False Fate

By MD1016

Part I: Cup of Oaths

Chapter 5 - All Safe In The Ether

Morning came early for Ron, and in the middle of a wonderfully pleasant dream. Breasts. Lots of breasts. With nipples that poked out from behind thin little tops. Loads of them in pairs; and all of them rounded and pale and flawless. But then there were two large brown eyes staring down at him in the dim light, and a face that he recognized. It smiled at him, and he sleepily smiled back. It took a moment before he realized what he was looking at.

"Hermione?" he asked. Belatedly, he realized the state of the rest of him, and he sat up bolt-straight in the bed while he scrambled the blankets into a bunch over his lap. Why was she in his room? "Is something wrong? What's wrong?"

"Get dressed," she whispered. "There's something I want you to see." A shiver ran down his spine.

"Uh," he said, but then stopped himself. She was already gone.

****

Downstairs, he found her in the dining room, next to the fireplace. She looked like hell, but he knew better than to say so. Her hair hadn't its usual fluffy gloss, and her face was pale and pinched as if she hadn't slept all night – a theory supported by the fact that she was wearing the same jeans and light blue top she'd worn the previous morning, although now they were covered in ash and smudges that looked suspiciously like grass stains. Ron frowned. When had he begun to notice what she wore? If he was to be honest, probably sometime in fifth year. But he didn't want to be honest with himself at the moment.

He followed her to the Hog's Head via the Floo Network, where they easily slipped from the tavern without being noticed. On the street they dusted each other off and headed toward Leather Wings Lane. Of course Ron knew where they were going, he just didn't know why. He reckoned it was still possible that she'd stayed away from the manse because he'd upset her – though now that he thought about it, it didn't seem very Hermione-like. Odds favored she'd thought of some way to make him feel bad for the stolen kiss, something to make him think twice about ever doing something so bloody thick again. It was also possible, he suddenly thought, that she'd found him alternate lodgings. Leather Wings Lane probably had loads of places to let that even Ron could afford. It made sense in a terribly upsetting sort of way that she'd want to be alone in the manse with Harry now; that Ron had suddenly become the third wheel.

His feet began to drag as they rounded the corner. He dreaded the inevitable. He would go, of course, if she asked. Wouldn't he? He knew that he would, even though he wasn't entirely sure he could take another blow like that. How many times could one's spirit splinter before one simply ceased to exist; before the ether swallowed him whole?

"Look, Hermione," he said, stopping in the street. "You don't have to do this."

"Do what?" she asked, but walked on. She was hunched over, arms crossed tightly across her chest against the crisp morning. She did briefly glance back at him, but she didn't wait.

He followed. He couldn't not.

It wasn't until he stood directly in front of the sad little storefront that Ron actually looked at it. His heart skipped a beat. Gone was the snapping turtle canopy, and in its place was a freshly painted sign proudly proclaiming "Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes: Magical Jokes and Assorted Sundry" in purple and orange. The windows were so clean as to show a display full of brightly packaged toys and pranks and odd bits of novelty magic. The parcel boxes were gone, the dust and dirt nowhere to be seen. Beside the door sat a barrel full of dark red begonias in bloom. Even the front step was swept clean.

"I-I don't understand," Ron said in a stunned stammer. "This is brilliant!" He turned and saw her beaming smile. She was brilliant. "How? Why?" The questions reminded him of his fears, and the hollowness inside began to ache. "There's a flat upstairs, isn't there?" Fred and George always liked the idea of a business owner living above his establishment.

"There is, but it's far from livable. I've used it as a storage hall until we can get it sorted out. Come on, I'll show you where I put everything." She covered a yawn with the back of one hand and pulled out her wand with the other. One tap and they were inside.

Ron stood stunned in the doorway. Where once there was only gloom, now there was a bright, cheery store with actual aisles and merchandise and a freshly-cleaned scent. There was a worktop, much like the shop in Diagon Alley, and a small cupboard with baskets of samples on top. There were price tags, price signs, a bell to ring for service, pale green shag carpets bewitched to blow like long grass in the wind. Along the side wall, next to the stair, was an enormous bookshelf crammed with wizarding newspapers, magazines, and novelty books. Ribbons hung from hover-globes that pressed against the ceiling, and great baskets hung on the walls brimming with Plush Creatures (Fred and George's new line of stuffed toys that seemed to come to life, but only when their child-owner was in the room).

