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1: Nothing Important Happened Today2: Shape and Diverge3: Summer Night Showtime4: My Place in All Things5: Some Internal Bell6: The Best Kinds of Monsters7: Remember October, November? Part 18: Remember October, November? Part 29: Unimprobable10. The Dark Line on the World11. Winterlude12: Three To Get Ready13: And Four to Go

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9: Unimprobable

Ron had kissed her Saturday night.

Wait, that didn’t sound correct. The words were familiar ones, common in vocabulary and, taken individually, they all made sense. It was when they were strung together that the completed statement sent her reeling all over again. She rearranged their order and reintroduced it to her mind.

Saturday night, Ron had kissed her.

Yes, but who was ‘her’? It required clarification for all parties involved. Restructuring the same sentence was easier than facing what it meant. Full embellishment, with greater attention paid to identities and time. That was the proper way.

During the Saturday night of the previous weekend Ronald Weasley had kissed Hermione Granger.

And as a consequence of that, Miss Granger was going quite mad.

Ron had kissed her! It had happened! It wasn’t a dream or a hallucination or even (how embarrassing to admit there was a precedence) a fantasy. It was solid, documented, verifiable fact with a least three witnesses that had been present. One of those witnesses was Luna, who had stumbled into the moment with her usual lack of discomfort. Another was of course herself — and she had been obsessing about it since the second she had fled the scene.

The third and final witness was sitting not three feet away from Hermione at the Gryffindor table.

And looking damnably arousing.

Hermione actually blushed at this thought and cursed her fair skin. She was careful to look down at the breakfast meal in front of her and not meet anyone’s eyes. Especially not his eyes.

What was she to do? Oh, if only she hadn’t run when Luna had come in! All she could think about in her mortification had been to get away as fast as possible. She had given in to her instinct to escape, and the result was that she had really, well… buggered it up, to use that phrase. She might have borrowed a similar expression from Scott but simply wasn’t comfortable using that level of profanity, even inside her own head.

Hermione wanted to bury her head in her hands and cry — either that or jump up and scream for joy, and both emotional reactions had their root in the same source. She wanted to cry because Ron had done exactly what she had wanted him to, and then, when Luna had surprised her, she had ruined it by leaving. The scream of joy was simpler to quantify — Ron had kissed her. Finally. Gloriously.

Alright, to be perfectly honest it hadn’t been the most gratifying kiss in the world. It was chaste and awkward, and neither of them had really known what to do. But it was still with Ron, and that was the most important thing that made the memory so powerful. And besides, she had beaten her hasty retreat before they’d had a chance to improve upon it. She mentally kicked herself again. Was there anything more torturous than the mind’s extrapolation of aborted events? ‘What could have been’ was always so painfully vivid.

So instead of facing that pain, she had foolishly avoided him all of Sunday, hiding in the library. What a mess she had created! If she had only gone and talked to him… But now it was Monday, and she was forced by classes into close proximity with him. She had to do something.

“Starving yourself isn’t going to help,” Harry whispered from his seat next to her and nudged her plate with his elbow.

Harry was right. Reluctantly she brought a forkful of eggs into her mouth and chewed without tasting them. Her brain was too occupied with other matters to bother devoting any of its processing power to her tongue. Harry seemed satisfied by her display of consumption and turned back to his bacon, only to find that Scott had stolen about half of it.

“There’s a whole plate right there!” Harry scowled at Scott, jabbing a finger towards the enormous serving platter that was piled with the crispy pork.

“Your bacon tastes better,” Scott said mildly.

Harry added more bacon to his plate and carefully wrapped one arm around it, guarding his food from further intrusion. Next to him, Ron was doing the same, now warned of possible trespasses from Scott.

Was Ron suffering as much as she was? He had been moody for weeks before the kiss, so it was difficult to discern whether he was thinking the same thoughts; his behaviour hadn’t been radically altered. Ron’s recently temperamental nature dissimulated his true feelings.

The post owls swooped into the Great Hall as they did every morning, a flashing, diving assortment of colours and sizes. Envelopes and packages fell to the tables in a heavy rain, dropping into hands and laps and occasionally food or drink. Hermione deftly caught her copy of the Daily Prophet, unfurling the paper and scanning the headlines. It was more bad news, as usual. She opened it to the middle, pursuing the continuation of a story from the cover.

A small article immediately diverted her interest. “Look at this, Harry,” Hermione said, leaning over to show him the paper. “There was a robbery at Borgin and Burkes.”

Harry quickly swallowed his food. “Yeah? Does it say what was taken?”

“No…” Hermione scanned the item, but it made no mention of specifics. “Just that someone robbed the store and vandalised it too. They’re offering a reward for any information.”

“Really!” Scott broke in from his side of the table. “How much?”

“A thousand Galleons.”

Ron whistled lowly. “Wish I knew who done it,” he commented to Scott. “That’d be a right pretty payday.”

“For a thousand?” Scott shrugged dismissively. “They can do better than that.”

“Like you wouldn’t rat someone out for a thousand Galleons,” Ron scoffed at him.

Scott seemed to think about it for a second. “I suppose I would,” he said finally. “Yeah, if I knew who it was, I’d go turn them in right now… but instead I’m going to take another bite of Harry’s bacon.”

Harry swiftly intercepted Scott’s second attempt on his plate with a tightly clenched fork. “Hands off! Hermione, this is probably because of Malfoy. Maybe he stole the necklace… or had someone steal it for him…”

Hermione gave him a condescending look. “Harry, why would Draco steal something that was being held for him?”

“Dunno,” Harry mused. “Maybe he ran out of money. Lucius might not know about this…”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Hermione sighed.

“Hey, look at that,” Scott interrupted again. Hermione lowered her paper to see what he was talking about and realised that he had been looking at the front page from his position across from her.

Curious, she closed it again and turned it over. “What?”

“Death Eater attacks in London,” Scott said through a full mouth. Hermione wrinkled her nose in disgust. “That’s bullshit,” he mumbled, spraying the table with egg bits upon making the ‘shi’ sound.

While Hermione wouldn’t have used quite that description (or been that rude), she endorsed the sentiment. “They’re getting bolder,” she fretted, reading through the article. “This isn’t the first time either.”

“Anybody we know dead?” Ron asked her as casually as possible, and, for a moment, Hermione’s heart stopped. He was speaking to her! Then the import of his query hit home, and she swallowed hard.

“No,” she answered quickly. “No, nobody we knew.”

“Meanwhile the Ministry are sitting around in their offices, circle-jerking and waiting for someone to do something,” Scott sneered.

“No disagreements here,” Harry said bitterly. Hermione sighed a little. If anyone had a reason to hate the Ministry for Magic, it was Harry.

“Don’t they get it?” Scott said forcefully, spraying the table in front of him with yet more fragments of scrambled eggs. “This is a war! They’ve got nothing less than a civil insurrection on their hands.”

Harry angrily stabbed his fork into his food. “Getting it is not the Ministry’s strong suit.”

“You need to fight fire with fire! The Death Eaters want a guerrilla war? That’s fine, give them one. Go firebomb some of their mansions. Does the Ministry think these assholes have a copyright on ambushes or some shit? Take them out! Jesus!” Scott emphasised his plan by pointing his fork menacingly at Hermione. “In a war, you don’t get the enemy in your sights, and then stop to see if he’ll submit to being handcuffed, you pull the trigger. Bunch of dumbasses you guys got in charge over here, good grief.”

Harry and Ron looked at each other with twin expressions of amusement as Scott ranted on. Hermione frowned. “That’s all well and good for you to say,” she told Scott, “but I don’t think you can understand the realities of the situation. There are manpower limitations, you know.  Or were you going to volunteer to do all of that yourself?”

“I didn’t volunteer,” Scott grumbled darkly, reaching for his glass of juice and washing down what was left of his eggs.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means shut the hell up and eat your damn food.”

Hermione glared at him. Why did he always have to be so infuriating?

“Cheerful this morning, isn’t he? A right ray of sunshine he is,” Ron said to Harry.

“Could be a nutritional problem,” Harry blandly replied. “All that bacon.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Scott said sarcastically. “Or maybe it’s because you don’t have chicken fried steak at Hogwarts, YOU TREACLE-LOVING TWAT.”

“You’re still hung up over that?” Harry laughed at him.

Ron shook his head. “Let it go, mate. Let it go.”

“I think,” Scott mused conversationally, holding up his fork and looking at it closely, “that I’ll stick this fork in your goddamn eyeball.”

“No you won’t,” Harry said, but he still leaned back warily.

“If you’re done threatening Harry’s eyes,” Hermione said primly, “then we need to finish up and get to class.”

Scott rolled his eyes. “It’s eight forty-three, that’s plenty of time.”

“Not if you’re Neville,” Ron said, pointing towards the entrance to the Great Hall.

Neville had just entered, looking more dishevelled than usual and carrying his books haphazardly held under one arm. He was red-faced and panting when he sat down next to Scott, dropping half of his texts on the floor in the process. Scott shoved the platter of bacon his way, and Neville nodded in wordless thanks, breathing hard as he piled his plate with whatever food was easily in reach.

“You’ve got ten minutes before you have to sprint to class,” Scott advised him, “so take a deep breath because you’re gonna be holding it.”

“Problems — with — my plants—” Neville explained between rapid mouthfuls.

“Neville, slow down before you choke to death,” Hermione told him exasperatedly. What was it with boys and their suicidal eating habits?

“Can’t.” He took another massive bite.

“It’s like a bloody big vacuum, isn’t it?” Ron observed as eggs and bacon disappeared with incredible speed into Neville’s maw. “Impressive, really.”

