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Chapter Text

Chapter One

Ron Weasley was a sidekick. He knew what everyone said about him, despite many believing him to be stupid. He was Harry Potter's best mate, a part of the Golden Trio and really, he was the most boring one. The one that wasn't special. The ordinary one. With so many siblings, Ron was used to going somewhat unnoticed and didn't mind it, truthfully. But if he was going to be called boring and not special and just an ordinary sidekick, it should have been true. 

Ron shouldn't have been attacked and bitten by a vampire in the fields surrounding the Burrow, which were supposed to be very safe. That could never happen, right? And especially not to him.

Wrong, Ron thought miserably as he trudged home in the dark, blood dripping down his neck and staining his ruined clothing. All he had done was go for a run, a bloody jog around some bloody fields, and he'd somehow gotten himself into a dangerous bit of trouble.

It was one excuse to never do it again. His head spun, and he nearly fell over.

In a spur-of-the-moment effort to keep in shape for the upcoming Quidditch season, Ron had left the house about an hour ago and slowly began making his way around the fields that surrounded it. There were some old tracks, and he ran along them without meeting a single soul along the way. He'd just finished trekking up a large hill, out of breath and with a stitch growing in his side when he heard it.

A distant whisper, a disturbance in the wind that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

Warily, Ron scanned the forest around him, searching his pockets for a wand he didn't have. Of course he didn't with him. Why would he? He wouldn't be in any danger around his house. Ron's eyes found the horizon, his gaze locked on the setting sun for a few moments as he forced himself to relax. He wasn't back at Hogwarts yet. Not to mention, usually the trouble only started when Harry and Hermione were around, and that wouldn't be for a few weeks yet.  Ron was looking forward to seeing his best mates again. Although tensions were only escalating with the war, he wanted to make the most of the summer while they had no homework to do and warm afternoons to be spent playing Quidditch and lazing about.

He swallowed hard and carried on, running perhaps more quickly than usual past prickly shrubs and trees thick with vines. Usually he liked it, the jumbled feel reminding him of his home, but not now. Now all he could think of were all the possible places to hide. Suddenly there was another noise: a crunching sound that elevated his pulse even higher. Ron paused behind a tree and realised he'd only edged closer to where it came from; he should have been running away, but from where he was hidden it was easy to just crane his neck, trainers crunching on the undergrowth, and get a glimpse of whoever or whatever was following him. 

There was nothing.

Ron shook his head, wondering if there had ever anything there in the first place. Maybe he should start getting to bed sooner if lack of sleep was causing him to hallucinate. He continued to speed up, wanting to get home as fast as possible. The light was fading fast and his mother would want him back before dark - especially as the newspapers had begun giving information about how to protect your family from Death Eaters. For the Daily Prophet to be giving out such advice was a true sign of how bad things were getting.

Ron glanced up and saw he was almost home. Just this stretch of field to go, then through a small forest and up a hill.

The suspicion that there was something behind him was mounting rapidly again. He turned his head and saw nothing but dry grass swaying in the wind behind him - but his fear was not mollified in the slightest. Ron ran faster, panic beginning to set in. A loud snap of a branch drew him out of his thoughts, but he didn't stop. He had no wand. If some animal had decided to attack him (that was his only explanation) then he had to get home sharpish before it struck. 

Ron reached the end of the small forest, and saw the last hill swelling up ahead of him. 

There was a good minute where it was just the wind swirling past him, nipping at his face. Then he heard footsteps, real footsteps. Heavy, solid, each one marked with intention.

What the hell was going on here?

Ron tried to run, but before he could even turn back and see what was actually following him, he felt himself being yanked back, arm grabbed and twisted ruthlessly until he shouted out in pain. A grimy hand clapped over his mouth, silencing him. Ron was pulled impatiently across the ground back into the shade of the trees, and only then was the strong grip on his arm released. Ron twisted around and finally glimpsed his assailant.

It was a thin man masked by the darkness, wearing a long cloak encrusted with grime; he had grey-looking skin and filthy fingernails, and greasy locks of dark hair that rivalled Snape's.

The man lunged closer, and Ron scrabbled at the ground to try and push himself away. 

"Get away from me!" he bellowed. "I don't know who you are, I swear I haven't-" Ron was cut off by the stranger bending down and covering his mouth again, effectively smothering Ron. It was then that his hair parted to reveal a pair of blood-red eyes.

They burned with hunger while Ron's widened in fear. He made more colourful noises of smothered protest, and though he tried to prepare himself for whatever was coming, he failed to consider that the stranger might do what vampires were most known for. The stranger opened his mouth, revealing a gleaming pair of elongated canines which were promptly sunk into Ron's neck. The skin broke immediately, and he could feel blood being drained from above his shoulder, whereupon it was eagerly consumed.

Ron tried to escape, he did - but the vice-like, freezing cold grip on his throat was excruciatingly painful, and the pain and fear was so overwhelming Ron could feel his consciousness slipping away. Although, maybe it was better if he didn't remember this.

Finally, the stranger unclenched his mouth from Ron's neck and turned to face him, eyes glittering madly like rubies and streaks of blood either side of his mouth. Out of it as he was, he still caught it when the stranger rumbled menacingly, "Now it's your turn."

Before he could process what that meant the man was unleashing his fangs again and tearing them across his own wrist, rivers of scarlet dripping down his arm. The stranger grabbed Ron’s face roughly and forced his mouth open, watching as blood disappeared down Ron's throat. Just a little more... And then it was over. Ron had choked and spluttered, but still the blood was swallowed, and the deed was done.

The stranger stood again, wobbling like a drunk, and disappeared. Whether he apparated or ran Ron didn't know. Didn't care. He lay there weakly in the dirt, feeling the blood working its way through his system. There was a dull thudding in his head that made it impossible for him to move and it was like he'd been paralysed from the neck down.

Ron was doomed. His fate had been sealed before the madman had even vanished into the black.

Vampires were supposed to be monitored by the Ministry, or locked up. Not prowling around Ottery St Catchpole looking for their next meal. To become a vampire, they had to drink your blood and then you had to drink theirs. It had been covered in Defence Against the Dark Arts in fourth year, and it was one of the only subjects Ron shone in. So by that logic, he was now technically a-

Dear Merlin, don't let it be true. How would he explain that one?

Maybe if he'd had his wand things would have gone differently. His head thudded again and Ron groaned, clutching his forehead. Blimey, that hurt. But he pulled himself to his feet again somehow. He tried to sort out his feet, tell them to go one after the other in a straight line, but they refused. All he wanted to do was curl up on the floor and sleep - but then, it might come back. Wait, why would it? It had already destroyed Ron's life. If it came back and killed him, he might just thank it. 

He pressed a hand to his neck and found it still bleeding; whipping his shirt off to staunch the flow did barely anything, and it worried Ron how painfully slow his pulse was, the space between each beat dragging on for eternity. How was he supposed to get past his parents looking like this? Or should he tell them the truth? He could. He should. What if the next time Ginny went out for a walk she was attacked by the same feral creature? 

On the other hand, even just a rumour of you being a vampire was enough to have you locked up. They were despised in the wizarding world, but... this wasn't something Ron could hide, was it?

Ron decided he would wait until morning. It wasn't so late that everyone should be asleep yet, but hopefully his family would be in their rooms by now. It was only him, Ginny and his parents home at the moment. If, in the morning, Ron woke up and he was still him, still normal (perhaps there was a slim chance), he would tell them. If not... Well, then it was fair to say he was done for.

Ron swallowed, and tried to ignore the dread that weighed him down as he  walked up to the Burrow.

His head was absolutely killing him, the pain forcing his eyes shut; he hoped that sleep came to take him away again, but he was afforded no such luxury. The burning went on and on, scorching from his brain to his neck to his stomach and then to his toes, chasing away the dregs of fatigue and only leaving more pain behind.

Somehow he had gotten up to his bedroom without seeing another soul. Ron heard voices in the living room, but ignored them and continued up the stairs, pulling himself along using the banister, then the wall, moving inch by inch until he could crash onto his bed. Ron had fallen into a state somewhere between slumber and consciousness, but every time he closed his eyes he was back under the night sky, that vampire biting into his neck.

He pushed himself up against his pillows and found that some of the pain had subsided, allowing him to open his eyes and look around his room properly. Merlin's beard... why was everything so bright? His room had always been vibrant what with the Chudley Cannons posters, but this was unbearable.

Ron shut his eyes again and yawned, reaching up a hand to scratch the back of his neck. His hand touched something wet and warm.

He opened his eyes again, and remembered.

Limping next door to the bathroom, Ron locked the door and examined the mark on his neck. There were two fresh puncture wounds marring the skin, still oozing blood. He grabbed a towel to stop it, hissing when the rough fibres brushed over the wound. He glanced into the mirror to see himself pale and drawn-looking, blue eyes wide and fearful. 

Would they soon turn red?

Ron shut his eyes, head swimming again, and leaned against the sink. Somehow it was morning already, the blue sky too bright and birds chirruping too loudly. They squawked wretchedly, and Ron turned on the tap just to cover the noise. He must've turned the tap too far, though, because the top came away under his hands like the metal was flimsy as cardboard.

Hopeless, he put the broken top beside the tap and sank to the ground. What was going on with him? Well, he knew, but he didn't want to. Merlin, he never wanted get up again - everything was so wrong, too loud and too close and it felt like someone was hitting him repeatedly over the head with a Beater's bat. Ron was exhausted. 

What happened last night had been no accident, it had struck him. Ron groaned, birds still burrowed right in his ear. Ron knew it... Merlin, the stranger had even mumbled, "It's your turn now," right before forcing his blood down his throat.
Again the thought of telling his parents crossed his mind, because Ron was really starting to feel frightened. But he couldn't now - he decided he would at breakfast. It was only a few hours. Shaking, Ron went back to bed.

Ron dreamed terrible dreams of becoming a vampire, sleeping during the day and spending his nights feasting on humans. He dreamt he became a sinister creature like the one that had attacked him the night prior, and stalked a young boy that looked eerily like himself.

He snapped awake just as he was about to spring, heart thudding. But it seemed lethargic, struggling to pump in a steady rhythm. Ron felt like he was suffocating as he was unable to draw breath into his lungs.

He had heard all sorts of stories from dad about how they dealt with vampires at the Ministry. Imprisonment, execution... if this was Ron's future, it would be grim. And what about his family? What would they think if he was a vampire? The night before he'd been sure his parents wouldn't report him to the Ministry if the worst came true, but what if they were afraid of him? Vampires were known supporters of You-Know-Who, just as werewolves were. Would his parents give Ron a chance as they had Remus Lupin? Ron would have said yes, definitely, but vampires were worse than werewolves. They drank human blood. 

Would anyone trust him after this?

No, no... he was thinking too far ahead. This wasn't definite. Ron couldn't be a vampire. He just couldn't be. It was insane to even consider. This was all just crazy some dream, and he'd forget it by tomorrow. He just needed to go back to sleep; there was no point jumping to conclusions now.

Ron Weasley was not a vampire.

Not yet, at least.

Chapter Text

Chapter Two

In the morning, things were not better.

Ron was so thirsty he felt like he was going to die. The pain was agonising, and even worse if he attempted to speak. His eyes were sore like he hadn't slept; inside he felt empty and ravenous, and yet the thought of solid food made the hollow cavern of his stomach flood with nausea.

At least, as he noticed when he entered the bathroom again, the wound on his neck had healed. Except... well, it had scabbed over and healed, looking weeks old rather than just a night. Ron ignored it (he seemed to be ignoring a lot of things, lately) and tried turning on the tap, which he had to turn gingerly because of the broken handle. He still didn't know how it had snapped off. Ron drank from the trickle of water - only to spit it out again, disgusted. It tasted like- like soil, earthy and gritty, and made him forget how parched he'd been just moments ago.

Still feeling weak, head pounding, Ron glanced at the day outside. Since dawn this morning the pale sun had matured into rich, golden rays, spilling through the small window of the bathroom. Ron went to bask in the light, estimating it would be a warm day and then darted back again with a jolt.

It had hurt. It had made the itching worse, like his skin had been set alight.

Ron avoided his reflection too, given it revealed him looking worse than ever. He was sickly-looking, freckles stark on his cheeks and his blue eyes appearing more like bruises. Ron swallowed thickly, feeling his head give another dulcet pang.

Back in his room Ron checked the clock and saw it was nearly noon. Shit.

How had he noticed he'd slept in so long? Why didn't it feel like he had? It was a wonder his mum hadn't come hammering on his door already. 

Ron walked into the kitchen to find his parents and Ginny all sat at the table. Mum was flicking through the paper, Dad was making tea and Ginny was drooling into her palm. Another late night sending letters back and forth to her friends, Ron would bet.

At his footsteps Ginny blinked awake again, and snickered. "Morning, Sleeping Beauty," she said.

Bit hypocritical of her, but her words gave him pause. "What? Who?"

"You. I think you broke a record or something... even Fred never slept in so long."

His eyebrows knitted together as Ron tried to figure out what on earth Ginny was trying to say. Ron's dad set down three mugs on the table and glanced at him through the glasses slipping down his nose.

"Your sister's right," he said. "Ron, you can't do something like that when you're back at Hogwarts in a few weeks. Take from someone with experience: don't go nocturnal."

Molly tutted at him, turning the page from a recent disappearance to the Quidditch pages. "Of course he won't, Arthur, he's not as silly and irresponsible as you were at that age, or still are. He was ill, I told you - I went in and felt his forehead and he was burning up."

Ron froze. His mum had come into his room whilst he was asleep? When? And more to the point - what the fuck were they on about?

Ron stared at the three of them and said, "I don't have a bloody clue what you're talking about, by the way."

"You were asleep for an entire day," Ginny informed him, and Ron's jaw dropped.

He began to waver, and his mother pushed a chair below him with practised ease. Ron sank into it gratefully. "What- how? I- I had no idea-"

"That's obvious," said his sister, blowing on the hot surface of her tea.

"Want something to eat?" asked his dad. "I think you'd better."

"Yeah. Go on." Then, because he had to, Ron asked, "Is this a joke?"

"Of course not," replied his mum, although she couldn't have been oblivious to the antics of Ron's siblings over the years. But his mother's voice was earnest, expression open, and her heartbeat hadn't spiked either, so-

Hang on, heartbeat? How could he know that?

Ron was taken so off-guard by his own thoughts he nearly didn't hear the rest of what she said.

"Really, Ron, you slept through all of yesterday. You were hot and cold, clammy and dry... you kept murmuring to yourself and you wouldn't wake, no matter what I did. Considering that I decided to just let you sleep."

Ginny looked between them. "Wasn't much else to do, was there?"

"No," confirmed Ron's mother. Just then his dad set down a plate in front of him and Ron stared at the sandwich he'd been served with. It was ham. He usually liked ham sandwiches, but now just the thought of all that bread, and the meat (Merlin, so slimy) was enough to make him feel sick again.

Ron realised his mother had caught his reaction. She touched the side of his face and Ron tried his best not to flinch; he failed, and her eyes only scanned him even more worriedly.

"You looked awful and still do," she said, so quiet it was barely audible to the rest of the family. "How do you feel?"

"Bit sick." Ron nudged the plate. "Might leave this for later. That alright?"

His mum nodded. "Of course. Really, I thought this was too much - you can try something simpler if you like, soup or broth or plain toast... and I should be giving you some medicine, really. Do you know what it is that's wrong, dear? Stomach bug, cold? What is it?"

Ron opened his mouth but the words stuck in his throat. Last night I was attacked by a vampire. He bit me and turned me into what he is. We're just the same now. Do you hate me? Are you afraid of me?

He couldn't say it.

His dad was staring at him, eyes blinking widely behind his glasses and Ginny too, her eyebrows raised. On the wall the clock ticked, and Ron was reminded of the near minute he'd just sat there gawping at them for.

He cleared his throat rustily. "Er... I think it was just a bad cold. I- I feel mostly alright now, you know, other than the... feeling sick thing."

Thankfully, his mother accepted it. "Okay. Well, tell me if you feel worse again. I was worried, you know. It's not normal to sleep for so long even if you are ill."

"Yeah," Ginny added, "it was like you were dead. You hardly made a sound."

Ron nodded, the pit of terror inside him snarling wider. He didn't know what to do but telling his family was too daunting; Ron knew the longer he left it, the worse it would be, but part of him never wanted to say anything.

Whilst she'd accepted Ron's refusal to take any medicine or see a mediwizard, his mum still made him rest for the day.

"Just stay inside for today," she said. "Just until we all know you're okay. No cavorting about on your broomstick outside, or anything. I wouldn't want you to vomit on my vegetable patch." She smiled kindly and left him to his own devices.

Ron had been fine to slump on the sofa and do nothing. Except... Well, he got bored after a few minutes. There was fuck all to do in here except read the biographies about famous wizards his dad insisted on collecting. And there was an uncomfortable itch in his bones, like something was crawling around under his skin that he just couldn't get rid of.

Ron touched his throat. And he was still so thirsty. His tongue felt too big for his mouth, throat sore and rough. He nipped to the kitchen to swig a glass of water and again it tasted wrong, so putrid he had to spit it back out again.

Ron's suspicion only rose.

Not that he was accepting it as truth, but... the encounter in the forest had done something to him. He was itchy and thirsty rather than hungry, and no drink would fix it. He was exhausted, but unable to fall asleep. His breathing pattern was all over the place and sometimes Ron would swear it cut out entirely for a few minutes before he noticed and got it back on track again. Same with his heartbeat.

His senses were going mad too: Ron could hear Ginny in her room, the birds on the roof, his dad tinkering about in his shed in the garden; he could smell the water in the tap, metallic and earthy, and there was a mouldy crumb hiding under the cooker that reeked so badly he didn't know how his mum possibly could've missed it. Ron had never been able to hear or smell or see half as much as he could today than in his entire life.

Ron wasn't sure he could dismiss it for much not longer, not when there were so many signs that things weren't alright. He had a sinking feeling it all wasn't going to go away if he just ignored it.

Maybe he was a vampire. It would be life-changing if he were, so Ron bloody well hoped not. But hope was not good enough, evidently.

He stared out of the window, eyes roaming the surrounding fields, trying to ignore the painful stinging that erupted across his skin as the sunlight hit his body. It looked peaceful out there, trees and tall grass waving at him softly in the distance. His eyes caught on a small clump of forest - the one he was dragged into and attacked in the night before… Or, no, two nights ago it was, he realised.

Ron followed the fallen leaves, searching for something he couldn't name.

Movement. A rustling in the bushes, and suddenly, there he was. Still entrenched in shadow, there stood the stranger, the one who was responsible for all the frankly terrifying things happening to Ron. He looked just as insane as the last time Ron had seen him, cloak hanging ragged from his bony frame.

Prickles erupted across his skin, the vampire's dark eyes menacing despite the distance. He held up a dirt-covered hand, and moved it back and forth, clearly beckoning Ron over.

Ron's first instinct was to do as he said. Then he backed away from the window, and was halfway to the kitchen door before he realised what a stupid idea that was.

What was he doing?

That man, crazy as he was, had the answers to all his questions. That was what the voice inside him insisted. While thinking, he'd forgotten the pain the sunlight caused him but Ron now stepped back with a hiss, and examined his bright red arm. It looked suburnt... but he'd been standing inside.

It seemed time was running out. Ron didn't know how much longer he could go on until something dangerous happened, like Ron burning to death in the sun, or losing control and biting someone. 

He was incredibly thirsty. However, Ron decided as he glanced back to where he knew the stranger would be waiting, he wasn't that desperate yet.

Night fell, and despite his mother's growing concern and father's scolding, Ron declined dinner and said he was more tired than hungry, and just wanted to go to bed. That part was true. He was tired. He was also ravenous, and the smell of... of something, was driving him insane. It was far more metallic than the water had been and he should've been reviled by it, but it made his mouth water, craving its taste, and his stomach cramp, crying out for sustenance.

It unnerved Ron. He'd never been so hungry. Never in his life.

"It's not like him," he heard his mum muttering from downstairs, and turned over again. Ron was lying in darkness atop his bedsheets, still fully dressed. He couldn't bear changing his clothes. It was so scratchy, setting alight his itching skin until he felt like he was going utterly mental. Not that he didn't feel that already.

Ron itched the his neck again, groaning when he caught the side of his swollen throat and that sending him into a coughing fit. Ron was dying, he was certain. He wasn't being dramatic; he was really dying here. The reality of his situation pressed on him again: tell his parents, or go and meet the dodgy vampire man in the field who just might help him.

On one hand, exile. He'd certainly be shunned by society and maybe his parents would chuck him out too. Then where would he go? If his parents kicked him out Dumbledore wouldn't let him into Hogwarts. Maybe he could talk Hermione into trusting him?

No, no, this was madness, Ron was going mad...

On the other hand, near certain death. Ron had no idea who the vampire was and his only experience with him had been very negative, given he'd been pinned down and had his neck torn out.

But… the hunger… he couldn't put up with it for much longer.

Ron waited ten more minutes. Then he got to his feet, a goal in mind. The pain was excruciating and there really wasn't any other option. 

Ron crept downstairs before slipping out the front door, wand held out in front of him this time for protection.

He may have made the second, far more dangerous choice. But he was dying here.

It had crossed Ron's mind that maybe the man wouldn't be here, and as he reached the forest where he'd been beckoned from eariler there appeared to be no sign of him. Ron remembered how he had been thrown to the ground on this exact spot two days ago, and tried to put the upleasant memory out of his mind by thinking about how soothing the cool moonlight felt on his skin.

"I wondered when you were going to turn up," said a voice, the stranger stepping into view. His expression was non-existent, face a sullen, bloodless husk.

"What did you do to me?" Ron blurted, and the stranger looked up, frown creasing his face.

"Polite, aren't we? No introduction, just accusa-"

"Please," Ron begged, "just tell me what you did so I can fix it. I- I swear I'm going insane - I'm so thirsty, and nothing will fix it. I can't keep down food and I can barely stomach water-"

"That does happen during the first few weeks or so-

"And I can hear everything! I hear my parents talking from two floors away and it's not normal. I keep breaking things, and I..." Ron frowned, trailing off. "What happens during the first few weeks or so? The first few weeks of what? What is it, what's happening to me?"

The stranger stared at him. He had wide eyes the colour of night (Ron would swear they'd been red before), and though he was tall, Ron was taller. Probably wider across, too, so logically he shouldn't have been overpowered by this monster.

Ron stared back. "Who are you?" he said. "And what did you do to me? You- you dragged me across the ground and- and-" he stopped short, cutting himself off before he got to the bad bit. The part he really, really didn't want to think about.

"What, can't say it?"

"No. Yes. I don't need to, you already know what it was, you… you sick bastard."

He was unimpressed, and silent. The wind whistled by, and it was a long minute before the stranger spoke again in reply.

"But if you know what I did to you, you know what you must be now." He was encouraging, and the gentle mocking set Ron's teeth on edge. "Come on, Ron, you know this one. Solve the puzzle, put together the mystery."

"How the fuck do you know my name?" Ron demanded. "And what the fuck are you talking about?!"

"I've been watching you for a while. Planning this for longer than that. Planning to turn you into a vampire," he added, "since you're having trouble. I suppose that can be the first thing we can work on."

"You- you, no, you didn't." Ron laughed and then laughed again, louder. "No you- you didn't, I'm- no."

"You're no?"

"You're wrong," Ron managed to get out. "I'm not a vampire. Can't be. You're just wrong."

"So you haven't noticed you can't go out in the sun without it burning? You haven't wondered why you're so thirsty, why you feel so strange? It's normally one of those which tips people off." He was so matter-of-fact it was starting to piss Ron off. It was easier to be angry than afraid.

"I was ill," said Ron, "that's why my skin hurt."

"How does that work?"

Ron didn't know.

"Just admit it," said the stranger. "You're a vampire."

Ron stared at him, speechless.

It didn't deter the stranger. "Nothing to say? Well, I suppose we'd better get on to business anyway. There are six areas I need to go over with you before I leave, and I'm not patient whatsoever. I was hoping to get on to number three by the end of tonight, but..." The stranger scanned him. "You seem a bit out of it."

Ron made an unintelligible noise.

The stranger stared at him again, and then Ron was punched across the face - so hard he would swear he had felt a cheekbone shifting. He only just managed to stay upright, and when he was able his head whipped in the direction of the stranger. "What was that for?!"

"I don't think I made myself clear. Yesterday, I turned you into a vampire, and today, I am here to teach you how to be one. You need to pay attention."

"Teach me?" Ron was so confused.

The man nodded. "As per the terms of my job."

"Job?"

He laughed, cold and unforgiving. "You thought I did this of my own free will?"

Ron got to his feet again and held out his wand. "You... Leave me alone! Go on, fuck off - or I'll hex you!" Ron was just glad he'd finally decided on something to do. He thought he was a bit light-headed to cast any spells tonight.

But before he could raise his wand the stranger flicked a hand, hissing, "Expelliarmus!"

To Ron's horror his wand was snatched from his grasp and went sailing over to the man standing opposite him. He hummed to himself, twirling it between his grimy hands like a baton.

"Never had one of these before," he remarked.

"Who even are you?" Ron choked.

The stranger's lips were pressed into a hard line, and again, seconds of sullen silence went by before he answered, "My name is Mordecai, and that's all you need to know about me."

"Mordecai," Ron repeated. "I've never heard of you."

"Exactly - what did I just say? Go on, what was it?"

"That's all I need to know about you."

"Good, so you can listen. Now get up. We've work to do before morning."

"Like... like what?"

"I am going to teach you how to be a vampire," said Mordecai, "and as I said before, there are five things you need to be concerned with currently, the first being sunlight."

"What- why sunlight?"

"Because you're a vampire, and the sun will burn and kill you. Obviously. It's one of the few things that can actually finish the job and - quick history lesson - because of that, it's how the Ministry have executed us in the past-"

"Us?" Ron spluttered before he could stop himself, and Mordecai's expression turned dark. "Sorry. I meant… go on."

Rather than looking angry this time, Mordecai just looked resigned. "I suppose I can't expect you to stop doing that right away. Denying it. Usually it takes people quite a while to accept it."

"Yeah, well… I don't think I have," said Ron. "Maybe- maybe a bit. I mean, I wasn't oblivious to what was happening to me but mostly it's because you've been very… persuasive."

"Thank you."

"Like, I'm still really freaked out, but-"

"Let's get back to it," Mordecai cut him off, not looking very apologetic. "So, as I said, the first thing is to get your ring sorted out. Rune ring, that is. Now, luckily my employers already gave me one." He dug around in a tattered pocket, unearthing a coppery ring with runic carvings running along the band, and held it up so Ron could see.

"What?" Ron looked at him blankly. "I don't want to wear a ring."

"Do you want to die, Ron?"

"I- no-"

He held it out. "Then take it. I'm doing you a favour here. Most vampires would kill to have one of these - most of them have."

Hesitantly, Ron took the ring, holding its cool weight in his fingers. But couldn't bring himself to put it on. To do as much would be admitting the man was right: that Ron definitely was a vampire. Something inside still insisted it couldn't be true just because it would be so awful if it was. So... irreversible. It wasn't like there was a cure for vampirism, although many had tried.

"Fine," grunted Mordecai. "Don't put it on, you ungrateful brat. I suppose there are a few hours left until day. Anyway, that's the first order of business done." He looked considerably happier, if a creature like him could look happy. "Now, let-"

"What?" Ron said. "But you didn't explain anything about it."

"What is there to explain? Stick it on your finger, walk outside, and you won't burn and die. Oh - and yes, I see what you mean now - most helpfully, there are also runes which give you a reflection again, and a shadow."

Ron started. "What? I don't have a shadow now?"

"No," said Mordecai. "You have no shadow. You're dead, Ron. I effectively poisoned you last night and you died and were revived again at some point in the last day or so. Haven't you noticed you have no heartbeat anymore?"

Ron paused for a second, and listened. It was true, he didn't. How hadn't he noticed when it disappeared?

Mordecai shook his head, seeming wise all of a sudden, if a cruel master. "Really, you're not alive anymore. You're a ghost, literally soulless. Dementors won't touch you anymore and you'll be lucky to get any attention from anything that can tell what you are. Chuck out your dreams of being a magical zoologist... Noticed anything strange with your owl, by the way?"

"Pigwidgeon?" His head had snapped to meet Mordecai's eyes. Why weren't they red? "How do you know about him?"

"How could I miss him?" Mordecai chortled. "He's ridiculous. Fat little thing, but fast, I admit. How does it even carry anything?"

Ron felt offended on Pig's behalf, but was more concerned with what Mordecai had been saying before. "Is there anything else that will change?" he asked.

"Of course. Fucking loads. Want me to go through them all? Just quickly?"

"Not quickly," Ron tried to intercede, but Mordecai had steamrollered on.

"Human food will be disgusting to you for a while," he began. "The same for water. Have you been thirsty?"

Ron clenched his throat. "Painfully so."

Mordecai nodded. "Well, it's good I've got a fix for that that we can do tonight, too. Anyway, what else?" He tapped his chin. "You'll be faster, stronger - nobody's exactly sure how much it increases, but it's by a good bit-"

"Can we fix it now?" Ron said desperately. "The thirst, I mean. I'm just- I can't focus."

Mordecai eyed him. "A hungry one, are we? This'll be fun. For me, not you. It's always shit when you first start out - especially so if you have a larger appetite - and it probably won't get better. Take it from someone who knows."

"When you talk about hunger, do you mean I have to eat..."

"Not one quick to catch on, are we? Yes, of course I mean blood - you'll have to drink human blood every few days, a week at most, if you want to survive comfortably."

"Once a week?" said Ron, weakly.

"Just at first, and more than that if you want to keep your family intact," said Mordecai. "Have you felt it already? It's a terrible, physical pain; all you can taste is metal, and all you can hear is heartbeats."

"I can't just drink animal blood?" Ron was beginning to despair. "Or eat human food?"

Mordecai stared at him. "We're vampires. Drinking human blood is what we do. Maybe if we could eat normal food everybody wouldn't hate us so much - but, alas. You'll get used to it. You'll begin to enjoy it, even." Mordecai smiled, revealing a sharp tooth or two. "I certainly do."

"I got that from last night."

"My apologies, for what it's worth. It's the blood rush, you'll understand it soon enough."

"I'm not doing that," Ron told him flat out. "I'm just not."

Mordecai had led him around the small to where a man was fast asleep behind a tree. He'd been there the entire time, apparently, and Mordecai hadn't mentioned it at all.

"You didn't know?" asked the vampire mildly. "Couldn't hear his heartbeat, his breathing?"

"No."

"We'll have to work on that," he said, and Ron pulled a face.

The man was still asleep, a plain-looking fellow with thinning hair and glasses. Overall he bore a frightening resemblance to Ron's father. Ron stared at him. "What do I do now?"

"Let instinct take over. Go on." Mordecai gave him a shove, and again Ron was reminded of the power, strong as iron held in Mordecai's spindly figure, and it terrified Ron quite a bit to imagine what else the vampire was capable of as Ron was certain he'd only seen a small extent of Mordecai's power.

Ron sat down beside the man, bewildered.

"Why are you sitting down? Are we having a midnight picnic? Fuck's sake, Ron, get up."

Ron glowered at Mordecai as he was snatched him by the shoulder and pulled to his feet again. "Sorry, but I have no idea what I'm doing..."

"It's actually very simple, you know." Mordecai yanked up the unconscious bloke and tipped his head back so his neck was revealed. Mordecai pointed at it. "See this bit of skin here?" Ron nodded. "You bite it. Sink your teeth in - it'll feel like they won't go in, but they will - and then drink." Mordecai dropped the man again. "Can't believe I had to spell that out for you; I should've just let you get to the mad stage of hunger, then you wouldn't have had any questions."

Ron thought he understood now, though. Without a better place to put it he slid the ring on to his finger, and then stared at the man. He could hear a dull thudding, which had to be his heartbeat. Ron leaned in closer and eyed his neck, then glanced back up at Mordecai.

Mordecai was still staring at him, eyes hard as rock, and Ron thought he understood the ultimatum here. Bite him, or be bitten by a very nasty hex.

Ron shut his eyes.

In the end it wasn't very hard at all, though. The skin did break easily and Ron was surprised at how sharp his teeth felt. It required little force to bring the blood forth; in fact, it practically flooded his mouth as soon as he pressed against the skin, and Ron had to swallow down the blood so it wouldn't go everywhere.

Ron consumed human blood, and bliss consumed him.

At once he understood. It was perfect. Dark and salty, the sweetness mouth-watering, and best of all it finally eased the painful thirst that had been plaguing him. Ron drank in more, never wanting it to end. His throat, which had been sore all day, was now singing in rapturous joy and Ron felt a euphoria claim his brain and block out everything else.

An hand came down on his arm, trying to tug him away and Ron fought it, teeth sinking in deeper to his prey. Another predator was trying to steal his kill, and primal instinct had Ron lashing out at the other, teeth breaking from his meal to attack. Blood spurted and Ron was drenched.

Mordecai violently shoved him away, and Ron was still snarling, trying to attack everything within reach.

"Fucking- Petrificus Totalus!" Mordecai shouted, waving a hand, and Ron slumped to the earthy floor, paralysed.

Mordecai came into view again wearing a dull expression. "If I reverse the spell, will you behave like a civilised vampire again?"

Ron stared back. Mordecai nodded. "Forgot you couldn't talk. It's a lot better this way, actually. But I suppose I have to... Finite Incantatem." Again he just waved a hand and Ron stared at it, wondering. It was the first thing he asked when he could stand again, wiping a hand across his blood-stained mouth.

"How did you do that?" he asked, perhaps in an effort not to think about what he'd just done. His hand had come away stained with red after rubbing it across his lips, and he hid it behind his back.

"Do what?"

"You cast that spell without a wand," said Ron. "How can you be that powerful?"

"Wandless magic comes more easily to us. I'm surprised you didn't know that." Mordecai was staring at him, and suddenly laughed. "Still have any doubts about being a vampire, Ron?"

"Yes," he blurted, "this has all happened so-"

"Your eyes have started to darken already," Mordecai said, taunting. He pointed at Ron's face. "They're not blue anymore."

Immediately, he was panicking. "Well, what colour are they?"

"They're turning red. Shall I conjure a mirror?"

"No, no, I'll look later," Ron said quickly before Mordecai could terrify him any more. He was lying, surely he was lying. "But- but how powerful are you, really?"

"Do you want me to show you how many ways I could kill you?" said Mordecai. "What kind of evidence or figure are you looking for here? I'm powerful, is all you need to know. And I'll teach you how to do some of the things I can do; about half should be enough. Because you'll need to learn how to defend yourself."

"Why?" said Ron.

"Because you're a vampire, now," said Mordecai, and he slapped Ron on the back. His hand was cold, heavy and yet weightless at the same time. It caused shivers to wrack through him. "You've got a target on your back, now."

It was the most believable thing the stranger had said all night.

Mordecai sent him away after telling him to spend the next day thinking things over. He acknowledged he'd thrown a lot of things at Ron to take in.

"It will take time," he said. "Mull things over while you're away from me."

Ron stared at him. "Wh-what? You're sending me back? But- but how do I hide things from my family?"

Any thought of telling them had flown out the window long ago. Embarrassment sunk him, fear flooded whatever was left behind and at the mere imagining of a scene in which he informed his family of all the recent goings-on, Ron was so terrified he was tongue-tied; not a great thing to be when stood in front of Mordecai.

"What are you trying to hide?" said Mordecai. "They won't ask you if you're a vampire so you won't have to lie. And just say you're ill if they ask why you look so... terrified."

"And my eyes, what about them? You said they were red."

Mordecai paused for a long moment. "Fair point, that," he said, and his grimy nails were pressing into Ron's face. He leapt about a foot in the air, and Mordecai's fingers tightened. "Stay still," he muttered, and Ron had the sense to do so; rabbit-like, as he seemed to have become.

There was a moment of silence. And then Mordecai stepped away, saying, "Look in the mirror when you get home."

Ron said nothing. He was trembling faintly, and his head hurt. When he breathed it caused pain in his chest. It was because of the truth he now knew, the realisation that his entire world had been shifted beneath his feet... But Mordecai would not be sympathetic, if Ron shared why exactly he felt like he was going to explode at the current moment.

Ron was a vampire, a disgusting creature of the night scorned by most of the Wizarding World. Murderous and sly, it was best not to associate with them; the same went for werewolves, but at least they didn't eat people.

Now Ron was apparently one of them, and he was living up to expectations. He'd nearly killed someone already. The man he'd feasted on was unconscious nearby, his blood seeping into the grass below him. Sickeningly, all Ron could think was how heavenly it smelt.

He said nothing, and Mordecai leaned in closer. "Go," he breathed, and Ron wasn't stupid enough to disobey a command for the second time in a row. He swallowed down all of his questions, for now, and headed back to the Burrow, dawn not far off on the horizon.

Chapter Text

Chapter Three

Not tired enough to even attempt sleep, Ron sat on the edge of his bed, thinking, until dawn came again.

The rest of his family were fast asleep, and Pigwidgeon's cage was empty; Ron's window was open to allow a cool breeze to blow through and his room was dark, lit up solely by the pale moon. The ring on his hand was still a foreign, cold weight on his middle finger, and Ron could already see why vampires were creatures of the night. This was much more peaceful, far easier to digest.

He felt rather doomed.

His wand was on the bedside table next to him, beside some old pepper imp wrappers and a spare sickle or two. His trainers were grubby, one toe flecked with blood; Ron supposed he'd have to get better at hiding his tracks. His mum had had a good shout earlier about the broken tap and it was only a matter of time before he made a bigger, stupider mistake and revealed himself.

This whole thing was a bloody nightmare. Ron couldn't tell his family right now (he knew his throat would close up if he tried), but what about his friends? Could he tell Harry and Hermione?

Though he flinched away from the idea, perhaps they could give him some much-needed advice. But he would wait until they were here in person since it wasn't the sort of news you broke via letter. It would only be a few days... then a few weeks after that the summer holidays ended, meaning time was running out fast until Ron was supposed to go back to Hogwarts. If he were more responsible, Ron would withdraw from school, leave his family and find a place to go that wouldn't endanger anyone. A vampire in a house of humans was just a disaster waiting to happen, for Merlin's sake. But Ron was a sentimental idiot, clinging on to his old life, trying to pretend like nothing had changed.

The next time Ron glanced up, dawn was flooding in, and the pale tendrils snaking in through the uncovered windows were lapping at his bare legs (he was wearing shorts) without causing any pain. Ron felt some relief. This rune ring he'd been given did actually work, at least.

A new day began, and Ron was determined to do it better this time.

"Are those yesterday's clothes?" Ginny asked him, pointing. "They look all wrinkled, have you even changed out of them since?"

"Er. Yeah. Obviously."

Ginny just stared at him, eyes narrowed. It was early in the morning, and Ginny was the only one awake, sitting with a bowl of cereal at the kitchen table.

"I was ill," Ron explained, sitting down beside her. "I fell asleep really early in my clothes."

"Mm. I heard you sneaking back in this morning, by the way. You're even worse than Bill was at it."

Ginny finished her breakfast and was disappearing back upstairs before Ron could even formulate a reply.

Things were going quite badly far. At least Ginny didn't know he was a vampire. Ron would have to be careful - with his current track record, he'd probably tell his mum when she asked how his day was.

"How's your day been so far?"

Noon swung round faster than Ron could have believed. Trepidation boiling in his stomach, he was simply counting down the hours till dark when he would have to face that monster again. At least this time he knew what he'd be facing. Just a little.

He glanced at his mother, smiling pleasantly. There was still a hint of worry creasing her eyes, however, and given Ron was trying to act like nothing was wrong, this didn't seem like a good sign.

"Fine. I'm feeling better today. But I had a letter to write back to Harry, so d'you mind if I take this upstairs?"

His dad was at work today, so it was just his mum and Ginny sat in the kitchen for lunch, a soup which made his stomach turn. His mother nodded. "Go on - and put in a word from me, dear, I want to know how Harry's doing."

"Will do."

Sitting at his desk, Ron held up the bowl to Pigwidgeon. "Potato soup?" he offered him. "I swear you've had it before and you loved it, mate, I'm telling you." Ron paused. "Or it might've been Errol."

It had indeed been Errol, as Pig only hooted at him and turned around before going back to sleep. As a fledgling he'd been a ball of energy, but now he only saved that up for special occasions. Like when Ron said 'letter'; Hermione said Pigwidgeon was like a dog when someone said 'walk', but Ron had replied that she was being silly.

Ron sighed. The soup was cold, beginning to congeal, and he didn't feel half as guilty as he should have vanishing it.

Ron still didn't know what to do. He felt he'd exhausted the list of who he could tell, and as Mordecai was very powerful, Ron also realised there was no guarantee there was anyone he knew who would be able to deal with him… except Dumbledore, maybe. But would Dumbledore help Ron? Although the man had never displayed any particular love for him, Ron thought they got along alright.

But Dumbledore's biggest priority was taking down Voldemort, and if he thought Ron, now a vampire, was on Voldemort's side, there wasn't a chance in hell he'd help.

The realisation he was the enemy now brought cold chills to his skin, and Ron shivered despite the warm swell of the summer air.

"Mordecai?" he called out into the darkness. Ron had approached the clearing and again found it empty. The trees swayed in the darkness, bracken crunching below his worn, recently Scourgified trainers.

"Come back for more, have you?" said a voice from behind him, and Mordecai stepped into the moonlight. His expression was shuttered, worn cloak a filthy grey. "I knew you would. Do you remember everything that I told you yesterday night?"

"Wear your rune ring, drink blood once a week, be careful."

"I suppose that's close enough." Mordecai took a step closer, studying Ron's face. "Tonight's task is to teach you how to hide those eyes of yours. The spell's worn off, did you know that? Your eyes are dark red. Almost bloody-looking."

Ron swore under his breath, then asked: "You offered to conjure me a mirror before… Could you do it now, please?"

It took him a moment, but Mordecai waved a hand and a second later was passing over one to gaze into. Ron glanced into the mirror once, before handing it back again. Mordecai frowned at him. "You only had it for a second."

"Well, a second was all I needed." True to Mordecai's word, his eyes had been horrifying. Teeth too, he'd been displeased to see. "Please tell me how to fix it."

Mordecai looked triumphant. And then he began to talk.

"It's a lot of people's mistake to assume we use glamours to hide," Mordecai began. "That's not what a glamour does, not our version of it. A glamour hides things from Muggles, but it's human transfiguration that will turn your eyes from red to blue, and dull your teeth if necessary."

"Human transfiguration, that's taught at NEWT level," said Ron. "I'm not at NEWTs yet. I only just finished my OWLs."

"I don't care what pet you have, you need to learn the spell," Mordecai said angrily, and Ron realised it was because he didn't have a clue what he was talking about: OWLs, NEWTs… Hogwarts things. The man had never been to Hogwarts - it was obvious now. He felt gleeful finally knowing something about his vampire sire, and about all of the things Ron would know because he had been to Hogwarts.

"The spell is Colo-Oculus Mutatia, unsurprisingly-"

"I know. Had to do some Latin back in OWL year Charms, it was a nightmare."

Mordecai glared at him coolly, and Ron would bet it was because again, Mordecai had no idea what he was talking about.

"Interrupt me again and I will hex you," said Mordecai. "Truly. I will."

Ron nodded. "I understand."

"Good. So, I've given you the incantation, and the hand movement's just a bit of a wave over your face" - Mordecai gave an example - "so you should be able to do it now. Go on."

"What?" spluttered Ron. "That wasn't enou-"

"Do it," he said. "Now. Or do you not want my help? Do you not need it?" Resembling dark caverns, his eyes were unsettlingly fathomless. "Are you better off without me? I'm sure you've thought about not meeting me here. But, Ron - and I want you to know - if you stop turning up, I'll enter your home and drag you out myself. I have ways of avoiding detection and don't think any fancy spells your Order puts around the Burrow will keep me out."

"I- The Order? How do you know about that?"

"The spell, Ron. Cast the spell. Questions later."

Ron would hold Mordecai to that. Maybe only about as well as wet hands could cling to a bar of soap, but he would try.

Over the next few hours, Ron tried his best to get some answers out of Mordecai.

"So," he began, tapping his wand against his knee. "How much are you going to teach me? You said about giving me the ring, and then transfiguring my eyes, but what else apart than that?"

Mordecai glanced over boredly. "I've narrowed it down to about five main points. We've already gone through the first three... just about."

"Oh, great-"

"Although one or two won't be just giving you something," he went on. "I need to make sure you're half-decent at duelling, and I also need to teach you basic Occlumency so you can shield your secrets against anyone more... advanced."

Ron swallowed at the thought of Occlumency with this creature. Harry had told him how rough it was, and that had been with Snape. But at least Snape had been under strict rules not to seriously hurt Harry. Ron had already been hexed for mispronouncing the spell more than a few times.

He thought back to what Mordecai had said. "Sounds like the points of a contract," Ron tried to joke but it coming out far too seriously.

"It's not like I'd do any of this by choice, I've already told you," replied Mordecai. "I've never been one for building my own pack. And I'd never pick you for it."

Ron ignored the last bit, asking, "So other people do?"

"Not really in this country, but there are enormous clans across the world. Norway's coming to mind, for some reason. Anyway, I'm getting the strong urge to hex you again, so you should have another go. Last time you nearly got it, but green's nearly as bad as red in terms of how far it is from your actual eye colour. People would definitely notice."

Mordecai did another example. "Colo-Oculus Mutatia," he said, and his eyes turned from red to brown again. "To turn them back you do the counter-spell - Finite Incantatem. I've done it so many times I can perform both non-verbally, you need more practice before you get to that point. But that's the end goal: you need to be able to put up and take down this spell within seconds, and without saying the incantation. It could be the difference between life or death."

"Right," said Ron, who had been listening very intently. "Speaking of, what did you do with that bloke from yesterday?"

"What bloke?"

"The one I... ate."

"Oh. I healed him and put him back where I found him. Just on a park bench."

"You did what?"

Mordecai shrugged. "What else was I supposed to do? Now stop asking questions and get back to work."

"Who paid you to do this to me?" asked Ron; he was abrupt, but Mordecai's patience had been worn thin by the idle conversation. Ron had to try and get one more answer out of him before his patience snapped completely.

"I can't say," was his curt reply. "But guess. Just guess."

"You mean... You-Know-Wh-"

"Get back to transfiguring, Ron!" Mordecai barked. "Now! Try it again, it's nearly dawn and you've barely made any progress." A nasty expression suddenly crossed his face. "You know what - I think you need some motivation."

Suddenly Mordecai stepped forward, yanking Ron forwards to meet his eye. His nails dug in like nails and again it struck Ron that Mordecai was truly something made of nightmares, no matter how civilised their conversations could be. His clothes were moth-eaten and every inch of him was dirt-smeared, sharpened and hardened and not for a second did Ron doubt he was a murderer. Not for a second did he doubt Mordecai could crush him in a second, if he refused to do what he was told.

And he knew where Ron's family lived.

"Did you still think it's a choice, what I tell you to do?"

Ron shook his head, but Mordecai wasn't finished with him yet.

"I've fucked about casting Expelliarmus and punching you and the rest," he said, "but I've never properly frightened you, have I?"

Quicker than a snake, he attacked: "Crucio!"

Unbearable pain crippled him. Ron crashed to the ground, limbs seizing, unable to hold him up and he writhed on the ground, trying every position possible to rid himself of the pain. The nerve-splitting fire burning up and down his body forced harsh yells from his throat, and made every bone feel like it was being peeled back to the marrow.

Mordecai stood watching, an outstretched hand controlling the spell. Expression emtpy.

He'd already thought about what his friends would do in this situation: Hermione would research, Harry would act, probably try and go after Mordecai. But Ron had tried that, and he'd utterly failed.

Sod whatever his friends would do... Mordecai was powerful, and terrifying. Ron had to do what he said. He'd cast an unforgivable on him without hesitation.

When dawn broke, Mordecai asked Ron to cast the spell again and he failed yet again.

"Co- Colo-Oculus Mutatia," he said feebly, waving his wand, and nothing happened. Mordecai closed in and Ron felt his chest straining.

"Wait!" he cried. "Let me try again! Just- just one more time, I swear I won't fail!"

Mordecai paused. He stepped back again. "Go on."

Ron steadied himself, and went through the wand movement in his head before his hand mimicked it in reality. "Colo-Oculus Mutatia," he said again, making sure he nailed the pronunciation, picturing his eyes turning from the red he'd glimpsed in the shadow of the mirror's reflection to their previous blue, and this time he felt a strange shifting cloak settle over him.

Ron opened his eyes and blinked furiously. "Woah. Blurry."

"Just keep blinking, it'll go away."

Ron was still wary, but not wary enough to shut up. "How come this didn't happen before?"

"I can do a higher quality spell. You're more shit, basically."

"Can I... ask something?"

A grunt. "I don't see why not."

"Will I go back to Hogwarts? Is it possible?"

There was a silence as Mordecai considered this.

"I don't know, exactly, but I'd guess so. Otherwise I don't know what the point is of having me teach you all these spells."

Ron glanced at him sharply. "You don't know the full plan, do you?"

Rather than replying to the question, Mordecai said something different instead. "Ron, I'll advise you now: don't run away. You might've been tempted - every new vampire is - but just don't. I'll track you down again and bring you straight back. I have to. And don't blow your cover either. Don't tell your family, is what I'm saying. If you do, well, there's a direr consequence than the cruciatus curse."

From a pocket he produced an envelope. Plain and unmarked.

"If you tell your parents, I will send this letter," said Mordecai. "It contains the information of your new status, and it will go straight to the Ministry. Do you know the policy on vampires there?"

"Not exactly," Ron admitted.

"Well, first they visit you to confirm that you are, indeed, a vampire. They will knock on your door and if you try to hide they will take it as an admission of guilt. If you present yourself under a charm they'll find it out - Unspeakables are scrupulous in their examinations. If you run you will be found again. After that, you will be placed on a list. This list contains all of the known vampires within Britain, and it's short. You won't be forgotten amongst hundreds of other, more dangerous, profiles, Ron. You, especially you, the trusted friend of Harry Potter, known troublemaker and participant in the battle at the Ministry of Magic in the Department of Mysteries two months ago, will never know a moment of peace.

"You will be removed from Hogwarts and your home too, it's likely, and put God knows where. Azkaban, probably. Do you want to find out?"

Mordecai let another brief silence drift by before saying, "People hate us, you have to understand. Your family. Your friends. People you don't even know, they'll immediately hate you for what you are."

"I know," Ron bit back. He had to say something to stop Mordecai talking, to stop him saying all those awful, horrible, completely true things. "I know! It's not fucking fair and it's all your fucking fault!" he shouted. "You did this to me, you bastard! You! You turned me into- into this!"

By the time, Ron had finished talking, his anger had dissipated. Like a candle all out of wick, anger had burnt through him and in its absence Ron was left feeling terrified. He trembled violently, having to curl his hands into fists to prevent them from shaking.

"My family- my family, you lay a hand on them and I'll-" Ron cut himself off, still trembling.

"I'm leaving for a few days," Mordecai told him, slipping the envelope back into his pocket. "With the ring and the glamour you should be fine. Don't reveal yourself to anyone or I'll post the letter. I may not be here but I'll know if you try. I'm always watching."

Ron stared at Mordecai, not bothering to disguise the hatred in his eyes. At least this time Mordecai stared back, plain brown eyes unblinking.

Ron swore he only shut his eyes for a second, but by the next Mordecai had vanished.

The climb back to the Burrow was traced with bitter loss.

In the end, Ron resolved to do as Mordecai said and tell nobody. He'd been going back and forth for days, but in the end he felt he had no choice. He couldn't risk that letter getting out. So long as it remained in the squalid depths of Mordecai's pocket, Ron's secret was safe. Ron was safe. He could still attend Hogwarts (Mordecai promised) and see his friends and continue living with his family.

This all meant his only true confidant - friend, ally, whatever - was now Mordecai. Ron still trembled with anger and fear at the mere thought of seeing that bastard again. But he'd have to soon, he reminded himself.

This was for the best, Ron told himself as he got out of bed, dressing quickly whilst avoiding the mirror, and he grimaced as he was faced with another day of trying not to talk about the one thing on his mind.

He was a vampire. There was no escaping it.

Ron didn't know when Mordecai would return, but when he did, a note appeared on Ron's windowsill.

Tonight, it read, and he'd have been a fool to ignore it. Ron felt the fear which had cooled over the last few days reigniting and burning anew as he stared at the letter in his hand. He placed it on his desk, not sure of anything anymore… maybe he would look it over again later.

But when he looked back at where he thought he'd put it, there was only a pile of ash where it had disintegrated.

When they met again, Ron was meek. He kept his head down, performed what spells Mordecai told him to, and asked no questions. After half an hour, Mordecai grew suspicious.

"Change your eye colour again," he commanded.

"Colo-Oculus Mutatia," Ron muttered, concentrating as he waved his wand, and again the strange feeling settled over him. This time the gauzy curtain of the transfiguration sunk in within a blink or two, seemingly not there at all.

"Very good. You need to be quicker still, but it's only been a few nights. I'll allow some… reticence." His eyes narrowed. "Why are you being so quiet? In essence: what are you hiding?"

"Nothing," said Ron, truthfully. "I just want to… learn what I need to learn, so I can go back home again."

His family knew something was wrong. Every time he pushed his food around his plate or woke up earlier than usual or spent hours in his room practising the spells Mordecai had told him to practise, the look in his mother's eyes would grow more and more concerned. But so far he'd managed to escape his family's attempts at an intervention, disappearing after meals and locking his door and making excuses with homework or letters. It only fuelled the flames of their worry, but Ron felt that things were already too strange to care much.

Besides, what could he do? Tell them?

No way.

It was killing him, of course, but Ron was just glad he could still see them at all.

He needed time to adjust, and then things would go back to normal; that was what he told himself. Just to get by, to keep getting up when the sun reached his window and not stay slumped in bed. He couldn't just sleep… Not that he was even sleeping, actually. Ron had been having problems with insomnia. He'd banished all the clocks in his room and locked the door, tried reading and listening to music on the radio… but still, he couldn't quite drop off into a world more forgiving than his own. It was likely because, as a vampire, it went against his nature to sleep during the night. But even during the day, he still couldn't.

"How have you- how's your hunger been?" Mordecai asked, when Ron remained silent.

"Fine. I'm not hungry."

"Are you lying?"

"No," said Ron, feeling his stomach contract even as he said it. Ron knew it wouldn't last, but he'd allowed it once already. Drinking blood. And he never wanted to again.

"It's been mostly fine," Ron rephrased. "I don't want to eat before I have to. And I do have to, don't I?" It had only just occurred to him. "I mean, what happens if I just… don't?"

"What, don't drink blood ever again?"

Ron indicated for him to go on.

"Human blood is the key to keeping us alive. Without it you die. We need it every few days, once a week, or once every two weeks. I once heard of someone who could last that long without going mad. Because that's what happens if you deny your nature. You lose the privilege of your sanity, and become a wild beast whose only intent is slaughtering as many humans as you can for blood; it's only at the very end you fizzle out and die."

So, no chance of a quick, painless death that way. He guessed he could try the sun, but Ron's curiosity got the better of his instinct to shut up, and he asked, "Have you ever seen it happen before?"

"Sure. I've heard of a few who denied it, went mad, ate their families - and what choice does the Ministry have but to put them down? Do you see now, Ron, why you can't do that? I thought you cared about your family-"

Ron drew in a sharp breath. "Don't bring up my family-"

"I don't care about your family. All I'm telling you is that you will go insane and eat the lot of them if you don't accept it. If you don't tell me when you need blood again, so I can help you."

"I- I understand!" Ron shouted back. "I do! You don't think I'm terrified of myself, of what I might do? You think I don't know the danger I'm putting them in just by existing? You should've just killed me that night - it's better than the life I've got now!"

"I suppose I could have, just by accident," Mordecai replied. "A lot of vampires don't survive the change. There was a good chance you could have died when I bit you. Honestly, you took so long to resurface I thought you had snuffed it."

"What are you talking about?"

"That's why you can't transform Muggles," said Mordecai. "They wouldn't survive. You need magic for this curse we both have in order for it to latch on to. Without it you are devoured by the curse and die, obviously."

"So... I really could've died?"

"Truly. Take it as a stroke of luck that you didn't." He left that for Ron to process, before saying, "But how is your rune ring?"

"It's been fine so far."

"Good, good… Just watch that, alright? Sometimes the Ministry puts out fake rune rings into the market that only work for a little while to catch vampires buying them, or just kill them." Mordecai gave him a sharp look. "And don't do that either - don't step out into the sun when you're not wearing it to try and end things. Think about how many vampires would give everything they had to be in your position, and think about your family, who I will punish if you decide to do that."

Ron had nothing to say to that, but luckily Mordecai continued, after scrubbing a hand through his grungy hair. "I'd recommend taking a mirror with you everywhere just to check on your transfiguration. At least until you can summon one, which I suppose we could do tonight. If it flickers, though, there's little to be concerned about."

"What do you mean?"

"If you saw someone with red pupils, what would you assume before vampirism?"

"I don't know. Trick of the light. I'm tired. Imagining things." It was what he had thought when Mordecai had been hunting him for the first time, on the night he'd been bitten. He'd been wrong.

"Exactly," said Mordecai. "And if anyone ever asks, you lie. You escape. And before all of that, you make sure your transfiguration is still applied so you don't have to deal with a mess like that. It's sticky."

Ron nodded. He'd be careful, considering his life seemed to depend on it.

The sun came up again, and Mordecai, who looked no better in the daylight, winced at it. "I suppose you'd better go."

But Ron was watching behind himself, where a thin, wobbly shadow was looming up from behind. "You don't think my shadow looks a bit weird?"

"It's the best you'll get," Mordecai said, almost sadly. "The sun is a difficult thing to deceive, regardless of how much fancy magic you have on your side."

Ron supposed if you weren't particularly focusing on it, you wouldn't notice. He hoped so.

He dithered walking back up the hill to the Burrow. A mistake on his part, but he enjoyed feeling of the sunshine on his skin, as cold and unaffected as he was by it. Ron was still cold to the touch. He stepped over scrubby weeds sprouting along the path and slipped between a broken fence to get to the front door - at the exact moment it opened to reveal his father, smiling at the lazy sunshine and anticipating the day ahead with enthusiasm.

"Goodbye, Mollywobbles!" Arthur called out behind him to his wife, eyes then widening in surprise as they landed on his youngest son. He adjusted his glasses, yet the sight remained. "Ron, what are you doing here?"

He tried to act nonchalant, using a hand to shield his eyes from the bright sunlight. "Just went out for a walk. Thought the weather was nice."

"At seven in the morning?"

"Why are you going to work so early anyway?"

His dad paused. "It's not my usual work at the Ministry. I have some other work to do for… you know."

"The-"

"Don't say it aloud, you don't know who's listening!"

Ron felt something fracture inside. Exactly. He was a traitor, a mole for the other side; he'd been the one to allow Mordecai to do what he did. There had to have been some way to stop him finding out everything, from biting Ron and ruining it all. But Ron had been too stupid to see it. Why hadn't he taken his wand with him that night?

"Don't get upset, Ron. I suppose there's nothing wrong with you getting some fresh air early in the morning." Arthur peered at Ron closely. "Are you alright? You look... cold." His dad stepped forward and grabbed his arm. Ron couldn't get away. "By Merlin," he announced, "you're freezing! How long have you been out here?"

"A while," said Ron. "Can I get past? Got a letter to write."

"To who?"

"Hermione."

"Again?"

Ron nodded. "You know what she's like. I write to her once and she keeps writing back, and then gets upset if I don't reply."

"She's a good friend," said Arthur, and finally released him. "Alright. But stop by the kitchen and get some tea or something… put on a jumper. Get back to yourself again."

Ron watched his father leave, his final expression before apparating away at the bottom of the path oddly compassionate. Like he felt sorry for Ron. Well, Ron felt sorry for himself too.

Ron nipped quietly up the staircase and headed straight to his room, missing it after spending all bloody night with that creature Mordecai… And now he only had himself.

He wasn't going to put on a jumper. Obviously. What good would it do? Ron sat down at his desk, holding out an owl treat for Pig, who gulped it down eagerly.

The conversation with his dad had brought up a prominent issue. He wasn't very good at pretending to be human. He wasn't good at sneaking out, or pretending to eat food and drink water, or being warm. To remain undercover, it was obvious he'd have to get better at it. Ron might have to come up with some kind of story for the ring, too. His family would ask why he had one all of a sudden, otherwise.

Really, he couldn't decide whether it was a blessing or a curse that the rest of his family weren't here. Fred and George were in Diagon Alley, living above their shop; Percy was junior undersecretary or something and still refusing to come home; Bill was off in Egypt, working for Gringotts, and Charlie was in Romania, taming dragons. While only hiding it from three members of his family was easier, it would make the transition to Hogwarts (full of hundreds of people) more difficult.

Ron shivered at the thought. But that was why he was meeting with Mordecai: until he could cast transfiguration spells in his sleep, and the excuses rolled off his tongue like honey.

When Ron rolled over in the morning, dragging himself from an elaborate daydream not close enough to sleep to satisfy him, it was with a terrible ache in his stomach.

It was hunger. Starvation like he'd never felt it before. Ron held himself as a painful shudder wracked through him, and for a second entertained the idea: following that delicious, coppery scent that led to the human's room below, and then to the bed where another human slept. He could taste the blood flowing through their veins and wanted to feel it flooding down his throat.

He'd do it in an instant. Snatch up Ginny's neck and rip into it with his teeth. Screams would only spur him on. Struggling, arms trying to slap him away, prey trying to escape would only make him enjoy his feast more.

He could murder his mother and sister, and feel it was not enough. Ron wished the rest of his family were home so he could eat them too.

Scrabbling for his wand on his desk, Ron locked the door with a hoarsely uttered spell. He locked the window, shut the curtains, and crawled back to bed. Sod maintaining appearances today. He couldn't. Ron knew if he was let even within a few metres of a human, that would be the end of it.

Ron didn't know what to do. Time ticked by, only the sound of his sheets rustling as he tossed and turned in agony to accompany him. He thought about taking a shower. It might help. But no, the water… the noise, the sensation, it would be too much, he was sure. Even lying here with the muffle of the blanket separating him from it all, Ron was driven mad by the birds, his mum clattering about in the kitchen below making her breakfast, then her lunch, and the chickens pecking about in the garden below.

Could he go and visit Mordecai and beg him for blood? He said he would help. But first Ron would have to somehow creep past his mum and Ginny, who had been keeping an annoyingly close eye on him as of late.

A sudden knock at the door. Ron knew it was his mother from her smell, of her clothes and her shampoo and perfume, her heart throbbing like a drum. "Ron, dear? Are you awake?"

Ron said nothing, but he shifted the duvet lower to reveal his face. He was only sleeping. Nothing suspicious.

The door opened with a quiet snick, hinges whining. Ron felt his mother settle carefully beside him; a hand pressed against his forehead, then stroking through his hair.

He peeled one eye open. "Mum?" he grunted. "What're you…"

"You're so cold," she whispered. "Are you ill again? Is that why you've drawn the curtains?"

Ron nodded slowly. His mum's lips pursed, and her weathered face seemed more creased than ever. Stress, he knew. And age. The roots of her hair beside her ears had already turned grey. "Are you okay?" she asked, looking afraid.

This close he couldn't think of anything but her heartbeat, and willed himself to stay still. Like a spring he was coiled to jump at any moment, sink his teeth into her arteries and tear and tear, splattering blood across the floorboards. There would be silence, at long last.

He shut his eyes again. "I don't know."

"I think you're still ill. But it's not a cold." Ron swallowed, fearing what she might say next. "Look, me and your dad were talking last night. I think we should take you to St Mungo's."

His eyes snapped open. "What?"

"You've been through a lot for someone so young," his mother went on. "I think it's affecting you-"

"No, mum, you don't understand-"

"I do," she replied sharply. "I've been through one war, Ron, and we're about to start another. I can tell when somebody needs to see a mind healer. Now, I could be wrong, but I think it's better to be safe than sorry."

"Why do you think I need a mind healer?"

"You've been quiet since the end of the year, it's true, but you only stopped eating and sleeping a week or so ago. I can hear you wandering about at night, and Ginny's said the same. It's okay, Ron. We all go through this-"

"I don't need a mind healer."

"Maybe not. But can we go and see one? Please? Just to make sure?"

He sat up, despite the effort it cost him. The hunger had somehow been stifled for a moment by his shock. "No. No. You're wrong, mum, I'm fine… if anyone's been through a lot, it's you and dad and Ginny, and everyone else besides me. Harry and Hermione."

"Ron," his mother tried, but he shook his head.

"No. I won't go, and you can't make me." By this point his mother had risen and was standing beside his bed, looking forlorn. Ron got out of bed and darted past her. His bones felt like they were made of paper, but he had to leave. He just willed he wouldn't fall until he was out of sight of his mother.

"Where are you going?" she called.

"Away," Ron replied from the doorway. "Just keep out of my business, alright? I know you're worried, but just- please."

He sped down the stairs, opened the front door and shut it again as quickly as he could. Ron tried not to slam it, but sometimes his strength was out of his control.

"I think I messed up," was the first thing Ron blurted when he arrived at the clearing. It wasn't half as scary when sunlight was blaring through the thick branches of the trees. "Mordecai? Are you there?"

He was out of options. Ron fell to his knees, utterly disconsolate. He'd shouted at his mother. That was rude of him. She'd only been trying to help. She really thought something was wrong with him, that he was ill. Sick in the head, too. How flattering for him, how kind of her, and how horrible that the truth was so much worse than that.

Merlin, he was so thirsty.

"I see what happens now when you're challenged," said Mordecai. He'd appeared from nowhere, as he usually did. "You give up, and break down."

Ron felt empty inside, throat swollen. "I- I can't, I'm just so thirsty, can you-"

"Come with me, you pathetic wretch."

Mordecai grabbed his shoulder, and apparated them away.

Chapter Text

Chapter Four

Mordecai apparated him somewhere remote, trees sprawling around them and the floor dark and moist. Ron stumbled back, nearly tripping on the mossy undergrowth. Hardly any light was able to break through the thick tree branches.

"Where are we?" Ron demanded. "Take me back home! Right now!"

"No."

Ron glanced around him. The forest was empty, and there was a path cutting between two trees. He sprinted towards it, only to be dragged back again and thrown to the floor. Mordecai held his neck, pinning him to the ground with superhuman strength.

"Don't move," he hissed. "You said back over there that you messed up. You certainly have, Ron. Properly fucked it up. I told you to do four things: transfigure your eyes, wear your ring, keep on top of your hunger, and avoid suspicion. You've only done one of those things."

"What?" Ron baulked, and the fingers tightened.

"Your eyes are red, you utter moron." A final push and then Mordecai was gone, and Ron was wringing his neck as he scrambled to his feet again. He fumbled for the wand in his waistband, tugging it out to lever at the monster.

The corners of Mordecai's mouth yanked up into a rictus smile. "A fight. You want to fight, do you?"

"Stay away from me," Ron pleaded, wand shaking in his grip. "You've helped me, I'll thank you for that. Without the ring and the transfiguration spell I'd have been found out and handed over to the Ministry. But please… just go. Let me go. Leave me and my family alone. Burn that letter. I mean… there's got to be stuff that you want to do, hasn't there?"

"I can't leave yet," Mordecai replied. "There are five areas to cover. We have done two and a half. Ring, Eyes, Blood. Since you can't find food for yourself yet, I have to help you with that last one. That's what we're doi-"

"Just leave me alone," Ron repeated, breathless. "Please."

"What happened?"

"Stupefy!"

Mordecai sidestepped the spell, shaking his head. "No, Ron, you'll only-"

"Incendio!" A spurt of fire jumped from his wand, and Mordecai held out a hand, muttering a shield charm so the flames sputtered around an invisible barricade. Ron cursed.

"Ron, sto-"

"Stupefy!" he tried again. It didn't work. "Tarantallegra! Petrificus Totalus!"

"I'll give you points for spell variety," said Mordecai. "But you're too slow. And why d'you say all your spells? You're just telling me what you're going to do before you do it-"

"Flipendo!" Ron shouted, deafening. This time Mordecai was caught by the force and thrown flat on his back. Not a few feet in the air, as would have been preferable to give Ron the most time to run away, but it was good enough.

Mordecai blinked at him as he rose slowly. "Wait," he said, and his voice had taken on something like desperation. Something like Ron had never heard before. "Wait, just hang on a second. That was good, Ron. A good starting point."

Ron turned. He wasn't so stupid he'd listen to this.

"Ron! Hold on! With- without me, you'll never get blood."

Ron paused.

"And you'll never learn to be a good vampire, either. How to act normally. How to… stop being so cold, and have a heartbeat, and eat human food again. How to shut out all your extra senses." Mordecai exhaled. "There are five main areas we have to go through, but there's a hell of a lot more to it than that. It's a… tremendous change, I understand if you're not…"

Ron turned back again. "My mum wants to take me to St Mungo's," he said. "She thinks I'm messed up in the head, or something. I can see why. I haven't been acting like myself at all."

Mordecai was quiet for a minute. Then he replied, "Make a deal with your mother."

"What kind of deal?"

"Tell her if you can get better again, you don't have to go. Terrible advice if you were actually suffering-"

Ron glanced at Mordecai.

"-I know, but maybe she'll buy it. Because at St Mungo's they'll undoubtedly realise what you are, charms or not, and be obligated to report you to the Ministry. Then they'll take you away and nobody really knows what happens after that."

"Is there no way to stop that from happening? Is there no vampire spy at the Ministry?"

"There are a few," mused Mordecai, "but I'm on no good terms with any. And they wouldn't risk their own necks for a stranger, no matter how young and abused you are, or whatever."

"Right. So I have no option but to trust you?"

"Exactly. Well-put, thank you, Ron.” Maybe Mordecai missed the sarcasm on purpose. “Plus, isn't this much nicer?" He spread out his hands. "Not fighting? Getting along? Cooperating so both of us get what we want out of this? I want freedom, and you want to put on the best human mask you can. Think of it more like that, if it helps you panic less. An arrangement between two mutuals. It's a lot easier on my part, frankly."

"I wouldn't exactly call us equals…"

"Mutuals, Ron, not equals. Remember, I'm your best friend now since you can't tell those other two what you are." Mordecai's eyes turned dark as obsidian. "You won't, will you?"

"No," confirmed Ron. "I haven't sent them any letters since it happened."

His eyebrows furrowed. It seemed Ron couldn't do anything right. "Well that's just as bad. Now they're going to think something's wrong. That's tonight's homework for you: write letters to your friends." His expression wavered for a moment. "Maybe it will improve your mood. You don't half look depressed, Ron. If I were your mother I'd be concerned too."

Ron was puzzled. "Thank you, I... s'pose."

"You'd better be." Mordecai rubbed his hands together. "Right… I can't be bothered to see you tonight as well, so we'll just have today's session here. And today's session is about… Duelling! How exciting - I can't wait, personally-"

"No," Ron croaked. "I need to eat. Right now."

"God, you always have to ruin things, Ron. But okay. Let's go and catch a Muggle."

Mordecai decided on the first person they came across. It was a girl, tying her shoelace, knelt down in the middle of the path.

Ron felt a shove at his back. "Off you go, Ron. Stun her and bite her neck; you've done it before."

"I can't do that!" he hissed back. "That's against the Statute, and just rude, frankl-"

"No one cares about the Statute now that You-Know-Who's back, and I don't care if it makes you uncomfortable. Go."

Ron nodded, steeling himself. "Okay," he said, and hadn't taken a step forward before Mordecai was dragging him back.

"No, no, not like that, you idiot! Stun her from here so I don't have to wipe her memory afterwards!"

"Fine." His wand sliced through the air. "Stupefy!"

She never even saw it coming. Ron picked his way over to her gingerly, placing an arm under her shoulders and lowering his face to her neck.

He didn't want to remember what happened next. Not that he could even recall it very well, drowning in utter contentment, body screaming with joy to finally be back in its natural state. Devouring blood like this was the very last human, the very last source of food on earth.

Mordecai had to yank him away before he took so much so it was dangerous for the girl, but Ron was quicker to return to himself, keeping his head enough to press his fingers against the wound he'd caused so blood didn't spurt everywhere.

"Good," Mordecai said approvingly. "You're learning. D'you know what spell to use to heal that bite?"

Ron shook his head, still battling to resist the warm blood flowing beneath his fingertips.

"Vulnera Sanentur. It’s a healing spell for deeper wounds, and a vampire bite certainly counts as one. Give it a go."

Ron raised his wand. "Vulnera Sanentur!"

Amazingly, The wound immediately began knitting back together, but Mordecai was tutting. "You wizards and your wands, your shouty spells. Why are you so loud? It's like you want to be found out."

Ron didn't know what to say, so he said nothing.

"We'll fix that, don't worry. How's the girl?"

"Breathing. Neck's healed." He stared at her thoughtfully. "She still looks a bit ill, though."

"That's to be expected. Come on, we'd better go - she'll wake up in a bit none the wiser of what's happened, and we'll be in the clear. Grab my arm again and we'll apparate back."

They hadn't been standing in the fields surrounding the Burrow for more than a second before Mordecai was slipping away again, saying, "Return to your family. You've got a cover story to tell them. The longer you're gone the more worried they'll be, and I don't want them calling the Order."

"How do you know about that?" Ron asked him.

"It's not common knowledge?"

"No, we're a secret organisation."

Mordecai cackled. "It's funny - you still say 'we' like you've got a chance of getting in. If they're fighting you, why would they let you join?"

"There's a werewolf in the Order."

"And no one's ever suspected him?"

Ron remembered about how the Potters' first thought of who the spy was had been Lupin, all those years ago, meaning Harry's parents had been blind to the real threat (Peter Pettigrew) until it was too late. Saying that, if his friends told him they didn't want to see him anymore then Ron would understand. He still feared vampires himself despite being one.

Ron shook his head. "That doesn't matter. How do you know about the Order?"

"My employer informed me."

Ron glanced at him. Mordecai frowned. "What was that for?"

"Are you a…" Ron wet his lips, hardly able to say it. "Death Eater?"

He scoffed. "Of course not. Do you know who hates vampires more than the Order, and all of magical society put together?"

Ron shook his head.

"It's the blood purists, strangely. They see me as vermin - the same goes for Greyback, despite all the privileges they afford him - but this was a job that could only be done by a vampire."

"How did they find you?"

Mordecai's expression turned hard. "I think that's enough questions for today. Go home, Ron."

Ron felt incredibly guilty as he peeled open his front door, sliding inside before shutting it behind him as quietly as possible. He needn't have bothered: his entire family was stood in the hallway, now staring at him.

Ron cleared his throat. "Erm. Good you're all here… I want to apologise-"

"Ron!" His mother rushed over to grasp him by the shoulders, looking him over. "Are you okay? Where did you go? I sent Ginny out to look for you but she said she couldn't find you; she went everywhere, she said, and-"

"I went for a walk," said Ron. "Why's dad home?"

"Your mother thought you'd run away." His father looked serious. "That was silly of you, Ron, especially knowing the what's going on right now. There are all sorts outside this front door - I make a point of telling you as often as I can, and yet you still don't listen." His austerity faltered. "But I'm glad you're safe, Ron."

"Is he?" Molly turned back to Ron. "Are you?"

"Yeah, I just went out walking again. I needed to think." He hesitated. "I fell out with Hermione, recently - it's why I've been sending so many letters and… been down, I think. But we're friends again now, so things should… I should, go back to normal."

"What did you two fall out about?" asked Ginny. She was frowning at him almost suspiciously.

"Doesn't matter. We made up again, anyway."

"Will you eat now?" asked his mother. "I'm getting very worried, Ron. I know you're saying things will be alright now, but I don't think it can be fixed so easily-"

"Just give me a few days, a week, to prove to you that this was just a small setback."

Nobody particularly looked as though they believed him, but Ron was fine with that. Fully replenished, things seemed far better. He could even hug his mum and not feel a stir of hunger about her bloody, beating heart.

At dinner, Ron stared at his dinner plate and assessed. Chicken dinner stared back at him, peas glistening in gravy and roast potatoes crisp. Dad had stayed home since he was already out of work and helped them make it.

"Take it slowly," said Mordecai, about eating human food. He'd have to in order to keep up the facade.

Ron's mother was staring at him. "You don't have to eat a lot tonight," she said. "Just a bit."

Ron tried, battling past the nausea. In his head all he could hear was Mordecai.

"You probably won't vomit, nine times out of ten. Just chew and swallow. It'll get easier and stop tasting like… well, whatever it tastes like to you."

"Is anything nice anymore?" Ron complained. "I used to like sweets, you know. Pumpkin pasties. Pepper imps. Chocolate frogs. I used to fucking love them."

"No," said Mordecai. "You won't like anything anymore except human blood."

The potato tasted like gravel. The chicken was like wool, and the peas were like rubber. Ron choked down a few mouthfuls and managed to stash a few potatoes into his pockets to vanish later on, and his mother noticed he'd slowed down.

"That's enough, if you're struggling. You can be excused."

Ron nodded at the rest of his family before he slipped away.

When night fell, Ron lay in his bed feeling more despondent than usual. Then there was a knock at his door and he was puzzled - even more so when in came Ginny, still fully dressed. Ron glanced at the clock. This was a bit odd for midnight. He said so.

"You can't say anything," his sister pointed out as he was still fully dressed too, and sat down at his desk. "So. Not sneaking out tonight?"

Ron shrugged. "I don't do anything fun anyway. I just walk around."

"Why d’you bother going out then?"

Ron shrugged again, and lay back on his bed. The silence only lasted for a moment or two.

"To be honest, I thought you were sneaking out to see some girl." Ginny glanced at him. "I thought you were going to see Hermione at first. Or I would've done if I didn't know she was on holiday right now."

"What?" Ron blurted.

"You two do talk a lot. You argue, mostly. It's half of what your conversations are, just arguing." She smirked. "I always thought it was like flirting."

"Stop being stupid," Ron grunted. "Arguing's arguing. Couldn't be further from… flirting." The word was dripping with ire.

"I forget how inexperienced you are sometimes."

"Shut up, I don't want to hear about what you and Michael Corner got up to. Git."

Ginny smirked. "Corner was ages ago - he's old news. Not that we did much anyway. But you and Hermione definitely have a thing, and I swear you've liked her for ages."

"I'm not talking about this."

"Is that why you're depressed? Did you confess your feelings and she rejected you, or something?"

"I'm not depressed."

"You didn't finish dinner, and not being rude, but that's something I've literally never seen happen before."

"You're right, that is rude," Ron told her. "Can you get out now? I want to go to sleep."

She scowled at him crossly but conceded, shutting the door far too loudly for twelve o'clock at night. At least Ron could hear his parents' heartbeats, and knew they hadn't been woken by it.

When they met again, Mordecai seemed excited in his own little devilish way. He rubbed his spindly hands together, and his dark eyes shining like wriggling beetles. "Duelling tonight," he said. "My favourite. It was what I looked forward to the most when I was learning magic. How did your excuse go, by the way?"

Ron was still thinking about what Mordecai had just said, and was confused for a moment. "Excuse?"

"Your explanation for why you're acting so strangely to your parents."

"Oh, it was fine. I lied about arguing with a friend."

"Which friend?"

Ron glanced at him. "Guess."

"Granger or Potter," said Mordecai, unflinchingly confident.

Ron nodded, mumbling, "Good guess."

"Not really. I had to research you when I took this job… Well, they never told me to, but I thought it would be beneficial. I know all of your friends now. Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood. Your sister was also mentioned in the article."

"I s'pose you read the papers to learn all of that." It was a relief to know he hadn't been spied on for Mordecai to find all that out.

"I did. I know about what you did at the end of last summer, and then three years ago you were involved with the reopening of the Chamber of Secrets. Surprisingly, there wasn't much actually about you. They talk about your friend a lot more. But he's the… the Boy-Who-Lived, isn't he?"

Mordecai said it like it was all foreign to him, and Ron had to ask. "Are you Muggle-born?"

"No, I told you I was a wizard."

"I mean, were your family Muggles? Did they have any magic?"

Mordecai paused. "My sister didn't," he said.

