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Author: Aibhinn Story: Heal The Pain Rating: Teens Setting: AU Status: Completed Reviews: 4 Words: 198,021
"Keep moving!" Harry shouted. The six new recruits for the Order of the Phoenix picked up the pace a little in response, and Dean Thomas shot Harry a grin before turning his focus back to the trail. And a good thing he looked, for he'd managed to trip one of Harry's booby traps and had to hurdle over a two-foot-high wall that had appeared in front of him. He stumbled a bit on landing, cursed, and fell back into his jog. Harry watched him for a moment, frowning with concentration. There was something off about his stride. "All right, Dean?" he called. "Fine, Harry," Dean shouted back, but Harry saw him surreptitiously flex his right ankle as he brought his foot forward for his next stride. Frowning, Harry watched him for a few seconds more, then caught Remus' eye where he was leaning against a tree trunk, observing. Remus nodded and pushed himself away from the tree as Harry said, "Dean, fall out and come see Remus. Let him take a look at that ankle." "It's all right, really," Dean protested, but a hard look from Harry made him close his mouth and go to Remus without another word. Harry nodded, satisfied. Those who didn't know him personally obeyed him because he was the Boy Who Lived; Dean did as he asked because he knew Harry and respected his skill. It was the latter attitude that Harry appreciated most. January and February had passed slowly. Ginny, of course, had gone back to school the Sunday after her meeting with Major Miller, and his only official communication with her had been via owlpost. He'd managed to sneak away once to meet her in Professor Estrella's rooms for Valentine's Day—a bittersweet reminder of the year before—but aside from that one evening together, he'd not seen her in almost two months. She wasn't going to be able to come home for Ron's birthday tomorrow, even though it was a Sunday; her studies were taking up nearly all of her time. Dean flexed his foot again, nodded and said something to Remus, then inserted himself back into the group of runners. Remus wandered over to Harry and crossed his arms, watching the group. "They're shaping up," he said quietly. "They ought to be, after three weeks of this," Harry said, a note of amusement in his voice. "But with the current crop of Death Eaters out and about, it's more important than ever that they should be able to defend themselves—and that means being in shape. Even if all they're doing is eavesdropping in a pub, they'd best be able to run away if necessary." "Oh, I agree, Harry," Remus said. "You don't need to justify your methods to me." He gave a sideways look. "Though I must admit I'm a bit surprised that your supervisor gave you permission." Harry shrugged. "No reason for him not to," he said logically. "I'm not working right now, and what I'm doing here isn't exactly giving away Ministry secrets. I think most folks know how to run." Lupin chuckled, and Harry grinned. "Besides," he continued, "I think my boss is hoping I'll pick up information from the Order that the Ministry can use." Lupin nodded. "I'd be willing to work with that," he said comfortably. "Since I know you wouldn't work for a toady like Fudge. If you trust your superiors enough to have stayed with the Corps for this long—and if Ron trusts them, which is almost tougher to earn—I think I'm willing to help them with their efforts." Harry flashed a quick smile at him. "Good," he said. "I think we can do a lot of good, working together." He waited for Remus' return smile, then turned his attention back to the recruits, clapping his hands for attention. "All right," he said, loudly enough to be heard across the orchard, "fall out and stretch, then pair up. We're going to practice basic shielding; you'll each try to shield from the Stunning Spells of your partner. Make sure you're standing so that nobody's accidentally in line-of-fire over your shoulders." The recruits fell out and began stretching. Remus shifted his weight from one foot to the other, watching closely. "You're quite good at this, Harry," he said. "But then you've been doing this kind of thing for three years with the DA, haven't you?" Harry blushed. "In a manner of speaking, I suppose." "It shows. I've heard Professor Dawlish is starting to incorporate some of your lessons from the DA into his sixth- and seventh-year Defence Against the Dark Arts classes this year." Harry blinked. "He is?" Dawlish was one of the Aurors with whom Harry had worked closely in his seventh year; he'd been one of the few who had made it through the Last Battle relatively unscathed. Ginny had mentioned he was the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, and she'd said he had a good reputation amongst the students, though of course she herself was not taking the class; Professor McGonagall had taken it and Transfiguration off her timetable to give her time to work on her Animagus transformation. "Yes indeed. He and Minerva are quite impressed with what you did with those students—it's likely your Defence Association turned the tide of the Battle. For that matter, I'm quite impressed. If I weren't, I wouldn't have asked you to do this." He nodded at the recruits, who had all finished stretching and were now lined up in pairs, crying "Protego!" and "Stupefy!" in turn. Harry wasn't sure what to think. He hadn't done anything particularly amazing with his DA classes, after all; it had only been practise in the types of curses and hexes that might keep someone alive for the few minutes it would take to escape. Since none of the Hogwarts students would be able to Apparate away if anything happened on the Hogwarts grounds (which had become more and more likely to happen as he'd progressed into his sixth and seventh years), they'd needed to have some way to protect themselves. It was almost impossible that anything would happen on the grounds now, even with the current Death Eater activity; why would Dawlish and Professor McGonagall have any reason to keep up with the DA lessons, even in the context of a 'real' class? "Harry," Lupin said, distracting him from his thoughts, "I've a question for you." He paused for a moment, then asked, very quietly, "I've already told you we're willing to give you information to help the Ministry. Is there anything that you can tell me that'd help us?" Harry had been afraid this was coming. He covered his hesitation and gave himself a few moments to think by moving over to a pair of students and correcting their wand movements. He