“Now you know what it’s like watching you,” Harry said.

“What, like you’re any better? You always give me a run for my money come time for dessert.” Ron paused. “You treacle-loving twat.”

“You like it too!”

Hermione bit her lower lip in an unconscious gesture of worry. Despite her personal inability to think of much else, Ron seemed to be largely unaffected by the events that had transpired the previous evening. Was all this joking banter a good sign, or did it mean he had stopped caring? Maybe he had simply written her off as a loss after she had fled from him. Maybe he would try kissing some other girl instead… someone who would give him a better reaction. Oh no! She couldn’t let that happen!

Fortunately Defence Against the Dark Arts class would occur immediately after breakfast, so Ron wouldn’t be in any strategically viable positions for kissing any time soon. She had to keep him isolated until she could corner him for a good talking-to. And under no circumstances was he ever, ever, to be alone with Lavender Brown. Hermione might not have been the most socially experienced girl around, but she was far from blind, and she knew exactly what Lavender had been up to as of late. Hermione’s history with Lavender had been rocky at points, but, for the most part, they got along well enough. At this juncture, that could easily change.

“I know I said to take a deep breath,” Scott was saying to Neville, “but that was sort of ‘rinse and repeat’ advice, you know? You’re supposed to do it again as the situation warrants.” Neville had been turning an alarming shade of blue.

“Gotta hurry” was Neville’s choked response.

“You gotta breathe, too. Pick one.”

It was only a matter of minutes before poor Neville was forced to abandon his half-eaten breakfast and head with everyone else towards Defence against the Dark Arts. Harry, Ron and Scott held themselves with the air of people preparing for battle. Hermione wished it didn’t have to be that way, but she had to privately admit that Professor Snape hadn’t exactly helped the situation any. Hermione always tried to discourage the undying enmity that Ron and Harry held for the professor, but to her dismay, Scott had joined them in their antipathy with a cheerful abandon. She certainly hadn’t forgotten the incident on the first day of class — and neither had Professor Snape.

Professor Snape’s only words to the class upon his arrival were “Be seated.” His near silence set the tone for the rest of the lesson as he sketched out the plan on the board, and they once again divided into pairs to practice nonverbal spell casting. The stillness was contagious. Even as the students began to separate themselves for the exercise, the ambient level of conversation never rose above a dull mutter. Scott squared off against Neville while Harry partnered with Seamus, and Hermione found herself once again at the mercy of Ron’s blue eyes.

“Right,” Ron mumbled, not meeting her gaze. “Guess you can go first.” He held his wand loosely in one hand and didn’t seem all that interested in defending himself.

Any thoughts of running away from… from whatever was going on between the two of them were wiped away by his defeated posture. Given Hermione’s disposition, it was very difficult for her to admit that she had been wrong. But she was a Gryffindor, and that meant finding courage when it was needed. “Ron, about what happened—”

“’S’alright,” he said, looking at the floor. “You didn’t… I didn’t think it through, so I shouldn’t have done… that, you know….” She opened her mouth to immediately contradict him, but he continued, “But I did do a lot of thinking last night, and I decided it was worse to lose you as a friend…. So I won’t say anything, if you don’t want…” He shrugged but it was a sad gesture. “We can just keep going like we usually do.”

Should Hermione be touched or infuriated that he was willing to bury the entire affair for her sake? The two emotions warred within her until ‘touched’ won by a thin margin. “I know it wasn’t what either us imagined,” she murmured, “and I’m sorry things didn’t go better—”

“I gave it my best go, Hermione,” Ron whispered miserably.

“—but I’m not sorry it happened,” Hermione finished, raising her voice over his.

“I will remind the class that there is no talking during nonverbal spell casting,” Professor Snape said from the front of the room, his dark eyes fixed on Hermione and Ron.

Hermione immediately shut her mouth and tried to look like she was working. The irony of herself being in that situation was lost on her, at least for the moment. Ron’s mouth was still hanging open in disbelief. He had evidently not expected her to say that. He remembered enough to raise his wand like he was using it and whispered, “What are you saying?”

She would have thought that was obvious. “I think we should try again.”

Ron froze despite the fact that he was supposed to be making some attempt at wand motions.

“Ron!” Hermione hissed, waving her wand at him. He snapped out of it.

“You... you want to try again?”

“Yes.” It was unbelievable how a one syllable word could contain so much meaning.

Ron licked his lips. “When?”

As soon as possible, she thought to herself, but didn’t say it. With that in mind she looked towards Professor Snape to make sure he was otherwise occupied. “After class,” she told Ron quietly. He went slightly pale but nodded anyway.

When they sat back down for the closing lecture, Harry clearly wanted to ask her what she had been discussing with Ron but couldn’t risk it — Professor Snape always kept too close an eye on the student he loved to hate. On Harry’s other side, Scott was also keeping his silence, seeing as how he was in the same boat. That didn’t stop him from inking out a highly childish drawing of Hermione and Ron ‘in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G' according to the caption he had scrawled at the bottom. Hermione glared at him so fiercely that he quickly hid the offending picture in his bag. If Professor Snape had confiscated it, there was little doubt he’d have shown it to the entire class after which Hermione would have had no choice but to murder Scott in his sleep.

The rest of the lesson passed by in a blur as Hermione attempted both to pay attention and prevent herself from staring at Ron’s mouth. She failed on both accounts. If the four boys were depending on her notes in order to complete their homework, then they were in for a nasty shock come revision time.

Fortunately it wasn’t long before Professor Snape’s curt dismissal set in motion the usual clatter of pushed back chairs and rustling book bags. Hermione packed her textbook away, noting with dismay that her hands were trembling. Was she really going to do this? It was one thing to be spontaneous. Premeditation took a lot more courage, and Hermione had a history of not being able to think under fire as well as someone like Harry. Who knew what she would say or do once Ron got his hands on her? Oh, dear God, she couldn’t think things like that. The idea of Ron’s hands on her (a phrase far too sexual for comfort) made her weak-kneed while a familiar warmth spread through her lower torso. This was dangerous territory.

So why was the thought of stopping unbearable?

Once out in the hallway, Hermione managed to summon back her anger with Scott to provide a nice distraction. “If Professor Snape had seen that picture…” she began threateningly.

“Then you’d have died of shame and wouldn’t care anymore,” Scott cut in. “C’mon Harry, I’ve got some stuff to tell you about Dumbledore — you know my sister went to see him? Don’t wait up, guys.” And with that, Scott grabbed Harry by the arm and hurried him away down the hallway.

Neville watched them go with a startled expression before realising that he had been left to fend for himself in the company of Ron and Hermione, two people who even he could see needed to be alone. “I need to talk to Luna,” he said haltingly and followed Scott and Harry’s example in making himself scarce—

—which left Hermione completely alone in a hallway with Ron, who still seemed slightly stunned by the sudden departure of all their friends. There was a moment of silence before Ron said, “What picture?”

“A stupid thing Scott drew.” Hermione gathered her courage and, with a voice that was not quite steady, said, “Well, this way then.”

There was something extremely incongruous about her current situation — though it wasn’t so much ‘incongruous;’ it was perhaps more akin to 'the end of the world.' Hermione Granger was leading a boy off into a secluded alcove to, well… snog. The word gave life to what she was about to do. A snogging session. With Ron. In an alcove. It was definitely English, so why didn’t it allow itself to be comprehended? What had she gotten herself into? Why, why did she have to have run away from him the night before?! Maybe she could have already been acclimated to kissing Ron by now. Practice made perfect after all. Snogging couldn’t be any different. If she would approach things rationally, there was no reason why they couldn’t talk it over and then have the second kiss that they both deserved.

These comforting thoughts of reason went straight out the window when the pair reached a sheltered spot in a hallway that was well off the beaten path for most students. Their impulsive action just as suddenly gave way to inaction, and the two found themselves at a loss as to how to begin.

They really needed to get over these awkward silences. Hermione took a deep breath and broke it. “I need to explain myself first,” she said as firmly as she could manage. “I shouldn’t have left last night. Luna came in, and I was so embarrassed… I didn’t think. And—” she involuntarily fought the next words for a split second but forced them out— “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Ron said to the floor. He had to be talking to the floor because he still wasn’t looking at her. “I wasn’t, you know… very good at it.”

Count on Ron to make this an issue of self-doubt. It wasn’t like she had done any better — she had just stood there like a lump! “I’m sure we both had some unrealistic expectations, but we can hardly expect to be all that great without any practice,” she said logically. “And that’s not why I left.” He opened his mouth and she held up a hand sharply. “Let me finish! I was embarrassed that Luna had seen us, and that I didn’t respond very well.  You surprised me. But that’s all. I’m glad it happened, and I want to try it again.” Had she really said that?

She must have because Ron was looking dumbstruck again.

Hermione had built up some steam with her confessions and used that inertia to plough onwards and upwards. “No time like the present,” she said a little breathlessly, eyeing Ron’s mouth in what she hoped was a manner blatant enough to pierce the fog of self-pity he was mired in.

But Ron had always been more than a little thick when it came to reading her. “You… you want me to…”

“Here, let’s try this,” Hermione said, the beginnings of impatience building in her. She only had so much bravery to work with; why couldn’t he just get on with it?

Moving closer to him she took his hands in hers and placed them on her hips. Ron’s arms went stiff as if she were imbued with an electric current. Of course, she thought, if Ron was feeling the same things that Hermione was when she touched him, then maybe she really was electrified in some way. Maybe they both were.  The warmth and smell of his body so close to her own inspired a delicate dance in every one of her nerve endings. Once his hands were well seated, she placed hers on his shoulders. He had grown so tall — he’d have to bend over quite a bit while she stood on her tiptoes if this was going to work. In the future, maybe Ron could just pick her up instead… That would be lovely…

“Hermione?” Ron whispered shakily. She reluctantly pulled herself out of her hormone-induced haze and met his eyes.