"You have a sister?"

"Had," Mordecai amended. It was like shutters came down over his eyes. "Don't ask questions about me. You don't need to know. Really. I was just tasked with turning you into a vampire."

"But why? Why would you do that?"

"Ron - we established that I would tell you what to do, and you would do it - nothing more, nothing less. So stop asking questions before I have to hex you again to teach you a lesson."

Ron felt weak at the thought of the unforgivable he'd been struck with before, and nodded. Mordecai's stony expression turned eager again.

"So, how are you, duelling-wise?"

"Not bad. Took on some Death Eaters in the Ministry."

Mordecai waved a hand dismissively through the air. "Lackeys. Could you take on an auror?"

"An auror?"

"Yes, an auror, that's who they'll send after you if you're discovered."

"Got a lot of experience with that?"

"Once or twice. Didn't realise what their ridiculous purple cloaks meant at the time, but I escaped them easily enough. And so I have their measure." Mordecai's fingers wriggled in the air, sparks flying. "Tonight's task, Ron, is to figure out yours."

They began to circle one another, Ron feeling his stomach jumping with anticipation and old skills awakening in his mind. Skills he'd learnt with Harry, in Dumbledore's Army. He wondered if there would be meetings this year… if there were, that meant Ron could continue improving his duelling skills.

Ron imagined being hit by something that should've killed him, and surviving instead. The thought of it thrilled him more than it should, although it would have blown his cover right out the window.

Mordecai struck first with a simple stunner. "Stupefy!" he said, the spell going slightly wide. Close enough to hit his arm, but Ron jumped out of the way before it could. Mordecai struck again, aiming a forceful "Flipendo!" at the centre of his chest. This time Ron blocked it.

"Good," muttered the man. "You seem to know when to dodge and when to deflect. What spells do you know?"

"A few."

"Go on, give me one of your best."

Ron bit his lip. Then he waved his wand, and shot out a dark, shimmering spell at a decent speed. Mordecai deflected it easily (Ron felt some confidence shrivel, he wouldn't lie) and stared at him.

"What was that? I've never seen it before."

"Bat-Bogey hex," said Ron. "Common at Hogwarts, it's probably why you don't know it."

Mordecai frowned. "And... what does it do?"

"Makes bogies fly around after you. Like bats. My sister's really good at it."

"That's nice and all, but never cast that in a proper duel. The aurors would slap a pair of cuffs on you while you were casting your stupid bogey curse and that would be that."

"Hang on, cuffs? Couldn't I just break out of them since I'm stronger now?"

Mordecai shook his head. "There are some measures wizards have created against us, don't go thinking you're invincible. Although you are, sort of. Vampires are much faster, much stronger than humans. Your magic is stronger. Wilder, and sometimes that's a downside - but most of the time it's not. But you still fight like a human, Ron; that's why I'm beating you so easily. Chuck in a few non-verbal spells, a few wandless moves; trick your opponent into thinking you're going to do one thing and then do the absolute opposite, and you'll be winning.

"'Course, it's harder if you're fighting other vampires, but there are plenty that have no idea how to fight." Mordecai suddenly gnashed his sharp teeth. "They just use what's right in front of them. But you won't do that, will you, Ron? You'll be smarter than that."

"Wait, how much stronger am I? Can I like, punch through brick walls?"

Mordecai grimaced. "Maybe not smarter."

Ron was lost. "Could I or not?"

"Wouldn't advise it. You'd probably break your hand. But sure, go ahead. It'll heal again."

"Cool."

"Sure." Mordecai turned quickly. "Think fast!"

Mordecai waved his hand and shot a spell at him that fired a long, spear-like object right where his head would have been. Instead it embedded into a nearby tree, vibrating with tension. Ron had dodged it at the speed of light, he thought, and suddenly he knew what Mordecai meant. Heightened speed. Heightened strength. Heightened everything.

First, Mordecai thought it best to teach Ron how to perform a shield charm wandlessly. "Just so if you're occupied with offence, you know you can secure defence in a second," he said.

"What if I can't cast two spells at once?"

"I can," said Mordecai. "And I'll teach you."

He gave an example by shooting lightning out of one hand and fire out of the other.

"Fulmena!"

Ron leapt out of the way.

"Incendio!"

He didn't duck in time and his hair was singed. Ron stumbled back where he was promptly tripped by a third sneaky spell, and he lay collapsed on the forest floor.

"Is that the best you’ve got? You can't even block a measly few verbal elemental spells?"

"I'm sorry," said Ron. "I tried. Couldn't get it together in time."

"Well then, you need to learn, don't you?"

Mordecai drilled him again and again until he could at least pull up an ordinary shield charm in rapid time. After deflecting a dark-looking hex, Mordecai frowned at him. Suspiciously.

"I didn't know you could do that," he said.

"Do what?" asked Ron.

"You did that last shield non-verbally."

"Oh. Did I?"

How pleasantly surprising… and worrying. What else did this excess magic make him capable of?

As it turned out, the constant drilling did achieve something. By the time the night was drawing to an end, Ron had made some progress with his duelling, having learnt one or two new spells he could practise during this day. Mordecai leant against a tree to stare at him again.

"When do you go back to school?" he asked.

"September first. It's the same every year."

At this point it was well established Mordecai had never been to Hogwarts, but Ron wouldn't focus on it anymore. It apparently hadn't made much difference in his abilities.

"Right. So how long do we have?"

It was August, so, "A few weeks."

"When do your friends get here?"

Ron shrugged. Mordecai looked annoyed. "Well, can you find out?"

"No, because Dumbledore's picking up Harry and he'll just drop in whenever he feels like it."

"Albus Dumbledore?" That name at least got some recognition.

Ron nodded and glanced up at the sky, growing lighter by the second. "Can I leave now?"

"Wait a second. So we have a few weeks, but maybe not even that?" Mordecai grumbled irritably. "Not as much time as I'd have liked, but… I suppose a lot of it can be condensed. Then again, after your duelling's up to scratch we only need to go through Occlumency and then that's it." Ron did not know what would happen after this point.

Mordecai sighed and went on. "I'm not looking forward to training that. It’s not like people are going to search your mind unless you're on trial, and once you're up to that point you're fucked either way. I mean, it's not like you know any Legilimens…"

"My potions teacher," said Ron. "Severus Snape. Nasty bloke." He remembered another. "Oh, and Dumbledore."

"Oh dear."

"They're very experienced. Harry had to do some training last year, and he was a wreck afterwards."

"You can stop talking about it now. I think… The best thing to do is to give you very discreet barriers. Ones that, should one of those two take a peek inside your head-"

"Dumbledore might; he always does it at the start of term feasts, Harry said-"

"Shut up, Ron. I suppose that’s why I need to teach you basic Occlumency. So you can assure whoever's peeking in your head that you're nobody, that you pose no danger… it's why you were picked for this.”

Ron was a bit hurt, but he'd been underestimated all his life. It was nothing new.

Mordecai sent him away again with a promise to train him even harder the next night, what with their limited time here, and starting Occlumency training. Ron wasn't looking forward to it. He glanced at the front door of the Burrow, still shaded as the morning sun hadn't broached very far across the sky yet, and then glanced upwards.

This was the complication. His room was up rather high. But… Bill's wasn't. It was just up one sturdy drainpipe and across a flat roof. His parents' room was opposite Bill's, but that landing wasn't too creaky. It was downstairs you had to watch – it was downstairs which kept giving away his nightly comings and goings.

Feeling apprehensive and very much like the drainpipe might snap under his weight (he wasn't a dainty lad, as his mother often said, with lanky limbs and shoulders that looked stupidly wide compared to the rest of him), Ron grabbed on to the first rung where it was attached to the wall and began to climb.

It was surprisingly easy. Trust Bill to get the best fucking room. Ron cracked open the shutters and hefted up the window, slipping inside silently before he shut it again. Bill's room was empty, since he'd left a while ago.

Past his parents' room, up a flight of stairs, past Ginny's, and up a final flight of stairs before he made it to his room. It was only Percy on his level, and as kids they'd always gotten along well since Ron understood his brother's need for quiet in order to study. Unfortunately, his mother had started a small war by placing Fred and George below Percy, and never once made an attempt to fix it.

Ron collapsed into his bed, feeling bone-tired despite the impossibility of it all. He could swear he slept, that time.

The next morning, Ginny nudged Ron as he was spreading jam on his toast. The knife skittered out of his hand with a clang and Ron had to hurriedly wipe the jam off the table before Mum saw. He glared at Ginny, but she was speaking before he could even begin. "You didn't sneak out last night," she mused aloud.

Ron was surprised, but shrugged like he wasn't. "Oh, yeah. No, I didn't."

It seemed his plan had worked.

Evidently, Ginny had nothing more to say, so Ron made sure to take a bite of toast before he walked away. He vanished it as soon as he was out of sight.

Around lunchtime, it began to rain. It was another reminder of how August was quickly drawing on into September. Harry and Hermione would be here soon, Ron bet. Ron greeted a sodden Pigwidgeon at his bedroom window, looking most ruffled in the weather, and then whilst wandering past the living room, Ron's mum said something about more rain this week. Especially tonight.

That'd be fucking awful for duelling with Mordecai, Ron thought, but it was dry when he set out, once again shimmying out of the window of Bill's room and down the drainpipe. Ron was soon strolling down the hill again. As he neared the darkened trees, it began to spit. Ron was soon blinking through his sodden fringe, wiping it out of the way only to have it fall straight back into his face.

Mordecai also looked aggravated by it (he also looked like a drowned rat), but soon got over it by hurling spells at Ron.

At first, Ron only blinked at the oncoming spells, and after he realised that would do nothing, he yanked up a hasty shield spell to deflect one and dodged the other two. He could identify one as a stunner but the other two were mysteries to him. Ron tried to think quickly (Mordecai hated it when he was slow), and yelled, "Incarcerous!"

The strange lasso thing that shot out of his wand was good to whip across the face of his foe, but after that it sort of just hung limply as Ron tried to remember what had gone wrong.

In the meantime, Mordecai was fairly incensed by the fact he'd been hit across the face, and cast another hex at Ron - at his wand hand specifically. A dirty trick. The hex stripped the skin off his fingers and he dropped his wand with a pained yelp, feeling tears sting at his eyes.

Merlin, Mordecai hadn't even had to cast a disarming charm to get his weapon. Again.

Ron cradled his hand to his chest and forgot all about the duel; his stripped fingers were stinging furiously, so badly he couldn't move them. Blood dribbled down his wrist and Ron gave a pained gasp at the sight. Mordecai was watching him boredly, twirling his wand about. He'd picked Ron's wand up off the floor. The lasso detached from Ron's wand and slithered away into the undergrowth like some kind of snake.

"Oh, stop being a baby," Mordecai called out. "It'll heal in a few minutes. You were doing well up until that strange… spell."

Ron didn't answer, feeling like his hand was on fire.

"For God's sake. Episkey." The skin knitted together lightning-fast, but still Ron was in agony. "Oh, come on - get up!"

Ron was dragged to his feet again, and Mordecai stared into his eyes.

"Duelling is over for tonight," he announced, surprisingly. "Since you're so shit. We'll begin Occlumency instead to give you a chance to calm down."

Mordecai walked away. Ron stared at his hand, still lathered in blood and the skin pink where it was freshly healed. "How are you going to teach me?" he asked.

"The same way I'm teaching you to duel. I'll attack you again and again until you can put up a passable barrier against it. Now - the incantation for Legilimency is 'Legilimens', which might give you some warning when someone is trying to break into your mind."

"I know that," said Ron. "And I know that Legilimency is mind-reading and Occlumency is protecting your mind."

"Don't get smart with me, Weasley. Now. Guess who, due to their amplified magic, will have a much easier time learning the mind arts?"

"Vampires and werewolves?" guessed Ron.

"Correct. So I expect great things." Mordecai shut his eyes and took a step back, rubbing his hands together. "For this first go, I want you to just… feel. Everything. The sensations, focus on them. They'll be your warning signs next time. Alright, I'm not the best at this, but… Legilimens!"

Ron felt, first of all, a sort of prodding in his eyes. By the next blink, that pain had sliced into his head and exploded, and the layers of his mind were peeling back.

He saw his family. Fred holding a frog, half the age he was now. Ron remembered his eighth birthday party and then he was in the Chamber of Secrets, stood shivering beside a demented Lockhart babbling away to himself. Malfoy was leading a symphony of Slytherins in a rousing verse of 'Weasley is our King' while Ron hovered on his broomstick nearby, feeling sick with defeat and humiliation.

Ron was in Grimmauld Place, tucking into Christmas dinner. Sirius was there, tired-looking, but he and Harry were talking fervently.

Finally the onslaught paused, and Ron was left frozen as he tried to piece his torn memories back together.

"Could- could you be more careful?" he asked, wincing. His head still radiated with pain.

Mordecai grimaced, clutching at his own head with one grubby hand. "This isn't any fun for me either, but no. If someone is attacking your mind they won't be gentle. Besides, I'm a bit rubbish at this; I'm only here to give you a crash course… That, Ron, is what it feels like for someone to break into your mind. You need to learn how to force them out."

"Force them out?" he said weakly. "How the bloody hell am I supposed to do that?"

"You'll learn. We all do. Now get up, we need to go again."

Ron had barely noticed he'd fallen, but he obeyed. And so they went again.

The pain of having someone dig through your mind, rustling private memories and thoughts Ron himself had forgotten was excruciating at times. Ron could now appreciate how Harry had been feeling all last year when Snape was doing this to him; and Harry didn't have super healing magicky stuff to rid him of the accompanying headaches. How he had managed to do his OWLs, Ron didn't know.

Endless times, Mordecai invaded his mind. He may as well have just stabbed him brutally in the eyes with daggers. Ron felt him rootling around inside, impatiently tugging out memories and observing them for only a moment before reaching for the next set. Mordecai showed particular attention to the battle last year, the difficulties he, Harry and Hermione faced reaching the Philosopher's Stone back in first year, and the mystery around the Chamber of Secrets in his second year.

Ron gasped, feeling like he’d just emerged from a pool of cold water as Mordecai extricated himself from his thoughts. Agitated, he gasped, "Why'd you keep looking at all that stuff?"

Mordecai shrugged. "It's exciting."

"And it's not like I can stop you, I suppose..."

"That's the entire point of this exercise," said Mordecai. "If you only want me to watch ordinary things, force me to."

"How though? What am I supposed to do? It seems impossible to fight back."

"The first step is visualising the presence in your mind. It's impossible to kick out a phantom, so give it shape. Just something you can focus on. Your mind is your palace. You can warp it into anything you like. Put yourself in a familiar memory... somewhere you know you can win. And put me in a position where I will lose."

Ron frowned, and began to think.

"Ready to go again?" Mordecai asked.

Ron nodded.

A second went by where they were just standing looking at each other, before Ron felt his mind splintering again. Between the crevices and cracks Mordecai burrowed, sorting through the scattered memories inside the brain of someone with no prior training in the arts of the mind... until he wasn't, tugged away by an unseen force.

Mordecai suddenly felt ground beneath his feet, wind tousling his hair. When he drew in a breath, he could smell grass. The earthy scent clung to his nose like glue, and Mordecai twitched irritably. He frowned as there was a shout from the crowd, and a loud clanging bell from up above.

Towering stands cast dark shadows across the pitch, the sun winking in the distance, and above it all was Ron, sitting confidently on a broomstick. He was dressed in some sort of garish red and gold kit.

n a moment of sheer predictability, Ron Weasley's mind palace looked like a Quidditch pitch. Right now Gryffindor was winning up against Hufflepuff, and Will Bradley, a Hufflepuff Chaser, was rushing towards goal with the Quaffle looking particularly motivated. It was a dangerous moment: if he scored, the season might be over for Gryffindor.

But Ron Weasley, the new Keeper for Gryffindor quickly proving his mettle swept out to meet him, and bashed the Quaffle out of Bradley's hands. He passed out wide to Angelina, and the crowd exploded again. Having changed the lyrics to something far more favourable, Dean and Seamus were conducting a rendition of 'Weasley is our King', and Ron was beaming.

He caught a glimpse of Mordecai standing below, confused by the entire thing, and his mood soured. Sitting here, he could pretend that everything was still normal, and he was okay. But Mordecai opened his mouth and stretched out his hand and the pitch came to a standstill. Ron saw a spell lurching towards him and rolled over tightly.

Mordecai strode forwards, sending off more spells like lightning. Ron dove downwards on his broom, reciprocating the best he could without falling off, and when his feet touched the ground he discarded it.

"Stupefy!"

Mordecai batted it aside, and Ron knew what he would say. Don't let your enemy know your plans. So he tried again, hearing the words in his head and letting that ignite a spell instead.

Ron waved his wand quickly, striking into the air a fizzing blue spell which knocked the wind out of Mordecai. He was frozen for a moment, hands clutching his chest, eyes wide. Impedimenta was a bloody beautiful spell sometimes.

Ron hit him again, this time using an audible hex for maximum effect and they were suddenly tumbling back onto the grass.

Mordecai almost looked confused. Ron walked over him and offered a hand; the monster took it, and was standing again beside him.

"Haven't you ever seen the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch before?" Ron asked.

Mordecai paused. "I… No. I've seen a Quidditch pitch in person."

"You're missing out, then. Quidditch is brilliant."

Mordecai wore an awkward expression. "I lived in the Muggle world until I was eleven, and after that I stayed in one house. I've never played Quidditch."

There was silence for a moment, and then Mordecai stepped back. "That was good," he said. "You're finally using non-verbal magic, and while I'd encourage you to use wandless, too, you can certainly get on without it. And you managed to force me out. I could've just summoned the broom and watched you fall on your arse and lose, but..." Mordecai shrugged helplessly. "I was feeling kind.

"The only thing I would say is that if... I don't know, Dumbledore or that potions teacher breaks in, they won't expect to be forced out. They won't even expect to be noticed. In that case you can't force them out and reveal you have training. You just have to trap them inside a memory like that one. Once it’s played through, select another, and just keep going until they see that everything is fine, get bored and leave."

"Really? But that's... easy."

"It is now you've forced someone out, which is a much harder thing to do. Well done." Mordecai glanced up at the sky. "I believe that's all for tonight."

Ron stared up. Pale blue light was meandering across the sky as the sun rose, and the rain had started again. It turned into a torrent as he rose up the hill to the Burrow, but things were still better than the night before.

Chapter Text

Chapter Five

Ron hadn't been doing much when they arrived. Lying on his bed, contemplating his existence; going through spells and Occlumency methods in his head. The afternoon was sunny, and quiet since the rain had finally stopped - until there was a sudden shout from downstairs. Ron ignored it and turned over in his bed, but something caught his attention: a shard of noise that lodged in his brain.

"Ron! Wake up! They're here!"

He rolled out of bed and half tripped to the landing. "What?" he called down loudly.

His mother turned and shook her head at him. "Oh, so now you decide to turn up after I've called you six times-"

"Mum, you're like three floors away, how could I have heard you from all the way up here? Who's here, anyway?"

Was it Harry or Hermione? Merlin, he hoped so. Ron practically ran downstairs to the ground floor.

"Ronald!" cried a blonde woman emphatically, with a thick French accent that gave Ron pause. "It is so good to see you!"

With a jolt he realised who was standing in his hallway. Fleur Delacour, beaming beside his brother Bill, their suitcases stacked behind them. She looked more or less the same as she had two years ago at the Triwizard Tournament - except her hair was longer, maybe.

"Hello, Fleur," he greeted her cautiously. "What are you doing here?"

Ron's mother shot him a strained smile. "Look who your brother brought home, dear - his fiancée, apparently" - Ron noticed the shiny ring sat on her left hand, which was now rather hard to miss since Fleur was waving her hand around a lot - "with absolutely no warning for his poor family!"

Bill looped an arm around her waist and smiled sheepishly. "Sorry Mum, but I didn't want to tell you over letter."

Ron could still feel himself frowning in confusion, and noticed everyone was waiting for his reaction. "Oh, er, right." He gave a small smile. "Very nice. When's the wedding?"

Fleur beamed even brighter, showing off her pearly-white teeth. "We were thinking next summer, yes, Bill?"

Ron's second eldest brother nodded, still grinning ruggedly. Ron glanced between the pair bemusedly, and then at Ginny, who was scowling at Fleur. Ginny exchanged a look with him, a sort of, 'can you believe this?' and Ron raised his eyebrows to agree with her. This was certainly unexpected.

Fleur suddenly strode forwards, kissing Ron's mother across each cheek in greeting before she could even protest. "Thank you for allowing me to stay." Fleur turned back to Bill. "Can you show me around, my love?"

She linked hands with Bill again before they walked further inside the house.

"Come with me," Ginny muttered to Ron before ducking into the living room.

Ron followed her, shutting the door behind himself. Ginny began immediately.

"I don't know what Bill was thinking, he can't be in his right mind. Maybe he's not - you know what she is, maybe she bewitched him, and tricked him into marrying her..." Ginny continued muttering to herself, Ron staring at her. She turned on him. "What? Don't you agree?"

This was why he had not told his sister he was a vampire yet. "Ginny, just because she's a veela..."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. But it's just so unexpected. Harry's going to be so shocked when he gets here... and- and Hermione too, I meant."

"Shit. I've only just thought," said Ron. "Bill's back. Can't use his room to sneak out anymore."

"What? You've still been sneaking out?"

They were interrupted by raised voices outside. "What's that?" said Ron.

"Not sure. Let's go and ask. They've had long enough to 'observe zee 'ouse', as Phlegm would say." Ron did not approve of the nickname, but Ginny said (having brightened considerably), "Oh, that's not half bad!"

The shouting only grew louder the closer they got.

"-you could've at least warned me ahead of time, Bill! This- are you sure? Really, is this what you want?"

"Mum, I know what I want," Bill replied. His hair was still long, and he'd retained his tan from Egypt. "Fleur is just right for me, I know it-"

Molly protested tiredly, "But she's... Well, you know, she's a-"

"She's what, Mum?" There was a dangerous glint in his brother's eye, a warning not to go any further. Ron's mum took it and remained silent. But if anything that was worse. Bill looked to his father. "Dad, what do you think?"

This was quite a tight spot to be put in. "I think it's whatever makes you happy, Bill," said Arthur, and beside him his wife's jaw tightened. "I think we should give Fleur a chance, Molly. You know my mother didn't like you at the start."

"Yes, but... she liked me in the end. I just don't know whether Fleur's that sort-"

"Look, can we stay here or not?" asked Bill. "I need to know whether or not I need to book a room at a hotel-"

"Hotel?" scoffed Ron's mother. "Don't be ridiculous, Bill. You can stay."

"But can we both?"

There was silence.

Bill remained obstinate. "Either we both stay, or we both go. I won't leave her, mum."

Molly was torn, face screwed up in indecision and clear pain. But eventually, she relented. "I suppose so. Yes, you can both stay."

Fleur appeared in the doorway behind Ron, and he moved to let her pass. "Is it really okay?" she asked Bill's parents. "I wouldn't want to intrude." It seemed her joyous mood had dampened from earlier, and, well, it made Ron a bit sad, even if Ginny appeared unmoved.

Ron cleared his throat. "I think it's fine," he announced, and Bill smiled at him in grateful surprise. Ron shrugged. "It's not like we don't have room."

Molly's expression had softened. "Of course not, Ron. But... will you be alright, with more people in the house again?"

Ron froze. He hadn't thought she'd bring it up, not in front of Bill and - Merlin's beard - Fleur Delacour. Bill picked up on the odd remark. "Why wouldn't he be alright? Has something happened?"

"Ron's been ill, recently-"

"No I haven't," said Ron through gritted teeth. "I just had an argument with Hermione, I told you it's all fine now."

"You still look a bit shit," Ginny added from behind him, and it didn't help him in the slightest.

Mum looked like she was going to tell her off for the language in front of a guest, but then Bill said, staring at Ron, "I did think that."

Then everyone was staring at him. Ron didn't think he'd ever been so uncomfortable in all his life.

"I think we'd best sort out the rooms now," said his dad, changing the subject (thank Merlin).

Bill shook his head. "No need to make a fuss, we can just use my old room."

Ron scowled. Definitely no sneaking out using Bill's room anymore.

"The... both of you?" said Molly.

"Yes, Mum. We'll share a room," replied Bill.

"Before the wedding?"

"Before the wedding. Yes."

She sniffed. "Alright then. I'll go and make it up now."

Dinner that night was one of the most awkward things Ron had ever had to suffer through.

When his mum's shout rang through the floorboards that tea was ready, Ron ducked into a bathroom to check his transfiguration charm, not wanting his eyes going red at dinner. What a way to blow his cover that would be. Ron was fairly sure that Fleur didn't know, since she'd given no indication, but how much longer would that last? Could a veela tell just by looking at him what he was?

Ron stared at himself in the mirror. He did look pale. Sickly. The lines of his jaw and cheeks stood out more than usual, and beneath his eyes was purple. Merlin, he looked like he had spattergroit-

The door opened, interrupting his dour musings and it was Bill. "Alright?" he said as he moved past, reaching to place his toothbrush by the sink. "Just unpacking before dinner. But I'm finished now. Want to go down together?"

Ron nodded, not missing the glance Bill shot him out of the corner of his eye. They left the bathroom and began down the stairs.

"So, how've you been?" asked his brother.

"Fine. Don't listen to what mum said before, it was nothing. How was London, anyway?"

"Good. Great, even. I met Fleur there - she was doing some work for Gringotts because she wanted to improve her English." He sighed. "But other than that it was boring. I hate desk duty, but Mad-Eye made me stay in England so I would be around to help the Order."

"How long've you and Fleur been seeing each other?"

"I'm interested in that myself," said Ginny, Bill and Ron having met their sister also coming downstairs. Ginny raised her eyebrows. "So? How long?"

"Don't sound so suspicious, Ginny; Fleur's not bad-"

"I don't know her."

"Well, I do and I-"

"Stop arguing," Ron interrupted. "Look, Ginny - Fleur has to be a good sort if the Triwizard cup picked her. And isn't that impressive, that she's a Triwizard champion?"

Bill made a noise. "I wouldn't talk about that around her, actually. She's still a bit sensitive about coming last-"

"It was not my fault," said Fleur sharply. She was already sat at the table. "The tournament was... What do you say? It was rigged. Voldemort wanted to meet Harry Potter and no matter what I did I would have lost. I am just glad I am not dead. Maybe it is good I did not come second."

"You're right, Fleur," said Ron's dad. He was sitting at the table already, and talked as they picked their seats at the table. "It was a terrible business, the Triwizard tournament. It should've never happened."

Ron's mum nodded. "That we can all agree on. Fleur, dear - have you ever had a Sunday roast?"

The pressure was on with more people at the table. Ron tried all the tricks in the book: chopping his food into smaller bits, vanishing pieces (now non-verbally, although he still had to use his wand under the table) and then eating some where he could. The meat wasn't too bad, if he swallowed a lot of water with it. Ron managed to stash two entire roasties into his pocket and was feeling quite proud. But still there came a time when everyone else was finished, and Ron's plate was still half full.

The difference felt glaring.

But then his dad got up to start clearing the table and everyone else helped, and as dessert was set out it was forgotten. Ron managed to stomach some jelly, and it was okay. A conversation was struck up and things became tense again - but not for Ron.

Molly nursed a cup of tea, darkness falling outside. They always dined late in the summer and by now the air was hot and sticky. "I suppose I always knew something like this would happen," she said. "With your hair and that... dagger earring, and your love of dangerous things, you were always bound to attract that type of girl, Bill."

Before anyone else could say something, Ron's dad did. "Molly dear, shall we go to bed? Dinner's done and there's nothing else to do. And I won't let you sit here and embarrass yourself."

"I only wanted a warning, Bill. Why couldn't you tell me? I'm your mother. You must've been courting for months. How long?"

"Just over a year," said Bill, and even Ron was surprised. But Bill doubled down. "I didn't tell you because I was worried about what you'd think. And as long as we'd only been going out a few months I didn't think it mattered. But then our relationship passed the one year mark, and I realised I had to say something."

"But you don't have to get married," said Molly, half desperately. "For goodness' sake, Bill, you're only twenty-two. And Fleur, you can't be more than twenty yourself. You need to be sure about these things."

"Mum, no offence, but you married dad a month after graduating Hogwarts-"

"And I wish I'd waited! I want you to get married for love, Bill, not because you're afraid you'll get blown up before you can have a proper wedding! It's not that I don't love your father, or that I didn't then, but don't just rush into things because of the war. Marriage isn't- it isn't everything. Someone can still matter to you without you having to marry them."

"But I want to, Mum," said Bill. "We both want to get married, so why shouldn't we?"

Molly stared at Bill. It seemed she was at a loss. And then she moved to wrap him into a tight hug; Bill allowed it, looking very shaken.

"Oh Bill," she said fondly. "I'm- I'm sorry about what I said before, but it's just hard to adjust... my little boy, all grown up. But if you're sure, I suppose there's not much I can do."

Bill nodded. "I am." Behind him Fleur looked incredibly happy.

Ron's parents left, murmuring quietly to themselves. Ron stared after them wondering if he would ever get married. Would it be to another vampire? He couldn't still marry a human, could he?

Ginny thunked her head against the table. "I'm so bored," came her muffled voice. "Can we look at what mum's got in the wine cupboard? Or I know dad got that whiskey last Christmas that he still hasn't opened."

Fleur sighed. "I was going to ask. I missed the cheese course too. You English are so strange."

"I gather you weren't a fan of the roast?" said Bill.

"No, it was fine." She made a noise of discontent. "But why was the beef so chewy? It tasted like it had been boiled. Like carpet."

Ron couldn't help the laugh that burst from him. "Don't say that around Mum, she'll get very offended. Even though you're right, I couldn't bloody well cut it."

"Is that why you didn't eat any of it?" asked Bill. "And were the potatoes too tough as well? Is that why you've stashed them in your pockets?"

Ron said nothing.

"Do you have something to eat when you sneak out to see Hermione?" asked Ginny, and Ron decided he hated her. Just a bit. "He normally does this, Bill."

"Oh my goodness," said Fleur. "Hermione Granger?"

"You've been sneaking out to see her?" Bill suddenly cheered - but quietly. "I see you finally got it together and asked her out."

"No, no, Ginny is lying, I just go for walks. And they happen to be at night. Alone."

"But he did ask her out and got rejected," said Ginny. "It's why he's so sad and won't eat. Lovesick, aren't you, Ronniekins?"

"Shut up, Ginny-"

"I see we missed a lot here," said Bill. He looked happy to finally be catching up. "And, Ginny, I assume you don't mind me and Fleur getting married?"

"I'm just surprised you found someone who'll put up with you. Fleur, do you know he used to eat dirt when he was younger?"

That night, Ron decided to try something else. He couldn't ask to use Bill's room to escape the Burrow - half because he feared what he and Fleur might be doing during the late hours of the night - so he knocked on Ginny's door.

She opened it immediately. Had she been expecting him? "You can use my room to sneak out," she said. "There's a trellis right under my window that you can climb down."

Ron frowned, something stirring in his memory. "I swear you were the one who planted that."

"Thirteen-year-old me thought ahead."

Ron didn't ask any more questions and scaled the trellis easily, using thick ropes of ivy and the wooden things they grew around to make his way down. The wind whistled past him dangerously, but he made it on top of his dad's shed safely. From there it was just a short jump. Ron glanced back and suddenly, the arrangement of the bins next to his dad's shed didn't seem so haphazard. He wondered what the hell Ginny did on the nights she snuck out.

Ron dreaded to imagine what Mordecai would say about the latest occurrences. He decided to get to it as soon as he arrived, and saw Mordecai stood with his arms crossed against a tree, waiting.

"There's a problem."

"What is it?"

"My brother Bill came home today."

"Well... it shouldn't be too hard to fool him too, should it?"

"He brought someone with him."

"That blonde girl?" Ron nodded, and Mordecai shrugged. "Well, you don't need to worry about her - she'll be even easier to fool since she doesn't know you. Ron, I don't really see what the problem is-"

"She's a veela."

"Veela? I'm guessing only part, since she didn't look like a giant bird." Now, Mordecai looked alarmed. "Christ, has she said anything yet? Were you discovered?"

"Why? Can veela tell too?"

"Not like full-blooded veela, but I'm told the part-blooded can sometimes have an inkling."

Ron gulped, realising he was in deep shit. Even deeper shit than usual.

"Has she given any indication that she knows yet?" asked Mordecai.

"No." Ron hesitated. "At least, I don't think so."

"Then maybe you're safe," said Mordecai. "Look, it's just a few weeks until the end of summer; then you won't have to see her anymore."

"What then?" asked Ron desperately. He hadn't really thought about this. "What do I do then? For blood and all the rest of it once I'm back at Hogwarts?"

"Calm down, Ron. You're not thinking straight. There is no and the rest of it. We've been duelling and practising Occlumency, but that's only for emergencies. All you'll need to do on a daily basis is three things: wear your ring, keep up the transfiguration, and drink blood once a week. You've been doing those already, so Hogwarts won't be any harder than life is right now."

"How will I get the blood though?" asked Ron. "Do you want me to eat people at Hogwarts? I won't do that, I refuse-"

"I was told that you know a secret passageway out of Hogwarts, so when you need to get food you'll use that to get to the nearby village, and drink from someone there."

"I can't do that," Ron protested. "They're all wizards in Hogsmeade, they'll hex me before I can get close!"

"Well, I don't have an alternative option for you," replied Mordecai, and suddenly he didn't look so scary anymore. It had been a slow thing, peeling back the grungy layers, but Ron had noticed how young he really looked. How little he seemed to know. Mordecai was a vampire, but so was Ron. And Ron was still sixteen. He'd wondered whether Mordecai was a similar age, honestly; and whether or not the Death Eaters had manipulated him, since there had been no mention of a money reward for turning Ron into a vampire and training him.

Freedom was the only thing Mordecai said he was doing this for. Ron had puzzled over what exactly that meant for many nights.

"What if you waited outside the entrance of the passage?" suggested Ron. "I sneak out, you apparate me somewhere, and I do something similar to what I did before to that girl."

"Was that alright, by the way? Didn't feel too guilty about it?"

"No," said Ron. "I didn't really hurt her, did I? She was fine afterwards."

Mordecai looked aggrieved. "Be ready for the day you accidentally kill someone - it will come. You'll drink too much and they'll just be gone, just like that-"

"That's why you need to be there," said Ron quickly, desperately. "To stop me killing someone by accident. You can't leave me - I mean, where would you go? Where are you living right now? Somewhere round here, right?"

Along with looking young, Mordecai wasn't terribly clean; his filthy clothing hung off his spindly frame like he'd been malnourished at some point, and his long hair was thick with grime, a twig here and there. Ron was fairly sure he lived in this forest during the day or somewhere similar. So it wasn't like he had a bed or a shower, or a change of clothes.

Did he have parents?

Mordecai was uncertain. "Look, Ron-"

"How old are you?" asked Ron.

He was taken by surprise but answered, shockingly. "Don't be fooled by my appearance. I wasn't much older than you when I was turned, but that was a long time ago. You're not allowed to know when. You're not supposed to know anything about me, actually. This is just a job, and it's only supposed to last a few weeks. Most of it, anyway.

"Your transfiguration is practically flawless, your duelling's decent enough, and I'll test your Occlumency again tonight. But I'm sure that'll be fine too. After that we'll duel until your friends turn up, and then I'll be gone for good. At least until I'm needed again."

Ron stared. "What? You're- you're leaving?"

"You're going to get blood tonight, and I'm going to make you do it on your own this time. There are some houses about forty minutes' walk from here so you should be back before the end of the night."

"Hang on - by friends you mean Harry and Hermione, right?"

Mordecai looked very much like he'd like to leave. "Yes," he said. "It's too much of a risk, I've decided. You'll get caught one night sneaking out. But for now, as I just said, you need to get blood-"

"What did you mean when you said I won't see you again until you're needed? What does that mean?"

"I don't know, exactly. My final instructions are to..." He shook his head. "I won't tell you. But for now, you just need to focus on getting blood."

"How will I... please help me," Ron begged. "Just for tonight. Walk next to me and... I don't know, show me how to actually do it." He felt helpless.

Mordecai actually looked a bit sorry as he replied, "I can't. Just keep walking that way and find someone to drink from. Break into someone's house if there's no one walking around. You would have had to do it on your own eventually, don't look so betrayed."

Ron stared at him. "What?"

But Mordecai had vanished. Bloody coward. He was probably afraid that if they talked too much, Mordecai might reveal something else. Like what the hell the Death Eaters had in store for him.

"Lumos," whispered Ron, and he breathed a sigh of relief as the terrain around him was lit up. It probably wasn't very bright of him to be using magic in a Muggle area, but Ron was very frightened of what might lurk in the shadows. Yes, he knew how much of a joke that was.

As much as he hated this, it was about time for him to eat again. Ron was growing peckish in a way he knew would turn extreme by tomorrow morning if he didn't do anything about it, and he knew what he had to do: find someone, stun them, bite their neck. Ron felt that there was a lot that could go wrong, however.

Ron tried not to think about it and just walked. Ten minutes turned into twenty, turned into thirty; and all the while the shadowy branches crossing above his head grew less and less familiar. He had to step over a stream and passed one lonely road, abandoned at this time of night. Ron didn't think he had ever been so far from home and although he had his wand he felt very unprotected.

He thought about the fact that if he'd still been human he would have been tucked up in a comfortable bed, waiting for his friends to arrive in the morning, utterly unaware of how horrible the wilds of Ottery St Catchpole looked at about two in the morning.

The place Mordecai had sent him to looked like some sort of park, with a house or two adjoining. Ron spied a lone figure meandering around the side of the park, the smoke occasionally blowing from their drawn-up hood indicating what they'd nipped out for. Wordlessly, Ron mouthed: "Stupefy," and the figure slumped to the ground.

He didn't pause to assess much about them; he only looked around once before he sunk his teeth into the stranger's neck. While the red flowed, exorbitant as wine at a dinner party, Ron's life had never been happier. The bliss was better than anything - anything - he'd ever experienced... and Ron drank deeper. He fell deeper.

A thought began to call in the back of his mind, don't you think you've had enough now?

Ron only paused for a fraction of a second to tell it to shut up. The person below him gave a weak groan, but he couldn't hear it, the pure euphoria plugging his ears.

The voice called again. Louder, this time.

Don't you think you've taken enough?

This time, Ron wasn't quick enough to shut it down and it swelled, the shouts ringing through his head until he was pulling himself away with a broken sob, not wanting the pleasure to end. He'd been hungry for so long, never knowing true contentment... It couldn't be expected of him to stop now, but if he...

If he kept going, he'd kill them. The stranger's heartbeat was faint. Ron saw himself as Mordecai, all of a sudden, and hurriedly pushed himself away. Blood was still spurting forth invitingly and though it nearly killed him, Ron muttered, "Vulnera Sanentur," and the bite was healed. His feast was over.

After he cast a Scourgify to sponge up the blood on the stranger's neck and the pavement, Ron left them, their cigarette still smoking on the ground where they'd dropped it.

As he began the walk back home Ron licked the blood off his palms, tongue tracing around the pads of his fingers for any spare drop of that sweet red. He felt no guilt whatsoever. He wasn't capable, heart brimming with joy.

Ron was able to grin as he returned to Mordecai later. It seemed that he'd swayed home, drunk. "Things went fine," he said.

"You're covered in blood," Mordecai replied. "Change as soon as you get in so you don't give yourself away."

Ron promised to.

His mind was broken into as easily as his fangs had ripped into that stranger's skin, and this time it was easy to play the Quidditch match; to steady himself as Will Bradley came tearing up the pitch once again, Quaffle held tight between his palms.

Ron moved to block it and felt an absence in his lungs, his heart. Mordecai told him to always try and inhale, exhale, just like he used to, but it wasn't an automatic process anymore. He had a spell for a heartbeat too but the ticking in his chest annoyed him. It all required effort... and Ron was in no mood to try.

"Very good, Ron," said Mordecai. "You did absolutely nothing, just like I told you-"

"If I drink a drunk Muggle's blood, do I get drunk myself?" asked Ron. Mordecai paused. Ron snorted. "Drink a drunk. Drunk a drink. Sounds funny, dunnit?"

"You can get that effect sometimes if you drink a lot of blood. Did you kill them?"

"No," said Ron. "I made sure not to. Vulnera Sanentur!" The spell shot out of his hand and spun away into the darkness, and Mordecai stared at him strangely.

"Wandless," he said curiously. "Your very first wandless spell."

"Who are you really, Mordecai?" asked Ron, and he was banished back to the Burrow soon after that.

After blinking dazedly at Ginny's window and deciding it was way too high to climb, Ron decided to use the front door. He still felt very strange, all wobbly and happy and yet uncertain of himself. It was like something was shifting within. Because Ron had been Mordecai back in that park, attacking that Muggle. Should he still be afraid? Of himself or of Mordecai?

Ron began to climb the stairs and he didn't notice that there was a light on in Percy's room (opposite his) until he'd drawn level with it.

Inside at Percy's desk sat Fleur. She looked tired and yet wide awake, silvery-blue eyes piercing and focused. She had her dressing gown tightly knotted at the waist. Ron swallowed, knowing his fate, knowing what she'd come here to talk about.

Very quietly, he shut Percy's door and sat down on the bed opposite her. Ron remembered the night Percy had left, storming out with suitcases in each hand. It was a suitable backdrop for this dooming conversation.

"It took me a moment to realise after I arrived," said Fleur. "I knew there was something wrong with you, but I could not figure out what. I think it was when you forgot you had to breathe that I knew my instincts had been right."

"I did wonder if you'd figure it out."

"My veela heritage is not so distant."

Ron nodded slowly. Then he asked, "Does Bill know?"

Fleur's eyes flicked down to his outfit, inevitably catching on the blood, and her tone thinned. "Where did you go tonight?"

"Have a guess," Ron invited her. "Go on."

"Tonight, did you- did you feast on a human? I assume that's where you were," Fleur spat. "Because you are a vamp-"

"Have you put up a silencing charm?" Ron broke in, trembling. "Just before we go throwing around all these words-"

"Yes," she hissed. "Of course I have. You are a vampire, aren't you?"

"It's true," he gasped. "I am. Were you hoping you'd been wrong?"

Fleur looked sick. "You saved my sister Gabrielle from drowning two years ago. Where did things go so wrong?"

"I didn't exactly ask for it, you know. I didn't want it." His voice rang with the sense of inescapable gloom consuming him again. He'd been so happy tonight, if only because of the blood.

"What happened, Ron?" she asked, and Ron couldn't stop himself.

He told her everything.

"This- this was a success, actually. I drank blood from a stranger I found when I was out walking, and they're still alive. I healed them, and they're fine. Probably still knocked out from the blood loss, but... fine. I've never killed anyone," added Ron. "Yet, I mean. I probably will. Just by accident, when I can't... help it."

Fleur looked less disgusted and more so alarmed, Ron was glad to see. It would probably be better if the opposite were true, but sometimes you didn't want what was best for you.

"You asked me if Bill knew. Does he really not know what happened? Does anybody?"

"No one knows but you, me, and the vampire who turned me. My sire, I s'pose. I don't really know how I've kept it a secret, I'll be honest."

"You said it has been a few weeks and nobody has realised?" She seemed devastated.

Ron nodded.

Fleur had one question, and then another, and then ten, twenty more, and soon the sun was rising and they were still talking. Ron was exhausted but it was easy to force his voice to keep going; in the time between that first monumental night and now, his throat had unstuck, and he found he could now talk about it.

When the sun rose past Percy's window, Fleur turned off the light beside her and then clasped her hands in her lap, and it shocked Ron just how attentive she still was. He didn't think he'd ever had so much attention paid to him in his life.

"This Mordecai, he said he would leave when Harry and Hermione got here?"

"Yeah. Or before that... Mordecai's not one for keeping his word. He wouldn't stay because I still need help."

"You want his help?"

"Of course I do. He's the only other blooming vampire I know."

"But if you told your family, couldn't they find someone to help you? Maybe Remus, in the Order? He is a werewolf."

"I wouldn't want to tell the Order - they hate vampires. And did you ever notice Remus is the only werewolf there? If he weren't friends with Harry's parents, he'd never have been invited in the first place. I'll definitely never have a place there. And I'd never get that far, anyway. Mordecai said he would send a letter straight to the Ministry if I told anyone." Ron shivered. "He has eyes everywhere."

"Are you sure he does?" Fleur pursed her lips. "Wouldn't telling the Ministry ruin the plan the Death Eaters have for you?"

"I suppose I don't know if he's lying or not, but I don't want to test him. He'll win, Mordecai always wins." Ron shut his eyes at the memory of the broken bones, bloody wounds and grisly injuries he'd sustained trying to fight against that fact.

"Ron, you have to tell them at some poi-"

The door opened, suddenly, and there stood Ginny with Bill looking over her shoulder. Both were in dressing gowns wearing similarly confused expressions, but Ginny's cleared when she saw them. "I said I heard voices," she told Bill.

"What on earth are you two doing in here?" said Bill. "It's five in the morning! I turned over and you were gone, Fleur-"

Ginny shushed him. "Unless you want Mum here too, be quiet."

"I caught Ron sneaking back in when I got up for some water," said Fleur. "I asked him how Harry was and the rest of his friends, and we started talking. I didn't realise it had been so long."

"Oh." Bill smiled, looking quite happy, now. "Well it's good you're getting along. What were you talking about before we interrupted?"

Both of them paused. Ron opened his mouth, and Ginny suddenly gasped. "Ron," she exclaimed, "what the hell happened to your t-shirt? Why's it all covered in..."

"Nosebleed," he said quickly. "I cleaned it off my face but forgot to change my top. It's not so bad."

Ginny eyed him strangely, but the excuse seemed to work.

Fleur began to talk about her work at Gringotts and Ginny asked something about runes, and then the conversation was proceeding again quite normally. Ron faked a sneeze under which he secretly reapplied his transfiguration spells, paranoid that they'd fallen, and Fleur's knowing gaze was almost too heavy to bear when he straightened back up again, wand tucked back into his waistband.

The meeting came to an end when Dad came creeping up the stairs, pyjamas tatty and what hair he had left sticking up in all directions. Everyone jumped up at the sight of him.

"Calm down," he whispered. "Just came to ask if you all wanted breakfast, seeing as we're all up, and- Ron, what happened to you?"

"Nosebleed, I'm fine. I'll go and change now, and... I might sleep a bit before breakfast, I think."

"Okay. Are you sure you don't want anything to eat?"

"I'm still full from last night's dinner."

"Oh, yes, he did eat a lot after you left, Dad," said Ginny, who nodded at him like she knew something, and Bill too had a furtive look in his eye. Ron realised the two of them thought he'd snuck out to see Hermione for some forbidden late-night picnic, and although it was all codswallop he was glad his siblings were coming up with excuses for him.

As he stood in front of the bathroom mirror, his thoughts raced. Ron's palms could hardly grip the sink, shaking with fear, and he could hardly stand for his knocking knees. He was forced to sink down to the floor. He'd already thrown away his t-shirt, crusted with old blood, but he could hardly think about all of that when he was so dizzy he could hardly see.

Something was wrong.

Ron clutched at his head, feeling like he'd torn his throat with all that talking he'd done, and he seemed to be trembling all over. His teeth felt strange in his mouth, sort of numb.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there, but all the while he thought about what Fleur might do. What Mordecai might do when he learned that Fleur knew. When his family would call in the Ministry, and the aurors would come streaming in with magicked cuffs; and Ron would try to fight but he would fail, because Mordecai was gone and he would die on his own.

He couldn't do it. He couldn't fucking do any of this. He was sixteen.

Ron lay curled up in that corner, hands covering his eyes and let himself be soothed by the darkness for what felt like days. The ground was cold beneath him and the wall and sink encapsulated him, and Ron could not move. Physically, he was incapable. Things had been going so well when he managed to bite that Muggle without any incident. But life had to balance in some way, Ron supposed.

There was a knock at the door. "Ron?"

He scrambled for a fresh shirt, barely having tugged it over his head before he stood, flustered, before Fleur once again.

He must look utterly wild (he certainly felt it), but Ron couldn't relax until he'd said it. "Please don't tell my parents," he begged. "I- I swear, I'm begging you, please don't! I'll do whatever you want! I'll- I don't know, what do you want from me? Why are you- why did you have to find out?"

Ron stared at her, and Fleur looked very taken aback. "What? Ron, are you okay? I thought you had accepted thi-"

"How can I accept this?!" Ron shouted. He was tearing out his hair. "I can't sleep, I can't eat, I- how can I live like this?"

"Calm down, Ron," said Fleur. "I- I have been rude to you, I assumed too much, I think... I did not think things were so..."

"Hopeless?"

"Yes, exactly. You are a mess, Ronald, and I..." Fleur wet her lips. "I did not realise how bad it was. I think I can understand why you have not told your family now."

"Will you tell them?" he demanded, quivering. "Will you tell everyone and have me killed?"

"I... no, of course not," said Fleur, and Ron nearly collapsed with relief. He smiled for the first time in an age, and Fleur looked no less concerned for him.

"Thank you," he said. "Thank you so much, I-"

"I'll keep your secret - for the moment. But you must say something soon or I will."

"I know it can't last forever. But just give me some more time, I swear I won't keep it from them forev-"

"Do not make promises you cannot keep," Fleur told him. She paused for a moment. "Actually, Ron, I came here to ask something else: can I meet Mordecai? You talked about him a lot, and I want to meet him for myself."

Time froze. Ron stared at Fleur; she was still stood in the doorway, and he was glad Fleur had put up a silencing charm because Ron had completely forgotten. "You can't meet Mordecai," said Ron. "He'll kill you or trap you in some way. He knows I've told you, he knows it already-"

"Are you sure?" asked Fleur. "He could be manipulating you. He scared you once and saw how easily you obeyed, and then did it again. This time he didn't even need to threaten you and you were terrified."

Ron turned. "Easily? You think it's been easy, living with what he does to me?" His words were like flint: sharp, painful, Fleur flinching at them as they were spat out. "Torture. Pain. Threatening my family, telling me how he'll pick them apart, bone by bone. Telling me how he'll come in at night and murder them, devour them. You think that was easy to hear about my mother and father, my little sister?

"You think I'm a coward, is that it? For just following along? When he said he'd kill me?" Ron thundered. "Is it wrong I was afraid for myself? That I took the easy way out, maybe? And it still wasn't fucking easy."

"I don't doubt it," said Fleur. "It was a horrible position for a young boy such as yourself to be put in."

"I don't doubt that's why the Death Eaters bloody did it in the first place."

"Exactly. They got someone they knew was frightening to frighten someone vulnerable, who happens to be the youngest son in a family heavily involved with the Order, and a close friend of Harry Potter's. You've been manipulated, Ron."

"No I haven't," he replied, affronted.

"And you still can't see it." Fleur paused. "Are you going to see him tonight? Do a test. See if he knows before you say anything."

"He's been teaching me Occlumency, he can just look inside my head."

Fleur hesitated. Then she replied, "Your memories are your own. Just... change them."

"How will I do that?" asked Ron, and Fleur shrugged.

"I don't know," she said. "But you can figure something out. Or give in. Give up. You seem to have done so already, being truthful."

They were called down to breakfast and Ron was so preoccupied he ate an entire piece of toast without realising. Confusion had replaced the fear that had bogged him down. And, what the hell, some challenge too. Ron had been challenged by what Fleur said.

There were only two things he could do. Give up, or fight on, trying a new approach.

Maybe it would take him all day, but he was no quitter.

That night, Ron faced the murderer again.

"So how were things?" Mordecai asked.

Ron let himself pause for a second. Then he replied, "Fine. Fleur still doesn't know, somehow."

Mordecai raised an eyebrow. "Somehow?"

The moon was clear tonight, almost full. Ron had come down to the clearing half expecting for Mordecai to be gone already, but he hadn't been. "She's pretty sharp, but she's not figured anything out yet."

"I was going to have us duel first, but perhaps we'd best do Occlumency." Mordecai had a suspicious look in his eye, and Ron did his best to look afraid at the prospect of having his mind dug around in rather than because he was hiding something. "Yes. I think so."

There was hardly any warning.

"Legilimens!"

Ron felt the prodding at his eyeballs, and did his best not to struggle. He let Mordecai enter as though he was barely there at all, nothing more than a ghost. Mordecai began digging about for memories to do with Fleur, and after a brief (embarrassing) introduction from fourth year, Ron nudged yesterday's memories in his direction. He and Mordecai sat at the dinner table while Ron's mum and Bill argued, and then Ron was creeping back up the stairs after the training with Mordecai, blood-stained and exhausted. He passed by Percy's room, and although the light was on...

The room was empty. The chair at the desk pushed out like Percy had only just vacated it. Merlin knew that to Ron it felt like only yesterday. Mordecai saw a brief flash of Ron's panic earlier next to the toilet and then both of them were hurtling out of Ron's mind, collapsing onto the forest floor.

Mordecai looked a bit awkward, his eyes going everywhere but Ron. It must have been to do with what he'd seen, Ron thought, and though he felt embarrassed, he was glad it had been awkward enough that it had caused Mordecai to hit abort.

"Okay," said Mordecai, jaw still tight. "Very good. Now... on to duelling."

Ron was relieved - but not for very long.

Chapter Text

Chapter Six

"You're too happy." Mordecai's voice was as blunt as the spells he was hurling at Ron. Another exploded from his hand as he spoke - stinging hex, which Ron narrowly deflected.

"Too happy?" he said. "What does that mean? That I'm miserable, normally?"

"Yes. You are. Has anything changed since I last saw you?"

Ron paused, and a horrible hex hit his forearm; it caused an oozing set of boils to erupt there, and a few swear words to burst from Ron's mouth. He tried to help them heal as quickly as possible whilst fending off the next hex.

Mordecai was still waiting for an answer. "I don't know," said Ron. "To me nothing's different."

He stared back just a little too long. Mordecai froze their duel as it was, Ron's latest hex (Immobulus, since Mordecai's speed was one of the worst things about him) stalling in mid-air. Mordecai's eyes were dark and as he swept closer to Ron, they turned murderous. It had been a while since he'd been so angry - irrationally so, thought Ron.

"You're lying to me," he uttered, seething, and drove into Ron's brain with the force of a drill.

He tried to keep calm. Truly: he steadied his frantic nerves, forced himself to retrieve his memories for display. But Mordecai was compelled by something unearthly, tearing through Ron's facade to seize at the truth hiding below, like an owl hunting for worms.

He saw everything. Mordecai watched as Ron climbed the stairs and spoke with Fleur, so worried for him. She cautioned him against Mordecai and his lies, and the monster growled upon hearing the words... But when Ron saw him again in his solid form, waxy in the moonlight, he was calm.

"Tell her I agree to her terms," said Mordecai.

"What?"

"Tell Fleur I will meet her tomorrow night, right here."

"I- no," Ron protested. "You can't-"

"Tell her I have no intention of harming her. If she attacks I will be forced to retaliate, but if she agrees to talk that is all that will happen. Tell her."

He spent the rest of the night feeling far more nervous than usual - this was saying something, as in Mordecai's presence and especially while duelling, Ron's levels of terror were often excruciatingly high.

"What are you going to do?" he finally burst out.

"Just talk."

"Are you leaving tomorrow night? Is that all you're going to tell Fleur, that she doesn't have to worry because you're leaving anyway?" Ron paused. "Hang on. You didn't know when I lied before. So... you lied. You don't have eyes everywhere."

"It's not my fault if you believed what I said," Mordecai merely replied. Ron's walk home was teeming with indecision about what to do.

He told Fleur. He had to. She was waiting at the door when he snuck back in again.

"I failed to hide it from him, but he agreed to meet you," Ron told her. "He says he won't hurt you but don't believe him. Don't believe a word he says."

Fleur agreed to, but looked satisfied nonetheless.

Things had gone even more wrong, unsurprisingly, after they'd begun going terribly. It was a familiar story.

His dad left for work early the next morning, then Mum had shouted upstairs that she was taking Ginny to see her friend, and her, Bill and Fleur were going to sort some things out for the wedding. Since it was in a year, Ron didn't see why, but he grunted back something which communicated that yes, he would be okay alone for a few hours and would not set the house on fire. Then they were gone and he was free to do as he pleased for a while.

But... what exactly would he do?

He had some Charms reading to do, but it was summer homework, and after OWL year to boot. Would anyone really bother? Ron sacked that off for the moment and flopped onto the sofa with a Quidditch magazine, flipping through idly.

There was a knock at the door. Ron assumed Ginny had been side-alonged home by her friend's mum, and rose to answer it.

So sure of who it was, he didn't even glance outside before he turned the handle. And then Ron was being pushed roughly up against the opposite wall, a wand at his throat, and he was staring into the narrowed eyes of his ex-Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.

Ron gulped, or the equivalent of what he could manage whilst being throttled.

Lupin had come to visit, finally. And Ron supposed there was no question about whether werewolves could sense vampires as veela could. Merlin, he hadn't even considered this happening. Ron scrambled for his own wand, only remembering he'd left it in his room when his search proved futile. He was realising quickly how bloody strong Lupin was, and it only made him panic more. Ron couldn't be killed via strangulation, but it seemed Remus was having a jolly good go.

"Stop," he croaked. He knew what Remus had assumed. "Stop, please, I'm not- It's Ron, Remus, I'm still-"

"Tell me, vampire," spat Remus through gritted teeth. "Who do you work for? The Death Eaters? Who are you really, hm?"

"Just Ron, I swear," he pleaded. The hand had loosened to let him talk, but tightened as he begged. "P-please, just give me a- chance to- to prove it-"

Remus' eyes widened, and Ron saw the wolf peering out. It was obvious now where it hadn't been before. Was this how it had been for Fleur, looking at Ron? Had all she been able to see was blood-red eyes and fangs?

"No," he said. "I'm going to turn you into the Order. Obviously. And then we'll find out what you're doing masquerading as Ron Weasley. Tell me - what did you do with him? Where is he? Is he still alive?"

"Lupin, I swear to Merlin it's me. Ron Weasley. It's genuinely me - I just- something happened, alright?" He stared at the other man. "I was bitten."

Remus was staring at him now with something other than murder in his eyes. Something suspiciously like concern. Miraculously his hand loosened. "Bitten? When? Why don't I know about this?"

"Because I'm not stupid. I'm a vampire now, there's no place for me in the Order. I've taken a risk staying here, honestly, but for one, I don't want to leave and second, I'm being blackmailed to stay - otherwise I would've definitely gone by now, Professor Lupin- er, Remus."

They were of a height now, Ron realised, and he was briefly surprised that they could see eye to eye. Lupin's hair was streaked with grey spreading far back from the temples, and his face was severely lined. Scars seemed to have multiplied from nothing. He seemed tired.

"Go on," said Ron, "I'll tell you anything you like. Er... in third year, Hermione and Harry saved Sirius using a time turner - and Buckbeak the hippogriff, or Witherwings if you like. He still lives at Grimmauld, where Sirius did."

Remus winced at the reminder, pulling a hand through his hair. "Yes, he's dead now, isn't he?"

Ron nodded. "The Battle of the Department of Mysteries. Made the Prophet and everything, but I was in hospital when the article came out because of that weird brain thing that attacked me. Left those marks up my arms, but I think they've gone now. Vampirism and... you know." Ron paused. "You understand, don't you?"

Remus looked like he was going to agree, and then his resolve tightened. He pushed the front door shut behind him, finally. "Yes," he said. "I understand why you and your family chose to keep this secret; the Order is my life, but I agree, some would have been very sceptical of a vampire."

"About that," Ron said, "I haven't. Told my family, I mean."

Remus stared. "They don't know? How?"

Ron just shrugged. "I've managed. You make the fourth person who knows."

"Okay, and- wait, who are the other three other than me?"

"Fleur, Mordecai, and then myself."

"Sorry, who?"

"Fleur Delacour, blonde veela girl - the, er, pretty French one from the Triwizard, you know-"

"I know who Fleur Delacour is. Is she engaged to Bill? I got some sort of letter about that, but I'll be honest, I threw it away before I read it properly. I was on a mission at the time, so..." He caught himself. "That is beside the point. Who's Mordecai?"

"Bloke who turned me," explained Ron. "Well, not a bloke, a vampire, but he's in league with the Death Eaters, me and Fleur are sure."

Remus eyed him. "You seem awfully calm about this... Ron." If it is you, he didn't say, still suspicious.

"Oh, no," Ron said, feeling the shaking start up again. He'd kept it at bay the entire conversation, but it was beginning to creep into his voice again. "I'm not dealing all that well, really. My mum's nearly taken me to St Mungo's a few times since she's convinced I'm depressed. It's because I can't eat human food and I can't sleep, but she doesn't know why and I can't tell her. Overall I'm doing a terrible job at hiding this."

"Ron," said Remus, "you know you have to tell your family what you are."

"I can't. They'll kill me - literally."

Remus shook his head, looking rather melancholic himself. "Give your family more credit than that. They love you, they'd never hurt you."

"They loved the old me," said Ron. "The human one. And I'm not bloody human anymore, am I?"

"I always thought that Sirius and James would reject me for what I was too, but they didn't. They acted like nothing was different and I was so grateful for it. Your family won't cast you out because of this, Ron, I promise you."

"But you're a werewolf. You're more normal than I am. You can... eat food, sleep, you're not immortal, whatever. The Ministry cares a lot more about vampires, you've got to agree. And so does everyone else. I mean, I do too. We're much scarier than werewolves."

"That still doesn't mean they'll kill you for being a vampire."

"You... you've never even seen my real face," Ron reasoned. "You'd feel a bit differently then, I reckon."

"Then let me see," said Remus. "I'll show you how much difference it doesn't make."

"No."

"Ron, don't be silly. I'm not going to be frightened if your eyes go red."

Ron shot him a wary look. Then, waving his hand, he said: "Finite Incantatem."

Immediately things felt far lighter than usual. Free of the mask, it was like a weight came off his shoulders.

He maintained eye contact with Remus to ensure he saw Ron's bloody irises... and Remus was unmoved. His old Defence teacher crossed his arms, shirt sleeves rolled up and collar loosened in the summer heat.

Then, he shrugged. "It's not that different. You've just got red eyes and look a bit ill. But you looked ill anyway."

Ron revealed his teeth. "You don't think my teeth are sharper?"

"I've seen worse on humans. It's fine. It's not like you're not a monster."

There was silence as Ron attempted to compute this. Then he said, "The bloke who turned me, Mordecai... you should see him. He makes me train with him most nights and he's a proper vampire-type, you know?" Ron shivered. "But scary, I tell you. So fu- blooming scary. Sorry, Professor. Remus- er, Lupin."

"Yes," said Remus, looking amused, "that is my name. But this Mordecai... Could I meet him?"

"What is it with you people and wanting to meet him?" Ron despaired. "He's just going to hex you!"

"Who else has wanted to meet him? Fleur?"

"Yeah."

"And has she?"

"She's going to tonight. I didn't want her to, but Mordecai saw it when he was going through my head and he told me to tell her she could."

Somehow, Remus understood what Ron had just said. "He knows Legilimency?"

"Yeah. He's been teaching me Occlumency in case, I dunno, Dumbledore looks into my head."

"He does have a habit of doing so."

"Exactly. You... you won't tell him, right?"

Remus looked shifty, and avoided giving an answer. Ron groaned. "Please don't. Otherwise he might not let me come to Hogwarts - and don't talk about how you were allowed in, I know that inspiring story."

Remus sighed. "Yes. Inspiring. Not at all part of a plan to infiltrate the werewolf clans fifteen years on, when the little werewolf had grown up and was indebted to him." Ron frowned, thinking. Remus went on. "I'll go with Fleur tonight to meet Mordecai."

"I... I guess you could. But only if Fleur agrees."

"I agree completely," said Fleur. "Please, Remus, come along. It will be good to have backup."

Ron gaped at them in shock, while his dad came round with a chipped mug full of gravy. "Some gravy, Remus?" he offered.

"Thank you, Arthur. Just on my potatoes there - yes, lovely. So what time are we going?"

His family had returned shortly after Remus turned up, and Ron's mum had a pork dinner going even faster after that. Evening was drawing in, the breeze sweet, and Remus joined them for tea readily. Ron, Fleur and Remus had all ended up sitting next to each other and being honest, Ron was regretting his choice. They wouldn't bloody stop talking.

"What time?" Remus murmured while Bill was telling a very loud story about some goblins he'd been mates with and the time they decided on an impromptu trip to Ireland.

"I don't know," said Fleur. "Ron, what time do you usually go?"

Whilst he was thinking a fork suddenly speared one or two of his spuds, lifted them onto Remus' plate. Remus caught Ron's indignant look and said, "Well, it wasn't like you were going to eat them, was it?"

"Around midnight," Ron replied to Fleur.

"Alright. I'll be waiting outside. I'll have to leave early; me and your parents usually stay up talking, but I suppose tonight I can't. I'll make my excuses," said Remus.

"I saw that the moon's nearly full. Could say you're preparing to transform for tomorrow, or whenever the full moon is."

"I suppose I could. Nobody ever really wants to ask about transforming since it's such a sensitive topic. Or they think it is. And before you ask, I'll be fine tonight. I can always feel the moon" - his eye twitched - "when it's close. Like a magnet. But I'll be fine."

He went enthusiastically back to his dinner, and Ron was left pondering if this was all a dream. But he kept pinching himself and never woke.

That night, Ron and Fleur met Remus at the side of the house, next to the conservatory door.

"This is so strange," said Ron, surprised that they were still willing to come along. He hadn't had to remind himself to remember his wand tonight since he was expecting trouble.

"So tell me," Remus said as they began walking, "what's being a vampire like?"

"Er. Bad," he replied stiffly. "I have to eat people."

"And how is that?"

"I'm sure you can imagine."

"No, really - humour me for a moment. How is it?"

Remus nodded at him. Ron scrutinised him cautiously, but decided to answer with the truth. "Better than anything, in the moment... But I feel guilty afterwards. The blood is... how I imagine drugs to be."

"Tastes good?" Remus ventured. Fleur had stayed quiet, probably more than a bit creeped out.

Ron gave him a look, and Lupin understood.

"I'd never stop if I could," said Ron. "But I have to. I've never killed anyone and I don't mean too, and if I could of course I would just eat human food."

"Why else don't you don't like being a vampire?" asked Fleur, stumbling back into the conversation.

"Because of everything? I can't eat food, I don't have a heartbeat, naturally, or warmth. I'll never age, I can't have children, and I can't even go out in the sodding sun or see myself in a mirror anymore if I'm not wearing this ring."

"I did wonder how you could stand the sunlight," said Remus mildly.

"As for benefits I suppose there's the stronger magic, plus faster healing. And heightened senses. Like - I know you've smoked in the last day or so, Remus."

Lupin looked grumpy. Ron was fairly sure it was because he'd told everyone he'd quit.

"Where are we going, by the way?" asked Fleur.

Ron pointed in the vague direction of 'Mordecai's lair', as he'd dubbed in his head. But in the real world, it was just a sad patch of trees where Ron had been beaten down time after time. Fleur and Remus began striding down the bank, leaving Ron to scramble behind in their wake. It seemed they were both tall and imposing where Ron fell short, their movements accompanied by a calm ease whereas he radiated panic. He hoped he would begin to act like that too when he was an adult.

He began to look for Mordecai as they drew closer, Ron knowing how well he could camouflage.

He emerged from between two trees, and the group came to a standstill.

"You recruited a werewolf, I see," began Mordecai. "Hello, Fleur."

"Are you Mordecai?" Remus asked him.

"Yes."

"Did you do everything that Ron said you have?"

"I don't know exactly what he's said, but probably. I turned him into a vampire, then gave him a rune ring. I taught him how to feed on humans. I taught him how to act like a vampire, duel like one... I taught him how to defend his mind, too." Mordecai nodded to himself. "I've done all I was instructed to do - more, perhaps. I'll leave tonight, I think."

He addressed Ron personally, dark eyes boring into his. "Keep calm, don't be an idiot, and you should be fine." His eyes narrowed. "And don't give me a reason to send that letter."

His hand gave a violent twist, and a bone in Ron's arm was shattered. He grabbed it, eyes going wide, too startled to scream.

"Remember, I'll always win," Mordecai said, and Remus raised his wand and acted so quickly Ron thought he'd imagined it. A hex shot from his wand, dark and squalling.

Mordecai turned on the spot and vanished.

"Where is he?" demanded Fleur, trying to look in all directions at once, her own wand in her hand. "Where did he go?"

Mordecai didn't reappear.

The first thing Ron felt was relief. Obviously. He was gone, Mordecai was gone; and although he had a talent for deception, Ron sort of believed him when he would leave for good.

"Is it... really over?" he asked Remus, who'd likely know better than him.

There was a noise beside him, a kind of rustling. Remus stood there with a box of cigarettes and a cagey expression on his face. "Now you know I may as well," he said. And then, when the silence was prolonged, "would you like one?"

Fleur nodded, "Please," and Remus sorted her out with a match.

"So. You reckon he's coming back?" Ron asked again. He didn't want to celebrate too soon.

"No clue. Want one?"

"No, I... Is Mordecai really gone?"

"It's not like it'll kill you, since you've a vampire," said Remus. "Ever tried one before? You might need one for what we've got to do next."

"Do we have to tell my family? Things are fine as they are. Look, he's gone now - I don't see what the problem is."

"You can't hide it from everyone," said Remus. "Pick your battles. With your family and friends... don't hide. You'll get sick of it if you have to hide it from everyone else, too. Take it from someone who knows."

"I-"

"They'll find out eventually," said Remus. "Your family can't just not know until the very end. You'll make a mistake, in two days or two years, and they'll know. Thing is if you make that mistake in two years' time, that's two whole years you've been lying to them. I chose that way and Sirius nearly didn't speak to me again after he found out. He understood in the end it was because of how the wizarding world treats us, and your parents will understand why you didn't tell them straight away too, but... you need to say something now."

"But what about that letter he has? Won't he send it if I tell my family?"

"That letter is fake," said Fleur. "Aren't you looking forward to not being fussed after? All of the Ronald, you are not eating, you look so ill... Nobody can nag you about that again."

He began to see it from Fleur's way. "I suppose that's one perk."

"Your parents are understanding, Ron," Fleur went on. "If I had just turned up to my family home with Bill, he would have been sent home in a shoebox because we didn't tell anyone we were courting, but your family accepted us. Accepted me. I am sure it will not go as badly as you are thinking it will. Look - if this confrontation with Mordecai did not go so badly, then telling your family cannot, either."

"It was fairly short," mused Remus. "This Mordecai was more logical than I was expecting. Other than that threat at the end."

"I know," replied Ron. The night seemed cold, all of a sudden, and forbidding.

Ron agreed half just to go back home. "Okay. I'll tell my family. But if things go wrong, Remus, you have to promise to take me in. I don't want to live on the streets if I'm kicked out, thanks very much."

"I don't think that'll happe-"

But Ron was already making his way up the hill again. For the last time, he hoped.

They reached the front door, but Ron's feet wouldn't go any further. "How do I start the conversation, though? Just jump in with 'Hi, don't mind me coming back at this time of the morning, oh by the way, I'm a vampire'?"

"Just tell them the truth," offered Remus.

"Remember, you haven't done anything wrong," Fleur echoed, her hand patting his shoulder comfortingly. "And if things go wrong, we will not abandon you, at the least."

Remus gave her a stern look. "But things won't go wrong, will they Fleur?"

"No, Remus. Of course not."

"Do you think there's anything I should leave out?" said Ron. "I could say I was only turned yesterday, so then it's not as bad. And what about you two? You could sneak back in and pretend you didn't know."

"No. Tell the truth, and only the truth. Otherwise you won't remember all the lies."

Ron hesitated once more. "It's not too late, you know-"

"We're coming with you, and that's that," said Fleur.

"It's the responsible thing to do."

"But you've already helped me enough!"

"And we will help you still," said Remus. "Now open the door. It's bloody cold out here and I could do with a cuppa."

The door swung open, and Ron and the others stepped in. The floorboards squeaked and Remus took off his cloak, hanging it up on a peg to the side like he'd just popped over for a visit.

It only occurred Ron then that he had entirely forgotten to listen out for any noise beforehand. But he certainly caught the footsteps on the stairs and whirled round, eyes widening in a near comical manner as he caught the three figures stood at the bottom of the stairs.

Bill, Mum and Dad.

It was his mother who approached first, and in the light of the almost full moon her worried face was outlined as she cupped Ron's cheeks in her hands and examined him. Ron held his breath, waiting until her worry was replaced by hot, furious anger.

Ginny came clattering down the stairs to stand behind her, hair clashing with her red dressing gown. "Where did you go?" she asked and behind her, Dad waved his wand and the room was flooded with light, everyone blinking quickly to adjust.

"Remus?" said his dad, confused.

"Fleur?" said Bill, equally befuddled.

"What are you doing here?" they both said.

"I thought you were just sneaking out to meet Hermione," said Ginny, lost. "What are these two doing with you?"

"I tried to tell you, I haven't been going to see Hermione-"

"Sneaking out?" Mum's voice was stretched thin. "You've been sneaking out? For how long? Ginny, why didn't you tell me?"

"Mum-" Ron tried to break in.

"Be quiet, young man!" she barked back at him. "You know the world we're living in, and you thought it would be sensible to sneak out? Where, if you were attacked, we wouldn't be able to help you?"

"I know," said Ron, miserably quiet.

"No, no, you don't." Then she exploded. "Don't lie to me, Ronald Weasley! If you knew the dangers outside this house, you would certainly not have done that! Well, well, maybe I've been too nice to you, maybe I should've not bothered protecting you if you were going to throw it back in my face! What if you were killed, Ronald?!"

Remus opened his mouth. "Molly-"

"Remus, what on earth are you doing here?" she spat, and glanced at the clock on the landing. "It's three in the morning! Why are you in my house at five in the morning, sneaking back in with my teenage son and my daughter-in-law?!"

"Speaking of," said Bill, "Fleur, why are you here too?"

"What's going on, Ron?" said Ginny. "Can you explain?"

"He had better-"

"Molly," Arthur interrupted, the only one who really could. He still looked as though he were willing to understand. "Let the boy speak. We're all waiting."

Ron swallowed. This was it, he supposed. "I have something to tell you all," he said. "I don't really know how to..."

There was silence. They were all waiting for him to say something. Ron knew if he looked to the side of him Remus and Fleur would be wearing supportive expressions.

Ron's fists clenched at his side, and then relaxed again.

He had to say something.

He had to say it. Remus was right, he couldn't pretend forever. Mordecai was gone, and it was all that was left to do.

So he said it.

"I'm a vampire."

He hadn't been quite sure how to start, but the next thing he remembered it was coming to an end. Somehow, he'd explained the entire ordeal; starting from that first night, then all the training sessions and the rest of it, and then ending again on tonight's events. He mentioned Death Eater plots and nearly killing random strangers... he left nothing out.

It was torture, even worse than what he'd been put through with Mordecai.

Ron didn't know whether he made an utter mess of the entire story. But he looked to his side and Remus gave him a... comforting look, that being the best he could describe it, and Ron was almost reassured.

Ron turned back to his family. They were silent as the dead. "Can you... please say something?" he asked, although it was a lie. He didn't really want to hear what they had to say. He couldn't help but stare earnestly into the face of his mother, yearning despite knowing it would not happen to hear that she didn't care.

Bill drew nearer, something strange in his face. He stopped about five steps away and Ron understood that the distance was not accidental. "Really?" he said. "I mean, you're not just making it all up?"

Ron shook his head. "No. I'm not. Wish I was, though."

"You're lying," said Bill, quite easily, although there was a tremor in his voice.

"Yes," blurted his mother.

Ron glanced at them all, horror seizing his innards. "Why do you think that?" It had taken so much out of him just to tell them, and they... they didn't believe him?

"You don't look like a vampire, for starters," said Ginny, determined to prove him wrong. "Your eyes are still blue. Everyone knows vampires don't have blue eyes."

"You're right," said Ron. "It's a spell." He shut his eyes, and, gathering as much inner calm as he could muster, muttered: "Finite Incantatem."

He first knew it had worked from his family's gasp when he opened his eyes. "See," he said. "My eyes, they're..."

Dad nearly ran forward to get a closer look and grabbed Ron's face. Gently, but Ron's face was frantically turned this way and that under the light so his blood-red eyes glittered sordidly. His eyes were not a consistent, clear red; they were milkier in parts, and darker in others. They glistened unsettlingly. His eye sockets were darkened, sore-looking, giving him the look of a chronic insomniac. Ron supposed he was. His teeth were more jagged at the ends like they'd been hacked at.

His father observed this with a tight-lipped expression. And then he was stepping back, nodding. He had to wipe a tear from the corner of his eye before he spoke. "They're real," he said to his wife, son, and daughter, all of them staring at their relation with something akin to horror.

Ron accepted it. He would feel the same way.

"Wouldn't you burn in the sun, too?" said Ginny.

Ron held up a hand. The ring caught the light. "It's runed," he explained. "Without it I'd burn, believe me. The vampire who turned me gave it to me."

"What did you say his name was again?" said Bill.

"Mordecai."

"I've never heard of him," said Dad.

Ron shrugged helplessly. "That's the point. That's why the Death Eaters picked him."

There was a sniff behind him, and his mum was wiping her eyes. Her face had turned blotchy and it hurt Ron, right within a heart that no longer beat.

"So all these weeks... when you've not been sleeping, and when you were ill, when you couldn't eat anything, that was all just..." Her watery eyes made it much harder to stare her square in the face, his mother whose heart he'd broken. It made a sickness tug at his stomach; he had done this, he had upset his family, this was all his fault, all his fault-

So you were going through all of that" - she paused to sniff loudly, regaining some of her composure - "and we... missed it? We didn't notice?"

"Of course you noticed." His voice broke, but he soldiered on. "You noticed too much, if anything. You were too caring. Offering to take me to St Mungo's when that'd get me killed."

"Why?" asked Ginny.

"Because I'm a vampire," said Ron, like that made it obvious. His mum gave a shudder. "The world hates me, putting it plainly."

Nobody knew quite what to reply. Ginny was frowning. "Surely that's wrong."

"No," said Remus, stepping forward. "Vampires are forbidden to exist unmonitored within society, and very often monitored means locked up. So if the Ministry did know about Ron then he would be taken away."

"But that's for a good reason," said Ron's dad, deep in thought. "It's... it's so things like this don't happen. All vampires are monitored so they don't go biting anyone they want. How did this happen?"

"With the war, law enforcement's gone a bit limp," answered Remus. "I'd assume that's what it is. I've been meeting a few more werewolves than usual because of it."

"But how?" Dad asked again. He just couldn't believe it. "I still don't know how this happened."

"Death Eaters are funny like that," said Ron, and everyone stared at him. His sister was still staring, and his mother clutching a hand to her chest, properly starting to weep now. Bill looked as though he didn't know how he should feel and his dad suddenly brought out his wand.

"Wait!" cried Ron. "Don't hurt me, I swear I'm not going to hurt any of you-"

"Calm down, I'm only calling the Order."

"Why? To kill me?"

"No, of course not," said his dad sternly. "Because you were attacked, and turned into a vampire. And you said it could've been Death Eaters."

"I think it definitely was. I don't know who else I, or we, have ever made angry except for them. Not to mention, Mordecai practically told me it was them."

Dad's expression was still restrained, but the tightening of his hand on his wand was a dead giveaway. "So the Death Eaters did do this?"

"And you didn't tell us?" said Mum.

"I didn't tell you because Mordecai threatened me with a letter he said he'd send to the Ministry if I said anything to you. It said what I was. And like I said, they'd lock me up for being a vampire, or kill me." Ron shook his head. "I have no idea who he really was. I know he never went to Hogwarts, but that's about it. And it's bloody useless to us."

"If he never went to Hogwarts, is he even a wizard?"

Ron looked at Bill. "You've got to be to survive the transformation." He bit his lip, hesitating. "I nearly didn't, even though I have magic. That was when I slept for an entire day. I could've died properly-"

"This is fucking insane," Ginny announced, before she disappeared back upstairs. Ron stared after her with a resigned expression on his face.

Bill watched her go, before turning back to Ron. "So were you going out to meet him every night?"