moved back over to Lupin, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with him, both of them ostensibly watching the recruits. "I'm not sure," he said, after a moment. "Ron does keep me updated—they never took my security clearance from me—and there's a great deal I know that I can't tell anyone, not even Ginny. But I'll try sorting some things out and see what I can do." Lupin smiled sympathetically. "Don't worry, Harry; if you can't tell, you can't tell. I understand. How's Ron doing with his new partner, by the by?" "Good," Harry lied. "Really good." He stepped forward and clapped his hands, getting the attention of the recruits, none of whom had ended up Stunned. "Excellent," he said. "Very nice. I'd thought we'd need more practise than this, but you lot seem to be well up on your shielding spells. Go ahead and start working on the Disillusionment Charm, still in your pairs. Watch your partners for bits of themselves that get missed—it's hard to hide when you've an eye and a toe hanging in midair." The recruits laughed and got back to work. Harry wandered amongst them, watching and offering advice while putting some distance between himself and Lupin. Remus hadn't changed while he was in hospital, he mused ruefully; he still saw far too much, and there were things Harry couldn't have him know. Like the fact that Ron's not doing well at all with his new partner. Twilight had assigned Blade to be Ron's temporary partner when Ron went back to work, about the same time that Ginny had gone back to school. Harry had rowed with him more than once over his stubbornness about refusing to get to know Blade beyond the distant acquaintance he'd allowed so far. Partners had to be closer than friends, nearly as close as family; one had to trust one's partner implicitly and completely or else risk one's own life as well as one's partner's and the lives of whomever else they were working with. Despite the fact that these were the same arguments Ron had used with Hermione over Domina (who had actually become much looser recently and more pleasant to be around), Ron had shrugged off Harry's arguments. "I won't be with the man long," he'd said irritably the last time Harry had brought the subject up. "You'll be back on duty soon enough." And he'd refused to say any more about it. But Harry had been concerned enough that he'd actually contacted Twilight. He knew Ron had a tendency to be a bit hard-headed and to take off at a moment's notice in the field if he thought he saw something that needed to be taken care of—like a stray Death Eater. It was a tendency Harry had trained himself to watch for over seven years of friendship; he was deathly afraid Ron would end up getting injured or even killed if this Blade fellow was taken by surprise. Twilight's answer, predictably, had been vague. Blade is an experienced officer of the Corps, and has worked with several partners over the course of his career, his return note had said. I do not doubt that he'll be able to keep control over Red Knight and keep the both of them as safe as may be. It was the 'as may be' that had Harry worried. He sincerely hoped that Twilight was taking his concerns more seriously than he appeared to be, because Harry didn't relish the idea of approaching Ron about it again. And I can't exactly blame him, either, Harry thought as he wandered amongst the recruits. It does rather sound as if I don't think he can take care of himself. He just doesn't realise that I'm not saying he can't take care of himself—I'm saying if the situation appears to call for it, he likely won't. Remus clearly knew there was something wrong, of course. He always knew; Harry would have believed he was a Legilimens if he hadn't known better—and if he hadn't known that his own skills at Occlumency had been strong enough to keep Voldemort himself out. As it was, Harry was more inclined to chalk it up to simple understanding of humanity in general and himself, Harry, in particular. Which was almost more unnerving. Remus would never ask, though; that much Harry knew for certain. He'd let Harry tell what he could, and would never press to know any more than Harry was willing or able to reveal. He wandered amongst the recruits as he'd done with his own DA class, keeping a close eye on their techniques. With the exception of Dean, none were under 30, and none were known to Harry personally. There was only one thing in common amongst the six: every one of them had experienced significant losses to Voldemort or the Death Eaters. Some of them Harry knew by reputation; some of them were related to people Harry had known; two of them were complete strangers about whom Harry knew nothing. These two were close-mouthed and determined, with an almost feral look in their eyes that Harry chose not to think about too closely. He very nearly pitied any Death Eater these two came across, because he had the feeling that neither of them had very much to lose any more. So much death. So much loss. So much futility. And yet we fight on… because so many of us do have a good deal to lose. The Weasleys had been remarkably lucky. Nearly all of them had ended up in hospital at least once during the Second Rising, but none of them had died. As involved in the war as they had been, all nine of the Weasleys and their significant others had survived mostly untouched. And how much longer is that luck going to last? he asked himself as he watched Dean disappear under the Disillusionment Charm, leaving only his left elbow and little finger visible. The elbow moved, and Dean's voice cursed roundly before the Charm was reversed and he became completely visible again. How much longer can we trust that nobody's going to end up dead? He was very much afraid that the answer was "not very long at all." He glanced at his watch. It was three-thirty; they'd been training for three hours, and the amount of simple mistakes he was seeing told him that the recruits were starting to get tired. Best to stop now, before they get completely exhausted, he thought. It was hard for him to remember that he wasn't training them as professionals, but as amateurs whose only goal was to survive long enough to reach help. "All right, you lot," he said loudly enough to be heard. Everyone stopped and turned toward him, which presented some unusual visions as his eye fell upon people in various states of invisibility. "We're going to wrap it up for the day. Remove your Disillusionments and head back to Headquarters. We'll meet again the day after tomorrow." There was a murmur of "yes, sirs" and the familiar pops of Portkeys activating