“This is nice,” Hermione said inanely. It was, in fact, an accurate, if brief, description of their position. She felt his thumbs move a little against her waist and shivered with the tremor that ran down her spine.

“Yeah,” he breathed. Was he leaning in closer? She wasn’t sure she was ready yet! Maybe she should close her eyes? No, knowing Ron, he’d take that to mean that he’d bored her to sleep. She needed to do something though!

It was in this burst of panic that Hermione, hoping to meet Ron halfway, pulled his head down towards her and pressed her lips to his.

Neither of them were really doing anything but holding the kiss in place, but it was already a hundred, no, a thousand times better than their last one, due simply to the way they were holding each other. It was that same lack of action that had caused so much trouble in the first place, Hermione dazedly remembered. Tentatively, she tried to move her lips a little bit and squeezed his shoulders more tightly. Surely she could provoke some kind of response from Ron if he was feeling even a fraction of what she was.

Hermione received the response that she was looking for — and then some. Ron groaned into her mouth like some metaphorical dam had burst inside of him and, without warning, scooped her completely up into his arms and devoured her lips with his own—inexpertly, yes, but she was not complaining.

It was so sudden that she couldn’t suppress a squeak of both surprise and delight. Unfortunately, Ron had never been good at discerning the subtleties. At her noise of what he took to be protest he immediately let go of her. “Sorry,” he gasped. “Sorry, I…”

What on earth was he thinking, just stopping like that just when things were getting good? Hermione wasn’t going to stand for it. She wanted this, needed this. Ron had awoken a physical craving in her, and there was no way he could be allowed to back off. As far as she was concerned, they were past the point of no return.

With that in mind, she grabbed the back of his head with more strength than was strictly necessary and greedily resumed the kiss, applying more suction this time. Yes, that was wonderful — suction was key.

Hermione learned more about the pleasures and pitfalls of intimacy in the next few minutes than she had in all her time at school. All her reading, all her eavesdropping on the bragging of tousle-haired girls, all her furtive observations of dark figures twisting and groping in castle corners had not prepared her for this.

In the interests of being instructive, she moaned approvingly when Ron ran his tongue over her lower lip. It was important to clearly indicate what was enjoyable — in this case, everything. Well, almost everything. Despite the pleasure thrumming through her body her neck was beginning to cramp and her ankles were giving out from standing on her toes for so long. Her lungs were demanding more oxygen than her nose alone could provide. Reluctantly, she broke away.

How long they stood there, breathing hard, she couldn’t have said. Ron raised his arms to gently cup her face in his hands, and Hermione’s heart did what felt like a somersault. “I think,” she said in between gulps of air, “that we’ve improved.”

Ron nodded, looking like he didn’t trust his own voice.

Though unwilling, Hermione forced herself to let go of Ron and smoothed out her clothing. There wasn’t much she could do about the state of her hair or lips, but, with any luck, nobody would notice. Ron’s condition wasn’t much better. She absently reached over and tugged on the hem of his shirt, straightening it. “We should probably go back,” she said. She wasn’t too happy about it but also didn’t fancy the idea of being caught snogging in a hallway.

“I suppose so.” Ron didn’t sound particularly thrilled either. His tone was huskier than normal, and she felt that shiver again.

Unable to resist, Hermione raised herself again and kissed him, softly this time. He returned it with a tenderness that made her chest ache, and she wished that they could have all the time in the world to themselves. Words were inadequate. They needed the time and space to demonstrate this new thing between them. She released him and turned to leave, reminding herself that there was no reason to be sad. Ron would be right next to her where he always was. Given enough practice, perhaps they’d even learn to be comfortable being intimate (or relatively intimate) in public.

“Hermione!” Ron stopped her by grabbing her hand, a note of desperation in his voice. She turned to him questioningly. Ron stood frozen with his mouth partially open for a moment before blurting out, “Will you be my girlfriend?”

Hermione should have expected it — she would have, had she been thinking clearly. It was Ron; of course he would require some sort of clear affirmation. It was moderately amazing that he’d worked up the nerve to ask her outright. Then again, he had been the one to initiate their first kiss. They seemed to be trading the role of aggressor back and forth between the two of them.

So Hermione squeezed Ron’s hand and answered, “Of course I will.”

A massive amount of tension visibly flowed out of him. “Brilliant,” he said, grinning at her.

“You thought I might say no—after all that?”

“Bloody hell, Hermione, I never have the slightest idea what you’re going to do next,” Ron told her. “I was just glad you didn’t smack me after last night.”

“Oh, Ron,” Hermione sighed. He could be so endearingly clueless.

 “We’re alright then?” Ron asked her, reaching out and holding her other hand. Hermione revelled in the newfound connection.

“Yes,” she answered him, moving closer to him with one overriding purpose in mind, “we’re going to be just fine.”

*****

Luna Lovegood enjoyed hallways.

A hallway was like a trip through a miniature time zone, a second of life contained within two walls, a floor and a ceiling. Every step brought you closer to an end, or even a beginning depending on how you looked at it. A hallway took you to where you wanted to go without taxing your mind with distractions like direction or distance — you could only move in one of two ways, so that left you free to think of other things. Luna got a lot of thinking done in hallways. They were endlessly useful for that sort of thing.

To be sure, she could see how other people might find hallways too linear an experience. But those people must not have noticed all the doors lining the walls, each one holding the promise of discovery. And even though you could only move towards the point where the hallway must inevitably finish, well… You never knew if there was something wonderful there, now did you?

Life was like that. There were so many options and just not enough time to explore them all. Even the bad decisions could always teach you something important about yourself or someone else. It was all a matter of perspective.

The particular hallway she was traversing this morning was a favourite of hers since it contained a door which led to the courtyard. The courtyard was also a good place to think, when she wanted to think outdoors. Thoughts seemed to grow better outside. Too bad it was probably going to rain. Rain could be relaxing, but also distracting. Weather was a fascinating facet of the world that sometimes pulled her attention away from the more important things.

Such weighty pondering of rain, courtyards and hallways were brought to a halt when Luna quite suddenly found herself cornered by several Slytherins.

Their leader, unsurprisingly, was Pansy Parkinson. For whatever reason, Pansy had always seemed to take a particular delight in tormenting Luna — perhaps because she was such a frequent and easy target of opportunity. That seemed as likely a motive as any though Luna suspected that the older girl didn’t really need a rationale to pick on someone. The Slytherins grouped themselves around Luna to prevent escape while she stared up at them, unperturbed. She wondered if all Slytherins were so tall. Perhaps there was something in the water they drank in their common room? The possible discovery of another conspiracy briefly excited her before Pansy roughly shoved her back into the wall.

Luna wished they wouldn’t do that. At least the other Ravenclaws only took her things and didn’t push her. Being pushed was an unpleasant experience, one that hadn’t improved with age. “Where are you going, Loony?” Pansy sneered. Luna thought maybe she had learned that expression from Draco Malfoy. She decided not to answer. She’d learned it didn’t really matter if she said something since they’d only shove her again anyway.

Sure enough, she bounced painfully off the wall again a moment later. She decided to try a different passive strategy and, instead of meeting their eyes, looked down at the floor. Certainly the floor was more interesting than the Slytherins. She began counting flagstones, one by one. Two, three, four… How much time did it take to set down and cement a floor like this one? She wondered if perhaps Scott might know. He seemed to often know odd things like that.

“Don’t want to talk to me, Loony?” Rather than avert confrontation, Luna’s refusal to acknowledge her presence only seemed to goad Pansy on to further violence.

The Slytherins snickered, and one of them in the back spoke up. “Maybe you shoved her a little too hard.”

Pansy’s eyes narrowed as if in thought. “Maybe you’re right, Harper. I’ll see if I can knock some sense back into her.” She moved to push Luna again, and the shorter girl braced herself—

“WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?”

The push never came to Luna’s relief. The Slytherins pulled away from her, and she looked up to see what was happening. Scott was bearing down the corridor towards them with Neville in tow. He stopped in front of the massed Slytherin students with his fists clenched dangerously at his sides, apparently completely indifferent to the fact that he was outnumbered. Neville looked angry too, and, while Scott and the Slytherins glared at each other, he leaned forward and grabbed Luna’s hand, pulling her to relative safety next to him. That was very nice of him, she thought. Neville was a good friend. She really ought to tell him so.

“Perhaps you didn’t hear me,” Scott said after a moment. There was a whimsical smile on his face that contrasted with his dark tone. “I asked you a question, cunt-rag.”

Pansy’s face coloured. “How dare you!” she hissed. “Filthy Mudblood…”

Neville’s eyes widened at the almost casual use of the insult. Luna thought it was a very cruel thing to say, but also thought that it didn’t seem to bother Scott very much. Perhaps ‘Mudblood’ wasn’t considered very offensive in America? She made a mental note to ask him.

Scott looked at Pansy as if he was attempting to identify something particularly unpleasant he'd found on the bottom of his shoe. “Gee, you Purebloods sure are doing a good job of making me jealous. Maybe someday I’ll inherit a bunch of money I don’t deserve and bang my first cousin. I could be lounging in a mansion with a bunch of little inbred retard kids that would look like… you.”

All of this was only peripheral to Luna. Scott, Luna was thinking to herself, was an interesting friend to have. He was always very nice to her and was usually very funny, though he often said things that she didn’t understand.