"He threatened to sneak in and kill you if I didn't. Plus, I was terrified of myself. I still am. I don't know what I might accidentally do without someone there to watch." Ron noted their frightened, sickened expressions, and added, "Mordecai wasn't all bad, once he'd stopped threatening me."

"Why did Fleur and Remus come with you tonight?"

"To get rid of him," said Ron. "Remus and Fleur demanded to see him when they found out - it's hard to hide being a vampire from a veela and a werewolf - and told him to bugger off, basically, which he agreed to do after some last... advice."

His father cast his patronus to carry his message to some other (truly trusted, said his father) Order members. "They'll be coming soon, but not very soon," said his dad tiredly. "It's not like it's an emergency. Mordecai's gone and there's no way to turn you back, is there, Ron?"

He shook his head at his father, whose expression seemed to fall even further at Ron's confirmation. His dad went back upstairs to talk to his mum, who'd gone after Ginny.

Bill wrapped an arm around Fleur's waist and they began muttering to each other, words barely audible. Remus went to make strong cups of tea in the kitchen and Ron was left standing alone in the hall, out of the corner of his eye catching Bill shooting him strange looks.

Had- had he really done it?

Chapter Text

Chapter Seven

"We need to keep the boy contained," Mad-Eye growled. "For his own safety, in case this Mordecai returns, and equally in case his vampire nature takes over and he explodes into a murderous rampage-"

"What the hell are you trying to say, Mad-Eye?" demanded Bill. His voice rang clearly through the floorboards. "It's my brother we're talking about here!"

Ron shifted, lying back on his bed. He'd never been explicitly barred from the meeting, but it seemed far less awkward to stay in his room given that the topic of conversation was him. He could hear it all anyway, not that anyone seemed to have realised.

"He's not your brother anymore, Bill."

"How can you say that? Of course he is. Look, he's not dangerous - we've lived with him through the entire ordeal and nothing happened, everything was fine-"

"It was only a matter of time, then," Mad-Eye cautioned. "Now, where's the suspect?"

"Suspect of what?" It was Remus this time - voice steady as always, even as he'd been continually berated for not telling the Order about everything before getting rid of Mordecai.

"You don't think it's suspicious that this Mordecai with the Death Eaters has just disappeared? When he's been tailing Ron for weeks? Surely they're in on something together and he'll come back to finish it."

"He promised he would leave-"

"Promised my arse, Remus, he's still here. Only that fiendish vampire wants us to think he's gone."

"I suppose I don't really have any evidence for the contrary. No doubt you think he's hanging around to take part in more nefarious schemes, none of which you can actually name."

"I think we should go and investigate where Ron said he was bitten. See if he's still lurking."

"Personally, I would rather wash my hands of the whole business, but you can do as you like," said Fleur. "I think that there is no point in checking because Mordecai won't be there."

"I agree a bit," said Mum, "but I think we should check anyway. I want my wards improving, too. This never should have happened."

"That we can agree on," said Remus.

Ron rolled over, tuning out the conversation. Just hearing his mum's voice made him feel guilty.

The Order had arrived early that morning a few hours after Ron told them the truth. Only Mad-Eye, Kingsley and McGonagall had turned up because, even Ron's dad agreed, not everyone should know that Ron was a vampire. Kingsley hadn't stayed long. He'd gotten the story and then left for an early shift at the Ministry. But since Mad-Eye was retired (not by choice) and McGonagall had little to do in the summer, they could stay and talk.

It was all still very raw to Ron. He didn't like that everyone had to know everything. Ron still wanted to go to Hogwarts, and in order to do that he had to be human. He'd lie and pretend, he didn't mind... He wanted to, in fact. Regardless of the fact his family knew now he still had his transfiguration charms applied. A very large part of Ron wanted things to remain exactly the same as they had been, despite that being impossible.

"Where is he now, anyway?" asked Mad-Eye tersely.

"In his room upstairs."

Ron got to his feet just as the door of his room opened, and he was trapped. His parents were stood behind McGonagall and Mad-Eye, and Ginny behind them. Ron didn't have to guess to know who was the most suspicious of him, as his whizzing eye fixed was still for once. Locked on Ron.

"What is it?" said Ron, feigning ignorance.

"Mr Weasley," began McGonagall. And then she stopped. "I don't exactly know what to say. This is all quite unusual."

"Do you believe everything I've said?" he asked.

"You've said?" Mad-Eye scoffed. "You've said nothing, boy. Your family's done the talking."

"It's not my fault nobody asked me. And I don't exactly want to talk about it."

"Really?" said McGonagall. "You don't have any questions?"

"None that you can really..." Ron paused. His nervous, jumbling thoughts paused for a moment to part for one clear notion. "Wait - Professor, can I still go to Hogwarts?"

"Absolutely not," Mad-Eye spat. "You can't let a vampire into Hogwarts, it's out of the question. The safety of the other students must be considered here."

"Albus and I will decide whether he can or not, Alastor," she told him sharply. "Though, I admit, Mr Weasley... I struggle to see how this would work, if you were to come back to Hogwarts. Alastor is right in saying we have to consider the safety of the other students. How will you eat? I assume that you eat the- the way that vampires usually... do."

The utter bafflement Ron felt at McGonagall standing in his house was increased by her speechlessness.

"I can get my own blood," he said.

"Wait," said Ginny, "you really have to drink human blood?"

Ron nodded. He didn't know why people would think otherwise. Everyone knew what a vampire had to do.

"Just that should be why you don't let him in," remarked Mad-Eye. "He doesn't even seem bothered. All vampires are the same. Permanently hungry, permanently dangerous."

"I've never hurt anyone," repeated Ron.

McGonagall cleared her throat. "I believe we could organise something a safer way in which Mr Weasley could eat. Perhaps we could find an... ethical source of blood for him."

"Please," Mad-Eye snorted. "And what would that be?"

"Blood donations from hospitals," she suggested.

"And how're you getting them?"

"Madam Pomfrey could request-"

"What student needs the blood transfusions?"

"Make up a student with a blood disease," Ginny jumped in. The others stared at her and she added, "It could work."

"Don't bother," said Ron. "I can get my own blood. I'll just leave the castle every few days, every week, whenever I need to and find someone for blood."

"Attack them," Mad-Eye spat harshly. "You mean attack them, take what you need, and leave them unconscious."

"I only stun them."

"Then bite them."

"Well, I have to get the blood somehow," said Ron. "What would you suggest I do here, since nothing I do seems good enough?"

Mad-Eye seemed startled he'd spoken back.

"I have to eat or I'll go mad - and then I'll die. So I can't just go and die quietly, which is what you'd like, I assume-"

"Be quiet, Weasley, I am sure Mr Moody does not want you to just die." Ron gave McGonagall a sceptical look. "And nor do any of us. We will figure something out."

"My method is easy, Professor. I know it works."

"Then perhaps that is what we will decide upon. But, there is another issue, aside from that. I can see that you've sorted out your appearance using magic - highly impressive transfiguration, Weasley, and were we at Hogwarts I would have been compelled to award you house points for it - but you're different, Weasley. Even I can tell and I've barely been speaking to you for a few minutes. You don't think people will notice?"

"Blame it on the war. It's what everyone else does, isn't it?"

McGonagall's lips pressed together thinly, but she had no rebuke. Because Ron was right. He faced the three of them, staring at Mad-Eye especially, who still looked unconvinced.

"You know I'm right," he said. "Everyone's going to notice I'm wrong or different, but they won't guess I'm a vampire. My family didn't." His family were staring at the floor, likely unable to meet his eye. Ron found himself struggling to finish his piece. "So no one will really notice. Just - please, Professor, let me finish Hogwarts. Let me pretend nothing's wrong for another two years. Then I'll... I don't know what I'll do next, but it won't involve any of you, if you don't want."

It seemed he'd won McGonagall over. "Alright, Weasley. I'll give you a chance. A chance. If you hurt someone or do something... inappropriate, then I'll have no choice but to remove you from the school. I can get you a tutor if that happens, or if you change your mind. You might not want to be surrounded by hundreds of students in your state."

"Each one of them will test you," Mad-Eye cautioned. "I've known a few of you, in my time, and they all said it was never easy being around humans."

"I know," he said, hearing every heartbeat in the room booming in his ears. "I really do know. But it's worth it. I still want to do everything I did before."

"If you reveal yourself, Weasley, on your head be it," McGonagall chided.

"I understand the risks, Professor."

"Tell us if it gets to be too much, Weasley. I don't want any accidents."

Ron promised to and wondered if it would please his mother to know that Ron was going back to Hogwarts. She still seemed the most distant out of everyone he'd told.

Dinner that night was between his parents, Bill, Fleur, Ginny, Mad-Eye, and Ron's eldest brother, Charlie. McGonagall had left soon after informing Ron's parents that they would still take him at Hogwarts, along with Remus, and Mad-Eye turned out to be far more genial after business had been dealt with. He still questioned Ron resolutely, but it was less threatening over a bowl of peas.

Tonight it was fish and chips, and Ron was glad he could sit there with an empty place and not be questioned about it. Maybe Fleur was right - maybe this whole not having to lie permanently thing wasn't so bad.

Mad-Eye took a long drain of his drink, fake eye twitching at Ron as he did. The old man smacked his grizzled lips as he placed his drink back on the table. "So, what was Mordecai like?"

Everyone had gone quiet to listen. Charlie was staring at him, supremely puzzled; he'd come home sharpish after Dad floo'd him, telling him they had something important to share. When Ron told him, he'd sworn very loudly and refused to believe him until he removed the charm obscuring his eyes and handed over the ring to be examined. Only then had he been believed.

His eldest brother was the same as always, at least. The underside of his chin was scabbed thickly with another dragon fire burn, and his long hair hung loose about his shoulders.

"Utter bastard, if you don't mind me saying so, Mum. He'd have moments where he was almost reasonable, but he was awful the rest of the time. Hexing me. Hitting me."

"Don't you hate him?" said Bill. "I would."

"Is that the vampire who did it to you?" asked Charlie.

Ron nodded.

"Well, there you go, Bill. He was a bastard, but he taught Ron how to survive." Charlie began cutting up a piece of fish. "I reckon Ron's got a right to be a bit conflicted. Why did he do it?"

Ron said, "You know why the Death Eaters picked me. I'm the best target. Harry's too well guarded and Hermione's parents would just be confused."

"But why you?" said Ginny. "I still don't get it."

"Is it because we're in the Order?" said Mum. Her face screwed up. "It is, isn't it?"

"Undoubtedly," said Mad-Eye, halfway through chewing a mouthful of food. "Perhaps Ron was the first Weasley he saw. It could have been young Ginevra instead."

"That, and if he decided to blackmail us we'd have to pay, wouldn't we? If Mordecai sent us a letter saying send me twenty galleons or I tell the Ministry, well... What would we do?" said Charlie.

Nobody had quite thought of that yet. "I very well hope he doesn't do that," said Arthur.

"You know," said Charlie, "I want to talk to this Mordecai bloke."

"So did I," said Fleur. "That's why I did."

"I mean, I'd like to know his personal motives. It's unlikely he'll ask us for money. If he's a vampire, what does he need money for? He's immortal. He could just steal something if he needed it. And why did he train you as much as he did? Do the Death Eaters have some sort of plan for you?"

"When are Fred and George getting here?" said his mother, trying to change the subject.

"Any day now," answered Bill, since everybody else seemed to be puzzling over what Charlie had just said. "I think so, anyway. Fred made an excuse for why they couldn't turn up tonight, but it's just because he'd gone out drinking. I could tell over the phone - Merlin, the slurring-"

"But," and Charlie was speculating again, "Why? Did Mordecai know you personally, have some sort of grievance with you? Did you know him, Ronniekins?"

"No, I definitely didn't."

"Are you sure? I forget people all the time."

"Charlie, love," said Ron's mum, "I know you're only trying to be helpful but could we not talk about this over the dinner tabl-"

"I suppose you're right, Charlie." Dad was looking deep in thought now, too. "Why? Money's a good reason, yes, but why was he working with the Death Eaters?"

"Maybe he was working with them before this," said Ginny. "Maybe a job requiring a vampire came up, and somebody thought of Mordecai. It's not like there's a hell of a lot of vampires about, you know. I can only think of Kella Wright-"

"You're right, Gin," said Ron. "I swear he said something along those lines before. Except, he said he was training me in order to gain his freedom."

"Maybe he was being blackmailed by the Death Eaters like you were. Maybe he was you, once," said Bill.

Ron considered doing what Mordecai did, but to another young boy with his whole life ahead of him. He wondered if he would do it, if he'd been trapped by the Death Eaters, in order to be free again.

"Has he done many other jobs?" wondered Mad-Eye. "I'm wondering now if I can't have a search through the archives. Tonks still lets me into the Ministry even after a few of the higher-ups banned me-"

"Hang on," said Ron, to the table at large. He had to clear something up. Something important. "So are you all okay with it? Me being a vampire?"

"I don't really mind," said Charlie. "I still love you, Ron."

Ron grimaced. Slightly awkward, but his eldest brother was weird like that. Inside Ron was glad to know. "Right, thank you. Anyone else... not like it?"

"I might still need some time," said his mother, but no one looked terribly disturbed.

"It's weird, but I'm getting used to it," said Bill. Ginny agreed with him.

"Arthur, any more bread and butter?" said Mad-Eye. "We've run out over here."

Ron caught the old auror's eye. "Mad-Eye? Do you still think I'm a Death Eater?"

The electric blue eye scanned him. Then he shrugged, and sat back in his chair. "If you're an impostor, you're doing a very convincing job of pretending to be Ronald Weasley."

"To be fair," said his sister, "there's not a lot to him."

"Don't be spiteful, Ginny," Mum tutted. "Ron's unique."

"Yes - uniquely boring."

Bill snorted, but Ron shook his head. "You can't say that anymore. Isn't being a vampire not special enough? I'm not ordinary anymore, am I?"

His family was silent for a second. And then they were chuckling, and Ron's dad brought out some coffee and tea after they cleared the plates away, and Ron sat there, quite content, until someone (probably Ginny), said, "What about Harry and Hermione? How are you going to tell them, Ron?"

Ron swore under his breath. He hadn't thought about that yet.

The next morning, Tonks rang the doorbell looking cheery. Mum let her in, and drew her into a conversation shortly after that.

Ginny was lounging in the living room in the chair opposite Ron, their game of Buck-A-Griffin abandoned on a small table nearby. "Can you hear what they're saying?" Ginny asked.

Ron nodded. It was only one wall. "Yeah. But it's pretty much nothing at the moment. Weather. Quidditch. Handbags. Whatever women talk about."

"Don't make us sound like aliens," said Ginny. "We're just the same as you. I've heard you talking to Harry about satchels on a number of occasions-"

His mum appeared in the living room. "I think you'll want to see who's just turned up," she said, and curiosity had him rising to approach the front door.

"Sorry we're a bit late," said Tonks. She was carrying a suitcase, and gestured to someone behind her. "I just got carried away talking and then I got invited for lunch, you know how it is, Molly."

"I'm very familiar. Speaking of, would you like some tea?"

"Sorry, I really can't stick around now, I've got work to do." She suddenly caught sight of Ron. "Ah. Ron. I didn't think you'd look so..."

"Different?"

"No. I was going to say you look the same." Her violent purple eyebrows were furrowed. "It is you, isn't it, who's the vampire? Not Ginny?"

"Yes, it's me," said Ginny. She bared her teeth in what Ron thought was a very offensive imitation of a vampire. "Watch out Tonks, I'm going to eat you-"

Ron shoved her, and Ginny punched him in the arm. Mum had to yank Ginny away to stop them. "Honestly!" she said. "Brawling in front of guests-"

"It's fine, Molly-"

"It is most certainly not!" She glanced to the side, giving them both a murderous glare. "But I'll talk to you both about it later. I expect you'll all want to catch up." And Mum was stepping back. Curiosity piqued yet further, Ron stared around the auror to see who had defused his mother so easily.

Hermione looked a tad nervous standing on his doorstep, freckled face wincing as the wind battered her wild curls. At a familiar warming in his chest, Ron smiled, and Hermione met his eyes and smiled back. The slight anxiety left her demeanour.

"Hermione!" shouted Ginny, scrambling forward to give Hermione a hug. Ron stayed where he was, because in his head, a sudden barrage of questions were streaming through.

Did she know? Did she mind? Did she hate him? What did Muggles think of vampires - it seemed obvious now, but by Merlin, he'd never really thought of it before.

Hermione came inside, Tonks disapparated after waving goodbye, and then she was staring at him. Ron stared back. Over the summer she hadn't changed much. She'd gotten a bit frecklier after a trip to France, face a bit thinner as she aged, and her hair was longer. Wilder in the humidity. Strangely, Ron wanted to run his hands through it, smoothing back the tangled strands as best he could so he could cup her cheeks, and then lean in.

Ron blinked, momentarily blindsided. This was a bit stronger than usual for him. He wasn't quite sure what was going on - and did he want it to stop? Was this a side effect of the transformation? Or was it just him?

Hermione was still staring at him, and Ron realised what a soft shade of brown they were.

"What happened to you, Ron?" she asked. "Everyone's saying something's happened, but..."

"Guess," he said, humourlessly. Her expression shifted to something more sceptical.

Hermione was disconcerted. "You just look a bit paler, that's all."

"I'm a vampire," he said, and then held back from saying anything else. He had to see how she would react, first.

Hermione's mouth dropped open.

Mum wrung her wrists uncomfortably, before rushing forward to take the suitcases. "I'll get these up to your rooms for you... Why don't you, Ron and Ginny have a talk in the living room? It's been so lovely to see you again by the way, Hermione dear."

Molly left. Hermione looked around, now appearing rather cross. "Can someone please tell me what's going on here? And explain it properly?"

Ron supposed that if she was going to be staying here she had a right to know.

Fifteen minutes, three cups of tea and one harried conversation later, Hermione Granger was sat in the squashed armchair Ron's dad usually favoured with a very confused expression on her face.

"So," she began, slowly, "Ron's a vampire, and no one knows except your family, Fleur, Remus, McGonagall, Kingsley and Mad-Eye. He was bitten by a man called Mortimer- Mordecai, sorry, who you fought off last night, and you might be expelled from Hogwarts?"

"Only if I kill someone; I'm pretty sure that's what McGonagall said," Ron added. "And you can call him Mortimer, if you like. It sounds better for a vampire, really."

"No, I think Mordecai's scary enough."

Ginny was looking bored, trying to play Buck-A-Griffin with herself. She sighed loudly. "And Ron's not scary at all. Ron the vampire. Did you ever hear something so pathetic?"

"How long have you all known?" asked Hermione, looking between them.

"Since yesterday, I think," Ginny replied. "But it seems like a lot's happened since then."

"Not really. We've just talked a lot," said Ron.

"Yeah, 'cause weirdly, Ron, we had a lot of questions."

Ron was staring anxiously at Hermione, trying to analyse her puzzled expression.

Although Ron still wasn't sure, he... had hope. So far she had acted like she was in unfamiliar territory, which she was, her sentences trailing off into nothingness. But Ron held on to the idea that maybe she wouldn't hate him. Maybe, she might dislike it in the beginning, but slowly come around. Like his Mum had.

"So do you drink blood now?"

Hermione blinked at him innocently, in the way she always did whenever she'd said something she didn't realise might be utterly catastrophic. Surprisingly, Ron found it refreshing. "Yeah. I have to, otherwise I would die."

And he couldn't do that yet. Just give him some more time.

"Do you get it ethically?"

"I have no idea. I just go up to strangers and attack them... but I don't-"

"Kill them," Ginny finished. "Sorry. Just, you talk about it a lot."

"Well, I'm proud of it. It's difficult."

Ginny gave him a strange look.

"How often do you have to eat?" Hermione pressed again.

"Every few days, maybe once a week."

"When was the last time you ate?"

"What, blood?"

"Do you eat anything else?"

"Are you planning to write an essay on this or something, 'Mione?"

"I'm just curious," replied Hermione.

"Me too, to be honest," said Ginny. "Go on, Ron, answer. Can you eat human food?"

"Yeah. I can. Doesn't mean I even remotely want to. When I go back to Hogwarts - and I think I will, now - I'll have to pretend."

Hermione reached out for him, and gently held his arm. Ron's eyes went wide. He thought this was the most exciting (and strange) thing that had ever happened to him. Barring the obvious. "I'm sorry," she said. "None of this sounds like it was any good. Nor does having to eat human food."

"Er. No, it's not, I s'pose. Doesn't taste good at all."

Hermione drew back, eyeing him like a lab specimen. It made Ron feel unexpectedly warm. It meant she was interested in him, and few enough people were. "But when was the last time you drank blood?"

"I... Why?"

"Does it put us in danger if you're hungry?" said Hermione. "I'm- I'm sorry to ask, I can't expect that's nice either, but I'm just curious, like I said."

Staring at her, Ron felt a lick of it. A curl of hunger deep within. "It has been a few days," he said. "I suppose I should do something about that soon."

"You need to drink more blood?" said Ginny. "I- bloody hell, you should've said-"

Ron waved her away. "It's fine, I can manage."

"For how long?"

Ron paused for a moment. "I don't know. Day or so. Couple of days at most."

Ginny inched further back into her chair at his admission.

"So you're hungry?" said Hermione, purely scientific. "Right now?"

"I s'pose," Ron mumbled.

"Are you always, to some degree?"

"I guess."

"Is it worse when we're around? As humans, I mean?"

Was Ron hungrier when Hermione was around? Well, yes, it seemed so now. "Yeah," he blurted, unthinkingly. Ginny squeaked. "Ginny, I won't hurt you. I won't hurt anyone. I have good control. Sort of. Look, I'll just go and sort it out later, and I'll come back tomorrow not hungry at all, alright?"

"Can I come with you?" asked Hermione. "I'm... curious."

"I know you are," said Ron. "But no, you can't. It's too dangerous."

She frowned. "I can defend myself."

"I know you can. I do remember DA club, 'Mione. But you're being ridiculous."

"Oh! You've just reminded me - how are you going to tell Harry?" she said, the frown going from her face, suddenly. Ron tried not to feel bitter.

"I dunno," he replied. He'd given it far too much thought to verbalise it, it seemed. "The same way I told you?"

"Which was springing it on me the moment I stepped on the door? I don't think anyone would appreciate that, Ronald."

"How else was I supposed to tell you?" he protested.

"I was wondering about that myself, actually," said Ginny, suddenly chipper, "when Harry would get here."

Hermione suddenly smirked at her. "Soon, I expect," she said vaguely.

"But- but when?"

Ron didn't know what the hell was going on, why Hermione looked so conspiratorial. "Ask Mum if you really want to know," he said.

"I don't think it's your mum she wants to talk to," said Hermione, and Ginny looked like she might throttle her.

Ron was just confused. Girls were confusing. Especially Hermione.

"Mrs Weasley, when is Harry getting here?" asked Hermione, since Ginny refused to. Mum turned around looking far more relaxed than she had done for a while.

"I've told you before, dear, call me Molly. And Dumbledore said soon. Knowing that man it could be in a day or in a week. So I don't know, really, but I've had the ingredients for treacle tart sorted since the beginning of summer, since I know how much Harry loves it. And those bleeding Dursleys..."

They left Mum muttering darkly about Harry's family, and Ron turned to Ginny. "There," he said. "You satisfied now?"

Ginny shrugged. "At least we definitely know Fred and George'll be turning up for dinner."

"Oh, will they?" said Hermione. She smiled. "I haven't seen those two in ages. And I was really excited to go and see their shop in Diagon Alley. Do you think they'll bring some products along if I owl ahead? I'm very fascinated with their work."

Ron frowned at her. "I thought you disapproved of the joke shop."

"That was until I heard about their products," said Hermione, deadly serious. "Their shielding cloaks and invisibility hats are used by the Ministry, meaning the spellwork's got to be good. Really, I wondered if we'd be doing that type of thing in Charms this year, and-"

And Hermione was off, talking about the curriculum this year. Ron didn't know where the hell she got her hands on it all, honestly. She moved on from Charms to Herbology and Ron was still nodding along. He loved Hermione, really, but she could talk an awful lot when she wanted to. Not that that was a bad thing. It could be calming. But they tended to argue a lot because of it.

"Want to go outside?" suggested Ron. Ginny had slipped away at some point, and it was just the two of them. Mum had gone upstairs. He shrugged. "It's a nice day."

"Oh," said Hermione. "Do you still prefer the day over the night, then?"

Ron was briefly surprised by how interested she seemed, but was happy to answer. "I dunno. I can still appreciate a sunny day, and I don't like the forest at night, particularly. Bloody scary."

"That could've just been because of what you've been through," said Hermione. "From what you described Mordecai was quite horrible."

"He was."

They sat down on the grass, Ron picking at it. It was a sunny afternoon. Hermione glanced at him. "Can I look at your ring? I want to examine the runes."

Ron remembered she took Ancient Runes. Maybe she'd know what was on it. A few times Ron had taken it off, running his fingers over them, trying to decipher them, but he had no flipping clue. "I can't take it off while we're out here," he said.

"But I can still have a look, can't I?"

Without further preamble, Hermione grabbed his hand, and Ron managed to hold back a splutter as she was suddenly tracing his palm, turning the ring to examine all the runes. Their linked hands hovered between them, Hermione's hair falling forward to cover her face.

Ron ached to push it back, smooth his hand down to her jaw, pull her in and-

Footsteps strutted over in the distance.

"Getting busy are we, Ronniekins?"

Ron jumped back, taking his hand with him. Hermione, surprisingly, was scowling up at the two arrivals: Fred and George, looking particularly pleased and very stupid in lime-green jackets. It looked like dragon skin, Ron noted sullenly.

He shot a lingering look at Hermione, oblivious to him.

Just before Ron could reply something rude and full of swear words back to them, his mum ducked her head out the kitchen window and said, "Dinner's ready!" She caught sight of the twins. "Ah! Boys! You're here, and just in time."

At the dinner table, George, after a brief squeeze from his mother ("Watch the jacket, Mum.") plonked himself down beside Ron, leaving Hermione to sit down on George's other side. Ron felt disappointed that they hadn't been able to sit together, but George was wearing a very dangerous smirk.

"So," George began. Dad was still at work, and Charlie, Bill and Fleur had gone out. Drinking, Ron thought, but the two brothers hadn't met up in a while. "Mum told us you're a vampire, apparently."

Ron didn't know she'd said that much. "Yeah?"

"Yeah, but I'll be honest, you don't look much like one." George pointed in front of his face. "Can we see your real eyes? Never seen a vampire before."

They both peered at him, and Ron glanced at Hermione. She too looked interested, and Ron supposed he couldn't hide it forever. "Finite Incantatem," he muttered, waving a hand below the table, and blinked.

"Are they red?" he asked, after the silence stretched. He didn't think he'd done the spell wrong but no one had said anything.

Hermione looked utterly astounded. George was speechless, but Fred managed a shaky, "Blimey."

"Do you believe me now?" said Ron.

"How could I not?"

"What spell do you use to hide them?" asked Hermione, rapid-fire. "Does it hurt?"

"I can feel it, but it doesn't hurt-"

"How come you had it equipped in the first place?" asked Ginny. "I mean... we all know. What's the point?"

"I prefer my old eyes," explained Ron. "Have you all finished having a look? I'd like to recast it."

"You don't have to," said his mum, however uneasily.

"It's fine. Like I said, I prefer it." Ron did so and waited for a minute or two, until the clanking of cutlery began up again as they ate the soup his mum had made for tea tonight. Something occurred to him. "Has anyone told Percy?"

His mum looked devastated - her usual expression when discussing Percy. "I didn't want to say it over letter in case it got lost or someone else found it, and he wouldn't respond to my floo calls. In fact," she went on miserably, "I only know where he lives because Arthur tracked down his address at the Ministry. And I'm not supposed to contact him. Otherwise he said he'd inform Arthur's boss of the breach of privacy - of his address being leaked, I mean." She sniffed once, and then lapsed into silence for the rest of the meal.

At least not everyone had lost their sense of humour.

"What a prick," said Fred.

"Well," said George, clapping Ron on the back, "Fangs for telling us the truth, little brother."

Ron sighed. He should've known they'd take the piss. "I'm just glad you two don't mind," he said. He glanced at them both sharply. "You don't, do you?"

He was still waiting for someone to announce they wanted his head on a big, pointy stick. It was bound to happen at some point, and now he was hoping it wasn't Harry, now the last one, really, other than Percy not to know.

"Nah. We should, probably," said Fred, and George nodded, "but this isn't our first dealing with- er, vampires. Or werewolves. Or veela. Or banshees, or whoever we can get ingredients off for a good price." They both glanced at Mum, but she was just staring at her dinner plate. "It's fine. Frankly I think there are bigger forces to worry about."

"That's good. You should've heard Mad-Eye earlier. Thought he was going to arrest me."

"But he came around?" said George.

Ron was taken aback by the sudden concern, but nodded. "Yeah. He did."

"That's good," said George. "Hey, I've always wondered... can you drink animal blood? I mean, it's a bit weird with you sat there with an empty plate, so I wondered if we couldn't nip out to the garden and get the scrawniest-looking chicken-"

"George!" scolded his mother. "Don't joke about this. It's horribly inappropriate. Do you know what this means for Ron? Have you read any of the laws? Do you know what might happen to him if they find out?"

"Of course I know," George replied, but his mother wasn't deterred.

"No," she said, all of a sudden eerily quiet. "I don't think you do understand. If the Ministry finds out they'll want him tracked, or take him somewhere secure - they may very well just decide to throw you in Azkaban."

She'd been growing louder, voice swelling under obvious strain. "And it's not just Ron. We're targets, we're all targets - Ron was just the first hit." His mother's eyes were wide, but dry, like they'd seen far too much. "We could be killed, next time. All of us. Or worse. I don't mean to scare you kids, but don't take this lightly. George, Fred, Ginny, anyone. You," she nodded at Hermione. "You're in danger. You're all too young to remember what happened the first time round, and how frightening it was. The only thing keeping out the Death Eaters may be the wards we have around this house, and they're not strong enough. We took a risk joining the Order, but we felt a duty to fight. But that means whenever you leave the house - only when you have to, and only with us - you have to be careful. Always be prepared - keep rehearsing your spells in case you have to use them.

"I mean it, children. This isn't a joke."

George nodded, and mumbled, "Yes, Mum,"; cowed, for once.

Ron swallowed harshly, and felt intense thirst scrape in his throat. And he knew what he had to do tonight.

He decided not to tell them. It would only make them worry. Instead he left a note, which he would crumple if in the morning it hadn't been touched. Ron would be fine. He would walk out to where he'd walked before, and find someone, breaking into a house if he had to. He would drink from their neck, heal them, and leave again. There was an enormous well of doubt and worry sat in his stomach, but Ron ignored it the best he could. He knew what he had to do, so what could go wrong?

When he arrived downstairs, however, the kitchen light was still on.

His dad was sat at the table nursing a cup of tea, still fully dressed and glasses on the table beside him. There was a gleaming bottle of Ogden's sat next to him too, and Ron supposed some of it had fallen into his dad's cuppa.

He could leave. Or he could talk.

Ron made a choice.

"Dad? You alright?"

His father glanced up. "Ah, Ron. I thought that was your mother for a second." Then his brow furrowed. "What are you doing? Why do you look like you're going somewhere?"

"I am," Ron confirmed. "Dad, it's... It's been too long. I'm starting to feel hungry again. And I can't put any of you at risk, so I should go now before it's too late."

"Where were you going to go?"

"I was just going to walk out and find someone to... y'know. Mordecai taught me how to heal my victims; I can take what I need and not leave anything behind."

There was a twist to his dad's lips as he took another swig of his tea. When he'd finished he set down the mug with a finality that Ron took a step back at. "What are you going to do?" he asked.

"Help you," said his dad, shrugging on his cloak. "I'll go with you. It's not right for a boy of your age, vampire or not, to be out so late at night."

"I can take care of myself."

"No you can't," said Arthur bluntly, and that was that, really. Ron couldn't argue.

"Tell you what," Dad said, once they'd reached the end of the path. His dad was shivering in an old worn cloak and Ron had already offered his own for extra insulation, to which his father had said no. "Why don't we apparate? I can't be bothered to walk."

"Dad, I'll be honest, I don't know exactly where I'm going. And how much Ogden's did you have? I dunno if you're allowed to apparate-"

"It was only a sip or two," his Dad replied sharply. "And... does it really matter where you go? Will anywhere with people do?"

"Not too many people, but yeah."

"Then I don't think it'll be such an issue. Come on, grab my arm."

After a briefly uncomfortable journey, they arrived in what appeared to be a deserted city centre. Ron frowned. "Where are we?"

"Lichfield," said Arthur. "Look, there's the cathedral." He pointed at a spire in the distance.

"Why here?" asked Ron, very confused.

"No reason. My grandmother - your great one, not that you've ever met her, she was Muriel's sister - took me here on a day trip once." A group of people went by, chattering, and Arthur watched them. "How much of my input do you need?"

"Not much," said Ron. "I'll just walk around until I find someone who'd be right. You can..."

"I'll buy some bread," said Arthur. "We're nearly out and" - he looked excited, suddenly - "I want to practise my Muggle money skills. Hermione quizzed me this afternoon - you know, which coins do you use to pay for something, say, one pound twenty-five - and I think I'm ready."

With his dad nipping up to the nearest shop, Ron stood and listened for a moment for a lone heartbeat. A man was walking through an isolated green square. Ron stunned him behind a hedge before he sunk his teeth into his neck. He abandoned him not much later, cleaning his hands by licking as much of the blood off as he could, between banishing the blood staining the man's shirt collar and trying to do the same for his own clothes.

Ron had nearly lost control, but gathered it back at the last second. Healing the man's neck with the syllables slippery, uttered between bloody lips had been difficult, but he returned to where he'd left his dad to find him bouncing on his feet, a loaf of bread tucked under one arm.

"How did it go?" asked Ron.

"Fine," said his dad. "Brilliant. Great. And... Ron, you've lost your transfiguration charm."

He shrugged, wetting his lips to find a bit of blood at the corner, and savouring it delightedly. "That happens. I'll fix it when we get back."

"And your top..."

"Again, I'll just do it when we get back."

"Right," replied Arthur. "Grab my arm then."

It wasn't too late yet. Only eleven at night, maybe just pushing twelve.

They disapparated back to the end of the path and Ron began walking back up to the door again beside his dad, grass overlong and moon full in the sky (it explained Remus' absence), not seeing the two people in front of them until it was too late.

Ron was feeling a bit squiffy from the blood rush, and couldn't stop smiling. His dad was confused, but happy that he was happy.

It seemed as though Dumbledore and Harry emerged from the broom shed nearby, and the sight of the two brought Ron sharply back to sobriety. Dumbledore wore his customary midnight blue robes, the silver thread sparkling in the moonlight; and Harry, looking a bit thinner than the last Ron'd seen him, was wearing worn-out Muggle clothing.

Dumbledore wiped a cobweb (they had been in the broom shed, then) off his glasses, and moved calmly towards his dad.

"Arthur, it's quite marvellous to see you. I feared nobody was in." The old man pursed his lips. "Say, what are you doing out at this hour?"

There was a pause. Ron would've just told Dumbledore, but Harry was there. And Harry didn't know.

Dad suddenly held up his bag of bread. "Needed bread," he said. "For breakfast."

Dumbledore had a politely pensive expression on his face, and Harry was properly frowning. Ron noted he'd shot up another few inches over the summer, hence the slightly stretched look of his best mate. It wasn't like the Dursleys fed him a great deal, he knew, and Ron sending as much food as Pig would carry still couldn't help a great deal. Harry had grown but Ron was still taller. Luckily his growth spurt had finished before he got turned into a vampire.

Could he still grow, actually?

"Shall we go inside and talk?" asked Arthur. "Harry, want something to eat before bed? I know it's late, but it might get you settled easier. We have some soup I can reheat." He held up the bag again. "Plus bread."

Harry only looked unsettled for a second. "Thanks, Mr Weasley," he replied, as the four of them were trooping inside.

"Arthur, Harry. Just call me Arthur."

"Okay." Harry turned around, and as Ron stepped through the door and was bathed in the light from the hall, his eyes went wide. "Jesus Christ - Ron, what happened to you? What the-" He jolted back at glimpsing his reddened irises, and all Ron could do was stare back. He had nothing to give his best mate but the truth, and Harry wasn't finished panicking yet.

Ron wished he was. He wished he could skip to the stage of acceptance. But things never seemed to work like that.

Harry ran a hand through his hair, pushed his glasses back up his nose. "What on earth's wrong with you? Why do your eyes..." He frowned, confused. "Are you... Do they exist? Really? They do, don't they?"

Ron just waited.

"You can't be, though." He turned to Dumbledore. "Sir, what happened? Mr Weasley? Why is Ron...?"

"Why am I what?" asked Ron. "A vampire?"

Harry just stared. Ron's dad went ahead into the kitchen and began clattering about with soup and bowls and the toaster (one of his favourite Muggle devices he insisted on having in the kitchen). Dumbledore went to talk to Arthur. Ron gestured after them weakly. "Didn't you want food?"

"The fuck, Ron?" He'd taken a step closer. "What the fuck's going on? Why are you saying you're a vampire?"

"'Cause I am one? I dunno what else to tell you, Harry mate."

"How about when this happened? You were bitten, right? Isn't that how it works?"

"Yeah. I was. It was a whole thing that happened; I couldn't put it in a letter, but I can explain it to you now-"

"Harry," his dad said, voice lowered. He'd come up behind them. "Dinner's ready. And can you two be more quiet? I understand this is shocking, but everyone else is asleep."

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Well, Harry, if you're settled in I believe I'll have to go. Things to do." He hummed. "Thank you for the slip of Ogden's, Arthur. Just the thing to wake you up."

Ron's dad nodded, more preoccupied with sticking the bread he'd bought in the toaster without electrocuting himself.

"Wait," said Ron. "Can I speak to you, Sir? Just quickly."

"In private, perhaps?"

"Yeah, thanks."

They retreated into the sitting room. Dumbledore removed his hat, and Ron noticed his hand was blackened. "Professor," he said, but the headmaster was speaking instead. Perhaps purely out of habit, Ron fell silent.

"I suspect this is about the next term at Hogwarts. Professor McGonagall has already discussed it with me. You are in perfectly adequate condition to attend school again. That is, if you have everything under control."

Dumbledore stared pointedly at his blood-stained outfit. Ron cleared his throat, and began, "Sir, I know how this looks, but I do, really." He shut his eyes. His hands barely moved anymore. "Colo-Oculus Mutatia." He blinked a few times. "Look, blue again. I have a spell for a heartbeat, and I can cast a warming charm, and I can breathe very realistically. I also don't go on murder rampages and eat very- er, sustainably. I was taught how to duel and... and some very good spells," finished Ron. He realised he'd left out the Occlumency. It probably wasn't wise, but Ron had a gut feeling it would be for the best.

"That's all very good." Dumbledore was quiet only for a moment. "Say, Mr Weasley, once you have finished Hogwarts, would you be interested in joining the Order of the Phoenix?"

"Wait, you'd still let me in?" He was hopeful.

"Of course. You are still committed to our side, are you not?"

Ron nodded. "Yeah. I'm not a Death Eater, never."

"Then of course you would be allowed. I would not keep you apart from your family and friends. Now," said Dumbledore, standing to leave, "is that all?"

"I think so." Then something occurred to him. "Wait, one more: are you going to try and look for Mordecai? The vampire working with the Death Eaters who bit me?"

"Why would you like to find him?" asked Dumbledore.

"I'd like to punish him," replied Ron, truthfully, and Dumbledore shook his head.

"That will get us nowhere," he said, and it was shortly after that he departed the Burrow.

Ron just frowned.

It was then that Ron realised he'd just unleashed the knowledge of his vampirism on his best friend, before disappearing. Ron dashed back into the kitchen and saw Harry and his dad talking, Harry not having yet touched his soup.

"So this is recent? I haven't missed a lot?"

"No," said his dad. "It's just as shocking to us, too."

"Myself included," said Ron. "Don't forget I've only been at this for a handful of weeks." He sat down beside the two of them, and began to talk. It had gotten easier, the more he did it.

"But you seem so practised," said Dad, halfway through his spiel about learning the transfiguration charms. "You can put up that charm very quickly, and when we went out... The person you, er, took blood from, wasn't hurt, were they?"

"Nah. To be honest, I keep expecting things to go wrong, but they don't," Ron said. "I'll probably go too far at some point, but tonight wasn't the night, apparently. And Dad, I had to be practised or I'd be hurt. It's a bloody good motivator, pain. Mordecai would shoot stinging hexes at me every time I was too slow. Or once he stuck my arm to my back to force me to start using my wand in my left hand, and then both to practise wandless casting."

His dad's teeth were gritted. "And you said Dumbledore said we couldn't track him down and make him pay?" Ron had already delivered the good news - and the bad, from the headmaster.

"He said he wouldn't help," said Harry, quite amiably. "That doesn't mean we can't still get revenge."

"Someday, we will," said Dad. "You mark my words, Ron, you'll get him back."

Despite what Dumbledore had said, the prospect of revenge felt pretty bloody good. Especially since it seemed that Harry was on his side. The last person Ron wanted to know, really, and nothing had gone spectacularly wrong. There had been no disaster, no kicking out. His mum had even started speaking to him again.

Remus and Fleur had been right all along.

Chapter Text

Chapter Eight

"Diagon Alley today," suggested his mother over breakfast, a few weeks later. "What d'you think?"

Ron glanced next to him, where Harry was still asleep beside his plate of toast. "Give it a day or two maybe," said Ron. "I think everyone's tired."

The full family (barring Percy and Arthur) was at the table this morning, including Hermione and Harry. Charlie, Bill and Fleur all looked thoroughly hungover, blinking at the light and sipping water gingerly, dealing with disapproving looks from Mum whilst George chortled at them. Today, it was Dad's day off, but he had gotten up earlier because he wanted some time in his shed.

Hermione was sat on Ron's other side with a book. She'd looked at him three times, smiling as she realised he was staring at her, for whatever reason. Ron didn't know why he remembered that so exactly.

His mum made an exasperated noise at Bill, Fleur and Charlie. "Well, it's their own bloody fault. Shouldn't've gone out drinking, should you?"

"Please," said Bill, weakly. They had gone out to celebrate Bill and Fleur's engagement. Ron could have sworn the twins went with them, but they seemed fine. Harry was just tired because he and Ron had snuck out for some midnight Quidditch. "Please give us hangover potions, Mum, I know you've got some-"

"No. I'm teaching you a lesson." His mum hesitated. "If you agree to come out with us to Diagon Alley, I'll give you some."

Then George cleared his throat, before announcing in the most unctuous manner possible: "Regardless of what you lot are doing, me and Fred have to go and open the shop. Hogwarts is starting again soon and we have to catch the rush of students wanting tricks and treats for the new term."

"Did you practise that?" said Ginny. "It sounds like you have."

George didn't answer. To the side of him, Fred yawned and nodded. "Yeah. Gotta go to work."

"We'll meet you later on," continued Ron's mum, "and we'll all go, seeing as it's your father's day off."

"We've agreed to go, can you give us the potions now?" groaned Bill.

Mum nodded and Charlie gave a half-hearted cheer, which was stifled when he gulped ominously. Ron's eldest brother was looking terribly green.

It was only after they had drunk the potions Fred and George mentioned the many hangover potions they had incidentally brought with them.

Ron and Harry went back up to Ron's room after breakfast. Harry had looked confused when Ron invited him up. "But didn't your mum say we'd go now?"

"She means in an hour or two. C'mon, mate, I got some new Quidditch cards to show you."

Harry collapsed back on the spare camp bed his Dad had set up while Ron flopped back on his own bed. He glanced to the side. "You sure that's comfortable?"

"My own bed back home's shit compared to this, and besides, those charms your dad put on it made it feel like the beds at Hogwarts."

Ron would swear while they talked Harry dozed off for a bit, but they'd been up talking most nights about the latest developments: Ron being a vampire and Dumbledore collecting Harry from the Dursleys, mainly, as he'd revealed to Harry a few puzzling things. Hermione was sharing with Ginny downstairs, and they'd been up to Ron's room on many nights so they could all talk. Meet-ups in the middle of the night was the best part of having your friends round, Ron thought.

"You excited to go back?" Harry asked.

"I dunno. Depends if I go mad with all the humans around."

Ron had already offered to Harry to use Percy's room instead, seeing as it was empty, but Harry had refused despite the danger he might not wake up. He said he trusted Ron, for which Ron was secretly very happy about. Like he said, he just wanted to pretend that things were still normal, and Harry understood that so long as Ron stayed well fed, he would not attack anyone.

"Boys! It's time to go!" Mum shouted sometime later. Ron put away his collection of Quidditch cards so they could trot back downstairs, Harry grabbing a cloak from his meagre luggage as he went.

"I keep forgetting we're in the wizarding world again," he muttered.

Mum was still shouting when they got down there. "Boys! We have to go, we're going to be late otherwise-"

"Mum! We're here, calm down."

She smiled warmly at them. "Right, well, if we're all here now-"

"Other than Ginny," said Bill, and she was off again.

"Ginny!" Mum screeched. Beside her, Harry discreetly covered one ear. "Get down here now, you're making us late!"

After a few moments a disgruntled Ginny appeared. "I was just sending a letter, Mum, I'd have been down in a minute. You didn't have to shou-"

She ignored her. "That's lovely dear, but we have to go now."

"How are we getting there?" asked Harry.

"You'll be side-alonging; we've done the maths and there're enough adults to apparate all the children there."

Ron ended up next to his brother Bill, who scrutinised him for a second. Ron frowned. "What?"

"Sorry, just checking your transfiguration was in place."

He paused. "And is it?"

"Yeah."

"'Kay. Tell me if it's not... you know what it means for me if I'm found out."

Ron was unfathomably nervous. It seemed that this trip was a yawning abyss impossible to see around: the future was too indeterminable. Would he return home safe? Or would he be caught and locked up, the key thrown away?

They arrived at the Leaky Cauldron shortly after, Muggles walking past obliviously as they were unable to see through the glamour around the pub. Ron was glad to go unnoticed for a while longer. He had discussed with Harry all the new dangers that would arise when he met the public again. There might be powerful wizards who might somehow sense him. Vampires and werewolves in hiding, like himself. He had to be on the lookout for anything suspicious, and run from anything that might expose him.

It was far quieter than the limited occasions Ron had come in here before, a few steadfast regulars the only ones still stubbornly sipping from their drinks. Tom the barkeeper was ragged and worn, stare latching on to them as soon as they entered.

"Molly, Arthur," he said, as he slung the cloth he'd been using to wipe down the bar top over his shoulder. He nodded at the rest of them. "What can I do for you today?"

"Just passing through, Tom, thanks," said Arthur. He seemed to battle with himself before adding: "And I'm sorry about your mother. I- I was one of the people put on the case."

Something in the man's face shifted. He fixed them with a sorrowful gaze. "S'alright, Arthur. Now you run along - the back's clear." He picked up the cloth and began cleaning again.

"Isn't the new policy to check us?" said Arthur.

"It's to let through who they tell me to," Tom spat, "not who's trustworthy. Otherwise I..." He paused. "You're all right to go on through, Arthur. I know your family's good."

Ron swallowed, and tried not to think about how he would have been considered the opposite of that if Tom had known the truth. They moved from the well-lit pub to the murky alleyway behind, the outside world having turned dark with the impending rainfall. Spots of rain were falling already.

"It'll soon clear up," remarked Arthur, before taking out his wand to tap on the necessary bricks to get into Diagon Alley. Behind him, Molly moved them all closer, keeping them tightly-knit.

"Stay close, especially when we're walking down the main street," she murmured.

The brick wall crumpled apart, picking itself back up again to form an archway. It revealed a stark-looking street lined with shops, ashen roofs twisted upwards, mingling with the London skyline in the distance. People hurried past in tight groups similar to theirs, just trying to get in and out again as quickly as possible. There was no basking in the magical atmosphere. Ron felt it too, the instinct to catch every movement, any potential danger that might threaten his family. The streets were empty, other than a few people; dark and dingy, the proximity of the towering buildings of Diagon Alley were intimidating rather than cosy. The number of boarded-up shops they passed - even Ollivanders! - was astronomical.

They didn't often go to Diagon, on account of it being expensive and busy, but when they did it was always memorable. Now it would be for all the wrong reasons. Diagon should have been magnificent.

Molly tugged her daughter in closer as they headed for Flourish and Blotts. Ron and Harry trudged on behind. They'd received their Hogwarts letters a while ago, this time the equipment list accompanied by their OWLs results. Ron did well. A handful of Es, pretty much, with some As. Harry had been awarded the same, except for an O in Defence.

Beside him Harry suddenly paused, and then nudged Ron. "Is your ring working alright?"

Ron nodded. It had never wavered yet. But then he was shaking his head at his best mate, "Don't mention it in public, all right?"

Harry nodded in understanding, and then his eye caught on something behind. Ron turned to see what it was, and he stopped dead.

There, plastered boldly against a sign was a Ministry poster, as Ron knew from the branded 'M' on the front. Emblazoned across it read: 'Do you really know the people around you?'

It was a poster warning about dark creatures.

If you looked at it one way, you saw two perfectly normal men. Then if you looked at it another way, you saw hideous, disfigured monsters: one had a wolf's head, jaw wide to reveal snarling fangs and filth-embedded claws protruding from the bony hands; the next had mottled skin, with blood-red eyes like deep crevices and a mouth full of razor-sharp, blinding teeth. Ichor-filled veins trailed down the vampire's face and disappeared down its collar.

It looked downright terrifying, and it was no wonder that people were afraid of vampires and werewolves, if this was how they saw them.

Ron began speeding up to join the group again. He felt Harry trying to catch his eye, but he wouldn't look back.

"You didn't look like that, you know," he said. "The- the eyes I think were mostly right. But the veins, the teeth... they aren't nearly that bad."

Ron licked his lips, and he could feel fangs pushing slightly on his lower teeth. Only small, but still sharp enough to tear through skin. "Really?"

"Really," Harry confirmed, and for a moment, it all felt a bit surreal that his friends were on his side. Next Hermione was dropping into step beside them.

"Alright, Ron? Harry?" she asked.

"Yeah," said Ron.

"Fine," said Harry.

Ginny turned around, excited. "Are you ready to go to Fred and George's shop? Mum said we'd go next since none of us need new robes."

Harry looked pained. Hermione nudged him. "You must need new robes," she said. "You must've shot up about three or four inches, and I think your shoulders are wider."

"I... I suppose so."

"Harry, you've got to ask for things when you need them. I know the Dursleys-"

"I don't want to mention the Dursleys here," he replied, and Hermione frowned. Nevertheless, word got back to Mrs Weasley that Harry needed new robes and they visited Madam Malkin's, where they found the owner looking incredibly stressed and practically shooing them out of the formerly lavish shop once they'd purchased Harry's robes, and some for Ron, too.

"Very rude," said Mum.

"Madam Malkin's was nearly shut down by the Ministry last week after it was found she'd done some resistance work in the last war," shared Arthur, and everyone was silent.

It was then that they set out for Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.

The group turned a corner, and Ron's eyebrows shot to his hairline.

It looked like an explosion, a riotous, violent burst of colour that put the rest of the dull grey street to shame. Whilst the other shops had ripped posters stuck on the front about escaped Death Eaters and Ministry safety precautions or 'CLOSED' signs, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was like watching a firework display, bursting with magic. Like the Burrow it seemed the place thrived on it alone.

Ron's brothers had really done something spectacular with the place. Suddenly their constant bragging didn't seem so unsubstantiated any more, and inside was even better. Even brighter and wilder, packed with all the people that the streets seemed to be missing.

Despite how overwhelming to Ron's sensitive eyes and ears it was, he had a good wander around, staring at the bright packages of product stacked fifty high. He waved to a few other teenagers he vaguely recognised from Hogwarts. All were clamouring for one product or another, and above it all on a winding staircase, reigning over the chaos they proudly proclaimed as their own, stood Fred and George.

They cried out as soon as they saw Ron and their family. "O family mine!" shouted George, and he and Fred bounded down the steps to meet them.

"Welcome! Mum, Dad, Ginevra, Ronald. Harold!" Fred bellowed at them, and their mother covered her ears.

"Awfully loud in here," she said above the noise, and both twins nodded eagerly.

"That's the point," Fred informed her brightly. "Now then, Mum, what do you think?"

"I love it," said Mum, thankfully. "This place... it's amazing. I'm still not sure how you got your start-up funds, and I was very sceptical of it in the beginning, but I think you've done an excellent job, boys."

She squashed them both into a hug so tight that both twins were soon turning a bright red. Ron laughed, and George sent him a death stare.

"I don't see where your successful business is, Ron," he said. Fred was busy telling Dad about the Muggle card tricks and Ginny the new pygmy puffs.

Harry started to snicker. "I don't see Potters' brooms either, you know, so you can shut it too," Ron grumbled.

Then it was George's turn to laugh. But then, he was looking grim, and clasped Ron on the shoulder. "I saw the posters," he said, "but don't take it too personally. You know the Ministry loves to rag on everyone - it's not just vampires. Werewolves, goblins... not veela so much anymore, but there's still some debate about how much they use their allure. For getting jobs, and stuff."

Ron swallowed. "Oh."

"It's unfair, really. Things were changing, but for some creatures - including yourself - the laws've just gone back quite a few years in the latest announcement from the Ministry. Vampires are officially banned from shops again. I mean, technically they were banned before, but not officially."

Ron's eyes widened in alarm. "And- and what happens to them if they're caught?"

"Dunno. It's vague, so probably Azkaban. I'm sorry, mate."

"Nothing you can do about it."

George shrugged. "Yeah, it's a bit rubbish. So keep up the good work with your transfiguration, little brother." His brother patted him on the head, and Ron frowned.

Whilst staring at a display by the front window, Harry spotted Draco Malfoy looking shifty, before he disappeared down a dark alleyway. He nudged Ron, who nudged Hermione, and it was just like old times. "We're definitely following him," said Harry.

"I suppose now would be a good time for it," said Hermione. "Just while everyone's busy." She glanced at her watch. "But we'll have to be quick - your mum said we'd go home at teatime, Ron."

"Why are you agreeing? Hermione, you're supposed to be on my side - the side of sanity, and survival-"

But Harry was already slipping out the front door of the shop; and it was follow or be left behind.

"Harry, where the hell are you going?" Ron hissed, and he didn't answer, continuing after Malfoy.

They ended up crouched about half a street down from Borgin and Burkes, technically not in Knockturn Alley but very close to it. Ron did not want to be anywhere near Knockturn Alley.

"Harry, I know Malfoy looked suspicious, but did we really have to follow him?" asked Ron.

Hermione had no answer, and they were both waiting on Harry, who was trying his best to glance into the windows. "I can't... they're facing the wrong way, how am I supposed to see-"

"You want to know what he's saying?" Ron sighed good-naturedly. "Bloody hell, why didn't you just say?"

Harry looked in awe.

They seemed almost underwater to Ron, but he could just about make it out. He tried to feed it back to Harry and Hermione, eager for detail.

"There's a cabinet, they're on about a cabinet... her sister is broken, Borgin said, and now Malfoy's getting prissy. He still wants it and now he's just calling Borgin poor." Ron paused. "Oh. Now he wants to know how to fix it. Wait, I know - it's got to be a vanishing cabinet!"

Encouraged, he tried to listen to more, but he heard something else instead. A crashing noise; an animal snarling and hissing. Fast footsteps. Ron turned to Harry and Hermione, who'd already realised something was wrong.

It was just as they were inching from the street they'd been sandwiched down that Ron saw a figure sprinting past, practically blurry they were moving so fast. And hot on their heels were about ten Ministry officials, noticeable by their plum-coloured robes and assertive shouting. All ten pounding after one runner, wands outstretched. Ron was craning his neck to see who the hell it was.

A whistling noise shot right past him; Ron was forced back. It was a spell, pulsating with a freakish purple glow; it smashed straight into a nearby shop, exploding the windows with an ear-splitting crash. Ron ducked to avoid the shower of glass. Some still pricked his hand, but he merely brushed them away, the pain nothing compared to having his entire hand skinned.

"See?" he said, holding up his hand, knitting itself together before their very eyes. "It all heals."

"Ergh," said Hermione.

"Pretty fucking cool," said Harry. "But who was that?"

"Let's go and see," Hermione replied. "Malfoy's run, so there's no point sticking around anyway."

As they ran past they got a better look at the shop opposite. Windows blown out, the worn curtains were billowing in the wind and the door was hanging off. Bricks and rubble had landed nearby, flicked off the building like an errant fingernail by the powerful spell.

Ron stopped them. "But should we go? What if it's dangerous?" His friends weren't as hardy as him, Ron knew.

Harry just scoffed, and pushed past.

A small crowd had bloomed in the path of the runner, and they joined it, moving to the edges to push closer. The woman was still running; she had long, tawny-coloured hair and pale skin, and wore a robe the colour of toffee. Ron wondered who she was.

And then it struck him: although he could hear the pounding hearts of the Ministry officials trying (and failing) to catch her, he couldn't hear hers. It could mean only one thing, really, and Ron would've known regardless of the missing heartbeat in his ears, he liked to think.

She was a vampire, just like him.

Ron halted entirely, and neither of his friends noticed. But they slowed down anyway as the woman came to a dead end. She turned, eyes wild, and they were clearly a bloody-red colour.

"It's her!" shouted someone from beside Ron. "It's her - Kella Wright!"

Ron let himself hide behind his friends. He couldn't put himself at risk. If the vampire recognised him for a mutual and shouted, he'd be done for. He recognised her now. Kella Wright. She'd been around for a long bloody time; quieter in the years since Voldemort, but prominent nonetheless. She'd peaked in notoriety some seventy years ago, but since Grindelwald cut her down for being an impure magic-user, she'd never quite recovered.

She'd done everything, from protesting to raising rebellions; appealing laws; trying to set fire to the Ministry (on four recorded occasions, the earliest almost two centuries ago); then Ron heard about some explosions, brain-washing, more rioting, and a prison break-out too, he thought. Over the many decades she'd lived she'd accrued hundreds of crimes, and not been convicted of a single one.

They could never catch her.

It was a bit anticlimactic for it to happen here, though, since Ron didn't really have a clue about her. It would've been better if his grandparents were standing here instead. Great-grandparents, even. Ron knew her as some historical figure, not a modern-day freedom fighter. He'd always assumed by the way people spoke about about her that she was delusional, but... being a vampire himself and aware of all the ways the Ministry and public could hate him, Ron wasn't so sure anymore.

She looked quite tired for someone who was meant to be very ferocious. Her eyes were wet and wide, face sunken, hair thin. She tried to hex the Ministry representatives and failed. They shielded every spell, and closed in.

As a last resort, there was an explosion.

Rubble went flying through the air again, glass tinkling and dust billowing. Ron heard panicked screaming of a crowd attempting to escape; and then he felt another movement, strong and swift, so similar to Mordecai that he was crashing to meet it before he could think.

His arms wrapped around the figure, and they both crashed to the ground. Ron opened his eyes to see the haunting red eyes of Kella Wright staring back at him.

Merlin's beard, he'd caught her. Vampiric strength and speed combining to... Ron didn't even know. A Ministry man was suddenly looming above and tugging the woman off him; she spat and screeched, wild as a stray, trying to escape.

The look of venom in her eyes was unmistakable as she was apparated away, hand-cuffed.

Ron was shaking.

After the crowd cleared there was nothing left to do but go back.

Harry, kneeling down, tugged at his jacket. "Ron mate," he muttered, "you're still sat on the floor. People're staring."

Still trembling, he rose. Harry swore loudly. "Eyes!" he hissed. "Your eyes, Ron, you need to-"

Ron whispered the incantation and blinked a few times. "Better?" Harry nodded at him, his own green eyes filled with concern.

"What happened?" said Ron as they were making their way back to the joke shop. "I still don't understand any of it... I was just standing there, and then there were those spells, and..."

They ducked back through the door. Mum was stood talking to Dad, and Ginny to one of her school friends; no one noticed they'd disappeared for a bit. Ron also saw that no one was freaking out and realised that the news of what had happened must not have reached this part of Diagon yet, and he marvelled at how something so bloody muddling to himself wasn't even on the others' radars.

"I don't really think there was a lot to it," said Hermione, innocuously flicking through a row of colour-changing notebooks. "Kella Wright was spotted and chased, before being caught."

"Wait," said both Ron and Harry, "how do you know who she is?"

Hermione shrugged. "I read around, you know me."

"But who is she?" said Harry, confused.

"Infamous vampire," said Ron, and filled him in on the rest while Hermione picked out a velvety green notebook.

"I think I'll get this," she said. "But yes, that's about all there is to it."

"How are you so calm about this?" asked Ron.

"I'm not," she replied, "but panicking visibly would do no good. But it's not the same for you. You've got to be more panicked considering that's... what could happen to you." Her eyes went wide with sympathy, and she dropped a light touch on his arm. "I'm sorry."

Hermione walked away to the till and Ron was still staring, gob-smacked. It always made him act that way whenever she touched him, now. The twins appeared behind Harry. "Shit," began George, eloquently. "D'you know that they've just caught Kella Wright? Just a street away?"

Harry and Ron paused just a moment too long. Fred sighed. "Of course you were fucking there. Got involved too somehow, I expect."

"It is sort of my fault," admitted Ron, as Bill appeared behind Fred.

"What was your fault?" asked Charlie, somehow there too.

"Right, don't let Mum and Dad know-"

"Don't let us know what?" said Dad, looking between them. Fleur was next to them. Arthur frowned. "What is it, Ron?"

"Don't you dare not tell us now, Ronald Weasley," scolded his mother.

"I'll tell you at home," he said, and although they agreed, his family didn't leave him alone until he'd told them everything.

The paper the next morning told almost exactly the same story as what Hermione had said, and seeing the complete hatred for vampires the public had made him feel so uneasy he spent much of the day in his room.

Thinking. Just thinking. At least his name hadn't been mentioned, although Harry's had been dropped in.

When he emerged, his friends were there waiting for him. Hermione had a book propped open in her lap and Harry looked deep in thought.

"What do you think Malfoy was doing looking for a vanishing cabinet?" he said. "Why would he want one? And from Borgin and Burkes, too."

"I dunno. Doesn't his family like collecting dark artefacts?"

"But why a vanishing cabinet?"

"Harry, d'you know what one of those does?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah. I asked Hermione. But why does Malfoy need a secret passageway? Where's he trying to go?"

After an hour, all they'd really come up with was that it was to do with some kind of plot. A Death Eater plot, Harry insisted, and Ron scoffed at him.

"Nah," he said. "Malfoy's a kid, they wouldn't recruit him yet."

"They turned you," Harry said, and Ron fell quiet, because, well, he had a good point. It seemed sixteen wasn't too young for the Death Eaters.

The rest of the summer seemed to fall away in the blink of an eye. They spent many lazy afternoons playing Quidditch in the garden (with some coaxing they could get Hermione on a broom, and with Ron's older brothers around their games were excellent), having picky bits or sandwiches for dinner and then talking until it was the late in the evening, the fire burning low in the back garden.

It was one of the best times of Ron's life, being honest. If he weren't a vampire it would've been perfect.

But all too soon, it seemed, his mum began cleaning up the house and bringing out school trunks again. The pile of school robes in the bottom of Ron's cupboard was pulled out again, the dust brushed off before they were refolded inside his trunk. He had to hunt down his school shoes and his Charms textbook and Gryffindor tie, which he inexplicably lost at the end of every year.

August was winding down and the summer was still warm, but it was clear it wouldn't be getting any warmer. The wind turned with a sudden chill and Ron reflected on how soon it would be dark at five o'clock; that was probably his least favourite thing about winter. You finished school and it seemed like that was the entire day, gone.

"Are you nervous for NEWTs?" Harry asked him.

Ron shrugged. "I haven't thought about them in a while. It's easier since we haven't even started the courses yet."

"What'd you pick again?"

Ron was just glad he and his best mate still got on.

The first of September swung around, and Ron was prodded awake early so they'd have time to get to the train and double-checking he'd packed everything. The night before he'd gone out with his dad to get some more blood so he'd have the maximum amount of restraint possible for the new school year. He wasn't exactly sure what would happen once he was surrounded by so many students. He had to go and see McGonagall right after the welcoming feast, neither of which he was looking forward to. Human food still made him feel queasy and McGonagall was quite intimidating.

After apparating to the train station, Ron met up with the rest of his school friends again, and although he and Seamus joked like they always did, all he could think about was whether or not his transfiguration spell was still in place. They picked a carriage aboard the train, in a carriage overlooking the packed station, and all Ron could obsess over was whether the sharpness of his teeth was noticeable or not.

All of a sudden there were all these new voices and noises in the back of his head, and it made Ron yearn for the quiet of his bedroom, where all he could hear was the birds and his mother puttering about downstairs making cups of tea.

Merlin, it was annoying.

Harry tapped his foot against his seat, and Ron twitched.

"What is it?" he asked. "Ron, mate, you've been off all day."

Ron rolled his shoulders uneasily. Hermione glanced up from her book, some Muggle title. "I know," he said. "I'm sorry, it's just strange adjusting to there being so many people. I can hear them all. It's like listening to ten conversations all at once."

"Do you not think we should do something?" Harry suddenly burst. "Tell someone?"

None of them had to ask what Harry was talking about: Malfoy, the only thing that had been on his mind for days.

"Who would you suggest?" said Hermione, brow furrowed.

"I don't know. Dumbledore? McGonagall? Lupin? Anyone who can do something."

"You think that they would?" said Ron. "Don't you think this is too... small? We don't even know that anything's actually happening."

"Of course it's happening, Ron, it always is-"

"Malfoy was just getting an expensive Christmas present! It's nothing, Harry! Merlin." Ron sat back in his seat, shaking his head.

Harry went quiet.

"Bloody say something," Ron shot at him. "I know you want to. Fine - if you want to discuss this properly, let's talk about it properly."

"I've been thinking of asking your dad," said Harry, "but I thought he'd just tell me what you did now. That Malfoy is definitely not a Death Eater, and his behaviour isn't part of something bigger."

"And that didn't convince you to doubt your idea?" said Hermione.

"No," said Harry honestly. "I'm never missing anything again after Sirius. If I'd just not been so bloody thick, he'd still be alive now."

"It's not your fault, Harry," Hermione tried.

Ron nodded. "Really mate. You-Know-Who's an absolute tit. Look what he did to me."

"Yeah, well... I'm just going to try and investigate Malfoy once we get back to school." He was looking away, out of the window, and Hermione looked terribly cross.

"Don't you dare use the map for this," she said, and Harry didn't reply.

If the constant movement riling up his senses wasn't enough to set him on edge, the new safety measures certainly worried him. The amount of pressure he felt growing as he moved closer to where Flitwick was scanning people over with an orb, and then letting them through was flipping ridiculous. But when he and Hermione reached the gates, Flitwick only checked Hermione.

He had a knowing, slightly suspicious look in his eye, and Ron realised he must be one of the Order who knew. Then, his Charms professor frowned. "Where's Potter?" he asked. "Don't you three usually go everywhere together?"

"He hasn't come through yet?" asked Hermione. Flitwick shook his head.

About half an hour ago, Harry had said he was going to the loo. After ten minutes turned into fifteen, Ron's jokes about why he was taking so long turned into concern. He went to check when he was on one of his mandatory prefect patrols and found the toilets empty. He'd tried to listen out as he walked up and down the train, but couldn't find Harry's voice.

"Hermione," he said to her as they made their way up the drive, "where the hell is Harry?"

"I don't know." She sounded nervous. "You don't think we should go back and look for him, do you? You know what kind of trouble he gets himself into."

Ron hesitated. Then he called to Flitwick, "Professor?"

He was confiscating dungbombs off some third-years, but glanced up at their call. "Yes, Weasley?"

"We don't know where Harry is."

A hardened look entered the professor's eye. "When was the last time you saw him?"

"On the train. He disappeared."

"Right. Thank you for informing me, Weasley. I'll send someone to look for him; we've a few Aurors helping out with security this year. You two go on up to the feast."

Although it did nothing to ease their fears, Ron and Hermione went into the Great Hall with the rest; they slotted in easily amongst the robed masses of students, and Ron struck up a conversation with Neville. Hundreds of heartbeats were pounding in his head, louder than ever, but it wasn't unbearable...

Yet.

There was the sorting, a short speech from the headmaster, and then the plates around Ron were filling with food. Dumbledore's speech said something about banding together to defeat the darkness and Ron tuned out halfway through, he'd be honest.

Everyone looked more tense this year and Ron couldn't deny he wasn't either. Even Malfoy was changed from the pristine prat Ron was accustomed to seeing, his pallor grey and dark rings stamped under his eyes. He wondered what a kid on the dark side had to worry about, since at the moment it seemed they were winning. Ron hated to say it, but judging from the recent headlines of the newspapers it was true. But Ron supposed You-Know-Who wasn't in the business of being nice regardless of that.

More than a few students hadn't shown up this year. Melanie Spencer, a third-year from Hufflepuff. Tiberius Fawley from the year above Ron in Slytherin. He was a shocking gap as the Fawleys were Pure-bloods (one of the sacred twenty-eight, in fact), and according to the whispers they were allied with the Dark Lord. Or perhaps not.

When McGonagall read out the first-years' names so they could be sorted by the hat, a good five of them weren't there. But with Ollivander gone and the Death Eater attacks growing more rampant, it was logical that some Muggle-borns would turn down the chance of attending Hogwarts.

Ron said that everyone was more worried, but to the left of him two fourth-years upended a goblet of pumpkin juice over a second-year, and he had to shout at them in a very prefect-like manner. He was still surprised he had the position, but as nobody had yet taken it away from him Ron was acting as though he still did. What was he going to do? Purposely ask Dumbledore to take it away and lose all of the privileges?

There were two changes this year which had managed to catch his attention. First, a very sumptuous-looking old man who reminded Ron of a walrus had taken over the post of Potions Master (Ron thought Harry said his name was Slughorn; the night Dumbledore took him from the Dursleys and brought him to the Burrow, they'd taken a detour to convince Slughorn to take the job), and Snape had taken over the post for Defence Against the Dark Arts.

What a fucking joke. Ron was just glad he wasn't taking Potions; although he was taking Defence, now with Snape for a teacher. Since hearing the news Harry had been despondent, staring with an expression of despair out of the window. Hermione had to nudge him to eat.

Ron had had to deliver the news himself after Harry had turned up well after the speech was finished, with blood streaming from his broken nose, and still dressed in Muggle clothing. Ron's eyes had widened at the sight of blood and despite having eaten the night before, he had to look away and physically hold himself to the bench.

He was very, very good at drinking blood. He'd never once struggled to bite into a stranger's neck. Ron was realising now how dangerous that talent would prove in the proximity of hundreds of (inconveniently) human students. He might have to ask Hermione and Harry to always have a spell on hand to restrain him. For the first time, Ron wasn't sure what he might do.

Muffled behind his hand, he recast the transfiguration spell just in case the surge of thirst had cracked his defences. And then, after Hermione had cast Scourgify on the blood covering Harry's face, Ron looked up. He wanted to ask a question but didn't trust himself enough to suck in some air to ask. If he did that he might... catch the scent of it, still lingering. Delightfully coppery and warm.

Blood.

Blood.

Hermione asked instead, thank Merlin. "Harry," she hissed, "where've you been?"

"I got" - his nose sounded blocked - "caught by Malfoy eavesdropping. He hexed me, stomped on my nose and broke it and Tonks had to rescue me."

(Of course, what with his nose it sounded more like: "I god caud by Malboy eadrobing," but Ron could decipher it well enough that it didn't matter.)

"Did she fix it for you?"

"Yeah, 'Mione. But it's just swelled up a bit."

Ron stared down at his dinner plate. Empty. Every so often, he would serve himself a bit of food, and ready his wand under the table to vanish it as soon as he put it in his mouth. Or from the plate; that had less of a chance of him accidentally vanishing his own teeth.

Soon the feast was ending, and Ron stood up from the bench. He'd calmed down enough by now to speak without wanting to devour his best friends. "I have to go and see McGonagall now," he said, and Hermione's eyes widened with sympathy.

"Want us to come with you?"

"Can if you want. But I don't know how much you'll like the conversation." Ron shook his head. "No, you two go to bed. I'll lead the firsties back to the common room with you and split off when we get to the stairs."

It was far too soon that Ron found himself climbing the stairs alone to McGonagall's office, dreading the meeting ahead.

Chapter Text

Chapter Nine

"Good evening, Mr Weasley. I'm sure you're wondering why I invited you here."

After knocking on McGonagall's door with some trepidation, Ron had taken a seat on the other side of the deputy headmistress' desk and was now facing her. Despite the late hour and the chill in the air, she was wide awake and unruffled as always, expression austere and hair drawn up neatly behind her head.

To the side of them the fire crackled, and Ron had to fight to pull his gaze away from it. "Er- yes, yeah, I s'pose I am."

"We need to sort out your... unique dietary requirements." What a nice way of putting it. "First, I believe we should outline some potential options-"

"Why isn't Dumbledore doing this?" interrupted Ron. "I'd have thought he'd be more concerned, considering it's his school."

Her lips were pursed tightly. "He is. That's why he put me to the task. I'm your head of house and I have more free time, according to Albus. But let's get back to the task at hand, Weasley-"

"You can just call me Ron," said Ron, and McGonagall stared at him before continuing.

"Option one: Madam Pomfrey gives you blood donations. Those would do in a pinch as the Infirmary's just upstairs. However, it would involve us having to find a plausible reason to put on the forms requesting the blood. What do you think?"

"That sounds fine," said Ron, not really thinking about it. "Professor, who actually knows I'm a vampire?"

"Myself, Professor Dumbledore, Professor Flitwick and Madam Pomfrey."

"What about Snape?"

"And Professor Snape. My apologies, Weasley."

Ron grimaced, but before he could reply McGonagall was clearing her throat. "The second option, Weasley, is the one you suggested before. We take you out of school or you take yourself out of school and find someone to... drink from." Her eyes slid to him. "Is that the correct terminology?"

He answered honestly. "I couldn't really give a harpy's arse about the terminology, Professor-"

"Weasley," she said sharply, "be sensible here. But is the second option really what you would prefer to do?"

He nodded.

"And alone? Do you prefer to be alone?"

"Who else could I go with?"

"I thought you would try to bring Granger along, or Potter."

"I'm not putting them in danger like that," said Ron. McGonagall stayed quiet. It felt like he had to talk purely to fill the space. "I'm not in control in that moment. Not at all. If I heard a heartbeat I'd go for their blood, it's as simple as that, no matter who it is. And... no matter how good a duellist Harry is, I don't want to accidentally hurt him. Or Hermione."

"Alright," said McGonagall, "we'll leave them out of this, although I assume you'll still inform them about it."

"Of course."

"Good. What about one of us accompanying you? It could be Professor Flitwick, Professor Dumbledore, or myself."

Ron was glad she understood not to mention Snape. "Are you sure Dumbledore would do it?"

"To be honest, Weasley, I have no idea if he would. But if you don't like those options, I did receive a letter from your father offering himself to accompany you."

"That's what me and Dad did at home. But that wouldn't work. He's got work, I've got school, it's just not doable. I'll go alone. Can you or Flitwick sort of stand by, though? Mainly I need you to apparate me about since I don't have my licence yet, but in case something goes wrong, also." Ron felt like he was asking for a lot. "Would you consider it?"

Thankfully, McGonagall was nodding along, noting something down on a scrap of parchment. "Of course, Weasley. I'll discuss this with Professor Flitwick - or even Madam Pomfrey, if you like." Ron had forgotten that she knew too - she had to, to stock the Infirmary with blood donations. "How often will you need blood?"

"Every week," said Ron. "Just to be on the safe side. Since I had blood recently" - McGonagall visibly jolted at that, but held her nerve - "I don't think we'll need to go until... Would Friday be alright?"

"Yes, Weasley. Now - any time of night you prefer?"

"I'll knock on your door at eleven o'clock. It never takes very long, so you should be tucked up in bed by twelve, Professor. Is that alright? Unless you go to bed earlier," said Ron. "Then we could leave earlier... It just needs to be dark so I don't get caught-"

"Eleven will be fine," said McGonagall dryly. "Don't worry about my bedtime, Weasley. Does it matter where I apparate you?"

"No, it just needs to be somewhere with people. But-"

"-not too many, I remember from before." She glanced up at him. "I believe that will be all for tonight. I'll see you tomorrow morning for Transfiguration."

"Thanks," he remembered to say before he left, feeling very strange indeed.

When he arrived at the dormitory, it already looked as though the Gryffindor sixth-years' trunks had exploded across the floor. Robes were set out for tomorrow morning, shoes by the door, some bog roll next to the bathroom that no one could be arsed to put in the actual room; and it was all so familiar that Ron felt his heart swelling with relief.

"Want a hand, Ron?" asked Seamus, indicating toward a stack of cards Dean was shuffling. "We're just starting another round, you came at a good time."

"Yeah, go on."

Harry was sat on Neville's bed, next to its owner, and Dean and Seamus were both sat on the one next to it. They were playing cards on an upended bin and Ron settled down on someone's trunk to play. "Where'd you go, by the way?" asked Dean.

He had an excuse ready. "Had to speak to McGonagall about my NEWT options. I fucked up the form, apparently."

They all laughed and conveniently, no one asked any more questions. "We were just talking about Quidditch. Harry's the captain this year, you know," said Neville.

"Oh yeah," said Ron. He'd completely forgotten. "That makes sense. Yeah, I knew."

"Can you help me, please?" Harry begged. "I've got no idea how to set up practice. As in, when. Also, I don't think I can do a pep talk as well as Oliver could, or strategies... Should I owl him for help?"

Ron made a noise. "Come on, it won't be that bad-"

Harry scraped a hand through his hair, making it stick up like he'd been electrocuted. "What if I fuck it all up though?" he asked. "Oliver would hunt me down if I lost the cup."

Ron nodded seriously. Quidditch. He could do this. "Right, mate, just... go to McGonagall, like, tomorrow afternoon, and ask for a slot on the pitch. Start working on strategies once you have a team sorted out."

"That's a good plan," said Neville. "Harry, I said you should wait for Ron before you start freaking out."

"Yeah. S'pose you were right," Harry replied, and it turned out Dean was much better at cards than Ron had previously thought and beat the lot of them.

Ron wasn't surprised when his bed curtain was twitched at half-past one, when the rest of the boys were asleep. Ron sat up against the pillows and Harry sat down at the end of it, crossing his legs to let the curtain fall shut again. He held the Marauder's Map in his hand. "Look," he said. "Malfoy's sneaking around already."

"On the first day? Bloody hell, he moves quick."

"Yeah. Voldemort must be putting a lot of pressure on him."

Ron felt a sinking feeling within. "Harry-"

"I know, I know." The other boy pushed his glasses further up his nose. They were both leaning over the map now. "Where d'you think he's going? He's just rounding the corridor on the fourth floor."

"I could have him canned for that, you know," said Ron. "It's way after curfew. Might be able to get him a detention or banned from Quidditch practice."

"He's not on the Slytherin team this year, actually. I heard it on the train when I er... snuck into his compartment with the cloak." Harry had already explained how he hid on the luggage rack to try and eavesdrop on Malfoy's conversation.

"He was being suspicious," Harry tried to justify it with.

"Yeah. Sure. So buying yourself a magical artefact is suspicious? He's just enthusiastic about runes or something and he wants it for his birthday." Ron spoke again before Harry could. "I don't deny it's a weird thing to do, Harry, but Malfoy is weird."

"But it's not his birthday. He'd let everyone know if it was - including us, the people he hates."

Ron did remember previous years. "Fair point. It's for his mum, then; I don't know. It doesn't have to be for a birthday."

"Since when is a magic cupboard a good present in any case?"

"Don't look at me for answers... like I said, his family's weird. Stuffy and posh. Maybe he and his family want an escape route in case the Ministry turns up to search them. Not that that's very likely anymore." Harry looked lost, so Ron explained further: "Dad said vanishing cabinets were popular back in the day if people needed an escape route when the Death Eaters came knocking."