as they began to disappear in earnest this time. Harry turned toward Remus, who was walking toward him across the clearing. "Are you going back as well?" Harry asked. "No, I'm not needed. Tonks is on duty at Headquarters, I think; she'll be able to whip up something for them for tea before they go home." He flashed a grin. "Or perhaps one of them will whip it up themselves; Tonks might not be the best choice for cooking." Harry laughed, and the two of them turned to walk back to the Burrow. They met here in the Weasleys' orchard for multiple reasons: it was within the Weasleys' wards; it was out of the way and unlikely to be found; and it meant that not even the recruits knew where they'd been taken, since they arrived and departed directly from the clearing. If there was a spy amongst them (which was unlikely, after they'd been vetted by the upper members of the Order), there was nothing to connect the Weasleys with the training sessions. Except, of course, for Harry himself. "The weather's surprisingly nice for the end of February," Remus said as they headed back toward the house. Harry glanced up at the dark, ponderous grey clouds that covered the sky from horizon to horizon. "It is, isn't it? No rain." Remus laughed. "I think that's the definition of 'nice weather' this time of year. Are we having some sort of party for Ron's birthday? I thought I heard Molly say something about it this morning." "Yeah. He's on shift right now, so he won't be home till after midnight, but I imagine tomorrow morning we'll have a special breakfast or some—" Harry broke off, squinting at the small, black dot that was moving swiftly toward them. "Remus, is that an owl?" Remus glanced up. "Yes, it is," he said. "And it's carrying a letter. Looks like it's heading straight for us, too." Harry had forgotten about werewolves' vision being so much sharper than that of humans, but he was grateful for it anyway. Without a wand, he was much happier knowing exactly what it was, no guesswork. "Is it Hedwig?" He'd sent her off to Hogwarts the night before; it was conceivable that Ginny might have replied. "No," Remus said, brow furrowed. "It's one I don't recognise." All of a sudden a familiar, sickening roiling hit Harry's stomach hard, and he bent over, hand on his middle. Remus turned to him, concerned. "Harry? What's wrong?" Harry swallowed, forcing the bile down. "Something's—gone wrong at work," he managed to get out. "Badly wrong." It was the same sort of sick feeling he'd got every time a Department mission turned up a death. The first time had been the day he, Ron, and Hermione had signed on with the Department of Mysteries; it had happened several times since. But he hadn't expected to experience this feeling while he was suspended from work. Remus had just opened his mouth to say something more when the owl swooped down, landing on the branch of an apple tree next to Harry. It hooted importantly and stuck out its leg, from which a folded piece of parchment dangled. Harry forced himself to straighten up and reached for the parchment, untying it. As soon as he'd got it free, the owl took off again. Harry opened the envelope and read it silently. Harry, Looks like I'll be home a bit early, as soon as this mission we're being sent on is completed. Shouldn't take long. Let Mum know I'll be there for dinner, all right? Ron He handed the note to Remus. Remus scanned it and looked up. "Doesn't sound like much has gone wrong from this," he said. "Sounds like everything's going well, in fact." "That's what I'm afraid of," Harry said, pressing his hand against his stomach again. He really thought he might be sick any second. "He said as soon as this mission we're being sent on is completed. That implies he was going out in the field for some reason." Comprehension began to dawn in Remus' eyes. "So you think that—" "—something's gone badly wrong with an assignment they thought was fairly routine, yeah," Harry finished for him. "We don't get this kind of reaction normally. Only if someone's—" He stopped, swallowing. He couldn't say the word, but his eyes must have said it for him. Remus put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing tightly. "Let's get back to the house," he said quietly. "There's nothing much else we can do right now. Not until you hear something else." Harry nodded, but his mind was whirling. Death, he thought frantically, there's been a death—someone's died, oh God, someone's died, please don't let it be Ron, I couldn't bear it… They walked in the kitchen door of the Burrow and sat down at the table. Harry put his head in his hands as he tried to calm both his overactive brain and his overactive stomach. I've never felt it this bad, not even at Seamus and Lavender's… Remus conjured up a plate of dry toast for Harry, but he couldn't choke it down. It wasn't a physical sickness, it was magical, and the only thing that would stop it would be for him to respond to the call—but he couldn't. Nobody thought to turn off the 'early-warning system', I suppose. The door opened and Molly came bustling in. "Remus! Harry!" she said in surprise. "I thought you were—" She stopped, looking closely at Harry. "What's wrong, Harry dear?" "Harry's not feeling well," Remus said. "A bit of a chill, probably. Could we have a pot of tea, Molly? Perhaps if he warms up…" "Of course!" Molly puttered around, levitating teacups and a suddenly steaming teapot over to the table. "There you are, Harry dear. Take your time. Eat that toast, too; it'll help you." "Thanks, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said heavily. The day before his nineteenth birthday… so close, God, so close… please, let him be okay, please let him be all right. "Oh, it's nothing, dear, nothing at all. If there's anything I can treat, it's a chill." She poured a cup of tea and pushed it toward him. "There. Drink that." There was nothing to be done but to raise the cup to his lips and take a sip. Surprisingly, it helped; the roiling settled slightly. Maybe that means it's over, whatever it is, he thought. Get hold of us, Ron, please. Ron, or Hermione, or Charlie or Bill or somebody. As if answering his unspoken request, a loud pop sounded in the corner and suddenly Charlie stood there, battered, bruised, filthy, and bloody. Mrs. Weasley gave a shriek as she saw him. "Charlie!" she said, her hand pressed to her chest. "What on earth happened to—" "No time, Mum," he interrupted, eyes on Harry. Harry rose, tea and discomfort forgotten. "We need you right now, Harry. Twilight sent me to fetch you." Harry nodded. "Where?" "Building 99. I'll meet you there." Without another word, Charlie Disapparated. Harry felt his heart clench with fear. 