"You're bloody brilliant, is what you are!" Ron crooned, and Hermione's smile widened even more. Never in his life had he felt a strange and powerful urge to kiss her, and yet now it hit him so hard it made his palms itch. As if now that he knew what it was like to press his lips to hers, he craved her. Or, he reasoned, perhaps it was simply the knowledge that he shouldn't – couldn't – kiss her that made him want to. The excitement in him fizzled when he considered this.

"I'm glad you like it," she told him. "I began to doubt my judgment around three this morning when I accidentally conjured those flowers in the entry instead of that Vacuum Spell that's good with dust and cobwebs out of reach. What is that spell, by the way? Do you remember?"

He shook his head. If it was a Cleaning Spell, odds were he never knew. "You did all this? Alone? How did you manage it? And why?"

"Why? Seriously? Ron, you're being dense. We both need positions and this pays better than anything else we're likely to find."

"What about us fighting too much? Or it not being wise that we spend so much time together? You said no."

She looked a little sheepish, but she brushed the questions off with a shrug. "You said we could forget all that."

All that. Well, that was one way to think of it, Ron supposed.

"You should know," she continued, changing the subject, "that most of the gold is gone. We needed supplies and things, and, well, I didn't have anything else to use."

Gold didn't matter, she was going to work with him! Side by side! Every day! Just…the two of them. Even if he couldn't kiss her...or touch her.... This, he told himself, as his elation sank in his belly, this was a good thing. Wasn't it? She turned and pulled a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans from an awkward position on one of the bottom shelves and stretched up to place it on the top with the rest of them, and Ron eyes slipped from her gently rounded backside and slim waist, up her lithe body to her slender, smooth neck. Oh, yes. It was good that he'd be able to spend every bleeding moment of the day with Harry's girl. Talking and joking and fighting together, but never anything else because she was Harry's Love. Hiding his gazes, his heart, his agony every second he was conscious because she was just out of reach, but never, never out of mind.

Ron doubted he'd still be alive by week's end.

A magical tinkle sounded, and then the store door opened. "Your sign says you be closed," said a small, round man in white robes and a flat white cap.

"Come in," Hermione said by way of greeting. "You're our first customer."

The man placed a stubby finger by his bulbous nose and pursed his lips in thought. "I shall be your last, as well, my dear, but not today. Not today." He turned and began to browse the shelves and tables.

Hermione waved to Ron to help their first customer, and he dutifully sprang to life. "Is there something in particular you're looking for?" Ron asked as professionally as he could. "Perhaps some Lemon Bursts? Or a sack of laughing powder?"

The man leaned a little closer to Ron. "Word is, the Weasley lads got themselves a line of specter traps." His round eyes narrowed. "One might be in the market for one or two of those."

"Uh..." Ron grunted and looked at Hermione for help.

Her face already showed concern. "Excuse me, sir," she began as she came towards them. "Specter traps are for entrapping souls, are they not? And forbidden by the Ministry of Magic for all except Aurors."

"Well, now." The small man turned to her. "One might find something akin to a specter trap, but not exactly as such, and then one mightn't be obliged to inform the Ministry, now would one? And I'm told you have some such thing."

"Who told you that?" Hermione demanded.

"Never mind," Ron jumped in, not liking the tension in the air. She hadn't slept, so she came by her irritability honestly, and Ron didn't want her to end up in a duel with their very first customer. "I don't think we carry specter traps, but maybe you'd like a nice, legal box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans?"

"Fred Weasley is the man," the customer told them. "And he said you'd be discrete."

"He did, did he?" Her jaw tensed and her lips tightened.