Sometimes though, he would go all cold. Luna thought he wasn’t quite the same when he was like that. Confronting Pansy Parkinson had made him turn cold again; so she tried to ignore it and think about Snorkacks instead. Still, she couldn’t suppress a shiver. Neville must have seen it, because he laid a supporting hand on her shoulder. His hand was very warm, she noticed.

Her attention refocused on the altercation taking place. Pansy was saying something about how Draco would come after Scott for what he had said. Luna didn’t think Scott seemed very impressed by that. Given his temperament she wondered if Scott might welcome a fight with Draco.

“Good, I look forward to seeing him. Oh, and tell him that if his mom asks about me, he can tell her the check is in the mail and that I’m sorry for not bringing cash last time.”

Luna didn’t know very many things about America, or American Muggles for that matter, though she thought that maybe Snorkacks were more common there than in Sweden. She decided that later she’d repeat what Scott said to Harry since he seemed to understand Scott the most. Hermione might also, but it was probably something rude and she wouldn’t want to answer. Hermione could be strange about things like that. They were only words, after all. Hermione placed more importance on words than Luna thought was strictly necessary.

The mood was ugly in the hallway, ruining the good vibes it usually produced. She hoped there wasn’t going to be a brawl. They were outnumbered, and Neville could be seriously hurt if they ganged up on him. She wasn’t worried about Scott. It seemed like he could probably take care of himself if it came down to that, though whether he could take care of Neville and Luna at the same time was in question. The largest Slytherin moved forward menacingly.

Fortunately Luna’s fears were put to rest before things became escalated beyond the point of no return. Professor McGonagall had come down from one of the stairways and was approaching the seething students, her expression even more severe than usual. The Slytherins quickly re-established some distance between themselves and Scott, including some poor attempts to look casual.

“Is there a problem here, Mr. Kharan?” McGonagall enquired, eyeballing the retreating Slytherins.

“No,” Scott replied coolly, “just leaving a message for Malfoy. Thanks for your time,” he said, addressing the Slytherins. Pansy flushed again but, under the gimlet eye of Professor McGonagall, had no choice but to sullenly turn and leave. Luna had little doubt that she’d hold a grudge, and Luna would be paying the price for Scott’s intervention at some later point. Still, dignity was important, and she was grateful to Scott and Neville for helping her maintain some of hers.

After they had left, the stern Professor fixed her gaze on Scott. “I don’t suppose I need remind you, Mr. Kharan, that there is no fighting in the halls.”

“No ma’am.” Scott gave her what he probably thought was an innocent smile, but it didn’t work all that well.

The look she gave him clearly showed that she knew what had been about to happen, but she said nothing and continued on her way. Neville let out a slight sigh of relief while Scott shook himself like he was shrugging off his anger. “Does she follow me around or something?” he muttered. “Every damn time we start getting down to it she shows up....”

Neville motioned to Luna. “We’d better hurry to class. We’ll go with you to the door just in case they come back.”

That was very thoughtful of him, Luna mused to herself, as they hastily made their way to the staircase. Things had turned out rather well, all considered. Now if only she could remember what she had been thinking about in the first place, before she had been interrupted… Snorkacks? No, that wasn’t right. Something to do with rain and thoughts… Or was it weather in general? Oh yes, that was it.

Luna Lovegood enjoyed hallways.

*****

Life as of late had been a bit odd at Hogwarts.

What made that in itself so strange was that as far as Ginny herself went, life had been coasting along at a constant level of ordinary. Her involvement in what she would have considered a key group of people close to her had been minimal at best. Not for the first time, she keenly felt the isolation between her and Ron, Hermione and Harry. Part of this was because they were in different grade levels, but the fact was that Ginny simply didn’t move in the same circles. She admitted to herself that she hadn’t done much to close the distance. There were a few reasons for that, but most of them had to do with a certain green-eyed teenager who simply refused to get out of her head.

Her own comings and goings were encased in a bubble of normalcy. Ginny’s days were consumed with both boyfriends and regular friends, Quidditch and schoolwork. The months slipped by with regularity, and nothing really rocked the boat or stood out in contrast to the patterned procession of her life. Sometimes it seemed like she breathed for the moments when she could zoom off on her broom and leave her thoughts behind.

But it was difficult to ignore all the sights that were to be seen only out of the corner of her eye. Ginny had never forgotten Hermione’s concerns about Scott Kharan. Had anything ever happened with him? The exchange student had popped up once in the general social strata after an incident with Snape on the first day of classes but since then had mostly faded into the woodwork as far as being a topic of conversation. The gossip mill went through interests rapidly. Scott had been a worthy subject during the first month of school, but attentions were quick to find newer targets.

Despite this there seemed little question that something out of the ordinary was going on. Ginny might not have been spending all that much time with Harry, Ron and Hermione, but she knew them and therefore could sense when they were embroiled in another secret agenda. Dynamics were shifting, things were happening behind closed doors, and Scott seemed to be with them at the centre of it all.

Ginny came into contact with Harry’s circle of friends like ships passing in the night. Her self-imposed isolation chafed. She had enjoyed emerging from her previous role as the shrinking violet, and she liked having an extended group of friends. But there was something special about being close to Harry Potter. Harry was where the action was — in more ways than one. Life around Harry was unpredictable and dangerous. It was important.

Ginny would be dishonest with herself to deny those facts, but she in turn also felt dishonest devoting so many of her ephemeral thoughts to Harry. Dean was the designated occupant for that corner of Ginny’s brain. Harry was a stubborn cancer that had never been fully excised. Dean was a fun enough sort of bloke to be around and not a bad kisser. But he wasn’t Harry. Was she an awful person for feeling that way?

She just couldn’t help noticing Harry. When he had been so absorbed with that potions book of his, it had frightened her. He of all people should know better than to trust a strange book! Nothing had come of it yet, but Ginny couldn’t shake the feeling she had about it. Every time she saw Harry carrying his book bag, she had the urge to rip it from his grasp. She was probably overreacting, she knew. A hunch was an annoyingly vague thing.

She tried to put it out of her mind, wondering how was she to put a final four inches on her Defence against the Dark Arts essay while her head was churning at such a pace. She needed a break.

Pushing back her quill and partially inked parchment with a decisive gesture, Ginny stood and walked to her window.

Outside, the grounds of Hogwarts were covered in a thin, frozen crust of frost and patchy snow. The sky was a solid sheet of overcast clouds, dousing the world in a feathery grey. It was the kind of scene that belonged in a brush painting. All things beneath the horizon were locked in a sleepy stillness that dulled the senses and encouraged the eyes to close. Every blink carried the threat of interminability. One look was enough for Ginny to seriously consider going to bed.

An early bedtime was only a dream with the essay standing in her way. Her interlude with the window had not improved her situation. There was only so much time a person could waste staring out a cold pane of glass. Ginny supposed that windowsill-brooding just wasn’t a strong instinct in her. That was Harry’s territory.

There she went, right back to Harry again. Her thoughts were a Quaffle tossed up into the air, inevitably returning to earth. Harry captured her in his gravity, and Ginny moved towards him as if they were two heavenly bodies locked in a mutual pull. Not that Ginny would have minded being drawn closer to his heavenly body…

Great Merlin, how could she even look Dean in the eye these days? Though that wasn’t usually a problem. Ginny and Dean never did much looking, or talking. Their relationship seemed to exist primarily as a joint snogging venture. She was fond of Dean — but she was also fond of pie. Fond wasn’t the strongest word in the English lexicon.

The truth was that being with Dean while Harry was around made Ginny feel like she was merely settling.

That thought was so awful that Ginny actually shivered. Dean didn’t deserve that. He was a good bloke and a decent boyfriend.

And with a lukewarm declaration of passion like that, she thought wryly, how could things between them be anything less than perfect? Maybe real passion belonged only in books and music, and there was nothing unhealthy about her attitude towards Dean. Or— just maybe—her passion was buried beneath a trap door of denial, to be unearthed without warning by sharp, green eyes….

She would drive herself mad like this, obsessing over the unattainable. That was why she had resolved to get over Harry in the first place. Ginny refused to admit to the possibility that the resolution was dissolving away like almost all grand intentions of personal change did. The mind was malleable, but the heart stubbornly clung to the past and the way it thought that things ought to be.

Ginny needed a change of venue. Reaching back she removed her hair from the ponytail that she had used to hold it away from her face during homework and worked it loose with a shake of her head. A quick glance in her mirror confirmed that she wasn’t a mess and didn’t require any emergency brushwork, so she left her dormitory and headed for the common room.

She wasn’t sure who was she was hoping to see, if anyone. It would be nice if Harry and Hermione and maybe Neville were sitting around the fire having a chat — it wouldn’t be difficult to insinuate herself into the conversation. Unfortunately the chances of Ron not being there were slim, and she didn’t want to see him any more than he wanted to see her. At least, that’s what she thought. Ron hadn’t been glaring at her every time they were within eyesight of each other lately, but that notwithstanding, Ginny was still mad at him. It wasn’t her fault that Ron hadn’t been able to sort things through with Hermione, and yet he had taken his frustrations out on her. Ginny wouldn’t settle for anything less than an apology.

But instead of a welcoming group of friends, Ginny was disappointed to see Scott Kharan sitting by himself in an easy chair next to the fireplace. Harry and the rest were conspicuously absent. The exchange student was cradling what appeared to be a copy of Hogwarts: A History on his lap though, at the rate he was turning the pages, Ginny knew he had to only be skimming it. Not that she could blame him. Hogwarts: A History was not the most compelling work of literature—despite Hermione’s opinions.

