settled into his pillows, he heard the bed hangings to his left shirr down the rod. He looked over to see Ron, his head propped on his elbow, staring at him.

"We're still going to do it, right?"

"Of course," Harry replied without hesitation.

"Good," Ron flopped over onto his back. "Now I can get some sleep." Harry smiled and bid him good night. It was a matter of minutes before Ron's breathing became deep and even. Harry was not so lucky.

He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling of the dormitory, pondering the wrath of Dumbledore should he find out Harry's intentions. His thoughts wandered to his fifth year as he thought of his Occlumency lessons. If Snape was an accomplished Legilimens, Dumbledore certainly was. Harry would have to expunge his thoughts before drifting off or the Headmaster might know their plans before Harry did. He turned his head to the bedside table, looking for something to focus on. His eyes fell upon the glint of a gilded spined book. It was the history book Dumbledore had given him for Christmas. If it compared at all to Binns' class, he'd be sure to bore himself to sleep in minutes. He slipped the book from the table and began leafing through the pages.

As he suspected, the historical accounts of ancient wizarding families was not exactly riveting. He felt his eyes beginning to glaze over as he flipped through the pages. Just as his mind started to drift, he fell across some familiar names in odd combination…Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin. It was enough to draw his attention to the first few paragraphs.

Among the greatest witches and wizards of the age were Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, Godric Gryffindor, and Salazar Slytherin. This group of accomplished wizards opened the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry together. Such an undertaking was representative of the strength of their bonds to each other. The connections shared among the four were nearly as famous as the school that resulted from them. Though it experienced its own trials through the ages, the school remained a testament to the friendships forged, and lost, among the founders.

In the years following the creation of the school, Gryffindor and Slytherin's friendship deteriorated. Speculation abounds, both in historical and fictional text, as to the cause, but after several years of unerring loyalty, the two wizards broke ties in spectacular fashion. In doing so, Slytherin's relations with Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw suffered and he discontinued his association with Hogwarts. As testament to the ferocity of their dispute, it is rumored Slytherin built a chamber within the halls of Hogwarts to house a monster, capable of destroying those within the castle. Only after the chamber was opened initially (in approximately 570 a.d.) did the founder's descendants realize the rumored creature's target was those students with allegedly impure bloodlines.

"I could've told you that," Harry muttered, remembering the basilisk he'd dispatched during his second year.

The descendants of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff worked tirelessly to find the chamber and the creature within and protect the school from additional attacks. Sadly, they were unable to accomplish this feat on their own. The Slytherin family had long since become pitted itself against the other three founders' heirs and showed no interest in protecting muggleborns. The Gryffindor family might have been eager to help, if any had survived.

When the initial breach erupted in their friendship, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff stayed on the fringe of the dispute. Their efforts to reconcile the two powerful wizards went largely ignored and they eventually chose to watch the battle unfold between the two former best friends. Gryffindor and Slytherin's animosity soon erupted into a blood feud between the two families. While casualties were sustained on both sides, the Slytherin family took no interest in fighting an honorable battle.

"Figures," Harry thought to himself as his eyes fluttered in exhaustion. Although it was an interesting read, it wasn't telling him anything a duel between he and Malfoy couldn't have explained. For as much as history is supposed to change, it would appear the Gryffindor and Slytherin houses are uncanny in their resemblance to their original founders.

Above the increasing objections of Rowena Ravenclaw and Helga Hufflepuff, the Slytherin family continued their clandestine slaughter of the Gryffindors, thus ending their association with any of the original founders of the school. Before the Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff families could intervene, the Gryffindors were decimated and their descendants lost. Godric Gryffindor's death, at the hands of his former best friend, gave the entire wizarding world pause. The outcry over his murder forced Slytherin into hiding where he chose to continue his anti-muggle agenda through stealth and the creation of secretive organizations. The Slytherin name became synonymous with dark magic and the remaining founders of Hogwarts introduced Defense Against the Dark Arts as a standard course of study.

Harry's head slipped from his propped hand and he curled into his pillow. The book fell closed on his bed as he formed one last thought before drifting off to sleep. Just because those best friends didn't last, doesn't mean we won't. The last thing he heard before dropping into blackness was the sound of Ron snoring.

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