Ron ran around a display table and jumped in front of her. "See, we're only just opened and not everything has made it out of the boxes yet–"

"If your delinquent brothers have specter traps in any of those boxes, Ron–"

"Why not give us a day or two to settle in? Maybe check back in at the end of the week?" Ron was trying hard not to hear the rant going on behind him. Something to do with Fred and George and Azkaban Prison. And gerbils, if his ears weren't deceiving him.

"Very well," the man muttered unpleasantly, then turned on his heel and hobbled out the door. Another magical tinkle.

"Did you know your brothers were involved in the black market?"

Ron shrugged. "Of course not. But knowing them, it's not entirely a shock, now, is it?"

She threw a bag of fuzzle grubs at him, and they ricocheted off the side of his head. "How will I explain an arrest to my parents, Ron? They think I'm looking for Muggle work! Something safe! Not trafficking in illegal magical weapons. And how dare your brothers expose us to something dangerous and potentially disastrous to any future careers we might have without even telling us! This is so like them: no regard for anyone else. In fact, I have half a mind to tell them so myself!" She turned and headed for the door, but Ron managed to sprint just ahead of her and block the exit.

"You don't really want to do that, do you? I'm sure it's just a misunderstanding or something."

"Ron, get out of my way." He hung his head and stepped aside.

It wasn't difficult to keep up with her. Hermione wasn't in any rush. She trudged back through the Hog’s Head floo, and then into the Leaky Cauldron in Diagon Alley. It would be nice when Ron got his Apparating license the following week and they could circumvent the Floo Network all together. Come to think of it, though, he should probably get some practice in before they went for the test. He decided he'd bring it up to Lupin that evening.

Determined, Hermione continued to stomp down Diagon Alley. Ron trailed after her, though he had more of a shuffle and carried his hands in his jeans pockets. He was fairly sure she was about to get them fired. "Are you sure?"

"Ron, don't."

He didn't really think he could talk her out of whatever it was she was going to say, he just didn't want to be around to witness it. Come to think of it, why was he following? Common sense would place him as far from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes as one could get. He was still contemplating this as he shadowed her through the door.

George came from the back room, and his face lit up at the sight of them. "How now? Hermione! Good to see you! And Ron, how's the store going?"

"How's the store going?" she asked in a voice mocking George's. "How's the store going? You mean the front you've set up to sell your black market novelties? And us as your accessories? How dare you? Ron is your brother! How could you set him up like that? Have you no conscience?"

"No conscience?" asked Fred, who had just come down the stairs. "What's she on about?"

"You're the worst sort of wizards, the both of you! Doing anything to make money, damn the consequences to yourself or the people around you! People who trust you! Your brother, for magic's sake!"

"Did we do something?" Fred asked George. George shrugged.

"Apologize to your brother," she demanded.

The twins looked at each other and smirked.

"I mean it, damn you! Apologize!" Her voice went high and shrill, and the twins lost all sense of humor in the moment.

"Sorry," they said in unison, thought Ron could tell they hadn't a clue as to what they were apologizing for.

"And for future knowledge, we shall not be selling specter traps or any other illegal items from the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes in Hogsmeade. Is that perfectly clear?"

"Specter traps?" Fred looked genuinely stunned. "What is she on about?"

"Did she say 'we'?" George asked.

"We don't make specter traps," Fred said quickly. "Nothing of the sort. That stuff gives me the creeps."

"See," Ron chimed in, relieved. "It was a misunderstanding."

Hermione eyed the brothers suspiciously. "There was a man. Short and round. He said you promised him specter traps, which sounds like something you dim-witted midge-brains would do! Honestly, boys, why stop with something only illegal when there are Unforgivable Curses out there? You could make an Imperious biscuit treat! Or a Crucio bonnet! Why not get your entire family involved? I'm sure Ginny will be happy to keep her brother company in Azkaban!"

George and Fred exchange looks again, this time much more frightened than amused. Hermione was on the verge of complete hysteria.

"If you don't care about yourselves, or your brother, then what do you think this would do to your mother if she found out? Specter traps! And Ron – in many ways he's her baby, you know. Her youngest son, the last man she'll send out into the world. Her last chance to make up for the likes of you two!"

"Hey, now," the twins objected in unison.