Well, beggars couldn’t be choosers. Ginny’s interactions with Scott were limited to a brief conversation on the train and a few words exchanged while passing in hallways, but he seemed like an approachable person, though there was something about him that… well, she didn’t know what it was. Still, anything was better than going back to her dorm and attempting to finish her essay.

With that in mind, she seated herself across from Scott, attempting to give herself the casual air of someone settling down at random. She didn’t want him to think she was trying to glean any specific information from innocent conversation, even if that was partly the truth. “Hi, Scott,” she said. It was an innocuous opener.

Scott looked up from his book with those eyes of his that were so oddly… well,  calculating would be the best way to put it. Ginny had sometimes seen — as she viewed him in passing — that he looked at people as if they were mathematical in nature, not individuals but problems to be studied and solved. Maybe Harry and the others hadn’t noticed, and it was easier for Ginny to see since she was on the outside of their group. Or maybe it was just her.

Regardless, it was uncomfortable to be subjected to what she felt was a penetrating and strangely detached grey gaze. Ginny resisted the urge to shift in her seat.

“What’s up, Ginny,” Scott replied, closing his book.

Ginny took that to be a sign of conversational acceptance. “Where is everybody?”

“I don’t know everybody, so it’s kind of hard to say. However, Neville is down at the greenhouses checking on something or the other, Luna is probably in the Ravenclaw tower, Harry has departed temporarily, and Ron and Hermione are off somewhere, no doubt canoodling as we speak.”

“Canoodling?” Did that mean what she thought it did?

“They’ve taken up the most popular sport in the world — tonsil hockey. I haven’t been keeping up to date, but last time I checked, the score was tied.”

Ginny was discovering for herself what Scott’s other friends were already familiar with; the blond boy had a frustrating affinity for slang and turn of phrase. “Wait — you mean they’re snogging?!”

“Like it’s going out of style. I’m afraid your most recent interlude with Dean was tame in comparison,” Scott said apologetically as if it were some sort of contest Ginny had lost. “The saliva Ron and Hermione have swapped can probably be measured in litres. Enthusiasm has a lot to do with the choice of partner.”

Choice of partner? What exactly was he implying? Ginny guiltily remembered her thoughts of Dean and Harry. Scott was hitting a little close to home. “When did this happen?”

“I can’t say for sure, but I’d put good money that it all went down after DADA on Monday. That was after an aborted start on Saturday, of course. Seems like smooth sailing for now though, God bless those horny little bastards.”

Ginny exploded. “I can’t believe him!” she hissed. “After all that, that—”

“Crap?”

“—crap he gave me about snogging Dean, he goes around and snogs Hermione, that bloody hypocrite!” Ginny raged. “What an unbelievable prat! I should hex him into next week!”

“Just keep it above the belt. I know you’re mad,” Scott said, “and rightfully so. But you need to consider Hermione’s place in all this. Before you go and hex Ron’s balls off, keep in mind that Hermione might have a use for them, and this isn’t her fault.”

He had a point. Ginny reluctantly calmed herself. Hermione was an innocent bystander and shouldn’t be dragged into the mess Ron had created.

“And look at this from Ron’s perspective for a second,” Scott continued. “How would you feel if you walked into a room, and Ron and Hermione were competing in the oral Olympics?”

“It wouldn’t be pleasant,” Ginny admitted, “but that does not give him the right to call me a slag!”

“He didn’t call you a slag.”

“He was going to.” Ginny stubbornly crossed her arms.

“Not necessarily. There are several other words that start with ‘S’ and mean the same thing,” Scott pointed out.

“I thought you were defending him?”

“I never pretended to be consistent,” Scott said airily.

“I deserve an apology.”

“You might forget all about that after tonight.” Scott seemed distracted by something. “Serious shit going down, you know. Crazy stuff.”

Now this was the sort of thing Ginny had been missing out on. “Like what?” she asked with a hint of eagerness she couldn’t repress. Was she insane for almost wishing that they were going to storm the Ministry again? She wasn’t blind to the cost that had been incurred last time. But that desire for action was in her blood; it was a part of what made her love Quidditch so much. Any danger could be faced in the light of an important purpose, and Harry’s purpose was the most important thing of all.

“Truth,” Scott muttered to himself. “The great cold that surrounds and brings all of us down to that same middle level… of temperature, and things that we’ve lost.”

What the bloody hell was he talking about? “What?”

“You think I’m a good gambler?”

Ginny needed to find some sort of footing when it came to talking to Scott. Non sequiturs were difficult to respond to. “I really wouldn’t know.”

“That’s unfortunate,” Scott sighed. “I could have used a boost in confidence.”

“It might be easier to help if I had any idea what you’re talking about,” Ginny said irritably.

If Scott had heard her, he made no indication of having done so. “I’m making a possible mistake tonight. Sometimes it doesn’t work unless you’re willing to go for the full effect, and that’s not always an option.” He rubbed at his eyes tiredly. “But, as they say, nam et ipsa scientia potestas es.”

“You’re completely mad, you know that?” Ginny stared at him. “You’re not even speaking English.”

 “Are you busy tonight?”

“Are you even listening to me?” Ginny demanded angrily. What was wrong with him? She couldn’t imagine Hermione putting up with this sort of maddening self-indulgent monologue. Ginny might as well have been talking to herself.

“Yeah, I heard you. Are you busy tonight?”

“I have homework, but other than that no,” Ginny grudgingly answered.

“Okay. When Harry gets back, I’d like it if you came with us. We’re holding a little get-together tonight, and you should be there,” Scott told her.

“Like a DA meeting?”

“Sort of. Just hang around until Harry gets back.”

What Ginny really wanted was to get up and smack some answers out of Scott, but she also didn’t want to jeopardise her chance to be back in the team again. If Harry was going to do something dangerous tonight, she was going to be there. The fight against Voldemort was just as much hers as it was his, no matter what Harry’s martyr complex made him think.

But if Scott was assembling nothing more than a midnight kitchen raiding party, Ginny was going to kill him.

“Hey,” Scott snapped his fingers twice in quick succession to gain Harry’s attention. “Earth to Harry.”

Harry shook slightly, emerging not from a daydream but rather a pleasant blankness similar to sleeping with both eyes open. It was the tail end of the last class for the day, and Harry was more than ready to clear his mind of all scholarly pursuits and relax in the common room after supper. Some days just seemed to go on forever.

“What’s that?” Harry asked Scott, leaning back in his chair and trying to stretch as best he could. “You need something?”

“Yes, actually. Your undivided attention will do for a start.”

“I’m listening,” Harry said, wondering what Scott was on about now.

“I made some decisions last night,” Scott said lowly, “of a delicate nature. It’s time to take a chance and it’s entirely possible this could blow up in my face.”

Harry glanced around the room to make sure no one was listening in. “What could?”

“It’s difficult to operate without the Primes in the know. When everyone is in on the same gig, you can do what you want without having to make up some retarded explanation for it.” Scott grimaced. “It’s a shitty deal all around, but I’ve gotta tell everyone what’s up.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “You mean tell everyone about — you? Everyone?”

“No, not everyone,” Scott said exasperatedly. “You think I’m gonna shout ‘Kharadjai’ from rooftops? I said I was taking a chance; I didn’t say I was insane.”

“Alright, I get it,” Harry groused in irritation. “Maybe if you want me to know something you should try saying it in some basic form of English.”

“Oh, that’s your excuse for everything,” Scott said dismissively. “Look, I need a room. If we can find a place to sit down and talk this over, there’s no reason why everyone can’t go to sleep tonight fully informed.”

Harry frowned in thought. “The Room of Requirement would work… but after last year there are a lot of people who know about it. We’d have to check it first and make sure we could have it to ourselves.”

“Okay, cool. You up for it?”

“Sure,” Harry agreed, then hesitated. “…You really want to tell everyone else? All at once? That doesn’t sound like a very good idea.”

“I like how you insisted that I tell you everything, but you don’t care if your friends know or not.”

Harry flinched in brief shame. “It’s not that I don’t care, but I don’t think they’ll believe you.”

“And you do?”

“Sort of…” Harry hedged. “I don’t really disbelieve you… I guess I just accept you at face value. You always do what you want to, and I never have any idea why anyway.”

The strangest things could become a normal fixture of life if one was around them enough. Scott had an underlying purpose, and while for Harry that purpose had been explained it was easier not to contemplate the realities behind it.

“But don’t you think those closest involved have a right to know?”

“Of course I do,” Harry said after a moment. “I just don’t know how you’re going to do this. Who are you planning to tell?”

“Ron, Hermione, Neville, Luna, and Ginny.”

“Ginny?” Harry was surprised. As far as he knew Scott wasn’t even familiar with Ginny.

“You’re not the only Prime around, Harry,” Scott said condescendingly. “Just because you’re Numero Uno doesn’t mean you’re my only concern.”

Harry scowled at the blond boy. “I know that. I didn’t want to be your concern in the first place, remember?”

“We don’t always get what we want. Now are you going to check that room for me or what?”

“Alright. After supper I’ll go have a look.” Harry pointed a finger at Scott. “And since I’ve already heard what you’re going to say before, how about you throw in some new stuff for me? I know there’s a lot you haven’t told me.”

“Yeah, well I didn’t think you’d be particularly interested in the specifics of Mach’s Principle as it relates to the comparative inertia of the Multiverse, how quantum physics amounts to a pile of bullshit in most places, or how the deterministic nature of relativity would apparently make my time tested ability to travel consistently between different universes impossible.” Scott shrugged. “There’s a reason I leave this sort of stuff out of casual conversation. Not only are theoretical physics subjective depending on the source universe, but they’re also about as exciting for most people as doing the dishes.”

Harry was feeling a little lost but said, “Okay, but you could still tell me some more about the Kharadjai.”