'Building 99' was the code for St. Mungo's. God, please, not Ron, he thought once more before envisioning the all-too-familiar foyer and Disapparating himself. Just as he'd promised, Charlie was waiting for Harry at the Apparition point in the foyer of St. Mungo's. He grabbed Harry's elbow and pulled him off to the side into an small alcove, where they could speak with relative privacy. "What is it?" Harry asked, putting his back against the wall. His fists clenched of their own accord, out of sheer nervousness. Charlie sighed and leaned against the wall across from him, on the other side of the alcove. He ran a filthy hand over his face. "We got intelligence that there was a small group of Death Eaters holing up in a cottage in southern Scotland. Two squads, plus Seth, Zephyr, Domina, Red Knight, Blade, and I were sent to take them." He leaned his head against the wall. "The term 'small group' was a bit misleading," he said quietly. "There were at least four dozen. We managed to take down a significant number, but they seemed to expect us; they materialized out of the woods, out of the cottage, out of the burn…." "Expect you?" Harry repeated. The roiling of his stomach had faded as soon as he'd Disapparated, but now the emptiness of fear began to fill his chest. "How could they expect you? Unless…." He stopped, horrified at the very thought. "Unless someone's giving us bad information." Charlie nodded. "That's being investigated, but that's not why I brought you here." He paused. "We sustained quite a few casualties in the battle," he said carefully. "Zephyr and Red Knight were both hit. Zephyr was treated and seems to be all right. But Red Knight was hurt a bit… worse." Oh, God. Harry felt his knees start to weaken; he locked them resolutely and pressed himself against the wall to keep from falling. "Not… dead?" he asked. "No. Not dead. But… well, come with me." Charlie swung out of the alcove and down one of the four corridors that branched out from the foyer. Harry followed him, forcing his legs to support him and keep moving. Not Ron… anything but Ron or Hermione or Ginny. Please. Two guards in MLES uniforms stood outside a room up ahead. They saluted as Charlie approached; he saluted back distractedly, then stopped and turned around to speak with Harry. "They've patched him up, but don't be surprised if he's weak." He opened the door and held it for Harry, letting him go in first. Harry took a deep breath and stepped into the room. Hermione sat on a chair at the edge of the bed, Ron's big hand in hers, her eyes on his face. She didn't appear to have heard him come in. "'Mione?" Harry said quietly, not wanting to startle her. She turned to see who it was. Her eyes grew wide, and she dropped Ron's hand and flew to Harry, wrapping her arms round him and burying her face in his shoulder. "Oh, Harry, it was horrible," she said desperately, clinging to him. "They came from everywhere, there wasn't any stopping them. We all got into a circle back-to-back, but they just kept coming. Charlie said to Disapparate, but you know Ron, he wouldn't leave, and one of them got him and he fell and I had to use the hospital Portkey and oh, Harry, I'm so afraid! They took him away from me and I don't know what they had to do but it took forever and now he won't wake up and he looks much better than he did but he still won't wake up and his breathing's so shallow and he's so pale and what am I going to do if I lose him, Harry?" Harry's arms came around her and held her close as she sobbed. "It's all right," he said quietly. "This is Ron we're talking about here. You know him. He always comes through. He's tougher than he looks—which is saying something, because he looks like old dragonhide." Despite herself she chuckled, pulling her head back to look up at him. He wiped the tears from her cheek with a thumb. "You're right," she said, swallowing her tears and forcing a smile. "You're right." She stepped back and wiped her own cheeks with the heels of her hands. "I've got to pull myself together. Do any of the rest of the family know? Besides Bill and Charlie, I mean." Harry turned to ask Charlie, but he was gone and the door shut. He shrugged. "I don't know, but I expect that's probably where Charlie's gone." A quiet, rough voice sounded from behind her. "If they go and worry Mum on the day before my birthday, I'll do a lot worse to them than was done to me." Harry's head snapped up and Hermione turned with a cry, flinging herself toward the bed. "You're awake!" "Of course I'm awake, silly woman." Ron looked very much the worse for wear—bruised, battered, and with a familiar shiny streak over one shoulder and down his left arm: he'd been burnt somehow. He moved without wincing, though, so Harry figured he must've been Healed. But then, he thought, it's hardly likely he was burned by a narrowly-missed Killing Curse followed up by the Fynalle Strykke. They probably were able to Heal him. Harry moved forward, and Ron looked up from where he'd been pressing kisses to Hermione's temple as she hugged him. "Hey, mate," Ron said. His voice was still rough and he looked exhausted, but otherwise fine. "How'd you get here?" Harry grinned, relief spreading through him. He must have looked worse than he really was, or Charlie wouldn't have been so worried. "Your family's not about to let you lie in hospital alone, you great git," he said. "I got your owl, and about the same time I got hit with our favourite early-warning system." He rubbed his stomach in illustration, and Ron pulled a face in sympathy. "So I knew something had gone badly wrong, and figured it probably had to do with your 'mission'. Remus and I went back to the house, and about ten minutes after we got there, Charlie Apparated in and dragged me here." He pinned Ron with a sharp look. "Can't you ever obey a 'fall back' order, you tosser?" "Don't call me a tosser, you tosser," Ron replied automatically, then grinned. "And no, of course I can't. I wasn't about to let the bastards think they'd won." Hermione sat up abruptly, breaking his hold on her. "Let them think they'd won?" she repeated incredulously. "Ron, it was at least four to one! There was no way we could have won! We were lucky to survive long enough to Apparate away!" "And I took down another four before I got hit," Ron said stubbornly. "Seems to me it was worth it." Hermione huffed, standing up. "Oh, you—you—stubborn, irresponsible, pigheaded….man!" she spat. Her hands went to her hips, then she winced and let her left hand