"So it could be an escape route?" Harry thought about it for a moment. "What's Malfoy escaping from?"

Ron shook his head. "Harry, I don't know if-"

"He's gone," Harry announced, suddenly.

"You what?"

He pointed on the map. "Look, he's gone."

"Gone where?"

"I- I don't know," Harry said, bewildered. "I swear he was just there, in that corridor, and I looked away for a second and he vanished."

Ron was still squinting in confusion at the map. "Which corridor is it?"

Harry's eyes widened. "Seventh floor. Opposite..."

"Opposite the troll tapestry," Ron finished, having finally recognised where Harry was pointing at.

They were both silent.

"Oh my God," said Harry. "He's using the flipping Room of Requirement! Ron, we have to go and catch him!"

Ron stared at him. "No, Harry, it's too late."

"No it's not. The faster we catch him, the better-"

"No, Harry, we need to go to bed," said Ron. "We can deal with this tomorrow."

"We can't, he'll be gone by then-"

"Don't you dare go out, Harry. I'll just stop you," he threatened. "You know I can."

Harry gave him a venomous look, but went back to bed. Ron knew that if they went out now they might very well be successful in catching Malfoy - and nothing else. They didn't have any evidence to take to McGonagall or to the Ministry to convince anyone he was a Death Eater. Not that the Ministry punished the Death Eaters, who by now were the ones wearing the jury robes and the judge's robes, too.

Ron lay awake listening in case Harry tried to leave. In the morning he'd realise what a stupid idea it was and apologise to him. Ron heard the heartbeats in the room with him closing in in the darkness and tried not to be driven mad by them.

It was difficult to just lie there for so long, but Ron had been awake for months now.

"I'm sorry," said Harry, slinging his bag under the Gryffindor table the next morning. He took a seat and tore into some toast, ravenous. Ron reflected on how much he missed doing that. It'd solve all his problems to be able to eat normally again. Or maybe just some of them.

"I'm sorry for being a bit of a prick yesterday," Harry continued. "I know I wasn't making any sense, 'cause-"

"It's fine," said Ron. "I know you were just thinking about Sirius again." About when he'd missed the right time to act.

Hermione glanced up from her book in confusion. "What did he do?"

"Wanted to run off after Malfoy at midnight. He found him on the map and then we saw him disappear into the Room of Requirement."

"Room of Requirement? What's he doing in there?"

Ron shrugged. "Nobody knows. Have you seen my schedule anywhere? I already know I've got Transfiguration this morning, but I'm not sure about the rest."

New timetable tucked into his bag (it had been under his plate), Ron stood up when the bell went and he and Harry went shuffling off to first lesson. They'd both been very pleased to see the amount of free periods they now had, but this lesson they actually had to attend.

It was, indeed, Transfiguration.

Second lesson was free, though, and Harry and Ron were milling about in a corridor, trying to break up as many groups of third-years just standing in the middle of the corridor as they could by walking straight through them. Only they were caught by McGonagall, who handed them each a new timetable with Potions added to it.

"Slughorn takes on students who received Es," said McGonagall, "so fortunately you two now qualify to take that NEWT. Off you go."

They both groaned.

The actual lesson was hell for Ron. All of the different smells of ingredients and the constant cutting, scraping and stirring overwhelmed him; he had never been terribly apt at potion-crafting, and this new challenge wasn't helping that fact. Not to mention, Slughorn didn't know who he was. He'd been called Weedle, Westley, and most insultingly, just 'Harry Potter's unfortunately red-headed friend'. He had been standing right there, but that didn't matter to the doddery old professor.

His potion of Living Death kept coughing out feathers - although, Slughorn gave him a pass because it was the correct shade, so that wasn't too bad. Harry ended up making the best draught out of the entire NEWT class and formed a weird attachment with a book to boot, so it looked like it was back to the uneventful for Ron Weasley. Not that he minded. Bloody hell, he was already a vampire. What more did the world want from him?

He went to one lesson, and then another, and all too soon it was Friday afternoon. He and Harry kept meaning to go up to the Room of Requirement one of these nights to try and catch Malfoy doing whatever he was doing, but then they had a homework project dropped on them and the next night Harry fell fast asleep at ten, so they missed it again.

"I think we should go tonight," said Harry, messily chopping up his dinner and shovelling it into his mouth. "We've got the weekend to do homework, so it's the perfect chance."

"You have Quidditch training tomorrow," Hermione pointed out, and Harry shrugged.

"It's alright. I'll have the rest of the weekend to do Slughorn's essay."

"And Snape's."

"And Snape's," confirmed Harry confidently.

"I suppose it's your life," muttered Hermione.

Then, Ron remembered something. "Wait, I can't," he said. "I've got to eat."

Harry frowned. Then he remembered too. "Oh yeah. D'you know, sometimes I see you not eating at mealtimes and it takes me a minute to remember."

"Yeah, I can't eat at meals. So I'm quite hungry by now."

Neither of his friends responded. He'd been a bit quieter as it led up to Friday; keeping to himself more and being quicker to irritate when he did interact with others.

Ron pretended to go to bed as normal while really, he was keeping an eye on his wrist watch. Ron suspected he had some night vision, and it helped, here. He listened to his classmates drift off to sleep and heard Harry remain awake the longest, tossing and turning. Since the end of last year he'd maintained that his scar no longer hurt and he no longer had nightmares, but it seemed Harry wasn't completely cured of his insomniac tendencies.

At eleven, Ron rose again. With everyone else sleeping like the dead from the stress of the first week back, it was easy to swipe the Marauder's Map from Harry's bedside table, and use it to watch the corridors while he made his way to McGonagall's office. Quietly, he tapped the door, and the professor opened it from the other side.

"You're here? Good." She stepped into the corridor and shut the door behind her. "Come along, Weasley. We shan't be interrupted."

And somehow, they weren't. Filch's dot on the map looked like it'd been heading their way but turned off at the last second, going to a different floor instead. They walked through the dark halls, finally coming to the front doors where McGonagall tapped her wand against them to unlock them.

"Really," she muttered, once they were outside, "we need an easier way out, but Albus hasn't organised anything yet. Come along. We'll be going right out past the wards."

Hogwarts was imposing in the night, moonlight outlining its carved edges and towers and turrets against the black sky. He and Professor McGonagall walked a little further before apparating.

They came to a forest, and in it there was only silence. McGonagall said, "Can you hear anything, Weasley?" and Ron listened as best he could.

"Two people," he said. "Walking. Not far." He drifted off in their direction, possessed by something other-worldly, and McGonagall had the sense to remain where she was.

He found them like a practised hunter, remaining behind a tree out of sight while they ambled by. Quick as a flash, he stunned them, prowling over to their unconscious bodies with a strange glint in his eye.

Ron sunk his teeth into the first's neck. He drank his fill and then broke away with an ease that seemed suspicious.

A pause while he considered.

And then he feasted upon the second, too.

It had hardly been a conscious decision to toss the first to the side to tear into the skin of the other, and bite hard and drink deep and all Ron knew was that his heart was singing with the sheer joy of it.

When he opened his eyes again, he saw two corpses lying in front of him. Ron froze.

And then he unfroze, because he heard two heartbeats quiet as rain, barely there, and scrambled over to heal them as quick as he could. It was a strange sense of guilt that filled him, knowing that their blood was on his hands while he did it. Literally. It was moist and warm, and heavenly as he sucked it from his fingertips and palms.

He'd already had far more than was sensible, but he couldn't help himself. Ron truly felt like a glutton as he basked in the glow of twice the amount of blood he was usually allowed. One victim, one person, only one... Just enough to keep the thirst at bay.

He wasn't supposed to enjoy it.

Ron returned to McGonagall, who was surprised to see him back so soon. "Were you successful, Weasley?" she enquired.

"Call me Ron," he muttered in return, too pathetic to confess his crimes.

They apparated back to the castle and McGonagall scanned him once the flood of moonlight increased visibility. "Weasley - Ron," she said, and that caught his attention. "Your eyes are red."

"I know," he said, and staggered uncertainly back to his bed.

He took a very long shower that night to rinse the blood from beneath his nails.

Rising for Quidditch training was both one of the worst and the best things to happen to Ron in a while. On one hand, he had so much energy he nearly didn't know what to do with himself; on the other hand, the reason why his spirits had been lifted made him sick to his stomach. He'd drunk twice the amount of blood he was supposed to have. Did this mean that he'd have to have that amount every time he drank, now? Like an addict, did the next dose always have to be higher?

At first, he'd been surprised when Harry said, "What do you mean, you won't be Keeper?"

"I mean I can't be, can I?" Ron chuckled. "You can't have a vampire for a Keeper. Pass me them shears, yeah?"

Harry did so. They were dealing with a young venomous tentacula in Herbology; something to get them back to basics, Sprout said. Ron was only taking Herbology because Harry had picked it. Plus, at some forgotten point he'd had a dream to be an Auror. It was illegal and a very bad idea besides, now, with him being a vampire, but he couldn't be bothered to change his options.

"But no one knows you are, so there's no issue," reasoned his best friend.

"That's not the point. Harry, you aren't worried about me, er, freaking out?"

The look in his eyes could've been described as tender. "Ron, you're a good Keeper - I know you have your doubts, but you won't panic-"

"He doesn't mean that, Harry," interrupted Hermione. She ducked as she was nearly hit in the face by a wild tentacle. The next second she'd restrained it and was tying back with the rest against the stem. "He means, what if he accidentally bites someone."

Ron would be more concerned that someone was listening in, but considering most people were screaming in terror whilst trying to deal with their tentacula and were Hufflepuffs besides (wet blankets, the lot of them; they'd not snitch even if it was them Ron was using as a blood source), he wasn't terribly worried.

"You won't. You'll still be Keeper, Ron. I could never find anyone as good to replace you."

Either that meant Ron was very good, or everyone else was very shit. He didn't care either way. "But McGonagall might not like it," he said.

"Piss on McGonagall, I don't care what she says."

"I don't think she'd like that," said Hermione.

Harry waved away her concerns. "You know what I mean. If anything she'll be pleased that Ron's still Keeper because it gives us an edge."

That was precisely why Ron thought it wouldn't be allowed, but he still turned up on Saturday morning anyway.

Quidditch try-outs consisted of about thirty odd students milling about, a variety of skill levels and... houses too, strangely. "Should we start?" asked Katie Bell, a student a year above them and the last of, in Ron's mind, the original Gryffindor team, which just meant they were there the year he started.

Harry nodded, but didn't do anything. "And how do I do that?" he asked.

"Shout at them," suggested Ginny. "Like this: anyone not in Gryffindor needs to leave right now! I'm looking at you, Vane!"

The giggling Ravenclaw and her friends departed; meanwhile, Ron saw one person trip over their broomstick while it was still on the ground and told them to get out, too.

As previous members of the team, he, Harry and Katie had banded together to sort through the newbies, but Ron knew that Harry had who he wanted already in mind. Ginny as a Chaser, he'd said, and for a Beater maybe a boy named Jimmy Peakes. But Ron and Katie had also forced Harry to consider the idea of replacing them too, if there was someone better.

"I think there's little chance of that, though," Harry said as some first years tottered out of the changing rooms.

Ron frowned. "What are they even doing here? First years aren't allowed."

"I don't know."

After the first years were shooed out, Harry turned to face the crowd, swallowing with nerves. "Okay, everyone! Let's start with two laps around the pitch." He turned to face Ron again, practically breathless. "How was that?"

During the trials, Ron found he was glad to be able to play proper Quidditch again. He was faster, stronger too, having just eaten, so it wasn't all the same as it was, but it was close enough. He still loved the rush of cold air that came with flying.

Hermione was sitting out in the stands, homework set out in front of her, and she'd give her opinion every so often when Ron flew close enough to the sidelines.

"That one's really good at doing the spinny things," she said, pointing at a boy named Ritchie Coote. "He always avoids the cannonballs."

Ron, who was good at understanding Hermione's confusing Quidditch talk, replied, "You mean barrel rolls and Bludgers?"

She nodded. "Yes. I'm sorry, I just forgot the names."

They filtered it down to what, in what Ron's opinion, was a pretty decent team, everyone from last year returning with some good new players, too. Ron hadn't had any competition as Keeper - perhaps other than Cormac McLaggen, an insufferable seventh-year who kept going on very loudly about how excellent he was. Ron immediately disliked him, especially after seeing how weird he was to Hermione. He kept winking at her and smiling; and he kept doing all that stuff even though Hermione didn't seem receptive to it in the slightest.

In Ron's opinion it was just rude to bother someone who clearly didn't want to be bothered. Bloody rude. He told Harry and Hermione afterwards he didn't like him, and they both agreed.

"No one else seemed particularly fond of him," said Harry. "And I'm glad - he got really stroppy when he missed that goal."

He'd just slipped, and then started blathering on about wind speed and the weight of the Quaffle; he couldn't just accept he'd let one in, and honestly, it was worse that he was a bad sport than if he'd missed all five shots levelled at him.

"He was intolerable," said Hermione miserably. "Kept dropping hints about us going to Slughorn's party together when we talked at the end. Or I suppose when he talked. He just walked up to me and started going on and on and wouldn't let me get a word in edgeways."

Ron gave her a puzzled look.

Hermione explained. "He was talking about Slughorn's party. He's having some Christmas do - I was invited last Potions lesson."

"I think I'm going, too," said Harry. "We're allowed to bring a partner. Dunno who I'm picking, though." His eyes were strangely a bit glazed over as he stared nearby where Ginny was sat with Dean. Part of Ron wanted to glue Dean to the clock tower for going out with his sister, but it was really none of his business. Mostly he just tried to leave whenever he saw them snogging somewhere.

Ron sighed. "I don't think Slughorn's giving me an invite anytime soon. Have you seen me in potions lessons?"

They both nodded; they had, and honestly, they wished they hadn't. But then Hermione squeezed his arm (yet again; she kept doing it and it kept confusing him) and said, "It's okay, Ron. You can be my date," and he felt a bit less left out.

Ron breathed a sigh of relief.

It was Sunday afternoon, and the map showed that Malfoy should be inside the Room of Requirement right now (he'd disappeared), so Harry demanded they come up here. But that wasn't what he was so happy about.

"What is it?" asked Hermione.

"It's just so quiet up here." Ron smiled happily. "I've been going mad with people's voices in my head all week. I swear, I've been thinking of taking up Hagrid's offer to walk Fang through the Forbidden Forest just to escape them."

Harry and Hermione didn't know how to respond to that. Ron wondered what they would say if they knew he was getting hungrier much faster.

Ron suddenly heard a shuffling sound. "Oi! Who's there?" he demanded.

To his surprise, his shout rustled out a small girl - she couldn't have been more than a first-year, Merlin... and he had just scared the living shit out of her, apparently, because the jar in her hands smashed against the floor. On top of that, the girl scarpered before Ron could get out an apology.

Hermione shot him a vehement look. "Reparo," she muttered, and the jar came back into its whole form.

Harry, holding his nose, pointed out his wand. "Scourgify. What even is this stuff? Fucking reeks."

"I don't know," said Ron. "But does anyone think that was a bit weird? She just screamed and ran, it wasn't like I did-"

"She was a first-year! And you are a very tall, very scary sixth-year prefect! I'd have been scared too!" Hermione crossed her arms. "Why'd you just bark at her like that? She was probably just lost. If you'd asked nicely, maybe she wouldn't've gotten scared and we could've helped her... You know, like how prefects are supposed to?"

She turned and left, clearly livid with him. Ron supposed they probably wouldn't find anything today, either, as Harry said angrily: "Malfoy'll probably have heard when that girl dropped the jar. So he wouldn't come out now, anyway."

Woops.

Seven days after his last drink, Ron knocked on McGonagall's door on Friday night with his mind set on not losing control this time. His stomach cried out for sustenance, but if he heard two heartbeats rather than the one he needed, he would turn away. He'd force himself if he had to.

McGonagall arrived, but with a dour expression. She looked tired. "Alright Professor?" he had to ask.

"Fine, Ron."

He frowned. "You just... called me Ron."

"Around school you will remain as Weasley. And, Ron - next Friday I can't help you. You'll have to go out with Flitwick."

Her voice was so exhausted Ron didn't bother asking why. This time, they apparated somewhere different, but Ron still didn't know where they were. He found one heartbeat and went chasing after it, the long week of restraint biting at him. Some kid had gotten a nosebleed in Defence Against the Dark Arts (which had been awkward enough as it was, Snape breathing down his neck and surely just dying to tell Ron what he thought of him being allowed back at Hogwarts), but that wasn't as tempting because it was all mixed with snot.

It wasn't pure; it wasn't from close to the heart.

Ron drank from his victim's neck and took maybe just a little more than he should've, but it went off without a hitch. He healed them, licked his hands clean for any extra blood and even the person's neck a little bit, and, hoping no one ever saw him in that dog-like state, returned to McGonagall, and disapparated back to Hogwarts.

The first few weeks went by without much incident, and Ron found himself settling in more. He got used to all the voices. They all attended classes as usual, Hermione beginning a full study on vampires in her spare time and Harry deciding on the full Quidditch team. They had their first match on the third Saturday back against Slytherin, and with Malfoy missing Ron hoped Harry wouldn't get as riled up.

Ron and Malfoy had actually spoken in Potions the other day, which went about as well as it always did.

After his potion had made a loud popping noise and turned a strange colour, he dragged Hermione over to help. "Harry's probably better," she said, and Ron shushed her. He didn't want to speak to Harry, the smug bastard, who had that book to help him now. Honestly, Ron felt like he never saw him without it these days.

Hermione looked at his cauldron for all of two seconds before answering, "Try two sprigs of dandelion stalks. That should sort out the colour."

"Thank you, Hermione," he said pointedly, looking over at Harry but he didn't even look up, eyes engaged as he silently made his way down a page of that odd book.

Ron headed to the storeroom to get some stalks. But someone else was in there. Two people, actually.

"I'm telling you, Draco, I don't think this plan of yours is very good - someone will figure it out at some point, you have a lot of people watching-"

Pansy broke off as soon Ron entered the room, glaring daggers at him. "What?" she asked sharply.

Ron just frowned at her as he went to the tin of dandelions; she looked even more infuriated, and left. Malfoy looked utterly drained and Ron couldn't resist saying, "Looking a bit sickly there, mate. Best give it a break from lurking in dungeons or wherever you Death Eater scum hide out, yeah?"

"Watch it, you pathetic weasel," he spat as he shoved past - but it lacked the usual bite.

Ron told Harry and Hermione, and they added it to the list of Malfoy's strange behaviour lately.

In his head, it felt like he spent most of his life knocking on McGonagall's door, asking for blood. The next Saturday, Ron knocked expecting to see Flitwick, who McGonagall said would meet him there and found Snape on the other side of the door instead.

The polite enquiry after the Professor Flitwick's health died on his tongue as the imposing man stared down at him. His eyes, the centres dark as shadow, were focused on him, and the sallow skin and billowing cloak were as forbidding as they had been in first year. Ron didn't think he'd aged; rumours about Snape being a vampire had gone round the school many times. Ron knew they were untrue now as he would know if a fellow of his kind was standing in front of him.

"Weasley," he sneered. Then the dislike dropped from his face, and he spoke almost normally, shutting the door behind. "Professor Flitwick was busy tonight. He could not take you, and neither could Professor McGonagall, leaving myself." Snape didn't look pleased about it. "What exactly is it that you need me to do, Weasley?"

"Side-along me somewhere with a limited number of people from just outside the school gates, and... that's it. I'll do the rest. You just need to take me there and back." Snape nodded. He began to stride in the direction of the Entrance Hall as Ron tried to keep up.

"What is 'the rest', as you put it?" Snape asked. Ron wondered why he was asking so many questions. Could he be just... genuinely curious? Or was this some kind of trick?

"I just do what I need to," said Ron. Snape was beginning to look angry again, and he hastened to add more detail. "I just... bite their necks, drink their blood, heal them before it gets dangerous, and leave again."

"At which point is that?"

"I can always tell when they're getting close to losing too much blood. It's just the usual signs of dangerous blood loss. Shaking, getting cold, fast heartbeat but a weak pulse; then I stop, and heal them, and they're fine afterwards."

Snape looked like he wanted to ask more, but then he was preoccupied with opening the front doors. There was a cool wind blowing out on the driveway.

"I'm surprised you didn't want Potter to come with you."

"I don't want to put him in danger."

"So you admit that you're dangerous?"

Ron stared at Snape. "You just heard me talk about what I have to do every week. Yes, I am. I know it's horrible, but I have to do it if I want to live. If I just stopped right now I would go insane. I mean, If you wanted to starve me you'd have to lock me up first just so I didn't go around killing everyone."

"My arm, Weasley."

"What?" He realised, tension draining away. "Oh. Yeah."

Ron wandered away from Snape before he even heard a heartbeat; he just wanted to escape. He didn't know why he'd just started blabbing everything about his life, but he'd blame the thirst. It was distracting, making his head ache and throat sore. He needed to eat quickly.

This week he'd been tempted the most to go to Madam Pomfrey's and beg for blood - just to bridge the gap. Seven days felt like too long... Ron liked the sound of five days better, but he didn't want to cause extra work. Or for anyone to realise what a bloodthirsty fiend he was.

It wasn't like he couldn't get blood himself, though. Ron could easily sneak into Hogsmeade using the tunnel under the Shrieking Shack or Honeydukes, and find someone to feed from. But he'd have to walk far if he didn't want to accidentally bite a wizard. If he did that they might fight back when he tried to stun them, or recognise the next morning what they'd been bitten by and alert the Ministry.

It was risky, but Ron wanted to try it out one evening.

For now, he saw a lone stranger walking in the darkness of an unlit path, and stunned them, taking what he needed. Dragging himself away was difficult, and Ron went a little bit far (he was just so thirsty), so that even after he'd healed the stranger, they were worryingly pale and clammy. He cast a warming charm over them, and escaped as quickly as he could.

Snape apparated him back. "Are you more magically potent as a vampire?" he asked.

"I guess," said Ron. Spells seemed to come to him more easily now, but he'd noticed that already with Mordecai. He could feel extra energy and power chugging around his veins, giving his banishing charms the ability to strip entire rooms. Flitwick had been quite impressed during Charms with his spellwork, but there was something else layered beneath his expression.

It was disapproval. Fear, even.

Sure enough, he pulled him aside at the end of the lesson to tell him that whilst he found Ron's abilities quite amazing, perhaps he shouldn't display his power like that. Otherwise he'd give himself away.

It was a bit late for that, though. When he walked through corridors some of the looks he got off his classmates were different. Like they were seeing him in a different light. Maybe it was just because of what happened at the Ministry last summer, as there were still a good deal of whispers about that.

Either way, Ron Weasley was different, and people had noticed.

"I can hear things I couldn't before," said Ron. "I-"

But they'd reached the Entrance Hall again, and Snape was heading in the direction of the dungeons and clearly didn't want him to follow.

Ron sighed, but at least he'd eaten again. The string that had been pulling taut around the base of his neck was loosened once more.

Before heading to bed, he spent a while wandering, avoiding Filch using the Marauder's Map and taking a book from the library. While sitting in bed all night doing nothing for about seven hours straight, he'd reached new heights of boredom so terrible that he'd sometimes been forced to read to pass the time.

It was peaceful at night. And in a world where all he could hear was constant, overbearing noise, it was quite soothing. Ron could understand why his fellows preferred the twilight hours, because he did too.

The morning of the next match dawned with frost on the pitch. It was early, for such a thing, but it was nearly October, Ron supposed. Harry clapped Ron on the shoulder before Hooch blew the whistle and said, "Use some of your special powers, yeah?"

"Isn't that unfair?" he asked.

Harry shrugged. "Just remember to look out of breath afterwards."

It was his best match ever, unsurprisingly. Ron didn't let in a single goal and ended up tackling quite a few players outside his own goal and then gaining back possession for his team, and by the end, the crowd was howling for him. The effect didn't wear off across the next few days.

Ron was sat in a double Potions lesson, the afternoon dragging on dismally. He had some homework to do later, too, and it was putting him in a bad mood. He'd been staring into space while his potion was brewing, half tuned in to Harry and Neville's conversation.

"I just didn't want to this year, you know..." Neville nodded, and Harry continued. "It was good, the DA, but I thought since we have a proper teacher now, it wouldn't be necessary. I guess if you could call Snape a proper teacher. Plus, our cover was blown last term-"

Ron stopped. He heard it before them, before anyone else. Before Neville, despite the fact it was him stood with salamander blood dripping from his fingertips into the cauldron and upsetting the highly volatile potion bubbling inside.

Ron's eyes widened. He could feel a buzzing filling his ears as he witnessed the exact moment the smoke began to rise, a warning of the explosion to come, the mixture rising and rising and overflowing until it-

"Neville, watch out!" Ron shouted, voice ragged with desperation. Neville's mouth fell agape; Harry dipped into his robes to retrieve his wand, a belated attempt to clamp down on the situation.

But it was too late. Ron could feel that in every cell of his being, but no one else could. The people stood in the classroom were so very innocent and yet so very vulnerable. He had to do something to save them.

What could he do? Banish the potion? Contain it?

He would try.

Ron didn't know what Neville had been brewing, but it looked vicious. Their curriculum this year contained downright lethal potions as they were obviously trickier to brew.

He gritted his teeth and, lightning-fast, waved his wand like he had facing Mordecai more times than he could count. An invisible shield bloomed around the cauldron just as the violent red fire exploded out of it... but whilst he'd protected the rest of the classroom, he'd left himself open. The great writhing tide of furious flames rose like a nightmarish salamander, and Ron slashed at it with water - Aguamenti! - with his other hand while his wand maintained the shield charm.

The mixture seemed to burst, shooting hot, acidic potion onto his hands, before it quickly cooled into a harmless pool of grey sludge on the desk; neutralised by the water.

Ron sagged, the shield coming down. He felt a violent pounding in his head, but he was alright - he just needed a moment and then he'd be fine, ready to duel again like always-

"Ron?"

He just needed a second, just a second to gather himself again. He felt a bit woozy, but his strength was quickly returning to him. To deal with the potion had taken quite a bit out of him - and Ron nearly dropped to the ground when he remembered he'd have to keep duelling all night, again and again, until every inch of him had been bled and then healed by Mordecai's hand until he just couldn't feel it anymore.

"I'm- I'm fine, I can go again." His tongue felt too heavy. "It's- I'm completely fine..."

"You are most certainly not, my boy... Don't you rather think you should sit down?"

Ron blinked, just to be sure he really was in a Potions classroom, Horace Slughorn stood in front of him. Ron's chest was heaving, giving the impression of heavy breathing, but really he was just trying to process. Time was going normally again, though, and he could make out the rest of the class peering at him in surprise.

His hands burned. But he hid them, wary of the fast healing. Was his transfiguration still in place? Ron closed his eyes, murmuring the charm again just in case, before he sank back into his stool.

"Is everyone alright?" asked Slughorn, and Ron hardly heard him.

His hands were still shaking. Were they onto him now? Would he be kicked out for breaking the rules? He'd just been trying to help.

"Merlin, Ron," said Harry, and everyone else nodded in agreement.

Slughorn gulped. "Merlin indeed, Mr Potter." He leaned in closer. "Mr Weasley, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Sorry for nearly setting fire to your classroom, Professor."

Slughorn glanced at him gingerly. "It's quite alright, Mr Weasley. No one was hurt. You were very quick on your feet, young man; and was that some wandless casting I saw?"

"I can't remember," said Ron. "Probably not."

"Regardless, that was some fantastic spellwork. Very risky, but fantastic. Do you need to see Madam Pomfrey?"

Ron shook his head slowly. "No, Sir. I'm fine. Just a bit tired, is all."

"You didn't burn your hands?"

He shook his head, keeping them firmly behind his back.

Slughorn nodded uncertainly. "Right. Well, go if you need to, Weasley." He turned to Neville. "Mr Longbottom," he reprimanded him sternly, "how many times do I have to tell you to not be so careless with your ingredients?"

For the rest of the lesson, he was treated like Merlin himself. Several students came up to shake his hand or thank him, and Ron told them it was no problem. Still coasting off the wave of his popularity from the Quidditch match and now this, Ron felt like a celebrity with all the attention he was getting.

Ron allowed himself to smile about it. It was pretty good. Especially when, at the end of the lesson, Slughorn said: "I haven't told you enough - that was simply marvellous, my boy! Say, would you like an invitation to my Christmas get-together? A party of sorts, some might say?"

Bewildered, Ron accepted fervently.

He sat down at the Gryffindor table for dinner, and Ginny slapped him hard on the back. "Well done, Ronniekins," she said. "People've been telling me all day about what a cool guy you are. Saving your Potions class."

"Shut up," Ron muttered, scanning the dinner table for whatever he could fake eating the easiest.

Harry was staring at the Marauder's Map next to him, but said, "Yeah mate, really well done. It's nice to be asked about you rather than the other way around."

"How did you do that, though?" asked Hermione.

"Mordecai," Ron admitted. "He taught me. Back when we'd duel he forced me to use both hands, plus wandless and non-verbal. He'd threaten me into it but it was necessary I learnt it, he said. That stuff comes easier to- to people like me, anyway."

"Oh," said Harry. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine. He did teach me some useful stuff."

"Did he teach you anything else other than duelling?" asked Hermione, always eager to know more about things.

Ron glanced around. Dumbledore wasn't present at the top table. He hadn't been here for a while, although Harry had had some special meeting with him about saving-the-world stuff earlier, apparently. "Yeah," he said. "Bit of Occlumency, actually."

Harry's eyes went wide. "Really?"

"Yeah."

"How'd you find it? Was it torture?"

"Not too bad, actually. Having a maniac dig through my head was crap, but I recovered quickly and it didn't take me too long to build up some brain walls to keep him out."

"Fuck's sake," said Harry. "You know, I'd take some of those special powers right now."

"Yeah. Well. They come at a price; speaking of, I'm going out tonight," said Ron.

Hermione frowned. "I thought you went out on Fridays with McGonagall. Today's only Tuesday."

"I do," Ron replied, "but I wanted to see if I could do it alone. Just if I ever need to. Plus, that stunt I pulled in Potions drained me a bit and I need to replace my energy." That was only half a lie. He was feeling thirstier, but he was always thirsty, technically.

"Basically, I'm just letting you know so you don't panic when I'm not there tonight. You might have to make excuses for me, Harry." Ron paused. "Also, in case I don't come back." There was always a chance.

"Don't be stupid, Ron," said Harry. "I'll go with you-"

"No, you won't, I'll accidentally murder you and that won't be good for anybody." It was good that dinner was in full swing, so they weren't overheard.

"What if I just wait in Hogsmeade for you?"

"You want to stand outside in the freezing cold all night? No. If either of you try to come along, I'll just stun you. I could. I'll do that and then I'll leave."

"We would fight you," said Hermione. "Come on, Ron, let us come along. What's the worst that could happen?"

"A lot," said Ron. "Now let's stop talking about it. I wish I hadn't mentioned it to you in the first place."

He wondered if it was a good idea to go without McGonagall or even Snape around, but since nothing had happened before, it would probably be fine.

Wouldn't it?

Chapter Text

Chapter Ten

Despite the temperature no longer having an effect on him, Ron dressed warmly. He layered a fleece over his shirt, wore hardy boots and jeans; he forwent the hat at least, chucking it back into his trunk as he was about to leave. Tonight, he would leave the castle. He had the Marauder's Map in his hand and his wand in his pocket, since he had no reason to cast a Lumos charm.

Soon Ron was tapping his wand against the witch's hump on the third floor muttering, "Dissendium," and a space opened for him to crawl into. It was bloody tight. Ron scrambled along the passageway for what felt like hours, and it was just as he was wondering whether he'd somehow gone the wrong way, the tunnel ended.

Ron shifted the stone out of the way. The cellar of Honeydukes in Hogsmeade was quiet. Ron crept past endless boxes of sweets filling the room, and quietly made his way up the stairs, hoping to Merlin that the door would be open.

It was locked. Ron tugged at the handle, and although the entire frame rattled, it didn't open. He swore. "Alohomora!" he tried, and it failed to unlock the door for him. Ron squinted at the padlock in the darkness and caught some distinctive carvings in it.

Of course. A rune lock. It was specifically designed to withstand the Alohomora charm, which Ron admitted should not be in the first-year textbooks.

Ron realised he couldn't go out tonight and though his stomach grumbled at the realisation, he hadn't been expecting a perfect run on the first go.

He returned to Hogwarts, mind already thinking of potential solutions to this problem.

It was nearing the end of October, which could mean only one thing: Halloween. Ron had always loved the holiday. The costumes, the sweets, pumpkin pasties. But that was before he'd been turned into a vampire. Now, he wasn't quite sure how he felt about it. Darkness he was attuned to, though, and there was plenty of it upon this night.

Lessons went on as usual but there party was later on, after the feast. Harry, Hermione and Ron were sitting in the common room after another gruelling double Charms lesson, his two human friends looking on the verge of sleep.

"You two going to the party?" he asked.

"Yeah. Why?" Harry's head picked up from the back of the sofa. "Are you not?"

Ron glanced around before he replied, "I'm going to try again tonight."

They both stared at him in stunned silence.

"Are you sure you should do that?" asked Hermione. "It went wrong before. Are you sure it'll work this time?"

"Honeydukes'll be open late tonight so they'll have the cellar door unlocked in case they need more stock. Therefore, I can sneak out." At Harry's bemused look, he added: "Therefore. I know. Sounds fancy, doesn't it? I tell you, I put it in every essay 'cause you can just stick it anywhere-"

"Hang on," said Hermione. "So your plan is exactly the same as before?"

"Yeah."

"It'll take a few hours, right?" Ron nodded. "So how are you going to get back?"

Ron hadn't thought about that. "I'll make sure to come back before they close."

"Do you even know when that is?"

"I'll find out." Ron stared at Hermione determinedly. "Look, this'll be fine. If I miss it I'll just wait until they open tomorrow morning. You'll cover for me, right?"

They were sat barely an inch apart from each other. Her hand was very close to his. "Ron." Hermione's tone was sharp. "Ron, I think this is a terrible idea. The reason you go out with McGonagall or Snape is for your safety." She lowered her voice. "What if... what if Mordecai comes back? He said he would, one day. Mordecai doesn't seem like someone who'd lie. Look, Ron, why don't you just ask McGonagall-"

"Mordecai's not fucking coming back," Ron snapped. "We got rid of him!"

Hermione didn't try and reach out to him again. Her large brown eyes were staring at him with such pity in them that Ron nearly couldn't stand it.

"You two don't know a fucking thing," he spat before he left, tone acid.

As he lifted the stone from the cellar floor below Honeydukes once, Ron heard voices. While he'd been seething with anger when he left, in the hour it had taken to walk (crawl, more like) to Hogsmeade, his explosive anger had cooled to something more calm, and yet more dangerous.

He had to wait for the perfect moment to slip out into the main shop, and then out the front door; hurrying outside when Mr Honeyduke turned to fetch a glass jar of ice mice off the shelf behind him.

Ron started walking. He supposed he couldn't blame his friends for being concerned for him. It was just that neither of them understood how thirst drove him insane; how it made his head pound and his throat swell and his voice crack under the strain. His muscles were stiff as wood, his stomach painfully empty, and he couldn't fucking think of anything else. And when Hogwarts contained with hundreds of potential prey, that risk was unconscionable.

Ron justified this trip with that peril. Without being able to sleep, the days, his pain, lengthened into an endless stretch of agony; they just couldn't possibly understand. And McGonagall had already done enough for him. Ron didn't want to be awkward and ask her to take him out on more than a weekly basis.

Ron thought about Hermione. It was easy when his thoughts never seemed to stray far from her. He couldn't stop moments playing through his head; constantly, he'd see her out in the Quidditch stands, cheeks red and eyes shining in the cold. He cherished their long conversations. Ron didn't care whether she was praising him or telling him off, he loved the sound of her voice.

Their fight... Ron regretted it. It made the thirst worse somehow, his throat tighter. When he swallowed the ache was so terrible it nearly brought a tear to his eye.

He'd been walking for an hour, the sky growing dark, when he saw a lone walker. They had a dog by their side on a lead and called out to it occasionally, telling it to sit and fetch and roll over.

By the light of the sunset, the stranger turned and locked eyes with him. Ron's mouth went dry.

They were never supposed to see him.

"Stupefy!" he shouted, shock turning his movements robotically strict, before he ran over as fast as possible. The dog was pawing over its unconscious owner, unsure of what to do. Ron ignored it and, consumed with hunger and anger at his friends and himself, tore into the stranger's neck with no intention of ever letting go.

They were never supposed to see him.

Ron drank and drank, and as the minutes ticked by the person grew limper in his arms. Still, hardly aware of his surroundings, of the dog scrabbling desperately at his knees, Ron was in the middle of nowhere, alone at the centre of a wide field, and felt free to drink on.

Finally the human stopped twitching. Stopped breathing altogether, in fact.

Still Ron kept drinking until the body had none left to give, and worst of all, he still wanted more. It was never enough, any of it - he needed more!

Ron turned his bloody gaze to the dog. But he was a vampire which feasted on humans, not animals. The hunger drained away slowly, Ron drifting in a daze, until he regained his mind enough to rip the collar from the dog's throat, which held the name of its owner (who he'd just killed) and their telephone number.

"Go! Go on, leave!" he shouted, and the dog whimpered.

Ron wondered what he was going to do with the dead body in his arms. He stared around and just caught the sound of it in the distance: a river, flowing fast and strong.

Ron dragged the person he'd murdered over to its edge, and dropped them in. The corpse sank heavily since he'd stuffed its pockets with rocks.

The dog had followed Ron in his morbid movements, scratching at his heels. It was a pathetic thing, no guard dog. Ron wondered if it felt guilty that it had been able to do nothing while he killed its owner. While he ripped out their throat, and drank deeply, greedily.

He threw the dog's collar into the water after the body, and left quietly while the dog was still waiting mournfully for its owner to emerge from the freezing cold depths.

Ron realised he couldn't say he'd never killed anyone before anymore.

He ran back to Hogsmeade like a murderer was on his heels (just another name for his shadow, now), and without exhaustion to hold him back, Ron flew like the wind. It wasn't yet fully dark despite how long his dirty deed seemed to have taken; blood still stained his hands and his clothes, and Ron wondered if he would make it back in time.

He was a murderer. It was that fact, undeniably true, which choked him rather than breathlessness from the running.

He should've just asked McGonagall, for fuck's sake. Then this wouldn't have happened.

Ron walked into Honeydukes and Mr Honeyduke turned to face him. He had long white hair, pale, shaky hands and yet a steady gaze behind round spectacles. The light in here was poor and Ron was bathed in shadow.

"Hello, young man," he began. "What would you like?"

Ron opened his mouth, and nothing emerged. He knew now he'd gone way too far.

"You're looking quite ill," said Mr Honeyduke. "Would you like me to floo someone for you?" He paused, pouchy cheeks still. "You look very young."

"No," Ron finally managed to respond, and rubbed down his face with a trembling hand. He couldn't believe he'd just done that. And then- and then disposed of the body. He doesn't know if he wants to be glad that he covered his tracks (did he do it well enough?) or appalled.

"Are you sure?" asked Honeyduke again.

"Actually, yeah," said Ron. "Floo. Please." He needed to get back to the castle.

Honeyduke nodded and went round to the back of the shop, while Ron slipped down to the cellar.

He returned whilst the party was in full swing. Music filled his ears as soon as he stepped through the Fat Lady's portrait, and Ron walked into the common room in a daze.

Neville walked past and made an approving noise. "Very good costume, Ron. What are you - a vampire?" Ron stared at the other boy, who kept talking. "I'm so sorry about Potions, by the way. Slughorn told me to be more careful-"

"No," said Ron. "It's fine, Neville mate. You don't have to keep apologising." It was only then Ron realised Neville was dressed in an old, mouldy robe. He frowned. "What are you supposed to be?"

"Ghoul," replied Neville before drifting away.

Ron supposed with his red eyes ("So fucking realistic, fucking rad," as Seamus said, who was quite likely drunk by now), he did look a lot like a vampire. From the blood on his chin, underneath his fingernails, on his clothes ("A nice touch," said Katie from the Quidditch team), Ron's costume was very committed.

Lavender told him he looked amazing. Then she smiled, just standing there, and Parvati began whispering something to her. They both giggled. Ron wondered what was going on.

Dean appeared at his side. "Are you going to do something?"

Ron blinked dumbly. "What?"

"Lavender likes you, you know. So, you going to ask her out?"

Ron didn't know what to say, but then Seamus spoke instead. "Don't act all class with girls, Dean, when I know what's going on with Ginny and you."

Ron was quickly pulled out of his thoughts. "What's that about my sister?"

"Nothing," said Dean, too quickly, and Ron gave him a dark look. With his bloody eyes and raw complexion, he was far more imposing than usual. Ron turned and met Hermione's gaze across the room; a moment stuck in the usual stupor she managed to put him in, and then Hermione turned and left.

Ron didn't go after her.

"You know everyone's talking about you, right?" said Harry the next morning.

Ron looked confused. "Why?"

"Your amazing Halloween costume, apparently." Harry was suspicious. "Ron... you didn't, did you?"

Hermione sat down between them on the Gryffindor bench. "He did," she confirmed.

Harry stared at him wide-eyed, unable to believe he'd been so stupid. But it was true - he really had forgotten to apply his transfiguration, too dazed from his little accident, and then went with it. And people were talking about it, as Ron learnt by eavesdropping on people all morning. People were also talking about Ron because of his recent performance in the Quidditch match, him saving his Potions class and even about his powerful spellwork displayed in Charms.

McGonagall had given him a very dirty look in Transfiguration but said nothing, so Ron assumed she either hadn't heard the full story or didn't care about his 'costume' at the party.

He'd spent all last night paralysed with fear that someone would find the body, and arrest him. Ron half wanted them to - it wasn't right that he could get away with such a thing. But Ron was a coward, and he couldn't pluck up the courage to confess what atrocity he'd committed.

Ron was lost in his own world again, so he was very confused when a placid voice suddenly said, "We should duel sometime, Weasley."

Ron turned to see Blaise Zabini standing in front of him.

"What?"

Zabini pushed his hands into his pockets, but very smoothly, in a sort of cool way. "Don't be so touchy, Weasley. I asked if you wanted to duel."

"Why do you want to duel me?"

"Because I've been watching you." Ron didn't like the calculating glint in his eyes. "Hey, don't look so threatened. I can practise my skills, you can practise yours... It benefits the both of us. We can see who's the best."

Ron eyed him cautiously. "Right." Despite what a horrendous idea it was, he felt a stirring within. Was it a bad idea to indulge that competitive flame? He was supposed to be keeping his head down. But he'd already broken that rule, he supposed, when he murdered someone.

"I accept," said Ron. "When?"

"Tomorrow afternoon in the courtyard. We duel until first blood."

Zabini promptly turned and left, leaving Ron questioning whether he'd made the right decision.

He arrived in Defence Against the Dark Arts with the encounter still very much on his mind. Hermione stormed over to him immediately.

"I've just heard something very strange about you and Zabini," she said. "A duel?!" she hissed, when Ron didn't respond. "When you know you're supposed to be staying under the radar? Ron, what happened to that?"

He shrugged. Snape had just entered the room. "It'll be fine, 'Mione. It's just practice, that's all."

"Harry," Hermione turned on him, "are you hearing what Ron's saying? I think he's gone insa-"

"That will be enough," said Snape, and the classroom fell silent.

Throughout the entire lesson, Hermione shot Ron dirty looks. She stayed angry with him the entire day, not appearing for dinner. Harry sat down at the table and immediately began scoffing down his dinner like he was starving, prompting Ron to say, "Where're you going?"

He glanced over. "How do you know I have anywhere to go?"

"Harry mate, you've practically hoovered that."

"Well, you're right. I've got another meeting with Dumbledore. I think it'll be about the prophecy again."

"You think you'll get anywhere tonight?"

"I hope so," said Harry. "I hope he tells me how to kill Voldemort, too."

Ron blinked in surprise, but said, "Tell us about it after, yeah?"

"Us?"

"Sorry. Forgot 'Mione wasn't here. I just meant me."

"Have you two fallen out, or something?" Harry had a tense expression on his face. "I swear things've been so weird between you two lately."

"Yeah, we... sort of did. She doesn't like that I've agreed to duel Zabini."

Harry stared at him.

As it turned out, he didn't like it either.

Before he knew it, Ron was standing in the courtyard; a cold wind was sweeping by, and his grip on his wand tightened as his competitor slid into place on the opposite side.

The next day had gone by swiftly, and here he was. Come to fight. He had no doubt his friends were standing on the sidelines, but Ron was all alone out here. Both Harry and Hermione had been avoiding him, resulting in him going for another isolated wander around the school the night before. Sometimes he would explore the school, as even after six years he still found new things.

"Until first blood, Weasley," said Zabini, eyes sharpening against the breeze. "Remember that - I want a good fight. We all need the practice in times like these, don't we?"

He took his starting stance, and Ron matched it. He'd thought all night about how to play this. Whilst he'd like nothing more than to mop the floor with this fool, adrenaline thrumming through his veins at the thought, Ron couldn't give himself away. He also had to remember that Zabini was human. This wasn't Mordecai. He couldn't just throw everything, not when a fair few of the spells he'd learnt were considered incredibly dark magic. Plus, if Zabini bled a lot, Ron might not be able to resist it. He just had to bleed a smidge and then Ron would win the match.

Just a small cut would finish it all. Just a drop of blood. Then Ron could escape, victory firmly in hand.

A crowd was already beginning to gather and Ron couldn't blame them. Ron Weasley, the Gryffindor with shiny new skills versus Blaise Zabini, the Slytherin who had the knowledge of a family library on his side. Ron would be interested too, although he didn't really care for the outcome of the duel.

Cutting through the murmurings of the crowd placing bets, Ron heard Zabini's intake of breath before he shouted, beginning the duel, "Confringo!"

Verbal and wanded. Easy enough to block. Ron held up his left hand, stopping the spell with a non-verbal shield. On the other side, Zabini shifted a little.

His move, and Ron decided he'd go easy; he had no idea how good Zabini was, and that was half the game.

"Expelliarmus!"

"Protego," the other boy muttered, and the spell was blocked. Only a small wand movement.

Ron decided to take it up a notch or a few.

"Incendio!" Ron hissed, but quieter than Zabini could hear. A spout of fire erupted from his wand. It didn't travel nearly far enough to burn Zabini, but he still jumped back with a shout. The crowd screamed at the sudden burst of hot red flames spilling through the courtyard.

Ron used the distraction to try and knock him off his feet with a well-aimed jelly-legs jinx, but before he could, Zabini shot water at the flames and they were eaten away.

Ron frowned. Delicately, he wriggled his fingers, and a Furnunculus curse leapt across the courtyard. Zabini swore as nasty, seeping boils bloomed across his face.

"Expelliarmus!" Zabini shouted, likely to buy himself time to employ the counter-curse and Ron sidestepped the spell. He barely resisted calling out that he shouldn't just tell his opponent what spells he was going to do, as Mordecai had said to Ron many times.

Ron had been casting from both his wand and his other hand, since he could, and the crowd gasped accordingly as he sent out two spells at once. Zabini only just threw up a Protego Maxima in time, face still covered in pustules. But no blood yet.

Ron could (should) still throw the fight. To the side of him Hermione was staring at him, and-

Suddenly something green, sparking violently, entered his peripheral vision. Before he could react Ron was hit between the eyes with some kind of spell which immediately began to sting. The pain quickly turned debilitating, and Ron flailed for a moment.

He'd been watching the crowd, not the fight. But what was this spell? Ron was completely blind; it was like pins were being pushed into his eyes, Merlin's beard.

"Oh Blaise, you've got him now," chittered a voice to the side, and Zabini laughed. Ron rubbed his eyes furiously and this time saw something: the courtyard, terribly blurred, but there, at least.

Zabini laughed and replied, "He shouldn't have cheated, then."

"Cheat?" The heinous accusation jerked the word from him. "When did I cheat?"

"When you shot fire at me," said Zabini, and Ron didn't have to be able to see to imagine the venomous look surely being angled his way. He rubbed his eyes again, and a little more of the thick green ooze cleared. He had to keep Zabini talking.

"What?"

"You bastard! I said to first blood, you can't burn me to a crisp!" Zabini grumbled.

"But it was nowhere near you, and you put it out anyway! It was just a distraction!"

"You could've killed me, you rat," seethed Zabini. "Do you know who I am?"

"Get back to fighting!"

The shout had come from the crowd, and Ron agreed. "Diffindo!" he shouted, still trying valiantly to clear his vision.

Blaise hit back again and while Ron heard cheers for his opponent, he only heard sighs on his own side. He was blind, and it looked like things were over for him. And they probably would've been, had Ron not had his heightened senses to tell him when to dodge.

He tried to make it look natural. But it was far too easy to just step to the side, completely avoiding Blaise's spells. He wasn't curving them to his target.

"Come on, Blaise," said Ron, trying to buy himself time. "That was awful. I don't think you're even trying to hit me."

Blaise tried again. In the meantime, Ron was now blinking and his vision was clearing by the second.

"Expelliarmus!"

Ron stepped to the other side. "Very sloppy, Zabini."

"Stupefy! And stop talking, Weasley!"

Ron waved his wand. "Fulmena!"

Zabini grunted in pain. "What fucking spell was that?" He sounded weary. Good.

"Only lightning," said Ron, although he could smell where it had burned Zabini's skin. "Don't you know your elemental spells?"

Zabini successfully cast a non-verbal stunner, which was very impressive, but Ron decided this had gone on long enough. Diffindo," he murmured, forgetting to move his wand, and a small slash appeared on Zabini's arm. Zabini was too slow to react and could only watch as blood beaded along the cut.

"Ron won!" someone shouted, possibly Seamus, and there were cheers from the Gryffindor side. Zabini just stood there looking confused, and Ron took pity and walked over.

His eyes flickered up to Ron. "Oh, piss off, Weasley. Please. You won."

"Let me at least try and help you, mate," he said. "Come on. I know a spell that'll sort out the lightning burns."

Zabini stared at him. Most people were filing back inside now that the duel was done. "Why are you helping me? This isn't what you're supposed to do."

"Well, it's my fault, I guess. I cheated a few times. Lightning and fire doesn't draw blood. Just hurts." He knew from experience.

"You didn't really cheat," said Blaise, rolling up the sleeve of his shirt to examine the cut. "In the real world I'd have still lost."

"I don't know how deep I cut that but try Vulnera Sanentur. See you round, Blaise. Good duel, yeah?"

"But how did you do that?" asked Zabini. "I mean, you couldn't see."

"I'm a Keeper," replied Ron. He had a feeling he'd have a green-stained face for the next few days from that gnarly spell of Zabini's. He'd probably look like some sort of frog. "And I do practice, you know."

The duel boosted his new-found popularity into oblivion, and for a few days Ron was flying high. He was sure even the teachers had heard about things he'd done since McGonagall gave him strange looks the next time they went out.

He'd been so nervous about accidentally killing someone that he'd barely been drinking half a minute before he was pulling away. He healed his victim in record-time and returned to McGonagall trying not to look as ill as he felt.

Things were a bit stilted with Harry, but far more with Hermione. Things had surpassed just being awkward and turned to explosive. One day he'd been walking back from Herbology with her, and their tentative conversation about homework had turned back to that night he'd gone to Hogsmeade.

"Hermione-" Ron tried, but she cut him off.

"No! Ron, what on earth are you playing at? On Halloween you didn't turn up to the feast and then you were gone for hours, hours - didn't you think I was worried? And then you finally do turn up and you're covered in blood! I just want to know what's going on with you!"

Ron couldn't offer much of an explanation, but regardless he tried. "I did what I said I was going to do... I snuck out of the castle and into Hogsmeade, and then I walked until I found what I needed." He had to work to get out the words when he neared the incident. The murder of an innocent life. Ron should never have gone out in such an agitated frame of mind, but he hadn't been able to restrain himself.

Hermione still looked furious. "I don't know what to tell you," said Ron helplessly. "I'm sorry for being a vampire! Is that what you want to hear?"

They were out in the grounds, entirely alone.

"No, your behaviour's got absolutely nothing to do with what you are. You've just been a complete idiot lately, doing things without telling anyone. And unsafe things, too. What if Mordecai had been in Hogsmeade?"

"Why would Mordecai be in Hogsmeade? Hermione, you're making no sense."

"I'm-" She made an angry noise. "I am making perfect sense. Why are you being so reckless, Ron? Why?!"

She was shouting now, and ludicrously, Ron grabbed her hand.

"Hermione," he said, clutching her palm loosely. She could leave if she wanted. "Please stop shouting. I want to talk properly with you, but I can't if you're..."

Hermione had gone silent, all of a sudden, and Ron thought he'd better make use of the silence while he could. "I'm... I'm sorry for being different lately, and although I don't think I can promise I'll go back to normal, I... Hermione, if I tell you and Harry everything I plan to do, will you not get annoyed so anymore?"

Hermione had been staring at their clasped hands in confusion, but then stared up at him. "Is that all you want?" she asked. "For me to stop getting annoyed at you? Ron, I want you to care about yourself. You just keep putting yourself in danger and it's- it's just so frustrating to watch. Like in Hogsmeade - what if Mordecai had been there? And what if he'd hurt you? Before you left you just said, 'if I don't come back', like you didn't care. Like no one else would care, either."

Ron could hear her heart pounding. "Plus," she said, "if McGonagall caught you, she'd expel you. And... we'd miss you, you know."

"We?"

"Yes, me and Harry. And Ginny and Neville too, and Dean and-"

"But you would," said Ron, running his thumb gently over the back of her hand. He kept expecting her to break away, to suddenly realise what he was. Because this couldn't work, not really, not when Ron was a monster. "You would miss me?"

Hermione cleared her throat. "Yes," she said, and her heart had never been faster.

"Are we friends now?" Ron asked. "Please. I'd like to be friends again."

Hermione nodded hurriedly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. The movement broke their skin contact, and Ron was feeling rather mournful. "Want to go to the library? It's nearly time for dinner and we can get a good plate if we get there before the..." She shook her head. "Sorry. I meant, do you want to go to the Great Hall with me-"

"That'd be great," said Ron, and it seemed like he had his best friend back. That was what Hermione was to him, and yet the label of felt strangely ill-fitting.

"Evening, Ron," Harry said to him at dinner, rather good-naturedly, and then he made eye contact with Hermione. "Oh, right. Never mind."

Ron frowned at him. "Have you been a bit stroppy lately because Hermione was upset with me?"

Harry pointedly didn't answer, pouring himself a goblet of pumpkin juice, and Ron sighed. "Well, we're friends again anyway, so-"

"Fucking brilliant," said Harry. "Merlin, that was so exhausting." He took a sip of pumpkin juice. "Anyway, how are you both?"

"Alright," they both replied.

"How're your eyes, Ron, by the way?"

He panicked. "Wait, is my transfiguration-"

"No, it's fine. I meant after the duel."

"Oh. Well, they're alright, but if you look closely enough I've still got a bit of a faint green blindfold going on." Harry and Hermione both peered at him. Ron continued, "I said the duel with Zabini would be fine. And I won, too."

"It was entertaining," Harry admitted, "but don't do it again."

"Alright," said Ron. He glanced up to the top table, and noticed an absence yet again. "Hey, Harry... Where does Dumbledore keep going?"

"I don't know if we should talk about it here."

So, they continued the conversation in the Gryffindor common room; tucked up in their favourite chairs by the fire well after everyone else had gone to bed.

"What do you even do in those sessions?" Hermione asked Harry, chin on her hand.

"He just shows me memories, if you'll believe it."

"What about?"

"Voldemort - or they're connected to him, just about. Dumbledore says it's important to know about his origins in order to take him down."

"Dumbledore says a lot of things," Ron muttered.

Harry agreed with him.

October sank into November, and then suddenly it was December quite without Ron realising. Not a lot happened after Zabini; Ron 'calmed down', as Hermione put it, and gradually the hype around his name died down. McGonagall certainly approved. He finally told her he needed to have blood more than once a week, and she replied, "If you're desperate, Weasley, just go to Madam Pomfrey," and Ron didn't know why he hadn't thought of it from the start.

Ron nipped down to Pomfrey's one afternoon that had been particularly stressful. He knocked, and after hearing a curt, "Come in" he entered.

The matron glanced up from some paperwork. "Ah. Mr Weasley. I wondered when I'd be seeing you. I assume you're after a donation?"

Ron supposed she meant blood donation. He nodded quickly. The thirst was growing, and he needed it now.

She handed him a bottle of blood, and he stared at it. Ron turned around, his back facing Pomfrey (he wanted some privacy for this), and pulled the top off the bottle before smelling it. "How old is this?" he asked, in a voice that didn't quite sound like his.

"I really have no way of knowing, Mr Weasley."

"I'd say a few days under a stasis charm," murmured Ron, drawing on knowledge he had no way of logically knowing, before he swigged the bottle back and drained it in one.

He had to grab on to the nearest hospital bed to stop himself from staggering, the sudden hit of blood like heady red wine. He'd had it before he was a vampire and it made his throat itch, but in a warm way. Blood was like that but a hundred times better.

A thousand times.

Ron had killed someone before, and he would do it again for another fix. He was an out-of-control addict.

Ron drunkenly handed the bottle back to Pomfrey, trying his best not to kill her too (because he would, oh, he would; he'd tear into her skin like paper for the red river within) and taking another minute to steady himself. He noticed the matron was staring at him.

"Right," said Ron, after he registered her horror. "Sorry. Gimme a sec." Colo-Oculus Mutatia, he thought, as hard as he could, and sure enough when he blinked he felt the usual sensation of the glamour settling over him again. "Any better?"

"Minerva did not warn me enough," said Madam Pomfrey before she turned back to the cupboard, and Ron didn't stick around much longer, thanking her before he left.

Later on, Ron was sitting next to Harry in the common room, still feeling a tad bit giddy. "Alright?" he said.

Harry nodded. "You going to Hogsmeade next weekend?"

"It's next weekend?"

"Yeah."

Ron frowned. "I want to go... But I don't think Hermione'll like it."

"If Hermione said you couldn't, would you just not go?"

Ron shrugged, and Harry stared at him oddly. "You and Hermione..." he began.

Ron was waiting for him to finish. "Yeah? What? Me and Hermione what?"

Harry opened his mouth again, and then shut it. "Never mind, actually."

Hermione wasn't the only one he had to convince if he wanted to go to Hogsmeade. After Transfiguration, he stopped by McGonagall's office. The deputy headmistress glanced up at him from her paperwork, politely disgruntled expression on her face. "Yes, Weasley?"

"Professor, you know the upcoming Hogsmeade trip..."

"I am familiar, Weasley."

"Can I go on it please?"

McGonagall paused, considering. She waved her wand, and behind Ron the door fell shut.

"I don't exactly know, Weasley. What with restrictions for vampires only getting stricter, the world is getting more dangerous for your kind. I'm sure you're not unaware of that, but you certainly act like it."

"Sorry?"

"I know about some of the risks you've taken lately. Duelling. Performing magic above your level. How will you explain that, Weasley?"

"I practise," said Ron, feeling a bit hurt she apparently thought he was too stupid to duel Zabini and win.

"That's not good enough, Weasley. And you disappeared from the Halloween feast, only to turn up later with what Mr Longbottom described as an 'amazing costume'." McGonagall clutched her temple for a moment, then looked at him. "Weasley, you better not have arrived at a Halloween party without your transfigurations applied."

Ron did not respond.

McGonagall was weary. "Quite frankly, Ron, you don't seem to be good at keeping your head down, and I worry for you once you enter the real world. In Hogwarts we can protect you, but... Out there, you could get yourself killed. Anything to say, Weasley?"

"I just want to go out with my friends and pretend that nothing's wrong." His argument seemed pathetic in comparison. "Please, Professor, I promise I won't get into tr-"

"If I had a sickle for every time one of you three said that, I would be rich by now. Weasley, you can't go." She removed her silver spectacles, eyes seeming to soften. "I'm sorry Ron, but we just don't know who's out there."

"Who do you think is out there?" said Ron. "Mordecai?"

McGonagall hummed in acquiescence. "Perhaps."

To be honest, Ron was glad he'd asked McGonagall before Hermione. He might've embarrassed himself trying to convince Hermione to let him go on a trip he was banned from anyway. No doubt McGonagall would pass word to Filch, who would prevent him from leaving.

"But that's not strictly true, is it?" said Hermione when Ron told her. He'd promised to keep her informed of everything, and he would... except some things.

He still thought about the dog, sometimes. It had been small, with black and white fur.

"What isn't?" he asked.

"Don't tell me you've forgotten that we can get into Hogsmeade without letting Filch know," said Hermione, in a most un-Hermione-ish way.

"Remember when I couldn't get my permission slip signed? I just came in through the Honeydukes way," said Harry.

"That is actually a very good point. But Hermione, I thought you'd be telling me not to go and saying it's dangerous, and stuff."

She reached for his hand on the sofa; they'd been doing that a lot, recently; she did it out of Harry's sight, not wanting to have to answer questions neither of them wanted to yet. "Just stay with us the entire time," she said, brown eyes wide, endearing, and Ron was nodding before he could even think of the opposite.

"Okay," he said.

Ron manoeuvred himself out from the tunnel, placing the stone back where it was supposed to go, and cleaned the dust off his shoulders.

After waving goodbye very convincingly to Filch, he'd set off down the passageway. A decent day for Hogsmeade, thick with snow and pleasant, although cold; Ron supposed he didn't mind that they'd pushed the date of the trip back so far. They had just a handful of days to go before they'd be sent home for the Christmas holidays.

Just as he was about to leave, Ron heard footsteps coming down the cellar stairs, and he threw himself behind a pile of crates. The footsteps paused at the bottom of the cramped stairwell.

Ron glanced around one of the crates, wanting to get a glance at whoever had descended... but there was no one there. He frowned in confusion. Empty space stood right where there was supposed to be someone; there was a heartbeat and blood flowing and breaths in and out-

Ron laughed, suddenly realising, and continued laughing as he rose from his position. "Bloody hell, Harry," he called out to the thin air, "you scared me for a second."

The cloak came off, Harry appearing from nothing with a smirk on his face. "I know. You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Don't joke about that, you know I can't get a tan."

Harry beckoned him over, and they both ducked under the cloak. "Come on, let's get out of here. Hermione's waiting in the pub."

They went slowly, careful to mask their footprints, and finally threw the cloak off once they were in the street. Harry pointed at a blood-flavoured lolly in the window of Hogsmeade and Ron shook his head, "It's animal blood. I don't like that."

"You can smell that?"

"Yeah, I smelt it back in the shop. My sense of smell's really good, you have to know by now."

They met Hermione at a table in the back of the Three Broomsticks, where ideally, they would not be overheard. They began to chat and Ron darted a glance across the table at Hermione. She smiled, and Ron couldn't help but smile too.

He had wondered where his ‘thing’ with Hermione was going, if anywhere. Ron had wondered about other things, in the dead of night, that he and Hermione might have dared to do if things were normal. But Ron didn't even know if he could kiss a human without giving in to temptation.

To be honest, Ron had no idea what he was doing with her. He- he supposed he liked her, just a bit, and he... he was very confused. That was the only conclusion he'd reached so far.

He snapped back to reality as Hermione was saying, "What if a teacher finds out about you being here and tells McGonagall?"

Ron shrugged. "I just hope no one-"

At that moment, Slughorn walked in, and Ron made a strangled noise as he was shoved under the table. Ron waited, tension mounting, as Slughorn puttered over to their table.

"Good morning, Harry!" said the old professor cheerily.

"Morning, Sir," Harry replied, and there was a tense moment where they waited for him to pass on. He didn't, of course.

"Looking forward to my Christmas party?" asked Slughorn, and Harry and Hermione nodded.

"Yes, very much-"

Slughorn stared around. "Say, where's Beagley?"

"You mean Weasley? Ron Weasley?"

"Yes, yes, that's it. Where is he?"

"Back at Hogwarts, Sir."

"Ah. A shame, a terrible shame... See you later, Harry m'boy." Slughorn shuffled away and Ron peeked his head above the table again.

"He gone?"

Hermione nodded, and Ron sighed with relief. "Thank Merlin."

"What would happen if someone told McGonagall?" asked Hermione. She was scanning the students around them who, Ron supposed, might all be the possible snitches Hermione was talking about.

"I don't know exactly, but I'd guess I'd either be really told off - maybe a howler off my parents, if McGonagall tells them - or worst case I think I could be expelled. McGonagall already told me I'd been very naughty lately and I'm on my last chance."

"And then what?"

"I'd be homeschooled. So you'd still see me during the holidays."

Harry and Hermione stared at him. Both looked quite depressed at the thought of Ron no longer being there. "Yeah, I know," said Ron, sharing their potential misery, "but it's probably for the best."

"Why?" said Harry.

"It's been difficult for me to be here, I won't lie. The noise, having to keep up the transfiguration, being forced to eat. Having to be on my guard - all the time. I'm sort of..." He struggled. "I'm a bit terrified I'm going to just lose control and do something horrible. I already have, to be honest."

Neither of them asked what it was, thank Merlin. Or maybe Ron just did abominable things all the time.

Harry drank from his butterbeer, and then said, at length, "I guess me and Hermione don't really know what it's like for you here."

"But I do tell you a lot of things."

"Would staying at the Burrow be easier?" asked Hermione.

"Yeah. Safer for everyone else. My studies would suffer, I think, but it's not like I'm going to do anything anyway."

Hermione glanced at him sharply; she hated when he spoke badly about himself, Ron knew.

"Hermione," he said, "can you name one job that I can do if publicly announce what I am?"

"No. You'd have to pretend to be human."

"That's what I'll probably end up doing - at least until people notice I don't age, or eat. But I'll never do anything great because I'll be too afraid of revealing myself. So what's the point?"

"I'll teach you," said Hermione. "If you end up homeschooled then I'll help you get good NEWTs. Everyone deserves a decent education, even if you don't want to do anything with it."

Ron was oddly touched, even though all he'd been thinking about was all the homework he wouldn't have to do, should he quit school.

"Does this mean you're going to ask McGonagall if you can go home after Christmas?" asked Harry.

The option had never crossed his mind, but now that Harry had suggested it, it gave him pause.

"No," he said, but it didn't feel definite. His friends just nodded.

"It's a nice view up here," said Harry, staring at Hogwarts castle in the distance. It looked like a mountain with the snow-capped turrets acting as peaks. They'd walked and talked, and, not needing anything from the shops (half of them had been shut anyway), decided to sit out here for a while. There was a small circle of rocks which could be sat on, hence why most Hogsmeade trips they'd come up here and talk for a while. It was close to the path that led back to the castle - back home.

Hermione suddenly stooped down and gathered some snow in her mittened hands. Harry never saw it coming.

"Oi!" he yelled, already reaching for some snow to retaliate.

It wasn't long before Ron was smacked across the face with a snowball and soon the three of them were engaged in a vicious war, running around the rocks and hiding behind trees as snowballs spun through the air and missed or splattered against somebody's back. Hermione laughed loudly as Harry was hit by a very large snowball, thrown by Ron, and he finally collapsed, snow smattered across his glasses.

They were shivering with cold, dripping with melted snow, but what was a warming charm for?

Harry collapsed onto a rock and sighed, hair plastered to his face. Hermione laughed as he dried it like a dog, shaking his head and pelting her with water droplets. Then his neck sank back down again.

"I'm tired," Harry muttered.

"Me too," said Ron, even though he wasn't.

Hermione kicked his foot. "Where's your stamina, Quidditch players?"

"Oh come on, 'Mione, it's the holidays-"

Hermione snatched up some more snow, and Harry yelped, falling off the rock to try and avoid it.

Ron chuckled, and then he heard something in the distance. A sound loud and piercing.

A scream.

"It was horribly irresponsible of you two to allow him to go out," said McGonagall, turning her formidable expression on Harry and Hermione. For Ron, she added: "And for you, Weasley, it is perhaps the last straw."

Ron's jaw dropped open. "Come on, Professor! That's not fair! Please, at least give me until the end of term."

"I'll only be able to do that if you behave, Weasley, I've told you enough times. I told you very explicitly that you weren't to go to Hogsmeade, and you disobeyed me."

"I tried," he said, "but I'm not allowed to do anything anymore! It's not fair!"

"For good reason, Weasley! Look what happened when you did!"

"You can't seriously blame what happened to Katie on me, Professor."

"Not that," said McGonagall, and Ron wondered what it was.

That afternoon had been fine until the scream. Harry, Ron and Hermione rushed over to find Katie Bell, one of the Gryffindor Chasers, on the ground. She thrashed wildly, twitching, unable to respond to them saying her name. Ron wanted to clap his hands over his ears to block out the sound of her rabbit-like heart, thumping quickly, and her wails of pure agony.

"What do we do?" said Harry, panicking.

"Get her back to the castle as quickly as we can," replied Hermione. Snow was beginning to come down again thickly, and Katie's lips were already turning a worrying blue.

Ron eased one arm under her knees and the other under her shoulders. She was still twitching, and he had to hold her tightly so she wouldn't flail out of his grip. Hermione ran ahead to notify someone at the castle and Harry crouched down to peer at something that had fallen out of Katie's pocket. It was a small brown package made of the stuff Ron's mum used to line cake tins with, and Harry reached out a hand to touch it.

"Wait!" Ron cried. "Harry, mate, you don't know what that is." He could sense something evil lay within that package. "Pick it up with your hands wrapped. In your scarf, or something." Otherwise what Harry would end up like Katie, spasming and screaming.

Harry nodded. Ron began to walk with Katie in his arms. Closer to the castle, she began mumbling incoherently and Ron didn't take it as a good sign. He sped up, striding ahead despite his feet sinking in the deep snow and Harry was soon calling out for him to wait.

Ron knew he'd barely tested the limits of his strength and speed. He wondered how fast, how far he could run if he tried, as this had barely tested him.

He soon glimpsed Hermione, and Hagrid towering behind her. Hagrid held out his arms. "Give her to me," he said. "I'll take her up to the castle - you three come along too, mind. McGonagall'll be wanting yer side of the story."

The five of them reached the gates before Ron remembered he had, in fact, been banned from going to Hogsmeade. Filch's eyes widened and his jaw began to quiver as he saw Ron approaching.

"Student escaped! Student escaped!" he howled, attracting the attention of just about everyone in the courtyard. "He's not supposed to be there, you know!"

Hagrid scowled at him, the snowflakes swimming in his beard like cod caught in a large fishnet. "Of course he's supposed to be, Argus. Don' be stupid!"

"Not that one," he said, jabbing a finger, livid purple like Katie's, through the bars of the gates. "I am on strict instruction, courtesy of Professor McGonagall, not to let him through."

"So how's he here, then?" said Hagrid.

Filch just spluttered - but Ron expected he'd be told off about it later.

After a short examination by Madam Pomfrey, Katie was whisked off to St Mungo's as an emergency case. Ron, Harry and Hermione were deposited in McGonagall's office and now sat in front of the furious woman, wondering if they'd have a single evening free of detention for the rest of the term.

Harry had dropped the package on McGonagall's desk, and the necklace within had slipped out. Ron wondered what Katie was doing with it. It looked dark, cursed even. Something his dad would tell him to stay far away from. Its silver metal was tarnished, studded with diamond gems and in the centre of each figure of eight chain was a teardrop of deep emerald. Ron felt the urge to reach out and touch it, oddly.

"None of that was our fault, professor," said Hermione. "We don't know who cursed her."

Ron was still staring at the necklace. It- he couldn't look away, Merlin's beard, this must be strong magic.

"Weasley, are you listening?"

"What's that cursed with?" he asked distantly.

McGonagall frowned. "We don't know it's cursed."

"It is. It's what hurt Katie." Ron finally stretched out a hand. "Merlin... don't you just want to touch it?"

"Ron," Harry held back his arm. "Ron, you remember what happened to Katie-"

He was interrupted by the door opening. In, Ron somehow knew without breaking his gaze from the necklace, walked Snape.

"I asked Severus to take a look at the object, seeing as he's more knowledgeable of curses than I." McGonagall gave him a pointed stare. "Weasley, if you could move."

"It's definitely cursed," said Ron. "I can... hear it..."

McGonagall was saying meaningless things in the background. "Severus, don't you want him to move?"

A pause. "No, Minerva. Let this go ahead. It may help us."

Finally, Ron stretched out a finger to trace over one of the bright emeralds, feeling the light scratches along the smooth surface. Ignoring the whispers around him, Ron felt his way along the metal.

Inside was a growing feeling of darkness. Not painful, particularly, but it felt as though it was chewing through his entire digestive system. Ron had often wondered if there was anything left inside, and he supposed he had an answer now. Ron's brow furrowed; he faltered slightly as his fingers moved around the link at the top, and choked.

One hand curled into a fist on the desk. Like a starving rat, the darkness burrowed around within and Ron had to screw his eyes shut for the pain.

"Ron?"

His hand still had contact with the necklace, and at that moment Ron felt a sensation like a bolt of lightning run up his finger and through his nervous system. He promptly launched himself backwards from the necklace, nearly tripped over his chair, and managed to end up sitting back down in it with his mind racing.

He was feeling rather sick.

Snape raised a brow. "Never one to spare the dramatics, are we, Weasley."

McGonagall sighed, very much exasperated with the situation. "Severus, did that give you anything valuable?"

"Other than entertainment, not much."

"Vampires have a much higher tolerance for curses-" began Hermione.

"Obviously," Snape said, lip curling, "given that vampirism is a form of curse, and it is difficult to find a more complex and damaging one than that."

"Professor," said Harry. "I think I know who did this."

Ron looked at his best friend with dread. He knew exactly what Harry was going to say.

"It was Malfoy," Harry insisted.

Snape and McGonagall looked equally unamused.

Harry was still wincing the next morning at breakfast. "Did they have to say so much, though?" he asked weakly. "I mean... me being a stubborn, stupid brat, and not being able to get over a childhood feud..."

Hermione drank her tea. Ron stared at the tablecloth. Harry looked at them both. "McGonagall was wrong, right?"

"I don't know. On the one hand, the vanishing cabinet and the Room of Requirement are pretty decent evidence. On the other hand, Malfoy's been less annoying than usual. I actually prefer him like this," said Ron.

Hermione frowned at him. "What, a very ill-looking junior Death Eater?"

"Hell yeah. I've only spoken to him once this term - and he just called me a weasel. That's good, in my opinion."

All of a sudden there was a screech overhead, and a large post owl landed beside Hermione. She tugged the newspaper out of the owl's beak, poured some water into a saucer and allowed it to drink while she tucked a few brown knuts into a pouch on its leg. She unrolled that morning's edition of the Prophet...

And promptly choked on her tea.

Chapter Text

Chapter Eleven

Ron stared at the newspaper article in his hands with horror. It had been published a day after Ron's outing to Hogsmeade, and consisted of an interview with a werewolf who said he had sensed a vampire in the Three Broomsticks; the interviewee was unnamed.

"I was only saying," he'd apparently said to the interviewer, "that I was walking past the front of the pub, and I thought I caught something. With my nose. I thought I smelt a vampire. Like cold, metal... blood, definitely, and decay. It's a strange smell to try and describe, and only we can pick it up."

The author (also the interviewer) had then linked it to how werewolves were far too supercilious, and it was ironic because they were the diseased ones. They were the dirty, decrepit, foul vermin that didn't belong, and yet they dared to exclude wizardkind.

It made no sense, and yet it was on the front page, somehow.

"I still don't understand why the werewolf would speak to the reporter," said Hermione, frowning.

"Probably had his arm twisted," said Harry. "Maybe this poor werewolf idly mentions he thought he smelt a vampire, and the reporter jumps on it, refusing to let the werewolf go unless they tell the story. It's lucky they were left anonymous, honestly."

Hermione reached for his hand under the bench. "How are you feeling?" she asked.

"Very surprised. Not in a good way. Merlin, I'm so glad the werewolf didn't find out who I was."

"Maybe he did and just didn't tell them," suggested Hermione.

Harry was flicking through the Marauder's Map again, and suddenly froze. "What's Malfoy playing at? We've got first lesson in" - Harry checked his watch - "about three minutes, and he's gone into the Room of Requirement!"

"Sometimes Malfoy doesn't turn up to lessons anymore. Didn't you know that, Harry?" said Hermione, and Harry was perplexed.

Ron, still thinking about the article and not Malfoy, wondered if McGonagall knew about this. And then he wondered how bad the punishment was going to be.

It was what he'd been expecting, after spending most of his day obsessing over it. McGonagall handed him a copy of the Prophet after Transfiguration (like he hadn't seen it already) and said, "You will never go out to Hogsmeade again, Weasley. Never."

She was being very harsh, but Ron supposed it was his fault. Even if it had just been an unlucky accident.

He was walking down the corridors, considering making for the library to study or just muck about for the duration of his next free period, but he turned the corner and found Harry and Hermione arguing ferociously.

"Give me the map, Harry!" Hermione bellowed. "It's not healthy how much you use it, it's like you're addicted!"

Harry snatched back the Marauder's Map, retorting with, "It's none of your sodding business, Hermione!"

The map was going back and forth and all the while they were oblivious of Ron's confused presence, until he said, "What the hell are you two doing?"

"Tell Hermione that it's my map, it was my dad's."

"And he wouldn't want you to be using it like this!"

They continued to fight.

"Shut up!" Ron told the pair. "Can we go and study, please? Or not? Can we just hang out before the end of term?"

They ended up in the Astronomy Tower, with textbooks in hand; but this close to Christmas, not even Hermione bothered to study properly. They talked instead about anything and everything... But mostly Malfoy. Harry said they needed to catch him in the act of sneaking into the Room of Requirement since they couldn't get to him once he was in there. Although, they didn't even know if he was doing anything weird, said Ron.

"It could be that Malfoy wants some private time. Living in a dormitory with a bunch of other lads is rough sometimes."

That was as far as he got before Hermione, wincing, told him to please not go any further. Harry was laughing and then Hermione started to laugh too, and out of the corner of his eye Ron watched her. She glanced up and they locked eyes; hers were brown as autumn leaves, warm as a fire to shelter by.

Something felt different today.

Ron let his eyes linger just a moment longer, and then went back to his conversation with Harry. But it was terribly tedious, more of the same arguments about why they couldn't strike against Malfoy just yet, and Ron was soon drifting back to staring at Hermione. Talking to her, instead. He told a joke and she laughed, and Ron realised there was another set of eyes on him.

Harry had been watching the two of them for a few minutes with an expression of utter disbelief.

Suddenly he stood up and began throwing his things into his bag, muttering, "And I thought I was dense." He turned to face both of them with a pleasant expression. "Well, I'm tired. Goodbye."

He was down the steps before Ron could even say a word. "What's that about?" Ron said to Hermione. She shrugged.

They went back to their studies until the silence grew deafening. They were on opposite sides of the bench, and Hermione grabbed his hand, lying between them. They'd been doing it all week, maybe longer, just casual touching - but this time it felt strangely charged.

Their eyes met, and Ron had to say something.

"Hermione," he began, and then stopped.

"Yes?"

"I..." Ron's throat closed up. How was he supposed to convey that he liked her very much, but she was still human and he was a vampire and this could never work? Not even for a little while. Even now Ron could hear her heartbeat pounding in his ears. It could be soothing, but if he were in a hungrier state it could be the thing that tipped him over the edge.

Ron cursed himself. If it weren't for this whole vampire thing (and his debilitating nerves) he might have finally gotten himself a girlfriend.

"Nothing," finished Ron. "Want to go back to the common room? Harry's probably waiting."

It made no sense, Harry would probably hit him for being so stupid, but... Ron just couldn't do it. Hermione mattered to him too much.

That night when he came back to the dormitory, Harry took one look at him and said, "How did you manage to mess that up? You two've been all lovey-dovey for ages, I thought there was no way it could go wrong."

The other sixth-year Gryffindor boys were still at dinner, so Ron collapsed back on his bed and said, "Did you forget what I am?"

"No. And?"

"Well, it's all a bit difficult when you consider that Hermione's human. I could really hurt her if I lost control." Ron stared back at Harry. "You've never seen me when I'm... y'know. Drinking people's blood."