“Deal. Tonight is gonna be an exercise in edumication.”

Scott had used that word before.  Harry dutifully supplied the second half of the joke. “They sure learned you to spoke good.”

“I know, right? I’m totally awesome.”

Supper that evening took place under a nervous tension that everyone but Harry and Scott seemed oblivious to. Harry tried not to exchange any meaningful glances with the Kharadjai for fear of raising unwanted questions, but he probably needn’t have worried. Neville was cheerfully oblivious, and Ron and Hermione were too busy trying to hold hands underneath the table without attracting attention.

Scott, always the actor, maintained the appearance of normality well enough that Harry didn’t have to. “You think I could get people to sign a petition for a breakfast night now and then? I could go for some bacon for dinner.”

“I have a hard time believing you don’t get enough at breakfast,” Hermione commented.

“What can I say? Sum, ergo edo. I’m a man of discriminating tastes.”

“If you call nothing but bacon taste,” Ron snorted. “At least I make a pig of myself with a little variety.”

“You talking smack about my bacon? Bitch, don’t make me take my belt off.”

“By all means,” Hermione said, eyeing Scott distastefully, “keep your belt on. And what was that you just said?”

“What was what?”

“What you said to Ron,” she clarified. “It sounded like Latin.”

Scott shrugged. “Denuone Latine loquebar? Me ineptum. Interdum modo elabitur.”

Hermione stared at him. “You are speaking Latin!”

“No I’m not.”

“Yes, you are!”

“Hermione, nescio quid dicas,” Scott said blandly. “Just because you keep saying that doesn’t make it so.”

Harry stared down at his plate as Scott continued to fend off Hermione by denying the obvious and wondered what the state of things would be after the night’s discussion. Ginny’s involvement, or soon-to-be involvement, had been unexpected. Harry’s growing attraction and suppressed feelings of jealousy towards Dean had sprung up on him quite suddenly, and he was still trying to cope. ‘She’s just a friend’ had become a mental mantra for Harry, albeit one that was increasingly unconvincing. Scott’s revelations would bring Ginny back into close confidences with Harry. The jealous monster in his chest was eager to accept anything that removed her further from Dean, but his head advised caution. Ginny was Ron’s little sister.

He was so sick of thinking that.

“Time to get your scout on,” Scott murmured to Harry as supper drew to a close. “I’ll head back to the common room.  If you wanna just sort of slip away, that’d be good.”

“Right,” Harry whispered affirmatively. It wouldn’t be hard with Ron and Hermione in their current state of distraction.

On the way back to the common room before curfew took effect, Ron and Hermione split off under the transparent pretext of checking the halls for stray students. For once, not wanting to draw their focus, Scott didn’t make fun of them. Instead he threw one arm around Neville’s shoulders and loudly asked the shorter boy, “I ever tell you about the time I became King of the Morlocks?”

It was all the diversion Harry required. It wasn’t difficult to quietly drop behind Scott and Neville and head for the seventh floor.

With quick steps, Harry traversed the hallways and stairwells to teach his destination. He had a limited amount of time before curfew came into effect, and even before that, he’d rather not be seen. There weren’t many students to be found alone on the seventh floor of the castle. Harry would certainly draw unwanted questions if he were spotted by a Prefect. He could talk down Ron and Hermione if he came across them, but anyone else would be a problem.

The tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy hung in its usual place on the way, acting as a permanent landmark for the hidden entrance to the Room of Requirement that was concealed directly opposite it. Harry fixed his mind firmly on thoughts of needing somewhere to talk privately, somewhere where they wouldn’t be found, as he paced back and forth in front of the familiar spot. On his third pass, the door appeared in the wall as the magic of the room did its work. Cautiously, Harry opened the door and peered inside.

The room had converted itself into a comfortable area of chairs and couches not unlike the common room. A fire crackled merrily against the far wall, illuminating the space. Aside from the places to sit, there were a few bookshelves and a table in one corner. It was empty of any other students, and Harry huffed a short sigh of relief. Given the notoriety the room had attained, he was thankful no one else was utilising it.

Harry headed back for the Gryffindor tower. Halfway there he stopped, thinking of Luna. Now would be his best chance to get her out of the Ravenclaw tower before curfew made it all but impossible. Changing his plans, Harry rerouted his path and made for the west side of the castle. He hoped someone would be entering the Ravenclaw portrait, since he lacked the password.

He was lucky, to his mild surprise. Just as he reached the portrait, a group of third years were entering the common room. Harry wondered if Scott could manipulate events without being present. Was the Kharadjai shifting the threads of circumstance from the comfort of a chair even now? It was an uncomfortable possibility. Harry didn’t like the idea of fate being forced to open a path ahead of him any more than he liked the idea of fate forcing him down its own path.

Before the third years all made it into the portal, Harry tapped the rearmost one on the shoulder, a short dark haired girl. “Excuse me,” he said politely, “I was wondering if you could tell Luna Lovegood that I need to talk to her?”

The third year’s eyes widened when she realised she was being addressed by Harry Potter. “Oh! Yes, I’ll tell her!”

“Thanks,” Harry said as the group vanished into the tower, giggling and throwing glances his way. Sometimes fame could come in handy, he reluctantly admitted to himself. There were many times previous where they would have treated him like a pariah. At least being the Chosen One meant all the whispers coming his way were admiring. There wasn’t all that much of a difference in the end, but admiration, while tiring, wasn’t nearly as rough on the soul as unrelenting hostility.

The portrait swung open again as Luna emerged. Her hair was pulled back by some sort of clip, though it seemed like more of it had escaped the clip than was still held by it as a multitude of strands drifted around her face. Her silvery eyes met Harry’s expectantly. “Hello, Harry,” she greeted him with a vague smile. “Aren’t you at the wrong tower?”

“I came to get you, actually,” Harry said, doing his best to take Luna’s characteristic oddness in stride. “We’re having a meeting tonight.” That was an appropriately noncommittal explanation.

Luna’s eyes became more focused. “Does Scott want to tell us something?”

Harry should have known. Luna had probably been on to Scott from day one. “That’s the idea. We’re all going to meet and then go to the Room of Requirement.”

“I’m sure that will be exciting,” Luna said in an entirely unexcited voice. “I hope we can understand everything he tells us.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Harry said dryly.

On the way back, Harry’s luck held as the two of them ran across Neville, who was returning from the greenhouses. “Luna! Harry!” Neville called to them as he hurried to catch up. Harry stopped and waited while Neville ran puffing up to them.

“There’s a meeting tonight, Neville,” Luna told him as he drew near to them.

Neville’s eyebrows shot up. “Meeting? Like a DA meeting?” He looked enthused at the prospect.

“Sort of,” Harry said. “Let’s get back so we still have time to slip out before curfew.”

With Harry leading the way, Neville kept pace with Luna and leaned over to ask her, “Do you know what this is all about?”

“Not exactly,” she told him. “But Scott is going to explain some things. I imagine it should be very enlightening.”

“I guess you were right, Luna.”

“That does happen sometimes.” Luna nodded serenely.

Harry’s previous suspicions concerning luck and Scott returned to him in full force when Ron and Hermione happened to turn a corner and come into perfect walking sync with Harry’s group. “Harry!” Hermione said in surprise. “What are you doing out here?” She surreptitiously ran the back of her hand across her lips, which didn’t actually do anything since they were swollen not covered in something.

“Meeting tonight. Room of Requirement. Scott’s idea,” Harry summarised in shorthand. He didn’t pause and kept moving towards the Gryffindor tower, Ron and Hermione stepping quickly to catch up.

“Scott’s idea? What kind of meeting?” Hermione pressed him. “What is going on?”

“You’re not making much sense, mate,” Ron added.

“We’re having a meeting in the Room of Requirement tonight,” Neville clarified. “Scott has something he wants to explain.”

That captured Hermione’s full interest. “I knew it!” she exclaimed triumphantly. “I knew he was hiding something!” She was gleeful at having her long standing uncertainties confirmed.

“Wasn’t too obvious now, was it,” Ron said under his breath so Hermione couldn’t hear. Harry disguised a snicker with a short cough. More loudly Ron continued, “Guess we’ll find out what he’s been up to then.”

If you can believe it, Harry thought to himself. He was sure the looks on the faces of his friends were going to be hilarious, or at least they would in any other context. Scott had a lot to tell, and suspension of disbelief would only stretch so far — probably, in the case of Scott’s information, about halfway through the first sentence. With the lives they’d led up to this point Harry’s friends, were generally capable of accepting new ideas without much fuss, but there were revelations, and then there were revelations.

All in all, Harry had to come to the conclusion that he hadn’t the slightest idea what was about to transpire.

“Alright Harry?” Ron asked him, leaning forward a little to catch Harry’s distracted gaze.

Harry shook himself. “Yeah, I’m fine. You might not be in a bit.”

Ron frowned a little but smiled at the same time, as if he wasn’t sure whether Harry was joking or not. “Is it really as serious as all that?”

“Serious? Maybe,” Harry said. “Ever since I met Scott, what he's told me’s been making me mental.”

“Yeah, but you were already mental before that,” Ron said fairly. “So I reckon you can handle it.”

“Thanks.”

“And Hermione’s going barmy because she doesn’t know, so it can’t hardly be any worse once she does,” Ron reasoned.

“And what about you?” Harry raised an eyebrow at Ron.

“My family drove me bonkers years ago, mate,” Ron shrugged. “I figure it’s all downhill from here anyway.”

The troupe reached the Gryffindor portrait with curfew looming over them. Harry ignored the disapproving look the Fat Lady gave him as he spoke the password and stepped through into the common room. It was beginning to fill with students settling in for an evening of homework and idle discussion, and he picked his way through to where he could see Scott’s blond head protruding over the top of an easy chair.