drop. Ron sat up as abruptly as she had, and Harry stepped forward toward her, concerned at the expression on her face. "What is it?" Ron asked anxiously. "Hermione, you weren't hurt, were you?" "I'm fine," she said, waving them both off with her right hand and plunking herself back down in the chair she'd been in when Harry had come in. "We were talking about you and your irresponsible, devil-may-care attitude toward authority. Our commanding officer for this assignment had given us the order to Disapparate, and you purposely stayed behind despite the order. Can you think of anything more reckless? You purposely disobeyed a direct order, you git! You could get yourself in huge trouble for that, and I for one hope you do! Maybe it'll convince you to listen." Frowning, Ron reached out, took hold of Hermione's right hand and pulled her to her feet, then grabbed her waist and pulled her to sit in his lap. She let out a small squeak of surprise, then a louder sound of pain as he touched her left shoulder. "That's what I thought," he said grimly. "You were injured, weren't you?" "I'm fine," she repeated, struggling to push herself off the bed. He held onto her, though Harry could tell it took more effort than it usually would. Ron was still weak. "No you're not," Ron insisted, "and you're not going anywhere until I get the whole story. What the hell happened to you?" "Hermione," Harry interrupted as she opened her mouth to argue some more, "do you think you two could row later? I'm sure it'll be much more fun when you're alone, and I've a feeling Ron's family's going to be descending any time soon, so if you're going to tell me what went wrong with the mission, now would be good." She looked at him, then shut her mouth and sighed. "All right," she said. She glanced at Ron. "I dislocated it," she said, "but they've put it back in place and put magical restraints on my shoulder until it strengthens. I'm fine otherwise. And we'll talk about it later." Ron nodded, glaring at her. "Fine," he snapped. "Get on with the story for Harry." Harry hid a grin. That's going to be one heck of a row later, he thought. I wonder when Ron's going to get up the bollocks to actually propose to her? Hermione gave a hmph and turned to Harry, but he noticed that she twined her fingers with Ron's as she spoke. "What do you already know?" "That you got intelligence about a 'small group' of Death Eaters in a cottage in southern Scotland and you went with two squads, you two, your partners, and Bill and Charlie to take them out." Hermione nodded. "Well, when we got there, we found a pair of Muggles tied to the tree outside—a man and a woman. They were still alive, but only just; they'd been subjected to the Cruciatus Curse and were exhausted and nearly dead from exposure. Domina and I got them to tell us what had happened, then we Obliviated them and used our hospital Portkeys to get them here, where they could be taken care of. We split up into three groups of six—each squad and the six of us—and went exploring to see if we could find any of the Death Eaters Intelligence had said were there. "They waited until we were well and truly separated, then they began Apparating in." She shook her head and Ron's free hand rubbed up and down her back. "It was worse than the Battle," she said softly. "We were so badly outnumbered—I lost count after thirty because I was too busy trying to stand against their curses. We got in a circle, shoulder-to-shoulder, and tried to stand our ground, but there were just too many of them. Charlie called for us to Disapparate, but just as he did, one of their curses got past Domina's shield and she fell. I dropped to check on her, and that's when I saw Ron drop too. Domina was still conscious, so she Apparated here while I got hold of Ron's hospital Portkey and got the two of us out of there. Just barely in time, too; they were nearly on us and my shields wouldn't have lasted much longer." Harry sat down in the chair beside Ron's bed, ignoring the way Ron had pulled Hermione to his chest and was murmuring in her ear. The anger was coming back, burning low in the back of his brain. There was something very wrong here. He propped an elbow on the arm of the chair and rested his chin on his fist, brow furrowed. "You say the Muggles were outside?" he said. Hermione looked up from what she'd been doing, whatever it was; Harry chose not to guess. "Yes." "And had been tortured but not killed?" "Yes." Harry shook his head, dropping his hand to his lap. "It doesn't add up," he said flatly. "What do you mean it doesn't add up?" Ron demanded. "They'd been captured; they were being kept outside because the Death Eaters aren't exactly humanitarians concerned about the welfare of their captives; we managed to free them and send them where they were safe." "But why were they still alive?" Harry pursued. "Or if they were being kept alive for some reason, why weren't they locked in some closet or basement or something? There was no reason to leave people tied up outside, and every reason not to. If they were being kept alive for some future use, they'd have been kept reasonably warm and fed, at least; you said yourself they were nearly dead of exposure. If they had been captured for the terror factor, they'd have been killed and dumped. Even a Muggle will notice something's wrong when they come upon two exhausted, terrified people tied to a tree outside a house; they were running an awful risk of discovery. Unless they knew that you'd be showing up, and used them as a combination of bait and trap to let them know when you'd arrived—when the Muggles disappeared, they knew it was safe to attack." Hermione and Ron stared at him for a long moment. "Damn," Ron said at last. "We never considered that." Hermione's jaw came forward, and her eyes sparked. "I had nearly convinced myself that it was an error in Intelligence that sent us out there," she said. "But this clinches it. It's got to have been some sort of spy, doesn't it?" But Harry shook his head. The anger was growing again, but it was still controllable; it gave him purpose and strength. He clung to it. "Not at all. One of our people could have a bad source and not know it. Our folks could have been acting in complete honesty and been set up by the Death Eaters. We just don't have enough information." An idea was rapidly forming in Harry's brain. "That's what we need—information. A way to verify our sources." Ron, who had been sitting up, threw himself backward onto the bed in frustration. "How the bloody hell do we get it if our information-gatherers are the ones who've been