She threw up her hands in frustration, her anger having finally got the better of her. "How could you be so stupid?" Her face crumpled a little, and for one terrifying moment Ron thought she might cry.

"You're right," said Fred sidling up to her left, his voice smooth as velvet.

"A completely convincing argument," George said, stepping up to her right and taking her elbow in hand. "We've been stupid."

"Careless," Fred agreed. They walked her to the door. "It's shameful, really. I'd like to say we just got carried away–"

"But there's no excuse," George finished. "We see that now."

"Yes, well, good." Ron couldn't believe she was buying their lines. She was clearly upset enough to have muddled her head.

"And you're right about Ron, as well." Fred said this. "He's a fine chap and we wouldn't want him to get in trouble."

"Not on our account."

"No, never. It would kill Mum."

"Right," Hermione breathed. "You're trying to get rid of me."

"Not us," George feigned innocence, but his huge grin gave him away. "Hermione, we like you…"

"And we like that you take care of Ron," Fred added.

"But we're not making specter traps or anything of the sort."

"It's not our style."

"Trust us," they finished together.

She studied them both for a moment with a critical eye. Then, a hint of a smile crossed her face. She forced it down. "I've got my eye on the two of you," she said firmly, and then turned and left. They watched her go.

"And I've got my eye on you," Fred whispered, his gaze full of her denim-covered rear.

"Hey, now," Ron protested. "None of that."

"Like the way she stood up for you, do you? Don't think we didn't notice that bit of protective posturing," George said happily. "Maybe she's not so un-Fated to you as you thought."

"Maybe," Fred said, relishing his sudden thought, "now the three of you are Fated together. Make a nice little Hermione sandwich, that would–"

"I said none of that!" Ron scowled and threw his hands up at his brother in disgust.

"What? A little ménage-à-trois? Juicy!"

"Shut it!" Ron yelled.

The twins laughed. "Come, now," Fred said. "You can't tell us that you haven't thought of it at least once since you found out your True Love was stolen from you."

"What?" Ron was horrified.

Fred turned to his twin. "Speaking of which, brother, we should owl leggy Lucy again," he said. George nodded enthusiastically.

Ron groaned and shoved the heel of his hands into his eyes and rubbed vigorously, trying to get whatever image that just popped into his head to disappear forever into the void. The very last thing he ever wanted to think about was himself in the middle of one of his brothers' deranged sexual exploits.

"I can see why you're fixed on her," Fred said, more serious now. He leaned against the display table Ron was leaning on and crossed his arms. "It's very nice to have someone stick up for you, especially when it isn't necessary."

"She reminds me too much of Mum, for myself," George said absently as he fiddled with some gag candy in edible wrappers. "Nags too much."

Ron nodded. That she did. "I think something's wrong with me," Ron told them, not entirely sure he wanted broach the subject with these particular brothers. But it wasn't as if he had many other choices of people to turn to these days, and he supposed the twins did have a way with women, though he wasn't sure what that way was. With a sigh he admitted, "I've become a bit obsessive. You know, since the Fate switch."

George's interest was piqued. He grinned broadly. "Like how?"

Ron shrugged. "If I was Fated to her before, and therefore Loved her - with a capital L - then how come I never thought about how adorable her face gets when she's trying so hard to be earnest that she pushes into the melodramatic? Or never once noticed the shape of her elbow? Or thought about kissing her. And now, I can't stop. She's all I think about. When she's not around I'm missing her terribly, and when she's in the room, I'm desperate to get away. She's like a potion that's got into my blood, or something. Like bad magic." He rubbed at the hollowness in his center that began to twinge around the edges as a picture of her in her t-shirt and pajama bottoms flittered through his head. "You think maybe I'm having a reaction to the hex or something? Maybe I'll die from it?" Yes, there was real hope behind that last question. Ron simply couldn't imagine a lifetime of this.

"Fred, I do believe our little brother is growing up," George proudly announced.

"You're not sick," Fred assured him. "We think about women all the time."

"Not like this," Ron grumbled.

"All the time," George concurred. "When we're not thinking of more jokes, that is."

"Or money."