What he hadn’t seen until he reached the chair was the familiar red locks of Ginny Weasley, sitting opposite Scott. “Hey, Ginny,” Harry said, purposefully denying himself any staring time by turning towards Scott. “Ready to go?”

“Where are we going?” Ginny demanded, and Harry immediately knew that Scott had been his usual obtuse self.

Harry sighed. “The Room of Requirement.”

“What? Why?” Ginny frowned, clearly having expected some grander destination.

“Because all the cool kids are doing it,” Scott spoke up. “You do want to be cool, don’t you?”

“I’d rather have some answers.” Ginny narrowed her eyes at Scott.

“I think we all would,” Hermione joined in. “Isn’t that what this is about?”

“Why yes, yes it is,” Scott replied. “So let’s get out of here before curfew makes it difficult. To the Room of Requirement, schnell.”

On their way back out the portrait, Luna accosted Scott for a moment. “I just wanted to say,” she told him sincerely, “that whatever is it that you’ve been doing, I think you’ve done a good job.”

“Really?” Scott said, blinking. “Wow. Well as far as I’m concerned that counts as a positive Field Performance Review — I’ll just write it up and turn it in; the Consist never read them anyway. Probably look good on my résumé, too.”

Hermione was all over that. “The Consist? Who are they? And a Field Performance Review? What's that about?”

Scott held up his hands, warding her off. “Lord, woman — take a deep breath and control yourself. I’m trying to walk here.”

Hermione thinned her lips into a severe line but said no more as they made their way to the Room of Requirement, apparently deciding that silence was acceptable so long as she would be receiving all her answers soon. Harry wondered how many times she would interrupt Scott while he was trying to explain himself.

“Scott,” Ron said, moving closer to the Kharadjai as they walked and looking furtively over his shoulder back to where Ginny was talking with Luna. “Why is Ginny here?”

“Ron,” Hermione sighed, “don’t start this again.”

“No, I’m not angry,” Ron defended himself. “It just don’t understand why she’s here.”

“Because she’s supposed to be,” Scott responded. “If you have a problem with that I suggest you take it up with my supervisor.”

“And who’s that? Your sister?”

“No. Me.”

“I imagine Lila would have something to say about that,” Hermione said archly.

Scott laughed at her. “If you only knew the truth. Which you will soon, so less talk, more walk.”

The Room of Requirement opened itself to them, and they filed in. Harry was the last person through the door and took one final look down the hallway to make sure no one was following them. Once inside, he noted the room had expanded itself in accordance with the number of people present. Scott seated himself on the hearth of the fireplace at the back of the room. Everyone else chose from the variety of seats around him. Luna and Neville shared a loveseat while Ron, Hermione and Ginny sat on a long couch. Harry chose an easy chair somewhat to the side so he could observe his friends as Scott talked to them.

An expectant silence fell over the room. Scott stood in front of the fireplace, his hands clasped behind his back as he rocked back and forth on his heels, deep in thought. “How to begin…” he muttered to himself. “This is always the hardest part.”

“Maybe some questions would help to get started?” Hermione suggested, and Harry smiled to himself.

“Yeah… Yeah, okay. Shoot.”

“Is Lila a member of an American branch of the Order of the Phoenix?” Hermione asked him pointedly.

“No.”

Hermione’s face fell.

“But,” Scott continued, “Harry was right when he said that I already knew about the Order.”

“I suppose Dumbledore told you,” Hermione mused, “but why would he do that?”

“Maybe he didn’t tell me. Maybe Harry did. Or maybe Dumbledore told Harry to tell me. Or maybe Dumbledore told me and I didn’t tell Harry. Or maybe Harry told Dumbledore to tell me to talk to Harry about telling Dumbledore.” Scott paused. “Bet you didn’t think of that.”

“I thought this was about getting straight answers?” Hermione said sternly.

“Really? Who said that?”

“Scott!”

“What?”

Hermione pursed her lips. “Are you even really an American?”

“Now there’s an interesting question,” Scott said, frowning, “and I can’t say for sure because I don’t actually know.”

Hermione gave him a puzzled look. “How can you not know where you were born?”

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” Scott said bluntly, “and it’s not important to the matter at hand. Ask me about something else.”

Luna raised her hand and Scott pointed to her. “Have you ever seen a Crumple-Horned Snorkack?” Luna said curiously.

“I have not yet had the pleasure. If you see one let me know.”

“I will,” Luna promised him.

“Where did you learn to speak Latin?” Hermione asked, clearly not having forgotten what had happened earlier.

“A lot of people like me speak Latin. It used to be our official language. That was before my time, but even though we’ve switched to English it’s still in wide enough use for me to bother learning it. And besides, quidquid latine dictum sit, altum videtur.”

“What does that mean?”

“‘Anything said in Latin sounds profound.’” Scott grinned. “It also has the side effect of driving you crazy because you hate not knowing what I’m saying, which is the real reason I was using it.”

Hermione glared at him. “I suppose I should have guessed.”

“Probably. Now, if that’s all…” Scott raised his eyebrows questioningly, but no one else said anything. “Then it’s time for the main event.”

A hush fell over the room as Scott paced back and forth, struggling with how to begin. Apparently it didn’t get any easier. During their encounter at the playground Scott had given Harry only the most basic ideas. With Dumbledore he had a history to build upon. For everyone else, Scott was forced to start from scratch, a task that Harry did not envy.

Scott clenched his fists in frustration. “They really need to write some sort of manual for this kind of crap… Though knowing government issued instructions it’d probably suck.” He blew out a breath.

“Maybe you should start with destiny,” Harry suggested.

“Hmm… That might kill some time… Okay, do you guys believe in destiny?”

“No,” Hermione said immediately. “I believe that every person makes their own path.”

“Fair enough. Anybody else?”

 “I’ve never really thought about it,” Ron said. Neville nodded in agreement.

“I believe in destiny,” Luna chimed. “Sometimes you can see it, like with Harry.”

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He had been hoping that this wouldn’t be about him for a little while longer. It was true that Scott’s presence was due to Harry’s destiny but as Scott had so pointedly reminded him, Harry wasn’t the only Prime. In the larger sense, they were all in this together. He wasn’t sure whether that made him feel better or worse.

“I agree with Luna,” Ginny said finally. “I think some things are meant to happen.”

“Two ‘don’t know, don’t cares’, two who are strong in the Force, and one unequivocal ‘Nostradamus was a lying douchebag’,” Scott tallied. “Which is fine, because the truth is sort of all of the above.”

Hermione took issue with that. “How is that possible? Those aren’t exactly compatible points of view.”

“Not if you really look at what the colligation of those ideas is. Reality falls into the grey area of the overlapping circles in a Venn diagram — some people have a specific destiny, but most people don’t and therefore have no reason to care. The massive majority of schmoes doddering about their aborted life spans don’t have anything more to worry about than their next pay check. Then you’ve got guys like Harry who have some more weighty matters on their minds than whether soccer practice for the kids is going to interfere with the next meeting of the sewing circle. Every existence has its ups and downs,” Scott explained, “the only difference is how steep.”

“I can certainly accept that—” Hermione said, and Harry could see that she was shifting into ‘lecture mode’. If Scott wanted to debate philosophy, then he had picked the right girl, but what Hermione failed to comprehend was that in this case she was supposed to simply listen. Harry met Ron’s eyes across the room, and they grinned at each other as Hermione began her rejoinder. “—but what I don’t understand is how anyone can claim to know that a person has a set destiny. You can’t just look at Harry’s life and say that because it’s been in many cases out of the ordinary that he has a predetermined fate. That’s an arbitrary judgment. Without a proven pattern, you could look at anyone’s life and say it was led by fate.”

“Except you’re looking at it from the wrong angle,” Scott responded. “A destiny is not defined by a seamless series of events; it’s a goal or goals. You start at point A, and your destiny is to arrive at point B. Your objective is preset, but the trip itself is made of your own decisions. Destiny is the singular act of completion. You don’t have a choice as to whether you face that goal or not, but how you get there is up to you.”

“That’s an excuse,” Hermione argued. “If you have no choice other than to go to point B then you’ve been forced into the journey. All your decisions are made linearly, and they’re limited because you can’t choose not to do anything at all. There’s no such thing as half of free will. Either you can do what you wish or you can’t.”

“Sure there is. If I give you a multiple choice question you get to pick which answer you want to give — the only missing choice is not to answer at all.   You’ve been forced to pick something but you still get to pick. It’s free will within a smaller context.”

“But that’s a false argument because I would have chosen whether to answer your multiple choice question in the first place!” Hermione countered. “The same is true for the workplace, you have to take orders, but you accepted the job to begin with. Destiny is exactly the opposite — you have no choice in the matter at all; you’ve been fated to complete this task or die trying.”

Or die trying, Harry thought glumly. Yes, that was a possibility.

“Which brings us back to your point of destiny as an arbitrary judgment made by a third party — was it chosen for you or did you choose to follow it the moment it was voiced? And more basically, if you were destined to do something, how would you know? If destiny is real, how many people would live their lives accomplishing those goals without even realising it? And if you are fated to do something and do it without knowledge that you’re doing it, is that divine intervention, pure circumstance, or subconscious motivation?”

“And that is precisely why I don’t believe in destiny,” Hermione declared triumphantly. “It’s a label for occurrences that people insist can’t be accounted for by normal means.”

Scott raised an eyebrow. “And what about the Seers?”