snowed?" "We go to other information gatherers, of course," Harry said. But before he could elaborate, the door opened and Molly Weasley burst through. "Oh, Ron!" she wailed. "Hermione! When Charlie came and got Harry, I was so worried. Are you two really all right? Because the Healers insist you will be, you just need rest, and that's so good to hear because Charlie seemed to think it was really bad and we got here as soon as we could and your father will be here any moment and what would I do if I lost either of you?" "Mum," Ron said helplessly as his mother threw herself across his chest, sobbing. Hermione slid off his legs and leaned her hip against the edge of the bed, rubbing Mrs. Weasley's shoulders. "Mum, I'm all right. Really. I'll be home tomorrow. They just want to keep an eye on me one night, but I know I'll be all right. And Hermione's fine, you can see she is. She could go home with you right now." Harry rose from the chair and slipped out the door, leaving the three of them alone and closing the door behind him. Charlie and Bill were there, waiting. "How is he?" Bill asked anxiously. "He's been rowing with Hermione, so he must be fine," Harry said lightly. Bill and Charlie relaxed slightly. "I think they originally thought Ron was much worse injured than he seems to be," Harry continued, "but they're keeping him overnight just in case." "He looked bad," Charlie said soberly. "No colour, no movement, faint pulse, fainter breathing, shoulder scorched until it was all black and starting to blister…" "In short, he looked like you when we pulled you out of Hogsmeade, mate," Bill said. "Bloody grateful he didn't spend a month in a coma." "So am I," Harry said sincerely. "The clean-up crew just reported in from the site of the attack," Bill went on. He handed Harry a rolled-up piece of parchment. "This is what they found." Harry unscrolled it and read: Deaths: 12 Ministry, 25 Death Eaters, 0 Muggles Wounded: 3 Ministry, 0 Death Eaters, 2 Muggles Captives: 0 No overt evidence of long-term occupation of cottage. Cursory investigation indicates short-term occupation of perhaps two weeks' duration. Further investigation needed to determine length of time with any accuracy. Some indication that wounded Death Eaters were removed from scene before arrival of Magical Forensics team. Muggle captives apparently taken from nearby village of Langholm. Captives have been Memory Charmed and sent to St. Mungo's for care; will be returned to town via single-use Portkey. He looked up at Charlie and Bill. "Two weeks, eh?" he said. His jaw hurt from grinding his teeth. He wasn't just angry any more; he was moving quickly toward livid. "They'd only been in that house for two weeks." "Yep." Bill took the parchment back, rolled it up, and shoved it roughly into a message cylinder. He was obviously no happier than Harry. "Somehow we got some very bad intelligence with this mission." "Obviously," Harry bit off. The two Weasleys exchanged a look of what Harry recognized as concern, but he wasn't willing to take the time to reassure them yet. "Keep an eye on Ron and Hermione for me. I've got something that needs doing." Before they could ask any questions, he Disapparated back to the Burrow. As he had anticipated, it was nearly deserted—all the Weasleys were either at St. Mungo's or en route. The only person there was Remus Lupin, sitting at the table with his head in his hands. His head jerked upward as Harry appeared, and Harry suddenly found himself covered by a wand. Lupin blew out a breath and lowered the wand. "Sorry, Harry," he said wearily. "I didn't expect anyone home so soon." Harry didn't bother with small talk. He rested his hands on the table and leaned forward toward his mentor. "I need the Order," he said tersely. Lupin's eyes widened. "What for?" Harry pushed away from the table and began pacing back and forth, unable to stand still as he told Remus the story of the mission gone bad. Remus listened carefully, frowning when Harry told him about the two Muggles. "Left outside?" he repeated. "Alone?" Harry nodded. "What does that sound like to you?" "Bait," Lupin said succinctly. He leaned back. "Let me see if I can guess what you want from me—or rather, from the Order. You want me to see if any of our operatives can find out why the two Muggles were left outside, and if so, who left the bait for the Department to find, and how it got to their Intelligence section unscreened and unverified." "Got it in one." Harry stopped pacing for a moment and faced him. "Remus, Ron very nearly died there, and Hermione was badly hurt, and if I'd been there I'd have had an excellent chance of being killed myself. Twelve officers I might or might not have known also died—I didn't get any of the victims' names. Two whole squads, Remus. We can't afford to lose people like that." Remus nodded. "And since you can't do anything directly, you want to do whatever you can." "Damn right I do!" Harry snarled. "Wouldn't you?" "Calm down, Harry. Of course I do." He finished his tea and stood, pulling his cloak off the cloak rack. "I'll go down to Headquarters right now and get them on it. I'll likely be back in an hour or so, but it might take longer, depending on how long it takes to get hold of people who can get on this. We don't have a lot of operatives in southern Scotland." "Take as long as you need. I'm going back to St. Mungo's anyway." Remus nodded and Disapparated, leaving Harry alone in the chilly kitchen. He sighed and pulled out a chair, flopping himself down in it. Now that he'd done everything he could, the anger was beginning to share space with another emotion he'd felt more than his share of recently, or so he was beginning to think: despair. My best mates are injured and I don't know anything about it until after the fact because I was stupid enough to perform an Unforgivable on bloody Morgan Jones in front of witnesses. For the first time since I've met them, I can't watch their backs. We're not a team anymore—and it's my fault. And even Ginny was clear up at Hogwarts and would be for another five weeks until the Easter holidays. Harry buried his hands in his hair, now nearly the length it had been before he'd joined the Corps. Because of my own stupidity, I can't defend the people I care about the most. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to picture Ginny in his mind: Soft, heart-shaped face; scattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks; warm chocolate eyes smiling at him; red hair cascading over her shoulders; the sapphire sparkling on her hand as she pushed her hair out of the way, combing it back out of her face…. Unbidden, the picture he'd Seen in September of his seventh year came to mind, pushing his memory of the real her out of the way. Ginny sat in a rocking chair, a tiny, black-haired infant at her breast, humming quietly as the baby suckled happily. She glanced up and smiled at him, a radiant smile that was full of contentment and joy. He saw his hand, as though it truly were his, reach out to caress her cheek, and she leaned into his touch. Tap! Tap! Tap! Tap! He was jolted out of the scene at the noise, and looked up to see an owl outside the window, tapping impatiently to be let in. A bit numbly, he got up and opened the window, and the owl fluttered in and settled on the table. Harry removed the letter and the owl immediately took off again into the darkening skies. Curious, he closed the window and went back to the table, unfolding the parchment. Captain Potter: I've just received information from Whitaker; he has decided to go to trial, and has applied for Umbra clearance. The trial date has been tentatively set for Monday, 13 April, pending approval of his request for clearance. I think perhaps you should inform your lovely fiancée of the fact. We'll speak again before then. Maj. Steve Miller He stared at the note, disbelieving. Ron injured… Hermione injured… twelve officers killed… and now this? I can't take any more. He held his hand toward the staircase and commanded, "Accio Firebolt!" After a moment, his broom came zooming toward him, and he caught it, stuffing the letter from Miller into his pocket. He retained just enough sense to leave a note for the Weasleys or Lupin, whoever returned to the Burrow first, and then he was out the door, slamming it behind him and leaping onto his broom, pulling it up into the nearly-pitch-black night. The air was bitingly cold as he rose high above the houses and towns below him. He gritted his teeth and cast a warming charm, just enough to keep him from freezing to death. He wasn't interested in comfort; he just needed to get away. Without thinking consciously of a direction, he headed north. The low-hanging cloud cover was beginning to break up, revealing a few scattered stars and a sliver of a moon—it had been new only a few days before, and was creeping toward the first quarter. The sight of the moon reminded him of Remus and the Order. There's a huge amount of information possible from that source, if we could have someone as a liaison between the Ministry and the Order, he mused as he flew. It could be invaluable, if for nothing else than as an independent verification of our own intelligence. But he had a feeling that the members of the Intelligence Department—perhaps even Twilight himself—would shrug off the idea. After all, if they're just ordinary folks; volunteers, not trained officers, how could they possibly know what they're doing? Harry thought sarcastically. Or that's what they'd likely think, anyway. Gah. I can't think about this now; I'm angry enough as it is. The lights of the countryside beneath him sped by as he laid himself forward along his broomstick handle and opened the broom up to its top speed. He ducked beneath the flight paths of the large airports, swung around a Cessna that was coming into a small airstrip (and likely gave the pilot thereof a heart attack), looped a post owl (much to its irritation), and generally lost himself in flight. He was feeling quite a bit better by the time he realised just how far north he'd come. Is that—? He peered through the darkness, squinting. It is. That's Hogwarts. Have I been aloft that long? A glance at his watch showed him that yes, he had. The sliver-moon was nearly ready to set, and the lights of Hogwarts castle were starting to blink out. It was well after eight, and the younger students were already under curfew. Only fifth year and above should be out roaming the halls. Miller's words came back to him: I think perhaps you should inform your lovely fiancée of the fact. Hm. Maybe I should pay a visit. Making up his mind, he angled his broom for the castle, heading straight for the Owlery. He had an idea. The owls were more than a little startled to see a human on a broom fly in through their window, and no few of them went right out the opposite window in surprise, but a smattering remained on their perches. He conjured a piece of parchment and a quill, and scribbled a quick note: Ginny, I need to talk to you. Go to your dormitory and open the window, right now. I'll be right there. Love, Harry The owl he selected gave him a strange look when he told it who the note was for, but it stuck out its leg all the same and, once he'd attached the note, dove out of the Owlery window. As soon as it was gone, Harry himself left, curving round the outside of the castle to Gryffindor Tower and the side of the girls' dormitories. It was only a few moments before a light came on and a window opened, a familiar silhouette leaning out to search the night sky. Feeling an immediate lightening of his heart, Harry turned his broom toward her, and was rewarded with a bright smile when he approached closely enough to be recognized. She leaned out of her window, grinning at him as he hovered within arm's reach. "What on earth are you doing here, on a broomstick, at this time of night?" she asked incredulously. "Don't tell me you flew all the way from Ottery St. Catchpole!" "All right, I won't tell you," he said flippantly. She gave him a dirty look, and he said, "Seriously, I needed to talk to you and I really didn't want McGonagall or any of the teachers knowing I'm here. Come for a ride with me." She raised an eyebrow. "At this time of night? It's bloody freezing out there." "Take your cloak." She didn't move, and he said in a more sober tone of voice, "Honestly, Gin. Please?" Sighing, she turned round, plucked her cloak from the hook on the side of her bed, and clambered up onto the windowsill. He manoeuvred as close as he could and held out his hand for her to take. She grabbed hold of it and slid her leg over the broomstick, sitting in front of him. He pulled her back against his chest and dropped a kiss on her neck. "Hi," he breathed in her ear. "Harry! You're freezing!" She pulled away. "Where's your cloak?" "On the cloak rack in the kitchen of the Burrow." She huffed. "Idiot," she said crossly. "You'll catch your death of cold." She shook out her cloak and pulled her wand free. "Amiculum Conduplico!" she said firmly, tapping the cloak with her wand. Immediately her arms were filled with fabric, and she handed it back to him. "Here. Wrap this around the two of us before we both