"I guess that would complicate things." Harry pulled something out from under his bed and was regarding it with some confusion. It was a packet of cauldron cakes. "Do you remember where these are from, by the way?"

He had to stare at it for a moment, and it was only when Ron had felt the weight of the box in his hand that something stirred in his memory. "They're cauldron cakes Romilda gave you ages ago. I think they were for Halloween."

"Romilda?" Harry was lost.

"Romilda Vane, the fifth-year with a crush on you. She turned up to the Quidditch trials." Harry still looked clueless. "Long black hair. She's a Ravenclaw."

"Oh, yeah. I remember now."

Ron sniffed the box, and caught a hint of something strange. Very un-pumpkin-pastie-like. "Don't eat these, by the way. They smell weird." He sniffed again. "I reckon she spiked them."

Harry chucked the box into the bin. "I should tell McGonagall about her if she's going to try and poison me."

"More like love-potion you, by the smell of it."

"Jesus." Harry paused. "But honestly, I thought you and Hermione had been acting love-potioned. You've both been different this year."

Ron didn't answer him, and then the others returned from dinner and their conversation was over. As Ron wanted it to be. He didn't really want to discuss why things would be so awkward at breakfast tomorrow.

Actually, they weren't. They were miserable instead.

As soon as Ron took a seat at the Gryffindor table, Pig swooped down and dropped an envelope into his lap. It was packed thickly, and he figured out why when he peeled apart a newspaper clipping alongside the letter from his mum. The article was the very worrying one from yesterday, and the letter was incredibly brief:

I want you out of school. Now. It's too dangerous. Show this to Professor McGonagall and tell her I'm flooing her later.

Below it was his mother's signature. From the clipped tone and no mention of his father or brothers, Ron would gather this had been a very controversial decision of his mum's, and Ron could see why. She normally wasn't so fretful, but Ron supposed a lot had happened recently.

McGonagall squinted at the very angry, very short (in these ways it was similar to a first-year) letter when he brought it to her later. "I can't say I wasn't expecting this," she said.

"You thought my Mum would send you a letter about the article?"

"Technically it was sent to you, but yes. You know your mother used to try and dispute nearly every detention I gave to your twin brothers?"

Ron had never heard of that happening. "When did she give up?"

"Two months into their first year." She paused. "But I'm glad your mother's coming to see me. I wanted to talk to her too about your continued enrolment at Hogwarts."

Ron stared at McGonagall. "What? You're expelling me?"

"No, Weasley. I'm suggesting we evaluate your illness - spattergroit, I was going to put on the form - and concur that home education is the best option for you." McGonagall stared at him sadly. "It's clear to see you're struggling here, Ron, and all we want is for you to be safe and as happy as you can be."

"I'm not. Struggling, I mean."

"This," said McGonagall, glancing pointedly at the newspaper article which was still on her desk, "says differently."

"That's one thing-"

"You've been asking me to take you out sometimes as frequently as every three or four days for blood. If that's not a sign that all of this stress and exposure to people is too much, I don't know what is."

"Maybe it's just me, though," argued Ron. "Maybe I'd have gotten worse at home anyway."

"You're right. That's a decent argument, Weasley, and I'd like to address it when your mother gets here." She glanced at the clock. "You're ten minutes late for first lesson, but tell whoever your teacher is that you were speaking to me. Off you go, Weasley."

He scowled at her, but at least her word only earned him a sneer from Snape rather than a detention.

Harry spoke to him. Hermione just stared. Ron didn't know how to tell her that these might be his very last days at Hogwarts... his last few days with her, maybe.

Merlin, he wished that awkward stutter between them had never happened. What he'd have given to just sit entwined with her on the sofa as they usually did in the Gryffindor common room. No matter what other people thought about it, it was nice just to exist in one another's company; talking, hands entwined even if they'd never go any further. Ron was dying to, but he might lose control if their lips met, if their skin touched.

Since then they'd suffered apart, Ron deprived of her presence and mind, her conversation and astonishing talent for marking essays just like a teacher would (it actually helped a lot). Ron really missed her - as a friend and more.

His heart ached, although it was supposed to be withered and dead. Ron had to keep reminding himself what he was: a cold, unfeeling vampire, alone for eternity; there was no room for a human girlfriend, he had to insist to his own tenacious brain. He would worry about the possibility of a vampire girlfriend when he actually met a suitable prospect; Kella Wright was not an option on account of her being utterly terrifying... and Ron wouldn't even bring up Mordecai.

"Hope you two are mates again soon," said Harry. "I'm sick of third-wheeling your drama."

"Then go and find someone else," said Ron. Instead of riveting conversation with Hermione they were sat in the corner of the common room like a pair of glum bachelors. The Yule Ball all over again. "It has been ages since Cho, Harry. Is there no one else who's caught your attention?"

He paused ominously before he replied, "No."

Ron didn't press it. What an awkward thing to talk about anyway.

That evening, Mum arrived in a flurry of emerald-green flames, eyebrows slanted resolutely. She hadn't been out of the fire a second before she was removing her cloak and hanging it up like the office was hers.

McGonagall sat with her palms pressed together at her desk. Ron was sitting opposite and his Mum sat down next to him.

"Where's Dad?" Ron had expected both of his parents to turn up, even if they'd disagreed.

His mum looked haughty. "He didn't agree with my decision. So he didn't come."

"I suppose that's where we can begin," said McGonagall. "So, you want to take Ron out of school-"

"I certainly do."

"Could've asked me first," Ron said bitterly.

"He doesn't know what's good for him," said Molly. "You know what those three are like. Idiots, sometimes."

"Right," said Ron. "Before we properly get started, can I just say: if you drag me home against my will, I will run away."

McGonagall made a noise. "If you two want to talk for a while, I can-"

"No. I just want Ron out of Hogwarts."

"And I don't want to go," said Ron.

That circle they kept going round in was a good predictor of the conversation ahead. It was a lot of negotiation over nothing, and Ron was annoyed that McGonagall told his Mum how desperate things had gotten. They both told him off about the duel, the Halloween party and Hogsmeade, and it wasn't until dinnertime that they finally decided on a course of action.

"You'll finish this term, Weasley," said McGonagall, "and then over the holidays your family will monitor you. If your dependency on blood decreases, then it's obvious that you're suited to an environment with less people in it, and you should remain homeschooled."

"What if I just come to Hogwarts for some weeks? Like, four out of every term or something?"

"Maybe that's an option. But then we'd have to craft a suitable illness for you."

"Spattergroit'll do, won't it?"

"Not if you're coming to Hogwarts when you please," said McGonagall. "It's highly contagious."

Mum was lost. "Spattergroit?"

They explained, and she shook her head. "If you do come back, it should be a few weeks after the holidays. A few months, years, I don't care if you only come back to take your NEWTs. That newspaper article scared me. What if that werewolf had identified you? What if he already knows and tells the Ministry? I- I only want to keep you safe, Ron."

"By taking me away from my friends?"

"They can all visit-"

"I don't want to be homeschooled, Mum. It sounds bloody miserable."

His mother looked like she understood. "But there's little other option if you're going to see your seventeenth birthday, in my opinion."

"For today's meeting, I believe it's best if we don't decide anything," said McGonagall, interrupting the conversation before it could grow too depressing. "Molly, let's talk again after the Christmas holidays when we know what's affecting Ron's... decline."

"But you want to keep him here for the rest of the term?"

"Mum," Ron spluttered. "It's only four days, I won't die."

"Don't jinx it," she said, seeming afraid. Molly nodded at McGonagall. "Professor."

She saw herself out by throwing floo powder on the roaring fire, and shouting, "The Burrow!"

Ron watched her go and could only feel anguish for his future. How could he tell his mother that he didn't need looking after anymore, because he'd done such an unforgivable thing that he couldn't possibly be considered a child any longer?

Ron wasn't worthy of care, love. He was a murderer. 

All term the old professor had been talking about it, and yet when the eve of Slughorn's party arrived, Ron was surprised it had come so quickly. Lessons were finishing and Ron still hadn't told his friends that they might be his last. He was back to keeping secrets, and he'd broken his word; but he and Hermione weren't speaking much anyway.

Ron was digging through his trunk a few hours before Slughorn's 'Slug Party', as the man himself called it, searching for robes. "Do you think Hermione'll still go with me?" he said to Harry.

"You two still aren't speaking?"

Neville appeared. "Harry, have you got a tie I could- oh." He stopped short. "What's going on? Who's not speaking?"

Dean and Seamus were looking over now. Ron finally found his dress robes, and began brushing them off. They were a dark blue, mysteriously bought by his twin brothers the year before (Harry looked shifty every time he brought them up, so he suspected it had something to do with him). He glanced at his roommates. "I was going to go to the party with Hermione," he told them, perhaps unwisely.

Seamus burst out laughing.

He had to endure their teasing and hooting for the rest of the night and probably the rest of his life, but Ron didn't care very much. It wasn't like he'd be at Hogwarts much longer.

It wasn't like he didn't love Hermione enough to endure it, and so much more.

"You ready to go?" asked Harry, straightening his cuffs. He was going with Luna, and Ron was glad. Luna was brilliant fun.

Ron nodded.

Hermione stood on the outskirts of the party, unsure if she should really be there.

That evening she had put on a velvety red dress, a birthday present for herself she'd bought in Diagon earlier that year when the colour caught her eye, and the feel of the fabric had made her forget the price of it. She was holding a small clutch purse too, just to store her wand in, and her hair was styled into tight curls, cascading down her back.

She'd gotten all dressed up despite her hesitancy, which had then pretty much decided it for her. Would Ron remember that they'd planned to go to the Christmas party together There was tension between them now, but Hermione didn't think it would prevent Ron from being her partner at a dance. They'd just gone as friends, after all.

Harry and Luna had arrived already, Harry dressed in the same bottle-green robes from the Yule Ball, and Luna wearing a spangly silver dress that looked fantastic under the lights. Hermione wondered if Ron would be wearing his robes from the Yule Ball. She didn't care what he wore, and maybe the brown and red could go together, but... Hermione would have liked to see him in something a bit trimmer. Something cleaner, that maybe accentuated his broad shoulders and tall height: something that showed off him.

Hermione still didn't know how she felt about him. She had barely any experience with boys - in fact, her only boyfriend had been Viktor Krum. That had been complicated, but Ron was even more so.

Ron had been vicious in that duel with Zabini. Hurling spells like he was somewhere else, body moving scarily fast. Hermione had truly been able to appreciate what he was and why she should keep away. That was what her head said.

In her heart, she had decided she didn't care. She wanted to be reckless.

She wanted him anyway.

"Hermione?"

She turned. Ron had finally arrived. Her eyes roved over him, and she felt Ron's eyes flickering over her, too. Subtly appreciative. Finally, their gazes met, and Hermione smiled gently. "I thought you'd never turn up," she said.

Ron glanced at the people beginning to sway behind them. The party was in Horace Slughorn's office, the expanded walls wrapped in soft silk and gaudy lights. Servers wandered about with platters of decadent hors d'oeuvres and champagne, and Slughorn himself stood in the centre of the opulence with a glass in his hand, chest puffed out with pride.

He touched her arm. "Dance?" he said, and she nodded.

Ron had a hand curling lightly at the top of her shoulder, and another ghosting above her waist. "Am I doing this right?" he asked.

"I don't care, I don't know how to dance either." Hermione tightened his grip on her waist (he gave a muffled squeak) and placed her own hands on his sides. Ron was lean, lanky, dark blue robes tight in the right places. The music picked up, and she began tugging him around at random until they settled into an odd, slightly violent dance.

Hermione decided to cut to the chase. Her sigh startled him, his gaze jerking back up from her dress. Hermione would be more annoyed if she hadn't been ogling him just the same.

"Can't we just try?" she said, going for nonchalant and her words coming out beseeching instead. "Please? You never even gave me a chance."

Ron bit his lip. He didn't pretend not to understand what he was saying, thank God. "It can't work. 'Mione, you can't tell me it would ever satisfy you." He struggled to find the words, the two of them box-stepping unevenly all the while. "I'd never age. I'd have to disappear all the while to get blood. I could never go out for dinner with you." He paused. "We could never have kids, either."

"Good thing I don't want that for a while yet, then," said Hermione. "Ron, I'm not saying I want to marry you. Who knows, maybe we're terrible for each other. I just want to give it a go. It wouldn't make much of a difference to what we do now."

"But I... You don't..." Ron shook his head. "No. If I get too close to you, I might hurt you."

Perhaps he was a murderer and in denial about it most of the time, but on this occasion he managed to pull his head out of the clouds. He couldn't pretend with Hermione. He couldn't tell her she was safe when Ron was the very definition of the opposite; the proof of that fact was rotting at the bottom of a river many miles from Hogsmeade, weighed down against the current by rocks.

"But you haven't. We've been around each other for ages and you've never hurt me-"

"Stop arguing, Hermione, I'm not going to go out with you."

She smiled, although inside she felt like collapsing. "We'll see."

She forced him into a spin, and Ron stared at her in confusion. A good part of him was fighting valiantly to just say yes to her. He liked her, and what more did a relationship need than compatibility, and compassion, and knowledge of the other person?

But Ron was a vampire. She was human. Things quite clearly did not work out; they could never work out, so they shouldn't even be considering this. They would only be setting themselves up for heartbreak. He would live forever, and even with magic she would only live for a fraction of that. And he could never condemn her to the same life that he suffered.

Despite all the long homework sessions in front of the fire, arguments and epic debates, the many adventures they'd been on together, it could never work. Never.

They might have been great together. Admittedly, it was sad they never could be.

But for tonight, they would dance.

Slughorn had been introducing people all night; he'd invited guests from all over, and one or two even Ron recognised. He was largely unbothered for most of the night as he had few connections to any of them, but Slughorn came to greet Ron and Hermione and then was suddenly calling over two men who were stood nearby.

"Ah! Worple, so good to see you - and your companion, I take it?" Slughorn beamed, twiddling the ends of his moustache imperiously. "This is Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger, two prize students of mine. An excellent duellist, and an excellent witch in all areas, from what I've heard. The two of them are incredibly talented."

Hermione was awkwardly staring the other way, and Ron was panicking.

There was a vampire at Hogwarts - other than Ron. He stood beside the man Slughorn had called Worple (a balding, grey-haired wizard past middle age), and was rake-thin, grey-skinned with greasy black hair curling around his ears. His suit was a grey and black pinstripe which emphasised his skeletal frame, giving him the look of some starved, ghoulish prisoner who had died dressed in his motley suit.

Would Ron look like that after another few years of living off blood?

His eyes were red, of course, and eerily focused on him. The man's mouth twitched and Ron knew he'd twigged what Ron was too.

Slughorn chuffed. "Don't look quite so alarmed, Miss Granger. Eldred and I go very far back - and who is this?"

"Sanguini. Most useful." Worple curled a possessive hand around the vampire's arm, and the vampire shot Ron an amused glance. It was all an act. Manipulation had long festered in their relationship but just who was manipulating who both of them seemed to be on different pages about. "Sanguini is a vampire," Slughorn continued, "but I suppose you've worked that out already, Miss Granger. Didn't I tell you she was clever, Eldred?"

The man sniffed, and looked down his nose at her.

"Muggle-born, is she?" he said, and then laughed, the ripe sound thick and greasy in his throat. "You can just tell, can't you?"

At that, at least, Slughorn looked a tad uncomfortable, and did not laugh. Worple didn't notice, too absorbed in his own mirth. A fifth-year swung round with a tray of drinks and both Slughorn and Worple were instantly distracted; Sanguini, as Worple had named the vampire, promptly ambled away.

Ron stared after him. "Vampires aren't supposed to be unmonitored, are they?"

"He's not," said Hermione. "Didn't you see his cuffs?"

"Cuffs?"

"He can't do magic with them on. It makes it easier for a wizard to overpower a werewolf or vampire; it's practically the only measure the Ministry has against creatures that works. They're runed shackles." Hermione frowned. "You know, I've read a book by Worple. Eldred Worple is his full name."

"Oh yeah?" Though he was still thinking about the runed cuffs, Ron still tuned in to what she was saying.

"Yeah, the book was about how vampires aren't as bad as people think. But apparently vampires are very, very, different from Muggles." It was a reference to Worple's earlier, hurtful remark. "I suppose that's why you should never meet an idol."

"Right," said Ron. "So Sanguini's not dangerous?"

She hesitated. "I don't think he's capable of being considered not dangerous, but... Wait, are you going to talk to him?"

Ron nodded. Hermione immediately began telling him it was an awful idea, and he interrupted her. "You don't understand - I've only ever spoken to one vampire before, and that was Mordecai. He was a bastard. I- I have to see if there's a way I can live without turning into that," he said, and Hermione looked sceptical.

"You think Sanguini's the one to convince you of that?"

"I don't know. I don't care, frankly. I just want to meet another vampire."

Hermione stared at him for a few agonising seconds, where all of her longing and mistrust and uncertainty was conveyed, and then she was taking a step back.

"Go," she told him, and Ron plucked up the courage to peck her on the cheek before he left.

Sanguini had disappeared behind a door to the side, and Ron followed. Inside the room a fire was crackling, and Sanguini, the vampire whose name didn't quite suit him, was staring at Ron. Even before he'd entered the room, Ron had felt those fathomless black eyes trained on him. Sanguini drew closer, holding out a hand, spidery thin and pale as the snow clotted on the banks of the school.

"A pleasure to meet you," he said. His tone was cutting and yet muted, like if he were to speak louder it would swell into something brutally animalistic. It was oddly familiar.

"Who are you?" asked Ron. He didn't take the hand.

"My name is Sanguini."

"Is that what you told them?"

Sanguini didn't answer that, instead asking, "Why did you come in here?"

"I wanted to know what you were doing at Hogwarts," Ron replied.

Sanguini looked defeated, all of a sudden; only then did his name fit him. He grabbed Ron's wrists, looking as though he didn't really want to, and placed a small stone into his palms. It had odd markings on it that almost looked runic.

"Sorry about this," he said. "But you'll understand later."

He cast a spell so swift that Ron didn't catch whatever words he uttered. The stone glowed an unnatural blue, and then a hook rose to yank Ron into the abyss.

Ron realised then that the stone was a portkey, but it was far too late to drop it.

Against his will, he was taken.

Chapter Text

Chapter Twelve

Ron dropped to the ground flat on his back, gasping. He opened his eyes to find himself somewhere cold and dark, and shut them again whilst he scrabbled for his most recent memories, since he was convinced he was supposed to wake up in his dormitory. Had he... slept, finally? He had to have, there was no other explanation.

Ron re-opened his eyes, reaching for the bedcurtains in order to yank them open and let in the light. His hands found nothing, and that was when he realised all was not in order.

There was a stabbing pain in his wrists, and blearily, Ron held them up. He glimpsed cuffs attached there and recognised them as being identical to the ones clamped around Sanguini's wrists at the Christmas party he felt as if he'd only just come from. Merlin, had they ached this much for Sanguini? How could the man even think while enduring this pain?

The black stretching in front of him was growing more textured as he got used to it, and Ron could now make out he was in a room of sorts. He was deaf to everything happening outside of it, and no rootling around inside what he could reach of his ear canal cleared anything; if anything it made the yawning noise in his head worse.

There was a shuffling behind him. Ron turned, registering a pair of eyes in the gloom, and scrambled back. As if by instinct he held out his hands. "Protego," Ron croaked, and knew before he even said it that it would do nothing.

There wasn't even a spark. His magic was dead. His core was silent. Ron felt hopeless, and he was trapped in here with something else. To lurk in the gloom it must be some sort of dark, terrifying creature. Ron wanted to protect himself against it, but it was so difficult when he felt so... off.

His limbs felt leaden, body stiff. Just standing up felt like too much. His head felt too heavy for his neck.

But he had to try again.

"Stupefy!"

"That won't work."

Ron twisted around. "Who's there?" His voice was oddly quiet, inside his head.

"Were you captured too?"

It was a girl's voice, he'd assume by the sound of it, and she sounded bitter. Tired.

Ron paused. Did he answer? Was there anything else to do?

"I can hear you thinking," said the voice before he could reply. "I won't hurt you. I can't." A pause while she swallowed, trying to gulp down the dryness. Her voice was hardly a rasp. "I've been here for months and they've ruined me."

"Months?" he couldn't help but respond.

"Yeah. I think it's been months, but they... they keep drugging me. And I lose track."

"What?"

"Come closer," said the girl. "I can't hear you. They've done something to our ears, haven't they? It's part of the wards, I expect. It's so we can't hear them when they come for us."

Ron shuffled nearer to where he thought she was sitting, and reached out. His hand made contact with a thin shoulder, and she gasped. "It's the first time I've spoken to someone in months," she said, and Ron could just make out someone very dishevelled, thin hair just managing to straggle past her shoulders.

"Where am I?" he pressed her. "I think I've remembered what happened to me now - a man kidnapped me. He was called Sanguini, do you know him? Wait, no, don't answer that. Where are we? Please, I need to know so I can-"

"I don't know." Her voice was getting weaker by the minute. "You're not getting out, at any" - she suffered a short, but painful-sounding coughing fit - "at- at any rate."

Ron decided to ignore this dour assertion. "What happened to you?"

"I went outside. I got captured. I was put in here."

"Captured by who?"

"I didn't know their faces."

What was he doing in here? Why had Sanguini done such a thing? Ron hadn't thought he was too bad, really.

His eyes suddenly widened. "My wand," he said, "where's my wand?! I had it a second ago, I swear-"

"They took everything from me," said the girl, but Ron sprung to his feet, holding on to the wall when his vision wavered.

"Where's the door?" he despaired, and began searching for it. "Merlin's beard - what's your name, by the way?" It struck him that he'd never asked.

"It's Kella," said the girl, staggering to her feet too. "And there's no door. Trust me, I've checked. A hundred times. What's your name?"

"Ron Weasley." He was still checking the stones to see if they would move. He suddenly paused. Her name, it was... it was Kella? As in, Kella Wright? The vampire whose capture by the Ministry he had accidentally caused, and who, thankfully, seemed not to have recognised his name. Ron was just lucky it was dark in here.

Merlin, this was where she'd been all this time? Her outfit was falling to pieces and ingrained with dust and dirt. Ron could very well believe that she'd been here for months already.

"I'd sit down if I were you, Ron - they don't like it when you're too active."

"How old are you?" he asked, still searching.

"Too old for this rubbish," she sighed.

"Where's the way out?" he asked again, and Kella shook her head.

"There is no way out."

"You can't say that." He couldn't give up. "Reducto!"

"Magic doesn't work, and-"

There was a sudden wrenching pain within his wrists, and Kella watched as Ron sunk to the ground, face screwed up in pain. She sat down beside him, looking relieved not to have to stand any longer. A hand came down on his shoulder. "Ron? Are you alright?"

"Yes," he replied. The pain was slowly ebbing away. "What- what was that? Why did my wrist suddenly hurt?"

"It's the runes on the cuffs. When you try to use magic they turn your power back on you. So basically, you just took a Reducto curse to the arms.

Ron glanced at her. Kella caught the look.

"I know, I look like I'm on death's door. I feel it, too. But because anything you exert trying to break the cuffs comes straight back, you can never escape. Do you see?" She held up her arms. Unconnected by a chain, the two magical restraints sat like bangles. Runes glinted even in the faint light.

"I see," he said, and it was like admitting defeat.

While Ron sat there, waiting for some awful thing he didn't even know would come, his mind buzzed. Over his sudden entrapment, which rang with an unsettling finality.

Where were his family? Were they searching for him? Could they break him out?

Would they want to? A disgraced, vampire son expelled from Hogwarts... would they really want him back?

Ron shook away these dark thoughts. He was just being silly because he was scared. They weren't really true. He needed to focus on escaping, though he wondered if Kella really was right. There didn't appear to be any doors, windows, passageways or trapdoors; in fact, it seemed to be a mystery in itself as to how he got in here in the first place.

How could he get out of here? Could he try breaking down the walls? Could he scratch runes into the wall with something sharp? But- but he didn't know runes, and there was nothing sharp, likely on purpose...

Who was Sanguini really?

Ron's mind went round and round, but no matter what he did, he didn't think it would change the fact that he was trapped in here. Merlin, he already felt like he was going crazy.

He'd been trapped in this room for hours, days, weeks now it felt like, and nothing had changed. Fear had cooled and though Ron could now put it aside, it still seethed menacingly in the background.

He paced. He sat down. Lay down, a few times, although it put all kinds of grime on his nice robes. But did it really matter if he'd never go back?

He tried to do magic again. Once more he felt all the way around the walls, floor, just to check he really was trapped. He threw a dress shoe into the air to see how high up the ceiling was, and never got it back.

"Bollocks," Ron muttered to himself, now missing a shoe, and ended up sitting across from Kella again.

"So, what is there to do around here?" he asked.

Her eyes drifted up from the ground. "What do you mean?"

"Is there anything I can do here?"

"No," was her curt reply, and Ron's shoe fell right back onto his head.

He put it back on and picked up the bitty material on the ground. "What are we sitting on?" he asked. "Sand? Dust? Dirt? Are we inside, or outside? Below ground, or above it?"

Kella just stared at him, red eyes like a smouldering fire. But she looked incredibly sad.

"Who's keeping us here?" he asked. He'd already shouted at them a bit (cruel bastards; he wondered how they'd like a shoe dropped on their heads), but yelled again: "Hello! Is anyone there?! Are you Death Eaters?"

Kella yanked his arm and he turned to face her, frowning. "What?"

"Don't do that," she hissed, and Ron didn't shout anything more up to their unforgiving overlords.

Over the next day or so (which he had no way of telling - it was just a guess), he did nothing but go a bit more insane. When Kella stopped answering him, the isolation and misery would get to him. Sometimes he'd suddenly be so hungry he'd start scratching at throat in agitation. Then it would pass and he would just be bored - enough to put aside the fear almost fully. Then it attacked him again, and he couldn't breathe, curled up in a ball in the corner and wishing the ground would swallow him and never release him again.

He said all this to Kella and she told him to stop complaining. "Things get much worse than this. Right now, we're just waiting for them to be bothered enough to torture us. I think there are more people like us, you know. Trapped. And we all take it in turns to be tested."

What Kella said was enough to keep his mind occupied for a little bit. But then he was hungry, angry, sad, afraid and bored again, and talking.

"Do you have any family left?"

"Left?" she turned to stare at him. "What happened to my family? Did they die in a great big fire or something?"

"Did they?"

"No, but you said it like they were all dead. I mean, they are anyway, but there's no way you could have known that."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"For the stupid phrasing of your question or because my family's dead?" Merlin, she was talkative today. Ron forced himself to restrain his enthusiasm in case it scared her back into silence.

"Both. But about your family, mostly."

"Don't be," said Kella. "My parents died a long time ago."

"You have any siblings?"

"Left? No. Most of them died as children anyway. Dragon pox was rampant back then." Kella regarded him with faint interest. "Do you have any siblings?"

Ron was still thinking about the dragon pox. The last epidemic had been a long time ago, but it depended on which outbreak she was talking about. "Er, yeah," he replied. "Six."

"All alive?"

"Yeah - I'm only as old as I look," Ron replied.

There was a loud popping noise, and in front of them two bottles suddenly appeared. Kella lunged for the one nearest and uncorked it while Ron picked up the other more tentatively, turning it this way and that way to discern the contents. It looked... brownish. Like rust.

"What is it?" he asked. "And how is it here?" He'd thought there was no way in and out.

Kella had come up for air, having guzzled about half of the bottle already. "It's how they're drugging me," she said, "but I can't- I need it-"

She finished the rest, and by then Ron had taken a sip, but his throat was rebelling even before he'd swallowed it. Kella's beady eyes were following him, and despite the hunger that festered within his stomach, he handed over the bottle.

"Have it," he told her, and she necked it in one go.

She rolled the bottles away from them after draining them as best she could. Ron had watched with faint disgust as she licked inside the bottle as far as she could, before spitting inside until there was enough to swish off the blood clotted to the walls, and swallow it down.

"It's revolting, I know," she said. "The blood's old, not been put under a stasis charm or anything - sometimes it's got mould in it and I know that they stuff wolfsbane and sleeping draughts and as many poisonous things as they can into it, to see if I'll still drink it. They know by now I always do - but this is the part they like the best. Now they're curious to see what it'll do to me." She stared at the second bottle in her hand. "Especially as I've just had a double dose."

Her gaze was eerie, drifting up from the bottle to meet Ron's eyes. "They've been experimenting on me, Ron, and now you're here too. I don't know what they think will change. I don't know what I'll do now I'm not alone. Maybe they think I'll eat you instead."

She was deadly serious. Ron was confused, and a bit faint with hunger. He knew the next time those bottles were offered, he might not turn them down so easily.

It had been hours and hours in the dark and cold, sitting alone with Kella, who he still wasn't entirely convinced wouldn't try to hurt him. Miserable, Ron turned onto his side, and whether he wept or not was between him and himself.

Ron was right - he did crumble the next time the bottles of blood appeared.

After draining it like a man under a spell of madness, Ron didn't have the energy to sit up anymore, a strange taste clinging to the back of his throat. Perhaps he was paralysed. The poison they put in the blood Ron drank tasted like bubotuber pus; he said this to Kella and she responded that it was likely, even though he'd been joking.

He made the mistake of drinking the blood the first time, then made that same mistake again and again afterwards, too hungry and too depressed to care. What the hell did they want him for? Vampire experiments, yeah, but why him? Was he just a body to torture? Was the fact he was a Weasley, a child of the Order, even relevant here? Or was this what he had been bitten for all along?

Was this his great purpose in life? To be a guinea pig for demented, sadist scientists?

After many more bottles of blood had appeared and disappeared, one moment he'd been leaning against the wall, feeling ill and weak, and the next he'd been prostrate on a table of some sort. Wooden, Ron assumed from the hollow noise it made when his head banged against it. Ron struggled, but the shackles around his ankles, wrists, neck and waist chaining him to the table were as strong as Mordecai's vice-like grip.

He blinked once and glimpsed a flood of light. A hand, waiting, tipped something into his eyes and he was screaming at the raw acid eating at his eyeballs.

"Stop! Make it stop, I'm begging you I'll do- anything, just- make it-"

"Stay still, Ron, I won't be long."

"Please!"

He was silenced with a spell before long. A sharp blade settled against his bare arm, sleeve pushed up, and the spell was removed.

"I have to ask you some questions before we begin. First of all - tell me everything you know about the Death Eaters."

Ron gasped, eyes still blind, the bubbling pain agony. He struggled against his bonds, trying to find some way to escape.

"Ron, I need you to answer.

He choked out, "Please, please, the pain, I can't see-"

"It's only temporary, your cellmate can tell you. Now please, Mr Weasley-"

"My name, how do you know my-"

Patience was lost. "Answer, Ron-"

"No! I'm not answering your fucking questions-"

The blade sliced deeply into his palm. The metal eased out again, and the pain was twice as bad. Ron was screaming bloody murder, fire razing his mind, and though he could hear the voice he ignored it.

Minutes ticked by. His wound healed, and he was calm again (as calm as he could be, in his position). The pain had dulled to an ache and the voice returned.

"Tell me everything you know about the Death Eaters. Everything. Talk for as long as you can - if you stop, I will hurt you again. And this time I'll take a finger. We know from testing your cellmate that you can survive it. We've even got an average time of how long it takes you to grow it back. And I can wait that time a hundred times over. We've got all night, Ron; even longer than that-"

"It's nighttime?" he said, desperate for any detail of the outside world.

"You don't need to be concerned about that, Ron. Now answer the questions."

They interrogated him about Harry Potter, Albus Dumbledore, Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, Hogwarts and more. They hurt him when he wouldn't answer and then healed him again. Eventually, Ron curled up somewhere very small inside, and just told them whatever they wanted to hear. He wasn't proud of it, but he'd just...

Given up.

At the end of it, Ron was deposited back into the room, shaking. Against the wood one moment and against a cold stone floor the next.

Kella left him alone until he was ready to talk again, and then he understood that no matter what was happening, things could always get worse. Even now, things were not at their worst.

Ron was shakier, after that first time. When the second came around, he broke even faster as they drilled him for information once again. The Gryffindor in Ron thought he was being weak, giving in, but he wasn't built for torture.

He was sixteen.

Talking to Kella helped to take his mind off things, when she was in the mood for socialisation. It felt like it had been months since he'd been kidnapped.

"You went to Hogwarts, right?"

She hummed. He no longer thought of her as Kella Wright, terrifying vampire rebel; she was just Kella, his only friend in here. "Yeah, I did. Taught there for a bit, when I was all grown up and still human." It took Ron a moment to gather himself enough to formulate a reply, but she was talking again before he could.

"Is there another person in that corner for you?" Kella asked him, and Ron looked.

He shook his head. "It's the chemicals, Kella. But... you said you used to teach?"

"Yeah. Charms. I loved it."

"Professor Flitwick teaches it now. Did you know him?"

She shook her head and then clutched it, like it had made her dizzy.

"Well," continued Ron, "he's good. Ex-duelling champion. You any good at duelling, Kella?"

"Are you sure there's no one there, Ron?"

Ron repressed a sigh. He'd finally been learning something about her; every detail had to be prised from Kella's unrelenting fingers, and Ron lived for it, in here. "I'll go and check for you."

He rose and placed a hand against the wall, trailing along...

And somehow, his hand met warm flesh.

Ron jumped back. A figure loomed ahead of him, stark in the infinite gloom.

The seconds ticked by, the two of them at an impasse. Kella rose silently behind him.

"Who are you?" he asked. Fear, real fear, had stabbed through his ribs like an enormous metal stake.

Was this some new tactic by his torturers? Were he and Kella spasming on the floor after the latest batch of blood, poisoned enough to give them hallucinations?

Ron waited and a girl appeared from the shadows. Her eyes were light green - and they widened as soon as she locked eyes with him.

She promptly launched herself at Ron, trying her best to knock him over or kill him; either fit.

"Oi! What are you" - Ron dodged a punch - "doing?! Calm down, this is-"

"Jane!"

An arm belonging to another person was yanking her back. The girl's skin was pale, but smeared with dirt, and her hair was a bright blonde, like Fleur's. Ron hadn't seen that there were two of them. The second person was taller than her, and he had dark, curly hair, brown skin and eyes that darted warily between Kella and Ron. They were both very unkempt, and the boy swore under his breath before his gaze turned on Ron. His bloodshot eyes widened. "It's a vampire," he breathed, and the girl he'd called Jane visibly blanched.

Ron held up both arms. The two of them took a step back, the girl's hackles raised.

"I'm not going to do anything to you," he said, voice rough. He understood how Kella had felt before, now. "You-"

Ron heard their heartbeats. Pattering loudly in his eardrums - too loudly. Their heartbeats were going far faster than a normal human's would. They smelt strange, too. Ron sniffed, and then it clicked. He'd known a werewolf before, after all.

"Hang on," he said. "You two are werewolves."

"Would you like a medal for figuring it out?" the girl, Jane, sneered, although she looked terrified.

Ron was frowning. "But why would they put..."

"More tests, Ron," rasped Kella. She'd been taken out and tortured recently, and was especially weak. "They're always testing us, always."

"Who's that?" said the boy.

"Who are you?"

"You first," he replied.

"Ron Weasley. And don't bother replying, I think I know who you are." The fact he was a werewolf, and looked so haggard compared to his usual self, had put him off at first, but now he knew. "You're Tiberius Fawley, aren't you?"

The boy's eyes widened. "How did you know that?"

"Everyone was talking about you at Hogwarts. But where did you go? And how are you a werewolf?"

"The usual way," Tiberius replied. "Got bitten, didn't I?"

"Not all of us were bitten," said the girl. "My family were all werewolves, remember."

Ron eyed her. "Who are you?"

"Jane Hastings. I'm not a Fawley or anything magical, or special. I'm a boring Muggle."

Tiberius frowned in annoyance. "You're not a Muggle, Jane, I've told you - just because you didn't go to Hogwarts-"

"I'm a Muggle and that's that, Tiberius, and you should get used to it. Now who's that one?"

"Kella," groaned Kella.

Jane looked alarmed. "What's wrong with her?"

"We've been tortured. Her much more than me, so she's in a bit of a state." Ron fixed them both with a forbidding stare. "You'll be next, you know, and I'll tell you now, it's not pleasant. They just kept stabbing me until I told them what they wanted."

Tiberius was staring at the walls around him. He had a sharp look about him, almost hawk-like. "What is this place?" he said.

Tired even from that small confrontation, Ron sat back down again. "Dunno."

"How did we get here?"

"Haven't the foggiest, honestly. Do sit down, by the way. Standing gets so tiring."

"This is why I hate wizards," Jane muttered. "They've got spells and stuff. That's how they kidnapped us, I'll bet."

Tiberius frowned at her again. "You don't know any wizards."

"I know you, and you're annoying."

"S'cuse me," said Ron, "but how did someone like you meet someone like her? You're a Muggle, and he's a stuffy pure-blood-type. How'd you meet?"

Fawley frowned. "You're pure-blood too, Weasley."

"Fine, maybe I shouldn't've brought blood into it - I'm surprised you'd consider me so, a lot of your lot don't. But what I meant was that you have a family coat of arms and a massive mansion and estate. Gardens and shit, I don't know. But you know what I mean. How did one of the sacred twenty-eight end up in the Muggle world?"

"They could've only just met," offered Kella, and Ron nodded.

He turned back to them. "So. Which was it?"

"It's a very long story," said Jane.

"Then it's good we have the time." Ron patted the ground next to him. "Come on, sit down. Nothing else happens in here so I wouldn't bother looking like you're going to do something."

They tried talking about escape, but Ron and Kella quickly brought them back to reality.

Jane sat first, far less reluctant than Tiberius, and gave Ron a confused look. "What are you wearing?" She herself was in Muggle get-up, jeans blue and jacket old and worn. Tiberius was wearing the same.

"Dress robes," said Ron. "They're quite foul by now."

Jane nodded. "I can see. Is that blood?"

Ron shrugged. He was tired now, and fancied a sleep. Kella had already dropped off beside him, he thought.

How long've you been in here?"

"Weeks. Months. I don't know. What was the date when you left?"

"Around... March, I think?" said Tiberius.

Ron went quiet, to think. He would ask how it had been so long when he'd been sat in here all that time, but he could feel every excruciating second that had passed, and wondered why it wasn't longer. Most of him had given up on escape. Ron was fairly resigned to his fate, as his family and friends obviously were, since they hadn't rescued him.

Tiberius and Jane were squabbling again.

"Stupid, this is your fault-"

"Brat-"

"Idiot-"

"Shut up!" Ron bellowed, using the last of his strength. "Don't... don't talk too much or they'll think you need some energy taking off you." Ron was just waiting for one of them to be apparated away for torture or have a spell shot at them, to get them to be quiet again. Their captors had been curiously quiet, allowing them to communicate for so long.

"But we're confused," said Tiberius. "We have lots of questions-"

"Tell me how you met Jane," said Ron, in no mood to repeat the same consolatory spiel Kella had told him long ago.

"I was drawn by the first werewolves I could smell, I think. This was in August when I ran away." Ron remembered people talking about it at Hogwarts, and even the Prophet had mentioned something. "I just left. Started walking. Didn't stop until I ended up at hers."

"Did you run away after you were bitten?" Tiberius nodded. "And who was it that bit you?" asked Ron. "For me they got Mordecai. What about you?"

"It was Fenrir Greyback."

"Oh. I'm sorry. And did he try and train you, too?"

"I never stuck around to find out. I ran after I figured out what I was. I just ran. I'm sure my family were worried about losing their heir, but they've got backups - my sisters - and they wouldn't want a werewolf for an heir anyway."

"We all talked about you at Hogwarts, you know," said Ron. He realised how similar their stories were. Except Tiberius ran, as was sensible, and Ron stayed, putting his family in danger. "Did you miss it? You were a seventh-year, right?"

"Yes," said Tiberius. "I can never take my NEWTs. But I don't know if I'll ever go back into the wizarding world, so it doesn't matter anyway. I was just going to stay with Jane's family."

"Oh God," said Jane. "Chris. I've only just thought. What's happened to him?"

The two of them seemed to finally be feeling the mouldering sadness that lingered in the room. "Who's that?" asked Ron.

"Chris is my brother," explained Jane. "He's only fourteen... fuck, he was out with us when we were taken."

"I think I remember what happened now," said Tiberius. "I walked out of the shop and couldn't see either of you anywhere. Walked round a corner and... that's the last thing I remember." He frowned at the cuffs on his wrists, on both of their wrists. "Then I woke up here. What are these, by the way?"

"My parents," despaired Jane. "What if whoever took us has been following us for a while? What if they took Chris and my mum and dad too, and I- I... Where are they? Shouldn't they be in here too?"

"Maybe there is more than one room," Ron muttered to Kella, or to himself if she really had gone to sleep.

Things had changed, but not enough. These people were stuck in here just the same as them. Ron turned on his side and shut his eyes, trying to sleep. The funny thing was, he thought he'd finally been able to, in here. It wasn't as peaceful as it had been when he was human, but it passed the time.

Ron was tortured again, and could feel the flames that had destroyed patches of his skin for hours afterwards. The same questions had been asked of him and Ron had answered, but still had to grit his teeth against the pain. He'd bitten his tongue off, at one point. It had now grown back again. Nails had been driven into his legs, metal hammered into his bones to splinter them; into his ears, bursting his ear drums and pushed down his throat until he vomited. It was at that point that Ron passed out.

He'd never screamed so loudly.

"What did they do to you?" asked Kella. Ron was holding his hands out and examining the raw red skin, littered with scars from what they'd suffered. Ron glanced up from his scorched palms at Kella.

He told her. She understood. They never went into particulars about what happened during their torture sessions because it was too painful, and equally as Kella and Ron didn't exactly know. They were blindfolded the entire time and it was torture enough not knowing where you were and what might happen to you next.

"Is your healing buggered yet? Mine is," said Kella. "Takes me ages to heal from anything. They said they found it very interesting, the effect that contaminated blood seems to be having on me. I don't find it very interesting. I find it bloody painful."

"I would love to eat," said Jane mournfully. "It's been... it's been days..."

"Weeks," groaned Tiberius.

"When they do send you food, it'll be inedible," said Kella, and disturbingly, she was correct.

Jane stared at the chalky blue bread, raw green-looking meat surrounded by buzzing flies and violently strong alcohol that arrived soon after and said, "Is this some kind of joke? We can't eat this!"

"They're testing you," said Kella.

"I'm not eating any of that," said Jane. "That's- that's disgusting." She kicked the plate. "I'm not a fucking dog."

When Jane went to sleep, Tiberius crawled for the raw meat. He met eyes with Ron, and neither boy spoke. Ron understood his desperation.

Tiberius lay curled up in the corner for a long time after that, sweating terribly, and had to take a few trips to the new room which had appeared soon after that. It led off the main room through a door without a handle, was very small, and contained a single bucket.

Tiberius had pulled a face at it earlier, and "That's pretty grim," said Jane, but Tiberius hadn't found it too beneath him not to vomit into it later.

Listening to him retching next door, Jane knew what he'd done. She sighed and reached for the bread and the hard liquor, face turning at the strength of it.

They all cracked eventually.

"How was it, being a werewolf in the Muggle world?" asked Ron.

"I've always had magic for as long as I can remember. I can do some stuff with it... but I have no interest in going to Hogwarts. I didn't believe it was real, to be honest." He could make out a curl of her blonde hair in the lack of light, and she tucked it behind her ear again. "I just wanted to be normal. My parents were werewolves and so is my brother, too, but none of my family ever went to Hogwarts."

"So you just lived like normal?"

"Yeah. My normal. I went to normal - or Muggle - school and no one ever found out what I was. We used to transform in our cellar." She glanced at him. "What about you?"

"I was normal for a wizard before I was bitten," Ron said. "I went to Hogwarts, which was... brilliant. I still went even after I was turned into a vampire - there are some good people there who understood my situation." Ron thought of McGonagall, who, after some reflection (and because she couldn't expel him whilst he was stuck in a dungeon) he had come to like very much. "My best mate's famous and You-Know-Who hates him, so we always got into scraps with him. It could be fun, and terrifying. We've even fought some Death Eaters before... Do you know what those are?"

She nodded. "Tiberius explained."

"Well, we fought some before, and the summer before this year I was bitten by a vampire who was told to do it by them. Payback, or something. That vampire taught me everything I know, but he was an absolute bastard." Ron examined his hands. His fingers were bare of the rune ring Mordecai had given him; it had been taken long ago, when he first arrived.

"Do you think it's Death Eaters who've kidnapped us?"

Ron shrugged. "I don't know. It's likely. It's either them or someone we don't know about. Or both."

"How come some of you keep disappearing?" asked Jane. Ron told her about the torture he and Kella were put through.

"Right," said Jane, disconcerted. "Will they do that to me?"

They did, as she soon found out.

"I can't believe I've only just thought of this," said Kella, "but what are we going to do when it's a full moon?"

Jane was slumped in the corner, despondent, and Tiberius tore his gaze from her to answer: "I don't have a clue."

It was a poor offering, but one Ron was not capable of improving upon either. In here, they never had to figure out what to do - it just happened. Jane had vanished from the room without a sound, and reappeared bruised and broken, eyes bloody. She'd been blinded using a different method to the one Ron had suffered. It just looked like her eyes had been stabbed.

"S'pose we just thank Merlin it's not the full moon yet," said Ron. "Two werewolves against two vampires... we wouldn't survive."

"It's soon," said Tiberius.

"When is it?"

The werewolf's face pinched for a moment. "Couldn't say exactly... Jane's better at this than me, but I'd give it a night or two." He explained at Ron's baffled expression, "I can feel the pull of the moon. Barely at all during a new moon, which is after the full moon, but the closer it gets to a full moon again the tighter it pulls."

"Makes sense," said Ron, although it didn't really.

When Jane woke, she said the same thing; but weakly, her words barely audible. It seemed that someone watching above took pity on her however, as an edible sandwich then appeared on the ground. Her face screwed up as she gave it an assessing sniff, and then Jane tore the sandwich in two and handed half to Tiberius, who refused.

"You've just been tortured," he said. "No. You have it."

"You're stuck in here with me," said Jane, and wouldn't take it back. Tiberius began eating his half of the sandwich, and then Jane ate hers.

"How long will they keep us here for?" said Ron. "They've got to run out of tests at some point."

"That's the hope," said Kella drearily. "But what happens if they run out of things to do with us? Will they just kill us? Not that I wouldn't protest at that much."

"I don't want to die," said Ron. "I've got friends and family left. I want to escape, not die and be trapped here forever."

"I've lived a long enough life. You're still young, I suppose. I wouldn't've wanted to die at your age either. How old are the werewolves?"

Tiberius's head turned. "I'm seventeen. Jane's seventeen too. Guessing Ron's sixteen?"

"Why are you all children?" said Kella. "It's not like there aren't werewolves and vampires who are older - although they were probably clever enough not to get caught."

"Weren't a lot killed in the last war?" said Tiberius.

Kella nodded. "But this time He Who Must Not Be Named has got Fenrir Greyback, and I've heard of some more werewolves and vampires on his side. Hey, maybe we'll be asked to join. Maybe that's why we're here." She laughed.

"Is she always like that?" whispered Jane. One eye was still purple but she was healed, otherwise.

"Like what?" said Ron. Kella had been his only friend in here before these two showed up.

"You know."

"She's been here a lot longer than us. And alone, too."

"I know," said Jane uncertainly. But Ron wasn't angry. He couldn't be.

Whilst being stuck in here was hell, at least Ron had these three. They talked through the hours, sharing memories and stories from the most mundane to the utterly stupendous. It helped make each of them feel less afraid. Ron told Jane about Hogwarts, and the Triwizard Tournament. She listened more when she wasn't constantly berated for choosing not to go.

"My friend had to get this golden egg from the middle," he said. "Ended up flying in on a broomstick to go and get it."

Jane looked utterly lost. "But... Why?"

"Because he's a good flier."

"But why did you do the tournament if kids died in it?"

"To see who's the best school."

"Why not just compare test scores or something?"

"What's the point of that, we all have different tests. And that's no fun. Dragons are cooler. They nearly set fire to my teachers." Ron paused. "My brother Charlie tames dragons, you know. In Romania."

Jane was shaking her head in disbelief "This all seems mad."

"It would to you," said Tiberius. "Jane, I still don't understand why you didn't go to Hogwarts."

"I didn't want to. I've said."

"But you got a letter. Didn't you know what it was? I mean, I've been excited about going since my parents told me about it. A huge castle with talking portraits and secret passageways and rich feasts. The Black Lake, the Giant Squid, Hogsmeade."

"This is all gibberish to me," said Jane obstinately, "and that's just the way I like it."

Tiberius was frustrated. This was an argument they often had, Ron knew. "But Jane, I just don't understand... magic's amazing. You can do so many-"

"No. I don't want it."

"You have it, why not use it - do you know how many squibs would kill to be in your position?"

"I don't know what that is, Tiberius."

Jane's voice was low with tension, and Ron interrupted. "Muggle-borns are allowed to refuse to go, remember, Fawley. Leave her alone." He turned to Jane, "Squibs are people who have magical parents, but they don't have magic."

"Thank you, Ron." She turned back to Tiberius. "This is boring, I hate this conversation - it's just Tiberius saying how he could never imagine someone turning down the chance to go to magic school, even though I'd already started normal, boring school before that. If they'd sent me a letter when I was four I'd have gone, but eleven's just too late. Has there never been someone from a family of people who all went to Hogwarts, who turned down a place there?"

Ron and Tiberius paused.

"I've never thought about it before," said Ron. "I mean, probably."

"I don't know what magical parents would allow it. It's an embarrassment, having a squib in the family."

"Hey, watch it," said Ron. "I've got a cousin who's a squib."

"What does he do?"

"He goes to school in the Muggle world."

Tiberius raised his eyebrows. "And you still talk to him?"

Ron turned to Jane. "He's a bit of a bastard sometimes, isn't he? I mean, just because your parents think it's wrong doesn't mean you have to as well."

"Hypocrite," said Tiberius. "I wonder what your opinion on squibs would be if your parents weren't Muggle-lovers."

"You say it like it's an insult."

"Maybe it is." Tiberius scrubbed a hand across his face. "I don't want to get into an argument, I just think it's best if we treat squibs like Muggles to protect the Statute of Secrecy. Isn't it better for them not to live in the magical world?"

Ron stared at him in disbelief. "It's better for them to be cut off from friends and family because of something they can't control?"

"It's unfortunate for them, but it's for the bes-"

"You remember that law a while ago?" said Ron. "The one where it was proposed whether or not we should memory-wipe squibs and kick them out into the Muggle world with nothing? Bet that was your dad who put that forward, wasn't it?" Tiberius' father, Flavio Fawley II, was on the Wizengamot, and was known for being able to throw his weight around because of his large fortune. Ron didn't like him. And he didn't like Tiberius either, as it turned out.

Tiberius was quiet. "Did you agree with that law?" said Ron.

"What if I did?"

"Then I'd call you a bastard."

"Again?"

Ron nodded, expression irate. "Of course! It's an evil law. What if you were a squib? What if you, I dunno, enjoyed talking to your family? What if you wanted to see them at Christmas? There are more squibs than you know, Tiberius, it's just they're never reported for obvious reasons. And then to have to wipe the memories of all these people, then give them all made-up histories-"

"Alright - I- I know, alright?" Tiberius looked a bit ill. "I don't want to talk about this anymore. My dad did enough."

"So he did agree with it?"

"Of course he did. And he never shut up about it. Let's not talk politics in here, alright? This place is fucking miserable as it is."

Tiberius collapsed back. So did Ron.

"I'm glad you were turned into a werewolf," said Ron. "I think it's made you a better person. Or it will once you realise how difficult it is when everything's bloody against you. The law, the public. Everything."

"I agree," Tiberius agreed, surprisingly. Their eyes met. "I was finally able to run away. Did you know my family was going to marry me off when I turned eighteen? Before I ran away, my dad had started talking about betrothals instead of politics. Pretty fucking rich, considering his history."

Ron paused. "I'm sorry about that."

"Are you really? You just spent ten minutes chewing me out for saying squibs shouldn't be in the magical world because they aren't, y'know, magical."

Ron shook his head. "That's not what the law said. I agree with that, I think, but they should still be allowed to visit, and be able to live in magical places. And there are jobs you can do without casting magic. If wizards can live in the Muggle world then Muggles should be allowed to live in ours."

Tiberius considered this. "Agreed, I suppose. They can visit."

"Not that it matters anyway. I mean, we're stuck in a dungeon."

"You're bloody right there, Ron."

Maybe Tiberius wasn't so bad. But he could have been better.

Time passed, Ron reckoned, although none of them were taken out for torture again. Kella started telling Jane about her old job as a Charms professor, and again the girl listened to something about Hogwarts when it wasn't being shoved down her throat. Tiberius sat in silence, thinking, until Ron asked him if he'd ever collected frog cards.

"Bit of an odd question," the other boy replied. "But hasn't everyone?"

"That's what I was just wondering. Tell me, is it like... frowned upon? In your family?"

Tiberius squinted at him. "To collect chocolate frog cards?"

"Yes, to waste time on such... such trivial activities," he put on his stuffiest voice possible.

"I find it funny you think my father noticed me that much."

"So you did collect frogs?"

"Yes. There was no one there to stop me."

"Frogs? What?" Jane was puzzled. "Why would you want to collect frogs? That's just cruel. I hope you kept them somewhere ethical."

Time passed, and soon the werewolves grew more tired, yet simultaneously more agitated. Jane slept in the corner and would snap at anyone who woke her, and Tiberius would snap right back at her that she was being a bitch for no reason. The two would argue, voices growing louder until Ron or Kella had to step in.

Then it was back to the same... Two sharks circling, waiting for the moment they could pounce.

"It's getting closer," muttered Tiberius, hands tugging at his hair, bitten fingernails and scarred knuckles disappearing into the ragged curls. He'd been tortured too, by now.

Frenzied, the two werewolves couldn't stop moving, pacing from wall to wall, while Ron and Kella wondered how they could survive being chewed up by two transformed werewolves, feverishly frenetic despite the concealed moon.

"Does it still work?" asked Ron. "Even if they can't see the moon?"

"I'd say yes," Kella murmured weakly, and Jane stopped, head twisting in their direction. Her eyes, usually a serene green, were a vicious malachite, a flashing beacon of evil. Slytherin colours were aptly chosen, Ron had always felt. "It's probably worse if they can't see it."

Blood appeared for the vampires, and Ron took up the bottle with a trembling hand. He wanted to be brave, but the werewolves were acting like the vampires were prey, circling closer and closer, jaws beginning to snap until they reminded themselves that Ron and Kella were friends, not foe.

How long until they could not remind themselves anymore?

Ron and Kella hunched further back into the wall, wondering when their doom would arrive... when the werewolves would transform.

It was that fear, Ron thought, which made him hold back from devouring the blood in a single swallow as he would usually do and as Kella had just done beside him. She frowned at him, but Ron shook his head.

He could smell it... His meal was spiked as always, poison interwoven with the sweet, meaty saltiness of the blood he so craved. On the other side of the room, he could see the werewolves dropping to their hands and knees, beginning to shake and shudder, Tiberius tearing at his clothes like they were constraints and Jane trying to gnaw at the magical handcuffs chained around her wrists.

Suddenly, their heads were thrown back and they choked, shaking violently. Ron had seen this happen before in third year. "What's going on?" whispered Kella, and Ron replied, "Haven't you ever seen a werewolf transform before?"

Two animals rose from the floor. Great furry beasts. Wolves, jaws slavering with spit and tails wagging dangerously. The handcuffs remained around their front limbs, and any hopes Ron had had that they would prevent the transformation died.

The werewolves were poised to spring; and spring they did.

One of the wolves launched itself at Ron, snarling savagely so its teeth were on terrifying display. Ron turned his face to the side to avoid the claws, but they gouged deep into his cheeks. The jaws snapped and Ron pushed hard on the wolf's chest, sending it flying back again.

Bloody hell, this was chaos.

Kella was on the floor, kicking the other wolf back as best she could. The creature managed to sink its teeth around her leg and bit down until Ron heard the grisly crunch of the bone snapping. Kella cracked it in the head sharply and Ron could no longer keep track of what was going on as the other wolf had recovered, and jumped on him. Ron's head bounced off the concrete and he felt wetness trickling down his back.

This fight would be about survival, more than winning.

Kella's wolf raked its claws down her thigh, and she hissed and sank her teeth into the wolf's neck, the beast finally stilling. A wolf lunged for him again and Ron grabbed its neck, trying to hold back the snapping jaws; something made Ron reached for the bottle of blood still beside him, his other ravaged arm still pinning down the wild werewolf.

He forced the blood down the wolf's throat, hoping the chemicals in it would subdue the wolves. It smelt strangely like rain, that heady stench of humidity - like the wolfsbane potion which calmed werewolves on full moons. Ron's stomach cried out for the sustenance it rarely got being wasted in such a manner as it disappeared down the throat of the wolf.

"Kella!"

She dragged the other wolf over, somehow, her mashed nose bloody, a bruise blooming beneath one eyeball. It looked sunken, red iris blinking through the wetness. She took the bottle of blood and forced the rest down the other wolf's throat, and it was still.

They both were. The two wolves looked peacefully asleep whereas the vampires were bruised and battered and broken. Ron took the bottle from Kella's hand and drank whatever was left, licking inside as far as he could and using his own spit to swish out the remains.

Merlin, he felt disgusting.

At some point during that night (and he knew it was nighttime, now), the werewolves vanished.

In the morning they reappeared looking far more wretched than Ron remembered them ever looking before.

After the incident of the full moon, the four were silent. Most friendliness had been extinguished, apart from a scrap of what had begun to bloom, and perhaps the four of them only banded together because they didn't know the strangers who began to appear.

One was called Will, another werewolf.

"Will Byrd," he said, smiling widely.

He told them later, shaking, how the Death Eaters took his teeth. His gums were torn and his teeth smashed, and as they grew back he moaned to himself in a corner with the pain.

Everyone must scream, Ron thought, so the next time he tried to be still. He didn't answer their questions. But he was cut until he had to scream, and Ron spoke to Kella, his oldest friend, about it.

"I tried to do nothing," he croaked, and she shook her head.

"Give up. Don't try and plan. Don't try, anymore, Ron - it'll only get you hurt."

"What if we escaped?" he said to Tiberius, who had a habit of shivering. He wasn't cold, he said, but it didn't matter. He shivered anyway, and he shivered right then.

"Oh, no, we'd be caught." Perhaps it was fear making him shake all the while.

"Come on," said Ron. "We've got to try."

He'd tried not to bow down to the mindset that the Death Eaters would always win, beat back the good and crush it into non-existence, but it was hard to keep faith when he was being fed a cocktail of drugs and poisons and then sliced apart for research. They'd started trying runes, and they burned like hell right down to the bone.

Tiberius sighed. "God, I can't think of anything."

"You've gone Muggle," said Kella, and Tiberius glanced up.

"It's Jane," he said simply, and the girl didn't move, head slumped against his shoulder. Asleep.

There was another full moon. They barely survived it.

Ron hadn't dreamt in years but he imagined all he would have were nightmares, if he did so now. Ron was desperate to see his family again. He'd kill himself right this second if he could see them in the next life.

On the next full moon after that they had bottles of blood lined up for the werewolves (a few more had arrived, along with vampires), and while there was a short squabble, Ron sorted it out. Kella did too, but he did most of it, being the loud bastard that he was. Expertise and raggedness from having spent so long in here lent him the presence to push people three times his age away from the blood, no matter how much they wanted it.

He remembered the last full moon. Tiberius, Jane and Will Byrd all looked very ill at the thought of what was ahead, and they had a right to be; Tiberius swigged the drink himself while he was still just about lucid, and started frothing at the mouth. Ron and the other vampires had to hold Will's nose to force the blood down his throat, before passing out.

When the haze of the fight cleared, Ron was the only one with the bottle. The other vampires were standing back watching. One woman shook her head. "How do you know what to do?" she said. "You always know. How?"

"Sit down," he told her. He had long run out of patience. "I don't know why you're standing about. They might pick you next."

Cowed, she sat, and so did the rest. Ron remained standing and Will Byrd vanished into thin air - never to return again.

"What if we held on to them?" said Jane, once the moon had set, and she had recovered. They hadn't been taken out this time. Some of the others had resorted to cowering in corners, they were so terrified of being taken. Ron couldn't be arsed to do that, quite frankly, and like Kella said - it never made it any better. If it was your turn, it was your turn. Ron repeated this to Jane.

Except, some never returned.

It was on those nights that Ron relied on his new friends Kella, Tiberius and Jane: as the room continued to fill up and a full moon rose, it fell to Ron and Kella to show the others how to save the blood bottles, and put them down the throats of the werewolves; Tiberius and Jane reassured the werewolves that yes, they would wake up after the full moon and no, the vampires wouldn't do anything while they were unconscious.

The odd food continued. One day the werewolves' food had just been raw potatoes, and the vampires had been served animal blood on numerous occasions, or animal mixed with human, which was passable if unsatisfying.

Yet another moon passed and they stocked up on blood again; but something went wrong. One of the vampires went berserk and smashed half of the bottles, hungry out of their mind, and so they had very little to subdue the werewolves with and even less for the vampires to drink.

One vampire nearly killed another fighting for the last drop of blood. But Ron kept a handle on things somehow, and they made it through.

"Do you ever think they'll change what goes in the bottles to make them stop?" said Kella.

Ron shrugged. "Hope not. They can't want us all to die, do they?"

Jane and Tiberius woke first out of the werewolves. They came to sit by Ron and Kella in the corner of the room they had seemingly claimed, as no one else ever went there. But they had been here the longest, and were the strongest, incidentally, because they knew what to do.

While Ron rotted in these dungeons, his mind was beginning to slip. He didn't dare show it in front of the new werewolves and vampires in the room, but he'd been losing time lately, memories too. He used to live in the memories of his friends and family, but as the months passed, they'd seemingly just dripped out his ears. Departed quietly, until he felt as though he could hardly remember anything. He talked to his new friends, Jane and Tiberius and Kella, and he'd made a few more memories... but not many.

It was hard to, stuck in here. They'd talked so much by now that everyone had heard everyone else's stories, but no one interrupted someone when they were telling one, even if it had been heard a hundred times before. Even the creatures that had been there for barely any time at all understood how difficult it was to hold on to everything.

Ron talked about a particularly difficult Quidditch match and Jane talked about how her brother Chris had once eaten his entire birthday cake the night before his birthday. Tiberius had four sisters and would talk about them a lot.

It kept them alive, to talk about the things they had once lived for. Ron talked about Hermione a lot, and Harry, and Fred and George, and his mum and dad. Hermione cropped up an awful lot.

"Was she your girlfriend?" asked Tiberius.

Ron didn't answer, asking instead, "Is Jane yours?" He'd often wondered about the nature of their relationship.

Jane's head turned in their direction from where she was talking to a few other werewolves, but Tiberius replied, "No. I don't know how I would feel about being in a relationship with a Muggle, to be honest."

Ron felt himself frowning. "Tiberius-"

"I'm not prejudiced, I don't think they're dirty or anything," he said, "but what if one child gets magic and one doesn't? Could I even relate to that Muggle, either, if we had completely different upbringings?"

"Then you'd manage like most people do who grow up differently from their partners," said Ron, "and that's so typical for you bloodline-pressed people to worry about kids. What if you don't even have kids? What if they're both magical? You just don't want Muggles in our world."

"It's called the wizarding world for a reason."

"But we go into the Muggle world all the time. If neither group strayed into the others' world, it would be so boring. We wouldn't have radios if a wizard never spoke to a Muggle, so good does come of it. And who cares anyway?" said Ron. "It's not like magic's dying out."

Tiberius opened his mouth to complain again but it was Kella who spoke, this time. "You're just not used to it," she said. "It feels strange at first, but when we all get out of here, us three'll take you out."

"I already took him some places," said Jane, who had joined them again, "but it's not like we had a lot to do in the village. And if I tried taking him to nearby towns, he'd panic about being recognised."

"I don't think I can care about anything anymore," said Ron. "I don't know how you have the effort. If I went back to my old life... Merlin, the things I wouldn't care about anymore. I think I'd tell everyone I'm a vampire. It was so much effort to hide it." He'd had a very long time to think, in here. "I'm used to not having to put on transfigurations anymore and I don't think I could go back."

With all of the full moons, it had been months, by now.

Tiberius was frowning. "Come on mate," said Ron. "It's much more fun if you don't care."

"Are you going to drag me around the Muggle world whether I want to go or not?"

"Do you really care?" asked Jane. The look on her face was perhaps more fragile than usual.

Tiberius opened his mouth, and shut it again. Perhaps he sensed if he said the wrong thing, he might lose a friend.

"It's just, you got on fine when you weren't worrying about propriety or anything. You spoke to some of my Muggle friends." She smiled. "We introduced him as a foreign exchange student, since he can speak a bunch of other languages, and it's not really normal for a boy to turn up out of nowhere and start living in your house. But... If you hated us all along, Tiberius, because my family are Muggles, then..."

"I don't hate you," said Tiberius. "No... Your family was good to me. I would never... I could never hate them." He went quiet, thinking deeply.

Kella said, "Leave him, he's going through an identity crisis. We just told him the Muggles might not be all that bad. He should've put it together already, of course, but it's not obvious, for everyone."

So they left him to it.

They suffered another full moon, this time without bottles of blood. While everyone else was panicking, wondering if this might be the end, Ron found a solution. The werewolves were shuffled into the small toilet room (more like a bucket room, but nobody wanted to mention it) and the vampires stood on the other side, waiting.

When the moon rose there was a terrible clamour on the other side of the door: wild howling, snarling, scrabbling at the wood, something violently strong pushing against the handle-less door. There was no latch to fasten to keep them out. It was simply a measure of strength, and all night long Ron commanded the vampire to push with all their might.

Arms shaking from the effort, legs bowing under the pressure, weight thrown against the single face of nailed-together planks which was the only thing protecting them from certain doom. If the werewolves escaped, the vampires would have their faces torn off in a matter of seconds.

It was tricky. The vampires were weak, starved, and some collapsed trying to hold back the tirade. Ron was furious. "If you're going to fucking collapse, bloody well do it against the door!" he bellowed. "Pull them back up again! They'll be heavier as dead weight - come on, we can't give up-"

At last the night ended, and they were all alive. Ron was so exhausted he crumpled to the ground, and everything went black.

Ron was taken out and tortured again. He nearly didn't make it through. They still asked him the same questions, even after all this time.

At least, when he opened his eyes again, he was somewhere new.

Chapter Text

Chapter Thirteen

Darkness was framed by two small windows, but a candle was burning in the centre of the room.

Upon opening his eyes Ron had found himself chained to a bench in a strange room - strange because it just looked like a regular kitchen. He tried to move his arms, but something stopped him with a malevolent jangle. Ron glanced down, and saw what had halted his progress. He tugged at the chains connecting his cuffed wrists, which went down to the floor before looping around the wooden bench supports; but they didn't shift an inch. Ron supposed he should have known.

"We apologise for those," said the man sat on the other side of the bench. He had dark hair spiked with grey drawn back into a ponytail, and an imperious gaze. Otherwise the man appeared fairly commonplace, albeit haggard. His skin was pale as paper.

It took Ron far longer than it should've to realise it was Rabastan Lestrange sitting opposite him.

Wildly, he began yanking at the chains again in an attempt to break free - Ron struggled and struggled, trying his best to crack the metal and only succeeded in hurting himself. Skin severed along his wrists and his ankles, and the metal grew slippery with blood; it was painful, and Ron collapsed against the table.

Whilst watching this display the man had been unnervingly silent. But he spoke then: "If we hadn't restrained you, I fear you'd have tried to run. And we haven't explained everything yet."

"Where am I?"

Lestrange blinked; he hadn't been expecting a response, and certainly not one so clear and collected. "We are at Worple House," he replied.

"And where is that?"

"We believe it's best not to tell you exactly where the house is. Its owner is concerned about security." He moved on quickly. "But that doesn't matter. You will become well-acquainted with the house and grounds over the coming months, Ron, regardless of knowing where it is."

He frowned. "How do you know my name?"

"I know everything about you, Ronald Weasley," said Lestrange, alarmingly benign. Ron had been expecting a troll in the place of an upper-class gentleman. "You told us during your interrogations."

"Interrogations? You mean the... the torture sessions?"

Lestrange nodded. Ron had to press his hands against his eyes before the memories came welling up. He held it back, somehow: the inevitable breakage of his mind.

"But that's over now. We've decided to help you instead."

"We? Who's we?"

"The Dark Lord's supporters," said Lestrange, and Ron had to hide his face again. Panic was tightening in his stomach, he could not gather his expression to something shuttered; where were his friends? Where were Kella, Tiberius and Jane, his only friends in the dungeon?

As they were lifted away from his face, Ron stared at his hands in the candlelight. They were almost skeletal, his fingernails encrusted with grime. It was the first time he'd seen himself properly in months. Ron could feel hair hanging down to his shoulders, greasy and tangled and his skin was streaked grey with filth. He still wore his formal robes, although they were in tatters, the original colour indistinguishable.

"Why am I here? What've you done to me?" demanded Ron.

"That's all over now," said Rabastan. "No more interrogations. You'll have better rooms. Your food won't be poisoned, and you will be given fresh robes, fresh air, and most importantly, freedom." Lestrange's eyes lingered on the chains, and a second later he'd withdrawn his wand and released them. Only the runed cuffs remained.

Ron shot to his feet with strength he hardly possessed, but Rabastan clasped a hand around his shoulder. "Calm down, Ron," he said, voice kind. Understanding. "If you run out of this room I won't chase you. But we have strong wards and protection spells, and you won't make it out the front door. Certainly not out of the main gate."

Rabastan moved nearer. "I can show you the door and the gate, if you want. But you can't go alone just yet. At any time there are a number of people visiting Worple House; many people you won't want to see you here. You'll meet them if you run out of this room, and because I won't follow, you won't have any of my protection."

He leant in ever closer, and Ron could smell something on his breath. It was... liquorice, he thought. "Many of your friends have died, as far. Don't join them."

Ron sat back down, mind abuzz. Which friends were dead? Kella, Jane and Tiberius? Harry and Hermione? "Did we lose the war?" he asked.

Rabastan appeared taken aback, but he steadied himself again quickly. "There is no 'we' anymore. Not for your Order, Ron."

His stomach dropped. "We lost, then?"

"You are not a member of the Resistance anymore, Ron Weasley. You're with us. You're on the side of the Dark Lord. The only side."

Ron clutched his head again, despairing in confusion, and Rabastan grew more annoyed. "I'll hear no more of this," he said, and rose from the bench. He dragged Ron along too, who stumbled. "Come. I'll give you a tour of the house. You'll be helping us greatly in the coming months, Mr Weasley."

Terrified, Ron had no choice but to follow.

The house was busy, was the first thing he noticed. Ron staggered for a moment at being able to walk further than the perimeter of the small room he'd been trapped in for months, but straightened his step as they begun to pass people by. A small man brushed past with his head down, papers in his hands. "Leave him," said Lestrange. "He works for us."

Ron looked forward again, and was led past wide, curtained windows; over rich, thick rugs in green and silver; past towering vases and gilded portraits blinking down at him and creaking suits of armour. He noted that this was no old house, however. Ron knew the difference between new money and old money (he'd read a few gossip mags, and that was all anyone cared about in the wizarding world). He knew the difference between artefacts that had stood here for centuries and artefacts which had been dragged in just last week, and it was obvious that this house was no Malfoy Manor. Regardless, people stood on every corner polishing this and that... no, not people, but...

"They're vampires," said Ron. "You've got vampires and werewolves acting as... as servants."

One vampire turned from their dusting, and Ron saw another werewolf going by with a mop in a hand.

"You won't be one of them," said Lestrange. "You are a Weasley. You are valuable to us."

"You think a Weasley matters? I swear I've spent my entire life being told differently."

"You're right," said Lestrange. "Weasleys are not like... Lestranges, say. Or the family Shafiq. You are poor, and your blood is polluted, but you are known widely to be approachable, and kind. Despite my riches, my influence, a common person would sooner trust a Weasley than a Lestrange. Correct?"

Ron didn't know what to say. They passed a window looking out upon a dark pond, its surface twinkling like broken glass in the moonlight.

"I am correct," said Lestrange. "So, our thinking is, that, to rally people to our side, we need to show that you came to us for help. Werewolves and vampires and other filth have been downtrodden for centuries by wizards, and you've had enough. So you joined our side. And you're going to encourage others to do so too."

"And how was I turned into a vampire in the first place?" Surely, everyone would know it was the Death Eaters.

"No one ever cares about that. But as with the Weasleys, and the Abbotts and the Bones, there are other old wizarding families whose loyalties to wizardkind have fallen to Mudblood and Muggle allure. We will teach that although the Muggles appear similar to us, they are savage and will kill at any chance they get. Alliances have formed, but they are not permanent. The Muggles could turn on them at any moment. It is safer to separate us and them for good."

Ron frowned. "And this is what I'm going to say, is it? That I've realised my mistakes and I hate Muggles?"

Lestrange suddenly yanked him into a dark corner, and leant in close. Liquorice, acrid and sickeningly sweet, pervaded Ron's senses once more. "We took away the interrogations, but they will return faster than you can complain again. And I know your thoughts, vampire - this house is not old. It is not rich, despite its decoration. But it certainly has dungeons and I will throw you in there myself if you do not comply. Understand?"

Ron stared into his dark eyes. "Where are the others?" He couldn't be the only one left; he couldn't bloody handle it, if that were true.

"You'll meet them in due course," said Lestrange, looking as though he'd swallowed something sour. It seemed he'd abandoned his earlier understanding. Perhaps once he realised it would not persuade Ron.

They continued walking. Ron saw a werewolf dusting a window sill, cuffs around his dirty wrists, and frowned. Shouldn't he be there? Wasn't he vermin? If it was a Malfoy-type running this place, surely he'd be scrubbing out the privies. But as Lestrange said, maybe his influence as a Weasley could come in handy.

But...

"What're you going to do with me?" asked Ron. "Put- put me in the newspapers or something?"

Lestrange smiled slowly, and it was enough of an answer. Still he felt the need to drive the knife in deeper. "More than that. Greyback and others have captured some creatures for us, but many of your kind are in hiding. You will draw them out with public appearances, speeches to rally the crowds, recruiting creatures for our cause."

"Your cause," Ron spat. "There is no cause. You just want to murder Muggles!"

"Catena!"

Iron fetters leapt from Lestrange's wand and chained Ron to the wall, sending cracks zigzagging up the wallpaper. Metal bit deeply into Ron's skin. "How dare you!" he howled. Spit flew from his lips. "How dare you question his lordship! Filthy Mudblood rat, blood-sucking parasite! How dare you!"

Ron was hit across the face for his troubles, before being thrown into another room. It had a door made of metal bars, and Ron watched Lestrange performing a complicated locking charm before he left. The room was smaller than before, but Ron was alone. He felt his nose, wondering if the ominous crack he heard when Lestrange punched him had been the sound of it breaking. It had hurt a lot. In the light from the main corridor, Ron sat on one of the beds in the room, which were surprisingly comfortable - though the straw they were stuffed with was a tad itchy.

He sat and thought. What was the time, the date? Where were his family? Were they all dead, as Lestrange had said? And was Lestrange really going to make Ron do all that?

What felt like a few hours later, there was a clink by the door, and there stood a woman with bright ginger hair incredibly similar to his. "Come on," she said. "Get up. Can you get up?"

Ron rose, and she sighed in relief, murmuring under her breath whilst unlocking the door. "The last one had to be dragged, I can't believe the state some of them were in... Follow me, come on!"

He traipsed after her down the corridor, still struggling a bit. She was the second person he'd seen in the outside world, and seemingly the nicest. "Who are you?" he asked.

"Can't you tell?" She pointed at her hair, smiling. "Weasley! I think we're related, just about. You're Ron, aren't you? My name is Ardelia."

He frowned. "But you're a Death Eater. You can't be a Weasley."

"Well, so are you," replied Ardelia Weasley, his long-lost cousin or something, and they were travelling down the sprawling corridors once again. These ones were a dirtier and less decorated, Ron noticed, but were far busier. No one took any notice of them down here in the dark. They came upon a man scrubbing a skirting board, and Ardelia cried out.

"Michael! It's been so long since I saw you last. Where have you been?"

The man was nervous-looking, with grey skin and messy, dark-coloured hair. Ron recognised him at once.

"It's you," said Ron. "Sanguini."

"Sanguini? No, that's Michael," Ardelia corrected him.

"I've met him before though, and he said..."

Ardelia smiled at Ron. "He was lying to you before. This is Michael." It didn't seem to cross the Ardelia's mind that Michael was a fake name too.

"I'm sorry for lying." Michael was a vampire, Ron could tell, and he genuinely looked sorry. He went back to scrubbing furiously as soon as they stepped away, as Ron saw when he glanced back.

Ardelia was chattering on about clothes and showers and routines, and all Ron could think about was how he could escape.

A werewolf suddenly shot out of a nearby doorway and clattered right into them. Quick as a flash Ardelia had her wand out and shot her to the ground, ropes looping around the werewolf's wrists and ankles. The werewolf squirmed and Ardelia dragged her to her feet with a surprising amount of strength.

"Listen here," she hissed. "You have a good life. We feed you, clothe you, and ask only in return that you help us."

The werewolf spat, and only when she met eyes with Ron did he recognise who it was. It was Jane struggling, in the light of day her blonde hair looking incredibly pale, almost grey. Her green eyes were venomous. Ardelia pressed her wand right below Jane's chin, who understood enough of magic to keep still.

"This is the new way," she hissed. "Comply now, and gain status later when the rest of your kind are fighting over scraps. It's what I did."

Jane laughed. "Traitor."

She was dropped and left to struggle, still trapped. Ardelia turned to Ron and smiled brightly. "Come on," she said. "Showers."

"What about-"

"She'll work her way out of the ropes. She manages to do it every other time." Ardelia's smile twitched into a grisly grimace. "That one's given me a lot of trouble lately, but she'll learn."

The creature minder aimed a nasty kick at Jo's side on the way out, and Ron decided he didn't like Ardelia all that much.

He let the water wash over him, lathering more soap into his hair. Ron knew he'd taken a while and Ardelia would start hammering at the door again soon, saying what an honour it was to have a bathroom all to himself (a fairly shoddy bathroom), and that he should use it sparingly. But he was too tired to move quickly.

After drying and dressing, Ron faced himself in the mirror. He had no reflection, given he no longer had a rune ring. He felt at the overlong strands of hair plastered to the back of his neck, it struck him that he didn't have the slightest clue how to do hair. Still, dredging up some courage, Ron picked up the scissors and tried the best that he could, focusing more on making the length manageable more than style. Of course, in the end it still looked a bit crap, but he didn't think anyone would notice.

Ardelia blinked at him after he emerged. "Oh," she said. "I didn't think your hair was so red. I think it's even redder than mine."

Ron shrugged helplessly, the shoulders of his new robes sitting lightly after the thick, mouldy ones he'd been hefting around for months.

"Looks a lot like my brother's did. But come on, we have to go."

They began to walk again. "Who was your brother?" asked Ron.

"Eric."

"The squib?"

Ardelia swallowed tightly, staring around Ron to see if anyone was nearby. "Yes," she whispered. "But don't talk about it so loudly. Come on, we have to-"

"Where is he?"

She was quiet for a moment. Then she said, "Obliviated, living in the Muggle world. He's fine, last I heard. I traded my service for his life, when they knocked on our door. But enough of that. I'm to take you back to Mr Lestrange. He has a task for you."

Ardelia took Ron to a richly furnished room, and he guessed he was back upstairs; with squashy sofas and a marble fireplace, it was undoubtably costly. The curtains were drawn, but Ron could see through a gap that outside, tree branches were flourishing with green; from this, the bright sky and the dead, brown grass, he assumed it was late summer. He'd vaguely known that anyway from the full moons.

The room wasn't empty. Ardelia had melted away into the bustle of the house, and the doors were shut. Ron glanced to the side and saw Tiberius, equally scrubbed and well dressed, plus Kella; there was a boy he didn't know, and if he wasn't mistaken...