"Oh, yes, money," George crooned. "Love that stuff."

Ron shook his head. They were absolutely no help whatsoever. "I best be getting back to the shop," he said, more miserable than when he came in.

"Hey," Fred stopped him. "That wizard's from the Ministry. We think he's an Auror trying to catch us slipping up. He's been around here a couple of times. But we don't so much as dabble in the Dark Arts."

George nodded. "These are troubled times. We don't want to accidentally get mixed up with the wrong crowd. Honest. You've got nothing to worry about from us. Just don't let him bother you."

Not a second later a tall, blonde young lady entered the store and gave a friendly wave to the twins. She went for the pucker whistles and pulled one off the shelf to examine the box.

"Right on time," George crooned. "There you are, Ron. She's a lovely bird. I also happen to know that her boyfriend dumped her two days ago, and she's ripe for a rebound man."

Fred gave Ron a shove on the shoulder. "Go get her!" he urged.

"What? No!"

"She not pretty enough for you?" asked Fred. "Because as juicy as your Hermione is, Stella Willowgrove is fit!"

"Look at that hair," George whispered in Ron's ear.

"Look at those hips," said Fred on his other side.

"Those breasts."

"Those legs."

"Oh, yes, the legs."

"Shut it," Ron growled. He didn't want to look at Stella Willowgrove's legs or anything else.

"Look," George said practically, "we're not telling you to bag her, just go over and say hi. Maybe ask her to join you for an ice cream or float or something."

"I don't want to," Ron told them.

"Coward," said Fred. "Here's a girl who will actually have you, and you're saving yourself for one who won't."

Ron gave him an angry look. His brothers knew how to prod him into doing just about anything. He hated that about them. "Fine," he growled. "Fine."

Ron took a deep breath and went over to the girl. He guessed her age to be about his, though reason said she had to be a least a little older if she wasn't in school. He thought about that again. He didn't remember ever seeing her at Hogwarts, so maybe she hadn't gone to school – not everyone did. Maybe she was a squib, or maybe her family didn't want her to attend.

He was stalling, and he knew it. Ron shoved his fists into his jeans pockets and tried to think of something clever to say. Then he just tried to think of anything. "I'm Ron," he ended up blurting out.

"Oh." She turned and looked at him. "Hiya, Ron."

She looked a little slow on the up-take, and so Ron gave her a little prodding. "What are you called?"

"Stella," she said, and then thought to add, "Willowgrove."

Well, at least he'd established an introduction, never mind that he already knew her name. He watched as she glanced nervously over to the twins, who gave them both thumbs up. Ron had been set up.

"Fancy an ice cream?"

"Oh, yes," she said, and her eyes glazed over. Ron was pretty sure she was already tasting it in her head. He followed her out of the store, snarling at his brothers, who were whooping on his behalf.

****

Stella was a study in simplicity. She chose cream flavored ice cream with clear crystals and white sparkles, in a bowl. It was hardly worth handing over the two sickles, Ron thought. He got his own ice cream and settled on a bench he'd shared with Hermione ages ago when they happened to spot Harry pass on his way to fill his Second Year shopping list. Had he really been Fated to her then? It didn't seem possible.

"Mmm." Stella was happy with her treat. It was the closest thing to a thank you he was likely to get out of her. Not that he really cared. "You're lovely," she said, and licked her full, pink lips.

"Uh…thanks."

"You can kiss me, if you want."

"Uh…no thanks."

She seemed to take the rejection in stride, and turned back to her treat.

It was a warm day with a pleasantly cool breeze, and Diagon Alley was thick with wizards and witches out to shop and stroll.

"Do you know Harry Potter?"

"Uh…yeah."

"Your brothers said you did."

"Yeah."

Her hand shot to his knee and gave it a squeeze. Ron jumped, squealed a little, and his cone landed upside down on the pavement. She giggled a ridiculously shrill little-girl giggle. "You're funny," she said.

"Yeah." He stood and walked away.

****

Harry proudly displayed the entire contents of his shopping trip on the oversized kitchen table. Much of it was sweeties and snacks, but in the center of the lot was a roast the size of the hole in Ron's soul.