freeze." Balancing on a broomstick with no hands wasn't the easiest thing in the world, but they were still close enough to Gryffindor Tower that he could brace his knee against the stone while he flipped it around his shoulders. "Good lord, Ginny, what did you do to your cloak?" he asked as it settled heavily around him and she reached back to tuck the enormous thing around herself as well. "Doubled the size," she said with a note of satisfaction in her voice. "Let's go, Harry, before someone comes and finds us." He reached around her and grasped the broom handle, angling it off toward Hogsmeade. "The Three Broomsticks?" he asked. "Unless you fancy a cup of tea and some scones at Madam Puddifoot's," she said impishly. He made a retching sound, and she giggled. "Though honestly, that might not be such a bad idea; Madam Rosmerta is sure to know I'm not supposed to be down the village this weekend, and she might report us." "True enough. All right, Madam Puddifoot's it is, lace doilies and all." The tea shop, when they entered it, brought back memories of Harry's one and only date with Cho Chang, back in his fifth year. It had never been a relationship that could have worked, he mused as Ginny folded her doubled cloak up in her arms and he ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to get it to lie at least somewhat flat, though that was a mostly futile gesture even when he hadn't been flying for hours. They were shown to their table—a small round one in the corner—and ordered a pot of tea. The service was quick and quiet, and when Madam Puddifoot had walked away, leaving a pair of teacups with strainers and a large pot of tea steeping in a tea cosy on the table, Ginny turned to Harry. "All right," she said in a low voice. "What's important enough to bring you clear up to Hogwarts on a broomstick?" He sighed and ran his hand over his face. "Two things." He told her about the attack earlier that day and the fact that Ron and Hermione had been injured. "But they're both all right," he said reassuringly. "I would never have left St. Mungo's if I weren't convinced of that." Her jaw was set, her eyes blazing. "And nobody thought to owl me?" she growled. He hadn't thought of that. He blinked, concern welling up in his chest. "Maybe they did," he said slowly. "Maybe we should get back; people may be looking for you to give you the note. My Firebolt goes significantly faster than an owl, after all." "That's true." She seemed somewhat appeased. "They might have. But, um…" She blushed slightly. "I showed your note to one of my roommates, in case someone discovered I was gone. She's going to cover for me—tell everyone I'm asleep. We should be all right." "Are you certain?" He really didn't want Ginny getting into trouble, especially so close to her N.E.W.T.s. "I'm certain." She took his hand. "I'm getting the feeling that Ron and Hermione's injuries weren't what brought you up here, though, since you're convinced they'll be fine." "No, it's not." He dug into his pocket and pulled out the wrinkled letter from Major Miller. "This came today right after I got home from St. Mungo's." He didn't tell her about his concerns with intelligence, nor his conversation with Remus; he'd probably broken security by talking to Lupin in the first place. She took the note, smoothing it out on the table before reading through it quickly. He saw her tense, saw her shoulders hunch slightly, protectively. He rubbed his hand across her back soothingly. "A…trial," she said quietly, not looking at him. "Yes," he said softly. "That means I'll have to testify. About the baby. Doesn't it?" She glanced up. He could see the fear in her eyes, but something else as well. Was it determination? "Not if you don't want to, Ginny," he said intently. "I swear, you won't have to if you don't want to." "I'm not letting you go to Azkaban because I didn't want to testify, Harry," she said fiercely. "So you can just forget about the martyr thing, okay?" He held up his hands. "Okay, okay. But I didn't mean for you to let me go to Azkaban, love. There's another way." She looked quizzically at him, and he took hold of her left hand, toying with the sapphire ring. "Are you absolutely set on a big family wedding this summer?" he asked. Her eyebrows knit. "We'd be killed if we didn't, I think. Mum would never forgive us if we didn't give her something huge to fuss over. Harry, what are you on about?" "Don't you remember what Major Miller said when you met with him back in January? About us getting married before the trial?" A brief pause, then Ginny's face cleared. "Oh," she said with dawning realisation. "They can't force me to testify against you if we're married." "But we can choose to let you say anything you want to on the stand." His other hand reached up to stroke a loose strand of hair back from her face. "What do you say to marrying a bit earlier than we'd planned, love? Say, right after your Easter holidays start, the week before the trial?" A small smile, lit by the flickering candle in the middle of their table, spread across her face. "It'd have to be a secret wedding," she said. "I wasn't joking when I talked about Mum's reaction." "Just you, me, Ron and Hermione," he agreed. "We'd need them to be witnesses. But I know we can find someone somewhere in the wizarding world who can marry us—and if not, don't Muggle weddings count as legal by our laws?" She frowned, thinking. "I don't know," she said slowly. "I would imagine so, but they're not binding, the way a wizarding wedding would be. But I also don't know who could perform a wizarding wedding for us without it getting into the papers and all over the wireless." Harry nodded soberly. "And as soon as it's known we're married, you're a target. I don't want you to be a target clear up here, where I can't protect you. So it's either a wizarding wedding with an officiant who can be silent as the grave, or a Muggle wedding. I imagine we could ask Major Miller for the name of someone we could use." They were quiet for a long moment, staring down at their intertwined hands. "Wow," Ginny said at last. "We're really going to do this." "Yeah." They met each other's eyes, and he couldn't help but grin. "Ginny Potter," he said, testing the name on his tongue. She grinned, too, squeezing his hands. "Ginny Potter," she repeated. "I like it." "So do I." They looked at each other for a long moment, still grinning like idiots, then Harry said, "Of course, you know, now comes the hard part." Ginny raised an eyebrow. "What hard part?" "Telling Ron and Hermione."
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