"Tracey Davis?" Ron blurted in surprise. "How are you here?"

She glanced at him, but said nothing. Another girl's face turned and he recognised her too. He nearly blurted again, Daphne Greengrass, but a sudden severe glance from Tiberius quietened him. He indicated to the front, where a tall man was stood, and Ron watched as he turned, revealing himself to be Rabastan Lestrange. The sparing light from the window highlighted the silver in his hair and the mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Welcome," he said. "Now that you've freshened up, I hope that we can begin again more civilly. Correct, Weasley? Davis?"

Ron did nothing. Tracey pressed her hands so hard into her face it looked like it hurt, and began to shudder, cries wracking through her entire body. Lestrange beckoned, and a dark figure snatched her away. She was removed from the room.

Lestrange sniffed, straightening a cuff. "It's always a shame when they don't measure up. But I hope that leaves behind the strongest of you. We certainly selected you all with that in mind. After all, the creature's curse won't take on a weakling. And it took mettle to survive the dungeons."

There was a pause. Lestrange looked as if he were waiting for something.

"What are we here for?" Ron asked, feeling brave, and Rabastan nodded his head as if to award him for it.

"The first step is to re-introduce you to the wider public. This we will do through a public outing, wherein you will be photographed... helping us. You will appear together, not hiding what you are. Speak to no one. This is an introduction, nothing more."

Lestrange swept out of the room, saying, "Talk amongst yourselves," before he disappeared completely.

Ron immediately walked over to Tiberius and Kella, but Tiberius shook his head. He glanced meaningfully at the cloaked figures dotted around the room, and brought Ron into a brief embrace. "Good to see you again, Weasley. You're looking better." Ron felt a hand reach into the pocket of his robe.

"Likewise, Fawley," Ron replied. He turned to Kella, but again she shook her head. So instead he turned to the third boy he didn't know. "Who are you?"

"Rolf Scamander," said the lad, holding out his hand. They shook hands, Ron uncertain of him, but Rolf looked as battle-weary as the rest of them. "Good to meet you."

Lestrange never returned, so soon they left the room. Ron couldn't see Ardelia anywhere and figured this was his free time, as such. It didn't appear that he had anything to do. So, discreetly, he pulled out the small letter that had been deposited in his pocket and read: meet outside, west courtyard. To find it ask anyone cleaning - that's how I did it.

Ron glanced around. A cloaked figure was walking in the opposite direction, so he snatched up a cloth from nearby and began to clean. It was just then he realised that his (admittedly) nice clothing gave him away, but there was nothing for it.

Thankfully, the Death Eater continued walking down the hall, and Ron realised that fear had frozen him. Terror reigned in this enormous house, so much bigger than he was used to; he tore up the note and swallowed it, thinking it was better not to leave any trace.

Ron walked down the next corridor and saw many doors. A large painting of a bowl of fruit dominated the opposite wall, and a girl was sweeping nearby, looking bored. She wore plain robes, hair in tight, dark braids. Her skin was dark. Ron walked near and her head turned.

They stared at each other. "Do you know where the west courtyard is?" Ron asked.

"Why would I tell you?"

Ron paused. He supposed she was right. She had no idea who he was, and wearing his fancy robes and speaking to Rabastan Lestrange, he looked a lot like a Death Eater. Ron would trade everything to be in her place. If Rabastan could out him as a vampire and paint him as a Death Eater, his friends and family would think he was a traitor.

Ron held up his hands, still scarred, still handcuffed, some of his fingers at strange angles from where the bones had healed too quickly to set straight, and told her, "I haven't been out very long. I don't know what's going on... I'm just trying to find my friends, they told me to meet on the west courtyard."

She still didn't look very convinced to help him. "You can come with me if you like," Ron added, and she shook her head.

"God, I wish I could." Finally, she answered, "The door's just round the corner. It's grey. You need to push it to get it open."

She continued sweeping, moving further away. "Wait," Ron called out. "Do you know the date?"

"Yes. It's September," she said, and while the answer brought him up short, he swallowed and continued on.

Christmas, it had been when he was taken. Could he be sure it had only been nine months?

Soon Ron came to a small door, which after some shoving at opened up onto a small courtyard. A neat, tall green hedge curled around the border, small weeds shot up out of the cracks in the grey stone like geysers and flowers bloomed along the nearby windowless wall, which made up the fourth side of the enclosure. Due to the hedge and the wall and lack of windows, no outsider could see in. It was secure.

Sat on the bench in the centre were Tiberius and Rolf Scamander, who he'd been introduced to earlier. Rolf had light brown curls sprawling across his pale, freckled forehead and blue eyes, and was of average height. He was also, notably, a werewolf - and his visage was just as damaged by the recent imprisonment as theirs. Tiberius was talking to him in a low voice, and glanced up as Ron entered.

Before he could say hello, there was a sudden crash, and Jane was marching over to them. "I'm here, I'm here. Sorry I'm so late, that bitch Ardelia kept walking around all the stuff I was supposed to be dusting, I just couldn't get away-"

"Who are you?" enquired Rolf politely.

"Jane. You?"

"Call me Rolf," he said as they shook hands.

"Hang on," said Ron. "It is Rolf Scamander as in - Newt Scamander, yeah?"

The boy nodded. "I'm his grandson." He paused. "Do you believe me? Some people haven't, because I'm a werewolf." He seemed fairly afraid of the fact.

"It's probably because you weren't at Hogwarts," said Tiberius. He said to Ron, "I've been out longer than you, somehow. You were the last one to appear back."

"Appear back? What?"

"We were all vanished out of the room at the same time," said Tiberius. "I woke up in another room similar to the old one, but it was bigger and had way more people in it. Like fifty people. They were all like us."

"We were right," said Ron. "There were other rooms."

Rolf added, "The same happened to us. After the full moon everyone was apparated into that other room. Well, I don't know if it was apparition, but I don't know what else it was. Then we were given an intimidating talk by Rabastan, cleaned up, and told to meet in that room. The other creatures - like Jane - who were just captured alongside us or turned into creatures at random by the Death Eaters, but aren't really here for any purpose, were put into this big hall where they eat and sleep. They just do odd jobs, from the sounds of it. Like cleaning the place. There's a lot more of them than us. Like, a lot more."

Ron stared at him, astonished. "Blimey, how'd you figure all that out?"

He shrugged. "I asked around. It wasn't difficult."

"Hey Rolf," said Ron. "I always wondered... How come you never went to Hogwarts? I really thought you would considering you're a Scamander. The Scamander heir, at that."

Rolf's expression tightened. "I'm a werewolf. It wasn't... safe."

"Ah, rubbish. I know a werewolf who went. I even went as a vampire."

"So you weren't turned by the Death Eaters?" said Jane to Rolf. "Wow, me neither. We're the only ones."

"See, the rest of us were turned into vampires or werewolves and then kidnapped later on," said Ron. "I reckon you two got the better deal." He frowned. "Rolf, I still don't understand why you didn't go to Hogwarts."

The door opened, and Kella stepped in. Her hair had returned to its previous mouse-brown, and, dressed in clean robes once more, it was impossible to mistake who she really was.

Tiberius' eyes widened. "Salazar, it is you, isn't it? Kella Wright. I never recognised you until you had a bath. And until I saw you in the light."

Kella nodded, unable to deny this fact. Rolf looked astounded, and Jane had no idea what they were talking about, of course.

Ron realised Kella was staring at him. "Ron?" she said. "What do you think?"

"I'm not angry," he replied. He supposed she wanted to know his opinion because it had been them two from the start.

"You knew," said Tiberius. "You knew all this time who she was, and you said nothing?"

"Because it's my fault she was caught," said Ron. "Around September last year I was at Diagon, and I saw her trying to escape some aurors. There was a duel between them and I got in the way. I stopped Kella from escaping, and she was captured." Ron met her eyes, bloody red - he hoped not with rage. "I'm sorry, for what it's worth."

"It's your fault she's in here?" Jane hummed lowly. "Bit shit of you, wasn't it?"

There was a long moment where they stared at each other, and Ron wasn't sure Kella wouldn't attack him for what he had done. The expression on her face was haunting while she processed this news.

Then, the terrifyingly indecipherable expression left Kella's face, and she crumpled onto the bench looking defeated. "I'm not angry with you, Ron. To be honest, I always thought you looked familiar. But I could never place you. I've been alive for a very long time-"

Tiberius scoffed. "You don't say. What are you, three hundred?"

Kella ignored him. "It's been way too long to do anything about it, Ron, so don't worry - I won't hurt you in revenge. I mean... I like you now. I suppose my consolation can be that you were there too. I suffered at your hands, but at least neither of us suffered alone."

"Poetic," Ron offered in response to the mildly chilling statement, but inside he was glad she wasn't upset with him. He'd come to value Kella, his only companion in all that darkness. He'd really... come to like her too, he realised.

Kella nodded, and there was a moment of silence again.

Tiberius and Jane were muttering to each other. "I can't believe we were stuck there for almost six," she said. Tiberius and Jane had only been there since March; Ron since Christmas; Kella an entire year.

Rolf hummed. "Kella Wright. I've heard of you. Vampire rebel, aren't you?" He glanced at Ron, perhaps hoping he could dispel his doubt. "Is she... bad, or anything?"

Kella glanced him up and down. "Scamander, you said? I met your grandfather a few times, you know, if Newt is your grandfather."

Rolf looked intrigued, and not worried anymore.

They talked, and it was just like the dungeons all over again - but with Rolf added to the mix. He hadn't seemed like he would fit in the beginning, but the more he was here the more it seemed he might. Rolf could be a bit of an odd fellow at times, but he explained he'd never had many people to talk to before. Ron told him it didn't matter.

It was night, currently, and day was still a long way off, but Jane was beginning to fidget.

"I've been gone half an hour," she said. "Someone will notice. The happiest half an hour I've had in a while, but Ardelia will have my head if she notices I'm gone."

"Why did you ask us to meet here in the first place, Tiberius?" asked Ron. "Not that I haven't enjoyed it too, but did you have a reason, or was it just to talk?"

"I thought it was because of what Lestrange said to us earlier," said Rolf. "But that was before Jane arrived, so I didn't think it was. Unless it is?"

Everyone was staring at Tiberius. He glanced at the wall beside them. "Is this place secure?"

Jane snorted. "Bit late for that."

"In that case, here goes: I want to escape. It's not really a novel idea-"

"Sort of is," said Kella, "considering the security of this place, which we haven't managed to beat yet."

Tiberius went on. "But we have to try. I won't die in here, and I won't do what they tell me to." He scowled. "Don't look so surprised, Ron, I told you I'm not a Death Eater. I have... no issue with Muggles." And he seemed sincere, though the words had been tricky to get out for a moment. Ron supposed it was because he'd have been hexed for saying it at home.

"You're going to double-cross them? Death Eaters?" Rolf hesitated before adding, "That's risky."

"But he's right," said Ron. "It's better than the alternative. What they want us to do sounds terrible."

"Which is what?" enquired Jane, who had not been invited to the meeting with Lestrange. They quickly informed her.

"First it's appearing in public, but I reckon it'll be worse soon," replied Ron. "Yeah. Tiberius, I agree with you. We should try and escape. Kella, I also agree with you - we haven't managed to crack their security yet, but I guarantee we will. Hopefully."

"Is it really a guarantee then?"

"And how are we breaking these?" said Jane, shaking her cuffs, which rang with a cheeriness she did not feel.

"We'll find a way. Yes, we can break out." The false hope didn't even convince Ron. "'Course we can do it. Should we meet back here another time? Wait, Tiberius, how are going to get messages to everyone that we're meeting again? We can't talk without being overheard out there and I don't think Lestrange would like these meetings of ours."

They all thought for a moment.

"I have an idea," began Jane. "In my area to clean, there's this big vase thing. Got these flower things all over it. Very fancy - and very old and expensive, too, so they won't let anyone touch it. If one of you's got an idea to meet up, write a note and put it in. Check that no one else has first either, obviously. We all know to keep checking it so we can organise meetings that way."

"Bit hit-and-miss, that might be, though," said Ron.

"Yeah - what if someone's not told?" said Rolf.

"Then they miss it. That's all I can say. Really, it would be better if we all disappeared at the same time - although, it doesn't look like they're keeping much of an eye on us. Ardelia's not always around and Rabastan Lestrange has probably got better things to do."

"He is a very prominent Death Eater," said Tiberius. "That's a good point, Jane."

"Someone point him out to me the next time he's around, would you? I haven't got a clue what he looks like."

Tiberius was disappointed she didn't actually have intimate knowledge of the wizarding world (he'd gotten his hopes up), but agreed to. Then he looked serious again. "If any of us meets outside of these gatherings, you have to put on a face. Don't be friendly or anything."

"I never am," said Jane, and it was on that note that they ended. If anyone had an idea about escaping or how to break the cuffs blocking their magic or whether there was an unguarded kitchen somewhere that could be pilfered for extra food (the werewolves, forever hungry, asked for that one), or simply wanted to talk, then they would put a note into the flowery vase and there would hopefully be a meeting on the proposed time and date.

Ron didn't know how the hell he would keep track of the time and date, given he had no watch or calendar about, but he would do his best. They all emerged at intervals from one another, having agreed that appearing all at once would also be suspicious. He wandered down one corridor and then another, and found a vampire sewing up a curtain edge; just in time, since the sun was beginning to rise.

Ron neared, and the vampire turned, eyes widening. It was Sanguini. Or Michael, as he was known by around here. Anger rose in Ron, but he remembered what Kella had done for him. What she had not done to him, even though he was reason that she ended up with the Death Eaters in the first place.

So he relaxed his features, and said, "Why did you do it?"

Michael rose to his full height, his head hung in shame. "They made me," he said. "I'm just as much of a... puppet as you are."

He was somewhat taken aback at Michael's remorse. It seemed a bit extreme, really. Ron didn't know what to say, but he found something.

"What is this place?" he said. "I know it's Worple House, but why are we all here? What do the Death Eaters want from us?"

Michael hesitated, and glanced around him. Then he answered so quietly it strained Ron's ears to listen in. "This house used to belong to Eldred Worple. Rabastan Lestrange was friends with him, or maybe not friends. See... Eldred died quite suddenly."

Michael's mouth suddenly clamped shut and went back to hemming the curtain. Ron was confused, but the next second a set of footsteps came around the corner. It was Lestrange himself, who stopped short at the sight of Michael and Ron. "Why are you talking to him?" asked Lestrange. "Don't make a habit of associating with the lower classes, Ron."

"I had questions," he replied truthfully. He still wasn't exactly sure whether he could ask questions, or if he would be punished for it. Was he supposed to follow blindly, or have ideas of his own?

It seemed Lestrange was unsure too; he looked mightily ruffled by their meeting; his eyes kept darting to Michael and back. Michael had continued with his task, needle nimble between his scarred fingers. "Questions about what?"

"What is this place?"

"Where the werewolves and vampires on the Dark Lord's side are kept," said Lestrange. "That should be sufficient." His eyes flicked to Michael again. "Do not associate with this filth again. Talk to Fawley and Scamander, those of your own class."

He swept past, evidently having better things to do. But Rabastan Lestrange was one of the inner circle, so if he had been put in charge of this, it likely wasn't his top priority. Ron didn't think any Death Eater would give much of a care to creatures like him, anyway.

Ron didn't move. Lestrange never checked if he did. Ron muttered to Michael, "What's he got against you?"

"You don't want to know."

"Do you cause a lot of trouble?"

"I have for him," Michael replied. "You should probably go."

"How did you know all of that about Eldred Worple?" Ron thought for a moment. "Hermione said that he wrote some book about living with vampires. But he was awful in real life." Ron frowned. "Wait, Worple's dead?"

"Yeah. That wasn't Worple you saw at the party. He used to turn up with vampires to a lot of events because he would shelter them here. Not like the Death Eaters treat us. He tried to be kind to them," said Michael, "so it was in-character for me to be there at the party with him."

"Who was it, then?"

"Guess."

Ron shrugged. "I don't know."

"You only just saw him," said Michael, hiding a smile. "He hates me, remember?"

Ron's jaw dropped. "No. It couldn't be..."

Michael nodded. "It was. Lestrange, polyjuiced as Worple."

It made sense now why he'd been so revolting. "Merlin. So you spent all night with him? Was it rubbish?"

"Of course. He doesn't like me very much, like I said. Hates me, really."

"But... why? What did you do to piss him off so much?"

"You don't want to know," he repeated stubbornly.

Ron shrugged. "Maybe I do. Go on, tell me. I'll help you with that curtain if you want. You won't get it done by dawn otherwise."

Michael agreed and handed him a spare needle. Ron started halfway up. His mother had shown him the basics of sewing, and it didn't need to be neat since it was the bottom of a curtain. There wasn't much left to do, Ron estimated.

"How long have you been here?" asked Ron.

"Couple years. I was here all the time Rabastan was in prison, anyway."

"You mean Azkaban?"

"Yeah. He left in eighty-one, and came back again a year or two ago."

Ron stopped short. "That's more than a couple of years."

"Ah. They all blend, eventually."

"So who is he to you?" asked Ron. "Come on, there's got to be more to it than that. Why were you kept here for sixteen years?"

"Longer than that."

Ron got to the end of the curtain. He handed the needle back, and stood once more. Michael still wasn't telling him the real story. "Come on, Michael. Spill it. How come you call him Rabastan?"

There was a slight tremor in his lips almost like a smirk. Then it was gone again. "He's my father," said Michael.

He smiled at Ron a final time, very politely, and after pulling the curtain across to block out the impending dawn, walked away down the corridor. Ron was too astonished to stop him.

Ron found his room much the same as before - except, there were others in it. Rolf , Tiberius and Kella were sitting on the other beds, sullen. Ron saw that balanced on a small table were spare blankets and cloaks, and even a candle with a box of Muggle matches.

"Alright?" began Ron, brightening at the thought that he wouldn't be alone, and Tiberius sent him a warning look. He pressed a finger to his lips, and knelt on the ground. Dipping his finger into a small bowl of water, he wrote, reasonably legible over the dusty cobbles, they are watching.

Rolf nudged the bowl and it tipped over the message, covering it. The small clang brought a cloaked face to the door. The hood revealed only a chin and chilling grey eyes, which scanned them for a few moments.

"Dropped something," said Tiberius. "Sorry."

The Death Eater moved on again, and Ron consoled himself to wait until the next meeting before he could speak freely to his friends.

During the night, they would be found by Ardelia and set on certain tasks. One night Ron was sent out to some empty stables and told along with a few other creatures to begin shovelling hay. Another night, he picked apples. Rolf was there too, and told him about the species of apple when their minders weren't watching. Much like his grandfather he had an extensive knowledge of nature.

It was Kella who organised the next meeting between them. "So what've you all been doing over these past few days?" she asked.

Ron spoke about apple trees and sweeping. Jane said she had to clean windows. When it came to Tiberius, he said, "I spoke to Lestrange again. He found me when I left our room. Made me do some stuff." He shook his head. "Nothing too bad. But I had to help with experiments. Had to take away some... bloody equipment and clothes, and... and a body or two."

"Merlin," said Ron. "D'you know who it was?"

Tiberius glanced briefly at Jane. He looked tired, shadows beneath his brown eyes. "No."

The next day Ron was told to scrub an empty hall with a werewolf named Jim, and when Ardelia didn't return Jim tugged him along to the main hall where the other creatures ate and lived. Werewolves and vampires like Jane who would attract no attention if it came out they were creatures, so Lestrange didn't bother with them. But they were useful for muscle, if it was required. Ron knew that quite a few had been used in a Death Eater raid a few days ago - Jane included.

Ron had never been here before. The hall was on a lower, dingier level to where Ron slept. The room was large and low-ceilinged, but the table was overflowing with food and drink and there were so many creatures seated there that Ron lost count. The vampires had bottles of blood in hand, and Ron helped himself, seeing as it had been a few days. He was so busy greeting some of the werewolves and vampires he'd known in the dungeons that he forgot about the heady addictiveness of the blood, and drank it like it was merely water. Perhaps it was because he could still taste a faint poison contaminating it. Or maybe the love for blood had been starved out of him.

He begun to laugh, and didn't stop. Jane arrived and he talked with her for a long time, and by the end his heart was light. He looked at Jane, and saw that she looked far healthier than she had in the dungeons.

"You look better," he told her, and she smiled. Jane had a nice smile. Her green eyes caught the candlelight like peridot, and Ron felt warmth where he hadn't in a long time. The world had been so dark for a while, but now there was light, and he inched closer to Jane as their conversation bloomed, peppered with jokes and stories.

"Why don't they just use magic to clean the house?" said Jane. "Why do we have to be their skivvies?"

"Someone would need to cast the spells, and it seems like they don't have many Death Eaters about, actually," remarked Ron. "Plus, isn't it more fun to watch us slaving away since we're all cuffed and can't use magic?"

She snorted. Jane understood him. She was snarky, and funny, and had her feet firmly on the ground. Her hair fell in thin waves to her shoulders and Ron could smell the soap she'd used.

Ron thought about kissing a girl, and it wasn't Hermione.

But nothing happened that night. They only said goodbye in words as Jane went off to the bunks her and the other creatures shared, and he felt guilty. Technically, he and Hermione had never been together. But they had been something, a long time ago.

Ron couldn't really say whether he liked Jane completely - she was nice, but perhaps too abrasive sometimes.

Still unsure about how he felt, Ron could not look Tiberius in the face when he returned to their room. He knew Jane and Tiberius had some kind of strange dalliance going on, and he wouldn't want to get in the way of it. So maybe he wouldn't pursue her.

The next morning, Lestrange sent a message through Ardelia that they were to gather again, and to dress well for it. Ron was handed a fresh set of robes after washing again. He thought his slightly dodgy haircut had grown out to something decent, although without a rune ring (and no reflection), Ron had been forced to feel most of the changes to himself. His nose felt like it had broken in the middle (bloody Lestrange), and the tip of his ear had never grown back after it had been sliced off on one occasion.

In the bathrooms that morning they'd seemingly been left alone.

"I lost a tooth in there and it never grew back," Tiberius said to Rolf and Ron. "Should I be concerned?"

"Nothing to worry about, I don't think," said Rolf.

"What's your damage?"

"I can't taste anything," said Rolf. He straightened out his robes, frowning. "I want to go home," he said.

Tiberius and Ron paused. "Me too," replied Ron, "but... maybe don't say that so loudly, yeah?"

Rolf nodded. He understood. But sometimes it had to be said aloud, or it could grow too overwhelming. The need to see his family again could overwhelm Ron at any moment; Hogwarts had never been this bad, because he knew his family were safe at the Burrow. He knew he was safe at Hogwarts. He knew that, no matter how desperate things got, there would be a way for them to see each other again.

He hadn't seen his family in eight months. Nearly nine. Merlin, he wished he could see them just once. Hear his mother laugh. His brothers joke. His dad tell him about some obscure Muggle device.

"It's today we'll go," said Rabastan Lestrange once they had all gathered, minus Tracey, who hadn't been seen in days. "You walk to the end of the street, and then you will be apparated away. Attempt escape, and we will hunt you. There are Death Eaters positioned along the street to stop you if you do." He laughed. "And where are you running to anyway? No one wants you back. Did you know that there hasn't been a single effort to get any of you back? Your families know we have you. They just don't care."

Ron was apparated to the bottom of Diagon Alley, and remembered very little of the walk. Just up a street or two, streetlamps glowing in the darkness. He saw Mundungus Fletcher, whose eyes widened as he recognised Ron, and a few other faces which lit up in recognition. Ron felt like he'd aged a millennia since he'd last been here. Some of the buildings looked familiar, but it was all very foreign to him. The street was a blur.

Things went very, very hazy indeed. Ron was casting a spell and realised his magical cuffs had been removed. His wrists were scarred badly. His knuckles stung after he thrust them into someone's face, and blood trickled down his wrist.

He and Tiberius carried the Mudblood traitor between them, muttering dark, evil things that Ron would never have dared to say had he been in control of his own body. But he had been reduced to a mere voice in the back of his own brain, begging for it all to stop. Ron's efforts were ludicrously ineffective.

Just as a cloaked figure was grasping his arm again, urgently someone called out: "Ron!"

Before he could turn and see who it was, he was being torn away again.

Chapter Text

Chapter Fourteen

"Ron Weasley," hissed Jim. "Fucking traitor."

Ron paused.

Since Diagon Alley, life had not much changed. Except that people now seemed to know who he was, and stared or flinched away from him when he passed or even spat at him. Now, Ron had been stopped as he tried to sit down beside Jane in the creatures' dinner hall. Not that Ron ate here usually. Along with Tiberius, Rolf, Daphne and Kella, he was taken to a separate kitchen for meals; likely to put another divide between the two disproportionate groups: the 'common' creatures and the creatures who, because of their names, had status which could be manipulated.

"What's he on about?" asked Jane.

Jim leered, "He's with them, you know? Lestrange talks to him personally. They have these private little meetings, I've seen them."

Jane tried to protest, but someone lobbed a squashed pear across the table and anarchy broke out. Bread, soup was thrown across the table at Ron, and "Spy! Spy!" they cried after him. Some simply looked happy for a break from the monotony.

It was very boring, this existence of theirs: scrubbing floors, ironing curtains, straightening paintings, dusting vases, removing mutilated corpses… God, what a drag. Some of these people had led lives of magical mystery before, and were now used as talentless skivvies, powers locked in chains. It was all at the fault of Rabastan Lestrange; his pet, Ron Weasley, was sat right in front of them and they couldn't resist.

Jane took him outside the creatures' quarters and told him never to come back again. "Sorry," she said, although she didn't really seem it.

He stumped back to his room feeling rather put out. "I got kicked out," he said, and the Death Eater appeared in the doorway again. Ron glanced up at them. "Did you see? Bloody ruthless, they are. The rest of 'em."

Merlin, he wished he was one of them. No blackmailing, no murdering.

The Death Eater was beginning to tremble. "Don't talk," they said darkly, and Ron nodded.

"Will do - or won't do, I suppose."

"Silencio!"

The Death Eater missed, and Rolf's pillow was slashed.

Rolf frowned. Feathers had gone flying everywhere. "Bit rude."

By the time the three of them (as Tiberius was there too) glanced up again, the Death Eater had vanished.

"Have they gone for help?"

"Hope not," Ron grunted. He heaved himself onto his bed. "Well. Anyway. I think I just got myself into trouble with Jane."

"I'm very familiar with the situation," Tiberius replied.

Ron explained. Rolf said, "She won't like me either, will she? We'd been getting along before this. That's a shame."

"Could still give it a shot."

Rolf never got the chance. It was ruined by their next task from the Death Eaters; after the encounter with the other Death Eater, when Ron had openly defied them and spoken back, Ron had been expecting a punishment of some kind. But the next night they were merely told to remove a body, a task which by then had become fairly routine.

Not all of the bodies were corpses. Some merely required taking back to their bed where they could heal from their injuries, and this had been one of them. Sometimes, Ron enjoyed this task as it required using his magic, which he'd been given back. The cuffs had been gone after the walk down Diagon Alley. Ron was pleased, but it constituted yet another divide between them and the rest of the vampires and werewolves. The special treatment for Ron and the rest was surely so the others would hate them.

Ron levitated the body and it drifted along behind them. "I still don't know why they wanted all three of us," he said.

The three of them halted as they realised that the dinner hall was packed with creatures. Before it had always been empty, the vampires and werewolves who inhabited this sector of the manor off doing their daily chores and tasks, but this time their job had been organised at teatime.

Oh dear. Ron hadn't even considered this. It wasn't like he ate food anymore.

Jane stood. "You told me you weren't helping them!" she shouted. This time they clearly weren't under any sort of Imperius curse. The fact was, these werewolves and vampires were still being experimented on, and Rolf, Tiberius, Ron, Daphne and Kella weren't.

"You promised me, Tiberius!" Jane shouted again.

A furore chased them from the hall, insults following the food hurled at their backs.

Ron clung on to a pillar as they gathered their bearings again, now several corridors away from the angry mob. "I suppose we deserve that," he said weakly.

"Why?" said Tiberius. "We never did anything to them! And Jane, she-"

"Jane's probably been the only person in there for weeks telling them we're trustworthy," said Rolf. "But now she'll think she has proof."

"Proof of what?" said Ron.

"That we're traitors. Working for the Death Eaters. Really working with them."

It occurred to Ron, then. "What's really the difference?"

Rolf swallowed and looked away. Tiberius, never one to lack something to say, pointedly didn't answer.

When they returned to the room, Daphne was missing as usual but Kella was pacing back and forth, looking agitated. "Hello," she said to them, and continued to pace.

Depressed, Tiberius slumped back on his bed. "Jane hates me," he said dejectedly. "She reckons I'm a Death Eater. God, do you know how much I owe her and her family? When I was bitten and turned into a werewolf last Christmas, I just ran away. I was completely out of options. I thought of going somewhere on a train, but I couldn't figure it out. I was just walking around this street when I saw a woman - Jane's mum - who knew what I was. I think I'd have died if the Hastings didn't take me in."

Kella sat down at the foot of his bed, taking on a conciliatory tone. "Do calm down, Tiberius," she said. "Jane didn't really like you anyway. How could she when your acceptance of Muggles felt so hesitant? So temporary?"

"This doesn't really matter," said Ron. "You know what we should be focusing on." He was about to add, very damningly, Escaping, when the metal bars of the door whined loudly. Ron had the sense to shut up - but the next second he felt a wand pressing against his neck. He was lead out of the room.

"Quiet," the voice hissed. Ron heard his friends being dragged out after him, but couldn't call out to them.

Eventually, the corridors narrowed down to a single door, which Ron was thrust inside. He saw Rabastan Lestrange standing there, as well as Daphne Greengrass, a girl who had been in his year at Hogwarts. Now a werewolf, she did the same job as them.

During their meetings in their small, secret garden, they'd discussed inviting Daphne into the group.

"No," Tiberius was insistent. "She's been brainwashed. She thinks she's one of them - really one of them. It's all lies, this cooperation the Death Eaters are proposing, but she can't see that."

"You don't think we should even try and help her?" asked Ron.

"No. She'll sell us out, I'm certain."

Ron watched as Lestrange laved upon the girl a fatherly smile, and placed a hand on her shoulder. He then turned to the group at large, which now included the others: Kella, Rolf and Tiberius. Tracey had not been seen in months.

"We'll be going out again today, and talking to the people, this time. They can't wait to see you."

Ron was going to fight, was his very last thought. It never got the chance to come to fruition. A wand was pressed against the back of his neck again, and he remembered nothing from that point until he woke up in his bed, head throbbing and struggling to recall whether any of it was real. This room, this house, the months which had gone by.

His friends were not there and he wandered out into the corridor. Ron wondered if he should talk to Michael, who he saw dusting a portrait. Maybe, like Jane, he would hate him too. He didn't know Michael all that well but it seemed like he did, for whatever reason. He often thought about what Michael had once told him: that Rabastan Lestrange was his father.

The younger brother of Rodolphus Lestrange and brother-in-law to Bellatrix Lestrange, Rabastan didn't burn as brightly compared to the other two. He was in the Dark Lord's inner circle, but had been fobbed off onto his case. Merlin, no one wanted to deal with creatures. Rabastan still habitually referred to them as beasts. He had never married, and had never had children... at least, Ron thought.

He said his name, and Michael turned with faint surprise rather than anger. "I wondered when I would see you again."

Suddenly, like a mouse, his gaze darted from side to side; when the corridor proved to be clear, he plucked a newspaper from beneath his robes and thrust it at him. "Read it quickly, and dispose of it once you're done."

"What is it? And- and where did you get it?"

His eyes were wide, blood-shot whites straining against red pupils. "That doesn't matter. Just read it. You'll see. Show it to the others, too."

He went back to scrubbing, and Ron could see that any further injection would be fruitless. Ron had tried to talk to him about what he'd said before, but Michael was very difficult to get secrets out of.

Tucked discreetly into a small, forgotten room which contained only broken chairs, Ron opened the paper and began to read.

The front page blared: CREATURES CALL FOR CHANGE: ENOUGH IS ENOUGH.

Below the title was Ron's face, dissolving into a dark maelstrom and reforming into Tiberius' face after a few seconds. Then Kella's, then Rolf's, then Daphne's. The pictures and articles below it were jarring compared to this framed bid for rights, as they listed recent deaths, inquiries into the blood potency (a term Ron knew related to how magical your ancestors were; the more magical relatives, the less of a Mudblood, a parasitic outsider, you were) of famous figures and even very mundane people. No one could escape the meaningless scrutiny. There was one small box filled with information about a life's sentence to Azkaban for Mr Jonathan Harper, a squib who had pretended to use magic with 'Muggle tricks' and managed to get himself a job in St Mungo's apothecary.

"He stole the job of a far more experienced, genuinely magical chemist," said a representative. "His actions represent the growing danger of hidden Mudbloods in our world." The word was now synonymous with Muggle, as no real wizard or witch could be related to non-magical people. The concept of a Muggle-born therefore ceased to exist - it had never really existed anyway, everyone agreed, but Muggle sympathisers had gone too far.

Ron read further, but had to sit back for a moment. What on earth did they just say he'd said? The main article featured Ron shouting from some stand in Diagon Alley that werewolves and vampires had been downtrodden by the government for too long, and that he had joined the Death Eaters because they were the only people who would take him seriously. Ron had finished this speech by denouncing Hogwarts, his family and anyone who had ever forced him to hide what he was.

He wanted to deny that this had ever happened (it had to be some hallucination, it had to be), but memories were surfacing of standing in front of a crowd of people, Tiberius and Kella at his side, talking about just that.

"I had to leave," said Ron, staring them down with bright red eyes. "They never accepted me. They never understood me. I wanted better, and the Death Eaters gave me that option - they are the true heroes in this world."

Every blunt word, in its stark black ink, was printed in the newspaper report.

Ron had a terrifying thought: what if people actually believed this? To him the words sounded entirely foreign, nothing like what he'd have said if he was up there of his own volition... But maybe it was exactly what even his closest family thought he would say, given that some of it was true. He had been forced to hide his vampirism. Not to mention, Ron had been gone half a year now - he could be anyone by now.

Ron recalled Rabastan Lestrange stood to the side, face concealed below a hood, stood with his wand upraised. He'd been controlling Ron the entire time, no doubt the numerous Death Eaters clustered around the edges of the crowd controlling his friends.

The people's faces were shuttered, but the hatred, the fear sequestered in their eyes was unmistakable.

Ron wanted to say something to Michael, but he had vanished once again. Ron wondered how the hell he was so good at it.

Merlin's balls, this was horrendous. Everyone was going to think he hated Muggles. What would his family think? What would Harry and Hermione think? Really, Ron didn't actually believe what the Death Eaters told him - all that tosh about getting them more rights and better treatment or whatever; it was all just to get them to comply.

Werewolves and vampires began shying away from Ron even more merely as he walked the corridors, but perhaps not for unfounded reasons. The papers would be fuel enough for their trepidation, and Ron had also been tasked with more dangerous jobs than ever before. The number of creatures he'd had to escort, bloody, through the corridors had increased, and the first time Lestrange asked him to hit a creature cowering in the corner, he refused.

"I'm not doing it," he said, even after the first hex had crippled him. The Death Eaters soon saw that that was no way to convince him, and Rabastan sighed.

"Well, we know one way that works," he muttered. "Imperio!"

It was far worse to remember when he was trapped in his own mind. It was his brain telling his arm to pull the hair from the scalp till it tore, but he was not the one in control. Ron was screaming inside for it to stop, and though he shook the charm a few times, Lestrange's magic was infallible. Ron tried to form walls he hadn't had to in months, not since Mordecai, but they were much too feeble to have any impact. Lestrange still caught the disturbance.

"You know Occlumency?" There was a conspiratorial look in his eye.

"Yes," Ron replied. "Mordecai taught me. Where is he, by the way?"

"He had served his use, so we disposed of him. You'll never see him again." Rabastan quickly changed tack. "Well Ron, you could be a real asset to us with that skill. If you did help us more we would reward you for it, you know. We would keep your family safe. Tiberius has already agreed to do so in order to keep his family safe from harm."

Ron hadn't known his friend had done that. He tried to ask what exactly Tiberius now helped them with, but over the next few days, their chores separated them. But he saw Michael hanging around quite a bit.

"How does it work?" asked Ron. "Why're you round here so often now?"

"I was asked to be, so I am," replied Michael. "Last month I was in the kitchen, next week I'll be back on active duty. All depends on the schedule."

"Active duty?"

"You'll find out soon, I expect." Michael's eyes lingered on a faded bruise on Ron's cheek. "They're preparing to take things to the next stage. They don't know what to threaten you with yet, but they'll find out. Trust me. They find everyone's weakness - even people who say they don't have one."

"Did they use your father against you?" Ron paused, and thought some more. "Or did your father use your relationship to manipulate you?" Michael had already revealed that he was far from innocent, in his many years with the Death Eaters, all the while committing a great number of atrocities.

Michael didn't answer.

One night, a picture was placed in front of Ron. This time it was just him and Lestrange. He glanced down, and he didn't recognise who was cringing away from the camera for a moment.

And then he did. His sister Ginny's eyes were ringed in black, swollen and bruised, no doubt from her broken nose, and her uniform was as battered as she was. The spark was gone from her eyes: Ron could only see concealed fury.

Ron's mouth was dry. "What did you do to her?"

"Nothing. It wasn't us-"

"I find that hard to believe." His voice was cold, deadened, hardly recognisable as his own.

Rabastan held out his hands, playing the innocent man. "Really, it wasn't us. Ginny's been causing problems at Hogwarts, her and that Dumbledore's Army. Alecto Carrow is in charge of punishment and was forced to use physical punishment when detentions didn't work." Lestrange sighed. "The only language they understand is violence, Muggles. It's sad what a well-known wizarding family has fallen to, don't you agre-"

Ron saw red. "Reducto!" he roared, aiming to blow Rabastan to smithereens. He started to run. He was sick of this, he was sick of feeling like he was a traitor to himself, like if he went near his family they might not recognise him or kill him and that meant he could never go home-

Lestrange yanked him back. "No you don't." Wordlessly, the man restrained him so Ron's hands were chained together, so closely it hurt. Ron stared at the door with desperation, despite knowing it would be locked up as tightly as himself. "Help us, and your sister will not be hurt. Help us, and that won't happen again."

He glanced at the picture and Ginny flinched again. Even the photo was terrified of his vampiric visage, and Ron was fed up. He was sickened by himself, and frightened, and his friends had given in. And did he want Ginny to get hurt?

"Would she die if I did nothing?"

"It's likely. Her and her friends. Neville Longbottom. Luna Lovegood. Hermione Granger. Harry Potter." Lestrange watched carefully for his reaction.

Ron swallowed tightly. It was December, almost the end of the winter term and Ron hoped they would all be sensible enough not to return after the break. But another thought occurred to him.

"What about the rest of my family? Would they be hurt too if I didn't... cooperate?"

"Undoubtedly."

Ron thought for a long moment. Maybe not long enough. Or maybe for far too long.

He nodded. "I'll do it. I'll do it, okay. But if- if Ginny's hurt, if Harry's hurt, or Hermione..." He had to say it, "I'll kill you myself, alright?"

Lestrange nodded. "Alright."

Ron returned to their room to see that Daphne had reappeared; she threw her arms around him like a brother, although they'd never exchanged more than a few passing words. It was strange. "I'm so glad you've decided to join us," she said.

Ron paused. Her arms were still wrapped tightly around him. He stared at the others in the room, as they were all there. "You mean I was the last one still holding out?"

"It's only because they captured Newt," said Rolf miserably from the corner. "My granddad. He's an old man, running out of time anyway, and I couldn't let him spend it in a cold dungeon."

"That's how it starts," said Daphne. "My sister Asteria was who they used for me, but then I saw how right they were. We're magical creatures, we have a right to be in the magical world as much as anyone. Far more than Muggles. I don't know why we're grouped in with them, to be honest. I'm no Mudblood. Look how far back my lineage goes."

"It's all a-"

Ron's tongue caught.

He was going to say it was all a trick, a lie, but how did he know? What if the Death Eaters' agenda really was to help them? Fenrir Greyback was one of the Dark Lord's inner circle. If Voldemort hated creatures so much, why would he have one so close to him? One he trusted with so much?

The Order had told him to hide, even when it hurt. When he could do more with new life than pretend he was still what he used to be. He could have been a real asset to them. But they could never see past his vampirism. They never saw his potential. Even his own parents had wanted to pretend - but so had Ron. If being in here had taught him anything, it was that there was so much worse out there. So why hide when it didn't matter anyway?

Because he'd had to, Ron answered. But what if there was a world out there where he didn't have to? Where being a vampire was not outlawed, no reason to lock him away? The law could merely tolerate his existence and that would be enough for Ron.

But... the Death Eaters had committed so many unspeakable acts, he'd been fighting them for years already at the meagre age of sixteen...

No. Not sixteen. Seventeen, Ron realised he now was. His birthday had been in March. He'd come of age. If he was back home he'd have been in seventh year, if he hadn't been expelled before then. In fact, he was due to be eighteen in another three months. It hadn't struck him during the dungeons even after he knew that many months had passed, but now Ron thought it was sad that he had to hide so much at such a young age.

The Death Eaters fought Mudblood- Muggle-borns, not vampires, so in the new order he'd be alright. Wasn't that what Ardelia had said? Get in now and watch later as your prior equals were fighting over scraps.

That felt wrong, but everything felt wrong.

Ron didn't know what to think anymore. Lines had obscured beyond his understanding.

"Tomorrow you will escort a prisoner to their hearing," said Lestrange. "Then you will leave. Walk out of the Ministry and take my arm. After that I will side-apparate you back to the manor. If anything goes wrong or you try to escape, or speak to a single person, I will make sure your sister is killed. Personally. And we will hang her corpse for everyone to see." He paused for effect. "After that I will hunt down each member of your family until they are dead-"

"I understand," Ron cut him off, but Lestrange shook his head.

"Do you understand our power?" He reached into his pocket and placed an object on the table. Due to the sheer ridiculousness of the situation it took him a moment to figure out what it was.

An ear. Severed, bloody, the dried skin like leather. Ron stared. "What is that? An- an ear?"

"Your brother George's. Don't believe me?" Lestrange put down another picture, and it was of George exiting his shop on Diagon Alley. True to Lestrange's story, he was unmistakably missing an ear. He looked unwell, hair overgrown and grubby stubble vanishing below his collar. "It was us. He poked his head above the sand, we dealt him a blow. It was only by sheer luck his head wasn't taken off - that luck won't last another time."

Lestrange's eyes were black with cool malice. "So. Escort the prisoner and ignore any cameras flashing, people shouting. If anyone reaches out for you, you push them away. Got it?"

Ron nodded. His throat was painfully tight; he was overwhelmed, just barely holding things together as he dressed in new robes, an inky black which reflected his new status. Not of a Death Eater, but one of sorts. Merely a servant of the Dark Lord. Ron's hair had grown long again and he had to push it back so it would not fall into his face; the back, too, was long, and required scraping back with his fingers to keep it neat-looking.

Ron dared not breathe as masked Death Eaters swarmed around him. He was apparated close to the red phone box whilst the others strode off to do their terrorising of London, and after he froze in his fear, Rabastan cast the Cruciatus curse upon him. Ron seized, yet managed to remain standing, and after a moment or two collecting himself, sweeping back his hair again, he took the prisoner's arm and answered the voice in the phone box.

"Six-two-four-four-two," he said calmly, above the prisoner's whimpering.

"Please, I'm telling you, I'm a wizard - my wand isn't stolen, I'm not- I don't deserve to die, please! You're sentencing me to death-"

Their arrival into the cool atrium of the Ministry was alerted by the small tinkling of a bell. Heads turned and the faces of the people were flabbergasted as Ron Weasley was sighted once again in a world that he disappeared from almost six months ago; and he held a writhing man tightly by the arm, parting the crowd to make his way.

It was like parting a thick sea - of mostly darkness, but some light remained. Nymphadora Tonks, just a few weeks away from a final, damning investigation into where some escaped prisoners (innocent Muggle-borns) had gone, glimpsed him and her eyes widened in horror. She wanted to shout out to him, call him in any way she could, but was mindful of her position as one of the only allies left in the Ministry of Magic.

Besides, he was gone. Head held high, bloody-red eyes fixed, expression cold, black robes forbidding any attempt at contact, muscles like iron clamps around his captive's upper arms, pulling him along doggedly even as the prisoner's feet kept slipping as he tried to run; a stubborn ship dragging its anchor.

Ronald Weasley was a vampire, there was no denying the fact. Ron the ordinary boy, the sidekick of Harry Potter, was long gone. He was a vampire.

A Death Eater.

It was in his nature, many might say, and Tonks' mouth clamped firmly shut.

November rolled around and Ron was patrolling the streets, Tiberius and Rolf by his side. Creatures had become a new sort of policing force. Diagon Alley was their beat this evening and this would be the third criminal they'd come across.

Ron yanked out the man from behind the bricks. His face looked very familiar. "Tiberius," he called behind him. "This is Marvin Higgs, isn't it?"

The man quivered. Tiberius nodded. "It is." Marvin Higgs was known for using his seer abilities to warn Muggle-borns when Death Eaters were close to catching them, and there was an enormous warrant out for his arrest.

"What do we do?"

"Turn him in," said Rolf. "We get rewards. Remember the one Kella brought in the other day?"

"But Higgs..."

"Ron," said Tiberius lowly. "Don't. Don't say it. We- we all know what you're thinking, but you can't." He leant closer, his voice lowered. "They broke Beth's arm last time. Told my parents it was a Quidditch accident, but Lestrange..."

Beth was Tiberius' eleven-year-old sister, just started at Hogwarts. She was the bargaining chip. If Ron was worried about his fifteen-year-old sister, Ginny, he could not imagine what Tiberius would be going through. Beth wouldn't understand it - any of it. Not blood purity or the war or where her older brother had gone.

"Lestrange said they'd give my granddad more food if we did something good," said Rolf. "He was starving the last time I saw him - Newt's an old man, he'll be one hundred next year. I don't think he can do this much longer, truth be- truth be told." Rolf pressed a weary hand against his forehead.

"Okay," said Ron. "Get him."

Marvin Higgs took a step back, landing flat against the brick. "What are you talking about? Newt - Newt Scamander? Wait, are you..." Marvin's eyes widened as the truth dawned on him. "Are you them? The children from our side who turned traitor?" Higgs glanced at Tiberius. "I s'pose not all."

Ron paused. A few vampires and werewolves had started to contact the Death Eaters, said Lestrange, because of them. They were heroes to the creatures.

"Save me, Ron Weasley-"

Lestrange said it was because if the Resistance won, all the vampires and werewolves would die. If the Death Eaters won, they would treat the creatures favourably, said Lestrange. Especially Ron and his friends, who had been essential to the war effort.

Lestrange could spin a pretty story. But did Ron really believe it?

Ron's eyes went to the man sobbing on the ground. "Get him."

"Sorry, Marvin. It's you or our families," said Tiberius.

Newt Scamander got his food, Ginny Weasley's current detentions (beating sessions) with the Carrows were cleared, and Bethan Fawley received a packet of her favourite sweets in the post. The owl came with no letter, and her mother said he was disgraced, but Beth knew who had sent them.

"You got an afternoon off too?" said Ron.

He'd seen Tiberius wander in through the courtyard entrance. It was just the two of them in the garden. No meetings had been organised since Jane refused to speak to any of them anymore, Rolf was talking to his granddad through a small gap in the wall, and Kella was off doing whatever she did when she wasn't hanging out with them. Ron was convinced she had far too many secrets, as was Tiberius, and it had caused a divide between them and her, unfortunately.

"You could put it that way. I cut the fingers off a werewolf and timed it. Then I cut the hand." Tiberius caught the look in Ron's eye. "They still do it to Jane's lot. Scare tactics, isolation, bullying for the sake of it." He sighed. "And I'm part of it."

"We... all are," Ron tried to reassure him, although it wasn't very comforting.

"But you think I'm more suited to it, as they do. Is it because you think the Fawleys are Death Eaters?" said Tiberius.

Ron hesitated, and that was enough. Tiberius nodded, and then began to talk.

"We never were, actually - not publicly. My grandfather funded the first war, and before that the war against Grindelwald, and in exchange for funding we Fawleys were left alone. No need for public appearances or declarations of loyalty. We would simply be left as though we were in hiding."

"It was just money?" Tiberius nodded. Ron considered this in silence for a moment. "Did your family agree with Grindelwald or You-Know-Who?"

"I have absolutely no idea. My father doesn't like Muggles, it's true, but only because they are in our world. If we've gone into the Muggle world he's never caused problems, treated anyone we came across with courtesy and kindness. Because they're in their proper place, he said. I don't think he'd want to murder them all, which You-Know-Who does."

"I miss Jane," Tiberius went on. "I never minded that she was a Muggle... Although sometimes I was uncomfortable because I'm a wizard and she's not a witch. But we're both werewolves. I thought I was scum because of that when I first met her." Tiberius paused. "Was she ever really a Muggle if she always had magic?"

"Fuck if I know," said Ron. "Personally all these labels bloody confuse me. If you have squib parents but you're magical, are you a Muggle-born? Or because both sets of your grandparents are magical, does that make you a pure-blood?"

"Some sort of... mud-pure-blood, if you excuse my being flippant with language."

Ron shrugged. He'd done so much worse to the other side.

"Want to know something, Ron?" said Tiberius. He'd been holding on to this for a long time now, and it felt like he was at a breaking point, really. Ron, concerned, nodded for him to go on.

"Jane's parents are dead. They were captured alongside us and died after experimentation. I had to" - his voice broke and he wavered, but pushed on - "I had to take away their bodies. Lestrange- Lestrange made me. You know what he's like."

Tiberius was forced to stop talking. They'd been better than his actual parents in many ways, and although he'd never found Chris' body, it was likely the same had happened to Jane's brother. Just three years younger than Tiberius, they'd sat together on many occasions in front of the TV; they'd gone walking around the high street on weekends when Chris wasn't at school, and Chris even taught him how to play football on the field round the back of the house; they'd been like brothers, almost.

And Tiberius would likely never see Chris again.

"Merlin's beard," said Ron, astounded. "Does Jane know?"

"No."

"You don't think she should know her parents are dead?"

"I can't tell her. I couldn't tell her then because I was the one who took the bodies away and I especially can't tell her now that it's been weeks. It's December now. It's come round so quickly, hasn't it?"

That meant it was nearly Christmas. Not that Ron would be celebrating this year, although it cheered him somewhat to imagine what his family were enjoying together.

"What happened?" Ron despaired. "I swear it's only been a few weeks since we were all together. We were going to escape, you know?"

"You still can."

They both sprang from their seats. In the courtyard doorway stood a man Ron recognised. "Michael?"

"Evening Ron." He paused, seemingly nervous, for a moment. "I hear you want to escape. Some friends of mine did, once."

Tiberius and Ron gaped at him. "Do you want to know how those friends of mine escaped before?" Michael said.

"I- yes, of course."

"Well, they didn't do it in winter, they did it in summer... but the concept should be the same. During the summer solstice, in celebration of the longest day of the year, there was a ball. It's common in pure-blood families, I'm told."

Tiberius confirmed, "It is."

"But during these balls, there would be many guests: musicians and cooks and myriad entertainers. And with so much food and drink available, the guards would grow lax, and they would leave their posts, or fall asleep, or not be as alert as they normally would be in all the merriment."

Ron nodded. He hoped Michael would soon get to the point.

Michael's eyes glittered. "Don't you see? And so escape became possible. Death Eaters are awful at comprehending logic or admitting to their own shortcomings, so though the guards are reprimanded, since mentalities never change here, the guards never improve."

"And all of this means...?"

"You can escape at the ball when the guards are distracted. Probably when the sun sets, which is what the winter solstice ball is for. I can leave a door open, and the wards'll be loosened to admit the guests. You'll get no better chance anytime soon."

It took Tiberius and Ron a moment to consider this properly.

"We've got to tell everyone," said Tiberius. "Anyone we can bring, and we could bring everyone - Salazar, we could bring this whole operation down around their ears-"

"No. You can't."

Tiberius turned on Michael. It was quick, the shift, how fast the shadows deepened in his wolfish eyes. "And why not? Are you going to turn us in?"

"No, no, I'm only telling you that not everyone can go. The Death Eaters will realise at some point, and the more people you try and take, the sooner they'll do so. You should only take you and your friends. Stay strong, stay together whilst you're out there, and you might just make it somewhere safe." Michael leant in. "Aim for the orchard and keep going. There are a fair few fields in between, but you should get there in due course..."

"What, aren't you coming with us?"

Michael shook his head. "I can't, Ron. Someone needs to take the punishment for this and it needs to be me. I'm old. I'm fed up. I don't want to fight a war I don't care about, and that's what I'd have to do if I went with you. Don't worry about me. Get Jane, get Kella, get Rolf, and go. Run as fast as you can."

"Michael," said Ron, "I can't thank you enough... When's the ball?"

"Eight days. So act like nothing's wrong. I'll tell you more details as I find them out."

"Are you... sure you don't want to come with us?" asked Tiberius. "Michael, did you say your name was?"

"Yes, it's Michael, and no, I don't want to go. I'd rather they finally killed me than run free." He stared with dark eyes at the shackles on his wrists, the bands of metal tarnished. "Don't know what I'd do with myself after all these years, to be honest. Probably something strange."

As the days until their escape drew nearer, the only thing left to do was to reunite themselves again. Getting Jane to trust them once more, Kella to speak to them again and Rolf to take himself away from his grandfather, who Ron wasn't sure could come with them; sad as it undoubtably was, it would not be possible. He was locked up far too tightly.

But it was difficult to find time when Lestrange still had them doing his dirty work. Ron had to patrol streets and drag criminals up to the Ministry, and he had no idea what half of them had done. He tried to keep his hood up and face concealed, but some of them knew who he was.

"’Ey, Ron! Ron Weasley! Put me down, you know me, it's Mundungus - say, I helped your friend Harry just a few weeks ago-"

Ron frowned and stunned him. Harry Potter was dead. Gone. They put out his name as wanted, but Lestrange said everyone knew it was all a lie. Harry Potter could not reappear because he was dead, and the Order with it. Ron did not think about it, not wanting to give himself false hope.

Ron had grown weak and weary, despite the tantalising dream of escape.

The Order had lost the war, the Death Eaters were all that remained. Hence, Ron was one. The war was finished and he was just trying to escape with his friends. Michael said if he went past the orchard and onwards, he'd be safe. Safe from what, he would figure out later. Death Eaters? The general public, who'd been spitting vitriol at him for months? Ron couldn't blame them, but he still didn't want to be torn apart by them.

Finally, one day he saw Rolf lingering in a corridor. "Hey," he said. "You alright?" No answer. Ron glanced around them before asking, quietly, "Where are they keeping Newt?"

"Down there," said Rolf, pointing to some stairs. "But I wouldn't bother going down. You need special clearance, or something. They've kicked me out a few times even when I've had permission off Lestrange." There was a lost look in his eyes, fingers running along his sleeves. Rolf looked half manic.

Ron wet his lips. "Look, come and meet us later. Me and Tiberius have something."

Rolf's eyes connected with his. "Is this about what I think it is?"

"Might be."

"Then forget it. I won't do it. If I do anything, they'll kill him."

"Is that what they've told you? What he's told you?"

"Who's 'he'?"

"Newt himself. Do you two speak a lot?"

Rolf paused. "My granddad's too weak," he said, although his tone was defensive. Surely, it had crossed his mind at some point that the Death Eaters were lying to him. "I think we should have the rest of this conversation outside, don't you?" Code for 'this conversation is going into territory far too dangerous for just anyone to overhear'. "And my granddad is definitely down there."

Something in him protested, but Ron agreed.

"I know," Rolf burst once they were in the courtyard. "I know he's probably not there. Newt's craftier than that, to be caught by Death Eaters. I didn't realise until a few weeks ago. I haven't said anything because, if I start refusing to do things, how long before they find someone else to threaten me with? How long until they actually catch Newt?"

"I get it," said Ron. "But I feel terrible for the poor guy taking the flack for it."

"Don't, it's a Death Eater they've got standing in for Newt. Looks nothing like my granddad, and I've actually seen the bloke leaving when he thinks I'm gone, so he's not suffering in the slightest. These Death Eaters can be easy to fool, sometimes."

It was then that Tiberius arrived, someone familiar behind him.

"Jane," began Ron. She was wary of them. "You never gave me the chance to apologise, but I swear I'm so sorry - they make us do stuff, and-"

"Save it," she told him brusquely, arms folding. "I'm here to escape, nothing more. When we get out I'm gonna split from the rest of you and go find my parents and my brother."

Tiberius awkwardly looked away, scratching the back of his head. He still hadn't told Jane her parents were dead and likely her brother Chris too, but Ron could understand. It was difficult news to break, especially when she'd only just agreed to come with them.

"I wouldn't advise that."

It was a new voice - not very new to Ron, but still he turned with the rest of them. Michael stood in the doorway. "Where is the other one?" he asked.

"I couldn't find Kella. I only just about persuaded Jane not to run away from me."

Michael glanced at Ron. "I suppose there's time. You're good friends with Kella, aren't you? Go and talk to her."

"Who's this?" said Jane.

"My name is Michael. And I'm going to help you escape."

Jane barely hesitated for a moment. "Why, what's in it for you?"

"I can't watch them do it all over again. They nearly got enough vampires and werewolves together to make a proper army, last time, and they've nearly got enough once again. If you lot leave it'll scupper them for a while."

"And you want that?" said Rolf. "Even though you're a Death Eater?"

"I only am because they blackmailed me, same as you. But I've done far more horrible things that I can't claim I was forced to do." His shoulders shifted uncomfortably. "Lines blur after a while, as I'm sure you're aware. The Death Eaters trapped me when I was a child."

His cloak was black, and swept around his ankles as he neared them once more. His dark hair was rough and his face too; Michael was haggard, with eyes red like blood and skin grey as paper. He reminded Ron inexplicably of someone he'd once known, but could not name. Perhaps it was Rabastan. As his son he bore a great resemblance to the infamous Death Eater.

Jane stared at them all determinedly. "This place sucks. I hate it. And I hate you all for being Death Eaters. But... I hate you less than the people keeping us here, so I'll help you in any way I can."

"That's... good, I think," said Ron. "But we don't have to do a lot, from what Michael said before. Is that right?"

"It is fairly simple. We get in the right place-"

"I see you've started without me," said Kella, worse than she'd ever looked. It wasn't physical, her ailment, but spiritual; something which dulled her eyes and stole the life from her as she stood.

Ron felt a sinking. "Merlin," he said. "What happened?"

"They captured a friend of mine. An old friend. She's a vampire like me, and the Death Eaters have been torturing her to force me to comply. I know she's definitely there - it's not a bluff, before you say anything. I've touched her. Held her. Heard her screaming." Kella covered her face for a moment. "No, no, I'm okay. It's fine. You said we were going to escape?"

They were indeed. On the night of the solstice, Lestrange told them they had their biggest job yet. Ron pretended that he'd never heard of a solstice ball before. "You'll be talking to our guests. Greet them, introduce yourself and your job. Make a good impression - it'll count, later."

It would not, thought Ron, but he kept that to himself and made sure to conceal the inner pledge when he and Lestrange met eyes.

"I'll be depending on you, Tiberius and Daphne the most. My most trusted agents."

"We do what we're told."

"That you do, but sometimes I think it's more than that. You know... up at the main base, they're looking for people like you. The Death Eaters need strong followers, and who better than vampires? What do you say, hm?"

"I... thank you for the opportunity."

There was a dark, leering glint in Lestrange's eyes. When Ron said no more, he said, "Well, carry on," and wandered away. It was merely a taste of what was to come on the night of the ball.

"One of our finest," said Lestrange. "Ronald Weasley."

Ron took another short draught of blood from his glass. It was rich and warm - fresh, he could also tell, and despite the image of, say, some person bleeding out in some dingy corner somewhere in sacrifice for his meal, he savoured every drop.

The old woman scanned his face. "A Weasley?" she said, the very name repulsive. "I would ask if you were quite sure, but for this one there's no doubt about it."

"Yes, Madam. It is a Weasley. But he is one of us, only before trapped in a treacherous family." Lestrange's dark eyes flashed again. "I am sure you can relate, Isabella."

The woman took a hurried gulp of her champagne. "Oh, oh yes, Bernard is ever so sorry for selling you out like that - I mean, slip of the tongue, he was bribed and-"

"I understand, Madam. I was there when the Dark Lord was considering what to do with you."

Ron had never been to a ball so lavish, not even the Yule Ball in fourth year. Earlier that day a small force had been shown to a room overrun with grime and mildew, the common werewolves and vampires handed scrubbing brushes and buckets of water and Rolf, Kella and Ron instructed to use spells to fix up the place. As for design, a snobbish Death Eater had told them what to colour what, and although Ron was missing his wand, he thought he did okay.

His magic had been very unpredictable lately. It was more powerful than ever, and sometimes Ron could hardly control it.

Guests begun flooding in around three in the afternoon to watch the sun set in a short time and Ron, now collecting coats, thought it was one of the most mind-numbing events he'd ever attended, despite the fact he was surrounded by Death Eaters.

His friends were all dressed up for the event. Last night, they'd spoken about what to do about Kella's friend... but Kella had said she was beyond saving. They would have to leave her.

Michael had given more confusing clues about his past.

"Yes, I was a child when I was first involved in the Death Eaters. Before the age of eleven I lived with my mother - my father was never around. I didn't know he was Rabastan Lestrange, back then." The others were still talking, and it was just Ron Michael was telling this to. "Then I got my Hogwarts letter. I was so excited, and nervous, and when a man arrived at the door saying he was my father and a wizard too, of course I agreed to go with him.

"I never went to Hogwarts. I know now it's because Rabastan never told anyone about his secret family - me and my mother - so he probably took me so I couldn't cause any trouble for him. God, he robbed me of so much.

"For about six years I rattled around the Lestrange Estate alone, being ignored by my father at the best of times. He wasn't made to be a father, Rabastan."

Michael paused. "What did he do?" said Ron. "Hit you, and stuff?"

Michael nodded. "He'd lock me up and drug me so I wouldn't bother him for a few hours. He'd do it when guests were over. Then he started training me in magic when I was about fifteen, and had me turned into a vampire when I was sixteen. Like you. Rabastan started getting interested in werewolf and vampire studies when he made friends with Worple. Then he killed him later so he could take over his research, and twist it, of course.

"When Rabastan went to Azkaban, I couldn't remember being so happy in my life. Fifteen years I had while he was locked up. Fifteen whole years to do what I liked - within some bounds, as the servants had been left with instructions of how to deal with me. But I went out into the world sometimes to see what I'm missed. Then when he came back, he had me doing other things. Bigger jobs. Just whatever needed doing to set this plan in motion."

Ron had nodded, wondering if he was missing something here. It certainly seemed like he was.

"I was offered freedom if I did everything he asked me to... But I know it's a lie, now. It's why I don't mind dying. I know I'll never escape, otherwise." Michael revealed an odd chain around his thin neck, like the cuffs on his wrists but with different runes. It looked especially painful. "Rabastan's stuck a great tracker on me, essentially. These runes can lead him right to me. That's why I can't escape with you. I'll just give away where you are."

Lestrange was still talking, always talking; Ron glanced over at the door he would make his escape through when the sun set, and made eye contact with Michael who was waiting nearby for them. He had also been given new clothing, which looked odd on him. He'd had a very poor lot in life, Ron knew.

"I'm telling you because I don't know if I'll get the chance to tell anyone else," Michael had said. "And someone needs to know."

When he turned Lestrange was looking at him. "You're friends with him." It wasn't a question. "You know him. How?"

"I... feel that the common creatures aren't so below me," Ron replied. "I've managed a sort of friendship with a few. Including Michael."

"Plus Jane?" Lestrange sniffed. "Her case is an odd one. Her entire family are abominations. Werewolves. It seems two bred and produced more." His gaze turned more pensive. "It's an interesting phenomenon. Is a werewolf's child considered a werewolf? A half-werewolf? Human? Can it be all three at once?"

"Only human or werewolf," answered Ron, for lack of anything better. "The child will either transform into a wolf on the full moon or they won't." He thought everyone knew that.

"But you've heard of them having wolfish tendencies regardless, haven't you? And what are the odds of a werewolf child? Does it only depend on parents, or grandparents? If two half-werewolves bred, would it produce a werewolf child? And how do they differ from bitten werewolves? That many questions and more, and we've not yet even considered vampires. Whether a werewolf and a vampire could ever produce a child."

"It's impossible," Ron said, very weirded-out by now.

"But how do we know?" Lestrange grinned. "Have we tried all the possibilities? Don't you see how much there is to learn, Ron? Our experiments only scratched the surface. When we injected werewolf blood into a vampire - your friend Kella - she showed some wolfish tendencies. She chose raw meat over blood. Human flesh she voiced a want for, and enjoyed that all the more.

"Don't you see? We have barely scratched the surface. Really, I was hoping to conduct further experiments around conception with, say, you and your friend Jane. Would you be amicable? In the name of science?"

Lestrange moved away, high on his own supposed genius, and thankfully Ron didn't have to answer.

Submerged in propaganda and doubt as he was, horror reassuringly rose in his throat like bile at Lestrange's words. He didn't seem to realise how downright hideous what he was describing sounded, how dehumanising. Ron was once again reminded that to these people, he was little more than a specimen.

Him and Jane... Christ, Christ. That really put any idea of the two of them well out of his mind.

A crowd gathered to watch the sun set. The ballroom fell silent but for gasps in awe - for what, Ron didn't know, because it was just a normal sun setting. Just a while before it usually did. These posh people were mad.

He began to walk away, increasing in speed the closer he got. An imaginary heart was pounding in his head, but the footsteps of his friends following him were real. Tiberius and Rolf. Ron tore the apron from his waist, balled it up and threw it into a vase in the corner; it was freshly polished, with a curling bundle of white flowers glistening on the front.

"Time to go," said Michael, who had joined them as they split off into a narrower corridor. "Everyone's preoccupied by the sky, where's Jane-"

"Here!" she called out, breathless. Michael nodded, his expression tight with determination.

"Good. Where's Kella?"

"Here," she said. "Come on, let's fucking go!"

Although he'd only been using it for the Death Eaters as far, Ron still had his magic, as did the rest of them, except for Jane. He stunned the few people who they passed. As they were coming up to a side door Michael had led them to that they saw Ardelia, holding a tray of empty glasses.

Her kind face crumpled in confusion. "Ron, what's going on-"

"Move, if you know what's good for you," Ron spat with a surprising amount of venom. "You may have been threatened and blackmailed but that was no reason for doing what you've done, all the extra things. Kicking helpless people. You enjoy it, don't you?"

Ardelia's eyes went wide, although behind her back she was reaching for her wand. She still hadn't moved. "I'm going to have to-"

She broke off as Jane leapt forward and attacked, walloping the girl round the face with a monstrous amount of force. Ardelia sank like a stone, out cold and motionless upon the ground. Jane grinned with a wolfish satisfaction, and stepped over the body. She paused to look back at them.

"We escaping or not?" she said.

Ron was surprised it had been so simple, in the end. They were free.

Chapter Text

Chapter Fifteen

"That was risky of you, Jane-"

"Don't care, I hate that girl-"

"Shut up!" Kella hissed at Tiberius and Jane. "We need to be quiet-"

"Ron, where to now?" asked Rolf, and Ron, still deathly worried that they would be caught, only focused on running faster. He kept the orchard in sight as he sprinted past bare trees, almost hidden amongst the inky sky, bobbing on the hilly green horizon. Michael had planned things for them well. The darkness gave them cover as well as being essential for smuggling out the vampires.

Something - not his heart, but something equally as valuable - beat a tight tattoo in his throat. "Come on," Ron urged as the others lagged behind. "Keep going! Keep going, we have to escape - they'll only be busy for so long-"

"Where are even going?" gasped Tiberius.

"The orchard."

"Why?"

Ron felt a flash of anger. "Does it matter?"

Kella cut in, "I agree with Tiberius. I want to know why we have to go there. I know Michael said, but..."

Ron paused to stare at her. He was forced to stop, as Tiberius and Kella and then the rest had too. From them he'd expected it, but from Rolf and Jane he was disappointed.

"I'd love to fucking chat, guys," he told them quite seriously, "but we don't have any time. So, later, yeah?" Ron started off again, but was called back.

"I don't think we should go that way," said Kella.

"Why not? It's the way Michael told us to go."

"Yeah, but he could've been a spy - he could've set a trap for them. The Death Eaters might be waiting for us just beyond those trees."

"He's not a spy."

"How do you know?"

He couldn't tell the group Michael's secret. "Can't we just run?" said Ron. "Blast 'em if they're there? I don't know about the rest of you, but I feel really... alive. I can feel magic in my blood again."

Ron wanted to cast spells again, use a wand to... blow something up, and bring it back together again.

"I don't like that idea," said Tiberius. "A lot could go wrong."

Still, the more pressing issue was that nobody knew quite what to do.

"Put it to a vote?" suggested Rolf, and they could all agree on that, at least.

Ron voted for the orchard, obviously, as did Rolf and Jane. "I trust Michael," she said. "I don't think he'd send us wrong."

Kella and Tiberius voted to go in a different direction. A sour look came over their faces as they realised: with three votes to two, it was decided they would go towards the orchard.

They passed the rough trunks and knotted branches of the orchard, barren of fruit at this time of year, and no siren screamed. "See," said Rolf, and Tiberius and Kella did not look offended.

In fact, Tiberius laughed. "You realise what this means," he said, "don't you?"

"What?" asked Ron.

"We're free," said Tiberius, like he hardly dared to. Jane smiled widely.

They ran for the exhilaration, after that, rather than the fear.

They travelled late into the night. None of them had a watch, so they didn't have the time. They had absolutely nothing with them, in fact: no food, no water, no proper cloaks - only thin formal robes. It wasn't long before the werewolves were shivering, hardy against the cold but not impervious.

Plus:

"I really, really need a wee," complained Jane.

"There are hedges over there," said Tiberius.

They'd been walking through scrubby farmland during these dark hours, watching as the trees and the grass slowly became coated with ice. Jane frowned at Tiberius' suggestion. "I believe if I did that, then I would freeze. More specifically, my-"

"Jane," said Rolf.

"-I'd be pissing icicles too I reckon and that just sounds uncomfortable-"

"Jane!" Rolf was trying to get her attention. He pointed in the distance to a small, white, hump-like building on the next hill. The thin gravel path they'd been following for some time appeared to lead to the cottage.

"You can have a piss there," said Rolf, and Jane looked surprised.

"Not like you to swear, Rolf."

"I'm just- it's not really a swear word, is it?" He looked worried. "Is it?"

Walking on, the closer they drew, more appeared. A thatched roof, bedraggled rosebushes, a darkened window or three. Tiberius suddenly stopped walking.

"What?" said Ron.

"You sure this place is safe? There could be Death Eaters in there."

Jane squinted. "It looks okay."

"Well, you can't see spells," Kella murmured.

"No, but I can sense good energy from it. Just let me go to the toilet in peace, would you?"

They arrived at the cottage. It was as they'd seen from a distance: quaint, country. Quite nice, really.

Jane whooped in excitement and began sprinting towards it - but Tiberius snatched her hand before she could, and she spun around with a frown on her face.

Their intertwined hands were like a link between them. "What?" she said.

"We don't know if it's a trap." Tiberius spun around to face the rest of them, dropping Jane's hand. "And as no one else wondered why we haven't been caught yet?"

"They'd probably think no one would be that stupid," said Kella. "Not just apparating away."

"And that's how we'll beat them," said Ron, feeling some desire inside him to rally the others rise up. "Jane needs a piss, you said you wanted food, and we all need a shower. So let's break in, I say. We could apparate away, but we'll just find somewhere like this."

That was when the arguing began.

"It's not right." Rolf's face was tight from starvation and severity. Ron watched the strained skin grow tighter.

"I don't care if it's right or not. We need food and water, we need strength in case those bellends turn up and we need to fight. Rolf, this is war. We were locked up and tortured. I'm sure if those people in the cottage knew, they'd give us some food anyway."

"But we're not telling them?"

"Why ask when they might say no?" Ron replied.

"If we get trapped in there-" began Rolf before being interrupted.

"We just apparate ourselves to safety," said Kella. "Because I can actually apparate."

"Me too," said Tiberius. "I haven't done it in a long time - there were wards around the house preventing it - but I think I could go back and forth to side-along the rest of you."

"What if that leaves a trace?" said Jane. Tiberius looked surprised. "Does it leave a trace? It has to. Is that why we've not done it yet?"

"It does, and yes, I suppose," Rolf confirmed. His eyes, a dark blue, swivelled to Ron. "Okay. You've convinced me - that we should go, that stealing's not so bad in this case. Can we go now? I could, er, do with the loo as well, to be honest."

The cottage was set between a few trees, chickens bimbling about in the front garden. Ron could smell them where they roosted, that fug of dry hay drifting to his nose. There were flowers straggling up the path and the door was painted a faded emerald. The place gave off a slight air of desertion.

"But the chickens," Tiberius pointed out, and Rolf nodded quite seriously.

"Someone has to feed them," said Rolf. He grinned. "I love chickens. I used to have six I kept as pets in my back garden: Gregory, Gulliver-"

"That's great Rolf, but can you be quiet for a second? I'm trying to listen." Ron's expression cleared. "People. Inside."

There were two strong heartbeats within the walls of the cottage. The bed creaked with every breath. A man and a woman, snoring in sync.

"That's my dinner," said Ron, mind already made up.

The others stared at him.

"What?"

"You would just do that?"

Ron reached out a hand to Tiberius' shoulder. It settled there comfortably - for Ron, perhaps not for Tiberius. "If there is one thing I can do, it is this. Trust me." Something in his tone dropped, fell, quite without Ron being able to control it. "I'm too good at it, honestly. When you're a vampire sometimes you have accidents. Very bad ones which involve murder."

"You mean you've killed people?" said Tiberius, eyes wide.

"You won't go too far this time, will you?" said Jane.

Ron glanced back. Kella was at his side. He merely shrugged.

"I'll make sure he doesn't. Alohomora," Kella barely paused to utter, and the disdained door obeyed, swinging inwards with a whine. Inside lay a basic kitchen, wooden cabinets still in the cold darkness and a crimson rug insulating the worn floorboards. But upstairs was the real food.

Ron stood watching, looming above them like a monstrous shadow.

"I don't know about this," Ron muttered. The man gave a particularly loud snore. "It's been a while since I've fed fresh. What if I muck it up?"

Kella was staring at him as though his question had been stupid. And it was: Ron could think back to last August when he'd been wondering the very same thing. But it had all clicked when it came down to it: he sunk his teeth in, inhaled so he was submerged in that heavenly flood of red, and drank his fill. Then he cast a healing spell over them, set them down and left them. It went near enough the same every time.

Both sleepers were stupefied. Kella picked up the arm of the woman, and bit deeply. She didn't stir, except for a small sigh the woman gave when she began to go especially limp.

Ron nudged her. "I think that's enough now."

Kella ripped herself away, staggering back as she wiped a hand across her mouth. "Your turn."

Ron picked up the man's arm, seeing as his neck was a bit difficult to get to, covered in a thick duvet. He sunk his teeth in.

Ron felt bliss for the first time in a while.

When he returned, he could hear crashing downstairs. "The others wanted something to eat," Kella explained, and Ron descended down to the kitchen to see what was going on.

The place had been turned upside down.

Cupboards hung by a single screw, yanked wide open; a bag of flour had been tipped over and had coated the kitchen in snowy particles, still eddying through the air like feathers; Jane was missing, presumably in the loo whilst only the back end of Tiberius could be seen as he had jammed himself into a cupboard, scrabbling right to the back to find food.

Rolf was sat with a tin of peaches on a kitchen chair. In his other hand was a bag of bread, and he ate bits of both alternatingly. Tiberius emerged and staggered to his feet with a small tin, grinning triumphantly, just as Jane, back from the toilet, tackled him for the bourbon he'd just pulled out of the flower-printed biscuit receptacle.

Ron started to laugh. He couldn't help it. Rolf, cheeks stuffed like a squirrel preparing for winter, glanced up enquiringly. Ron shook his head.

"It's nothing. We should be safe here, for a bit." He glanced to the side of him, admired the diddy little lily pad embroidery thing hung on the wall.

Yes, he thought to himself; they would be safe here.

Ron was third to have a shower, and there was still some warmth in the water. As it cascaded over his tired bones, rinsing the dirt that had accumulated on his skin, Ron thought about his previous showers.

Squalid water in a grimy sink. Desperately cupping stone-cold water in his hands, scrubbing the sweat and grunge from his skin but only managing to dilute it. His feet were bare on filthy stone, the nails yellowed and cracked. They still were. The last time he'd tried to examine them he ended up snapping off the whole nail, so Ron let them do what they liked.

Ron's toes were bent and misshapen, as were his fingers. They had been cut off and regrown time after time. One of his elbows stuck out awkwardly where the bone had healed itself, super-fast, before he could reset it in the correct position. That was a problem he never thought he'd have.

A shuddering exhale as Ron breathed through it all. Cold bit at his fingertips, twisted as they were.

He stepped out of the shower in the farmhouse and was comforted by the fact he wouldn't have more hard labour to endure. Digging holes suspiciously like graves as the moon shone overhead. Plucking overripe pears from a tree. Shifting bodies onto a makeshift gurney and picking up one side, the cuffed werewolf on the other side grabbing the other. Scrubbing used silverware and shining it till it sparkled, dazzling as a jewel. Tipping the body into the grave and filling up the cavity, walking away from the overturned field once the deed was done.

They didn’t do that most of the time, not when the bodies could be chopped up to use the bones, the meat and the blood for other things. The bones were made into masks for the Dark Lord's closest servants, the number growing all the time. The meat was for his lordship's serpent, for the werewolves' meals or to be sold on Diagon Alley for cheap (even Lucius Malfoy's endless Gringotts vault ran dry, sometimes). The blood was for the vampires, mixed in with human blood, or again to be sold, bottled like souvenirs.

Ron still craved it. Blood. He felt around his roughened gums and razor-like teeth and saw blood on the pad of his finger.

He tasted the blood. It was his own.

Using the toothbrush by the sink, Ron brushed his teeth for the first time in almost a year.

They had all eaten again and dressed in fresh clothing. Tiberius was swamped in a farmer's jacket and Jane clad in a long jumper and borrowed jeans from the wife. Kella had yanked on boots she found by the door. She was trying to tie up her hair now, with a very limp ribbon she'd found on the floor. Tiberius helped her, launching into stories about his sisters forcing him to do their hair. Since his mother was from Ghana, his sisters' hair (and Tiberius') had a far curlier texture than Kella's.

Ron thought about Mordecai. He'd told his friends about him in the dungeons, between one dusty, broken bottle of congealed blood and another. Ron still had things he wanted to ask him. It was weird thinking he hadn't seen Mordecai in... longer than a year, by now, given it was almost Christmas.

Why was he with the Death Eaters? How did they force him to train Ron? He knew now they'd definitely been blackmailing him, but Ron often wondered what it was they had on him.

He looked back at the room. They were all just sat on the sofas, bored.

"What now?" said Jane.

Her question stumped them. Ron shrugged. "I don't know."

"Me neither."

"A very useful contribution, Tiberius," said Kella. "Okay. Let's form a plan. Ron?"

"What?"

"What's the plan?"

"Why're you asking me?"

"Well I... assumed, considering you were the one who organised this with Michael that you had some idea of what we were going to do."

"Technically, Michael organised that with me. I wish he'd come with us. I did offer. But he said no. Rabastan had this chain around his neck that could let him find him, so Michael couldn't come with us. Plus, he seemed half afraid of what he might do if he was set free." Ron didn't tell them that Michael planned to die from the Death Eaters' punishment. He couldn't bring it up, not now.

"Do you never feel that way?" said Kella. "You know what we've done to people. Most of us are murderers here."

Ron couldn't answer Kella's question, instead responding, "Well... Michael gave us the plan, although he didn't come with us, and he said to go on over the orchard until we came upon a small town."