"What the bloody hell am I supposed to do with that?" Ron asked. Hermione passed over the bag of Doritos and opted for a green apple. She took a bite and a few drops of juice collected at the corner of her mouth. Ron felt his face go red.

"Uh..." Harry hesitated, and frowned at Ron. "Cook it. You said you'd do the cooking. What's wrong with you?"

"Wrong with me? What's wrong with you? Cooking is heat up some beans or something, but that's a whole - oh, to hell with it." Ron didn't feel like arguing. He was hungry and tired and miserable. With a sigh he grabbed the hunk of meat still in plastic and tucked it under one arm. Ron didn't know how to cook it, but he knew who did.

****

"Ron!" His mother greeted him with a smile and a kiss on the cheek. She brushed ash from his shoulders. "You look tired," she observed frankly. "Sit and I'll make you a cup of tea."

"Actually, Mum, I need you to teach me to cook this." He dropped the roast on the small worktop and the impact rattled the window.

She looked startled. "You want to cook?"

"I don't want to," he whined, and then slid onto the table bench. "But I've not had anything real to eat in days, and I think I might shrivel up if I don't get some food soon."

"Poor thing," she cooed. "Living on your own is harder than you thought, is it?"

He shrugged. "It's certainly not what I was expecting. Though I can't honestly remember what that was at the moment. I know I wasn't expecting that," he said with an angry eye on the meat.

Molly pulled out her cutting board, a couple of knives, and a small box with a dozen different tiny compartments, each holding a different fragrant spice. "Cooking isn't difficult," she told him with a gentle smile over her shoulder. "The spells are easy. The real trick is in the seasoning."

He grunted his indifference.

"I'll send you home with some recipes," she told him. "Never you fear. But come over here, Ron, and I'll show you some charms, and you can tell me some of what's got you down, if you like. You haven't had another fight with Hermione, now, have you? Hmm?"

With a sigh, Ron shoved himself up onto his feet and scuffed his way to his mother's side. She was much shorter than him now, and he'd never really noticed when that had happened.

"Mum," he said, and leaned against the worktop. She'd begun to trim the meat and sprinkle some spices along the top and sides. "Mum?" he asked. "Are you disappointed in the twins?"

She froze mid-sprinkle. "Of course not, dear. They're my sons. I adore them."

"I mean about not finishing Hogwarts. About making jokes and pranks for a living."

"I know what you meant, Ronnie. And no, I'm not disappointed in you, either. You're a bright, friendly, caring young wizard, and I've never had to worry about your intentions. You've a heart of gold, Ronald. Have from the start." She pulled her wand from her apron pocket and mumbled some spells that lit the heavy iron stove and pulled a roasting pan from the cupboard.

"I worry, of course. A mother worries about her children, and it's not exactly jokes and gags for you and Harry and Hermione, now is it? Your father says the Order has the three of you on a rigorous schedule learning important things, but he wouldn't go into detail. Doesn't want me to worry more than I already do, I expect."

"Did he tell you I'm a Smisurato?"

She gave a gasp, dropped the pan on the stove, and let out a high-pitched squeal of pure glee. "You're not! Are you now? A Smisurato? Honestly? A SIMSURATO? You're not! Are you? YOU ARE! That's amazing! I don't think we've ever had one in the family! I don't think our family has ever known a family with a Smisurato in the family! That's amazing, Ron! Wonderful!" She stopped long enough in her bounce around the kitchen to give him a big hug around the middle.

"You know, of course," she said into his chest, "that I've something new to worry about. If you're a Smisurato then they mean to train you with Harry, don't they? It means you won't just be on the sidelines anymore." She pulled away and inhaled deeply. "No matter." Her smile was genuine, her eyes were still sad. "You're with the best of the best. You'll all take care of each other, I'm sure."

"Yeah," he muttered.

"A Smisurato! Imagine that," she said to herself, and chuckled as she turned back to her cooking. "My baby boy…."