“I admit there’s a lot to magic that’s difficult to discount,” she said, “but most predictions are a bunch of nonsense. There’s more evidence than can be attributed to a few lucky guesses… But if a Time Turner can take you backwards in time, then I suppose glimpses into the future might be allowed. I believe, however, that even a correct prediction is still a look at your own personal choices and not a forced result.”

“Probability and causality with a general rejection of determinism,” Scott mused. “An interesting viewpoint. And, as usual, both right and wrong. When every trans-universal door you step through changes the rules, it’d be hard to be wrong everywhere.”

“This is mostly a matter of opinion in the end,” Hermione said a bit defensively, obviously not taking well to Scott’s summary of her being partly wrong. “While I don’t agree with destiny as an overriding whole, I certainly can’t prove anything.” She paused. “And what was the second thing you said?”

“Keep it in mind if you really want to know,” Scott said, this time in a louder voice, “but for now take a rain check on that shit, because my name is Scott Kharan, I’m a Kharadjai, and this is what I do….”

Harry chronicled what followed in his role as observer, paying especially close attention to individual reactions. The words pouring from Scott’s mouth were of secondary importance as he was in already in possession of the vast majority of the knowledge they were imparting. Instead the faces of his friends lent insight into the depths of their initial disbelief and eventual numbness. So much unbelievable information was disconnecting. The mind suspended violent reactions in self-defence, settling on an anesthetised acceptance. So it was that the group blankly took it all in.

Even Hermione said nothing during Scott’s speech. Her starting visage of eager concentration had faded into one of barely repressed challenge. Harry had little doubt that Scott would be defending his story as soon as he finished talking. Hermione would see that such outrageous claims did not go untested.

Ron’s mouth hung slightly open, and he started smiling from time to time, as if unable to believe that some elaborate joke was not in session and falling back on the situationally appropriate response of  laughter. Harry remembered that his own response had been similar. Ginny was projecting outright derision, and she looked at Scott as if attempting to classify his particular dementia. Harry knew that when Scott gave his closing statement that belief was irrelevant and that knowledge was enough, it would go a long way towards smoothing things over. It was okay if someone else was insane, so long as they didn’t ask you to join them.

Neville and Luna offered the most interesting reactions. Neville was frowning slightly, as if he was doing his best to understand what Scott was telling him. He seemed to hover between a stunned state like Ron's and not wanting to be left behind by incomprehension. Luna, perhaps predictably, looked as if Scott was informing her of a possible winter storm moving in — mildly interested and not at all surprised. With Luna, the fantastic was to be expected.

Harry wasn’t sure how long Scott talked. Hearing the Kharadjai’s facts laid out again resulted in a partial resurgence of incredulity. He fought it down, reminding himself again that Scott did not require his faith.  Whatever else he was or was not, Scott was an ally. That was enough

“…Alright, so it doesn’t really matter whether you believe me or not,” Scott concluded. “But now that you ‘know’ the truth I can do things that you don’t understand without having to waste time and effort covering for myself. Any questions?”

Ron immediately asked, “Is this a joke?”

“In the cosmic sense, yes.”

“You said you had the ability to nullify magic,” Hermione said.  She had at some point slipped her wand out of her bag and was  holding it in a state of readiness. Harry leaned back in his chair, preparing for the light show. “Would you demonstrate that for us?”

Scott spread his arms open in welcome. “Throw the heat, babe.”

When Hermione’s first few tentative spells failed to so much as part Scott’s hair, everyone else joined in with abandon, and soon the air was hot with a deluge of magic. The mood of the room was a strange mixture of fun and desperation — fun because it was always enjoyable to be able to cast at will and without restraint, and desperation because it would be a first, overwhelming step to accept the fact that not a single one of the spells headed Scott’s way was affecting him in the slightest. Hermione was the first to stop, her face pale. Evidently she had been counting on refuting Scott’s insane assertions fairly quickly. Harry commiserated with her inner struggle. The early stages of acceptance were the most difficult, and at least he had been given the benefit of privacy in which to come to terms with Scott’s certainties.

“Haud vis vires supremus aegis intus,” Scott said, the lapidary phrase rolling off his lips in the silence after all wands had been lowered.

“What does that mean?” Harry asked him.

“‘No power above the shield within’.” Scott sighed and sat down on the hearth. “I made that up when I was running drills out on one of the desolate rocks they call a ‘facility’. They do that to me every now and then. Apparently people feel better about getting their asses busted when it’s done by a ‘war hero’ and not some no-name drill instructor. It’s good for morale. Or so they tell me. I personally don’t feel it’s all that inspiring when you’re forced to dismantle a live IED while I shoot at your head. At least when it’s a regular instructor they’re less likely to hit you.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “That’s considered training?”

“In most armies they try to push the limits of your endurance without actually killing you. Kharadjai are immortal — so the killing part is no longer a restraint. If you just want to join the Third Army you could probably scrape by with a few bullets lodged in you. But if you’re aiming for the Primarius, then you’ll be lucky if you aren’t blown apart and put back together enough times to forget what it feels like to be in one piece.”

“This is the sort of thing I’d like to know more about,” Harry said. Greater knowledge of Scott’s job would lead to a corresponding understanding of his motivations. “Tell me more about Field Agents. That’s what you do, right?”

“Yeah, but how about we save this for the time being — I think everyone is shell-shocked as it is,” Scott said wryly, looking at the group. “Right, Hermione?”

Hermione was staring at Scott like she’d never seen him before. She gave a start when he spoke to her. “I’m sorry,” she said in a weak voice, “but everything is… It’s all just…”

“Too much,” Scott finished for her. “I get it. My advice to you is: don’t think about it. You already knew I was up to something, so it’s not like your basic perception of me has been altered all that dramatically. Remember that you don’t have to believe me. It’d be nice if you did, but ultimately unnecessary.”

“It’s just such an alteration of the way I’ve always seen things! Trying to understand the… the universe and the Multiverse and your place in it, and my place in it for that matter—”

Scott shook his head. “Here, answer this — what is the beginning of eternity, the end of time and space, the beginning of every end, and the end of every place?”

Hermione looked at him for a moment in mute rebuke. “You know I don’t know much about those sorts of things yet!”

“The letter ‘E’.”

She blinked. “What?”

“That’s the answer to that riddle. The letter ‘E’,” Scott said again. “The point is you’re overthinking this. The details are what drag you down. The basic truth is that I’m a member of a very exclusive military and I’m here to help Harry — and the rest of you — take care of a problem. That’s only a complex idea when you start taking it apart. All you need to do is what you’ve already done — accept the fact that I’m on your side. You can study all the facts one at a time later so they don’t overwhelm you.”

It was sound advice. Harry had done much the same thing.

“I just need some time,” Hermione assured him, though it sounded more like she was trying to convince herself. “And some more questions — there’s a lot I’d like to know.”

“You and everybody else. But at least tonight took care of the dark of it, or at least some anyway.” Scott stood. “It’s well past my beddie-bye time, so how's about we sleep on it?”

It was well past curfew, so leaving the Room of Requirement was a tricky affair. They would need to slip out in ones and twos so as not to travel in a large, noisy group. Cracking open the door, Harry peered out into the dim hallway. Fortunately it was empty, devoid of other students or, more dangerously, teachers. He turned back to the others.

“It looks clear,” he said. “Who’s first?”

“I think I should go last,” Luna said. “It would be better if my housemates aren’t in the common room when I get back.”

“Right, good idea,” Harry agreed. “Ron, Hermione?”

“I’ll go with Ginny and Neville, Harry, and you can go with Ron and Scott. That way if we do get caught there will be Prefect present,” Hermione suggested. Then she frowned. “Oh, I didn’t think about you, Luna. Do you want me to come back for you?”

Scott broke in before Luna said anything. “I’ll take Luna back to the Ravenclaw tower, I don’t need a Prefect with me. I was gonna call my sister anyway.”

“Alright, that’s fine,” Ginny said impatiently. “I really need to finish an essay, so let’s go.”

Harry didn’t know how Ginny thought she was ever going to concentrate on an essay after the evening’s events. Still, going by the generally calm demeanour of his friends Harry knew that the information Scott had so nonchalantly imparted was currently relegated to the backs of their minds. In the morning they would wake up and wonder if it had ever actually happened. Denial was a strong element of human self-preservation, but his friends were both uniformly brave and intelligent. It wouldn’t last long.

Soon after Hermione’s group had departed, it was Harry and Ron’s turn. The halls of Hogwarts were dark and convoluted, but the pair had long since memorised them in many other night time wanderings. Harry quickened his pace to match Ron’s longer legs. Harry wasn’t short, but Ron was just too damned tall.

“So that’s why you’ve been so weird around Scott,” Ron said as they went, breaking the companionable silence. “I never thought I’d say this, but I understand why you didn’t tell us.”

Harry’s heart dropped in his chest for a moment. Scott’s secrets weren’t the only ones he had been keeping. “It’s been a very strange few months,” he managed. “Stranger than normal, I mean.”

Ron snorted. “In your life, that’s saying something.”

“Don’t need to tell me. I’ve been living it.”

“Can you retire from life?” Ron asked, lowering his voice as they neared more trafficked areas of the school. “It's something you might want to consider.”

Harry remembered red eyes in a graveyard, glaring at him from behind a wand gripped by slender white fingers. “Yeah,” he replied quietly, “it might happen.”

Chapter Navigation:

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1: Nothing Important Happened Today2: Shape and Diverge3: Summer Night Showtime4: My Place in All Things5: Some Internal Bell6: The Best Kinds of Monsters7: Remember October, November? Part 18: Remember October, November? Part 29: Unimprobable10. The Dark Line on the World11. Winterlude12: Three To Get Ready13: And Four to Go

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