"Is this it? This can't be it."

"If it was just one house he'd have said." Ron stood and went to the window, and gazed out across the darkened plains as far as he could see. Just in the distance, the spire of a church rose above a hill. "We need to move on, and soon - dawn is coming."

Jane packed biscuits and some apples into a small bag, and Rolf squashed in a loaf bread. Tiberius layered on an extra coat. Ron and the group walked on, following the rough path hewn through the fields. Often it disappeared, dominated by thick groves of nettle or long grass, and they had to push a mouldering fence aside to get into another field. But they walked all night, heading for the church spire which exceeded the trees ahead.

"Come on," Ron urged them, speeding up. They passed one house, then another. The sky was turning a pale, blushing pink and his eyes were beginning to twitch at the brightness. "Come on, we can't get caught out when the sun rises! We'll die!"

"Go ahead," panted Rolf. Darkness ringed his eyes like bruises. "We can't- we can't catch-"

The vampires moved swiftly on whilst the werewolves remained back. Jane sat down upon a tree stump, head hanging low and eyes shut; Tiberius turned towards the sky and glanced at the rising sun.

"How much longer should we rest, do you think?" asked Jane.

Rolf answered, hand raised to shield his eyes from the sun. "Until my feet stop hurting."

"Oh, come on. We haven't even been walking that long."

"Well, they still hurt, Jane. And we have been walking for a long time - all night, in fact, and most of that whilst I was fainting of hunger."

"You were not."

He gave her an indignant look. "Was."

"Stop arguing, you two," interrupted Tiberius. "It won't help anythi-"

"It's just a bit of ribbing - calm down, Tibbles." Jane grinned. "You have many friends, Rolf?"

He looked startled. "What, ever? Or now?"

"Do you have more friends now than you did before?"

There was some hesitation before Rolf replied, glumly itching the back of his neck. "I... You know the answer to that already, don't be horrible."

"Hey, I wasn't about to judge you. I never had many friends either. Or, I did back at school, but they were just people who would bum me a smoke if I asked – or someone I would give one to."

"You smoke?"

"You sound frightened, Rolf."

"It's just... I never have."

"Well, maybe you should. It's very relaxing."

"Very dangerous."

"We're werewolves, what is it actually going to do? Besides, what else do you do at parties?" said Jane.

Rolf lingered for a few moments too long.

"Have you ever been to a party?"

"If you... if you count my granddad’s birthday parties, then I have-"

"Salazar, let's just go," muttered Tiberius irritably, standing and striding off in the direction the vampires had gone - some time ago now, since Rolf and Jane had spent a while talking.

Meanwhile, the vampires had reached the church, and after breaking the lock dived inside. It was a bit ironic, but there was nowhere closer.

The heavy doors slammed shut behind them. Dust motes spun in the air where the flood of air had disturbed them, and Ron slid down against the back of the door. Sunlight leaked in in small, leaning towers onto the pews. Kella sat down amongst the rows, dutifully avoiding them.

"Is this disrespectful?"

"No. We come here seeking refuge. And as long as we don't break anything, it should be fine." Kella stared at the stained glass windows; her voice had echoed around the wide space and Ron could only imagine how magnificent a full choir would sound. For now the church was empty, given it was about five in the morning.

"Is it true that vampires can't cross holy land?" asked Ron.

"We're the proof that they can," Kella replied. "It's superstition. Like garlic or silver."

"Hang on," said Ron," I don't like garlic bread anymore. Are you telling me that's not because I was turned into a vampire?"

Kella went quiet, thinking. Ron got the feeling she didn't like churches very much.

The intersection of Muggle religion and magic was... complicated, but it still occurred. Someone had wanted Ron and his siblings all christened... his dad's Muggle uncle, or something. Charlie actually was, somehow, but they never went to church. And technically, Ron's mum was part of the Old Religion, since her family were Prewetts, but again there had never been much religious fervour in the family.

"Can we leave?" asked Kella, staring at a tapestry on the wall.

"We have to wait for the werewolves."

"Okay." There was a long silence. "So what do we do now?"

"Well, after waiting for the werewolves, we have to wait for night again. We've made it to the village, so then I think we should try and find whoever it was Michael said could help us."

"And how do we know who that is? Are we just going to have to ask everyone in this town for help until we chance upon them?"

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Three strict raps, booming around the chapel, swimming through the archways high up above.

Ron and Kella stood, placing themselves halfway down the aisle.

"What do we do?" muttered Kella.

The door began to open. They had left it unlocked, not thinking that anyone else would be in the area. Besides, they could take care of themselves... Couldn't they?

The door opened to reveal a small woman, with light brown skin and a long ponytail of curly, wispy black hair running down her back. She wore a worn, comfortable-looking red coat and had a wary, yet inquisitive expression on her face.

"Ah," she said, expression clearing. "Vampires. D'you know, that was the very first thing I thought when the wards I placed on the church were triggered after you magically unlocked the doors. Vampires. So many about these days, you really wouldn't believe it. But there were almost none to begin with." She finally paused for breath. "Well. Who do we have here? Introduce yourselves, if you please, seeing as it's my property you're stood on. If the domain of God can have such an owner, of course. But someone has to see to the hedges."

There was pause as the woman waited for them to answer. Ron stepped forward.

"My name is... Ron. And this is Kella. We've... we're in danger. A lot of it. If we're found, we'll be killed. Or worse." Sent back to work terrorising Muggles.

"By whom?"

"Death Eaters," Ron admitted.

There was something strange about the woman's expression. Something mistrustful, shifting like an eel in the centre of her dark eyes. Ron saw the movement of her wrist and caught the gleam of a wand in the weak sunlight.

"Early for your to be up," he remarked.

She shrugged. "It's only six. I work early. My land has animals who need feeing."

"And you're a witch."

"It was obvious when I mentioned wards."

"And you are... do you know a vampire called Michael?"

The woman paused. Then, carefully, she said: "No, I don't believe I do. Who is he?"

"He sent you to us-"

"Then more fool he for sending Death Eaters my way," the woman spat. "I know you! How could you think I don't? Kella Wright, Ronald Weasley, the two most insidious creatures the Death Eaters have ever owned - how could you?! The people you've murdered, families torn apart-"

She seemed to catch herself. Her chest had been rising and falling violently. The woman had to steady herself with one hand, the other holding her wand strengthening her grip on it.

"I want you to leave," she said, threat clear as the daylight outside in her voice. "Now."

The werewolves paused at the church.

"Do we go in?" queried Rolf.

"Nah. Looks grim as," said Jane, and wandered on past. It reminded her of her dad. He had been a fairly devout Irish Catholic.

Jesus, she hoped her parents could find her someday. She imagined them at home, although she knew they would more than likely not be there. And Chris, where was he? Jane was eighteen and her brother only fifteen, and he couldn't fend for himself out here.

Jane stared at the sunlight bouncing off a frozen pond and thought how amazing it was she'd lived through all of the torture to be able to see this. As they walked, small houses appeared and she picked the snow off the rough stone wall running beside them. In January it snowed, usually, and it was nearly then.

"What's the date?" she asked the two boys. They were nicer than most, but she knew them well. Jane hadn't known many boys well before except those in her family.

"Want to find that out?"

Now moving further into town, they saw a battered newsagents, one window shattered to let the wind howl in.

"Is it open?"

"Can't tell."

The heavy door, an opaque, plastered white, was shut. It didn't look welcoming. Swallowing down his trepidation, Tiberius took a step forward. He curled his palm around the handle, and turned.

There were rows well-padded with product like an avid shoplifter's jacket. Tiberius craned his head to try and glimpse the end of the shelves. Jane was behind him, and as she stepped onto the worn linoleum it awoke memories of the corner shop near her house growing up. Jane was from Leeds. She missed the small park just two streets from her house more deeply than even her parents, sometimes.

She'd been in the last year of sixth form. God. She was supposed to have taken her A-Level exams, and- and shit, she'd missed them. She'd have to redo them sometime, she realised, and Jane had never looked forward to anything less in her life.

Jane was distracted by a packet of revels.

"I adore these." To the side of her, the two boys appeared confused. "Haven't you ever had revels? I thought me and Chris had educated you in Muggle things enough, Tiberius, but apparently not. Come on." She tore the packet open, even as Rolf made noises about stealing again. "Have a few. They're very good."

"I don't know, I'm not much of a fan of chocolate..."

"Don't be sodding ridiculous, just eat one. Some of them are orange, or coffee, or toffee. If you get a raisin one I won't get offended if you spit it out."

"Ooh!" said Rolf, evidently over his disgruntlement at her rule-breaking. "I like raisins."

"I like them too," said Tiberius, and to her utter disgust, it seemed to be the thing which motivated them to reach into the packet.

"You'll have to pay for those, you realise."

Jane's eyes widened and she dropped the packet. Chocolates went rolling across the floor. The man standing in front of them was not amused. "And you'll be picking them up, too."

"Sorry," Rolf mumbled. But Tiberius was still staring at the man.

He looked to be middle-aged or older, and incredibly tired. He had dark hair, pale skin complete with bags under his eyes, and a pair of glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. His shirt billowed from his frame like a wrung-out dishcloth, and he came to a disappointing effect overall. Except, there was a fire lurking in his brown eyes. Tiberius ignored all of that. Instead, his eye caught on the watch the man was wearing, more specifically the face of it, which had planets on it.

It was very similar to the watch Tiberius, along with many wizards and witches across the country, had been given on his seventeenth birthday when he came of age, and what had been taken from him by the Death Eaters.

"No need to pick them up by hand," said Tiberius. Summoning his magic, he waved his hand and the bag was set upright again, chocolates neatly filing in, hand only trembling a little. It was easy. As a werewolf his magic was stronger than ever, and wandless magic had become far easier too. But he had done nothing so intricate in a while.

Tiberius glanced up at the man. "My name is Tyler. This is Jane, and Rob."

They all nodded. They were going along with it, for now, realising Tiberius had thought ahead of them. If this man was a wizard and had picked up the Daily Prophet in the last few months, he would know their reputation as some of the most dangerous Death Eaters of their day. On par with the likes of the Carrows, Dolohov, Bellatrix Lestrange in terms of danger if you met them on the street, and only outmatched by decades of a terrifying reputation and experience.

They were the new generation, everyone understood. That alone was enough to pump fear into the hearts of all reading.

So clearly, this man hadn't been reading since he hadn't recognised them. But he might recognise the names Tiberius Fawley and Rolf Scamander if he heard them, tainted by the mutterings of others.

The man was scanning them. "I hope you don't think this is rude, but you three look like werewolves. Am I wrong?"

Tiberius felt his hackles rising. "How-"

"Calm down, my wife was a werewolf. And my children had tendencies. I realise the giveaways. Calm down, I won't hurt you. I know how dangerous it is during these times." He paused. "But how did you hear about me? Anu didn't say anything, or any of the others..."

"We just came here looking for food," said Rolf. "Why? Are you part of something?" It sounded like it.

"Not exactly. But we..." The man seemed to struggle with himself. "In this village we have many people like you. Mainly werewolves, but some vampires, too. We keep them safe from the Death Eaters - and there's freedom, we don't lock you up. We give you money to buy your own food, some furniture you'd like."

"Furniture?"

The man met eyes with Jane. "Triffern's been practically empty since the war began since most of the magical populace went into hiding. So we have a lot of empty houses which the creatures use. Which you can use, if you like. There's a main hall if not."

"You'd let us stay here?" said Jane. "But we don't even know your name - how do we know you're not a Death Eater?"

"My name is Douglas," the man replied. "And I'm not a Death Eater. You can see my bare left arm." Douglas paused. "But not every Death Eater has a dark mark, do they?"

He let his gaze linger just a beat too long. Tiberius wondered if he knew what he and Rolf really were, where they'd just come from. Jane was safe at least, since Rabastan Lestrange had judged her too nameless to participate in any of the more public violent activities. It had only been Ron, Rolf, Kella, Tiberius and Daphne - but Daphne wasn't with them. And Tracey, another, had been dead for months, Tiberius was certain.

"Come and meet some of the others," said Douglas. "It should reassure you. Come on."

"What if we refuse?" Ron said. The air was tense, filled with gas right before an explosion. It felt as though one lit match (one stray comment) would blow them all the way to high heaven. Maybe literally.

But they couldn't fight. The vampires were at a serious disadvantage with it being day. They were trapped in here, and the woman was not. She also had a wand. Ron was confident with his magic, but... he didn't know how good of a duellist she was. What if she were ten times better than Mordecai and mopped the floor with him? And then reported him to the press?

All of this knowledge making his skin crawl, Ron tried his best to get them out of this situation. He wouldn't go back. Ron glanced down at his wrists, still marked with runes where the cuffs had chaffed him. They were dark, ugly, permanent reminders of his shackles.

Never again.

He shook his sleeves back down to see the woman had placed up a powerful shield charm which could not easily be broken.

"Leave," she repeated.

"Can't," said Kella. "You know what we are. Can't go out in the day."

"Why are you here?"

We're hiding from the Death Eaters, and if word gets to them we'll be-"

A furrow appeared in the woman's brow. "You're hiding from them? Why?"

"It's all a lie. We've been their prisoners for months." Kella showed the woman the wretched scars from the runes. Undoubtedly, they went skin-deep. Ron wondered if, when he was dead, they would be carved into his bones too.

"The cuffs prevent the wearer from doing magic," said Kella. "Ours were removed so that we could do everything the paper says we've done."

"Says you've done? So you don't think you're guilty?"

"That is a bit of a lie," Ron admitted, and caught Kella throwing him a dirty look. "We still did all that stuff, but we... we weren't aware of ourselves." As he said it Ron felt a ghost of Rabastan Lestrange in his head, slithering like a serpent amongst the crevices of his brain matter.

"The... the Imperius curse, you mean?"

Ron felt his expression falter. The woman's grew more earnest. "I'm not exactly sure."

"Well, I could believe it for you. You're a Weasley. I almost didn't believe it, even though you were photographed actively murdering people and everyone around me disagreed." She paused. "Well, there's not many other magical folk I see nowadays. Everyone in Triffern's gone into hiding."

"Is that where we are?" he asked. "Triffern?"

"Yes. Didn't you know?"

"Do you see now that we aren't really Death Eaters?" Kella said. "We don't even know where the hell we are, really."

"I'm not convinced yet. It could be an act."

"Tell us your name," said Ron. He was hoping to find some connection.

The woman replied, "My name is Anuradha Bhatt, but you can call me Anu for short."

"Well, it's good to meet you, Anu. What can we do to make you believe us?"

Anu thought for a moment. Then she said, "I need to introduce you to someone. Another person of the town who helps people like you. Vampires and werewolves, I mean."

"That's good," said Kella. "We have three other friends who are werewolves."

"How'd you end up together?"

"They were captured by the Death Eaters too. Not everyone was in the papers, you know."

Anu frowned. "What?"

"Can we explain later?" said Kella.

"We're very tired, and we're a bit confused, and we just really need your help," Ron finished. "So... Please?"

It was a long moment before Anu nodded.

"Okay. I'll help."

"We're still going to have to sit here all day," said Kella, and she and Ron sat back down in the last row of pews.

Ron's eyes cringed at the sunlight. "Can you shut the door please, Anu?"

She agreed to, and he felt calm again in the cold bliss of darkness.

"How long is it you've been kept locked up, as you say?"

"I don't really know," he said, and felt confused again. He had to rest a palm against his forehead. "I can't remember everything, and sometimes I get confused and I... the days blur, and sometimes I'd just- just wake up, and it had been... weeks..."

"Really reassuring her that we're normal and sane, Weasley," muttered Kella.

"You don't feel the same way?"

"I never said that."

There was a pause, and then it struck Ron.

"Where are the werewolves?" he said. "Shouldn't they have gotten here by now?"

Jane, Tiberius and Rolf were led into a large hall, with rough blue carpet and wide cheap windows letting in the light; it reminded Jane of school again. There were a few others in the room: werewolves, notably.

One boy walked over to them. "Hello." Jane nodded at him in return, and knew he was a werewolf. "Who are you?"

"Jane," she replied.

"Are you going to stay here?"

"Maybe."

"This is Tiberius, Jane and Rolf," Douglas introduced them to the boy. There were not many in the room but Tiberius caught the strained glances suddenly sent their way. So preoccupied was he with deciphering these and figuring out from whom they'd come from, that he nearly missed what Douglas said.

Tiberius, Jane and Rolf.

He'd introduced himself as Tyler, and Rolf as Rob.

Shit. Douglas knew who they were.

It was too late to panic, though. Tiberius just sighed. "You know."

"I know who you are, but I'd wager that's not even half the story."

"What is this?" Rolf demanded, eyes wide. 

"Tell me your story and I'll see what it is. If you're not dangerous to my friends here then you can stay, and if you're not, then you can't. Simple as."

Tiberius reflected that he was right. It did seem simple. So, in the most straightforward terms he could muster, he began to explain what had happened to them. He was proud of how steady his words were, as he said the papers had lied, that they'd been forced to do things they didn't want to, that they'd been... treated very badly.

"Treated badly how? Beaten?"

"Yes," Jane filled in for him, and she filled in the blanks for the rest of that section which Tiberius could not face. She was brilliant, Jane was. They were friends. Her family had taken him in at a difficult time, and sometimes he wanted to kiss her, though he could never admit it to himself after the fancy passed. Tiberius thought it was partly because he couldn't imagine kissing a Muggle, and it disappointed him that even after so long away from his parents, he couldn't separate their voices from his own in his own head.

He'd come far from what he once was, but... could he go further still?

"Douglas, please," Tiberius begged him, "let us stay. Please. We need somewhere to go. And... you have to. Please. Just let Jane stay, at least."

She protested. "Tiberius-"

"No, stop, you're innocent. Douglas, she's not done half the stuff I have."

"Or that I have," Rolf chipped in. Unhelpfully, since Tiberius was trying to get these two off as innocent.

Douglas raised an eyebrow. "Why should I let you stay? Do you have nowhere else to go?" His wand had appeared in his hand, and the three felt dread.

Then another voice interrupted.

"To be fair to them, I already agreed to let their friends stay," said a new person. A woman, with long dark hair and features of South Asian origin. And behind her was-

"Ron," said Rolf, filled with overwhelming relief. "So you made it. Thought you got lost, or something."

Ron stepped forward grinning, and he and Rolf hugged. "I should say the same to you. Where did you disappear off to?"

"Wait a moment," Anu interrupted. "I think Douglas and I should talk about whether or not you can stay-"

"I don't think we need to," said Douglas, giving them a kind look. "I don't believe they're Death Eaters."

"You... Really, Douglas? Do you think that's wise?"

"I suppose they could be trying to recruit creatures to take back to the Death Eaters, but I'm willing to give them the benefit of the doubt." Douglas smiled at them. "Still, I can't let you leave."

"What?" said Jane.

"This hall has very strong wards upon it. We'll keep you here for a little while. Not long, just a few days. There are rooms for you to use, since you may well be innocent and we don't wish to deprive you. So forgive us the caution, but we have to, in these times. You'd understand if you'd seen the papers these last few months. Every single day."

The group was silent for a moment. Ron saw how, once again, they'd stumbled into a prison. He eyed Anu and Douglas with caution. Were they genuine in their pledge not to hurt them?

"How long will you keep us here?" asked Ron.

"We'll see," said Anu, and her and Douglas walked away to talk more.

Several days went by and the group remained in the halls.

Ron, Rolf and Tiberius picked a room not far from the main hall. It had a small bathroom and beds, and the girls weren't far. "Sort of like the dungeons," said Tiberius ruefully, and Ron had to agree. At least this time they could see outside. Not to mention, the fact there was no torture improved things significantly.

In the mornings, afternoons and evenings the table in the main hall would be bursting with food. In total they made roughly twenty creatures, and while Ron stayed away from most of them, he made one or two friends. One boy Eren (who often spoke to Jane) and his sister Carrie he told about the fifty creatures the Death Eaters were still holding captive, feeding rotten food and forcing to do back-breaking work late into the night.

Here Douglas supplied them well. There were six types of jam on the breakfast tables and a mountain of toast, so Rolf was very happy.

The view was decent from their room. It opened onto a small garden, with an unruly hedge and small tree which, in the mornings, had branches bowing under the strength of frozen ice. It snowed properly after a week there, and Jane finally snapped.

"Let us out," she said to Douglas. "It's been ages! Come on, you speak to us every day, you know we're not Death Eaters! I can't even do magic, so how could I be one? And why would I be friends with Death Eaters if I'm a Muggle?"

"I don't know, why would you?" asked Douglas, which only infuriated Jane further. But then he was nodding. "But I see your point. And yes, we'll let you go now. I have spoken to all of you and I think you're just normal. But don't tell Anu."

"Yeah Rolf," said Tiberius, and Rolf looked round.

"What?"

"I'm joking. But you two are very good friends-"

"Shut up, Tiberius."

Breathing in the fresh air after so long was brilliant. It was early evening - the sun was down, but the sky wasn't too dark yet. Ron had just had something to eat (human blood Douglas said came from donations from the local hospital, and Ron hadn't probed much further) and was feeling good.

"This is great," said Ron. "I feel much better. It's the first time we've been outside in a week."

They were all sat sprawled in the grass, tearing up strands idly. Douglas had gone back in for a bit, while Anu still prowled. She felt it necessary to supervise them still.

"So what now?" said Kella.

"We move on," Tiberius said to her. "I want to."

"Why would you? There's food and water, beds, clothes, and other people," Jane said, quite reasonably. "Why do you want to leave?"

Rolf, Tiberius and Kella shook their heads.

"We're still close to the Death Eaters."

"Other people might join this place and recognise us, and try to kill us. Anu and Douglas only just held back, I think."

"Shouldn't stay in one place too long."

Ron knew his spirits would sink, but it didn't stop him as he said, "Have none of you thought about going home?"

"Got no home to go to," said Kella.

"I don't want to go back to the house when it's empty," said Jane. "Or worse, filled with other randoms who've moved in."

"I lived with her, so I'm out of options too," Tiberius added.

"I could," said Rolf, sounding optimistic. Then his expression was wrenched by sadness. "No. My granddad would never forgive me."

"I might have the same problem. My family fights in the Order, and as far as I can tell the war's still going on" (he couldn't believe Rabastan Lestrange had lied to him about - or maybe he could) "so they probably won't welcome me back with open arms. My best friend hates the Death Eaters more than... Well, it's Harry Potter, he hates the Death Eaters more than anyone, probably. And I'm one of them now. So he should hate me too."

Behind him, Anu had started. Her sudden jerk made Ron jump, still a little wary of sudden movement right out of his eyeshot.

"What is it?" he said.

"Did you just say Harry Potter?"

"I did, yeah." Ron shrugged. "So what?"

"You know him?"

"Yeah, I do." Ron scanned her face urgently. She just looked stricken - nothing- nothing useful to him. "Is he alive? What about Hermione? Are they alive?"

Anu nodded. "They're alive. Merlin, their faces are in the paper every day. If they were dead we would certainly have heard about it. They're all anyone talks about, these days. Here." She dug into the deep pocket of her coat and brought out a newspaper. "Look."

It was another Daily Prophet. This time, it was Harry's face was blown wide across the front, inky eyes darkly penetrating, and the words 'UNDESIRABLE NO. 1' equally as large.

The headlines read: MUDBLOODS ON THE RUN. TERRORIST ORGANISATION THE ORDER OF THE PHOENIX STRIKES AGAIN. DARK LORD'S TERMS ACCEPTED BY FRENCH MINISTER FOR MAGIC.

Dear Merlin. Things had gotten... very bad.

"Understatement," Kella muttered.

"I s'pose I'm just glad Harry and Hermione are alive."

"Some say the war is over, because there's no way we can overcome this," said Anu. "But I don't think it is. We just need one last push. One last battle where we can defeat the Death Eaters, and we can turn it around. There's got to be one last stand before it's over."

Ron scoffed. "I'm definitely coming to that, then. Got a date in mind?"

"Some say it'll be spring. But there are hardly enough of us left to scrape a defence together."

"Oh dear," said Rolf.

"Maybe it's for the best," said Tiberius. My duelling's gotten absolutely shocking since I've been stuck in a dungeon."

"At least you can use magic," said Jane. "I've still got these blinking cuffs on - and they don't half hurt."

Anu made a low noise. "Well, I'm no expert in runes. Neither is Douglas. It's Balthazar you'll want to talk to for that. And he's not here in Triffern. He's not too far away, but it'll take a week or two to travel there if you're going by foot. It means you'll have to go out in the open again if you want to find him."

"I do," said Jane, hope in her voice. "God, I really do. I don't care if there are risks - I need to get these things off me."

"Okay," said Anu. "We'll work something out."

Not long after that, Douglas let them roam the wider village. Not that it was much of one: there was a very small housing estate, a school, a leisure centre, a park with very wobbly swings, and Sainsburys. Plus Douglas' shop.

"I know this place is a bit rubbish," Douglas admitted as they stood outside the supermarket, just he and Ron and the shopping list tucked in Douglas' hand. "But it's got a nice Sainsburys. And some nice houses."

During their time at Triffern they remained in those main halls, which Douglas said had functioned as a sort of summer camp or activity centre for school kids, where they could do nature walks and rock-climbing and all that stuff. Jane said she knew what Douglas was on about. It had closed to the public for some time and housed creatures instead, on the run from You-Know-Who. Douglas said he did it for his wife. His family had been killed by the Death Eaters some time ago for being werewolves, or half-werewolves, in the case of his children. 

"Someone needs to sort it all out," he said. "The way the Ministry treats werewolves and vampires has been shocking for years. None of you can help it. But you're punished anyway." Douglas glanced at him. "Promise me, Ron, that if you get the chance, you'll do something about it. You're Harry Potter's friend. Even if you're disgraced, you've still got influence. Soon as you can, turn your reputation around, and make sure no one's ever treated like the way my wife and my children were again."

Douglas had nothing else to dedicate his life to, so he'd done something in honour of the people he'd lost. Ron thought it was noble of him, and aimed to act in the same spirit, as soon as he could.

It was around February they decided to move on. They'd spent some weeks acclimating to freedom once more, whilst learning what had happened during their time away. Ron learnt that Dumbledore was dead, and his family had gone into hiding after the Order collapsed; so Ron could not find them, and Rolf didn't want to accidentally endanger his grandfather by going to find him either. For the time being, it was decided to give up on finding family again. Tiberius still hadn't told Jane that hers were dead.

They packed their things, now greatly increased by what Triffern had given them. Tiberius nearly fell over when he put his rucksack back on.

"I'll be back again one day," Rolf said to Anu, who had improved now that any suspicion about them had been alleviated. "To thank you. What you and Douglas are doing here is fantastic."

She thanked him.

Ron had considered that they could be dead by the end of this war. Maybe the Death Eaters find them again, maybe this Balthazar bloke is turns them all in (to the Ministry or the Death Eaters, it wouldn't matter) rather than helping them get the cuffs off, or kills them. But it wouldn't do to have a member of their team utterly defenceless, or in constant pain. Who knew when there would be another chance to get Jane's cuffs off? Ron and the others' cuffs had been taken off so they could do more dirty work for the Death Eaters, but Jane had never done that sort of thing.

It was on a misty morning that they said goodbye to Triffern, and the few inhabitants it still possessed. Ahead of them lay the path to Balthazar's Keep; in their bags lay plenty of food, clothes, torches, batteries and other essentials.

"I think I'll miss that place," said Jane as they walked away, and Ron had to agree.

They passed the church again as they were leaving Triffern.

Chapter Text

Chapter Sixteen

"Well," said Ron. "Path ends here."

"Is that what it says on the map?"

Ron was quiet for far too long, and Tiberius found this silence suspicious. "Ron… you can read a map, can't you?"

More silence. Then, defensively: "It's a lot harder than it looks, alright? You think it's just one field and it doesn't look very big, but then there's this hedge not on the map and you have to go-"

"We are going the right way," said Kella. She laughed. "You really think we'd let you steer us wrong, great leader?"

Ron frowned. "I'm not-"

"What time is it?" asked Jane groggily. If it was possible to sleep while you were upright and walking, Jane had found a way.

"Four in the morning," Rolf replied, the only one with a watch around his wrist. 

Ron considered this. By the lightening sky, Ron could tell the sun would soon be rising. "Should we stop soon, then? Are there any buildings about that we can hide in during the day?"

"Anu's marked places on the map where we can hide in the day," said Kella, and pointed to red cross etched on the map. "There's a shed not very far away if you want to settle down now. Sun's not up yet, but is anyone tired?"

"Me," groaned Tiberius.

"Where's your strength, Fawley?" said Rolf jokingly.

"Be quiet Scamander, I'm tired. Please just let me sleep. I'll pay you my entire family fortune."

The Fawleys did have an awful lot of money. Regardless of that, Ron agreed they should stop.

All day they'd talked and walked, and it was just like hanging out with his friends. They were well fed, well washed and well rested, for the most part, and life was okay. There was a war on and it was frankly suspicious why they hadn't been caught yet, but Douglas had suggested that there were anti-tracking wards still active from when the old Ministry had controlled things. Ones which protected people's privacy – only to an extent, because it was still the Ministry. But it had kept them safe.

Their shed was falling apart and the door opened with an utterly hideous whine, but Tiberius slumped inside and would not get up again. Jane thought it would be funny to put dry leaves into his mouth. Afterwards, she forced Rolf to help her make a campfire while Kella and Ron inched further into the shed, the encroaching sunlight forcing them away from the entrance.

Soon, the door was shut.

Everyone woke again when evening was setting in, startled awake by Tiberius choking on the dry leaves. After picking the last one off his tongue, he demanded, "Alright, who did that?"

He chased Jane around the shed five times before managing to catch her, and shoved a whole bundle of leaves down the back of her top in revenge. It was quite entertaining, Ron wouldn't lie.

Rolf brought out his notebook and began writing something. It was the date. "February twentieth," he said aloud, and it reminded Ron of something.

"It'll be my birthday soon," he said. "My eighteenth." Ron blinked. "Wow. That's mad. I'll be eighteen, and still not…"

"Home again?" said Rolf. "Yeah. Weird, isn't it?"

"Hey, don't go all mopey." Jane sat down next to him, Tiberius next to her. "Eighteen's always a good one," she said. "You come of age, all that."

"It's seventeen in the Wizarding World."

"You're joking - really? So you can buy a drink at seventeen without a fake I.D.?"

Tiberius nodded. Jane loo

"I don't know why you're bothered. I don't celebrate much anymore," said Kella. "For a vampire, age is irrelevant."

"But it's his eighteenth," Tiberius argued lightly. "Three hundred and whatever the fuck you are isn't as monumental as that."

Kella ignored his comment "When is it?" she asked instead.

"First of March."

"We'll celebrate, then. When we reach this Balthazar bloke we'll ask him to make a cake," said Jane. Rolf was nodding along, pleased at the idea of a party with his friends. Then Jane caught herself. "Wait, wait – not a cake, Ron, we'll get you a… very good supply of human blood. Maybe we could set up a blood fountain."

Rolf now looked incredibly concerned. Jane shook her head. "No, no, not like that – have none of you ever seen the chocolate ones? There are cheese ones too – you just set it up and then you can dip stuff in the fountain-"

"Just give me two bottles of blood and I will be happy," Ron amended, and everyone looked far happier.

The werewolves enjoyed a heartening tea of rice cakes, Jaffa cakes and tinned soup warmed up via blasting it with the Incendio charm, courtesy of an enthusiastic Rolf. "I love that one," he said. "Whenever granddad had something he needed destroying he would always call me over. It's not like there's a lot else to do in Cornwall."

"You're from Cornwall?" said Tiberius. "You don't sound it."

"Well, I never interacted much with the locals. I was home-schooled, and my only human friend was my grandfather." Everyone noted the addition of the word 'human', but Rolf was a Scamander. "I did go to Muggle school from time to time, but what with my monthly disappearances, accidental magic and general weirdness, I didn't suit it much."

"What about your parents?" asked Ron.

"Dead," said Rolf. "I think. Probably. Granddad never talks about them. I remember my Dad from when I was younger, but he disappeared sometime around my turning six. 'Course, when I turned seven, I was turned into a werewolf so maybe it was because of that. Granddad didn't want me going to Hogwarts anymore because he said I might give myself away."

Ron had a lot of questions, mainly to do with Newt's actions. It fairly seemed like he'd messed things up for his grandson over a bit. Why hadn't he been allowed to Hogwarts when Remus Lupin had gone not twenty years before? Why had he told his own grandson so little about his parents?

Something was quite clearly not adding up, but Ron felt it was rude to probe further. Especially as Rolf had lapsed into a sudden, sullen silence which was entirely unlike him.

When supper was finished they packed up again and continued on their journey.

Several more days passed this way, lazy and calm, passing burbling streams and frozen fields, feet crunching over the frost in the mornings. On the third day, Kella snapped.

"Are we going the right way?" she finally burst. "We can't be, it's been days."

"You're the one navigating," Ron reminded her. He was watching a small robin bobbing around in the upper branches of a tree, feeling light within. Nothing was really happening, and the war felt too far away to matter.

"Yes, and I did it right. Anu must have been wrong, not me."

"But hasn't she been there before?"

"She did it wrong."

"Don't blame Anu if you made a mistake," Rolf muttered, and promptly had the map shoved into his hands. Kella's red eyes were bright with anger.

"Say that again and I will shove this map somewhere very unpleasant," she said, and dropped to the back of their crowd.

Tiberius briefly rubbed Rolf's shoulder. "There, there. You know Kella's just being a meanie because she's upset that she can't map-read."

A stick sailed through the air and hit Tiberius on the back of the head – quite hard, from the sound. "I heard that, you-"

"So where are we?" Ron interrupted, and Jane pointed to a spot on the map.

"We're not far from Balthazar's."

"So we've not gone wrong?"

"That's not strictly true; it's taken us way too long to reach this point, but maybe Anu's a fast walker."

It was around midnight that they came across another town. A small town, all the shops shut at this hour, but they had to walk through several streets before reaching any sort of town centre. Which was what Jane was after, she said.

"Should we really be here?" Rolf was nervous. "What if there are… Death Eaters?"

Jane glanced at a nearby sign. "In Branworth, are you joking me? There's not even a McDonalds, why would there be Death Eaters?"

"Then why are we here?" asked Ron.

"I need some new bloody clothes," Jane said before marching off in the direction of a shop. Kella told him it was a charity shop and explained the concept, so Ron learnt something new. They had a similar thing in the wizarding world, unsurprisingly.

He went through the racks of jeans, deciding. His clothes were rags and had been rags when they were handed to him. Clothes were important, Ron found; you didn't really feel like you were you if you were wearing some dingy scraps a madman had handed to you. He wanted to choose. He wanted warmth, cleanliness, comfort. They'd broken in using an Alohomora charm and would only take what they had to. Before leaving that farmhouse so long ago, they'd patched it all back together for the sleeping couple upstairs. It was the least Ron could do after drinking their blood.

He found himself a t-shirt with a band's name on that he didn't know, a worn brown leather jacket, dark jeans, a pair of sturdy boots and a jumper. Ron also found a pair of gloves and a scarf, and upon emerging from the changing rooms found the others in similar get-up of their choosing.

Kella had picked a similar pair of boots to him. Jane had found a pair of sunglasses. Tiberius found a strange top hat, and Rolf a violently stripey scarf.

"You look like a pillock," Tiberius told him, and Rolf just stared at his hat.

Ron felt the urge to talk to Hermione again. The bad thing was, she was likely very far away. Or not, he reasoned – she was on the run just like him, after all. Maybe they could meet. Maybe things would be the way they had always been. Causing a fire to erupt in his chest, burning brightly for her.

They left the shop. Ron held out his hands and said, "Colloportus." The locking spell.

The door of the shop shuddered, and when Rolf tried the handle it didn't budge.

Tiberius held up his hand. "Wait."

When he yanked on it, putting a bit more welly into it than Rolf had, the lock came free. Ron sighed. "Bollocks. Thought I had it."

"Ah, you'll need a bit more practice before that, Ronnie."

He was right, Ron supposed. "We should be practising more, shouldn't we?"

"Practising?" said Jane, lost.

"Practising magic. I know you can't, but when you get the cuffs off we'll start then. But I need to brush up on my stuff." Christ, when was the last time he'd even duelled? Properly, he meant - without being under influence of the Imperius curse. It might've been with Mordecai.

"Go on," Ron said to Tiberius. "Try and hex me. I'll block it. Promise."

"You don't need to reassure me you won't get hurt." Tiberius didn't hesitate any longer. "Stupefy!"

Ron jumped out of the way, instinct taking over. The red bolt hit a bin and sent a few wrappers flying out the top; Rolf went to stuff them back in.

Jane slipped off to the nearby shop to get food, and Rolf sidled over to the boys. "Can I join your duel?"

"Sure."

They circled one another, Ron sending suspicious glances at his opponents.

Who would strike first?

Ron moved one hand. "Flipendo!"

Rolf tried his best to summon a shield charm, but failed. He couldn't say the incantation in time. After being thrown back and landing tumbling onto his side, Rolf rose again with a determined expression. He thrust out his hand. "Furnunculus!"

"Petrificus Totalus!"

"Diffindo!"

"Incendio!"

Rather hastily, Ron had to put out his singed jacket with a burst of water. He shouted, "Stupefy!" - then, with the other hand – "Globi Igni!"

Tiberius blocked the stunner, but was so taken-aback by the second spell he nearly ended up taking a ball of fire to the face. He dodged just in time. Tiberius stared at the patch of scorched pavement where it had landed instead in utter shock.

Jane was staring at Ron. "Ron, what the fuck are you playing at? Fire?"

"No, Jane," said Tiberius. "It's my fault, I didn't put up a shield charm. My father always said that getting hurt - or nearly getting hurt - was the best way of making sure you didn't make a mistake again."

Ron felt a twinge of guilt. "Tiberius, I'm-"

"Don't bother. It's a hazard of duelling. Next time I'll just have to be better."

Not long after that, Tiberius demanded to go again. Part of Ron admired his resilience, and another reflected on how utterly bonkers Pure-blood (as in, the ones to whom that status mattered) families were. They drilled them on charms and incantations and theory well before Hogwarts; Ron's mum had once said so they could have an edge over the Muggle-born children who had been thrown straight into the deep end. It could have been just for the sake of education, but Ron wouldn't put it past Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy to do something like that.

Ron glanced at Tiberius, nursing a nosebleed. He'd asked Ron to try another of his double-casts (two spells at once – one of which he could do non-verbally, now), and was paying the price. It reminded Ron of training with Mordecai.

Ron knew Tiberius had lingering hang-ups about Muggles, but every day he spent with Jane and in the Muggle world, he saw they were all just the same and that hatred lessened. Ron was glad. It gave him hope that people could change.

"Tiberius," he said. "Want to give it a rest?"

"No, I-"

"We should. I think the others are getting bored. And I can hear someone coming."

They'd not met many people, only a few hikers they'd swerved around and then a handful of people in the busier towns. After they met any magical person, they scarpered as fast as possible to avoid danger. Their plan right now was to avoid any contact with the main wizarding world for their own safety.

The ice lollies (something called a jubbly, an odd, triangular-shaped thing) had been eaten, and there seemed to be no reason not move on. They had to find Balthazar soon, because a full moon was drawing near, said the werewolves.

There was another reason.

"I hope we find this Balthazar bloke soon. I'm fucking ravenous," complained Ron. He could feel the hunger gnawing at the insides of his stomach in lieu of a proper meal. His thirst was beginning to stir very violently, and would not be smothered down again. As they walked and the days went by, it had grown even worse.

Distracted by his hunger, Ron walked ahead of the rest of them and found himself on the crest of a hill; a sheep bleated in the distance; to the left was a lake with a few thin trees around it he could just barely glimpse for the fog... and then as Ron turned to the right, he was met with a strange sight.

Quite unmistakably, it was a man doing his gardening. Just a normal bloke, going around in a long, plum-coloured cloak with a shining watering can in his hand. Pressing its hole-punctured head to roots and leaves, water spilling out to wet and nourish them. But why here?

Behind him was a large tower, square with small windows along every side and the stones coloured beige. The building was sturdy, green ivy trailing up the sides like a dragon lazed upon its roof, its tail hanging over the edge. The tower stood strong against the strong breeze, and looked as though it had been doing so for centuries.

Ron realised the man was staring. He was shorter than Ron, and possessed hair black as charcoal, and dark eyes of a strange, murky, indefinable colour. Suspicious, Ron listened out for a heartbeat and heard none but the faint pattering belonging to the sheep grazing in the lower field.

So, a vampire. Strange in the middle of nowhere, but... this guy seemed harmless. He was just out here tending his garden, something a Mordecai-type wasn't likely to do, Ron thought. So he went closer, breeze rifling through his hair.

"Hello," said Ron. "Good... night, I suppose."

"Yes. Good night," said the man. They both cast a glance to the sky above, dark and foreboding. But it was clear, at least, and the waxing gibbous moon bright. "What's your name, sir?" he enquired, voice level. 

"Tim," was an easy reply. Before all of this his name had been brilliantly unknown. Now, everyone knew it and for all the wrong reasons.

The man nodded, but didn't give his own. Ron was too hungry to care. "I'm really sorry," he said. "But I'm so hungry I could eat a hippogriff, and I can't think straight. Please can you give me something to eat, if it's not too much trouble?" At the man's expression, he added, "I know what you are, by the way. So I know that you'll have some blood you might be able to spare. But your transfiguration's really convincing."

The man stared at him for a moment before he dropped the watering can with a clang. "Oh, alright then." He turned and began marching down the rows of plants. "Come on, chap! It's just up here!"

Ron followed and they came to a door that looked as old as the rest of the place. The wood was the colour of smoke and was very heavy, the metal hinges thick as boot soles and the old brick entryway caused a pang in Ron's heart for its similarity to the Burrow. The man led him through the house. A picture was hung here and there, covered in cobwebs and rows of books built into the walls (Hermione would adore it).  Ron went round shortly to find a wide sitting room with an imposing stone fireplace and squashy armchairs. A large spiral staircase led up to the floors Ron had seen featured in the tower's immense height from outside.

Ron had many questions. The man seemed to sense it as he sunk himself into a chair by the fire, indicating at one opposite. His host then flipped open a dusty chest by his feet and handed Ron a bottle.

Ron blew on the glass and it sent a flurry of particles into the air. "Sorry, chap," said the man. "Haven't been in here in a while. Third sitting room, you know?"

"Is this safe to drink?" asked Ron, already wrenching off the bottle cap. He sniffed it warily.

"Yeah, yeah - I stuck a preservation charm on it..."

Ron took a deep swig, and it seemed fine enough.

"About four decades ago now… Yes, it must've been, that was the last time-"

Ron stared at him, swallowing. "What? Four decades? So how old are you?"

The man shrugged before he replied, "About five centuries, by my last count. Couldn't give you an exact number. You lose track of the details, you know?"

The blood was having an awfully clearing effect on him, so by the time he was halfway down he'd realised what a dangerous situation he'd just walked into. "Right," said Ron uneasily.

"How old are you?" the host enquired. Ron still did not know his name.

"Er... twenty-six."

"When you were turned into a vampire?"

"No. Yes, I mean."

"Are you sure your name is Tim? I swear you look familiar. I swear I've seen your face before." A dark cloud passed over the man's face. "I don't take kindly to liars and fakers, chap, I'll tell you now."

"Says you," Ron replied. "You've not told me your name yet but you still gave me something to eat. Could've poisoned it for all know." Ron forced himself to pause, and calm down. "Which I'm thankful for. You haven't poisoned it, or I'd have been able to tell. Sorry, I'm not looking to cause an argument or anything. It's just… difficult times, you know."

"I do know." He paused, before continuing, "Now, I shouldn't be telling you this – I should be kicking you out, if I knew what was good for me and my six hundred years of rivalries and whatnot – but my name is Balthazar."

Ron's jaw dropped open. "It's not."

"You've heard of me before?"

"For Merlin's- we've been looking for you for weeks now!"

February had slid into March, and still they'd been wandering the English countryside wondering whether it was Anu's instructions that were wrong or their navigation skills (Ron had to face it, it was likely the latter).

"Me and my friends were sent by Anu - Anu and Douglas." Ron searched Balthazar's face for recognition, which came after a brief moment (Balthazar likely sorting through all the people he'd known over the years, matching the faces to profiles).

"Ah, right. What for?"

He didn't sound angry. This was good, so far. "A friend of ours has magical handcuffs, runed ones, which stop her from doing magic." Ron held out his hands where the runes were still boldly scarring his wrists. "This is what they left behind on my hands, if it's any help. Kella's got the same, and Tiberius-"

At that, Balthazar's head turned sharply. "Kella? Kella Wright?"

"I… Yeah, Kella Wright. How'd you…"

"You mean you've seen her again?" Balthazar's eyes were wide, seemingly with hope.

"What was she to you? Were you friends?"

"I… Yes, but we were more than that." Balthazar hesitated, before continuing: "She wouldn't want me to tell you but we were supposed to... get married at one point. During the summer of 1822, I still have it marked on a calendar somewhere." Balthazar's smile froze. "But she jilted me at the altar. Never turned up. And we've never spoken since."

"Not at all?"

"It's a very wide world we live in. And I don't venture out much anymore." Balthazar pulled a pensive expression "It was odd of Anu to tell you to come here without a message warning me first. Things really must be getting bad. I might've been able to help you, shorten your journey a bit. No doubt the charms around my property redirected you and cost you weeks."

Ron considered. That made a lot of sense now. But he said, "Nah, it's okay. I think we needed these few weeks. We've been… we were… the cuffs, they're…"

"Death Eater, I recognise the work," said Balthazar. "Heavily dependent on Grindelwald's trials with creatures, and his set of scientists. I don't wonder if it's the work of the same people, or their sons and daughters." He glanced up at Ron. "It's not a well-known thing that he experimented on werewolves and vampires. To find a place for them in his order, I think. Do they go above or below Muggles? Above or below wizards? What factors would that be decided upon? Very interesting, actually."

"Interesting?" Ron spluttered. "It wasn't interesting, it was- it was bloody horrifying-"

"That it likely was, Tim. Doesn't mean it discover some things. 'For the greater good' was Grindelwald's motto, was it not?"

Ron didn't want to talk about what Balthazar had just said. Grindelwald had been an evil, evil man, Voldemort the same – he wouldn't debate morals about what he did because all of it was pure evil. It was also still very raw, for Ron.

"My name's not Tim," he said instead.

"Then what is your name?" asked Balthazar.

"You don't seem angry I lied."

"I'm not now. I suppose your name doesn't particularly matter to me – I could be lying about being called Balthazar, for all you know – but please tell me your real name. Although you'll have no way to prove it to me."

"Ron Weasley."

Recognition lit up Balthazar's face. "Ah. Ronald Weasley. Harry Potter’s friend turned vampire and Death Eater. I see now why you didn't tell me your real name."

"Yeah. Well, only the first bit about being Harry Potter's mate was my choice. The rest they sort of kidnapped me for and cast spells on me to force me to do it."

Ron's throat was closing up. He didn't know what was going on. He couldn't look Balthazar straight in the eye, nor tell him the depths of his mistreatment. So he simply sipped from his bottle. Four decades old though it may be, it was good.

"I gather there's more to it than that."

Ron nodded. "Lot more. But I don't… I can't…" He sipped again, gone quiet. What a miserable git he was being.

"I can gather some of what they did to you. You look to be in rough shape. A lot different to how you looked in the papers this morning."

Ron felt slight relief. "That's good." He frowned. "Wait, this morning? But we escaped months ago in December. How could I be in the papers?"

"Accio this morning's Daily Prophet!" Balthazar commanded, waving his hand, and a newspaper soared through the doorway and landed in his lap. Balthazar passed it over to Ron. On the front page his face flashed across; an older, paler, far scarier version of himself, he thought, with his hair still scraped back. Like Malfoy's but with less gel, so then you wondered how the hell it was kept in place (grease was the answer, because the Death Eaters didn't quite care about them enough to give them shampoo).

"How?" asked Ron. The page flashed again and there was Tiberius, dark eyes staring out ominously. Rolf, appearing utterly unlike himself. Kella, looking absolutely terrifying, arresting someone and dragging them along the street, uncaring as their bleeding skin was scraped against the pavement.

"But… we escaped…"

For a terrifying moment Ron wondered if this had all been a dream, whether these past few light-hearted weeks had all been a figment of his tormented imagination. He'd dreamt about escaping before.

"Either they're transfiguring someone to look like you, or they're old pictures," said Balthazar. "But either way, you're very much still at large. I'd start transfiguring your appearance, if I were you."

"I can only do my eyes." Ron focused for a moment, and when he opened his eyes again, he knew that they were blue. "See? But I've never tried with anything else. I've never had to."

"Well, I can teach you that. I'd also start looking at the Prophet regularly. It's good to keep up with what the enemy's saying."

"You believe me still?"

"You seem panicked, and inexperienced enough not to know how to fake it." Balthazar's expression softened. "You're not twenty-eight, are you? I know you're still Hogwarts-age, but how old exactly?"

It was a bit late to stop spilling all his secrets now. "Eighteen on the first of March."

"Happy birthday then," replied Balthazar. "I'll help you, Ronald Weasley. You and your friends. I suspect Anu sent you to me for more than just removing those cuffs. Does your chained friend know magic?"

"No, but she's a werewolf."

"She'll still be magically potent then, so I can still help her."

"Could you help the rest of us too?" asked Ron. "We mainly just need a place to stay, but I'd like to improve my duelling, too. And transfiguration."

Balthazar agreed. For his own reasons for doing this, he said: "Things get a bit boring up here. It can lonely sometimes." Then he asked, "Where are the rest of your friends?"

"Not far behind."

Kella, Rolf, Tiberius and Jane stepped inside one after the other, removing coats and wiping off boots. Tiberius sniffed at the décor and Rolf reached out a finger to trace a small pressing of lavender.

"Ron," Tiberius murmured to him, "you know this was a stupid idea, right? We shouldn't be in a stranger's house."

"It's not a stranger, it's Balthazar."

"We still don't know him-"

"I understand your concerns," said Balthazar, "but if you come in here I will alleviate them all." He saw their faces. "It's just my kitchen. I have food. I assume you're hungry?"

It was an awful lot of very nice-looking food. Jane reached for a piece before Tiberius blocked her hand. The look in his eyes was warning enough without any words said.

"He's not going to poison us," said Ron.

"How do we know?" said Kella, who sounded slightly odd. Then Ron remembered what Balthazar had said before, and realised that maybe he should have spoken to Kella to let her know that yes, it was that Balthazar.

"I've already sort of drunk some of the blood he had," Ron admitted. "Sorry. I was really hungry. But I'm not dead, so this stuff probably isn't poisoned."

"That's convincing enough for me," said Rolf, and the werewolves descended on the small feast laid out. Balthazar handed Kella and Ron some bottles of blood.

"These are a bit fresher," he added.

For the werewolves, there were sundry sandwiches, a good-sized portion of chicken, a bowl of tomatoes, a block of cheese and a loaf of bread. When asked why he had it, Balthazar merely shrugged and said, "I always keep some food for any human guests I might have."

"When was the last time you had any?"

"Three years ago - but this stuff's quite fresh, don't worry." 

The werewolves were satisfied by his answer, and continued eating.

"Good to see you again, Baz," said Kella and prevented herself from speaking again by taking a large draught of blood.

Tiberius looked like he choked on his food. "Really? Kella, you know him? Why didn't you say? I swear you're always so suspicious, and you kept this from us."

Kella merely scowled at him – then at Ron. "Do you know what happened between us? It'd be like him to spill it to the first person he saw. Wouldn't it, Balthazar?"

Balthazar was looking very sour indeed. "That was a long time ago. I've changed-"

"Yeah, you have. Got a new haircut. But it's the same utter pillock wearing it." Her features were tight with rage, and Balthazar looked completely lost.

"What? You ditched me at the altar. So why are you angry?"

"Don't lie, it was you. You fucking left me-"

"Kella, you promised you'd-"

"In front of all my friends, and you- you massive prick, couldn't've left a note-"

"Me leave a note when I thought we were still supposed to get married?!"

"Christ," said Jane, which Ron felt was appropriate. He tried to intervene.

"I think we should all calm-"

"And now you turn up here after how many years?" Balthazar's eyes were wide with hurt, and fury. "With this motley crew-"

"Oi," said Rolf.

Balthazar crossed his arms. "Well. Now I'm not sure if I want you here, being honest."

"Oh, come on," Kella argued. "It was centuries ago - literally."

"How did you two come to be engaged, by the way?" asked Rolf. "I'm curious to know. You two are quite…"

"It was before all of the vampire rebellion stuff," Kella explained. She tucked a strand of mousy brown hair behind one ear, red eyes staring somewhat embarrassedly at the group. "I hadn't been a vampire long. Only a year or two. I met Baz because it was his friend who bit me in the first place – and that's another story. But I just got to know him, and he was nice, and I… when you meet another vampire, sometimes get the urge to settle down. Spend eternity together." Kella sent a look Ron's way. "Only sometimes, like I said.

"Anyway, we set the date to get married. My mother, who I hadn't yet cut off contact with, was pleased I was finally settling down – and with such a nice boy as Balthazar. She didn't know what either of us were. I had worried about how the wedding would go, my human mother being surrounded with our vampire friends, but it never happened."

Kella shot a venomous look Balthazar's way. "Because he never turned up to actually marry me. Thanks, Baz. Could've sent one piddly sodding note the night before so I didn't embarrass myself. Although, I suppose I should thank you because I was so angry, my magic went a bit wild and my mother found out I was a vampire. My eyes suddenly went red. And then I was so furious I started rioting and setting things on fire in protest of how the Ministry treated vampires, which was monstrously unfair, but I admit, my anger about being jilted sort of set it off."

Rolf, setting down a glass of water, said, "I suppose that explains things quite well. I… had wondered if there was something missing when you told me about your life, before."

"Yeah."

Balthazar was frowning. "There's something you've gotten wrong, though," he said. "You were the one who didn't turn up to marry me. I was waiting at St Mary's with my friends, and-"

"St Mary's? No, the church was St Margaret's," said Kella.

It was then that they realised the whole ordeal had been the result of a simple mistake, and that their anger was over almost nothing. For being so non-existent it had altered both of their lives quite a lot.

"Oh," said Balthazar.

"Hm," muttered Kella.

"This is priceless," said Tiberius. "You're telling me that this whole argument has been about a mix-up that happened hundreds of years ago?"

Kella scratched the back of her head. Balthazar wrung his wrists. Then he held out a hand, a metaphorical olive branch. "Can we… start over, Kella?"

"Not completely, Baz. I've moved on since then. But… we can be friends again, if you'd like."

"I would like that. It was probably for the best anyway. If one mistake meant we didn't talk to each other for two hundred years, I'd have hated to see our first argument. I suppose six weeks was a bit of a short time to know someone before you decide to marry them."

They shook hands, Kella smiling warmly. "It was a good six weeks, though."

Balthazar's eyes twinkled. "It was."

Their hands remained linked for a while longer before someone cleared their throat and the two split apart.

"I suppose now you can stay," said Balthazar. "I have roughly twenty spare bedrooms as of current, so you can take your pick." He leapt towards the stairs. "Come on! I'll show you some now!"

The days went quickly at Balthazar's Keep, filled with duelling and talking and drinking and exploring the fields around Balthazar's home. They found a pond which was particularly good for catching frogs (and then releasing them again safely, as Rolf insisted). One morning, Jane went off with Balthazar and reappeared a few hours later looking incredibly happy.

She held out her wrists. "Tiberius."

He glanced at her. "What?"

"Look."

The cuffs were gone. Beneath, her skin was wrinkled and discoloured, and scarred with runes which oozed dark magic. It made Tiberius cringe just to look at the heinous markings on her wrists, despite having the very same on his own hands.

He reached out to touch them, and below his darker palms, they felt scabbed over. Suddenly, Jane's fingers were feeling round to where the runes were on Tiberius' skin. Their wrists and hands were linked.

"The scars look horrible, don't they?" she muttered. "But you can teach me magic now. Where do we start?"

For once, Tiberius was lost for words.

Their hands were still linked.

Tiberius was reminded of Chris, Jane's younger brother. The one who, along with his parents, had almost certainly died back at the dungeons.

After being bitten by a werewolf (he could recognise the signs), Tiberius didn't wait for his parents to kick him out. He just left. And the first people he found were Mr and Mrs Hastings – Jane and Chris' parents. They took him in with a suspicious lack of questions, and allowed the responses to come slowly, over time. And meals, strangely.

Tiberius pulled his spoon through the cornflakes, finding the lack of house elves very foreign and yet a relief at the same time. "My name is Tiberius Fawley," he said. "I go to Hogwarts. Live in England, most of the time. My parents work in the Ministry, although I don't think they do a lot. But we're rich anyway."

He paused. Then asked Mr and Mrs Hastings, "How do you know about the magical world?"

They had answered, but he preferred Chris' answer.

Chris was lying down on his bed after a difficult day at school. Tiberius was spinning around on his desk chair and refusing to leave, since he was very bored. Chris then had been afflicted with an acne-ridden forehead, long, blonde hair he refused to cut and was a few inches shorter than when Tiberius had last known him.

Chris scrubbed a hand across his face, and sighed. Green eyes blinking, the same as Jane's.

"Bad day?"

"No. Just a boring one. Had some tests, you know." Chris paused. "Jane wouldn't agree with me at all, but… sometimes I think I'd have really liked to go to Hogwarts. The spells seem cool. The magical creatures. I want to know if I'd be a Ravenpuff, or a Slitherclaw…"

"It's Ravenclaw and Slytherin, and I think you'd be in Gryffindor," said Tiberius. "You're brave. Or maybe Hufflepuff, for the kind."

Chris snorted. "I'm not clever, am I? Or cunning?"

Tiberius shrugged. "They're stupid anyway – people can be all four. Depends on the situation, I think."

"But you're in Slytherin… That means you have to be mostly cunning."

Tiberius just shrugged again. It didn't seem pertinent anymore. Nothing did, really, and it was brilliant.

He and Chris had been good friends as he and Jane were, but in different ways.

"You have a girlfriend, Tiberius?" asked Chris while flicking through his parents' CD collection on a different occasion.

Tiberius scoffed, on his knees beside Chris. It was draughty in the Hastings' garage. "She'd have to be very faithful to have stuck by me for a year after I ran away without telling anyone."

"But did you?"

"Nah," said Tiberius. "My parents would pick someone out for me eventually."

Chris was startled. "Like an arranged marriage?"

Tiberius nodded.

"But no girlfriend? Ever?"

"Well… there were a few people. You could tuck yourself up a corner booth with someone in the Broomsticks and Rosmerta wouldn't tell anyone. As long as we bought a lot of drinks. So yeah, I've had a bit of fun. But not for a while." He gave a derisive laugh. "And nothing permanent, Salazar. Girls can be whiny at our age. Clingy, you know?"

Chris didn't say anything, examining a CD in his hand. He set it down a moment later. "So you haven't got your eye on anyone here?" he asked.

"Who? Who do I see that I could have my eye on?"

"Girls at the park," said Chris. "You see some people. People who don't matter."

"True."

"And... I don't know, Angela next door."

"Nah. The teeth. Can't do it."

"Katie down the road."

"Too old. And scary."

"Lisa?"

"Fairly sure she's a lesbian."

Chris blinked, looking surprised. "What, really?"

Tiberius smirked. "Ah, you have so much to learn. But right now I don't feel like dating. Too much effort, like I said, and I'm a bit more preoccupied with being on the run."

"But you don't even do anything all day."

"How dare you. I'm learning Muggle history. I think I could try and get into college for that."

Chris gave him a doubtful look. Then he released a sigh. "Well, I s'pose that's good, that you're not interested in… I hated when Jane said something about you." Chris pulled a face. "I just don't know why she'd want to ruin things, they're perfect as they are. We're fine just the three of us-"

"What?"

Chris shut his mouth quick, realising what he'd said. "I- I mean, there's this bloke at school and Jane said she-"

"Okay, don't bore me with the details," Tiberius said, feeling something odd unfurling inside. Jane? Never once had he thought about her that way... and apparently she had? For how long? "Just stick the CD on, I don't want to talk anymore."

He used to not like that memory, for obvious reasons (it was confusing), but now the memory only reminded him how much he missed Chris.

"Alright," said Tiberius, managing to get past the odd stall. He let go of Jane's wrists. "First I'll teach you the shield charm. Its incantation – what you say while you're casting it – is Protego. Can you say that?"

"Protego."

"Great." Tiberius rubbed his hands together. Sparks flew, heat gathered between his palms. "Now wave your hands, and say the spell. Protego."

"How should I wave them?"

"Just… wave them." Tiberius gestured. "Like that."

"Oh. Okay." A look of concentration passed over her face. She waved her hands. "Protego."

Predictably, nothing happened.

"That's okay," said Tiberius. "We have time to practice."

Tiberius called over Ron to demonstrate a working shield charm. Ron gave Jane better advice, and under his tutelage she managed to pull up a flimsy shield charm of her own. Its shimmer was a dead giveaway and when Tiberius fired a stunner at Jane it shattered, but she wasn't hurt.

"But it's an excellent start," said Ron, smiling. Then he stared at the horizon, smile gone, thinking things he would never say. Ron was in his head a lot. He was used to having friends he could say all this to, Tiberius had long realised, and no matter how good friends they all were Ron would always be craving the others. Even being in the year above, of course knew who they were.

Ron could be very serious, but also very laid-back. He was good to talk to. He would listen, give useful advice. Then he would go quiet, and Tiberius knew he wanted to talk to Harry or Hermione again.

But then he would catch himself, like he did now, and smile and say goodbye and go and talk to someone else or start up a game or more training and… Ron was someone who liked to keep busy (or distracted), that was obvious.

He left now. Jane turned to Tiberius, the two of them left behind. "Do you ever think about Chris?" he asked.

Jane nodded. "He'd have loved this," she said. Tiberius was surprised she knew about Chris' doubts about his Muggle life. Unexpectedly, she added, "I keep seeing him out of the corner of my eye, you know, and I know I'm imagining things, but… it's almost giving me hope."

A desperately sad expression clouded her face for a moment, and after saying her own farewells, she wandered off between two hedges into Balthazar's garden, complicated as a maze, and lost herself.

Balthazar's gardens were truly a treat. Jane's journey, whichever path she chose to take, was always littered with amazing sights.

The roses, red and striking as rubies, twisted around an ornately carved arch. Delicate vines tiptoed after them. Small mushrooms tap-danced their way across the gravel path (not literally – although Jane would swear she'd seen one moving yesterday), and moss trailed across the ancient faces carved into the trees. She didn't know much about gardening, but she often liked to sit on the many benches around the place and just breathe in the freshness.

Balthazar had a beautiful garden. Jane bent to sniff at a tulip with wide, pale leaves and when she straightened up again, that was when she caught sight of him. It was hard not to, really.

Chris was stood with his arms folded in right front of her. Jane jumped and tripped backwards, before catching herself on a hedge.

"Shit," she said. "You scared me. Fuck's sake, Chris."

"Not my fault if you're blind."

She swore again, and then moved closer. "Look, why don't I just tell the others you're here? It's been long enough."

As it turned out, Jane's feeling that she hadn't been alone had not been in her head, as Tiberius and Rolf and Kella had all told her wrongly. There had been someone following them from Triffern. And that someone had been Chris.

He was taller, but much scrappier than he'd been; it looked as though he'd been stretched out. Jane was slightly miffed he was now a head or more taller than her, but she grabbed his wrist and her fingers went around it easily.

Chris took back his arm, annoyed. He had the same green eyes and sandy blonde hair as her, but more freckles. His nose was pointier too. He had Dad's nose. "Don't do that," he hissed.

"Sorry," she offered. "But you look like a flipping skeleton, Chris. You're too thin. And you need a wash." She scrubbed his hair, practically turned grey from the dirt. Again he shoved her away. "Why won't you come back with me to the others? We can help you!"

"I don't need your help!" Chris bit back savagely. He took a further step back. "And stop fucking- doing what you're doing. Touching me. You shouldn't. And don't call me a- a skeleton. It's all your fault, you know. You were the one who- who left me."

And Jane's heart cracked, just a bit. And rent further as she realised how right he was. Chris had told her how, after their parents had vanished (Jane supposed she knew now where they'd gone – she wanted to kick herself for leaving them behind in those dungeons), he'd been forced to fend for himself.

At first it had been fine. Chris had gone to school as usual, using any money he could find around the house to buy food, soap, whatever. It had been a fun few weeks living off chocolate hobnobs, beans on toast and watching endless TV. There was no one to barge in and switch the channels, either. In the evenings Chris kicked a football around the back garden or the park, alone. He was on the school team and had to keep up his skills because it'd be important, later.

He did his homework. When he got stuck there was no one to ask for help.

Letters started ambushing him about final warnings on bills, about cutting off water and electricity if he didn't pay. The fridge stopped working and Chris didn't know what to do. He just stopped buying foods that needed to be kept in there, or put them in the garage.

Strangers started turning up at the door. A mate of his dad's came round to ask why he hadn't been to work in weeks.

Chris' tongue stuck in his throat and he couldn't think of an excuse.

But when he was asked at school why his parents hadn't responded to any of the school's calls he was able to say they were on holiday, and he was staying with his older sister.

"Right," said the teacher, casting an eye over his grubby uniform. He'd tried his best, but the shower barely worked (Chris didn't know what was wrong with it, why was it all breaking when it had worked fine before?) and he had burnt the last shirt he tried to iron and shrunk a few more in the wash by accident.

"Why're you calling home?" Chris asked, although it was fairly fucking clear why. His own family had done a bunk on him. It made him feel utterly wretched inside. Pathetic.

"At least you know where they went now," said Jane gingerly, after he first told her, and she had told him about Death Eaters and the dungeons. That had been a few days ago.

Chris just stared back at her.

He stared at her now, serious in a way she'd never seen him before.

"I think we've talked enough," he said. He blamed her for ditching him even after Jane had explained what had happened to her, and how she couldn't have escaped any sooner.

He began to walk away. Jane snatched his arm. "Please, Chris, don't go! I- I just want to talk about things!"

And he was consumed suddenly by anger which matched the wrath of fire. Jane had to step back before she got burnt.

"This was a mistake," he spat, and shook off her arm. Chris disappeared back into the trees to wherever he had set up. Jane had tried to search for him out there, but all she could see for miles was empty fields, empty forest.

It was like he kept vanishing.

Chapter Text

Chapter Seventeen

Ron wondered if things between Kella and Balthazar were as peachy as they pretended they were. Sometimes he overheard them arguing, or muttering fervently, and he was privately glad he didn't have to deal with anything so complicated. Only vampires could come up with something so utterly contrived.

Still, he'd tried to help.

"Maybe you should sit down together sometime," Ron suggested to Kella. "Y'know, just talk things out."

The mean look in her eye was only a forewarning of the storm she unleashed upon him about minding his own business. Ron received the message loud and clear: keep out of it.

Afterwards, ears still ringing, he went back to his room, bounding up the winding metal staircase and coming out onto a now familiar hallway. The walls slanted somewhat worryingly and Ron glanced at the many pictures and curtains lining the rich cream-coloured walls, sometimes where there wasn't even a window. Where there was, he paused to stare out at the gardens, statues and trees turned into twisted monsters in the darkness. 

Pressed flowers sat in picture frames, an illegible inky scrawl (Balthazar's, more likely than not) labelling the specimens. One held a leaf, another a dandelion, a third a... murky stain.

Ron often marvelled at the age of everything in Balthazar's Keep. He passed a photo of some Victorian gentlemen dated to 1895, one of them looking very Balthazar-ish and a broken vase that to Ron's nose was at least ten centuries old. 

Ron's room was a rich red with bed sheets soft as butter, the scent of dust forever in the air, and had a warm rug on the floor. There was a small adjoining bathroom and Rolf was just next door. It was a good room. Ron slept on the soft bed during the day and even found a few passable cloaks and jumpers to shrug on when his got a bit unclean. The rest of the clothes… the frilly shirts and breeches… he wouldn't touch.

Honestly, things were better than they had ever been. Ron's duelling was improving and Jane was learning to use magic. Tiberius had discovered Balthazar's enormous library and Rolf could spend hours out in the gardens, examining the plants and animals which inhabited them.

Every night at midnight, they would all come together for a meal. That night, they talked about the war.

"Oh, that?" said Kella, taking a mouthful from her goblet of blood, where candlelight danced around the golden rim. "It'll soon be over. They all are."

"True enough," replied Balthazar.

"How much are you involved in this one, Baz? I know you really got into some of the Goblin Riots at the end of last century."

"Well, it wasn't fair how the goblins were being treated." Balthazar reached for his own goblet, and took a sip. "But I've not gotten very involved in this one. I keep up with the news, but... my garden's just really taken off these last few decades, so I don't want to leave it. I'm afraid I don't know much about this Riddle chap."

"Riddle? How do you know his real name?" Ron realised he knew nothing at all about Balthazar, and five hundred years, a truly gargantuan span of time, had to have their secrets. "Did you know him?"

"Of course not," said Balthazar. "But it's what you have to call him. There's been a taboo spell put on his name, didn't you know? Gosh, even I knew that."

"A... taboo spell?" queried Jane. "What's that?"

"It's a spell which reveals the location of a person who says a certain word, to whoever placed the spell on that word," explained Balthazar. "For instance, You-Know-Who's name – the one beginning with 'V' - if you say it, you get the Snatchers on you. And they're a nasty lot. I think my wards could certainly keep them out, but it's best not to tempt fate, in my experience. I don't want to draw too much attention to myself."

Balthazar's words of caution rang strangely to Ron, and he frowned. "Sorry, Snatchers?"

"See, that's how they get you. Someone who doesn't know about the spell goes and says it, feeling cocky - and then you're attacked. Snatchers are the Death Eaters who specialise in subduing people who try and... I don't know, work for the Resistance and see no point in saying his silly made-up names, and take them back to his Lordship. No one knows what happens then, but one can imagine. Torturing. Experimentation." He exhaled. "Grim stuff, but I think you know."

"We do," said Tiberius. Quite a good plan, really. Aside from the scandal of someone like me turning sides - my family were not Death Eaters - the kidnapped creatures could be kept as servants, used as henchmen, experimented on, sold, used for entertainment or weaponised, since a werewolf on the full moon or a starving vampire is incredibly dangerous."

"Was anything discovered from the experimentation?" asked Balthazar, sounding interested. 

Ron shrugged. "We have no idea."

"Not a cure, or anything? That was how creature experimentation started. Just trying to find a cure. I hate how it's been twisted beyond morality or science. Now it's just about causing pain." Balthazar shook his head. "I tell you, this war does seem bad, though. You Resistance fighters have a jolly tough situation to turn around. Hogwarts is lost to the Death Eaters. Albus Dumbledore is dead. Most people are in hiding by now, but I suppose you have that radio channel..."

"Radio channel?" said Ron. "What radio channel?"

"It's run by someone on the inside of the Resistance," said Balthazar. "They tell you things - all in code, obviously, but it's a good way for people to communicate even if they can't see each other."

Ron frowned. "But what do you mean, you can't find the radio station?"

"I can't find the frequency," said Balthazar. "Although I have only spent a few nights fiddling with the dials. Maybe I've just got terrible signal - but I did hear something about a password, so maybe that's it."

Balthazar said they were welcome to try and find the radio station themselves, and Ron thanked him. For everything: the blood, the news, the beds. Balthazar waved him away saying it was nothing between friends.

Another full moon passed and the werewolves spent it inside a pen specially crafted by Balthazar. They were able to spend the night under the stars whilst also being contained safely.

Rolf woke early and saw something strange. Jane, talking to… a tree. Rolf blinked again, rubbed his eyes, and yet the sign remained. He shoved his clothes back on before he went to speak to her, tiptoeing past a sleeping Tiberius.

"Jane?"

Her head snapped back to him. "Yeah? What?"

"Who're you talking to?"

"My…" Jane suddenly shook her head. "It's no one."

Rolf nodded, and silence spilled between them. He hadn't spoken to Jane in a while, he thought. An idea occurred to him of what they could do while they waited for Tiberius to wake.

"Want to practise duelling?"

Jane wasn't half bad, actually. Rolf threw her a simple stunner and she deflected it back again. He tried a more forceful curse, and she put up a decent shield charm. He tested it with a more vicious: "Diffindo!" and it held quite well.

"Really," he called out again, "Who were you talking to?"

"Tarantallegra! It- It doesn't matter!"

Rolf sidestepped the hex, and sent one back. "How was your night, by the way?"

"Fine, fine. It was a nice one. Clear skies and all that. Di- Diffindo!"

Rolf made a noise. "You remember last night? I never remember anything. Stupefy!"

She waved up a hand, signalling she was out of breath and wanted to stop. Panting, she added, "I'm a born wolf. I can remember some stuff, like what the sky looked like. My transformations are a bit less violent than yours, too. It looked like it hurt."

"They always do," said Rolf. 

Years ago, the moon had hatched an egg inside him, and every year since that creature had grown bigger, nastier and hungrier, and sometimes it terrified Rolf how much more monstrous he became with each passing moon.

Such carnage he'd caused, such problems for his grandfather. He'd broken out of chains, smashed windows, chewed bars, plants and fences, and it sounded funny, but seeing the goats and sheep and even a rare hippogriff they'd been housing once torn to pieces after a full moon, Rolf could hardly face up to what he was.

Tiberius woke up and immediately began arguing with Jane about something inconsequential, as was usual for him, and Rolf got a book out of his pocket and began to read it quietly, sat out of the way.

"Tiberius," began Jane lowly.

He glanced up, gaze piercing her. "Yeah? What? Why're you looking so serious?"

Last night, with the moon full and the two of them drunk on it, they had danced; Tiberius begun to pull Jane around and she pushed him away, but then they were laughing and talking and dancing again, riotous.

"Nearly there," said Jane, glancing up at the moon. Bright, pearly, pulsating.

Tiberius had pulled her in close, and kissed her.

He'd done it so gently, so quickly that Jane was just... surprised, and couldn't figure out how to feel about it. "What?" was all she managed to get out before the moon took over, and she remembered little else after that.

Nothing else had happened – at least, Jane hoped. Her mother had once told her something very worrying about full moons and conception.

She was trying to talk to him about it now, which he was resisting quite obstinately.

"It's not my fault!" protested Tiberius, tugging a sweatshirt over his head. "I'm sorry, Jane - but I think my wolf-"

"Fuck's sake, Tiberius, you're the same flipping person-"

"Well, maybe it's my basest desires then - ones without any logic, or much respect for-"

"Shut up!" Jane snapped. "How could you?! You said you didn't want me, didn't like me! You said you wanted some- some wizard girl, with a rich family and who went to Hogwarts, and since that's not me I gave up!" Her chest was heaving. "Because you told me to. You told me to give up."

Tiberius swallowed, eyes scanning her frantically. Rolf glanced up from his book.

"Did you give up?" Tiberius asked. "Really?"

"Yes," said Jane. "I gave up on you. You're not worth it. You're... irritating and annoying, and I really hate you sometimes."

Tiberius frowned at her, but not angrily. In fact he looked very hurt.

The silence went on for a few more minutes. Then they went to breakfast, and did not speak of the matter again. In fact, they did not speak again for a while.

"Stop!" shouted Ron. He had to shout, over the wind and Balthazar's next fierce spell revving up to full power. Ron blocked a bright blue fizzing hex he couldn't name, and then a stunning spell the next second. A third spell hit his lower left leg and he swore, hopping around and holding the painful area as though it would do anything.

Another spun past and he roared again, "Stop!"

"Going to have to fight back if you want me to stop, Ronald!"

He swore again, but readied himself. Ron waved his hand and thought of the spell he wanted.

"Incendio!"

The spritz of fire that erupted from his hands and cut through the mist was impressive, but Balthazar had a disinterested look on his face, whipping the fire to the side like an irksome breeze. Balthazar made a swatting motion and Ron quickly jumped out of the way, leaving a dark cloud on the brick wall behind him.

They'd been duelling now for about an hour in one of Balthazar's many gardens, spells whizzing back and forth and showing Ron just how far the limits of duelling could stretch.

Ron cast something utterly random, some non-verbal thing (had it been Exomateria?), and the spell threw up a cloud of dirt from the ground like an explosion. Balthazar finally stumbled as he coughed the earth from his lungs, and Ron threw another spell and another one, hoping to overwhelm him.

"Confundus!" He panicked. "Er, Ascendio!"

Looking confused, Balthazar was thrown into the air, still coughing. Then something snapped to attention in his eyes and he muttered something Ron could only just about hear.

"Anapneo!"

Balthazar slammed to the ground once more, landing on one knee and swiftly withdrawing a wand. He cast spells so quickly all Ron could see was bright, flashing embers - a whirl of fire was suddenly surrounding him, tightening inward, so close he could feel the roiling heat graze his skin.

"That's not fair!" Ron managed to shout. "I don't have a wand!"

Things were nearly too hot to bear. There was a burning smell and Ron was fairly sure his hair was on fire; he'd already had to pat down flames blooming up his leg. All in all he was starting to panic an awful lot.

For a moment Ron wondered if Balthazar would let him burn.

The fire disappeared. Ron collapsed to his knees in relief.

"Bloody hell, Balthazar." He saw the other wizard making his way across the grass towards him. "Thought you were going to leave me there to cook."

"Never. Although, you did make a large dent in my blood supplies..."

Ron was helped up off the ground and straightened his jacket. "I'll get some more for you if you want. But hey, where'd you get that wand? Unfair."

"You were trained with one?" said Balthazar, looking faintly impressed, his charcoal black eyebrows creasing. His pale skin looked waxy in the moonlight.

"Yes," said Ron. "I was a Hogwarts student before I was kidnapped. Made it halfway through sixth year."

"I see. So you'd be even better with a wand?" Balthazar hummed. "I can give you one, if you want. Got some lying around."

"Wait, really?"

"Have a look through some of my stuff. It could turn up some interesting things."

"Will do," said Ron. "Thanks, Balthazar."

"And I'll teach you those spells. To the rest of your friends too... except Kella. She can still hold her own."

Balthazar went quiet. Ron had to enquire, "Did you ever meet anyone else?"

"Yes, one woman. She died about a century ago," said Balthazar shortly.

"You didn't turn her into a vampire?"

Balthazar shook his head. "No, it would have ruined her; she wasn't cut out for that life. Some people aren't. I adjusted fast, but some people just… can't."

Ron wondered whether he had taken to it well. A part of him protested, but he realised it had only been a few months that he'd struggled. In the grand scheme of things that wasn't long at all. Then again, he wouldn't have said the transition from human to vampire was easy.

"But this girl," said Ron. "You're a vampire, she was human. Did you make it work?"

"Yes, of course. We were still in love when she died." His smile faded. "It was difficult. Still is, I suppose."

Ron supposed a century was quite fresh for someone so old. "Oh. I'm so sorry."

Balthazar nodded. "Want to go back inside?"

"Sure. The others'll we wondering where I am."

Later, he gave finding the Resistance radio programme a shot.

Ron turned the dial one way and heard crackling; he turned it the other and heard even more. Ron frowned, tapping the radio again with his finger and saying, "Hogwarts."

Nothing happened.

Ron heaved a sigh, and sat back again. Maybe he needed to try with a proper wand.

He'd been at this for what felt like hours now, twisting and turning, finding radio channels that screamed soap adverts and others that had popular authors reading books. Some sports people were talking about the latest Quidditch match and elsewhere Marnie Charmsworth was telling you how to make the best pickled frog sandwich.

Unless Ron knew when this final face-off would be, they couldn't leave Balthazar's Keep. And Ron felt it was almost time. It was March, meaning they'd been eating his food, sleeping in his beds and taking up his dinner table for a good month. Ron had spoken about it to Rolf, who agreed that they were perhaps beginning to overstay their welcome.

Not to mention, Ron was eager to do battle and get this over with. But then what?

"We go our separate ways," suggested Kella, not unkindly, and Ron wondered how he would deal with separating from this group of people after so long. They'd been through so much. He loved his family and would be glad to be back with them, but Tiberius, Jane, Rolf and Kella hadn't replaced them. A new gap had simply been opened, and Ron didn't want that to be left empty even if the other was filled again.