****

Dinner was a success at number 12 that evening. Roast beef with potatoes, fresh bread, and creamed woray, which was like spinach but purple and therefore delicious. Harry was moaning with pure pleasure by his second forkful. Hermione laughed at his delight, and at the heap Ron put on his plate, and at just about everything else. She was in a fine mood, and Ron said as much. She changed the subject.

"Is it Moody tonight, or Lupin?" she asked.

"Moody again, I think. We're going to work on the energy sharing thing."

"Doesn't it have a name?" Hermione preferred things neatly labeled. She scratched absently at her neck, a motion Ron wouldn't have even noticed if not for Harry sitting up straight on the bench. He shook his head at her until Ron turned and looked at him.

"What?" Ron asked, irritated. Then he looked back at Hermione and the dark mark peaking out from her pink collared shirt. At first he didn't understand. Then, slowly, realization dawned on him.

She pulled her collar against her neck to cover the love bite.

That was the end of Ron's appetite. Instead, the anger in his belly felt like a handful of rocks in a worn-out sock. For a moment Ron thought he might lash out at Harry again, might hit him just to get the fury out of his body. And then he thought he might turn on Hermione, which scared him. At his core, Ron had never been a wizard of violence. He was a pacifist, and if truth be told he fancied himself a little cowardly as well. But now that that core had been ripped from him, it seemed he was perfectly capable of turning on his friends: people he cared a great deal about. He was beginning to wonder, though, if they cared anything about him.

He looked down at his full plate, and a sense of sick sank through him. He considered leaving the table, maybe to find the loo.

"Look," he said after a while. "I know what's going on. And I know there's nothing I can do about it. I know it. Just...not in front of me, all right?"

"Er...sure, Ron," Harry managed to get out. His throat seemed very tight, and the words sounded strangled.

"And maybe you could be more...careful about..." He glanced to her neck again, but her fingers covered the mark.

"We didn't do this to hurt you, Ron." She sounded less contrite than Harry, and much more offended. "It's not as if we sat around and said, 'How can we ruin Ron's day?' It just happened."

"I don't want to hear about it happening!" Ron shouted, and pushed himself up from the table. "Do whatever you want, just leave me out of it!" He stormed from the room just as tears burned in his eyes.

****

The lesson with Moody that night was an exercise in pain for Ron. For three hours Harry sucked energy from him, and Ron was told stay put, stare into his eyes and let him take. By the end of the night they were able to stand a full meter apart and still maintain the link. A major feat, Moody declared, hobbling around the room in delight. Ron just felt emptier.

Hermione was bored, as might be expected, and busied herself with several thick books and researched whatever it was that Hermione researched in her down time. To her credit, not once did Ron catch her gazing at Harry. To his credit, he only thought about her breasts twice.

****

He slept deeply that night, and dreamt about her body in the bed with him, warm and solid and soft. Her back was to him, though, but he tried not to let it bother him. She was there with him, and it was his dream, so what was the harm? He kissed her on the neck where Harry had left his mark, then below her ear, on her shoulder. Her hand came up to his resting on her bare waist and guided it around to her front. He felt her ribs, her impossibly smooth skin, and then the weight of her breast filling his palm. Her nipple was tight, hard, like it had been that morning he woke her up, and she gasped a little when he squeezed it. Her back was warm on his chest, her rear cradled snuggly against his lap. He felt her hand reach back for his hip, and then slide lower down his thigh before she pulled it closer, over her own leg, and she pressed back into him. His hardness pressed against her softness, and he found himself pushing forward, pressing against the crease made by the warm rounds of her rear. The sensation was exquisite, and he moaned against the back of her neck. She began to move, to rub against him with rhythm, and her nails dug into the skin on his leg. With his mouth on her back, his hand over her breast, he rocked with her. He wasn't inside her yet, but the friction was delicious. He moaned again. Another moan answered, but it wasn't hers. It was male, and startlingly familiar. Harry? What the hell? Why was Harry in his dream? Another hand came from somewhere in front of her - a male hand - and it covered hers on Ron's thigh. The two of them squeezed together, moaned together.

Ron woke screaming, and spent the rest of the day hating Fred and George for planting that particular suggestion in his subconscious.

End of chapter 5