One thing he thought about a lot was having to tell his parents and siblings what had happened to him. All of it. Every dark, grisly detail. He thought that when the time came he might just shut up and refuse to say a thing. It would be for the best. They would all worry far too much if he told the truth.

Jane cast a few complicated spells, her hands a flurry of movement, and Tiberius was hit by a stunning spell. Or he would've been, had he not stepped to the side. Jane made a noise of frustration. "How do I make the spell hit you?"

"You needed to curve it," replied Tiberius, "but you also needed to anticipate where I'm going to move. You could keep watching your opponent and learn their patterns, or just cast multiple spells so they're done for wherever they move. It's more difficult with werewolves because we can move faster, but then you can cast more spells to catch me."

"I… Right."

"Don't worry about it now." Tiberius sent a stunning spell back, and Jane deflected it in a panicked hurry. She then shot off one or two spells that had him jumping so he wouldn't get hit.

She'd gone straight for his ankles. How cruel. And slicing spells? That was what it had looked like, but not sounded. Tyler frowned at her.

"Was that non-verbal?"

She didn't answer, but moved her hands and sped out a few more hexes. Jane was becoming hard to catch up with, and that was the moment Tyler knew she would be able to hold her own against most enemies. No one terribly powerful, like Lestrange... and maybe not an auror, but the common Death Eater, Tyler thought she could take on.

Dear Salazar, she'd batter the poor fellow.

Tiberius had gotten distracted, and Jane's next spell nicked him rather badly along the arm.

"Oh God! I'm sorry Tiberius, I'm sorry, it-"

"It's fine," said Tiberius, as blood was dribbling down his arm. The spell had cut through his jacket and opened a wound that would only take a minute or two to knit itself up. But Jane was fussing, dabbing at it with her sleeve and trying to remember spells.

"Would Reparo work?" she asked.

Tyler scoffed. "Only if I were a broken plate. Just wait, it'll sort itself out."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

Tiberius almost laughed at her concerned expression. But it was only her obvious distress which stopped him. God, he hadn't thought she cared so much. But then again, neither had he – until they'd stopped talking, and Tiberius had begun to miss her.

He stared at her for so long that Jane stared back, frowning.

Soon after they walked back to the tower for dinner, still not having really talked about things.

"Have you been back home?" asked Jane. She'd snuck out to see her brother again.

Chris, yanking at the grass on the ground beside the tree, shook his head. "I don't want to be seen by anyone. They might try and drag me back to school."

"Well... It's important that you finish."

"Says you."

"Well, I've done my GCSEs at least. You haven't."

"Who cares about school anyway? I want to be a wizard instead," said Chris.

Jane glanced up and saw Balthazar further down the garden. He was staring at her oddly, dark eyes unreadable. Jane muttered to Chris, "Why's he looking at me like that?"

"Dunno. Maybe he likes you."

"Ergh, no. He's six hundred years old and looks about as old as dad, you're kidding me."

Chris seemed nervous all of a sudden. "I… Gotta go, Jane. See you later."

And he was creeping away, vanishing soon after. Jane wondered if he could teleport like some wizards could. Standing again, Jane strode over to Balthazar.

"Hello, Balthazar."

"Who were you talking to?" he asked.

Jane sighed. "That's my brother Chris. He's quite shy, and he doesn't want to-"

"Where is he?" Balthazar was craning his neck, trying to peer around the trees.

"Gone back to wherever he's camped out."

"Was he here?"

Jane frowned. "Yeah. Didn't you see?"

"But there was no one there. That's why I asked you who you were talking to."

Balthazar walked away, tending to his dahlias this time, and Jane was left feeling incredibly confused.

April arrived swiftly, the heavy rain showers beginning and plants tentatively beginning to sprout. Jane got better and better at duelling until she could put up a good fight against them all. Balthazar kept trying to talk to Jane about the encounter in the garden, but so far she had been avoiding him.

Ron finally remembered to ask Balthazar about giving them wands. Balthazar had been happy to help, and began sorting through an old trunk that he thought may contain some. "I'd summon them," he said, "but I'm worried about what the magic will do to my artefacts. Don't want anything exploding. By the way, do you want rune rings while I'm at it?"

Ron's jaw dropped. "Rune rings? You- you have some?"

"I might have one or two lying around, since I dare say Kella will want one too." Balthazar waggled his own fingers were a squat gold ring sat on the little one. "I won't give you mine, though. I'm not that nice."

"You're already doing so much, Balthazar, don't worry about it."

Balthazar suddenly paused. "Ron, could I talk to you about something?"

He nodded. It was the least he could do, although Ron dreaded what Balthazar's confession would be.

"I believe that your friend Jane is having hallucinations." He let that sink in for a moment. "I'm telling you that because I want to help her, but she's been avoiding me."

"Yeah, I er… heard about that. The avoiding you, not the hallucinations thing." Ron's coppery brows drew together in thought. "Why would you say she's having hallucinations?"

There was a loud slam as a massive, ancient tome hit the floor, but then Balthazar was explaining. "I've seen her talking to herself multiple times. She claims she's talking to her brother, but I've never seen anyone there."

Ron was familiar with Chris, or Jane's reported sightings of him. "Well, maybe he could be there, but he's just very good at running away in time."

"No. There's no one in this Keep who I don't want to be. My wards would have been triggered otherwise and I'd have been alerted."

"Alright. So suppose Jane is having hallucinations... What can we do about them?"

"That's what I can help her with. Maybe she found something in the Keep she wasn't supposed to, or triggered some nasty hex. My home's not very safe for people not experienced with magic. Even I trigger some sort of thing every so often. I need a clear-out, but I'm afraid the place'll topple if the walls aren't propped up with all the tat I've collected over the years."

Ron snorted.

"But what could be worrying is if this is an effect of those nasty cuffs she was chained with," Balthazar continued. "I inspected the runes but some escaped even my understanding."

"But none of us have hallucinated since getting them off," said Ron.

"Yes, that's right. Well, I want to check her over for any harmful curses but I don't think she'd appreciate it."

"Let me try and actually catch a glimpse of Chris. I'll watch her for a bit and see if she starts talking to thin air, that should sort things out."

Balthazar nodded, satisfied, and suddenly pulled something from the box he'd been rifling through with a flourish. It was a wand – a light honey colour and fairly long. Probably with a unicorn hair core since it looked to be an easy-tempered instrument.

Balthazar handed it to Ron and he couldn't cast a flipping thing with it. It was utterly useless in his grip. Nothing more than a bloody stick. It had completely rejected him.

Peering around a corner, Ron spotted Jane sat at on the edge of a crumbling fountain, dangerously close to falling into the swampy water swilling within. She was talking to someone – but who was it?

He was about to tiptoe nearer when Rolf and Tiberius appeared.

"Ron," said Rolf cheerily. "What're you doing here?" The wand had been given to him rather than Ron, because he could actually use it. Ron was now wondering if he could ever use a wand again. His old one had been taken long ago by the Death Eaters, so he had no chance of getting that back.

He shushed Rolf. Then, said quietly, "Seeing who Jane's talking to."

"It'll be her brother Chris," said Tiberius. "She usually sneaks off to see him once every day or so."

"Yeah."

Ron shook his head at the two of them. "Balthazar swears there's no one there and Jane's just hallucinating."

Tiberius laughed. Then he caught Ron's expression. "Hang on, you're serious?"

"Absolutely." Ron turned back to Jane where she was still talking. "For now I'm just seeing if she's actually lost it or not, but then we need to figure out why she's imagining things. Balthazar thought it was because of something she found in his tower, some artefact that cursed her. We've ruled out the cuffs since none of us have hallucinated."

"But not trauma," said Rolf, and Ron nodded. It was true, after all. Maybe she'd started dreaming up her brother for comfort.

"What do we do about that, though?"

"Not like we can take her in to St Mungo's," said Tiberius. "She'll just have to deal with it until we can. Talk, or something. Whatever it is they do at St Mungo's."

"I think they give you biscuits," muttered Rolf. 

Tiberius stared at him. "What for?"

Rolf shrugged. "Mental issues, I'd guess."

"Anyway," said Ron, "should we tell Jane or not?"

"Tell her what?"

"That Chris isn't really there. Or d'you think that would just make it worse?"

Jane suddenly turned her head. The three boys were caught.

"Shit," said Rolf and bolted. "I was never here!" he called over his shoulder.

"The fuck are you talking about over there? It was me, wasn't it? I heard my name." Her eyes narrowed. God, werewolves were the worst with their accentuated hearing. "Along with some not very nice things."

"Well, it's true," said Ron. "You're talking to no one, Jane. Chris isn't there!"

"Because he just fucking left! You just didn't see him!"

Ron stared at her. "Really?"

"C'mon, Tiberius," Jane implored him. "You saw someone there, didn't you? You'd know Chris anywhere." Her eyes were wide, beseeching, and Tiberius appeared to be visibly struggling.

"I don't think I… I saw…" He shook his head. "There was no one there, Jane."

"You probably just didn't remember him. It's been a while since you saw Chris."

"It wasn't Chris. It wasn't anyone. There was no one there," Tiberius repeated, looking scared.

"Liar," said Jane, and refused to hear otherwise.

But the seed of doubt had been planted.

Tiberius wished he didn't possess the knowledge that Jane's parents were dead, and her brother too. Something was definitely wrong with Jane, so that wasn't good either. It was very bad, in fact. Tiberius would miss her if something happened to her. He didn't know a lot of things in terms of Jane, but he knew that.

At least he didn't carry the secret alone.

"Her brother's dead too, isn't he?"

Tiberius glanced at Ron, and nodded. "Saw the body carted away by some other poor werewolf. Chris was… It looked like he had been..."

Tiberius broke off, unable to continue.

Ron sighed. "So what the fuck do we do about Jane? Do we tell her?"

"It's cruel not to. But also, who wants to break that news?"

This had been the dilemma before. "We might have to. But let's tell Kella first. She might have an idea.

Kella was told.

"So you've told everyone but Jane herself?" said Kella, unimpressed.

"Not Balthazar," Tiberius interjected. "Should we tell Balthazar?"

"No," Kella said. "Tell Jane. That's who needs to know."

"Tell me what?" said Jane, who had just appeared in the doorway; and predictably, breaking the news went about as well as a bomb going off.

First, Jane was in a state of shock. Her wide green eyes blinked even wider; her mouth gaped like a fish out of water, and she gasped out a strangled, "What?"

"You heard me," said Tiberius slowly. The others were standing behind him, even though he'd told them to go. "They're…"

"No, no, you're lying," Jane said. "You're lying. Stop lying, Tiberius! What kind of joke is this?! If you- if you knew something like that you'd have told me right away, wouldn't you?" She stared at him. "Wouldn't you?"

"It's difficult news to-"

"But it's my family. It's my parents, my brother. Why wouldn't I want to know? Sod if it's 'difficult news' or not – I needed to know!"

Then Jane turned to stare at the rest of them all. "Did you all know before me?"

No one could quite look her in the eye, or give an answer. Outraged, Jane stormed outside, the back door slamming with an ear-splitting crash. Everyone winced.

She didn't stop. Jane blasted aside a beautiful patch of white snowdrops, laid waste to a flourishing pear tree and flattened a hedge that dared to stand in her way.

Behind a tree she turned, and Jane promptly vanished into the undergrowth.

Ron found Balthazar and explained the situation. Balthazar then explained that he knew where Jane was ("It's like a tickling sensation when someone's at the edge of the wards.") and not to worry, because she couldn't escape.

"She's gotten pretty good at magic, though," said Tiberius, and he looked worried. "What if she does break out? I think we should bring her back. Calm her down."

Ron was staring out of the window at the trees, now budding. Some leaves, a bright green, had unfurled like scrolls. "Or we could let her go," he said.

"What?"

"Maybe she would be better off in the Muggle world. There's going to be a fight soon. Do we know that she's good enough that we can guarantee her survival?"

Tiberius looked like he'd been slapped across the face. "But… No. We can't do that. It's out of the question. We need Jane."

"Of course we do," said Ron. "Everyone here is essential. Needed. Wanted. But I don't think I could live with myself if she died and we had the chance to send her home, and save her life."

"Send her home? Send her where? She's got no home!"

"There has someone she can stay with," added Rolf. "Some relative. And she has magic now. If she needs somewhere to stay she can confund some receptionist at a hotel and get herself some rooms until the war's all blown over."

It sounded very easy, when he put it like that.

"What then? Her family's dead – she will know no one." Tiberius' voice rose, the breaking point drawing near. "I am the only she knows from before. The only one! She will be utterly alone without anyone who really knows her, and that sounds worse than death, personally. I- I couldn't leave her like that. Not after what I've done to her. And... I need her," he finally admitted. "Though I'll be lucky if she agrees to speak to me ever again."

"Then you go too," suggested Kella. "Your life will be guaranteed as well."

"I can't just leave you lot behind."

"You can. It's not the end," said Rolf. "We'll see you all when the war's over, if all goes well."

Tiberius shook his head. "No. I'm not doing it. I won't leave you. And to be honest, I don't think Jane would want to either. She's not the type to sit in a hotel room while we're all off killing ourselves for a better world."

Privately, Ron was glad to know Tiberius was actually fighting. He'd wondered if his Pure-blood leanings and ties would have made it impossible for him. But it had been a while since he'd accidentally made some comment about Muggles, or wizards being superior. Had he really changed so much?

Something occurred to Ron, then. About the fighting.

"Balthazar," he said. "Will you be fighting with us? We could really use someone with your talent."

"Well, I wasn't going to, but since you asked… Alright. I had stayed out of this war, but now I know you lot I've become rather endeared towards your cause. Yes, I'll help when the time comes," he said.

Ron smiled. That was one bit of good news. "Great."

The time came sooner than they could have imagined. But Jane had to be brought back, first.

"Please, Jane," said Tiberius. He'd walked out to the edge of Balthazar's gardens to find her. But she didn't want to see him at all, as predicted.

"Fuck off. I don't want to talk to you. Send Rolf, send Kella, I don't care. But not you."

It was Kella who stepped up, although Rolf had been willing.

"Jane," she began. They didn't have much in common, other than being the only two girls in the group. But they'd spoken enough that they knew each other well. It was difficult to avoid anyone in a group so tight-knit as theirs.

Kella placed a hand on Jane's shoulder, and the girl flinched. She'd been sat out here almost all night, watching the sun sink below the hill in a torrent of blushing rose and in its wake the sky turning a midnight blue. The moon had risen high, candescent amidst the inky waves, and Jane had stared at it and willed herself not to cry. 

Not because she missed her family. She'd cried for them, so the news they were really dead didn't make much of a difference. Jane held back tears because Tiberius had made an utter fool of her.

"Jane? Are you alright?"

"No."

Kella sat down on the fallen tree beside her. The smell of moss rose to meet her. "The others want to send you home, you know," she began. "Back to the Muggle world. Although, I know you wouldn't want to go back to your home home with nobody there."

"You know what it's like?"

Kella nodded. "I wasn't as young as you, but I buried my parents and siblings, and nieces and nephews. I cut contact after that, so I've never met my great-nieces and -nephews."

"Was it sad?"

"'Course it was. And confusing for my family. When my mother got to a certain age she forgot I was immortal and kept thinking she'd gone mad, imagining me as a young girl again. She was mad, of course, but not in the way she thought."

Kella only realised her mistake when Jane's face screwed up.

"Have I really gone loopy?" she asked. "Christ, I've got to have. Imagining my... my dead brother. And the worst thing is that I still am. I can still see him just at the bottom of that hill."

"What's he doing?" asked Kella cautiously. The hill was empty, no person in sight.

"Staring at me. Just staring." Jane sniffed. "What do I do? I can't stop seeing him."

"Try and make him walk away," said Kella.

Jane turned to face her. "I can't, he's not real-"

"Go and talk to him. He's real to you, even if it's just in your head. Tell him that he has to go now and that you can't see him again."

"Ever?" said Jane.

"Ever."

It was for the best.

Jane levered herself from the tree and went down to meet her brother. He didn't look dead, with the breeze rippling through his hair, but the moonlight washing over him did give Chris a ghostly glaze.

His eyes met hers as she came closer. "Hello," said Chris. He seemed guarded.

"Chris, you have to go now," Jane told him while she still could. This was so weird. This whole thing was so weird, but she had to do it. "Don't argue. Just... go, right now. Go back to wherever you came from, and I don't want to see you again." It was the biggest lie she'd ever told.

Chris stared at her for a long moment. His expression was unreadable, strangely vacant. Jane almost couldn't recognise her brother in it – if he hadn't been the exact spit of him. This was Chris, for God's sake, what was she doing-

But Jane remained resolute, ignoring the voice that said as the older sister, she was supposed to look after him. Mum had trusted her to take him to the park and bring him back safe when they'd been seven and nine, and this was the same. "You have to go now," she told him again. "And... say hello to Mum for me. Dad, too."

This seemed to finally strike a chord with Chris. Staring at her one last time, he nodded, before he turned on his heel and walked away.

She supposed this was confirmation that he had never really been here. The real Chris never would have acted like that.

Jane watched him go until he vanished out of sight for the last time.

Balthazar called her into one of the greenhouses; it was heady with a strange musk and packed with odd, pungent flowers. He held up a familiar flower to her.

"Jane," he asked. "Did you smell this?"

She frowned, the question confusing her. Balthazar was wearing an odd peg clamped on the end of his nose. "Smell it, would you?"

She did. It was familiar. Jane nodded. "Yeah, must've been a few weeks ago. It's one of my favourites and I kept going back." It was that white one she really liked.

Balthazar nodded. "Ah. That solves it, then."

"What?"

"This is a skeleton rose from Nairobi. It's called that for its pale colour, but also because breathing in its scent is said to give hallucinations of the dead. I'm surprised it was only Chris you saw."

Jane stood motionless for a second. Well, that was the end of that, she supposed. Chris was dead and so were her parents. Not only was she an orphan, but the last Hastings, too.

Jane thanked Balthazar for letting her know.

"I found another wand if you want to try it, Ron," said Balthazar.

"Probably no point, is there?" Ron mumbled. He was leaning on the top of a table, head in his arms. He turned his face to Balthazar again. "I don't really need a wand. I only thought I'd be better with one."

"Try mine for a bit," suggested Balthazar.

Of course it worked beautifully for Ron. Jet black and ridged, this wand was ancient, and clearly very powerful. Ron was surprised he could wield it at all but it felt as good as his previous one. Better, perhaps; not to mention, it looked really cool.

"Obviously I can't take it."

"Well… Why not? It's not my favourite."

Ron hardly blinked. Of course Balthazar had spares. He nodded, tucking the wand into his pocket. "Okay then. Thank you, Balthazar."

Ron paused.

"Go on. Spit it out," said Balthazar.

"You didn't find any rune rings, did you?"

As a matter of fact, he did. One for Ron and one for Kella. Ron's new ring was a dull grey metal that couldn't have passed for silver if it tried, but he liked it. It kept him safe, and meant he could go outside during the day with the rest of their little gang; and that was all that mattered to him.

Ron had a wand and a rune ring again. For this last battle, he would be unstoppable.

Their last meal together was one of the loudest. Raucous, full of laughter and joy. Singing and eating, the fire roaring, the radio playing music. Ron was sat talking to Kella and Tiberius kept trying to make toast using magic and at some point Balthazar brought out butterbeer, and they were all drunk and merry... as merry and drunk as magical creatures could be, at least, and before they knew it the sun was rising again.

It was the fourth of May, and it would be a warm day, Ron thought - and since Balthazar had found rune rings for him and Kella (and wands for those who wanted them - not Jane, who had been taught magic without one, or Kella, who preferred going without), they would be safe to go out in the sun.

Rolf and Kella were grinning at some joke one of them told. Tiberius and Jane were speaking amiably, their relationship mostly patched up again – and perhaps even better than before.

Ron would see Hermione soon, he hoped. And Harry, and his parents – even Professor McGonagall he'd grown to miss.

At that moment, the radio cut out.

Ron frowned. He stood and walked over to it, tapping it in confusion. "The hell?" he murmured. He turned a dial, and all he could hear was static. But it sounded strange to him, like it was layered over the top of something else. Ron turned and twisted until the current began to sound clearer. But there was still something in the way.

He swallowed, and withdrew his wand. Ron thought he knew what it was. The table had gone quiet, and Ron assumed everyone was watching him.

"Hogwarts," he said, tapping the radio as he did.

Nothing.

"Dumbledore."

Nothing.

"Phoenix."

Still, nothing.

"Try something weirder," said Tiberius, and the voice made him jump. "They've probably already gone through those passwords."

Ron nodded, and tried, "Harry Potter? Hermione Granger?"

Nothing.

"Minerva McGonagall." It probably wasn't the right answer, but Ron kept going. "Mad-Eye."

The radio gave a strange noise - rather like a burp - and Ron was encouraged. "Remus Lupin, Sirius Black."

More noises.

"Tonks, Fleur Delacour… Viktor Krum! Diggory, Cedric Diggory!" he finally shouted.

The static cleared, and gave way to a sudden stream of voices. Familiar voices, Ron realised, and he turned it up as far as it would go.

"...Quite right, Rapier, quite right. And tonight it falls to me to deliver some news: lightning struck close to home earlier today with a strength like Godric's, but not for long... watch out, dear listeners, although the storm will be over soon. Very soon, as our experts say."

"Keep an ear out is what he's saying," said a second voice.

"Yes. Keep an ear out - I'm sure you'll be familiar, Rodent." Clearly they were speaking in code, since even a password couldn't keep out Death Eaters.

"The weather will certainly make the news, so watch for tomorrow's Prophet."

"Well... I think that'll be all. We had a treat tonight with Royal on, that's for certain."

There was a moment where they heard nothing.

Then the speaker returned, sounding panicked, all of a sudden: "Breaking news, listeners, breaking news! Lightning- I mean Harry, it's Harry Potter, he's going to Hogwarts right now! He's probably already there! We've just heard-"

There were some more muffled noises.

"Come on, George, we've got to go! It's bloody time!"

A final message was given to them. "Alright, listeners, it looks like this is it. Come to Hogwarts now, right now, if you want to get your revenge on the Death Eaters - if you want to support Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived - if you want to win the war-"

The connection died, and the song resumed. But Ron was in no mood for Celestina Warbeck's wavering tones.

"Helga - we found it!" said Rolf, sinking back in his seat.

There was celebration as this news was absorbed. But it soon stopped. 

"Those were my brothers, Fred and George," said Ron. It seemed like time had slowed down.

Was there any way for Ron to communicate back to them? To tell them he was still alive, still here? He wanted to tell them he was sorry that the Death Eaters had forced him to do all that stuff, that he was sorry he'd been gone so long but he was back now. And he was going to fight for their side in the-

Then Ron realised. Merlin, what were they still doing sitting here?!

Taking little more than their weapons and the clothes on their back, everyone rushed out of Balthazar's Keep - because it was time, time for the final battle at Hogwarts!

Chapter Text

Chapter Eighteen

London was just like he remembered. Dingy. Old. Dirty. Modern concrete buildings sprouting beside the only snatches of nature still left in the city in the form of caged trees and scrubby flower beds. After Balthazar, Kella and Tiberius (the only ones who could apparate) side-alonged Ron, Rolf and Jane to the capital, they began walking in the direction of the Leaky Cauldron. Most of them knew where it was.

They kept their hoods up and gazes firmly away from other people, cloaks flapping around their ankles.

They were making for Hogwarts, and buying a portkey to Hogsmeade was the only option. After that they could use one of the passageways to get up to the school or simply run there, since there would likely be other members of the Resistance who had answered the call to action for whom the gates would open on the other side.

"Werewolf," muttered Rolf, scanning the frantic streets that surrounded them. "Witch. Another witch. By Helga, they're everywhere."

Ron couldn't believe how lucky they'd been to tune in just at the right moment. He'd never have forgiven himself if he missed this, otherwise. 

The Leaky Cauldron’s sign had dropped to bits, so it now read ‘Eaky Ldron’, and rubbish was piled up at the door; the roof was in need of serious repairs, and there were so many wanted posters nailed up on the board outside of the pub that, put together, they were as thick as a telephone directory, wadded together by rainwater.

"It used to be better," Ron told Jane, feeling something wilt inside at seeing the Leaky in shambles. "Is everyone ready? Transfigurations still holding? Heartbeat spells, eye charms, vampires?”

They all nodded. They could take no chances, and had enchanted themselves to appear as humans – and strangers too, because the faces of Ron, Kella, Tiberius and Rolf were still known as infamous Death Eaters.

Ron pushed open the door.

“Haven’t been here in a while,” breathed Balthazar. “Not for a few decades, perhaps a century.”

The inside was no better than the outside, oily lamps flickering in the corners and the furniture filthy. The bar top was just as slick, one lone patron drinking there from a dusty glass and the barman wiping down another glass with a blackened rag. It wasn't Tom, the usual bloke Ron had passed by every time he wanted to go into Diagon as a kid; probably some Death Eater, but hopefully he'd be served just the same.

It was nearly empty at this time of night. At the tables, one stern old woman with grey hair and a porkpie hat was sat reading the Prophet, her pint nearly empty. Ron decided she wouldn't give them any problems.

"Portkey to Hogsmeade, please,” said Ron. Kella had stopped to read a notice on the wall.

CATCH A MUDBLOOD, EARN FIFTY GALLEONS. BOUNTY SET ON ORDER OF DOLORES J. UMBRIDGE, SENIOR UNDERSECRETARY TO THE MINISTER.

The barman rustled for something beneath the counter and produced a bottle of butterbeer. He tapped it with his wand, muttered a spell and said, "Next time you touch it it'll activate. Instantly, so don't touch it before then unless you’re willing to shell out for another.”

He sniffed at Ron. The barman was a rancid-looking man, with a greasy face and dark eyes. "Seven galleons,” he rasped, “and I’ll need to see your proof of blood purity papers.”

“I thought it was five galleons.” To the side of Ron, Balthazar tensed. But what else was he supposed to do except stall? He didn’t have those blood purity papers, whatever they were.

The man leant in closer. "This look like a fucking poor shop, mate? No haggling. You take it or leave it, ungrateful shit. Not my fault you left Hogwarts for a shag and can't apparate back again."

Ron had an idea. Waving his hand over his face, he removed his enchantments and watched the man’s expression turn from annoyed to terrified.

“I’ve changed my mind,” he said. To the side of him the man sitting at the bar froze. “You will let us through for free. On the Dark Lord’s orders, as we are on the Dark Lord’s business.”

The man begun to tremble. “I- I- yes, yes, of course, so sorry, Mister Weasley…”

To the side of him, Rolf sighed. “Ron, you realise now that we can’t let him go, don’t you? He’ll tell people we were here and he’ll tell people what our disguises look like and what we’re wearing.”

“Oh yeah. Well, deal with them, then. It’ll be good practice, and I didn't have those blood paper things anyway.”

Rolf stunned the man on the barstool in the blink of an eye, and Ron punched the barman and waved his hand, wordlessly casting the body-bind spell on him. The barman slumped to the ground.

Jane gave a shout from behind them, and Ron saw that the old woman in the porkpie hat had fought back when she tried to stun her. She was a quick duellist, wand moving constantly, and she covered herself well. Who was she?

Tiberius tried to free Jane, sending off more explosive charms. Ron sighed. "Merlin's sake, Tiberius, don't bring the whole bloody pub down on us, we need to go." He'd gotten the portkey.

Jane wrestled herself free, dashing out of the way behind a shield charm. “Ron!” she shouted and the old woman's eyes suddenly went wide. Ron frowned, realising something about her was familiar.

"Ron?" she said in complete shock, still somehow managing to deflect the others' spells at the same time. “Ron Weasley?”

"How'd you know my name?”"

“Well, it’s- it’s Tonks.”

“Wait, stop,” Ron said to Tiberius. “I know her, stop fighting.”

“Who is she?” asked Balthazar.

“Who are all of you?” said Tonks. Her disguise had melted away, and a less lined, far more familiar face emerged. She was staring at him as though she didn’t quite know what to make all of this. Neither did Ron. They hadn’t planned for this.

“Look, Tonks…”

She appeared to be afraid of him. “Why are you buying a portkey? Are you going to Hogwarts to- to stop us?” She drew herself up taller. “Well, you can’t. I won’t let-“

“No!” he said. “I’m going to join you!”

“It’s a trick. I should be stopping you-“

“Please, just let me explain,” said Ron desperately. “The Death Eaters forced us to do all that stuff in the papers. They chained us up and used the Imperius curse to force us, and there’s no way I can prove any of this, but you just have to take my word for it. We escaped in December but they’ve been using people who look like us or old pictures to make it seem like we didn’t. Can you… can you believe me, Tonks?”

A few tense moments passed.

“I'd have to be a fool to believe you,” said Tonks, and raised her wand.

His eyes went wide, but Balthazar yanked his arm and Ron’s body was thrown backwards into a yawning abyss.

He shook off his cloak again in Hogsmeade, the six of them waiting down some alleyway for an abominable shrieking to end.

“Must be a caterwauling charm. It’s like a Muggle burglar alarm – it sets off a siren when the spell's triggered,” Kella explained.

They had arrived into chaos, what seemed like hundreds of dark cloaks swarming around the small village. Hogsmeade was changed from the peaceful place it had once been. It had been changed by the war, as everywhere had.

“I can’t believe it,” said Ron. “Tonks didn’t believe me. And if she didn’t, I don’t know who else will. What are we going to do?”

They were stumped for a moment. Then Kella said, “We’ll have to strengthen our charms and fight as unknowns.”

Rolf nodded, agreeing with her plan. “And explain afterwards when things aren’t so…”

“Utterly insane?” said Tiberius as a curse went flying over their heads. Jane placed up a large shield charm around them all.

“Yes,” said Rolf. “Ron, you need to make your disguise better, since you were recognised just then. I think you might be in the most danger of that because you know everyone in the Resistance. You need to be careful, mate.”

“That wasn’t why I was recognised. It was my name." Ron thought for a moment. "We need code names.”

“What about… Ralph, Rob and Tyler?” suggested Jane.

Ron shook his head. “No, they’re way too similar, people could guess them. We need completely different ones.”

“You should be Tim again,” Balthazar said to Ron. “It suited you. Tiberius, you can be…”

“Alex?” said Jane.

“Yes, make it Muggle,” said Kella. “And Rolf, you can be John and I’ll be Grace. Now come here, Tim, I’ll turn your hair blonde.”

"I suppose I need to be careful I don't forget what your disguises look like," said Jane.

Carefully, after Ron, Rolf, Kella and Tiberius had changed their appearances, they crept out into the street and waited. “What now?” whispered Jane. “How do we get into the school?”

Curses were still flying past and people running in all directions, but suddenly they saw Tonks again, weaving her way through the crowd. “Make for the Hog’s Head!” she called to her followers, and Ron took the opportunity to dive after her.

“Well, chaps – this is all very exciting, isn’t it?”

“I suppose it’s not very personal to you, is it?” said Tiberius, perhaps harshly, to Balthazar.

“Lighten up,” said Jane. “Things are depressing enough as it is.”

There was a cluster of Death Eaters by the door of the Hog’s Head, and they were being angrily shouted at by a bearded old man.

"I told you before, you muppets, it was a bloody goat! A goat! Not a stag! Does a goat suddenly look like a stag to you?!"

The man was bare of spectacles, with long grey hair as stormy as the convulsing sky, and bore a striking resemblance to Dumbledore. If Ron hadn't known any better, from catching a glimpse of his same blue eyes, twinkling with rage, he would've thought Dumbledore was back from the dead.

Tonks blasted aside the Death Eaters still trying to get past the old man and shouted to the crowd, “Come on! The way’s clear!”

Thankfully, it was easy to slip in with them, and be carried through into the dusty pub.

"And who are all these?" the man growled. "Thought you said it was just you, Tonks.” His voice dropped. “And what are you doing here? Remus has already been through and he said you were at home with Teddy; your boy's not more than a month old, you can't-"

"I couldn't stand not knowing. Besides, the Order needs all the help it can get - that's why these lot are here too," said Tonks, casting an eye over the crowd. Ron held his breath, but thankfully their new disguises held.

The man at the front suddenly cleared his throat, and Ron had a nasty feeling that it was almost time to begin the battle. But he felt ready.

“I’d check you all but there’s no time, and I must say that it is unlikely all of you will come out of this unscathed.” His expression was tight-lipped, but proud. “Cheers for turning up. Every one of you will count. Thank you all for fighting, despite the risk.”

“Hear, hear!” shouted someone else. “Now let’s go!”

The man went to a portrait of a young girl Ron hadn't noticed before, and pulled. The portrait swung open to reveal a dark tunnel stretching far away into the distance. The man looked more like Dumbledore than ever before.

"Go on," he said, quite seriously. "Hogwarts is on the other end. Go, fight, and don't stop until you're forced to. Win this battle! Defeat You-Know-Who! Win the war!”

Witches and wizards began flooding through, eager to fight. Some wiped tears from their eyes as they went. Some were laughing with their friends for the last time. Ron felt like he was drunk.

“Go! Go quickly! We need all the fighters we can get!” shouted the man one last time.

Ron exited the tunnel somewhere completely unknown. Like the cabin of some colourful voyager, its high walls were looped with different colours of fabric and numerous hammocks. It was decorated with the house colours, Ron realised. Red, green, yellow, blue. 

Then Ron saw someone from another life. He almost called out to the bruised figure, one eye turned black and a nasty scrape along  the side of his face. It was Neville Longbottom, grinning despite everything and clapping people on the shoulders as they went out the doors on the other side.

“Oh,” said Ron, realising. “It’s the Room of Requirement.”

Jane frowned. “The what?”

“Never mind.”

“Who are you lot?” asked Neville, suspicious. Ron couldn’t say how weird it was to see an old friend but be utterly unable to greet him. And just as well. He’d probably not like Ron very much right now.

If it was this weird with Neville Longbottom, how would it be with Harry and Hermione?

“Doesn’t matter,” said Ron. “We’re here to fight for the Resistance.”

“Are you any good?” he asked next.

“Does it matter?" said Kella. "I thought you’d take anyone.”

Rolf made a noise. “Don’t be rude.”

Neville sighed. “You’re right, just go on through. Thank you, by the way.”

And that was it. Other than Neville the room was empty, and sounds of destruction leaked in from outside, blasts and crashes and bangs. And that was where they were headed.

Ron unclasped his cloak and let it fall to the ground. Underneath he wore the faded leather jacket he’d filched from that charity shop so long ago, a thick jumper, jeans, and boots caked in mud from the English countryside. His hair was too long and there was a hole in his jacket that he'd forgotten to mend.

Ron was not Ron but an ordinary human wizard named Tim, and he had blonde hair and blue eyes. He took out his wand and tested his grip.

He was just about ready to do battle. Months he’d been waiting, and he was ready to unleash all of the fury the Death Eaters had built up inside of him.

The others had readied themselves beside him. Ron turned and said to them, “If I lose you during the battle, I hope we can find each other again on the other side."

Rolf nodded at him. Tiberius looked faintly worried. Kella looked ready to win. Balthazar seemed excited by the prospect of battle, as did Jane.

Ron pushed open the door and walked through. 

It seemed like they'd stepped right into the thick of it.

Ron ducked as a fizzing orange spell went spinning behind him, and since they emerged onto the seventh floor, that was definitely the Room of Requirement. Two wizards were duelling below the troll tapestry nearby and Kella cast a spell that had the wizard wearing a skeleton mask whizzing into the castle wall opposite.

The other wizard tried to thank them, but was drowned out by a thunderous rumbling. The castle walls were shaking and the stained windows shattered. The wizard Kella had saved sprinted past them, shouting, “I’d get out of here if I were you!”

He was right. From the hole in the wall, several Death Eaters appeared in a swirl of smoke, their feet crunching over glittering glass.

Ron raised his wand.

It took one spell to dispatch the Death Eater who began hexing Ron, freezing them where they stood and blasting them back out of the window. Kella pinned the second to the wall with sprawling vines which squeezed tight, strangling, and Tiberius simply slashed with his wand to take out the throat of another.

Ron looked round and saw Rolf and Jane were gone.

"Where are they?" he shouted to Kella.

She pointed the other way, where shouts deafened and light came in dizzying flashes. Ron ran for the main body of the castle, throwing out a hand to hex a few Death Eaters on the way. Stares followed him, wondering at his wandless magic.

Who was this boy, destroying Death Eaters as though they were merely ants to be crushed below his unrelenting heel?

Fighting humans was much easier than fighting vampires and werewolves. Ron could now really feel the difference in their reaction speed, and was grateful to be quicker than them. He passed fierce duels and joined some, dicing the enemy to pieces (only literally on one unfortunate occasion, when two spells combined quite by accident) before moving on again.

Ron couldn’t have told you how long he ran for, dashing down one hallway and then another, springing over a pile of rubble and a broken vase and a dead body and hexing the enemies he chanced upon, until finally he made it to the moving staircases. There was a duel going on between a Death Eater and an Order member, and it was easier than breathing for Ron to slip a stunner into an open gap, “Stupefy!” and for the Death Eater to crumple.

The Order member turned to thank him, and Ron was already gone. A breath of air on the wind - and not even that.

He felt alive, tearing through the castle, flying down the stairs. Only one thing was on his mind and that was the next Death Eater, the next target. He punched a Death Eater coming up the opposite way and sent another one flying off a moving staircase and plummeting to their death below.

It was brutal, but this was war. And Ron would not save a Death Eater when so many of his fellow werewolves, vampires and wizards were murdered for sport.

Hearing a whistling coming towards him, Ron dived down as an explosive Reducto hit a column beside him, sending bits of rock flying. He'd been spotted finally, maybe aptly named the most dangerous thing on the staircases and as such a target was fixed upon his back; Ron sprung back up again and stunned another two before ducking back down again, throwing up a Protego to cover him.

On these moving staircases, a stunning spell could mean death. Toppling off the moving steps or even just standing still for a second and being smashed by a wayward spell or a piece of broken rock could mean the end.

It was good that Ron could keep his feet, and all of these poor Death Eaters could not.

As Ron straightened back up a slicing spell hit him across the face, gouging out a portion of his cheek and ripping part of his ear off. Ron swore wetly as he choked on blood and nearly toppled backwards off a staircase.

He wavered over the abyss, but managed to drag himself back onto solid stone.

He told himself it wouldn't take long to heal, and tried to cover himself the best he could while it did, maintaining a shield charm as strong as he could muster. Another spell hit him, shoving him against the stone behind him, and Ron groaned. But he wasn't dead, at least. He vowed never to let his shield charm drop again. Once healed, Ron identified that this recent setback of his was the fault of four Death Eaters huddled on a stairwell two floors below.

Ron scurried down two set of stairs, ducking and casting alternatively, before leaping across to the opposite side. One Death Eater stumbled back trying to escape him, and dropped onto a platform below with a sickening crunch. A second Death Eater grabbed Ron's arm and Ron elbowed him in the neck with the other, before throwing him over the side. The third Death Eater was still too stunned to cast a spell, it seemed.

Ron snarled in his face, fangs sharp and eyes red with fury. The Death Eater fell backwards from the shock, likely dying as the rest had.

It took Ron a moment to compose himself again. He had to recraft his spells to mask his vampiric features, and try and settle his stomach where an odd feeling had welled up. Guilt, perhaps.

Ron glanced down below. One of the Death Eaters seemed to have survived, rolling onto the ledge below and pointing their wand back up at the vampire who had felled them, and Ron had to jump back as a spell went flying not a few centimetres from his face.

Helpfully, the staircase above then began to collapse. 

Ron ran for his life, desperate not to be crushed by a block of stone many times the size and weight of him.

The last Death Eater went scrambling for the entrance to the fourth floor, and Ron was hot on their heels. They shot off some nasty lightning spell that almost zapped the bloody daylights out of Ron, but hit some other unfortunate instead.

Ron saw some students running the other way, uniforms tattered. He assumed they were of age since they hadn't been forced to leave - but they didn't look it.

"Wait!" Ron called out. "The stairs have been destroyed there - if you push on the tapestry" - he pointed to where it was - "there are some other stairs that come out near the old History of Magic classroom.”

One girl, strangely carrying a crystal ball, gave him a grin. "Thank you!" she shouted as they all dashed away again. Ron saw the girl hurl the crystal ball at a section of wall above some Death Eaters, and watched glass and chunks of brick rain down on them before the students vanished through the passageway. It was impressive - those crystal balls were heavy.

Ron saw smoke rising from the end of the corridor.

Merlin. It was the library.

When he arrived it was to find Rolf already there trying to stop a crowd of Death Eaters from setting the place on fire. Ron wasn’t sure what the books had done to them; it was more likely it the people in the library that they were after.

Students and Order members alike stood on Rolf's side, and Ron saw Professor McGonagall beating back the flames with a strong spout of water.

A few of the younger students (they couldn’t be older than eleven, how had they remained here?) were throwing books, not knowing more than the levitation charm, and it broke Ron's heart. He fought in front of them, a wide Protego spread out to protect them when he wasn't hurling out spells at a frankly impressive speed.

An idea flourished when Ron saw a good five Death Eaters stood beside a heavy bookcase; straining so hard he could feel his brain splitting into pieces, Ron cast a strong Flipendo spell to rock over the shelves, and Rolf, who saw what Ron was trying to do, used a spell of his own to help.

The bookshelf toppled with a mighty bang and the Death Eaters were crushed. A few of the survivors escaped into the maze of shelves, and Ron was off after them like a shot.

He crept down one corner and peered around a shelf to see if anyone was down the next aisle; it was clear, and so he turned, heading into more darkness. The lights in the library had been smashed by wayward hexes, but it made no difference to him.

Up ahead a woman in black robes was removing her skull mask, peering around warily. She couldn’t see him, it was too dark - but not for Ron.

"Impedimenta!"

She was frozen before she could even reach for her wand.

Ron heard to the left of him a whispering sound, and, pushing aside one heavy leather-bound book, found two more Death Eaters conferring. In their hands he saw a hazardous-looking orange potion, and as he was stunning them, "Stupefy, Stupefy!" one of them threw it across the library back to where McGonagall was standing with the children at the end of the rows of shelves.

Ron heard a bang, and then the children started screaming.

He ran out and saw the children lying on the ground writhing in pain, McGonagall furiously casting spells to remove the acid from their clothing. Rolf was still fighting some of the Death Eaters left over ("Ah, um, Colloshoo!" he shouted, panicking, and a Death Eater was glued to the stone) and Ron was stood in the middle of it all.

He didn't know the spell. "Professor!" he tried to shout over the clamour, "Professor, what's the spell?"

She was murmuring to herself. Ron tried again. "Professor McGonagall – the spell, what’s the incantation?”

"It's Delere Acidum, if you must know!" she snapped, and continued her work. The professor looked much the same, hair in a severe bun, glasses pinching her nose. It was only her robes that were torn and dusty. Her eyes were solely on the students, but they flicked to the side to glance at him and she was distracted.

“Do I know you?” she said.

Ron shrugged. “I'm an old student. The name’s Tim.”

“And you, young man?” she said to Rolf. “I saw you doing some good work. Are you another ex-student of mine?”

“No, home-schooled, I’m afraid. I’m John. And you are…?”

Ron elbowed him. “That’s Professor McGonagall, you dolt.”

She was already gone.

“Spell’s Delere Acidum, deal with the worst ones and then we’d better scram,” muttered Ron. “McGonagall knew me well before. I don’t want to be found out.”

He glanced up and she was there again. Working away, but far too close for his liking. Her eyes went up to meet his and Ron waved his wand, magicking away a large patch from some kid’s robe.

“Impressive,” said McGonagall. “Wandless.”

“Thank you,” said Ron, then grabbed Rolf before she could ask him any more questions. “Sorry. I just heard a nasty crash from downstairs!”

McGonagall just nodded at him. “I’ll get this lot off to Pomfrey. Be careful, though I don’t think you’ll need to be.”

Ron left before she could say much more. He was suddenly aware of pain in his arm, and realised a splat of acid had gone through his sleeve and had burnt him. Irritated, Ron wiped it off and continued in the direction of the lower floors.

“Gets worse as we go down,” said Rolf as they ran. “You seen anyone? I saw Kella stood on some balcony shooting at people, and Jane beating people up with her hands. I asked her if she’d forgotten the spells, but she said it was way easier this.”

“Well, it would be. Kid like Tiberius has never fought with his fists before, has he?”

“Want to head for the Great Hall? That’s where the worst of it is. Plus, I’ve heard about werewolves and vampires fighting for the Death Eaters.”

Ron’s eyes widened. “They’re not the ones we left behind, are they?”

Rolf looked grim. “That’s what I want to find out, Tim.”

An Order member was losing badly in a duel off to the left, and Rolf split off to help. There were so many disasters erupting around them it was difficult to keep track.

Ron was on the grand staircase when two enormous acromantula crashed through a stone archway, monstrous pincers snipping and milky white eyes blinking. Raising his wand, Ron was about to hex one when an arm suddenly pressed across his front.

“Don’t do that, they’re on our side,” said Harry, pointing down at Hagrid. “He is too and he’s telling them to attack the Death Eaters. See?”

The spiders looked more like they were ignoring Hagrid and squashing whoever they wanted, but Ron was busy gaping at his best mate who he hadn’t seen for an entire year. Year and a half, more like. Harry looked older and thinner than he’d ever seen him before.

“Harry,” said Ron, still staring like he’d seen a ghost.

He frowned. “Do I know you?”

There was a cry and Harry was running off again, already casting spells, saving lives. He pushed through the crowd of people streaming up and down the stairs and disappeared.

Ron wasn’t given long to mull over his encounter. He caught a hex heading straight for him out of the corner of his eye and had to quickly duck and send one back. He knocked someone off the balcony and shot out several more hexes, not bothering with incantations and using his other hand to optimise speed.

He saw Balthazar at the foot of the stairs, a wide berth around him since he was indiscriminate in most of his destruction. As Ron neared. Balthazar blasted another Death Eater aside, and another; he dipped and weaved with his wand, magic splashing from each spell and taking out even more Death Eaters.

“Alright, Baz?!” Ron had to shout above the din.

Grinning, Balthazar turned his head over his shoulder, not stopping in his decimation for a second. “Yeah! This is bloody fantastic!”

A werewolf snarled at him, jaws almost closed around Balthazar’s arm and Balthazar shrunk him into a beetle and flattened him before he could do any more harm.

“This is great,” he said again, dropping his wand to wrestle with a vampire trying to tear his head off.

Ron reflected that this was the most insane battle he’d ever been in.

Ron ducked to avoid having his head sliced off by a suit of armour, the knight chortling and saying, “Watch out there, chap!” before it took the head from a Death Eater right behind him.

Ron saw someone who looked like his brother Percy sprinting past, gone before he could call out. A shove at his back nearly sent him into a jet of fire controlled by none other than Seamus Finnegan, who didn’t spare him a glance.

"Sorry mate!" called Seamus, going back to fighting spiritedly with a Death Eater who matched his vigour, and Ron was carried on into the Great Hall, the number of people around him utterly stifling.

The strong wards around Hogwarts had long ago stopped being an effective barrier against the Death Eaters. The front doors had been smashed to pieces and the stone walls were falling apart, Death Eaters spilling in like rats through a sewer grate. On one end of the hall a group of the Resistance was fighting to keep back a wall of dementors trying to crawl through the obliterated windows and were struggling.

He saw Jane fighting what seemed like a grindylow out of water, and he flicked his wand. The grindylow choked as its lungs turned to stone. Ron smiled at her. “You’re welcome,” he said.

She only had time to grin in return before she was tackled by an enormous werewolf, and had a sizeable chunk taken out of her neck.

Ron didn’t worry at first. The werewolf continue to maul her, not having long before Ron slashed with his wand, the creature going silent as blood dribbled from its neck.

It was only when he turned to Jane and saw her much in the same state that Ron paused.

“Jane,” he said, shaking her. “Jane? Can you hear me? Are you alright?”

She said nothing, unseeing green eyes like the sprouting leaves of spring turned towards the ceiling. There was no breath rattling through her chest and yet Ron healed her wounds, gently wiping away the blood with his sleeve.

“Jane, are you awake yet?”

“Mate, I think she’s gone,” said a voice behind him and Ron shook his head.

“No, she’s a werewolf. They have quick healing. She’ll wake up in a second.”

“She’s not going to. She’s had her throat torn out; werewolves can’t survive everything.”

“Yeah, but- I have to try,” said Ron. “Come on, Jane!” he said louder. “Vulnera Sanentur.”

His palm was spread wide, radiating strong magic. And yet it wasn’t working. The wound wasn’t knitting together, but oozing more blood. Jane’s neck was a wet, congealing mess, and she was utterly motionless.

Ron got off his knees, and kicked the body of the other werewolf out of the way. He glanced up and found his eyes were wet with tears. The person who had spoken was next to him, and he glanced up to see who they were.

“Oh, hello George,” said Ron. “Cheers for the message, by the way, I’d have never known to come otherwise – and shit, is she really dead?” Ron’s hands tugged through his hair until it hurt. “Fucking hell. I said we’d keep her alive and she’s dead.”

His chest began to seize oddly. “Oh God,” he said, gulping. Ron found he couldn’t quite breathe. He didn't need to, but he was panicking.

“She’s-“ he began again, but could go no further, throat refusing to work. Ron was blinded by tears yet he could see Jane’s unmoving body clearly in front of him. Merlin, what would Tiberius say? This was his fault-

“Come on,” said George, staring at him very strangely.

Ron glanced at him. “Come on, what? I killed her. This is my fault. I had time to kill that werewolf but I didn’t. I thought she could take care of herself. I thought we taught her enough. We had the chance to send her home and we didn’t, and now she’s dead.”

Ron paused to stare at him again. “You look tired, George, but I s’pose you should get back to fighting. I s’pose we both have to. Don’t die, yeah?”

“How do you know my-“

He’d been treating this all like a game. A curse hit him and he barely felt it.  

Ron stretched out his palm again, and injected every bit of pain he could feel into destroying as many of the enemy as he could.

Soon he met up with Kella who had been dominating the right side of the hall, slashing down fearsome enemies, notorious Death Eaters and she had no idea. How insane it must be to be fighting in a war you didn't know anything about, but Ron supposed he'd understand in a century or two.

He was just wondering where Voldemort was when he was attacked.

All of a sudden Ron was folding to the ground, forced down like the hand around his neck was trying to crush him through him through the floor.

For a moment he struggled.

Then, feeling it nearly drain him, Ron scraped together all the energy still in his possession to throw the person off him.

They flew a few feet through the air, but landed on their feet at the same time Ron was getting back to his own, holding his aching neck. Ron met eyes with his foe, stronger than anyone else he'd faced tonight - dare he say ever - and was frozen to the spot with the shock, mind screaming at him to run.

No.

No.

It... couldn't be, could it?

Mordecai?

But it was him. Utterly unhinged, frothing at the mouth, wilder than ever and skin paler than milk. Mordecai looked bone thin, face scarred and fingers ending in jagged, grimy points. This lack of personal hygiene was not surprising for Mordecai, but it made Ron wonder: what on earth had happened to him since? He'd always been grubby, but this was on a whole different terrifying level.

His eyes were an unsettling, beady red and the smile he flashed Ron showed off teeth like chips of rotted wood. It was then Ron realised that his face was... wrong. This wasn't the Mordecai he'd known. Instead, the face of... of Michael, of Sanguini sat on the body of Mordecai, and it took him a few moments to work out exactly what was going on. 

They were the same person. Mordecai had been transfiguring his face all that time he'd been training Ron, because really, he was Michael, the bastard son of Rabastan Lestrange. It all made sense now.

But something was terribly wrong.

Ron stared at him and Mordecai gave a feral growl, arms swiping through the air to release a torrent of ice that Ron just barely melted with a shield of glowing warmth; Ron's face grew wet from the water that exploded forth, but it was better than being pelted with great shards of ice.

What the hell was Michael doing here? And what was wrong with him? Should Ron keep fighting him or not?

“Diffindo!” he cried, still uncertain.

Mordecai stepped around it, but another duelling pair swerved near, sparks flying. Mordecai was distracted, and Ron thought he seemed a bit... slow, this time round.

Ron wondered if he could be taken down easily. "Stupefy!"

Mordecai batted it aside easily.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

Again it was swiped away. But there was no scathing reply. In fact, it seemed to have no effect on Mordecai. He just blinked at Ron slowly, and Ron knew something was quite seriously wrong with him.

He hadn't said a word and he didn't seem to be capable. Had he distantly recognised Ron, was that why he'd chosen to attack him? A few of the werewolves and vampires released into the battle tonight by the Death Eaters had been the same: almost rabid. It seemed like they’d been starved - and worse.

Something floated to the surface again, and, using magic, Mordecai hefted some loose bricks from the ground and threw them Ron’s way.

They were heavy. Ron tried to craft a barrier, but it was smashed through and he was cut down again, wrist crushed and wand sent spinning across the hall. Mordecai came charging over a second later and, terrified, Ron sent up a torrent of fire to stop him.

Mordecai choked, screaming and clawing at his face, and continued to do so even when the fire that had burst from Ron's hands had stopped.

Mordecai dived at him. His shield had been demolished and Ron felt rocks digging into his back sharply as Mordecai's fingers scrabbled at his throat, a mindless predator seeking an opening in the skin.

The monster from the forest had come to take everything from him again. Before he'd had a reason, freedom from his father, but this was just mindless destruction. Quite literally mindless, because Mordecai didn't seem to have any logical thoughts left. Michael was dead, and only Mordecai was left in that consciousness. Ron realised what he had to do. 

He would have to kill Mordecai. Someone had to deliver the world from this creature, and it seemed that it would be Ron. 

The skin split, and saw his life flashing before his eyes. He was going to die like Jane. Was this how it ended? After eighteen mediocre to miserable years, was this it?

Even if he died trying, it seemed that it was Ron who had to do this.

Ron coughed, feeling the blood beginning to bubble in his throat. He was choking, pale fingertips feeling their way inside his throat.

Along with his life he glimpsed something else beginning to flicker in the distance. It was the sun, glimmering on the shards of glass remaining in the window frames.

Ron had an idea.

Mordecai's fingers drove deeper, and Ron felt himself withering and dying. He could taste blood and ashes. Death itself. But it was not over yet.

Ron placed his arms on Mordecai's, feeling the thin tendons freeze beneath the tight pressure. He held down harder, squeezing, crushing, feeling the fingers struggle within his throat, and he knew from the feel of the filthy, skeletal fingerbones embedded in his neck that they were bare of a rune ring.

Bare.

His fingernails were sharp as knives and Ron wondered if he would ever speak again with his vocal chords shredded to this extent, but he crushed Mordecai's arms until he was howling like a wounded wolf and the fingers were still, paralysed.

Mordecai was shackled in place, his hands within Ron’s throat. They were bonded again in blood and flesh, but this time Ron would be the one to rise.

The sun soared in the sky, great and magnificent and golden, and Ron watched as the fiery orange rays reflected in the inflamed red of Mordecai’s irises and lit a small fire. It caught on the ragged hem of Mordecai's cloak, slipping up to his hair and burning that as easily as dry autumn leaves. Ron thrust Mordecai away, and his arms, his fingers were eaten up by the conflagration.

The fire swelled and devoured Mordecai in one bite.

Mordecai barely had time to scream, disintegrating in moments into a pile of ash, which was carried away on the fresh wind of the morning.

Dimly, Ron realised the fighting had stopped. He’d heard a voice in his head at one point, but it had all been dwarfed by his task of dispatching that wretched creature. One last favour for Rabastan Lestrange: killing the bastard son he'd never wanted.

Mordecai was dead. Michael was dead too. If it had been Michael he'd met tonight, Ron would have saved him. But it had not been him. 

Was Michael completely innocent? He'd said otherwise before, but now they would never know. He was dead, but Ron was not. Although it had been close, he knew; Ron had been close to going out like Jane, throat ravaged.

He was very limited in his movements, but he was alive. It being all he was able to do, he tilted his head to the dawn, thankful for the rune ring sat on his finger. Thankful for Balthazar’s generosity.

Feeling returned slowly, and Ron could wriggle his fingers. He coughed and spluttered, forcing the blood from his oesophagus, which was slowly patching itself up from Mordecai's intrusions. He could still hear sounds of fighting, but they were decreasing.

It seemed that people were moving and when Ron could move his arms again, he gathered the strength to pull himself to his feet. He saw Voldemort stood in the centre of the hall and watched as Harry’s body was brought in by Hagrid. But Ron was never worried – he could hear his friend’s heartbeat, after all, and was proud as he watched his friend bring down the Dark Lord once and for all.

The fighting began again for the last time and Ron was not capable of all he had been. He still felt incredibly weak, and a nasty hex to the chest sent him down for good, coughing and spluttering, choking on blood.

“Come on, chap! Get up! It’s not your time yet!”

Blearily, Ron’s eyes opened once again, and it seemed no time had passed at all. The constant explosions and shrieking had almost ceased, so he could only conclude that this blasted battle was nearly over.

Balthazar had yanked him to his feet again. He seemed worried. “Your spells, chap. I’d fix them back up. Your hair’s gone that awful carrot colour again. And you do look terribly pale. Gaunt, I might venture - and the blood all over your face and neck isn't helping.”

“Thank you,” Ron thanked him thickly, and Balthazar pulled an odd expression.

“Might want to get that checked out, chap.”

“What time is it? What’s happened?”

“Just finishing now,” said Balthazar. “The Dark Lord’s dead, you know.”

Ron could half remember Harry shouting something: “It all ends here, Tom!” or something along those lines. Ron grinned lopsidedly. “Brilliant news,” he rasped. “So it’s over?”

“Yes, it’s over. Thing is, now we’re in a spot of trouble. I was going to try and apparate us away-“

“Trouble?” Ron echoed. “Yes, I can see that.”

Peering over Balthazar’s shoulder, Ron found nearly the entire Great Hall staring at him and his friends. There were some placing sheets over bodies and some gawking at the body of Voldemort, a chalky corpse which didn’t look terribly spectacular, considering what the man had been while he was alive…

But there were far too many pairs of eyes on Ron. And they really were looking at him this time, with his red eyes and ‘carrot hair’ as Balthazar had nicely put it.

Tiberius, Kella and Rolf were stood in front of a large crowd of people trying to explain themselves.

“I promise we’re not Death Eaters,” said Tiberius emphatically, hands held out in an act of mercy.

A newspaper was thrown at his head with his face on it.

“Then what the fuck is this?!” demanded Dean Thomas.

“Merlin,” said George, Ron’s brother, who had broken out from the crowd. “It really was you. I swore it was but you looked so different.”

“Transfiguration,” Ron tried to say, but it came out far too hoarse. He put a hand to his throat and found it covered in dried blood, fresh still leaking through the cracks that his body hadn’t yet managed to heal.

“I think you need to sit down, chap,” said Balthazar, who was still supporting Ron an awful lot, and Ron had to nod.

“Who is that?” said George.

Ron limped his way over to a bench with Balthazar holding him up, and found a crowd of people in his way. A few battered souls he recognised – Pomfrey, Slughorn, Angelina.

“Oh, come on,” said Balthazar. “Let the boy sit down. He’s been through a lot, you know. Torturing by the Death Eaters, all sorts.”

“Torturing?” said Angelina. “Why would they torture you? You’ve been helping them.”

Ron shook his head. “Forced,” was all he could get out, but she understood.

It seemed there was a lot of explaining to do. Ron was not in the mood. He beckoned to Balthazar, who was still talking to Angelina, and said, “Any food?”

Balthazar spread his arms wide. “Take your pick. Gosh, there are so many dead here it’s difficult to know where to start.”

Ron glanced at the humans stood gaping at them.

“Ah, I suppose not. Want me to go and get you something?”

“Ron,” said Angelina, and he couldn’t look her in the eye.

Tiberius, Kella and Rolf were still explaining to everyone their story, and whilst some were nodding and looking relieved, others looked venomous. They looked like they didn’t believe a thing the three were saying, especially since they were creatures.

“It’s in their nature to lie,” said Slughorn to Pomfrey, quietly, “so don’t be too quick to believe these. I read that in a book.”

Ron stared up at him. Slughorn jumped. “Ah, Weasley!” Then his expression fell. “Weasley, what the devil’s happened to your…”

“Those are my friends you’re talking about,” he croaked. He cleared his throat, and though there was pain, his voice came out clearly. “We’re not liars by nature. We’re people, just the same as you.”

Slughorn looked as though he was going to reply, but someone pushed past him. It was Hermione. She looked frazzled, eyes framed by dark circles and her hair unbelievably frizzy. But Ron had never seen a dearer sight and thought he never would.

“Hello, Hermione,” he began.

Her expression did something very odd and before she could reply, Balthazar appeared again with a goblet full of what was unmistakably human blood, taken from the cutlery still lain out on the tables in the Great Hall.

Despite all of the eyes on him, Ron gulped it back gratefully, feeling the skin of his throat finally knit back together. Ron sighed in relief, trying to use his jacket sleeve to wipe the dried blood from his skin, but it was almost useless when it was dry. He was glad Mordecai was dead. Ron remembered that his friends were still arguing and he should probably go and join them-

Someone cleared their throat in front of him. Ron stood up. It was Harry again, stood next to Hermione. He was just as tired as the rest of them, glasses sitting crooked on his nose, but the red lightning scar was where it always was.

“Alright Harry,” said Ron. “Good job with You-Know-Who. And Hermione – you look lovely, by the way.” He hoped she didn’t think he was being sarcastic.

“You've been gone an awfully long time,” she said.

Ron nodded. It was true.

Harry scratched the back of his head. “I don’t think anyone’s sure what to make of this,” he said.

“Me neither,” replied Ron.

“What if we start by… telling each other where we’ve been,” said Hermione. “We weren’t at school this year.”

“I know.”

She blinked in surprise. “You do?”

“It was in the papers. You being undesirable number one, Harry, and Hermione being the most wanted Muggle-born.”

“I suppose I should be glad you didn’t say Mudblood,” said Hermione.

Ron frowned. “Never. It’s a vile word. Look, it’s a long story I’ve got to tell – the one they’re trying to tell over there” – he pointed to Tiberius, Kella and Rolf – “but it basically boils down to: nothing the papers said about me or them is true, because we were kidnapped, tortured and imperiused to do all of that stuff. I can barely remember a lot of it.”

Ron scratched at his wrist, and only then remembered that he actually did have a scrap of truth. He held out his wrists and Hermione's eyes went wide. Slughorn looked scandalised and Madam Pomfrey leaned in to get a better look at the horribly scarred runes etched into Ron’s skin.

“This is how they controlled us,” he said.

Hermione’s hand hovered over them. “Can I… touch?”

Ron nodded, pressing her hands to his skin. “Yeah, it just feels like a scar.”

Hermione recoiled. “No, it definitely doesn’t. I can tell it’s dark magic.”

“A garden gnome could tell you it was dark magic," said Balthazar.

Ron made himself keep talking, though it was difficult. "The Death Eaters did a lot of experimenting on us with all kinds of drugs and curses, it was pretty mad back there. Did you see some of the savage werewolves and vampires fighting for their side? Well, that would’ve been us if we never escaped.”

“You escaped?” said Harry. “When? Why didn’t you try and find anyone?”

“And who would believe our story unless it was all over?” said Ron. “We had to stay in hiding. For our own good, too, since I wasn’t right in the head after all that.” Ron swallowed. “No, not right at all.”

And he’d gone quiet again.

Of course this was the perfect moment for his mother to appear.

“Ronald!” she shouted, looking as though she was going to run over and squeeze him to death in a hug. But then she stopped a few feet away from him, staring at him in confusion. She turned to Harry instead.

“Is he on our side?”

Ron hoped he’d been convincing enough. Thankfully, Harry was nodding. “Yeah, he is. But be carefu-“

Ron was immortal, as had been proven today, but it was a very close thing. Afterwards he would swear he was wheezing from how hard Molly had held him. Then she was poking at his cheeks and calling him peaky and telling him he needed a haircut and a shower.

Ron was holding back tears, having missed all of this more than he could say.

In the end, Kella, Tiberius and Rolf were believed by most of the people in the hall, and that was enough not to get them kicked out. There would be no reason for them to stick around if they had been Death Eaters, since they had lost.

Their leader was dead. They were defeated. There was talk of chasing up the last of Voldemort’s supporters, but that would come later. For now, the spirit of triumph was infectious, and people were soon laughing and crying as they were reunited with family members – alive and dead.

Fred was dead. George, having realised that he had spoken to Ron during the battle, asked who Jane had been.

“She was our friend,” was all he could manage, because he couldn’t tell them everything.

They found her body, still cold. Werewolves had impeccable healing, it was true, but they couldn’t survive everything, as Remus Lupin also proved that night. Ron saw he and Tonks lying side by side in their eternal rest, and felt terrible that he’d never been able to explain everything to Tonks.

When Rolf told everyone who he was, his grandfather was sent for immediately. Newt wanted to take him home right away, but McGonagall said that there had been quite enough of that.

“I understand that they died,” she said, “but keeping their son isolated for his entire life was no way to repay that sacrifice.”

Newt looked sheepish. “I was only trying to keep him safe-“

“Well, I was still kidnapped, wasn’t I?” said Rolf. Newt still seemed worried, but agreed to stay for a celebratory meal in light of Voldemort’s death and the end of the war.

An enormous steak on his plate in front of him, Rolf had never looked happier. Luna sat beside him and for most of the meal they chattered away happily, talking about creatures and plants and whatever else they were both interested in. The fact Rolf was a werewolf didn’t seem to bother Luna in the slightest.

The atmosphere of Hogwarts after it all ended, although it was battered and bruised - but not broken, never broken - was unrivalled to this day. The triumph, the mix of grief and victory; it still made Ron's head spin just to think about it. He himself had been over the moon, equally trying not to think about what killing Mordecai (and Michael) really meant.

He'd cheered with his friends, both old and new, and toasted to everyone who gave their lives so they could sit here now; the entire hall was drinking and eating and being merry (or crying over lost relatives, but the two mingled surprisingly easily). Ron glanced up to see Neville was staring at him, eyes wide, and Ron stared back. In this light there was no way to mistake what he was.

Neville came over. “How long have you been like this?” he asked.

“A vampire?” Neville nodded. “Since the beginning of sixth year. I was bitten during the summer.”

Neville nodded a second time, surprisingly. “It all makes sense now,” he said, and wandered away again. But not before smiling, clapping him on the shoulder, and inviting him to play cards with Dean, Seamus and him.

Ron thanked him for the offer, but he had other people to talk to. He had spoken to Harry and Hermione and most of his family, but had been apart from some very important people.

Balthazar and Kella were sat on the stairs in the Entrance Hall. Kella smiled widely, standing to wrap Ron into a hug as soon as he approached; Balthazar did the same.

“What’s up?” asked Balthazar. Ron looked at him strangely, and he explained, “Apparently it’s something you kids say now. Thought I’d give it a shot. New beginnings and all.”

Ron noticed that his and Kella’s hands were linked, and unprompted Kella said, “We thought we’d give things another go, since before they were only broken before because of a simple misunderstanding. Not to mention, we’ve had a lot of time to talk.”

“And we nearly died,” added Balthazar.

“Oh shush, Baz.”

Ron had to restrain a smile.

“You didn’t nearly die,” said Kella. “We were fine. But… not everyone was.” She glanced over to Tiberius where he stood with his shoulders hunched, staring down at Jane, who was tucked below a sheet on the ground next to the other bodies. “I think you should go and talk to him. We tried, but you were closer to him than I was, I think.”

Ron nodded. “If you decide to go, leave me a way to contact you, yeah?”

They both agreed whole-heartedly, and Ron gingerly picked his way through the rubble over to Tiberius.

“You alright?”

Tiberius gave him a look. His brown eyes were rimmed with red, puffy from exhaustion. He wiped them again, swiping at the tears that had just fallen.

“I don’t know what the hell to do now.”

“In… terms of what?”

“Anything. I saw my dad with the captured Death Eaters. There’s probably more to it than that but I don’t think I want to know.” Tiberius turned to look at the wider hall. He seemed to despise them. “They all think of me as the Fawley heir again. None of them believe I could really be on their side.”

“Tiberius, I’m sure that’s not-“

“No,” he said. “Just- don’t try and tell me they don’t, because that’s a lie.”

 “Okay, so they don’t believe you, and they don’t like you very much. We’ll just have to work on that.”

“I don’t know if I want to. If I go back home my mother will force me to be the Fawley heir again. I’ll have to go back to school and pretend like everything’s normal. If I refuse to see any of them again and try and find a job somewhere else, I’ll be refused. I’ll always be the Fawley heir, in this world."

Tiberius nodded, his mind set. He picked up his cloak and fastened it around his neck. “I’m not going to go back to the magical world. In fact, this will be my last dealings with it ever.”

Ron was concerned. “Tiberius, don’t you think this is all a bit-“

“Jane’s dead because of it,” said Tiberius. He crouched down, picked up Jane’s hand and pressed his lips to the cold back of it. “Jane’s dead because of us.”

Ron’s mouth went dry, because he was right.

“Goodbye, Ron. If they ask where I went, don’t tell them.”

Tiberius strode off into the distance, going over the bridge before apparating away, and Ron wondered if it would be the last time he ever saw his friend. He hoped it wasn't.

Ron knelt down beside Jane and tucked her hand back below the sheet, purposely avoiding looking at the mess of her neck. He heard footsteps behind him and saw Rolf, tears dripping silently down his face.

“Helga, she’s dead,” he said into Ron’s neck, voice muffled by the collar of his jacket as the two boys hugged tightly, grieving for their dead friend.

They were not the only ones that day.

It wasn't until a few days after the Battle of Hogwarts that Hermione and Harry fully explained to Ron how exactly they'd managed to take down Voldemort. Finding and destroying horcruxes, the Deathly Hallows, Dumbledore’s confusing wishes for them.

At the end of it all, Harry didn't even want the elder wand. He'd earned it, but he didn't want it. And so he placed it back into Dumbledore's coffin and it was Harry's thinking that when he died (a natural death, fingers crossed) that the power would be passed on to no one. He repaired his old wand (the one that had possessed the connection to Voldemort), and had been perfectly happy since.

Ron was a tad grumpy since Harry wouldn’t let him cast even one spell using the master wand. Not even as a secret.

For weeks there were funerals almost constantly; McGonagall allowed the families of the victims of the Battle of Hogwarts to place their loved ones in a special graveyard on the grounds of the school, and Ron’s family buried Fred there. Tonks and Remus, Lavender Brown, Collin Creevey and tens more.

They buried Jane there too, because she had wanted to go to magic school, in the end. 

She got her wish. 

Those days after the battle were some of Ron’s darkest. He was submerged in grief and confusion, unsure of what to do with his life now. And he had a very long life ahead of him. Hermione said he should go back to Hogwarts and finish his seventh year. She had already put her name down, and Harry had too.

So Ron did, but there was still the question of what to do with the summer.

Sat in the kitchen of the Burrow, Ron asked his mother. He nearly hadn’t been able to come back here, baulking when he got to the door, but the look in his mother’s eyes had been enough to get him over the threshold.

Molly worried endlessly about her youngest son. He had given them only the vaguest idea of what had happened to him, despite it affecting him so deeply. He was weighed down with so much and seemed so old. Ron didn’t sleep anymore and refused to tell them when he had to go out to eat. He could so childish like that, sometimes - keeping secrets for the sake of it.

He would just leave. He would be gone for hours – two days, on one occasion… and they were supposed to just not worry?

He was covered in scars, inside and out, and they were different to Harry and Hermione’s. At least the other two talked about what they had gone through, and ate and slept and laughed. Molly thought inviting around Rolf Scamander, one of the friends who had been through what Ron had would help him, but the two had shut themselves in Ron’s room and spoken for hours on end.

About what exactly, they'd all speculated about for days afterwards, but Ron and Rolf never said.

Rolf Scamander was another curiously guarded young man, but he was kind enough. How anyone could hurt him stumped Molly.

“I’m going to the Ministry,” Ron announced one day. “Kingsley’s invited me.”

Why the acting Minister for Magic had invited her youngest son - who was very fragile at the moment - to the Ministry, intrigued Molly greatly; but again Ron refused to say. He put on a cloak she had never seen before and washed, finally, and went out the door wearing a cold expression that was equally as foreign.

“He’s different now,” said Charlie. “Scares me, sometimes. I hate to say it but it’s true.”

Ron went out many more times, and a few weeks later a story finally emerged in the Daily Prophet documenting the full ordeal of the werewolves and vampires turned, kidnapped and used for various reasons. There were pictures of the dungeons they’d been locked in; the places they’d been forced to do back-breaking manual labour; the filthy kitchens and mess halls they’d been fed from; the washrooms, the mass grave, the offices cleaned out after the war ended and the Death Eater scientists had to escape.

They’d dumped sheets upon sheets of research and results into the garden, and set it all alight.

In effect, the entire experiment had been fruitless. What was worse was that they (whoever it was that went to Worple House, where it had all happened – and Molly had a nasty suspicion) found werewolves and vampires in the darkest, deepest crevices that had been starving, barely surviving in their own filth for weeks.

They were past the brink. Blind, rabid animals screaming at anything that tried to touch them. There were no pictures, but the description was foul enough.

Molly cried when she read the article, she would admit. It was very dark for the national newspaper but it had been different since the end of the war.

She called Ron down from his room, and placed the article in front of him.

“You never told me about this,” she said, lip beginning to tremble again. It seemed insensitive to cry in front of a real victim. She’d never been kept in those dungeons, had she?

But- but it could’ve been her son who was one of those creatures left behind, pitiful and pathetic and barely human, according to the article.

She had to wipe her eyes discreetly. Ron was watching her, gaze unsettlingly solemn.

“How could I tell you?” he said. “Tell me, how am I supposed to put all of this into words?”

“Did you go with them back to that house?”

“They had to get someone to identify it and tell them where things were. Where the survivors might be. Rolf went too.”

“Why didn’t Rolf go alone and spare you the- the trauma?”

“Why am I more important than him? He has family too.”

“Well, I- I-“

Molly had no good answer for this except that Ron was hers. The family were listening at the door, and Ron, who could clearly hear them, told them to come in.

“Well,” he said. “You know it all now.” He seemed relieved that he hadn't been the one to tell them. Maybe he'd been trying to pluck up the courage for weeks, and just... couldn't.

“Have they charged anyone?” said George.

“No. Kingsley’s having trouble nailing anyone down for it – clearly it’s Death Eater, but they’ve burnt all the records. And he’s found some strange things to do with Cornelius Fudge, he said, when I last spoke to him.”

Ginny moved closer to him, unsure. “Was that all true? Was that really what it was like?”

Ron nodded. But then he shook his head. “Don’t feel sorry for me. I stayed in the better rooms since I was helping the Death Eaters. I did some horrible things, not all of them I was forced to do.”

“What do you mean?” said Harry.

Ron shook his head, a lost look in his eyes. “I just can’t tell with some memories. There are a lot. I find new ones all the time. Things that remind me. The other day, I lit the fire in the lounge and remembered I’d tortured someone with fire once. Thing is, I can't remember why I did that.”

No one could quite look him in the eye after that, but no one blamed him, at least.

The funny thing was, Ron had been so looking forward to seeing Hermione again, but things were not as they had been. She asked a lot of questions, but none that he wanted her to ask.

“So where did Tiberius Fawley go?” asked Hermione.

Ron had gotten a letter off him the other day saying he was safe and living back in Leeds where he had with Jane, but shrugged. “He wanted to leave the magical world behind.”

“Really?” said George, cutting up his potato. They were all sat at the table for dinner.

That was another thing. In the Burrow, there was never a moment of privacy.

“The Ministry want him back for some questions,” said his dad, further up the table. “Could you bring him in, Ron?”

“Absolutely not,” said Ron, half laughing, and Harry patted him on the back even as the rest of his family looked unamused.

“Oh, come on, Harry,” said Hermione. “We have to get involved with the Ministry if we want to see it improve.”

“Maybe he’s not much into politics,” said Ron, who certainly felt the same.

Hermione stared at them both. “Well, I’m afraid it’s no use. Look, I hate it as much as you do, but someone has to stick up for Muggle-borns. We’ve just had an entire war about it, but there’s still no one like me on the councils. So I signed up.

“Ron, you should be taking charge of sorting out all the new vampires. Training them, helping them deal with it all. A lot of people were bitten during the war,” she said. “And Harry, you just need to be there, like me. Hiding away here isn’t doing anything. I know you don’t like the fame, but it can be used to bring in the last Death Eaters, and ensure it won’t all happen again.”

This had never occurred to Ron and Harry.

“Feels like I’m the only one with a brain sometimes,” she said.

“No, no, you’re right,” Ron told her. “I’m sorry, I just wanted to be on holiday a bit longer. You know, you reminded me of what Douglas said to me back in Triffern. He wanted someone to advocate for werewolves and vampires.”

“Who’s Douglas?” asked Ginny, mystified.

“A friend I made on the way. A friend I need to see, matter of fact. I’ll see if Rolf’s about, since the other three have vanished.” Then Ron realised. “Ah. I’ll have to tell Douglas about Jane, too.”

Douglas was pleased Ron and Rolf had chosen to do their bit, and incredibly sad about Jane. He hadn't shown up for the final battle. He'd had no idea it had happened, really, until the Prophet said the next morning that the war was over. 

Anu arrived and spoke to them, far happier now. “I’m so glad you survived,” she told them both, and Ron thanked her and Douglas again for what they had done for him. They agreed to meet up more often, and be in frequent correspondence by letter. Ron still had Pigwidgeon, his owl, to send his letters with.

He and Rolf meandered back to the bus stop outside of Triffern.

“God, we need to learn to apparate,” said Rolf. “Hey! I forgot to tell you, my grandfather’s agreed to send me to Hogwarts for my seventh year.”

Ron smiled. “That’s great. Bet McGonagall twisted his arm.”

“I don’t care. And… there’s something else, too.” Rolf could hardly contain his excitement. “I’ve been owling Luna a lot since the battle, and she’s agreed to go out with me to Diagon Alley. I think it’s a date.”

Ron congratulated him, and wished him luck.

They talked about how glad they were McGonagall (the new headmistress) had simply allowed werewolves and vampires to join Hogwarts without any fuss. Ron and Rolf had been to see Kingsley, who had given them a few people to visit and check up on them. They were new werewolves and vampires, and needed help.

“What about Hermione?”

“What about her?”

“Have you two gotten together yet?”

Ron scratched the back of his neck. “I… er, don’t know if that’s going to happen anymore. I think I’m too different for her.”

“Why are you so stupid sometimes?” Hermione asked him, but she didn't seem angry. Just confused. “Why? Why didn’t you just ask me?”

Ron shrugged, feeling helpless. He’d finally gotten a moment alone with her when the rest of the family, plus Harry, went out.

“I don’t know – and what are you packing for, anyway?”

“I need to go to Australia to get my parents back.” Hermione paused and added, “If I can.”

“Right. Can I come with you?”

She said he could, and explained more about how she’d obliviated them at the start of the year. Ron told her it was a very clever thing to do, and Hermione said that was why she did it in the first place.

They went to the Ministry, and Ron ignored the stares that came his way. Hermione bought an international portkey in record time and they appeared again somewhere very sunny.

Ron sighed. “I love magic. And I love the sun.”

“Why?”

“Because I couldn’t go out in it for ages,” Ron told her, and they headed to the Australian equivalent of the Ministry.

It was nice just going places with her. Getting to know her again. They didn't talk about a relationship, until they suddenly were. "When did you first know you liked me?" asked Ron.

“Around third year,” she said. “When we were arguing a bunch about Crookshanks and Scabbers one of the other girls said something to me and I couldn’t get it out of my head.”

“What?”

“That I liked you. Loved you, even. It’s been a good few years and these sort of feelings grow.”

“Could I…”

“Could you what?”

“Could I kiss you? I sort of haven’t stopped thinking about it for months. Keeps you going, you know.”

She nodded. She did know.

When Hermione kissed Ron, the rest of the world fell away.

The same problems remained between them. It seemed impossible that they could work in the long run, or somewhere in that realm of improbability, but right now it seemed good.

Mordecai was dead. Voldemort was dead. The war was over.

And dare Ron say it, but all was well.